pairing: sugar daddy!steve rogers x sugar baby!female reader
summary: when your sugar daddy returns from a long business trip on christmas eve, you're waiting for him—on your knees in the prettiest lingerie money could buy—and he's just as happy to see you as you are him.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, established relationship, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, hand jobs, brief masturbation (m), very brief anal play (f receiving), light bdsm, size kink, praise kink, daddy kink, dirty talk, pet names (princess, baby, pretty present), sex with feelings, aftercare, very happy/fluffy ending
word count: 5.1k
a/n: here's my december 10 entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge and it's only like 4 days late 😅 i used the prompt: "I'm your present." i've been wanting to write a sugar daddy steve rogers fic for a bit and this seemed like a good opportunity!! also, the title is inspired by the kacey musgraves christmas song, "glittery." hope y'all enjoy!! ♡
december daze challenge masterlist
Excitement was an effervescent cocktail of glorious anticipation and glittery joy, thrumming through your body and throbbing between your thighs while you checked your makeup in the hall mirror before lowering yourself to your knees in perfect view of the front door.
Your fingers distractedly smoothed over the lace and ribbons and bows that wrapped around your body, and you had to stop yourself from bouncing where you sat while you strained your ears to hear the sounds of the elevator. You couldn’t wait for the man you were expecting to walk through the door. It had been too long since you’d last seen him.
Your sugar daddy, Steve Rogers, had been on a business trip oversees for nearly a month, and you were the first person he’d see after returning to New York City on Christmas Eve. He’d texted you only moments ago to let you know he was in the elevator on the way up to his penthouse apartment, where you waited for him.
When you’d planned your Christmas Eve reunion together, he’d had very specific requests for how he wanted you to be waiting for him, and you’d been all too happy to indulge in his demands. It sent another pulse of excitement through your body when you thought about how Steve would react when he walked in and found you already on your knees for him.
Seconds later, the front door of the penthouse swung open and Steve’s reaction didn’t disappoint.
The moment the gloriously handsome man laid eyes on you, he came to an abrupt halt, one hand still on the door while his blue eyes were riveted on only you. Steve stood in the open doorway for a long minute while his gaze feasted on the sight you presented to him.
A bright, beaming smile spread across your face the longer he stared, your body warming under his gaze as you struggled not to look down at yourself. You already knew how you looked. You’d spent a ridiculously long time searching for the perfect set of lingerie, which you’d purchased at Steve’s behest—and with his black Amex.
But after all that time searching, you were happy with what you’d found. The lingerie was tastefully Christmas themed, hugging your curves in red silk and lace. Little white bows accented different parts of your body, with one nestled perfectly between your tits.
Steve’s eyes seemed stuck on that particular bow, watching your tits bouncing lightly in the ribbons and lace as your breathing picked up with your excitement. Anticipation was bubbling champagne in your veins, and you leaned forward slightly, arching your back and giving your sugar daddy an even more enticing look at your body.
The movement seemed to snap Steve out of whatever spell he’d been under because he cleared his throat and finally stepped further into the apartment, closing the door behind him. He tossed his keys onto table in the entryway and shed his coat, hanging it up on the door to the closet without taking his eyes off you.
His silent staring gave you time to properly look at your sugar daddy for the first time in weeks.
Steve was dressed casually in a soft-looking black sweater and dark gray wool slacks. His broad shoulders filled out the comfy looking fabric, while the sleeves of the sweater were pushed up slightly to reveal his toned forearms. You took notice of his toned legs briefly, but you couldn’t keep your gaze away from his handsome face for too long.
Your sugar daddy’s blue eyes were sparkling, even as his gaze continued to darken with lust. His mouth was curving into a delicious little smirk, and his lips looked impossibly pink against the pale skin of his clean-shaven jaw. With his blond hair swept back from his face, you had the urge to rake your fingers through it and drag him to you for a kiss.
“Now, what do we have here?” Steve rumbled, prowling further into the apartment until he stood just in front of you.
He was so close, you had to crane your neck back to look up at him, which only made your body tighten with excitement. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his slacks, and though his stance was casual, you could practically feel the lust radiating off him.
Steve quirked an eyebrow expectantly, and you finally found your tongue to offer the greeting he was expecting.
“I’m your present.”
The words had been one of Steve’s requests for your reunion, and even though he’d known they were coming, you enjoyed the slight hitch of his breath and the way his eyes narrowed slightly on you—and the way his cock twitched to life in the front of his pants.
Already, you were growing wet enough to leak into the panties of the expensive lingerie you’d purchased, your arousal an insistent pulse in your core. You shifted on your knees, pressing your thighs together while you tried to keep your gaze fixed on Steve’s face and not let it drop to the thickening length so close to your face.
“Such a pretty present,” Steve cooed sweetly, reaching out and stroking his thumb over your cheek.
The pad of his finger moved lower, running along your lip. You couldn’t help yourself—you ducked forward, taking his thumb into your mouth and giving him an affectionate little suckle.
Steve’s eyes darkened further, his voice dropping into a low, husky tone as he went on, “And how do pretty presents say hello?”
You smirked, your body warming with anticipation as Steve pulled his thumb from between your lips. His hand slipped back into his pocket, curling like it was wrapping around something, and leaving you to stare up his large body from your position at his feet.
Leaning forward, you held Steve’s gaze while you pressed your soft cheek against the lap of his slacks, feeling his cock twitch beneath the thick wool. Your mouth spread into a wide, sultry smile and you turned your face to brush a kiss against Steve’s hard length, reveling in the way it jumped beneath your lips, like his body was greeting you back.
“Hi, daddy,” you purred, your eyes fixed on Steve’s while you gave his cock another kiss through his pants.
“Good girl,” he rumbled in a pleased tone, sending glimmering sparkles of pleasure through your body as you basked in his praise. His fingers smoothed over your cheek and then his hand was skimming down to your arm until he caught your hand. “Up you go, princess.”
You breathed a small sigh of relief as you stood, grateful for Steve’s big hand holding you steady as your legs wobbled, even after such a short time on your knees. You leaned against his broad chest, breathing in the familiar scent of his expensive cologne as your legs regained their strength.
“Thank you, daddy,” you whispered sweetly into Steve’s sweater.
He rumbled a pleased sound in his throat, his other arm circling your waist and holding you close, your hands clasped together against his chest. For a moment, the two of you just enjoyed each other’s presence, and it settled something inside you, the tangible reminder that Steve was finally back after he’d been gone for so long.
Then, gently, your sugar daddy eased you away from his body, his bright blue eyes raking down your form and taking in the full effect of your lingerie while you were standing. If the pleased smile curing his lips was any indication, he enjoyed the outfit you’d chosen.
“Gimme a twirl, princess,” Steve commanded in a gruff voice, and you could practically hear the barely leashed desire in the richness of his tone. “Show daddy this sexy little outfit you wore for me.”
With a giddy laugh, you spun in a circle for your sugar daddy, your fingers clinging to Steve’s. He lifted his arm, keeping your hands connected above your head as you twirled for him, giving him a full view of the Christmasy outfit you’d worn for him.
When you were back facing him, you stumbled into his chest, still laughing lightly as you looked up at him, your gaze expectant.
“Do you like it, daddy?”
Steve’s big hands slid down your sides, skimming over the ribbons and bows, feeling the lace and silk swathing your body. His fingers dug into your soft curves, groping you shamelessly while he grinned at you.
“I love it, princess,” he said with genuine appreciation. He ducked down and brushed a brief kiss of greeting to your lips before murmuring in your ear, “It’s giving me some ideas about sitting you on my lap so you can show me what a good girl you’ve been this year.”
The words sinking into your mind felt like Steve had poured liquid desire over the top of your head, warmth washing down your body as heat ignited in your core. The throbbing of desire pulsed more insistently between your thighs.
Arching your spine, you pushed your soft tits against Steve’s hard chest, reveling in the way his big body shuddered when he felt your peaked nipples through your thin lingerie.
“Yes, please, daddy, let me sit on your cock—I’ll show you how good I can be,” you purred in Steve’s ear, your fingers curling in his soft sweater while you rubbed yourself against him like a desperate Christmas vixen.
Thankfully, Steve must’ve had enough teasing, because he grabbed your hand and towed you deeper into the apartment. The entryway opened up into the lavish and luxuriously decorated living room, which featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan.
The lights of the city shimmered as brightly as those on the massive Christmas tree that stood in the corner. Before Steve had arrived, you’d already scrutinized the decorations, coming to the conclusion he’d paid someone to do them, which explained why they were a little cold.
But you didn’t have a chance to think more about Steve’s Christmas decor just then since he was busy leading you over to the couch. He lowered himself onto the smooth linen cushions before hauling you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his thighs so you straddled him.
You were barely settled on his thighs when your hands greedily cupped Steve’s clean-shaven jaw and dragged his face to yours for a proper kiss. Sparkling, glittering joy filled your chest at the first firm press of your mouth against his.
Steve’s own happiness was evident when he rumbled a pleased sound in his chest. Then he kissed you back, plunging his tongue between your parted lips as his arms wound around your waist, hauling you closer until your core pressed against the growing bulge in the front of his slacks.
You moaned into your sugar daddy’s mouth, rocking against his hardness while you kissed him fervently. Your fingers threaded through Steve’s soft hair, twirling around and tugging on the ends before clinging to his shoulders for better leverage to grind your needy wet slit down on his thick bulge.
“Fuck, princess, I’ve missed you,” he rumbled in a gruff voice, mouth breaking away from yours to press hungry kisses to your jaw and neck.
Steve’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once—groping your tits and grasping your hips in greedy fingers. You were helpless to do anything but cling to him and moan your pleasure while he manhandled your body on his lap.
“Missed your cunt so fucking much—need to be inside you, baby.” Steve paused, lifting his head so he could catch your eye, his gaze the color of the night sky in winter. “Ya gonna let daddy sink into your achy, needy pussy, princess? Gonna let daddy have his present early?”
“Yes, yes, daddy, of course,” you answered, your tongue tripping over itself to get the words out as fast as you could. “Unwrap me, use me,” you bounced on his lap, grinding your dripping pussy against your sugar daddy’s bulge until you were nearly crying with need. “Please use my cunt, daddy, I want your cock—I need your cock, daddy, please!”
“Unwrap you?” Steve chuckled, ignoring the rest of what you’d said for the moment as he leaned back so his eyes could rake appreciatively down your body. “I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head and smiling at you. “I want you looking like the prettiest Christmas present I’ve ever seen while you’re bouncing on my cock, princess.”
A wide smile spread across your face and you were so distracted by basking in Steve’s praise that you almost missed the way his hands lowered to the button and fly of his slacks. Almost.
Eagerly, your eyes dropped to watch Steve’s fingers nimbly undo his pants, your body bouncing in excited anticipation while he reached inside and pulled his cock free.
No matter how many times you saw Steve’s cock—and you’d seen it a lot throughout the course of your relationship—your core always clenched with need and your body heated with desire, your pussy leaking like it was begging to be filled.
You watched as Steve stroked himself with an expert hand, jealousy burning through your body. Steve’s cock was long and thick and perfect, a drop of pearly precum already beading at the tip, and your mouth filled with saliva at the thought of sliding to the floor between his legs and taking him between your lips.
Instead, Steve’s thumb rubbed over the head of his cock and smoothed the precum down his shaft, making himself slicker for you. Suddenly, you couldn’t wait any longer to touch him.
“A present? All for me, daddy?” you cooed, reaching for Steve’s cock and taking over. Your fingers squeezed him admiringly, with just the right amount of pressure that you knew he liked, and he rewarded you with a pleased grunt.
“All for you, baby,” Steve rumbled, affection soaking his voice so thoroughly that you finally tore your gaze away from his cock. You found your sugar daddy watching you, something deeper than affection in his darkened blue eyes.
Emotion fluttered in your chest and you smiled shyly at Steve as something passed between the two of you, something intangible and so perfect you could hardly stand it. On a whim, you leaned into Steve, pressing a kiss to his lips because it felt like the only way to convey how you were feeling.
When he smiled against your mouth, you knew he was feeling the same way. You delighted in that feeling for a moment and then you sat back on his thighs, giving his cock an affectionate pump while you stared into Steve’s eyes.
“Can I ride it, daddy?” you murmured breathlessly, letting your excitement show on your face as you stroked Steve’s length a little faster, twisting your wrist and wringing another pleasured grunt from him.
“Hop on up, princess,” he rasped with a strained smirk, patting your thigh.
You raised yourself up and Steve hooked his finger in your panties, pulling them to the side and making it that much easier for you to line up your soaking wet pussy with his hard cock.
You wasted no more time, sinking down on the tip, a sharp exhale punching from your lungs as you felt the thick girth of him stretch your tight hole.
“Daddy,” you whined while your body adjusted to the intrusion, your fingers curling into a fist in Steve’s sweater while you held onto him.
He was so thick that even after all the time you’d been Steve’s sugar baby, each time you took him felt like the first. The fullness was nearly overwhelming, your mind swimming as warm pleasure suffused your body.
Opening your eyes, not remembering when you’d closed them, you found Steve looking undone as he leaned back into the cushions of the couch, his chest heaving beneath his sweater. Pink tinged his cheeks and his blue eyes were darkened to a nearly midnight navy, his gaze fixed on the spot where your body was taking him.
You wanted more, so you pushed your hips down, taking another inch of Steve’s cock into your tight pussy. The stretch of him sliding into you wrung a whine from your throat and the sound dragged your sugar daddy’s gaze away from your pussy, his heavy-lidded eyes meeting yours.
“You’re doing so good for me, princess,” Steve cooed, sitting up and curling his arm around your waist, gathering you up against his chest. “Need to feel your warm pussy hugging my cock, baby,” he murmured in your ear, brushing kisses to your cheeks. “You can take a little more, can’t you?”
At Steve’s question, you moved again and sank further down on his cock, taking him halfway inside you. The feeling of fullness was intoxicating, making you sway in your sugar daddy’s lap, a filthy moan slipping from your lips.
“Atta girl, taking my cock so fucking well, baby,” Steve murmured, his hands curling under your thighs to help you lift up and sink back down, taking another inch inside your tight hole. Both of you moaned loudly. “Fuck, you’ve got the sweetest pussy in the world, princess, let me all the way in—c’mon, pretty present, let daddy all the way into that sweet cunt.”
Spreading your knees wider on either side of Steve’s lap, you lowered yourself down onto his hard length. When your ass met his thighs, Steve’s head fell back and he groaned, his eyes closed tightly. The sound mixed with your moan of pleasure as you reveled in the feeling of his cock buried to the hilt in your pussy.
“Oh fuck, daddy, you’re so big,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his neck. You were full, but it felt so good. Your hips squirmed in Steve’s lap, as if your body was greedy for friction, for more, for anything.
But Steve had too tight a hold on you, his arms holding you securely enough that you could do little more than writhe your hips and buck against his grip. He wasn’t holding you tight enough to hurt you, just enough to keep you exactly where he wanted you—impaled on his cock.
It only served to make more pleasure wash through your body, the evidence of your arousal leaking down the shaft of Steve’s cock to soak his balls. Still, you whined for more.
“You’re making daddy feel so fucking good, baby,” Steve groaned, giving in to your wordless plea and rocking you on his lap. His thick cock dragged against your inner walls so deliciously that you melted against his chest, letting out a soft cry of pleasure. “You feel so perfect, princess, so tight and wet and warm and—fuck, I missed you.”
“I missed you too, daddy,” you sobbed into Steve’s neck, your hips grinding instinctively on his lap, finding his rhythm and meeting his rocking thrusts. “Missed your cock and your face and your… your everything.”
“You missed me, huh?” Steve huffed on a self-satisfied chuckle, pulling back enough to capture your chin and tilt your face toward him so he could stare into your eyes. His blue gaze blazed with a heady mix of desire and possessiveness. “You missed your daddy’s cock, huh, princess? ‘Cause your daddy is the only one who can fuck you this good, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, daddy, yes,” you cried.
Your words cut off on a gasp when Steve pinned your hips in place above his lap while he fucked up into you, grinding the base of his cock against your clit. Shining, dazzling pleasure rocketed through your body, making you tremble as the coil of tension in your center wound tighter.
“You’re the only one who can fuck me so good,” you echoed, babbling the words you knew Steve wanted to hear—the words that you knew were true. “So good, daddy, you feel sooo good.”
“That’s my fucking girl,” Steve rumbled moments before slanting his mouth to yours for a searing kiss.
He stole your breath straight from your lungs, holding you tight and fucking you in short hard thrusts that had your mind going blank from pleasure. You moaned into his kiss, your fingers threading in his hair and clutching onto him like he was your whole world.
“My pretty little Christmas present,” Steve cooed against your mouth when you broke away to gasp for air. “My perfect girl.”
“Daddy, I’m gonna come!” you cried, pleasure swirling through your body and pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
“That’s it, baby, come on daddy’s cock,” Steve urged in a deep voice, his tone sweet like honey, the sound of it slipping down your spine and making your pussy clench with desire. “Show me how much you missed me by being a good girl and coming all over my fat cock, princess.”
Steve’s hand groped your ass, then one of his long fingers slipped between your cheeks, pressing against the tight rosebud of your other hole. That little bit of pressure tipped you over the edge, twinkling flashes of pleasure setting off behind your eyes. Your lips fell open in a scream as you came hard on Steve’s cock.
Your release sparked Steve’s, and he crushed you to his chest, pinning you to his lap so that his cock was buried to the root in your cunt while he came. He let out a groan, his cock throbbing deep in your pussy as he spilled inside you. It felt so good, you shivered with delight, little pulses of aftershocks thrumming through your body.
For long moments, you clung to Steve while he kept you wrapped up in his arms. You rode out your releases together, his big body shuddering against yours and your limbs trembling in his lap.
Once you were both sated, Steve relaxed back into the couch cushions, taking you with him. His hold on your body loosened, his arms only circling your waist, while you lay splayed across his broad chest. His palm smoothed up your spine, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck to hold you against him while you both caught your breath.
“Did you enjoy your present, daddy?” you asked in your most sugary sweet tone when you’d mostly recovered. There was still a little breathlessness in your voice.
“Princess, I loved my present,” Steve murmured, dropping a kiss to your head. His other hand began to trace the lacy pattern of the lingerie you were still wearing. “The only thing I’ll love more is when I finally unwrap you.”
You laughed softly, melting further into Steve’s chest and letting your eyes slip closed as you breathed in his familiar scent. You could feel your combined releases leaking from your body, his softening cock still buried in your pussy, but you didn’t want to move. You just wanted to enjoy the feeling of having your sugar daddy home with you for a few minutes.
So when Steve shifted your bodies, disturbing you as one of his hands reached into the pocket of his pants, you grumbled unhappily. He chuckled and pressed another kiss to your hair, settling you back down on his lap.
A moment later, you felt his fingers brush your hand, which was resting against his chest. Your palm was pressed right over his heart, and you were enjoying the feel of it beating steadily beneath your touch.
Casually, in the way of someone who’d thought about their actions at great length, Steve slipped a ring onto the fourth finger of your left hand.
When your eyes fluttered open to see what he’d done, you found a sparkling gemstone attached to a metal band circling your finger. The meaning of the ring and the finger Steve had put it on clicked in your mind and you sucked in a gasp, your heart racing to a gallop in your chest.
“When we talked about it,” Steve began, a slight tremor in his tone, like he was nervous, though you could hardly believe it. “You said you wanted it to be a quiet, special moment—just the two of us.”
You knew the conversation he was talking about, the one you’d had a few times over the last few months. But your mind was still whirling from the pleasure he’d given you and it was slow to process the understanding of the gemstone and the metal band. The ring. The sparkling, glittering ring.
When you didn’t say anything, Steve went on.
“You told me to put a ring on your finger when I knew I was sure, and I—” He cut himself off as he got choked up, and you heard him swallow thickly, though your eyes were still fixed on the ring. “I’m sure—I’m sure you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
Words were stuck in your throat. The moment felt like a fairytale becoming reality and you couldn’t seem to find the words to express the explosion of happiness filling your heart.
“So, what do you think?” Steve asked, the tremor in his voice worsening and you knew he was nervous. It was Steve’s vulnerability in that moment that finally snapped you out of your trance.
Sitting up, you kept your left hand pressed to Steve’s chest, barely able to pull your eyes away from the ring to look at the man you loved.
“You haven’t asked me a question yet,” you said faintly, your mouth fluttering shyly into a playful smirk.
Steve caught your eye and his expression softened as he relaxed a little and indulged in your playfulness. “Do you like your present, princess?” he asked, his own smirk curving his mouth.
You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot, and forced yourself to keep playing the game you’d started.
“I think…” you said, then paused, tilting your head to the side and giving the ring an assessing examination. Then you looked up at Steve from under your lashes. “It’s so glittery.”
Steve groaned like he was being tortured, his head falling forward while his hand covered the back of yours. He pressed your palm further against his chest and you could feel the way his heart was beating faster than normal. It almost made you laugh giddily, but you held it back.
“Princess,” he rumbled, the pet name a warning as he lifted his head and fixed you with a firm expression. There was no heat of anger or frustration in his wintry blue eyes, though, only the warmth of affection and desire.
You couldn’t help playing with him a little more, shrugging as nonchalantly as you could while you cut your eyes to the side, knowing that if you kept looking at Steve, you’d laugh and cry and scream in delight.
“That wasn’t the question I was expecting,” was all you said.
Catching your chin, Steve turned your face back toward his. His blue eyes were swimming with emotion and humor, a slight sheen to them as if he was holding back tears.
“Will you marry me?”
The words had barely passed his lips when you shrieked, “Yes!”
You didn’t know who pulled the other in for a kiss, or if you both did it at the same time, but suddenly you were kissing Steve—and you couldn’t seem to stop. His mouth felt perfect and you sank into him, your hands holding him tightly while his arms wrapped around your waist, both of you celebrating the moment together.
For a long time, Steve kissed you, his mouth murmuring declarations into your lips as he promised to make you happy and give you anything you wanted. And in return, you promised to make him happy, to be the person he could always truly be himself with.
Both of you declared your love for one another, over and over again, in between one kiss and the next until all your words and kisses blended into one precious vow.
When you finally broke apart, you lay your head on Steve’s shoulder and he held you close, both of you enjoying being together.
You admired the way the ring sparkled in the Christmas lights decorating the penthouse while Steve murmured plans for the wedding into your hair. He chuckled good-naturedly when you vetoed his ideas and squeezed you tight when you approved of them.
All the while, you kept his cock warm inside you, the two of you pretending not to notice the way he was hardening again, or the way you were growing wetter, your pussy fluttering with need.
That is, until Steve couldn’t pretend anymore and he began rocking his hips beneath you so you could both feel the drag of his hard cock against your sensitive inner walls. Steve held you while you trembled through the sensation, his mouth covering yours and swallowing your moans of pleasure.
By the time you were begging Steve to unwrap you, he was more than happy to oblige. He laid you down on the plush carpet of the living room, stripping you of everything but the ring he’d put on your finger.
Then, he made love to you under the light of the Christmas tree, whispering his devotion into your ear. His fingers twined with yours and your bodies writhed closer and closer until you came together with a sparkling, glittering burst of pleasure.
That night, you slept at the penthouse, and the following morning Steve took you home—to his real home, the brownstone in Park Slope where he truly lived. He hadn’t taken you there until things had gotten serious between the two of you, and he’d only met you at the penthouse the night before because it was faster to get there from the airport.
Steve led you over the threshold of his brownstone, and your eyes glanced at the warmly decorated living room, smiling when you remembered the evening you’d spent with him putting up his Christmas tree before his trip.
There were homemade ornaments and mismatched garlands everywhere, and you felt warmth bloom in your heart as you realized it felt like home to you too.
Pulling you in for a kiss, Steve smiled against your lips before going to the kitchen to find a bottle of champagne. You clinked glasses in cheers of your engagement by the light of the Christmas tree in the home you were going to share as a family.
Then, the two of you spent Christmas together, not as sugar daddy and sugar baby, but as fiancé and fiancée. And every time Steve Rogers asked if you liked your present, you smiled and told him you loved the ring because it was so, so glittery. Which was exactly how he made you feel—so lit up with sparkling happiness, like the lights on a Christmas tree.
Title: Through the Cold (the electricity is out, let's keep each other warm)
Pairing: Avenger Bucky Barnes x Agent Female Reader
Summary: After a mission gone awry, Bucky and Reader find shelter in a remote house on the outskirts of town. With the power out and temperatures dropping, they’ll have to find ways to stay warm.
Word Count: 2.7k
Warnings: Warnings // Explicit Content //18+, Minors DNI, Fluff, Pet names, unprotected sex (Don’t!), Fingering. Not Beta read.
A/N: Another entry for @the-slumberparty December daze challenge) Day 13 (Yeah I don't know if I’m not really doing this right…)
The wind howled outside, battering against the thin walls of the small house you and Bucky had taken refuge in. Snow piled high against the windows, casting the room in a muted, white glow. The mission hadn’t gone as planned, but you were both safe for now and luckily you’d found this house before the blizzard turned dangerous. You leaned against the window, rubbing your arms as you watched the storm rage outside. Your breath fogged the glass, and the chill in the air seeped through every crack and crevice of the old structure. Still it was better then being outside..
“It’s getting colder,” you said, glancing over your shoulder at Bucky. He was crouched by the fireplace, fiddling with a bundle of wood he’d found in the corner. His metal hand glinted in the dim light, steady and precise as he arranged the logs.
“I know,” he replied, his voice low and calm. “I’ll get this fire going in a minute.”
You turned back to the window, shivering as another gust of wind rattled the glass. Your coat and gear were soaked from the snow, and you hadn’t had a chance to dry off properly.
“We’ll be fine,” Bucky said from behind you, his tone firm but reassuring. “It’s just one night.”
“I know,” you murmured. “I just hate being stuck like this.”
The sound of a match striking drew your attention, and you turned to see a small flame catch on the kindling. The firelight danced across Bucky’s face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the intense focus in his blue eyes. He fed the fire carefully until it roared to life, filling the room with a faint warmth.
“There,” he said, standing up and brushing his hands off. “That should help.”
You stepped closer to the fire, holding your hands out toward the flames. “Thanks,” you said softly.
Bucky nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turned to inspect the rest of the room. The house was small, just a kitchen, a living area, and a bedroom. It looked like no one had lived here in years, but it was clean and dry, which was more than you could ask for given the circumstances.
“There’s no power,” Bucky said after checking the light switches. “Figures.”
“Great,” you muttered. “So, no heat except for the fire, no lights, and no way to charge our comms.”
“We’ll manage,” he said, his voice steady. “We always do.”
You couldn’t argue with that. Over the years, you and Bucky had been through worse. Still, the cold was already biting at your fingers and toes, and the thought of spending the night in these conditions wasn’t exactly comforting.
After a while, the fire began to warm the room enough for you to take off your wet coat. You draped it over a chair near the hearth, hoping it would dry before morning. Bucky did the same, his leather jacket and combat vest joining the makeshift drying rack. He had the luxury of running warm from the serum, while you were just stuck with whatever your body could muster and you were scrunching fingers and toes trying to encourage blood flow.
“Here,” he said, tossing you a blanket he’d found in the bedroom. “It’s not much, but it’ll help.”
You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, sighing in relief as the soft fabric trapped some of the heat from the fire. “Thanks.”
Bucky settled onto the floor near the hearth, leaning back against the couch that looked to decrepit to carry any weight and stretching out his legs. He looked tired, his shoulders slumped and his head tilted back slightly. The sight tugged at your heart—he always carried so much weight, and it wasn’t just the mission that had worn him down. The fatigue that infected his soul at times came through,
“You should rest,” you said, sitting down beside him.
“I’ll rest when you do,” he replied without looking at you.
“Bucky,” you said, your tone soft but insistent. “You’re not doing either of us any favours by running yourself into the ground. Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
He finally turned to look at you, his blue eyes searching yours. “You’re freezing,” he said after a moment. “I can see it.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off. “Don’t argue with me, doll. Come here.”
Before you could respond, he reached out and tugged you closer, pulling you into his side. His metal arm wrapped around your shoulders, and the warmth of his body seeped through the blanket and into your skin. You tensed for a moment, caught off guard, but then you relaxed, leaning into him.
“Better?” he asked, his voice low and rumbling in your ear.
“Yeah,” you admitted. “Thanks.”
The two of you sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the wind howling outside. Slowly, the tension in your body began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of comfort and safety.
“You know,” you said after a while, your voice quiet, “For someone who likes to come off as Mr grumpy pants, your being very sweet.”
Bucky huffed a laugh, his breath warm against your hair. “Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm,” you said, smiling to yourself. “Underneath all the brooding and the grumpiness, your might actually be a softie Barnes...”
“Don’t let that get around,” he said, his tone light but with an edge of sincerity. “I have a reputation to uphold.”
You laughed softly, the sound filling the small space. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
For a moment, you thought you felt him press a soft kiss to the top of your head, but before you could be sure, he shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you.
“Get some rest,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “I’ll keep you warm. Can’t have you getting sick or dying of hypothermia on me. Might have to get used to a new partner.”
“Oh no, new people, the horror.” You teased back settling against him and tried to get some rest, it was going to be a long trek out in the morning. As you drifted off to sleep, cocooned in his warmth, you were sure you felt his face burry into your hair near your neck, probably just trying to get warm himself as he held you tighter.
Waking up you were shaking, the cold biting in hard at your bone, Bucky wasn’t there.
“B-Bucky?”
“Here Doll.”
Sitting up you could see in the dim light him moving the old mattress from the bedroom into the
living room to cover over the window that had broken as the blizzard outside had broken the window letting the fridged air fill the room. You pulled the blanket tightly around you as he pushed it up again the widow blocking out the wind, and disappeared again the sound of wood breaking before he came in carrying the remains of a bedframe and tossed it into the fire place stocking the flame while you shivered teeth chattering violently before he rejoined you on the floor pulling up against him into his lap “Fuck your freezing Doll.”
“y-y-yeah.”
Bucky pulled off his henley putting onto you for extra layers you head under his chin while he wrapped himself tightly around the fire returning heat to the room.
“I got you, alright, you’re alright.” He ran firm hand up and down your back trying to get you warm, kissing the top of your head while your buried yourself into him your face pressed into his neck shaking.
Staying like this wrapped up in him and the blanket eventually the warm and you warmed your face pressed into his neck, your body relaxing as the cold ebbed and you were now more aware of the situation. How close your mouth was to his neck, the fact he was shirtless, how hard you were breathing?
“I- I think.. I’m Ok..”
You tried to move and Bucky seemingly reluctantly loosened his hold pulling away enough to look down at you while you stared up into his face, cheeks pink from the heat.
“You feeling warm enough now Doll?” His voice sounded rough and thick with a feeling you didn’t want to name.
“y-yeah..” your reply coming back quiet
“Good.” His hand pushed hair back off your face, his thumb running over your bottom lip. “Had me worried there Princess..” he gaze looked down at your lips. “Sure your warm enough?”
“Yeah? Why?”
“Oh just, thinking…” Bucky breath brushed over your face. “Got to be sure.” Before you knew what was happening his lips pressed into yours, it was tender but needing as his hand went into your hair his metal warm wrapping tighter holding you to him. Your little moan coming back dying on his tongue as it slide into your mouth your body melting against his.
Bucky rolled you onto your back his body covering yours as his hand ran down your side and pulling off his henley from you and unzipping the front of your jumpsuit his hand sliding inside the fabric while his hips ground into the side of your hip.
“Doll you have no idea how long I’ve thought about this.” Bucky growled his mouth leaving yours to move down you neck while he pulled the suit down past your waist your hips rolling back into his. “Thought about this perfect little body of yours.”
“Buck.” Your voice didn’t even sound like yours, as it got higher his hand pulling the suit down past your hips and down your thighs and off as he marked up your neck.
“You’re so perfect Doll” His hands were everywhere, your breasts, your thighs as he explored and kissed before his hand slide inside your underwear palming at your core drawing up a moan from you as your gripped his bicep, before his finger slide along wet folds. “Oh Princess, looks like I’m not the only one wanting this.” You could yeah the smug smile on his face as he pressed fingers into your clit making your whimper. “Bet I could have done this weeks ago and you’d of let me right?”
“Oh god Buck, yes.”
His fingers eased your entrance only for a moment.
“Deep breath.” You didn’t even have a chance before he pushed two fingers into your wet heat making your arch and moan “Oh yeah, that’s it, do that for me again.” He drew his metal fingers back out and repeated the action going all the way to his knuckles. “Oh good girl. Such a good girl.” His mouth up against your ear as he nipped at your neck again your hips rocking to meet his fingers.
“Oh fuck.. auh..” You felt your face body bend as he curled his fingers forward your body getting hotter as he built up more pace.
“That’s it pretty girl.” He made the world melt. “Going to make it all nice and wet and warm for me.”
You arched and rocked for him as he worked your body in a way no one else had taken time too the wind howling outside mixing with the way the blood rushed in your ears.
“Wanna cum now Sweet Thing? “ He asked drawing out another whimper from you, as your got impossibly close your walls holding tightly to his fingers “Or hold it for me?”
“I- I.” You couldn’t think
“I think you should, think I deserve to hear you do I?” He picked up the pace his thumb pressing up into your clit as he worked your cunt the sounds wet desire coming from getting louder. “Come on Doll, wanna hear it, can feel you squeezing.” His metal thumb moved in tighter circles and it was your undoing. Pleasure crashing into you as it all got to hard to hold. Calling out for him as your grabbed at his arms panting.
“ARGH!” Your writhed on the floor bucking into his hand your walls held onto his fingers tightly before he let your body slump.
“Oh Doll, you are perfect.” He pulled his fingers from you licking off the coating you’d left on them before undoing his pants kneeling over your body watching you skin shine in the fires light as he got himself free of his denim leaning back over you. “So perfect, and all mine.” He almost sounded like an animal growling the words as he kissed backup your chest while you lay breathing hard before he lifted your leg up pressing your knee into your chest as he slid himself up along your wet slick moaning at the feel of you making your whimper again.
“Should of done this a looong time ago.” He bent forward captured your mouth in a kiss so hungry you swore he was trying to devour you. His time pushed forward and he sunk himself in half way the sensation. You felt slit open in the best way, walls forced to take him.
“mmmugh.” You noise was muffled by the kiss again as he rocked gently letting you adjust to the feeling before slowly feeding you the remaining inches of him until you felt his tip kiss up again your cervix as he went to his hilt a long moan coming from both of you.
“Bucky God.”
“Yeah, fuck you feel so good Doll better then I dreamed.” Your mind blanked, he dreamed of you? You didn’t have a chance to think to long on that before he moved and he had you soring. Long deep moves that let you know he was there, firm sure movement as he gave you all of him each time. “So tight for me, Doll.” He made you whimper and moan each time, both of his hands touching with care despite the way his hips pressed up into you. “It’s ok, I got you.”
“Oh god nghm..” It was hard not to loose yourself in the sensation as he filled you over and over, walls pushing back against him each time, Bucky managing to find the angles that sent your reeling each time as your breathing got tighter he moved like a big cat above you all rippling muscle your leg up against his chest as your own hips thrusted back to meet his.
“Oh yes Doll. Yeah, just like that, move like that for me.”
His head would go back groaning when you ground your hips into his thrusts. But you felt that familiar strong need building as the heat in your blood reached boiling point.
“Bu-Bucky, Bucky..” Your voice as tight needy and raw as your hand grabbed at his thigh.
“Yeah, fuck come for me Doll. Going to make you mine, let me watch you break.”
His own voice straining as his thrust got harder and a little erratic, his own edge clearly close as he waited for you to fall, needing you to fall apart for him.
You looked up at him, eyes locked on his steely blue that looked almost feral in the fire light as he took you apart, before it all got to much at the waves of pleasure crash into you pulling you under as your back arched on the floor crying out as your nails dug into his thigh, He hammered into you harder, before crying out hot ropes coursing into you painting your insides before collapsing down over the top of you.
“Jesus Christ Doll.” He swore holding himself up over you so not to crush you, your walls still grabbing as he twitched and pulsed inside you. All you did was pant and whimper as you came down. Bucky placing a softer kiss on your forehead. “Still with me Sweet thing?”
“I, think so..” You panted out, Bucky laughing a little as he ran kissed you lightly still breathing hard himself and wrapped himself around you in the blanket.
“Definitely warm now..” You joked slowly coming back down as he pulled out and got onto his back pulling out over onto him.
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Summary: You agree to do a favour for your coworker but it might be more than you can handle.
Character: Clark Kent
Day Nineeen of the December Daze Challenge.
Prompt - fake dating becomes too real.
Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
"I know it sounds weird, but, my mom's getting up there..." Clark looks away as he pokes his tongue into his cheek.
You're not sure how he does it. How someone like him can make himself look pathetic. He's a big man. Mountainous really. He dwarfs just about everybody in the office. Even the desks look tiny next to him. And the chisel of his face is so sharp yet in that moment, he looks heart-wrenchingly soft.
"It's just you two this year?" You ask.
"Um, yeah," he rubs the back of his neck then drags his hand around and down his chest. He shifts in his chair and clears his throat. "Look, I know I can be nosy but I overheard you and Maggie. You said you don't have any plans this year--" He cringes and leans forward, putting his elbows to the desk as he covers his face then peeks out between his fingers. "It's a dumb idea."
"It seems like you're pretty stressed," you fold your hands behind you. You don't want to agree with his last statement and make him feel worse.
"Yeah, after Lois..." he shakes his head, "my mom's convinced I'm going to be alone forever and she keeps telling me how old she's getting. Says she wants to live long enough to see me happy."
"Wow, sounds worse than my mom," you kid but quickly deflate. "Sorry, I'm not trying to make light."
"No, it's ridiculous," he heaves and drops his eyes. "I've asked two of my neighbours, I asked my mail lady, and oh, yeah, the girl who made my coffee today. I'm all out of shame."
"Can I think about it?" You ask. You know you're going to say no, but you don't want to do it right away.
He perks up and his blue eyes flick to meet yours. His brows rise hopefully and he rolls forward in his chair, "really?"
"I didn't say yes."
"But you're the first person not to say no," he smiles.
Oof, there it is. You've always had a hard time in situations like these. You're a people pleaser in the worst way.
"Anyway, I should get back to work," you say.
"When-- when will you know?" He asks.
You hesitate.
"End of today?" He suggests.
You nod. Alright. You just need to get out of there before you cave to that puppy dog sparkle in his eyes. A man who looks like that shouldn't be able to make himself so pitiful.
✨
You don’t know why you said yes. You really were going to say no but when Clark came back to check in, you weren’t prepared. So absorbed in your work, that you forgot about the odd request.
So here you are, right beside him, wound as tight as a spring as you try not to show it. It’s not how you imagined spending Christmas. When your typical traditional obligation felt through, you were almost relieved. Now that dread has returned but in a new flavour. Meeting someone else’s family is somehow more intimidating than your mother’s judgement.
Clark’s own anxiety pales in his knuckles as he drives silently. Only the radio provides some softness in the tension between you. It’s always strange to spend time with coworkers outside the office and now you’re jumping headfirst into their most personal facet.
You fidget in your seat and let your eyes blur out the window. You didn’t expect his mom to live this far, yet you should have. He’d mentioned before he grew up on a farm. It must have been nice in a way, peaceful, out where you can’t hear the city honking and hollering.
The snow thickens as you get further into the country. His large truck doesn’t falter as he steers cautiously through snowed over tire tracks. Would the plow even get this far out here? If it did, you don’t imagine it would come very often.
Your mind latches onto those random things to avoid the obvious. You’ve always been this way. Instead of worrying about your mother lecturing you about your stagnant work situation, you’re usually more concerned with how your hair lays or if she’s going to the like that bottle of wine you spent too much money on for her.
“Thanks again,” Clark’s baritone rolls over you like thunder. “Really. I know it’s... strange. I’m just not ready to date again but... my mom...”
“Trust me. I get it. My mom can be... a lot,” you chuckle, though it’s really not that funny.
“Oh yeah? I didn’t want to be nosy, but...”
“Right, uh, you know, my brother asked if we could have dinner on Christmas Eve instead and the rest of us agreed. She insisted that Christmas Eve isn’t Christmas...” Your heart picks up with the anxiety you bury deep down. “Well, she cancelled Christmas since no one agreed with her.”
“Wow, really?”
“Uh, yep,” you can’t look at him. It’s embarrassing. It’s like when your mother dumped your birthday cake in the garbage because you pointed out you were 13 not 12 that year. Or when she walked out of your graduation because your grandmother wouldn’t switch seats. “It’s whatever. Family, right?”
“I guess,” he says. “My parents always loved holidays too. Especially when dad was around.”
“I’m sorry about your dad,” you murmur.
“Don’t be. Sorry if it seems like I keep bringing that up,” he sniffs.
You look ahead to the sole structure as it looms closer and closer. A farmhouse that comes clearer through the drift of flakes, and a barn like a shadow near its rear corner. It’s like one of those classic festive paintings printed on an advent calendar or some 1950s domestic dream.
He pulls up to the house and shifts in his seat. Concern needles in his cheek as he squints over the steering wheel. He wrenches the shifter into park and kills the engine. You sit futilely and let him take the lead.
“Lights are off,” he mutters.
You nod, unsure what to say. Is something wrong?
He gets out and you watch the snow dust into his dark hair and across his broad shoulders. He is unfettered by the deep snow. You zip up your coat and turn to your door. You push it open and look out into the perilous carpet.
Clark surprises you as he comes around. “Here,” he puts his arms out, “it’s deep.”
You grab his hand and his other goes to your waist. He as good as lifts you and sets you down in the path he’s stomped through the piles. You thank him and awkwardly detach. He shuts the door and moves around you closely.
He leads the way to the porch so you can walk through his footsteps. Your lashes catch the snow as you look up at the grey sky. You don’t think you’ll make it home that night. Shoot.
Clark kicks off his boots as he digs in the pocket of his coat and pulls out some keys. He unlocks the door and gestures you in ahead of him. You try to clear off your treads before you enter. He reaches around the frame to flip on the light.
He crowds you as he enters. You try not to step off the mat and make a mess of the floor. You slip free of your Adidas, not the best choice for the weather, and shuffle aside. He hangs his jackets and combs his fingers through his hair to clear the flakes out. The dark strands glisten with the moisture.
“Give me your coat,” he reaches for you.
“Oh, yeah,” you unzip your jacket and hand it over. It isn’t exactly climate appropriate either. You’ve been meaning to invest in winter gear. A lot of times your intentions are only ever that. “Thanks.”
“Quiet...” he mulls as his eyes skim the ceiling and he hooks your jacket on the rack.
“Yeah, a little.”
“Ma’s probably laying down,” he utters with a hint of concern. “I’m gonna go check and see what’s going on.”
“Oh, I hope she’s okay.”
“No worries. She stays up all night reading,” he shakes his head. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”
“Right, er, okay.”
You back up as he passes you. He heads upstairs and you slowly pivot to take in the interior. The pale wood is marked with knots which give it an even more rustic atmosphere and the decor is simple but in a quaintly traditional way. The details etched into the slender drawer of a side table or the dainty trim of the area rug give a lived-in effect.
You tiptoe into the front room and hug yourself as you feel a draught whisper in around the window. You find the light switch and flip it on to cast more light across the neatly arranged furniture. There's an old-fashioned iron firestove in the middle of the room, the flue built up to the ceiling.
You can hear Clark moving around above. The rest of the house is silent. You look at the old grandfather clock standing against the wall. It’s just after eleven in the morning.
You turn as the stairs creak. Clark appears in the doorway with a sober expression. “Mom’s just waking up. It might be a while. She... she’s having a tough day.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Is she sick?”
“She is and she isn’t. Just getting older, you know? Ever since she broke her hip last year, she’s been a bit slower,” he explains.
“Oh, gosh, Clark,” you say. “Is there anything I can do to help? You said she was planning on dinner but I can get all that started for her.”
“Sure, she usually thaws the turkey in the sink overnight,” he says. “We should probably start there.”
“Right,” you chew your lip.
“It’s nice of you to offer but if it’s too much--”
“No, no! It’s cool. I’ve just never stuffed a turkey on my own,” you say. “I was always just an observer.”
Your mother never believed anything was done right unless she did it herself. Then she’d complain about having to do it.
“I can help,” he offers.
“Sure, sounds like a plan. I think she might appreciate the help, huh?”
He smiles but doesn’t answer right away. For a moment, he only stares. He clears his throat and nods at last, “she would—will.”
“Show me where it all is,” you show your palms, not wanting to presume too much.
He beckons you after him as he leads you through the doorway perpendicular to the one you came through. He turns on another light. This place feels desolate with them off.
“So uh...” he begins as he goes to the counter and peeks in the sink, “yep, turkey’s in here.”
“Great, hopefully it’s dethawed,” you say. “Alright, do you mind if I poke around?”
“It’s all yours. I’ll try to help but gotta be honest, as a kid, I was out in the field,” he stands back to watch you.
“Right,” you come forward to look the turkey over. Good thing is it won’t need extra time due to being half-frozen.
“Hum... do you know if your mother does stuffing from scratch or a box?” You turn back to him.
“Scratch, probably,” he shrugs.
“Cool, uh, I need bread,” you declare. It’s almost nice being in charge. A very new but refreshing feeling.
✨
The smell of turkey wafts from the stove as you work at the other fixings. You follow the list on the fridge. The paper is a bit yellowed but you can read it nonetheless. At least Clark’s mother is a planner. Although a few of her ingredients are a bit... aged. Nothing you can’t use but the spices have a little extra dust on the caps.
Clark appears again. He’s been pacing in and out, helping where he can, but he seems too restless to focus. You tap pause on your phone to stop the music. You don’t get any signal out here but you have a bunch downloaded. It helps ease the silence that thickens with the fall of snow.
“So, how’s mom? She doing okay?” You ask.
“Mom?” He hesitates, “yeah, she’s getting there. Sorry about this. I know the whole reason you did this was to make her happy. For me. I just didn’t expect--” He blows out a heavy breath and leans on the counter. “It’s hard when you get older and everyone you love starts to leave. Or change.”
Your heart flickers. You try not to frown too deep, “I’m sorry, Clark.” You look back down at the bowl of soaking cranberries. You take your family for granted. The might be a little toxic but they’re there.
“Not your fault. I just... I thought I had it figured out with Lois. Everyone was happy and my mom was ecstatic,” he clutches his hands together. You meet his eyes sheepishly. “I just wanted her to be that way again. And you’re so sweet and nice.”
“Aw, Clark. Well, you know, I should thank you. At least I’m not alone on Christmas,” you try to pep yourself up. “Um, I gotta wait for these cranberries a little long. Could I use the bathroom?”
“Right, er, it’s just down the hall,” he points towards the second doorway that interconnects with the same hallway that leads back to the stairs.
“Thanks,” you wipe your hands on a dishcloth and leave him with a thin smile.
As you flit out, your chest sinks. You think of everything you’ve said since you got there, how insensitive it must have seemed. And back in the car when you complained about your mom. Ugh, he must think you’re so ungrateful.
You close yourself in the bathroom and tend to your business. You’d been holding it since he picked you up from your building. You wash your hands, pumping the soap bottle hard to dislodge a clog in the tube. You finally finish up but find the smell of mildew stuck to your hands from the towel.
You come out of the bathroom and look up and down the hallway. You shift to see the framed picture a bit better. Those must be his parents, and little Clark. You can’t believe he was ever that small.
There are other pictures across the table below. A cluster of frames; class photos, impromptu snaps of memories, and posed family shots. Beneath one, there’s a slip of paper. You try not to be intrusive but the fading font catches your eye. You lean in as you tilt the frame to see the full letter, the card bent and forgotten beneath.
‘Our condolences. We were so sorry to hear of your mother’s passing. Please do let us anything we can do for you.’ The message is signed Mallory and Chuck. You blink in confusion. Maybe it’s an old card meant for his mother; for a grandparent.
“She died last year,” Clark startles you so you whip up and nearly tip as you stand straight. “It’s my first Christmas without her,” he continues. “I’m sorry I lied but I didn’t want to be alone.”
You shake your head. Confusion swells through your stomach and clouds your brain. The fog clears and your eyes wander up to the ceiling.
“Your mom?”
“I miss her,” his voice cracks. “She took care of me.”
“Oh, well, yeah,” you quaver unevenly. You’re reeling. Why would he lie about that? And to get you here? You’re just coworkers. “That must be hard.”
“Mhm,” he nods and pouts. As he comes closer, you tense, wavering with his steps. “You’re not mad at me?”
Your lips part then close. The wind whistles outside and reminds you of how isolated this place is. Clark drove you here...
“I’m just... wondering why you need to lie,” you eke out.
“I know it’s wrong but... if I told the truth, you might say no.”
You nod and as he reaches for you, you wince away. You hug yourself and push your shoulders up. You swallow, “Clark, what is the truth? Why am I here?”
He tilts his head and his eyes drift to the side. The light fades in his pupils and his jaw clenches. His fingers twiddle by his leg.
“To be with me,” he looks at you again and smiles. A smile shadowed sinisterly beneath the worn bulb above. “You’re alone too.”
You stare at him. Terror floods your veins and paralyses you. You want to turn and run but you won’t get far. All you can do is bide your time and hope that you can find a chance and way to get out. But for now, with him so close, so much bigger, you have to pretend. That is exactly what he asked you to do, after all.
Tags: Christmas fluff, kid fic, p in v sex, oral sex, fingering, a/b/o, adoption, infertility struggles, pregnancy, breeding kink, fluff & smut, somnophilia, "Daddy/Momma" kink, actual Daddy kink
Word count: 8400
Summary: On Christmas Eve, you and Bucky plan a special surprise to tell the girls you want to adopt them. Little does Bucky know, you have a special surprise for him, too.
Bucky wakes early that morning to a bedroom suffused with the faint light of pre-dawn, the sun not yet having risen high enough to creep past the edges of your bedroom's south-facing windows.
When the girls first came to live with you, he'd made sure that their bedroom was the one with the west-facing windows—on a bit of advice from Sam, who claims that it can occasionally buy a little extra kid-free time in the mornings. That advice seems to be bearing out, as Bucky closes his eyes again and feels the stillness of the house, and then your quiet breathing in the bed beside him. He uses his enhanced hearing to listen for any sounds of movement outside the bedroom—an only recently acquired habit of necessity, and one which he'll never in a million years complain about. His heart is full, now that he finally has to listen for the pattering of little feet before he can reach for you.
The edges of his mouth curl up when he doesn't hear any sign of rustling from the girls, and just like that, he's suddenly twice as aware of his morning erection as he was before. He stretches his spine without moving his limbs and inhales deeply, blinking his eyes open. One hand comes up to stifle a yawn as the other one trails down over his stomach, between his legs, and curls over the achy line of his cock. He gives it an absentminded squeeze where he's half hard from sleep. "Hmm."
To his right, the bedroom windows are frost-kissed, the world outside covered in a blanket of white. And there are big, fluffy flakes still falling steadily. For a very split second, he forgets about his cock as his chest fills with warmth at the thought of how excited the girls are going to be. It hasn't snowed yet this year. Hasn't been cold enough. But the temperature took a dive over this past weekend and has remained below freezing ever since. Win had come home from her preschool class last week having learned a "snow dance," which she's been faithfully repeating each morning, noon and night, in hopes of getting a white Christmas. Being from Florida, the only place she’s ever seen snow is in a very particular Disney movie. Bucky's mouth twitches at the buildup he can see through the frosted windows. Looks like all the dancing paid off. It's the first snow of the year and it's a heavy one—thick and powdery, like an image off a postcard. And right before the holidays, too.
A white Christmas, Bucky thinks. God, could this year get any better? He answers his own question with an emphatic 'yes', when he catches your scent on his next inhale.
Oh. Right.
It's probably indecent to hold thoughts of Christmas and the kiddos in such close proximity to the baser ones of arousal and sex that sidle up right alongside them, at that first good lungful of your scent. But if it is, Bucky's too shameless to care. His cock twitches against his palm as more blood rushes south.
He gives it one more, indulgent squeeze before turning over in your direction and sidling up behind you. His hand slips over your waist and his hips snuggle up against your bum. You're still asleep, he can tell from your breathing and the laxity of your body. He smiles and hums beneath his breath, enjoying the moment for himself. He nuzzles against your hair and the back of your neck, taking in the scent of your shampoo, your skin, and a growing secret. The best kind of secret. A Christmas miracle.
You haven't told him yet. Either from nerves or from wanting it to be a perfectly-timed surprise, you’ve kept it to yourself for weeks. Bucky thinks it’s adorable that you think he doesn’t know. You’re his whole heart, but every time he re-remembers that you're carrying his child, he swears he falls impossibly more in love with you. He's impatient and eager to be able to talk about it, to gush, to “nest,” as the baby books call it nowadays. But he doesn't want to ruin the surprise that he’s sure you’re planning. He's being patient so that you can have that special moment of the big reveal. He won't spoil that for you by letting it slip that he knows. Lord knows you may never get the chance again.
The two of you have tried for so long. Years and years. So long that you’d actually stopped trying and accepted that “God had a reason for everything,” and that a family would have to come some other way. Bucky doesn’t have as deep of or as dogmatic a faith as you do—he’s always been open to trying IVF or surrogacy, but you’ve been adamantly against it, calling it selfish, wasteful, and greedy. He doesn’t necessarily agree with that, but he’ll never argue against it, not when it’s what brought the girls into your life.
He listens carefully for any noise beyond the bedroom door again, but still hears nothing. He hums in pleasure and lets his erection press up against your behind, nuzzling the scent rich crook of your neck as he starts up a lazy roll of his hips. He’s expecting you to wake, but as the seconds tick by and you remain asleep, a naughty little thrill grows inside his gut; one that goads him on and makes him wonder how much he could get away with before you wake up. Grinning, he kisses lightly over your bond mark, only letting his tongue slip out to taste your skin after another moment. His right arm curls over your waist, hand sliding over the softness of your lower belly in a way that makes his cock throb. God, he thinks as he holds you there, a repressed groan aching in his throat. Right there. It’s right there inside of you, growing day by day, little by little. A piece of you and him.
Sweetheart, he thinks, wanting so badly to praise you, to kiss every inch of your body and tell you what a magical, wonderful creature you are, his omega, his wife, his mate. For a split second he almost loses control, as a surge of lust and possessiveness rolls through him. He manages to quell it though, forcing it back with clenched teeth and tensed abdominals. He keeps his touch on your belly soft and gentle because he doesn’t want you to wake, not yet. Carefully, he lets his fingers splay wide to cup where you aren’t yet showing—not by much, at least. You’re nowhere near needing maternity wear, body not having changed enough for anybody to tell the difference when your clothes are on. But naked, he can tell the difference.
There are always tons of cookies and pies around the house this time of year, the both of you putting on a little seasonal pudge most winters. Bucky likes it. It’s why December through January are his favorite months to fuck you, funnily enough. By the time you start talking about dieting and hitting the gym again every February or March, he’s always forced to say goodbye to that extra softness. He’s never told you any of this, lest you bite his head off for saying he prefers the weight—or “fluff,” as he calls it in his head. He’d probably have attributed the weight gain to the time of year, if he didn’t have your scent to know better. He’s got no clue how far along you are, but he’s been able to smell it clearly for half a month now. These past two weeks have changed you, your scent stronger and sweeter, carrying notes of yeasted dough and pancake syrup underneath your usual juniper and vanilla scent. Your normally flat belly fills out his palm a little better now, and it does things to Bucky, to touch it like this, to feel the place where he knows there’s life inside of you, a baby that he put there. He can’t wait to watch you grow, to see it, to feel it.
He has to hold himself back from the rumbling growl that wants to form, stifling it in his throat and grinding his cock against the plush swell of your ass for relief. You make a sweet little hum of a noise in your sleep, and he thrills with that gleeful naughtiness again as he smooths his hand back up your stomach and waits for you to calm. You do, remaining asleep, and Bucky sets his mouth to your shoulder so he can look over and watch the trajectory of his hand as he brings it up to cup your breast.
So soft.
He’s always amazed at how incredibly soft you are all over. Low body fat and toned muscles seem to be what’s in these days, but Bucky will never understand. How could he ever want anything but this? This feminine, accommodating softness that gives so beautifully to his touch? Fuck. He lets his thumb swipe out against your nipple, whisper-soft, back and forth, until he feels it pebble underneath his touch. The feeling makes him smile against your skin. Such a good girl, he thinks. You’re always so responsive to his touch, even when you’re fast asleep.
He gives the tip of your breast a little press between his fingers. Not even a pinch, not really. Only as much as he knows he can get away with without drawing you from your slumber. Then he slides his hand back down to explore between your legs. He skims his fingers as far as your closed legs allow, but it isn’t far enough, so he eases his thigh forward against yours, encouraging you to part your legs, holding his breath as he waits to see if it’ll wake you. But to his delight it doesn’t. You barely even stir, making a soft little sigh in your sleep and smacking your lips before settling again, and fuck, why does that turn him on so bad? Maybe it’s the thrill of getting away with something, of having you all to himself, not having to share you with anybody else—not even you.
That’s what it is, he thinks, cock aching and leaving sticky trails of precum on your ass where he’s just barely rubbing off against you. It’s that you’re so perfect, so perfectly sweet and all for him, responding just like you should even without meaning to. And he’s the only one who gets to do this, to see this, have this. The only one who gets to experience you this way. It’s so thrilling to see how far he can push it, how much acquiescence he can coax from your perfect body without you knowing it. He holds his breath and lets the pad of his forefinger graze your clit, just barely, applying almost no pressure as he moves it infinitesimally back and forth in little, nudging motions, pushing your delicate skin this way and that. Awakening that spot gradually enough that it won’t wake you.
He lets his tongue trace over the scar tissue of your bond mark while he does it, giving you a line of heat and sensation from your two most sensitive erogenous zones. Bucky woke up hard, so he’s had a head start on you in the arousal department from the very beginning, but he can feel it as your body sends blood south, your clit growing puffy and swollen, lips blooming open, wetness greeting his fingers on the next pass he makes over your entrance. “There you go, Sweetheart,” he breathes, not even a whisper, pleased and even more turned on when you give a little shiver in your sleep. Subconsciously, your hips begin to move, chasing the pleasure that you aren’t even aware you’re feeling. Bucky chuckles and lets the tip of his finger dip into your entrance, just to the first knuckle, over and over again to tease and coax more of that sweet nectar out of you. “Atta girl,” he praises softly, dragging his slicked fingers back up through your folds, spreading it around. “So fucking sweet.”
In your sleep you make a low, whining sound, your hips chasing his hand. He gives your body what it’s instinctively seeking, flattening his fingers and starting up a slow, gentle motion over your clit. He rubs in lazy circles, hoping that the steadiness of the pressure will be enough to keep you from waking. He doesn’t want you to wake. Not yet. He stops touching you for a brief moment to take his cock in hand and drag it back and forth through your soaked folds, coating himself in you with another stifled curse. Just this, he thinks, as he lines himself up at the right angle and starts to push inside. Just this, just the tip. He just wants to get inside while you’re still asleep, wants you to wake up and have it be the first thing you feel, wants to hear the hitch of emerging consciousness in your breath and feel you clamping down on him as you wake.
He pushes in, your body tight enough that he needs to go slowly to make sure he doesn’t hurt you. It helps that you’re wet. God, so incredibly wet. And all for him. Yes. He grits his teeth through the push, overcome by the exquisite feeling of your body opening up to him, all that tight, velvet fucking heat. Fuck. He groans and pulls you back against him as he bottoms out and grinds a little, his hip bones up against your chubby little ass. His fingers dig a little more harshly into your waist than he means for them to, and he can tell that that’s exactly when you wake up, because your body suddenly stiffens in awareness … and then shivers loose as you moan. “Hey, Sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing your neck and continuing to grind deep inside. His hand on your waist slides back over your belly and down between your legs. He starts pressing gentle circles over your clit again while he fucks you with slow, shallow thrusts.
You whimper and let out a soft, “Ohn,” that just about does him in, a sleepy, aroused and confused, “Bucky?” following right after.
“M’right here.” He kisses a line up your neck, all the way to the shell of your ear. “Right here, Doll. How’s that feel? You don’t mind that I put it in, do you baby? Just couldn’t stop myself. M’sorry. You looked so good lying here, all soft n’ sweet. Just had to. Had to feel this sweet pussy on my cock. Couldn’t wait. Wanted to see you wake up feeling good.” Your vulnerable little whine makes his cock throb, and he coos along with you. “Shhh, I know, I know. It’s okay, Sweetie. Just enjoy it. Gonna make it so good for you, I swear. Gonna make you cum. You don’t even gotta do anything, okay? Mm mn, promise. I’ll do all the work. Gonna make you feel so good, babygirl.”
“M'kay daddy …”
He’s ninety percent sure you say it without meaning to, but it makes his mouth curl darkly anyways, as he slips his other arm underneath you and brings it up to your neck with a murmured, “Yeah Sweetheart?” Just like always, your cunt flutters madly the second he’s got his hand on your throat, holding you back against him as he kisses your bondmark and keeps working steady circles over your clit. He can feel your body beginning to tremble as you get close, and he purrs in encouragement, still fucking you languidly, being sure to angle it the way he knows gets at that spot inside. “S’that good?” he whispers, dragging lips over your skin and relishing the shudder he gets. He already knows the answer, he just wants to make you say it, because he knows how hard it is for you to say anything at times like this. You’re a typical omega in that way: quick to dissolve into sobs and babbles, unable to produce much coherent speech once you’re feeling good, half your brain offline for the focus that’s between your legs, too lost in your own pleasure to be useful for anything else. Bucky relishes it, every time. He prompts you again, giving a gentle squeeze to your neck to encourage you. “Tell me baby, c’mon.”
You give the sweetest little whine and nod your head, your heavy swallow felt against his palm. “Y-yeah.”
“Good girl,” he praises, hips working in time with the slow motion of his fingers. “What do you need? Want me to stay like this, or go a little harder?”
You shudder in his arms from the question alone, already reduced to a boneless puddle in his arms. “This,” you manage to eke out in between your needy whimpers. “Nnngh … th–this.”
“Okay, Honey. Okay.” He keeps fucking you like that: lazy, early-morning sex, hips rolling luxurious and slow, pressing up on your ass with each indulgent slide in, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge, your cunt weeping so much that it’s obscene the way your slick gets all over his thighs and yours, his balls, his pubic hair. When you finally shudder and start to come, he hugs you tightly back against his body and stays buried, rubbing down on your clit and giving you deep-seated grinds to work you through it as he murmurs endless praise into your skin, telling you how good you are, how pretty, how perfect. “Ooh, that’s it, there it is. Just like that, huh? There’s a girl, just like that, ooh. You’re so good for me, Sweetheart. Fuck. So good.”
Your pleasured sob sparks something primal in him, and even though he wasn’t close before, he suddenly is, his belly spilling over with arousal at the sound of your cries and the feeling of your sweet cunt locking down on him in orgasm. “Fuck,” he grunts shakily, vision losing focus as his knot swells, growing inside you rapidly. You cry out at the feeling of it, and he quickly covers your mouth with his hand, muffling his own moan against your neck as his knot pops all the way and catches against the desperate lock of your body. “Ohfuck. Shh sh sh, Sweetheart, the—fuck—ohh, the girls,” he gasps against your skin, humping hard against your tie as he just barely remembers that the two of you have to be quiet these days.
You sob behind his hand, too lost in your instincts to obey. “Hmmph, mmm!” It’s muffled, your hot breath against his palm and straining body under his hold pulling a growl from his chest, though he fights to hold it in. He can’t help it, he loves it when you struggle.
“Fuck, baby, fuck. You feel s-so fuckin’ good …” You squeal as he tugs his knot against your tie again and again, triggering you into a second orgasm. You squirt this time because you’re knotted, the space between your bodies and the sheets getting wet from it. Bucky’s already in the middle of his climax, too lost in the pleasure to really notice, at least for that next minute or so. He always comes hard with you, his body recognizing its mate and knowing it’s safe to be lost to the world for those few, delirious moments. By the time the most intense part is done and he’s back in his head again, you’re crying, sobbing softly against his palm as he fucks a third, and then fourth orgasm from you. “Shhh,” he soothes, sucking over your bondmark to show you he’s back with you again. “M’here, ‘mega. I’m here. I’ve got you.” He’s still coming, balls contracting in slower pulses as he fills you with his cum. The thought of breeding you up makes him groan and close his teeth against your glands, even though logically he knows that nothing can take, not when you’re already pupped up. He groans all over again and puts his hand back over your lower belly, feeling that barely-there slope where you’re growing his baby.
Fuck, his fucking baby. He bites down without meaning to—hard enough to draw blood. Your squeal brings him back to his senses and he lets up, kissing the skin where he’s bitten in apology. “Sorry, Sweetheart, m’sorry, sorry.”
You aren’t upset, if the smell is anything to go by. He brings his hand back down to your clit and starts rubbing circles again. “Gonna cum again?” he rasps.
“Bucky, no. I c-can’t.”
“Sure you can,” he rumbles, pushing down hard on your clit and tugging his knot hard enough that it’s actually faintly uncomfortable for him. But he doesn’t care, he does it for you, because he wants another one out of you and he can feel your body getting ready for it even as you whine and grab onto his wrist where he’s rubbing your clit. “One more,” he husks against your neck, tasting the blood that’s pricked to the surface. “C’mon, one more baby. One more to make me a daddy.”
He doesn’t know why he says it, maybe it’s another way to try and get you to tell him the good news, even though he’s promised himself he won’t rush you into telling. All he knows is that your body shudders in his arms when he says it, your cunt quivering around him as you helplessly fall into another orgasm.
“There’s a girl,” he praises, wrapping both arms around your middle in a big hug to let you come down from it. “So gorgeous, Sweetheart. Feels so good.” He holds your body tight to his as he finishes coming, hips slowing down from a gentle roll into nothing as the both of you catch your breath. The room’s silence seems to shrink, as the both of you come back to your senses and he strokes softly over your stomach. He doesn’t let himself settle his hand on your belly again, knowing that it could tip you off that he knows, if he goes cradling you there too much all of a sudden. Instead he splays his hand out wide just beneath your breasts, pulling you tight to him and rolling onto his back. You huff a surprised little laugh as the move jostles you backwards with him, his knot tugging just a bit more from the angle once you’re resting on top of him.
“Bucky,” you huff, amused.
He tightens his arms around you stubbornly and stuffs his face in your neck. “Mmm, what.”
You laugh again, then ‘yip’ in surprise and fall into a fit of giggles when he humps up against you in retaliation. He growls playfully, though he’s grinning against your skin where you can’t see. “Mmm, hold still, ‘mega. I’m busy.”
“Busy doing what?” you laugh.
“Mmmr. Marking my territory.” He says it in a gruff voice that makes you giggle again, and he digs his fingers into your waist where you’re ticklish.
“Oof! Ha! Buck-ee, nooo!” You shriek, body heaving with laughter (and then a bit of a moan at the end there, too, when your squirming causes his knot to tug hard against your tie.)
He hums in pleasure at the way your breathless laughter turns back into that soft sound of pleasure, and some of his playfulness fades as he hugs you tightly back against him again, both arms wrapped snug around your middle as his mouth finds its way back to the crook of your neck. “Hmmm,” he sighs, feeling sated and almost incandescently happy. Without really meaning to, his one hand winds up resting lower on your belly, and he strokes the soft stretch of skin between your navel and your groin. “You lie here and be my good girl ‘n’ hold still now,” he purrs, deciding off the cuff to try and provoke a revelation out of you. “Might’a knocked you up, just now. Gotta make sure it takes.”
Your giggles fade completely and you go very still on top of him. He holds his breath, thinking that maybe, just maybe you’re about to say something, that you’ll finally decide it’s time to tell him that you’re pregnant. He busies himself with kissing and sucking your bondmark, feigning nonchalance while you work up the nerve. He hears you lick your dry lips, feels your delicate hands land on top of his at your waist and your belly. “Bucky,” you say, and his heartbeat quickens because he can tell from the tone of your voice that you’ve decided it’s time. “I have to tell you something.”
“Hm?” he acts unconcerned, even manages to think of saying dryly: “Please don’t tell me you forgot to get something for the cookies? The stores are gonna be nuts today.”
You huff in exasperation and he silently congratulates himself on an act well-played. “No, we’re fine on ingredients. … Babe, I’m—” Your words are abruptly cut off by the sudden sound of tiny feet ‘thwapping’ down the hallway. Bucky thinks, shit! just as you go rigid and squeak, “Oh no!”
You both grab for the covers in a mad scramble to cover up. You’re the one who actually manages to grab them, and you pull them up over the both of you in record time. Bucky grabs your hips and turns onto his side, dumping you back in front of him just as the doorknob moves. “Fuck, fuck,” he hisses, as the sudden change in position pulls on his knot. You make an adorkable little squeak of a noise and he starts kind of panic-laughing against your shoulder as you clutch the sheets to your chest.
“Shhh-sh-shh!” You’re slapping backwards at him, mostly hitting his thigh and falling into some contagious snickering yourself, when the door busts open and two little girls with bleary eyes, Christmas jammies, and some very messy hair come tumbling in.
“Mommeeee!”
“Buckeeee!”
“It snowed, it snowed, it snoooowed!”
Bucky’s still got his cock buried in you, and he can’t seem to stop cracking up against the back of your neck as you scramble for an explanation for the girls as to why you’re all sweaty and why they have to go back to their room for a few minutes before Mommy and Bucky can take them outside to play in the snow.
Lily is only twenty months old and doesn’t have her hearing aids in, so she’s really just following her sister’s lead more than what’s being said, the excitement of the moment making her squeal in joy as Winnie keeps asking over and over again if Santa has come, and if they can build a snowman like Olaf.
Bucky rests his forehead against your upper back and feels that liquid-gold feeling begin to fill his heart again, as he listens to Winnie’s excitement and Lily’s semi-coherent babbling, and you speaking to them both in your “mommy” voice, reminding them that Santa isn’t coming until tonight, when they’re asleep. Winnie is frustrated that she has to wait a whole other day, but you placate her with promises of all the fun things they’re going to get to do today, if only they stay patient for a few more minutes.
“How many minutes?” Winnie asks, and you stammer a bit as you try to think.
“Erm, um …”
“About ten,” Bucky murmurs against your back.
“Ten minutes, Sweetie,” you say, and Bucky chuckles again and humps against your tie once, just to be a jerk. You make a little sound of surprise, but to your credit you manage to cover it up with a fake cough, and more instructions for Winnie. “Um, now go on back to your room and, ahhm … just wait for me to come get you, okay? If you want to play in the snow today, you have to go and wait patiently. That’s the rules.”
Where most kids might whine and complain and stomp and beg, Winnie gets real quiet and serious and straightens her spine like she’s taking down instructions for a very important task. “Okay Mommy,” she agrees, her curls tossing as she nods her head. “Here we go. We’ll do a good job.”
Bucky’s heart breaks a little at how serious she sounds, because he knows that she honestly believes that her day of fun in the snow depends on it (just like he already knows that you’re already holding back a wince in front of him, regretful for having phrased it that way). Win still doesn’t yet fully understand that nice things won’t be taken away from her here, and that she doesn’t have to worry about making “mistakes” anymore.
“Okay, Win,” he hears you say kindly, though there’s a slight warble of sadness in your voice. “Good job. I’ll see you in a few minutes. You can play with your toys until I come get you.”
“Okay Mommy. Don’t worry. We’ll be quiet.”
Ouch. Bucky hides his wince against your shoulder, and your voice kind of cracks when you manage to eke out a halting reply of, “Oh. That’s … That’s okay, Win. You don’t have to be quiet, just play nice, okay? I’ll come get you soon. … Love you, Sweetie.”
No child should look like they’ve been given the keys to the kingdom, when they’re told they’re loved. It should be commonplace, an everyday thing that gets a smile and a thoughtlessly-chirped “love you too” in response, not a wobbling chin and big, watery, amazed eyes. But that’s how Winnifred still reacts, even after all these months. And especially with you, her Mommy. She hasn’t quite made it to “Daddy” yet, since men are scary to her still, but Bucky’s just glad that she’s been warming up to him this holiday season. His heart squeezes mightily as the little girl reaches down for Lily’s chubby hand and takes it in hers, just like a little grown up. “We’re gonna play bears,” she tells her sister, and tugs her along authoritatively. “C’mon Lily.”
Once they’re out of the room and the door is shut, the both of you release your breath in sync. “Ugh,” you say, and he nods against your back and groans softly in agreement.
“We gotta get a doorknob that locks,” he mutters. It’s the same thing he’s been saying for weeks, but he really means it now. This is a little bit funny and not at all sexy. Normally his knots take no less than ten to fifteen, and he can already feel himself ebbing. “M’gonna go to the hardware store,” he grumbles, hands returning to explore your body. He feels you huff in amusement more than he hears it. “I am.”
“Thought you said the stores would be crazy today.”
“Hmph.” He cups your lower belly again hopefully, but it doesn’t prompt anything out of you. “I’ll go after Christmas,” he decides, which makes you giggle.
“Sure you will.”
“I will! Right after.” The stores really will be nuts today, and with all the snow, he’s got zero intention of going anywhere other than out to build an Olaf. “Ugh,” he groans, as he remembers that you have a driveway now. And a property line with a sidewalk. “Blugh.”
“What?”
“Gonna have to shovel,” he mourns. He thinks fondly of how the two of you used to live in a nice apartment complex—complete with snow removal service and a heated parking garage. “Remind me why we moved out here again?” he says, kissing up to your bondmark and nuzzling there. “Was it something to do with a sudden acquisition of … little creatures?”
“Mmm. So the girls can have a yard to play in,” you say. It sounds like you’re smiling with your eyes closed, and it makes Bucky smile too.
He wraps both arms fully back around you again, sighing happily. “Right,” he says softly. “Now I remember.”
You’re secretly grateful for the girls bursting in that morning. They’d saved you from a moment of weakness. And you’ve been planning such a cute little way to tell Bucky the good news. The Amazon package of what you need for your surprise arrived yesterday, and now it’s Christmas eve, getting dim outside as evening approaches, and you’re finally about to get to do what you’ve dreamed of doing for years.
Tell your husband that you’re pregnant with his child.
You can’t seem to stop smiling about it, even as you face off against the aftermath of an afternoon of cookie making. Bucky must’ve grabbed every single variety of sprinkles off the grocery store shelves, you’re convinced. And some of them even wound up on the cookies!
The rest are decorating your table and the kitchen floor.
The zippers of the girls’ snowsuits ‘tick’ around in the dryer as they tumble through a cycle behind the laundry room door, a bit of comforting background noise to the holiday music Bucky’s got streaming for the girls. It’s a soundtrack from one of those stop-motion Christmas specials that always run on network tv this time of year—something about misfit toys. Your mouth ticks up where you’re crouched down on the floor with the dustpan, as you hear Bucky responding with the occasional happy comment from over in the living room. The girls are in there with him, bopping around on a sugar high, dancing to the music in their Christmas outfits. You hear Winnie squawk to Bucky to “watch! watch this one Bucky!” at something she’s doing, and shortly thereafter, a bit of clapping and Bucky saying, “aw good job, Win, that was a good one.”
He really loves those girls, you think warmly. Bucky prefers the old-timey Christmas songs from back in his day—Nat King Cole and Perry Como and Bing Crosby, that sort of stuff. But he’s been cheerfully putting up with the goofy kids’ music all afternoon. There’ve been so many little things like that, since you started fostering the girls; small ways that he’s changed for them, to be a good father. Despite the trepidation you’d both felt in the beginning, parenting just seems to have come naturally to the both of you. “Mommy” is a recent development, with Winnie only having started calling you that since around the end of October. You’d taken her trunk-or-treating with your local mom’s group, and you could see that it was her hearing all the other kiddos exclaiming “Mommy, mommy, mommy!” over their candy hauls that had tipped her over the edge, wanting to fit in and have a “Mommy” too.
With Bucky it’s a little different, and you both understand why. Every small moment of connection between him and the girls has been counted as progress, and he’s been so good with them, so patient. It even makes you tear up sometimes, when you catch him in a particularly tender moment with the girls. Winnie still keeps her distance from him in certain ways, but it’s been getting less and less, and Lily’s young enough that she doesn’t remember as much of her home life from before. She trusts Bucky completely. She’ll often put her arms out to be picked up, or want to sit in his lap. That’s what can really get the waterworks going for you. Especially these days. Pregnancy hormones are no joke.
You’re drawn from your musings at the sound of toenails clacking across the kitchen linoleum. “Oh. Hey Fred.” Normally sentient Fred has deigned to leave his spot by the furnace vent to help you in your clean up efforts. “Mighty generous of you, lazybones,” you say to the basset hound on his next snuffling pass-by. His ears seem to be picking up as many sprinkles as his actual tongue does. You roll your eyes and move onto another spot with the dustpan.
“Okay girls, big smiles. Win, why don’t you hold Lily’s hand for this one?”
The girls shuffle closer together where they’re sitting on the hearth, with Winnie obediently taking hold of Lily’s pudgy little hand. Just before Bucky snaps the picture, Lily giggles and rests her head of curls on Winnie’s shoulder. Bucky beams and gets the photo. “Great job, Sweetie! Oh gosh, that was a good one.”
Winnie’s already reaching for her halo that you made her take off for at least some of the pictures. Lily claps and picks up her Santa hat and yanks it back on her head. “ ‘Ta!” she says, her way of referring to Santa (it took a while to figure that one out.) She makes the sign for sleep, and you feel emotion well up behind your eyes again. You smile and sign no. “Not yet, Sweetie,” you tell her and sign. “But real soon.”
“We still have to put Santa’s cookies out,” Bucky says to get the girls excited. “And Elfie’s gotta turn on the outside lights.”
Elfie is currently on the wall, rock climbing up some Christmas bows. You’ve convinced Winnie that Elfie uses his Christmas Magic every night to turn on the colored lights that Bucky’s strung up on all the bushes outside. And anything Winnie believes, Lily automatically believes, too. The girls both gasp and run (well, Lily toddles) to the front window, where Winnie chant’s “Elfie, Elfie!” and Lily follows along with “fee, fee, fee!”
You reach for your iPad on the couch cushion, opening the garage’s app and tapping the control to turn the lights on, and Winnie and Lily’s delighted shrieks hit the air. They have their noses pressed up against the window, their gaping mouths making condensation form on the glass, which they keep giggling and wiping off. “Buckee! Mommee! Olaf got the lights!”
“Oh, wow. Isn’t that something?”
Bucky had snuck out while the girls were donning their costumes earlier and added a strand of lights across the newly-built snowman’s stick arms. You catch his eye from over top of your iPad, right at the end of rolling your eyes and grinning. He’s grinning too, and both of your smiles soften into something tender, the girls’ fuss over the lights outside fading to background noise somehow. Love you, Mommy, Bucky mouths.
Oh no. You blink your eyes rapidly to make the tears building up behind them go away, and Bucky chuckles at you because he knows what’s up. You wave your hand at him with a scoff. Damn pregnancy hormones. He probably thinks you’re turning into the biggest sentimental sap these days. If only he knew the real cause behind it. He will soon. “Okay okay, enough of that. Christmas lights aren’t going anywhere. Let’s get this tree decorated!” You clap your hands and wave the girls over, impatient to get to the box of ornaments waiting to go up.
You and Bucky have each chosen the holiday traditions that are most important to you, to share with the girls this year. Christmas is mostly foreign to them, every new thing you introduce extra magical in their eyes, because the closest they ever came to “Christmas” before you was a mall Santa that, according to Winnie, had hugged too much and didn’t smell very nice. So you and Bucky both want to make this year special for them. You’ve crammed as many winter activities into the last few days as possible, and already today you’ve made sugar cookies, decorated them, (cleaned up the friggin’ sprinkles), played in the snow, and built an Olaf. Attending the four o’clock mass with the children’s nativity play was your tradition, and now that evening is drawing in, it’s time for Bucky’s. His family always put up their tree on Christmas eve when he was growing up, which seems like a gigantic waste of twenty-six perfectly good tree days to you, but it’s meaningful to him. So, you figure what better way to sneak in a surprise announcement than with your husband’s favorite Christmas eve tradition?
Hidden inside the jumbled box of ornaments is a new, keepsake ornament: unglazed bisque in the shape of a stork, carrying a bundled baby with “coming in 2025” printed on the bundle. You’ve buried it all the way at the bottom, underneath the familiar ornaments that he’s expecting.
“Mommy can I wear my halo still for doing the tree?”
“Sure Win. Wear it all night if you want,” you laugh. “Except you have to take it off at bedtime.”
“I’m still gonna wear my Santa hat, too though,” she says, saying it in her mini grownup voice, but looking at you with big questioning eyes right after, just to check.
You give her a smile to reassure her. “Yep you can wear both.”
“Yay!” She rips her halo off and goes to grab her Santa hat.
Lil’ already has hers on, having refused to wear the halo you’d bought for her angel costume in the nativity play. You suspect that she didn’t like the way the plastic headband touched her hearing aids. But the soft fabric of her Santa hat seems to be fine, so the play had had one red-capped angel this year.
Bucky calls the girls over to where he’s kneeling by the ornament box and tells them about how every Christmas eve, they decorate the tree. “I’ve put the lights on it, but I probably need some helpers for the ornaments.” He levels Winnifred with a serious, grown-up gaze. “Do you think you could help me do that job?”
Bless her neglected little heart, Winnie nods seriously. “Yeah. I can do a good job.”
“I’ll bet you can, Sweetheart.” Bucky’s gaze goes soft on her, and then he peeks over her shoulder at you. “Mommy, should we make it a Christmas eve present instead?”
You nod and cover your mouth, barely holding your happy tears in (goddamn pregnancy hormones). “Mmhm. Yeah,” you manage to eke out, trying to keep your voice from warbling. You’ve got to keep it together for the girls. (It would’ve helped if your jerk husband hadn’t just called you “Mommy.”). “Yeah let’s do it tonight.” (God help you, when it comes time to try and get them to sleep).
Bucky grins and goes to get the two small gift boxes that have sat wrapped underneath the tree since not long after Thanksgiving. You and Bucky have more to be grateful for than ever this year. The adoption hasn’t been made official yet—you’ll need to go in front of a judge for that—but it’s been approved, and you have an appointment for the ceremony on New Year’s Day—If the girls want it. Bucky and you have both agreed that you’ll just remain fosters, if Lily or Winnifred seems uncomfortable with it.
“Here, c’mere,” Bucky says gently, sitting cross-legged in front of the tree and beckoning the girls over. Lily hurries to go and plop herself down right in Bucky’s lap, and Winnie follows along a little less surely, but she can’t help but be excited about getting her very first Christmas present (in life, not just this season, sadly). “These are your special Christmas eve presents,” he says, handing one box to Winnie and the other to Lily, who takes it with a happy squeal. Winnie looks up at Bucky with big, amazed eyes. “We can open them?”
“Yep,” he says. “And there’s a special message inside. So we’ll read that together, okay?”
“Okay!” Win’s enthusiasm has outshined her perpetual but waning nervousness around Bucky, and she sits cross-legged like him and scoots in close to him and Lily. “Okay Lil’,” she instructs in her little grown-up voice, pointing at the bow on her box and ripping the paper. “Like this! You gotta open it, see?”
You watch with a smile as Winnie rips open her package and Bucky helps Lily open hers. Once they’re open, the boxes reveal boxes, printed with pictures of little figurines. “What is it?” Winnie asks. “A dolly?”
“Nope not a dolly.” Bucky is grinning, but you can see the nervousness in his eyes, too. He wants the girls to be happy so much, and he wants Win to feel safe and want to stay with you. “Open the box,” he tells her, already helping Lily to open hers. You watch as Win’s small hand closes around the figurine and pulls it out. “They’re called Snowbabies,” Bucky tells her, smiling in that specific way you’ve come to recognize as nostalgia.
“Snow baby?”
“Yeah. Careful they’re breakable, so you have to hold them and not drop them.” Bucky turns Lily’s figurine over in his hand, and Lily reaches for it.
“Careful!” Winnie worries, but Bucky pats her knee reassuringly and smiles.
“S’okay, Honey. We’ve got it.” He helps Lily not to drop her figurine, which is a little cherubic child in a snowsuit, on a sled. Winnie’s is a similar one, but hers is building a snowman.
She gasps and holds it up to show you. “Look Mommy! Just like me!”
You laugh along (only a little watery, now). “Yeah, how ‘bout that?”
“These were popular when I was a kid,” Bucky tells Winnie, speaking close to Lily’s ear to make sure she hears clearly, too. “I’ve got some really old ones that my sister saved for me, but I thought it’d be nice to give you ones of your own. These are newer ones, and they’re special ‘cause they’re ornaments, see?” He holds Lily’s by the ribbon that’s looped at the top.
Win’s eye get wide, and she finds the ribbon on hers, too. “We can hang them on the tree?”
“Sure can cupcake, but hang on, hang on!” Bucky laughs and catches her sleeve where she’s about to get up, ready to hang her ornament immediately. “Wait. Look here. There’s a secret compartment where you can put a message, see?” He shows Lily the little spot by her snow baby’s hand, where a little slip of paper rests, rolled up. “Look for yours,” he tells Win, and she doesn’t miss a beat, quickly pulling out the little scroll of paper that’s tucked away near her snow baby’s hand.
“Wow.”
“Yeah. So Mommy and me wrote a special message on these, for you two. Want to read them together?”
Winnie nods, her eyes back to being big and round. Bucky smiles at her, and you see something shift in Winnie’s expression. She seems to settle on something and scoots a little closer to Bucky. “Okay.”
Bucky visibly swallows, emotional, and it takes him a second before he’s able to continue. You come over and sit with them on the floor, too. Lily takes the opportunity to crawl over into your lap, and you let her sit there and kiss her curly hair. “Here,” you tell her, “Let’s give Bucky the paper, kay?” You help her to take the slip of paper out of her figurine, and Bucky unrolls the two pieces and places them on the carpet, one above the other.
Neither of the girls can read of course, but Bucky’s been practicing “reading” books with them for a while, as a bonding activity and to increase Winnie’s self confidence around him. She seems happy to help “read” along, and Bucky reads aloud and points to the words,
“Dear Winnifred and Lily, we are so happy to have you in our home with us”—Your heart squeezes as you spot Win’s little mouth moving along silently with the words, just a beat behind Bucky saying them—“We know it was new and scary at first, but we hope that you have had a nice time living here, and feel happy and safe. That is the most important thing to us, because we love you.” Bucky pauses and his eyes flit to Winnie, and then you.
You smile and nod, encouraging him to go on, but you can tell that he’s getting choked up, so you read from the second piece of paper, “We love you so much that we want you to stay with us always and be a family. Winnie, Lily, will you make us the proudest parents in the world, and let us be your Mommy and Daddy?”
You barely make it to the last word, your throat closing up there at the very end. And you use every ocular muscle in your possession to keep the tears from falling. Hold it together, hold it together.
Win blinks adorably with her mouth open in a little ‘o’ for a minute, as her little four year old brain processes it all. She gasps all of a sudden, and Lilly mimics her with a gasp, too. You can’t help it, you sob a little when your laugh comes out at that. “What do you think, Sweetie?” You ask Winnie, since she’s the one you’re really looking at for a reaction. Lily might not fully understand yet, but she seems interested in her sister’s reactions, and you know that whatever Win decides, Lil will follow her lead. You hold out your hand for Winnie to take, and she puts her little hand in yours and says,
“You gonna be my real Mommy?”
You sob again and smile and nod, giving her hand a squeeze. “Yeah, Sweetheart. If that will make you happy. I would really like to be your Mommy—Your real Mommy,” you add after a beat.
Win’s always been a very perceptive little girl. “She knows what’s up” as Bucky likes to say. And now is no different. Her eyes fill with wonder, like you’ve told her about Santa Clause and presents all over again, and she looks from you, to Bucky. He’s holding it together a little better than you, but his eyes are dangerously shiny, with tears threatening to break.
“You can be my real Daddy, Buckee?” she asks, and Bucky’s really nearing his breaking point it would seem, because he goes disturbingly red in the face and nods hastily, sniffling once and then croaking out a hoarse,
“Yeah, Cupcake. I can be your real Daddy. I would like that very much.”
“Forever?” she asks, amazed. You laugh-sob again and Bucky tells her yes, that you will be a family forever, if she wants. Then, heartbreakingly, Win gets a little frown of concern and looks at her sister again. “And Lily too?” she checks.
Bucky laugh-sobs like you, and he nods. “Yeah Hon. And Lily too.”
Winnie’s face bleeds from concern, to wonder, to joy in a few, glorious heartbeats as she figures it out. It’s the longest few seconds of your life, and you and Bucky are both holding your breath. “Oh wow,” Winnie says, and then, surprisingly, she moves quickly over to Bucky and buries herself against his chest with an excited little whine, her fingers digging into his sweater as she hugs him for the first time ever. “Daddy!” she cries happily. “You can be my real Daddy! And Lily too!”
Bucky loses it for real then, the tears breaking from his eyes. He wraps his arms around Win’s little body and hugs her back for the first time. He kisses the top of her head, then looks at you. You’re giving Lily a hug in your lap, and she’s making excited noises because she can tell that her sister is happy and excited. She laughs and babbles, and you look to Winnie, who spends a few long moments burrowing against Bucky’s chest before she squeals and pulls away to come over and excitedly give you a big hug, too, exclaiming, “Mommy!”
You laugh and give her a hug, kissing her cheek and getting your tears on her. “Love you, Wing-Ding. I’m so happy to be your Mommy.”
“My real Mommy,” She corrects, and you laugh-sob again and agree. Win pulls back in concern and looks at you. She reaches out to touch your face. “Mommy, why you crying?”
That certainly doesn’t help the tears, but you’re laughing, too, and you tell her. “Because I’m so happy, Honey. Sometimes people cry when they’re very, very happy.”
Her face splits in a smile. “Me too!” She looks at Lilly and grabs her hand joyfully. “Lily too!” Lily agrees with a happy little squeal, and then Win jumps in an excited circle, clapping her hands and saying “Wow!” a bunch of times, the ball on her Santa hat bouncing along as she goes.You and Bucky meet each other’s eyes and share a lovestruck smile. This has to be it, you think. This has to be the happiest a person can feel.
“Love you,” Bucky murmurs.
You nod tearfully and murmur back, “Love you.”
Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please please consider giving it a re-blog: it means the world to me, and it helps my story reach more readers!
💖Snow babies were a very popular decorating item for the holidays, back in the 1920s/30s/40s
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This has been a fill/submission for:
❄️Fluffcember (@fluff-cember): Day 25 - "the perfect gift"
❄️Into the Omegaverse (@intotheomegaverse): Day 14 - ornament keepsakes
❄️Bucky Boy Bingo (@buckyboybingo) : B1 - caught in the act [card: Sarah-writes-Stucky]
❄️Sebastian Stan Bingo (@sebastianstanbingo): G3 - Accidental Pregnancy [card: sarahowritesostucky]
The cab ride was uncomfortable. Neither one of them knew what to say. John looked out the window, ignoring Sherlock’s presence. When he couldn’t handle the tension anymore, he would turn his head to say something, not sure exactly what that would be, only to find Sherlock looking out his window. He didn’t realise that Sherlock was doing the very same thing. Alternating between window gazing and checking on John, neither one of them able to work out how to bridge the distance from the earlier argument.
Finally, John decided to settle on work talk. “What did Lestrade say, then?”
“Just a loose end that needs following up.”
Sherlock was being cagey, extra quiet. Even talking about work didn’t open the door. That made John nervous. Had the argument done too much damage? Or was the loose end something dangerous? John’s heart rate increased at the very thought of it. Surely the rush of case work would cheer Sherlock up too?
But not yet. Sherlock was deathly silent.
“And where are we going then?” John tried again.
“A club, John. I hope that’s alright.” Sherlock sat for a moment. “You can test out some of those… dance moves,” he teased.
An attempt at a joke? John looked over at him, and even though Sherlock was still looking out the window he could swear there was the slightest lift of the corner of his mouth. Was he taking the piss?
Finally Sherlock turned his head and caught John’s eye and they both ended up laughing.
“I’m not sure I have any dancing skills when I’m fully clothed,” John managed to choke out between his laughter.
“I’m genuinely sorry I missed the whole of it,” Sherlock admitted.
They laughed for a little bit longer and then, when it naturally died down, John had hoped it was an opening to broach the issue. “Sherlock…”
“John, let’s not,” he said quickly, already understanding the tone in John’s voice.
Discussing the fight was not on the table. They would go about their business and there was an unspoken understanding that it was properly under the rug now - no hard feelings about it. John nodded and went back to watching the London streets pass them by. “I don’t bring dates home," he added. He couldn’t let it go until he’d got that final word in.
“Fine,” Sherlock said gently. And so it was agreed.
When the cab pulled up and John stepped out onto the street he took in the club front. “Halfway to Heaven?” he said to himself. “Interesting name…”
Sherlock moved quickly ahead, to speak to the bouncer at the door. Without checking on John, he was given passage through and John followed dutifully behind. As Sherlock moved through the crowd toward the bar, John was gradually left behind in the building crowd. Sherlock had longer legs and always managed to get ahead of him. He hadn’t taken much time to look around as they first entered, but now that he couldn’t catch Sherlock, he began to take it in the rest of the club itself. And the patrons. There were quite a few sparkly walls and… the more he glanced about… Oh god, he thought to himself.
As his shoulders slumped, in defeat, Sherlock found his way back, but now he had a pint in each hand. He handed one to John and nodded towards a corner where he wanted John to go. They eventually found a little table in a slightly secluded corner and they sat together with their drinks.
“Ah Sherlock…?”
“Yes, John," Sherlock said calmly. "It is a gay club. Your observational skills are in sparkling form, as usual."
“Right. You could have told me.”
“Would you have come?” he asked, lifting a brow.
John opened his mouth to argue and Sherlock gave him a look, so he knew to close his mouth again. Sherlock was right, he probably would have made up an excuse not to come, particularly after the fight they had just had.
“Alright then,” John said, straightening his shoulders, trying to calm himself. “Why are we here? I’m assuming we aren’t picking you up a date?” John teased.
Sherlock frowned, but said nothing, choosing to drink his beer first. “The fourth wife,” he finally said.
John looked genuinely surprised. “I thought we had solved that. We established that I had solved it.”
“Well, there is a loose end, as I said. Lestrade wanted me to check something. A hunch he had.”
“Right.” John drank from his pint, feeling a little disappointed.
“I’m fairly certain our best plan of attack here is to try to blend in,” he suggested.
“Blend in?!” John was horrified. “Sherlock you aren’t suggesting…?”
“Relax, John. Just drink your beer. Just sit here with me and drink your beer. I hope that’s not too much to ask of you.”
John looked at him, really looked at him, slightly affronted by the remark. But Sherlock genuinely looked a little… out of sorts. Perhaps he was more upset by John’s words earlier than John had initially realised. Or, he was offended that John was being difficult about blending in, in a gay club?
John instinctively reached out a hand and placed it on Sherlock’s arm. He had his coat on inside still, but John pressed more forcefully into the fabric, so there was definite contact, and pressure. “Hey,” he said gently. “Happy to.”
Sherlock nodded and looked away, taking in the crowd in silence, drinking a few sips of beer. John took more of a large swig… or two. Of all the strange situations they had found themselves in, he had never sat at a gay bar with Sherlock and shared a beer. Case or no case, they were still drinking at a bar together. It shouldn’t matter where. John couldn’t seem to get past some things, but it shouldn’t matter. They remained there in silence, Sherlock taking in the crowd, his eyes flicking back and forth between patrons as they moved about. John knew that Sherlock would direct him when he needed something. In the meantime he would wait. And try not to irritate Sherlock anymore.
An hour went by, and they polished off a few of beers. In fact Sherlock had gone back for a fourth. John did enjoy people-watching, so he didn’t mind sitting and observing, as he drank. He didn’t need to talk incessantly. It was one of the lovely things about Sherlock. They could sit in the same room in silence for hours on end - on a couple of occasions it was a few days even, before they spoke to each other. For John, after being in a war zone, the silence was perfectly suitable, and much less triggering. He really enjoyed just being in the same room as his friend. He counted himself lucky, to have a friend like that.
He looked over to the bar now, to see Sherlock leaning his full weight on it to pull himself over, closer to a young, attractive barman. Sherlock was right up close against him, talking into his ear and… laughing? Was Sherlock flirting with the barman? John was fascinated. Something about the behaviour seemed very innocent, very un-Sherlock-like. He was smiling and laughing and there was a back and forth exchange. Sherlock continued to cross that physical barrier whenever he answered. And touch. He kept putting a hand on the barman's arm or hand. Very handsy. John had never seen Sherlock be like that with anyone. He didn't like it. Certainly not with some stranger at a bar, at least. He bristled a little as he watched it, finding the whole thing uncomfortable. He didn't understand why but he didn't like it. When Sherlock returned to John, his face had returned to what seemed like normal, or what John knew as normal. Maybe that bar-Sherlock was the real him though - what he was like away from John? Who would know? He kept anything personal like that to himself.
“Another beer? Sherlock Holmes are you trying to get me drunk?” John teased, trying to get a rise out of him, trying to see if maybe Sherlock would behave the same way for him too.
“No,” Sherlock said with a serious expression. “I just thought you could use another drink. You've been very tense lately, John.”
“Says the man who bit my head off an hour ago,” John mumbled.
“This is the work, John. And the work requires you to blend in. All evidence of late would suggest to me that you won’t be able to relax here, and I can’t risk drawing attention to us. The point is to blend in like we are here as regulars.”
“You want me to be…”?
“Yes. In very loose theory. And I know that tends to bother you. You have opinions about it. But I want you to bend in.”
“Sherlock…”
“Relax, you won’t have to kiss me or anything like that,” Sherlock said quickly.
John felt suddenly guilty. There was a bite to his tone, as if he knew John would be against it from the beginning. Sherlock remained awfully secretive about his mission here, about this whole outing in fact, and John felt responsible for being difficult, for not being supportive.
“Although, you will need to take me home with you,” Sherlock said, with a straight face.
John turned his head looking horrified, then realised it was a deliberate joke.
“Yeah well maybe get some crisps if you’re going to keep plying me with alcohol. I didn’t have dinner.” John watched Sherlock closely. He wasn’t even listening. He was already watching the barman again. “Sherlock?”
“Mmmm?” He answered, but didn’t turn his head.
“What’s really going on?”
“I've been buying more drinks because I'm trying to talk to the barman.”
“Right. A little more information, please?”
“Not now,” Sherlock simply replied.
Sherlock seemed completely unaffected by the drinking and it irritated John. His head was swimming with too many ideas all at once and he felt dizzy. He had never considered himself a light weight. “How are you able to have so much alcohol without feeling the effects?”
“I’ve got a fast metabolism,” he said with a flourish of his hand, dismissing the question. “John let's dance,” he added.
“Sorry?” John half swallowed his drink down the wrong pipe and started coughing.
Sherlock ignored his reaction entirely. “Dance.”
“I don't dance. When have we ever danced? Why would I dance with you now? You want this to be our first dance?” John was feeling more and more anxious about this whole outing.
“Look at where we are, John. I'm working an angle for the case. Just get up,” he demanded, levelling a firm glare at John.
John meanwhile, tried to stare Sherlock down to no avail. Sherlock wasn’t bending on this point. “Fine.” He rolled his eyes in irritation, and tried to get up, but his legs buckled under him and he stumbled slightly.
Sherlock somehow made it around the table to catch him before he hit the ground or the nearby wall. “Are you alright?” he asked.
“I didn't eat. I had a date and I didn't eat.” John looked into Sherlock’s eyes while he was essentially in Sherlock's arms, and his friend looked very concerned. It was strange to see that expression on Sherlock’s face. The mad detective normally ran ahead, into danger, knowing John would follow, John would fix him later. He rarely stayed behind to look concerned. John was always the worried one.
“Can you walk?” Sherlock checked firmly.
“Yes, yes,” John rushed to reply in embarrassment. “I’m not that gone. I just… the ground just… surprised me.”
Sherlock smirked, helping John stand upright again. “The ground surprised you?”
“Shut up,” John scoffed, removing himself from Sherlock's arms and straightening his coat up..
Without warning, Sherlock grabbed his hand. “Come on, then,” he said with renewed confidence and led John straight to the dance floor.
John’s entire focus suddenly centred on their hands. Sherlock was holding his hand. It was a rare occasion when they grabbed each other - usually to drag the other one of them out of danger. Admittedly this felt a bit like he was being dragged into danger of some kind. So maybe that was all it was about. Sherlock moved them swiftly between the crowd to find a space to dance. The club was busy but not so crowded yet that there wasn’t room to move. John was absolutely terrified if he was being honest. He set himself on a spot but Sherlock swiftly grabbed his shoulders and forced him to turn around. Apparently he needed his own eyes on the barman still. The barman he had flirted with, so effortlessly. John couldn’t tell if the pang in his gut was nausea from the drinking on an empty stomach, anxiety about being on a public dance floor, in a gay club of all places, or if he was feeling… jealous? Sherlock was intent on staying connected to this young bar man. Too young for Sherlock, if John were to be asked. Which he clearly hadn’t been.
“What are you doing Sherlock?” John tried again. “Are you…?” John watched him closely. “Are you trying to make the barman jealous?”
“Don't distract me while I'm thinking,” was all the reply John got.
“What's going on? Is this really for a case?” John asked, starting to wonder if perhaps this was just Greg setting Sherlock up on a date, and John was some kind of crutch.
“Yes. Lestrade called,” Sherlock finally looked at John again and he seemed completely perturbed by John’s questions. “You know it's for a case. You answered the call.”
“Jesus. Fine. Well, you know, you can just order fizzy drinks at the bar, right? You don't have to jump into alcohol,” John scoffed, now a little annoyed that his head was swimming.
“How is anyone going to take me seriously if I order that?” Sherlock huffed.
“So you are trying to get it on with the barmen, then?” John demanded.
Sherlock suddenly reached out and grabbed John around the waist, pulling him closer. John sucked in a shocked breath as their bodies touched. He had lost the ability to speak, or breathe. His face contorted as he tried to decipher what Sherlock thought he was doing exactly. Sherlock leaned forward, bringing his face down very, very close. John could feel Sherlock’s curls tickling his forehead, he was that close. If Sherlock moved any closer they would be doing more than just dancing on the dance floor, John thought, and the colour drained from his face. Instead of kissing him, though, Sherlock moved just to the side and brought his lips close to John’s ear.
“He's the son, John,” Sherlock said, his voice vibrating into John’s ear canal, and creating goosebumps down John’s neck and in fact all the way down his spine. Jesus, his voice was already incredible. John had always thought that. But spoken at a low level, right close to his ear. Fucking hell. He hadn’t been prepared for that.
He swallowed hard, his body suddenly struggling to process the information. “Whose son?” He barely managed to find the voice to reply.
“The fourth wife's son.”
“Oh?” John began to turn his shoulders, automatically wanting to observe the barman, to see what he looked like again, to check for similarities with the wife’s picture he had already committed to memory.
“Don't look,” Sherlock hissed, grabbing John’s shoulders to stop him.
“Fourth wife's son?” John repeated, still confused.
“Yes, the fourth wife's son works here, behind the bar. Apparently, he has an active sex life,” Sherlock communicated. "Among other things."
“And so you're… What? Making yourself bait?” John asked, pulling back to register Sherlock’s face, to try and read his expression.
“To a degree,” Sherlock admitted with a nod.
“Sherlock, you're not actually going to—“
“Course not, John. I’m just flirting so that he would talk to me,” Sherlock explained. "To make him think I might..." He started to sway slowly on the dance floor, his hands on John’s hips to direct him to join in, so they looked like they were dancing. Then he returned to his position, lips to ear, filling John in. “I asked him about his family.”
“In this noise? You managed to do that?” John asked, disbelieving.
“I'm very skilled, John,” he said.
John’s brain nearly imploded at the words. He knew Sherlock was a genius, and he was, indeed, very skilled at the case work. The implication here was different, though. He wasn’t sure if Sherlock meant it to be quite as heavy with innuendo but John certainly didn’t miss the opening for it to be, and he swallowed hard at the very idea. All of a sudden he wanted to know. He couldn’t help wondering. Was Sherlock very skilled…? He had never even thought about it before, or about Sherlock that way before. How ridiculous to be thinking about it now, right when they were pressed together on a dance floor in a gay club. He really needed to get his head back into the game. Sherlock was supposedly trying to work. He returned his focus to Sherlock’s words.
“So I asked him if his parents approved of him flirting with an older man at a bar and he said it was just him and his mum, and she didn’t care what he got up to. So I asked: no father in the picture then? Daddy issues? And he said: not anymore. Not anymore, John!” Sherlock repeated excitedly.
“Oh.” John took a moment to process it and then his face lit up. “Oh! Do you think he —?”
“I do.”
John suddenly felt dejected. “I see. So I wasn't right. It wasn't the wife.”
“John, you were close to right. All the signs pointed there and even I missed them. You did a good job,” Sherlock said gently. "But it seems the son may actually be the one responsible."
Hearing the compliments said beside his ear like that felt somehow special, more meaningful. “It's always you isn't it? It's always Sherlock Holmes.” He dropped his forehead down onto Sherlock's chest in dramatic defeat, Sherlock still swaying them from side to side. Supposedly, to an outsider, they would look like a couple having a lovely moment on the dance floor.
Hmmm, no wonder that kitten settled in so easily, John thought to himself. Sherlock was actually really comfortable to lie against. Despite his more bony physique, the thick wool of his coat was soft and he had a surprisingly good body heat for someone so skinny. John let out a hum of appreciation aloud now and Sherlock heard it.
“You've had too much to drink,” Sherlock said gently.
“Hmmm, you smell nice,” John said, without thinking.
“Th-thank you?” Sherlock said tentatively.
John felt Sherlock’s body stiffen slightly at the compliment, but he was relaxed enough not to care. “Mmmm, it's simply a fact. Simply stating facts.”
“Very well,” Sherlock replied with an awkward laugh.
“You know, you really should find someone, Sherlock. A real someone. You’re actually very…” John didn’t finish it he just nodded, as if that explained his thoughts perfectly well to his flatmate. John relaxed further onto Sherlock’s coat, the awkward feelings of earlier forgotten as the alcohol worked its magic and broke down some barriers. Sherlock held John against him, and continued to move them smoothly around the dance floor and John finally relaxed a bit more. To John it felt somehow romantic, but to Sherlock it was more a necessity for his unstable flatmate.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. At the flat,” John admitted.
“It’s fine,” Sherlock said, brushing it off.
“Sometimes, I like it when we argue," he admitted. "It can be exciting. Thrilling. We have good banter. But that, tonight, that felt… I didn’t like that.”
“It’s okay, John,” Sherlock said, his voice filled with kindness.
John stopped moving to look up at him. “Please don’t kick me out. I… really love living there with you.”
Sherlock chuckled deep in his chest and John could feel the vibrations through his body. “I will never ask you to leave, John. I… that is, there was actually something I wanted to…”
John’s face changed, as he was suddenly hit with a wave of nausea. Sherlock stopped speaking, afraid that John had guessed what he was going to say and was feeling uncomfortable, or down right repulsed by the very idea.
“I don’t feel good,” John said suddenly. The temperature in the club seemed to be climbing - probably the increase in bodies as the hour got later. John removed his coat. “It’s warm,” he said. Even with the coat off, John felt a bit woozy but taking the coat off hadn’t helped enough. “I might… maybe I need to go to the bathroom.”
“I wouldn’t in here. Not alone,” Sherlock said with a grimace.
“Oh, right. Well maybe just some fresh air. I just feel…”
“John?” Sherlock asked, but before he could verify what was happening, John began to make a beeline for the front door of the club. As the air hit his face he felt slightly revived.
It didn't take long for Sherlock to follow after him. "John? John? Is everything okay?"
“Sorry. Have you finished? What you had to do…?” John asked.
“Yes, I’ll call Lestrade. I have enough.”
“Can we get a cab?” John asked. He just wanted to get home as fast as possible.
Sherlock looked at John unable to decide if he should speak now when John was pliable or whether to leave it. “Sure,” he simply said.
“Hey! I know you. You’re that detective fellow!” A voice from the street rang out. “And you’re here at the club with your boyfriend? The doctor fellow!”
John leapt forward and got in his face, gripping the scruff of his shirt and pushing back against the wall of the club. “Back off, you stupid twat. I’m not gay, alright?!”
The security guard started to move but Sherlock, who also moved swiftly, stepped in between and signalled for it to be left to him. He moved over and convinced John to let the man go. "It's alright, John. It's alright," he said with a soothing tone.
Perhaps not tonight, Sherlock thought. I won't tell John tonight. He hailed a cab and after John fell asleep moments into the journey, he grabbed out his phone. “Lestrade, it’s done. I’ll come down in the morning and give you the details. Yes, the bartender. Yes.”
He hung up the phone and watched John, gently sleeping against the window and sighed to himself. Tonight was not the right night to make a move. But he supposed in some ways, he had made some progress.
——
Thanks @notjustamumj for the prompt list. I’m so enjoying writing these for you all!
summary: you thought you were going on a weekend getaway to the cabin of the guy were seeing, but it turned out bucky barnes had no intention of ever letting you leave. now, one year later, it's the anniversary of an important milestone in your relationship, and he knows just how to celebrate the special occasion.
warnings: 18+ content (minors do not interact!!!), dark themes and elements, non-con/rape, abduction, drugging, imprisonment/captivity, sexual exploitation of reader, forced camgirl work, live-streaming sex, smut, rough sex, painful sex, unprotected sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, oral cockwarming with a dildo gag, squirting, sex toys, bondage/shibari, sadism/forced masochism, ass spanking, degradation, objectification, dacryphilia, choking, breathplay, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (doll, winter slut), mind break, reluctant stockholm syndrome, reader passes out during sex, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, if i missed something please let me know!
word count: 5.6k
a/n: here's my second entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, using the prompt: Has it been a year already? my last fic was so sweet that apparently i had to balance things out with the absolute darkest, filthiest fic i've ever written. i guess i was feeling some type of way, idk!! anyway, i hope y'all enjoy ♡
december daze challenge masterlist
Frank Sinatra’s “Silent Night” played softly from a speaker in the corner, the chords lilting serenely through the cold basement, the choral harmonizing of the background singers becoming a soundtrack to the depravity you were forced to endure.
It occurred to you that you might wonder how you’d ended up where you had, but you knew exactly how—you’d trusted the wrong man.
Bucky Barnes had been charming from the moment you met. The former army sergeant had wooed you with ice skating dates and trips to the book store, regaling you with stories from his childhood growing up in Brooklyn over cups of hot chocolate and herbal tea.
He’d seemed perfectly normal, like the kind of man you’d want to settle down with, and you found yourself wanting to start a new life with him. It hadn’t been long, but you thought he was the one, and you began planning what that new life would look like in your own imagination.
Apparently Bucky had been determined to give you a new life as well, but he hadn’t given you a choice about what that life would look like. While you’d been picturing a cozy apartment in the city before buying a house and moving out to the suburbs, he’d been planning something much different.
It had all started that weekend in December, when Bucky had invited you for a weekend away at his cabin upstate. You’d been seeing him long enough that you trusted him, and you were excited, hopeful, even, that your relationship would deepen on the trip.
You were so happy about spending a whole weekend alone with Bucky that you didn’t think anything of the darkness in his voice when he’d warned you to never, under any circumstances, go into the basement of the cabin.
Then, after a weekend filled with delicate kisses and gentle lovemaking, you’d been packing to return to the city when a soft cloth had covered your mouth and nose and you’d smelled something sweet. You hadn’t known it at the time, but that was the end of your old life, and you didn’t even have the time or the strength to fight.
You didn’t know how much time had passed when you’d woken up in the cold basement that would become your only home in the months to come. A thick leather collar had been wrapped around your neck, connecting to a chain that was attached to the heavy wooden frame of the bed you lay on. To your horror, you’d realized you were clad in lingerie that wasn’t yours, some cheap set that still managed to fit you perfectly.
Bucky had been waiting for you to notice him at the foot of the bed, standing next to a camera aimed directly at you.
“Welcome to your new life, doll,” he’d said, a depraved smirk spreading across his handsome face—and expression you’d never seen before. “Time to earn your keep.” His blue eyes had been glittering with dark excitement as he’d clicked a button on the laptop linked to the camera and crawled onto the bed with you.
That had been the first moment you’d seen the real Bucky Barnes, and he’d spent every day since then showing you exactly how vile and perverted he truly was. He’d kept you in the basement of his cabin and forced you to fuck him on camera, using the money he made from it to buy you more cheap lingerie and all manner of toys to use on your body.
The sharp, cracking sound of a palm meeting soft flesh filled your ears, the subsequent stinging sensation reverberating from your ass through the rest of your body effectively dragging you back into the moment of your latest debasement.
The pain of Bucky spanking you with the full force of his strength only joined the other aches already living in your body—but you knew better than to complain or cry or whimper. You’d made that mistake early on, but Bucky had only seemed to soak in your pain like it fueled him.
The first time he’d spanked you, you’d begged him to stop. Instead, though, he only hit you harder, grinning ear to ear while he’d told you that you had no idea what you were in for yet, fake pity dripping from his tone.
But in the present moment, your pain wasn’t only coming from Bucky’s palm.
Your shoulders ached from the way your arms had been tied behind your back, your hands gripping your forearms and constrained by intricate knots of cords wrapped around your body. To further restrain you, your calves were tied to your thighs, leaving you bound and unable to move with your ass high in the air while your face was shoved into the bed.
In honor of the holiday season, Bucky had traded in the coarse rope he typically used for a long string of multicolored Christmas lights, one end plugged into the wall so your skin was washed in shades of blue, red, green and yellow.
The string of lights was much more uncomfortable than the rope, even though that had burned. The wire holding the lights together was so thin, and the small bulbs dug painfully into your skin. If you didn’t know your discomfort was exactly what Bucky wanted, you might’ve let him see how unhappy you were with your current predicament.
Instead, you hid your face in the blankets of the bed, trying to focus on anything except Bucky’s big cock fucking into your cunt at a bruising pace.
Unfortunately, it was impossible to ignore him, his hard length plowing into your body. Not even the cheery lights wound around your body or the Christmas music playing out of the bluetooth speaker in the corner could distract you from the feel of his cock inside you.
Another jarring smack resounded in the cold basement a brief second before the sting of Bucky’s spank quaked through your body. The strike was hard enough that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out. You didn’t want to give him that, even if it would’ve been muffled by the blankets under your face.
“How many times do I gotta tell ya, doll,” Bucky huffed, his voice patronizing and impatient, like he was talking to a misbehaving child. “Look at the camera when I’m fucking you.” He spanked you again, so hard you felt your entire body tremble under the weight of it, then he grabbed and groped your ass cruelly enough to leave marks. “Our audience wants to see your face—don’t ya, fellas?”
That last part was directed at the camera. You turned your head, tipping your face toward the lens just in time to catch the reflection of the rakish grin Bucky shot to whoever was watching.
The chat box on the screen of the laptop set up just out of frame lit up, the audience for your daily stream with Bucky telling the both of you just how much they wanted to see your face while you were fucked by his fat cock.
Your eyes caught a few of the filthy, degrading messages before looking away. You refused to believe the way your cunt clenched was in response to what you’d read. You absolutely were not getting turned on by the depraved life your captor forced you to live.
Bucky’s large body curled over your back, his hand wrapping around your throat and lifting your head from the bed so the camera could better see your face. The position shoved his cock even deeper into your cunt, ramming painfully against your cervix and, against your will, your face contorted at the twinge deep in your body.
The chat lit up, chimes dinging fast and furious as the messages came in, and Bucky reached for the laptop so he could read what your viewers had written.
All the while, his hips kept grinding idly against your ass so his cock rubbed even harder into your cervix, making you let out a little whimper of anguish. His fingers tightened around the sides of your neck, enough to cut off your ability to breathe, and your whimper turned into a desperate, scared little keen.
You felt Bucky grin against your cheek, and you could’ve kicked yourself for giving him exactly what he’d wanted—a reaction. But at least his grip loosened, though you knew it was only because he didn’t want you to pass out too soon.
“The chat says you look like such a pretty little toy when I fuck you all tied up like this, doll,” Bucky cooed in your ear, grinding harder into your cunt.
You sunk your teeth deep into your lower lip as your whole body trembled under the assault of Bucky’s thick cock. Despite yourself, you felt your cunt clench hard around his stiff length, wetness frothing and gushing from your hole as he made a mockery of your protests.
Before you’d met Bucky, you would’ve sworn you didn’t like pain. You’d have said you hated it, in fact.
But after so many days and months of being speared open by his fat cock, all three of your holes ravaged by his hard, unrelenting manhood in his need to dominate you, to conquer your body in every way possible, you couldn’t help your pussy’s response to it.
You told yourself it was some kind of defense mechanism, that your body had begun to react to pain the same way it did pleasure. It was the only explanation you could bear to endure. Because if you admitted you’d begun to like the way Bucky fucked you and abused you…
“Ohhh, listen to this one,” Bucky crooned excitedly, drawing you out of your thoughts and giving you a distraction from the way he was working your body toward its undoing. “‘Happy anniversary to the Winter Soldier and his Winter Slut!’”
The names were, of course, fake ones that Bucky had chosen to give the audience of your streams something to call you both. His was based on his past as a sergent, combined with the season when he’d taken you captive, while yours showed his ownership over you.
You hated it. You didn’t want anyone thinking Bucky owned you.
But Bucky either didn’t notice or ignored the way you grimaced when he read the fake names aloud. He turned his eyes, filled with cheerful wickedness, toward the camera.
“Has it been a year already?”
The question was full of charm, and you could almost imagine it coming from the Bucky you’d originally met. The one who might’ve celebrated your one-year anniversary with a recreation of your first date, ending with a heartfelt proposal that the two of you move in together.
Instead, the question hadn’t even been asked to you, but to the camera—to the audience of loyal, degenerate perverts who watched your streams.
The quick, successive chimes from the laptop drew Bucky’s attention back to it, and he hummed in acknowledgement as he read through the messages.
His fingers squeezed around your throat, making you choke harder for the camera, adding to the small sounds of anguish that were slipping from your lips while he kept up his merciless grinding, his cock bruising your cervix.
A new sound, one like a cash register, joined the dinging chimes of the chat message and your heart sank.
That was the sound of people in the chat sending extra tips on top of the subscription fees they paid to get access to your streaming channel. It meant they were making requests for Bucky to do something new—and that never resulted in anything good for you.
Before you could glance at the laptop to try to get an idea of what was coming, Bucky sat back on his haunches, hauling you up with his hand around your throat. Between gravity and the change in position, it felt like Bucky’s cock pushed even deeper into your cunt, pressing against your cervix so hard it stole the breath from your lungs.
“It’s the one year anniversary of your very first stream, doll,” Bucky announced gleefully in your ear, using his free hand to slap at your tits. They were bound between two strings of the Christmas lights wrapped around your body, your soft tits highlighted by the shining, multicolored hues. “Do you have anything to say to our audience, my little Winter Slut?”
It was clear Bucky wanted you to thank them for their loyal viewership, but resentment held your tongue. Memories assaulted you of the very first stream you’d been forced to do.
Bucky had pinned you down on that very same bed, using nothing but his strong hands and large body to pin you to the mattress while he tore your cheap lingerie off your body. Then he’d ravaged you, slapping and groping your tits before biting them so hard you’d started crying.
It had been the only foreplay he’d offered you before he’d shoved his cock deep in your cunt. He was so big and your body was so unprepared that you’d screamed, which only made Bucky laugh. He’d told you, mockingly, that there wasn’t anyone around to hear you scream—only the audience on the dark web where he was streaming your defilement for who knew how many people who were just as vile as Bucky.
Bucky’s fingers digging deep into the sides of your neck brought you back to the present moment, small gasps falling from your lips as he cut off your air again. Your pulse pounded in your head, but you still managed to notice that Frank Sinatra’s “Silent Night” had given way to another Christmas song, the festive music so at odds with the dread and fear pooling in your belly.
“I guess my Winter Slut is feeling ungrateful today, chat,” Bucky said on a laugh.
His tone was mocking in a way that sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you refused to believe it might be anticipation. Your body quaked when his soft mouth brushed against your cheek, the gesture almost like a kiss as he turned his head so he could murmur in your ear.
“Our audience wants to see something special for our anniversary, doll,” he cooed. “They want to see me break you.”
Unease and something else flooded your veins, the conflicting emotions warring for dominance as you struggled to make sense of the way your cunt had clenched around Bucky’s cock when he’d said he was going to break you. You pressed your mouth into a grim line, still determined not to show your reaction to Bucky or the camera, especially when you didn’t understand what was happening to you.
In the year that you’d spent as Bucky’s personal cam star, you’d endured a lot—and if anyone had asked you, you’d have said you hadn’t enjoyed any of it. But over time, that had begun to change. You’d been fighting it, fighting your body’s responses to Bucky and every depraved thing he did to you. It was becoming so hard, and you were growing so tired of fighting, of pretending…
“I have just the thing—but first, let’s fill this slut’s mouth,” Bucky was telling the camera, and you forced yourself to focus back on the moment to prepare yourself.
Bucky shifted to the side, grabbing something from the basket of sex toys he kept next to the bed during streams. When you saw what he pulled out, you bit your lip against a helpless whimper.
He’d pulled out a penis gag, but it wasn’t just any normal penis gag—it was one he’d specially ordered for you. Instead of having a two or three inch dick attached to the strip of leather that would tie around your head, there was a full-sized dildo replica of Bucky’s cock. His big, thick cock.
You tried to keep your mouth closed when Bucky pressed the tip of the silicone cock to your lips, but he only tutted at you with a patronizing click of his tongue. Shifting his fingers from your throat to your cheeks, he dug them in until it hurt. Your jaw gave way.
“That’s a good little cock slut, open for your Winter Soldier,” he cooed patronizingly, shoving the fake dick into your mouth without preparation or remorse.
You gagged as the stiff dildo invaded your throat, tears beginning to flow from your eyes and spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth. Your arms yanked against the Christmas lights holding you bound, but that only forced them to dig deeper into your skin, making your struggle hurt that much more.
While you were distracted by trying to adjust to the silicone cock shoved deep inside you, Bucky secured the leather strap around the back of your head, tying it into place and making it impossible for you to do anything but hold the dildo in your mouth and breathe through the way it bulged in your throat.
Then Bucky was dumping you unceremoniously on the mattress and pulling his cock from your cunt, leaving you to fall face first into the blankets while he hopped up off the bed. You were thankful you could muffle your whimper at the loss of him in the sheets, even as you knew that whatever he had planned would be so much worse than him just fucking you while tied up and gagged.
“I was going to save this one for Christmas,” he was saying from behind a privacy screen beside the bed. It was set up to make sure the camera would only show viewers what Bucky wanted them to see—which was you, and everything he did to you. “But since it’s a special occasion, I’ll let you have your present early.”
When Bucky stepped back into view, your heart nearly stopped.
A leather harness was strapped onto Bucky’s hips, a dildo attached so it hung below his cock. The contraption, which had clearly been specially ordered because you’d never seen anything like it, wasn’t what shocked you, though—it was the size of the dildo.
The fake dick was easily twice the size of Bucky’s cock, bigger around and just as long. Staring at it with wide eyes, you genuinely didn’t think it would fit in any of your holes, no matter how roughly Bucky tried to stuff it in. But your cunt was between your thighs like it couldn’t wait for him to try.
Despite your dedication not to give Bucky or the audience any kind of reaction, you couldn’t help the, “No, no, no, no, no,” that came from your mouth. You couldn’t fathom the massive dildo fitting inside you, let alone you enjoying it, no matter how much your body warmed at the prospect of being fucked with it.
Your protests were muffled by the gag in your mouth, to the point that your words were indiscernible, but their meaning must’ve been understood because Bucky chuckled as he walked back to you.
“I know what you’re thinking, doll,” Bucky said conversationally while he climbed onto the bed and retook his place behind you. “There’s no way it’ll fit.”
He grabbed the knotted string of Christmas lights where they crisscrossed between your shoulder blades, pulling your torso up off the bed so your face was level with the camera. You tried not to look at your reflection in the lens, your mouth split open around the dildo in your mouth and your eyes round as saucers, but it was hard not to stare at the look in your eye—the look of something like fear… or excitement.
“But that’s what’s so fun about it,” Bucky went on, dragging the hard length of the silicone dick through your dripping wet folds, coating the fake cock in the mess of wetness your body was leaking against your will. “It will fit—and it’s going to ruin your cunt.”
Once upon a time, you’d thought the same thing about Bucky’s cock.
The first time you’d had sex with Bucky—before the cabin and the basement and the camera—you’d taken one look at his cock and whimpered in fear. But he’d been so gentle, promising you that he’d take it slow, that your pussy was made to fit his cock.
He’d taken his time, kissing your lips and cheeks and all over your face while he worked his cock into your pussy, giving you another inch only when you’d adjusted to the last and relaxed in his arms. Slowly, and with what seemed like an endless amount of patience, he’d opened you up for him.
That night, he’d made love to you in deep, toe-curling strokes that had wrecked you. He’d seemingly rearranged your body to be the perfect fit for his cock, and then he’d given you the best orgasm of your life.
No wonder you hadn’t stood a chance.
More than a year later, the memory felt like a dream. It was so faded around the edges, aged by the months spent taking Bucky’s cock roughly, furiously, whenever and wherever he wanted, all while he streamed your debasement for the audience on the dark web.
“You’re going to be so loose that you won’t even feel my cock anymore, doll,” Bucky was saying as he dragged you back to the moment by thrusting his own hard length into your cunt, soaking himself in your juices. “You’ll have to beg me to fuck you with this massive dildo just to feel anything again.” He paused, chuckling to himself as he bent over you, pressing a kiss to your spine between your shoulder blades before murmuring darkly, “That’s your Christmas present this year.”
Then, without anymore preamble, Bucky sat up and pulled out. You didn’t even have time to beg or whine before he lined his cock and the dildo up at the entrances to your tight holes, then shoved both into you at the same time. Bucky buried himself inside you so deeply, so thoroughly, that it felt like he was pushing into the very core of your being, conquering your soul just as completely as he’d conquered your body.
The intrusion was so sudden, you never had a hope of preparing, and all you felt was the devastating sting of being stretched past your limit, the overwhelming ache of being stuffed full beyond what you thought your body could ever take.
Pain eclipsed any semblance of pleasure you might’ve gotten from having both your holes stuffed full, and your eyes rolled back in your head, a piercing cry tearing from your throat. A white hot burn scorched through your body, and your mind went entirely blank, leaving nothing but depraved annihilation in its wake.
“Oh fuck, fellas, she’s so fucking tight like this,” Bucky groaned, talking over your head into the camera. “I can feel the fake cock splitting her open—it’s making her ass so fucking tight.”
Humiliation and shame swept through your body at his words, turning the burn into something slightly more bearable, almost pleasurable. There was something about being ignored, being treated like nothing more than a fleshlight or a fuck doll while Bucky completely decimated your body that was so…
You shook your head. No. You weren’t going to finish that thought.
“Fuck, I don’t know how long ‘m gonna last,” Bucky was grumbling, and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or your audience.
The words should’ve sounded like music to your ears. You should’ve been happy the torture was almost over. Instead, you felt a pang of disappointment deep in your heart. But you didn’t have time to unpack what that could mean because then Bucky started fucking you.
His hips pulled back until only the tip of his cock and the dildo were still in your ass and pussy, then he plowed forward, shunting his entire length and the fat, massive fake cock into your holes once again. The pain of being split open was already starting to fade, an all-consuming pleasure creeping into the edges of your awareness against your will.
On Bucky’s third thrust, you moaned.
Your mind was hazy with a mixture of pain and pleasure that was leaning more toward the latter, and with the cock gag in your mouth, you were helpless against the reactions Bucky was wringing from your body. The sound of pleasure slipped from your lips unbidden, and your face heated in shame, which only served to add more fuel to the fire burning through your body.
“Did ya hear that, chat?” Bucky crowed, slapping your ass painfully hard—hard enough that another muffled cry was wrenched from your mouth. “Our little Winter Slut is enjoying her Christmas present! She loves getting her cunt ruined, don’t ya, doll?”
He slammed deep into your body as he asked the question and you were powerless, incapable of doing anything but moaning obscenely for the camera, tears streaming down your cheeks and joining the spit that coated the lower half of your face. Long strings of drool and tears were hanging from your chin, dripping onto the bedsheets below.
Distantly, you heard the chimes from the chat log and the cash register sounds as messages and money poured in. They were coming so fast and so furious that you couldn’t even begin to fathom how much money you were making for Bucky while he broke you with his cocks.
Bucky must’ve heard the sounds too, because he doubled his efforts. He picked up the pace of his thrusts, fucking you hard and fast, spanking your ass mercilessly while his other hand still held you up off the bed by your Christmas light restraints. It meant that your face was framed perfectly in the camera frame.
It occurred to you that you should let your gaze drift off, let your mind retreat somewhere deep inside itself where you could hide from Bucky and what he was doing to your body. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the camera’s display panel.
There, you could see the scene Bucky had constructed—your body tied up in glittering, technicolor Christmas lights; your face covered in tears and drool, lips spread thin around the base of the cock gag; your throat bulging from the fake dick buried deep in your mouth; your tits bouncing between the strands of lights.
Behind you, with a look of deeply depraved joy on his face, was Bucky Barnes.
He was naked save for the harness belted around his hips and the santa hat on his head. His big body was on display just as much as yours, his broad chest swathed in pale skin and chiseled muscles, his arms bulging as he held you up and spanked your ass.
Bucky’s dark hair was falling into his handsome face, but the strands didn’t hide the merry grin on his lips or the way his blue eyes glittered with wicked delight as he stared down at the place where his cock and the massive dildo were brutally fucking your holes.
It was too much to watch your defilement. It was too depraved and too…hot.
God help you, but something must’ve finally broken inside you because it was so fucking hot to watch yourself be violated on camera while jaunty Christmas music played in the background and hundreds, if not thousands, of perverts watched Bucky have his way with you.
Your pussy spasmed and clenched around the fake cock in your hole as you thought about those people watching you. It turned you on that the audience knew Bucky was fucking you against your will and not only were they doing nothing about it, they were taking their own pleasure from watching you be ravaged. Your cunt drooled even more.
Bucky Barnes had officially broken you.
That was the only conclusion you could reach, because when you’d met him more than a year ago, you never would’ve imagined that your pussy would be creaming all over a fat, girthy dildo while Bucky fucked your ass and held you tied up with Christmas lights for anyone on the dark web to watch.
But after a year of being fucked hard in every one of your holes, Bucky had finally broken you down until you’d joined him on his level. He’d torn away every ounce of shame, every bit of what had made you you, and remade you in the image of his perfect toy. You were a doll, his doll, just like he called you.
The realization filled you with a sense of peace you never would’ve expected, your body relaxing as your mind went blissfully blank. It was easier this way, you told yourself, as you breathed a sigh of relief. All that was left of you was Bucky Barnes’ perfect doll—his Winter Slut cam star.
Bucky must’ve felt or somehow sensed your submission because he groaned a filthy sound of pleasure and shoved his hips flush against your ass. He paused for a moment, his hand groping your ass possessively before pulling back and ramming home again, burying himself even deeper inside you, the massive dildo bullying your cervix as he pounded into you.
“That’s my girl, take your Winter Soldier’s cock like a good little fuck doll,” Bucky purred, his voice taking on a tenor of contentment you’d never heard before. It was like he was praising you for your submission, for finally giving yourself over to him, mind, body and soul. “You’re being such a perfect Winter Slut, taking me so good and crying so pretty for the camera.”
You preened under his praise, using what little strength remained in your body to shove your hips back onto Bucky’s cocks, fake and real alike, while you sucked enthusiastically on the fake dick in your mouth. Tears flowed harder from your eyes and you sobbed your pleasure, choked sounds of enjoyment falling from your lips.
You could feel the most devastating orgasm of your life building in the core of your being, and you were eager to chase it, knowing it would rewrite the fundamental fabric of your self.
“Fuck yeah, doll, be my perfect little cam star,” Bucky rumbled, slapping your ass in encouragement, the sting of pain swirling with the pleasure he was wringing from your body and adding to the burning bliss scorching through you. “Show the chat how good my Winter Slut can cry for their money—show them how much you love feeling me ruin your holes for Christmas.”
Bucky rutted into you, pounding into your cunt and ass so hard that the clapping of his hips against your skin was filling the basement and almost drowning out the new Christmas song that had begun. It felt so good, so fucking good to be fucked and filled in every hole, that you were close—so close you could nearly taste it.
“Fucking take it, Winter Slut, take the only cock you’ll ever feel again,” Bucky growled, curling around your body and taking your throat in his hand. He squeezed tightly, grinding his cock and dildo into your body, so deep, you could feel them in your guts. “For the rest of your life, you’re gonna do nothing but take my cock and be my pretty little cam star—you’re all fucking mine.”
Something snapped inside you and you felt liquid gush between your thighs, coating the massive fake cock in your cunt. Your squirt sprayed down to soak the sheets beneath you, and all you could do was revel in the pleasure flooding your body, every limb trembling with the force of it while you gasped and cried around Bucky’s hold on your throat.
When he realized what you’d done, Bucky whooped with triumph, crowing into the camera that he’d made you squirt, that you were his perfect little fuck doll cam star. But you were too consumed by your oncoming release, which was barreling toward you with the force of a freight train.
Before it finally hit you, and you came so hard your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you passed out, Bucky wrapped himself more tightly around your body, his chest pressing into your back and his arms wrapping around your front. He choked you with one big hand while the other groped and played roughly with your tits.
To your surprise, he brushed a kiss to your cheek in a gesture that felt affectionate.
“You’re making me so fucking proud, doll,” he cooed in your ear, and you thought, for a moment, that he sounded just like the sweet Bucky Barnes you’d met all those months ago. “You’re the best Christmas present I ever could’ve asked for.”
Just then, your release slammed into you and you screamed—and there wasn’t anyone around to hear you except Bucky and his camera.
Overwhelming pleasure washed through you, darkness creeping into the edges of your consciousness as your body convulsed and you choked on the dildo in your throat while your other holes clenched around the cocks that had split you open beyond your limit.
The last thing you heard before the weight of your release dragged you under was the festive synth pop chords of another Christmas song, and Wham! singing, “This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special.”
Somewhere inside you, you knew that everything was going to change once you woke up. Bucky had finally broken you, and you’d given him your ultimate submission. Nothing would be the same, but you found that that didn’t scare you as much as it once might have.
You belonged to Bucky Barnes and you’d finally accepted that as fact. He’d taken everything else, but you still had your heart left to give—and you were certain it wouldn’t be long before you gave him that too. Maybe, at least, it would save you from tears…
As you came so hard you passed out, you accepted that your thoughts, your pleasure, your mind, your body, your soul—your everything—belonged to Bucky Barnes. Then, everything went black.
summary: you've kept your feelings for your friend, steve rogers, quiet for years—but when you're at the holiday market with your whole group of friends, some things come to light, and you don't think you can keep pretending you don't desperately want him anymore.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, light angst, smut, oral sex (m and f receiving), piv sex, protection, fingering (f receiving), nipple play, multiple orgasms, kissing, making out, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (sunshine), aftercare, happily ever after—this is probably the most vanilla sex i've written in a while but it's still porn with feelings.
word count: 11.9k
a/n: my first entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, and it's technically still december 1 where i live (just barely)!!! i used the prompt "Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?" and had an idea i really liked and just ran with it! i promise most of my december fics won't be 10k+ words—mainly because i don't think i'd survive it 😅 but i hope y'all enjoy this soft and sweet and smutty start to december!! ♡
december daze challenge masterlist
Teasing tingles of chill danced across your skin as the crisp December wind brushed against your cheeks, making you huddle deeper into the warmth of your winter coat. You pushed your hands deeper into your pockets, but it didn’t do much. You’d forgotten your mittens, and your fingers felt nearly frozen.
It didn’t help that you and your friends had been meandering through one of the city’s holiday market for more than a few hours, the cold of the evening sinking deep into your bones. Unfortunately, there were only so many cups of hot chocolate one person could consume before they made themselves sick, and you’d reached that limit.
Still, you were having fun—too much fun to complain about the cold or to try to beg off early. That was why you smiled as you watched your best friend, Yelena Belova, duck into one of the market stalls, her green eyes going wide as they raked over the vendor’s display of knives.
You trailed a little slowly behind the rest of your friends—Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers—beneath the pop-up tent, distracted by the chill in your fingers as you rubbed them against your body through the material of your coat, trying to get them warm.
The wintry wind cut through the market again and, despite the trembling of your body, you smiled as you breathed in the scent of it. Beneath the pine smell from the evergreen trees being sold at the big tent near the entrance and the swirling richness of buttery baked goods, there was a fresh scent that made you turn your face upward.
Gray clouds were rolling in overhead, blotting out the deep navy of the evening sky, and you knew, deep in your bones, that it was going to snow. A smile curled the edges of your lips and you let your eyes fall closed as you breathed in that fresh scent of oncoming snow.
You loved this time of year because you loved the snow.
Everything about it conjured up memories of sitting by a crackling fire, wrapped in a cozy blanket, watching the beautiful flakes fall from the sky and dust everything in a perfect wintry cloak. You could spend hours sitting by a window, watching the snow come down, and you were suddenly looking forward to doing just that once you got home that evening.
When you finally opened your eyes and turned away from the sky, you found Steve lingering in the entrance of the tent where your friends were browsing, an intensity in his gaze as he looked at you. He didn’t look away when you caught him staring, simply held your gaze, letting you see the heat swirling in the depths of his bright blue eyes.
That heat had begun appearing in Steve’s eyes more and more when he looked at you, and you knew it had started after a certain night at the bar your friends frequented a few weeks prior. But you’d been determinedly ignoring that look in Steve’s eyes ever since that night—just like you’d been ignoring what exactly had happened between the two of you.
As fast as the memory of that night sprang to mind, you shoved it aside, reminding yourself that there was no use in dredging it up. What you and Steve had done that night had the potential to ruin all of your relationships, and no matter how much you might’ve wanted reenact the night at the bar, your friend group was too important to you to risk it.
Even after years of knowing them, you still felt like your addition to the group was precarious because you’d joined so much later. Steve, Bucky, Nat and Yelena had all known each other since they were teenagers, and you’d only met them in your early twenties. You’d sat near Yelena at your first job after college, and it had been best friends at first sight—or, at first snarky comment, anyway.
She’d adopted you as her best friend and introduced you to the others since you were new to the city and didn’t know anyone. You’d liked Steve from the moment you met him, but you’d kept a tight lid on your crush since you were more concerned about fitting into the group as seamlessly as possible, and you figured following your feelings would unnecessarily rock the boat.
Still, despite your intention of taking your crush on Steve to your grave, you couldn’t ignore the way he’d grown into himself as you all had gotten older.
Gone was the boy-next-door blond hair and clean-shaven face of the man you’d first met. Steve’s hair had darkened and he’d recently let it grow long enough that it was beginning to curl at the nape of his neck. He’d also grown out his beard, keeping it thick but neatly trimmed.
Steve had also, somewhere along the way, learned how to dress his tall form—and do it well.
That night at the holiday market, he’d worn light gray slacks, a dark charcoal sweater that you desperately wanted to rub your cheek against to see if it was as soft as it looked, and a black wool overcoat. It was an outfit that had you nearly drooling when you’d met up with your friends, unable to tear your eyes away from how Steve’s broad shoulders and trim waist filled out the clothes.
Despite the chill of the evening, Steve hadn’t seemed the least bit cold, and you’d caught yourself thinking more than once how warm it would feel to be wrapped up in his strong arms. Your fingers would never have gotten so miserably frozen if you’d snuck them beneath Steve’s coat or in his pockets…
With a start, you realized you’d been staring back at Steve for a long, lingering moment, and heat bloomed in your cheeks. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea—though, at that moment, you were struggling to figure out what exactly the wrong idea was—so you ducked your head and pretended like you were bundling deeper into your coat as you made to move past him into the tent.
“Are you alright, sunshine?” Steve asked as you passed him, his hand landing gently on your arm. Even through your coat, you could feel the warmth of his touch; it made you pause and glance up at him.
You realized your mistake immediately. You were too close to Steve—far too close. So close you could smell the rich, masculine scent of his cologne and feel the heat radiating off his body. It made you want to bury your face in his neck and inhale deeply, to wrap yourself up in his warmth until your bones didn’t even remember what the cold felt like.
“I-I’m ok,” you said in a shaky voice, more rattled by Steve’s closeness than the December wind cutting through the city, and you dropped your gaze to the gold pendant around his neck.
It glinted in the soft light of the market stall, and you remembered it had been a gift from his Irish Catholic mother. You used the memory of Steve telling you about the pendant to ground yourself and your voice came out stronger.
“Just cold.”
“D’you want some more hot chocolate?” Steve asked, and there was a hopeful note in his tone, like he was offering to get it for you, but you were quick to shake your head.
“Any more and I think my body will be more hot chocolate than water,” you joked, trying to ignore the emotions swirling in your chest like snowflakes on a wintry gale.
When Steve chuckled, you couldn’t help but look back up at him, finding his blue eyes sparkling as he gazed down at you, affection clear in the lines of his face.
Slowly, his smile eased into something else—something heavier, an expression that was almost yearning. It made the fluttering flakes in your chest swirl more frenziedly while a warmth bloomed somewhere lower, throbbing more to life the longer Steve looked at you with those darkened blue eyes. His expression spoke of things you’d never dare give voice to.
For another long moment, you and Steve just stared at each other, standing too close just inside the canopy of the vendor at the holiday market. A tension you refused to acknowledge crackled in the air around you.
Of their own volition, your eyes dropped to Steve’s mouth, his lower lip looking so soft and pink amid the dark brown of his beard. For what felt like the millionth time in the last few weeks, ever since that night at the bar, you imagined kissing him—how soft his mouth would be, how warm and inviting, and the feel of his rough beard rasping over your cheeks.
“Hey Steve, c’mere!”
Natasha’s call finally broke the spell that had fallen over you and Steve, and you jumped back, only in that moment realizing how close you’d been. Close enough that when you ducked your head and turned away from him, making your way over to Yelena and Bucky, that you missed Steve’s warmth almost immediately.
You let out a shaky breath, trying to ease the tension and whirling emotions in your chest, and slid between your friends, who were still looking at the knives on sale. Looping one arm through Yelena’s, you rested your head against Bucky’s shoulder, taking comfort in your friends’ warmth, even if it wasn’t as soothing as Steve’s had been.
“Both of you already have too many knives,” you said by way of a greeting. Your comment made both of them snort derisively, which made you smirk since it had been your intention to get a reaction out of them.
“There’s no such thing,” Yelena scoffed, tearing her eyes away from a double-edged dagger with an engraved handle to glance sideways at you. Her gaze met yours and then slid over your shoulder.
You followed it to where Natasha and Steve’s heads were ducked together. They were standing near a display of jewelry and you figured Nat was helping Steve pick out a Christmas present for someone, though you couldn’t think of who. You frowned.
“When are you going to put him out of his misery?”
Bucky’s gruff question drew you out of your thoughts of trying to remember someone in Steve’s life who he might be buying jewelry for, and you looked at your friend. Without even seeing your reflection, you knew confusion was written plainly across your face.
“What?” you asked, a little sharper than you’d intended, but you didn’t appreciate the implication that you were making Steve miserable.
Bucky cut his eyes to you, then slid them to Yelena, giving your best friend a pointed look. You spun your head around to your other side in time to watch Yelena’s mouth flatten into a reproachful frown.
Suddenly, you got the distinct impression that your friends were having an argument about you, though you couldn’t even begin to wonder what it could be about, except that it had something to do with Steve.
It took a moment of silent arguing before Yelena and Bucky seemed to come to an agreement. Yelena looked at you, a gentle expression on her face that made your stomach drop with anxiety—which only worsened when she put her free hand on your arm that was still looped through hers.
However, before she could voice whatever bad news she clearly had to tell you, Bucky cut in.
“You know no one would be upset if you and Steve dated, right?” he asked bluntly, his eyes intense and searching when you turned to look at him. “We all know you like each other.”
If you’d been drinking hot chocolate at that moment, you would’ve spit it out all over Bucky and the display of pretty decorative knives.
Thankfully, you weren’t. But you still managed to sputter and open your mouth repeatedly while you searched for the words to address the preposterousness of Bucky’s statement.
“I do not—”
Whatever weak protest you were going to utter was cut short when Yelena blurted, “We know you kissed.”
Sucking in a sharp breath, the snowflakes that had been fluttering in your chest when you’d been standing with Steve sharpened into icy daggers of unease. You whirled on your best friend. “Pardon?”
“I saw you guys at the bar that night—I went back to get my scarf…” Yelena explained quickly, having the good grace to look apologetic, both for what she’d seen and for bringing it up. “I know you’ve liked Steve for ages, even if you haven’t said anything,” she rushed on, as if she thought if she spoke fast enough, it would make it easier to hear. “I was so excited it was finally happening that I blurted it out to Nat and she told Bucky—we were just so happy for you both.”
You floundered again, your mouth opening and closing as you processed your best friend’s words. It was almost too much to take in. Not only did everyone know what had happened between you and Steve that night at the bar, but it hadn’t changed anything. You’d told yourself for years that nothing could happen between you and Steve because it would throw off the whole balance of the group, but something had happened and it hadn’t done anything.
“I—”
Again, you were cut off, though it was seemingly Bucky’s turn, and your head swiveled back to him on your other side, feeling a bit like a broken bobblehead.
“He’s liked you too, for what it’s worth,” Bucky said. Your face must’ve conveyed disbelief because he went on. “He’s been talking about you since Yelena first introduced you to everyone, but he didn’t know how you felt,” he said, cutting his eyes to Yelena with the barest hint of a glare, “and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Hearing that Steve liked you was officially too much for you to bear. The dawning realization that you could’ve been with Steve without risking your friendships with Yelena, Bucky and Nat was like a yawning, desolate chasm waiting to swallow you whole. You’d lost so much time because you were so afraid of losing them all, and it hurt—it hurt enough that it took you a moment to realize Yelena was talking again.
“We thought someone had finally made a move, but then you guys were pretending like nothing happened,” she was saying, and you turned back to her, your mind so overwhelmed that you no longer felt cold, only numb. “None of us wanted to bring it up because, y’know, I wasn’t supposed to have seen it.” She shot you an apologetic grimace before plowing on, her expression turning gentle again. “You know we’d never stop being your friends, even if something happened with you and Steve, right?”
Your heart was racing, the fear of change quickly eclipsing the fear of losing any more time with Steve. You’d been friends with Yelena, Bucky, Nat and Steve for so long that you couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if the two of you started dating—let alone what might happen if you broke up. Shaking your head, you refused to acknowledge Yelena’s assurance. Even if they’d still be friends with you, nothing would be the same.
“Nothing happened,” you said vehemently, even as you choked on the words, the lie tasting like ash on your tongue. But you couldn’t seem to stop. “We were drunk, it meant nothing.”
But then Bucky—blunt, too-perceptive Bucky—broke into your thoughts and pulled you up short with another simple question.
“Are you sure about that?” he asked, his tone not unkind.
You opened your mouth to snap a quick answer, but the ‘yes’ died in your throat. Because of course something had happened, and of course it meant everything.
For the first time in weeks, you gave yourself permission to remember that night.
You’d tried to forget it—forget the softness of Steve’s lips on yours, forget the heat of his tongue as it slipped into your mouth, forget the pleasant scrape of his beard against your skin and the gentle way he’d held your face as he deepened the kiss.
Your first kiss with Steve Rogers had been glorious and messy and too short and too perfect—and it had meant everything to you.
But then you remembered what had happened after, the way you’d pulled away, even though you’d been the one to initiate the kiss in the first place, and panicked as soon as your mind had caught up with what you’d done.
The rest of the memory was a blur, the anxiety of the moment softening the edges, but you distinctly remembered extricating yourself from Steve—which had felt a little like cutting off a limb—before telling him it was a mistake and it couldn’t happen again.
Back at the market, you buried your face in your hands, and almost sobbed at the memory. “I’ve already ruined things,” you mumbled miserably into your frozen fingers, squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.
Bucky made a humming noise, as if he was considering your words. “Whatever happened between you two, it hasn’t changed Steve’s feelings for you,” he said, squeezing your wrist gently until you looked at him. He stared at you for a long moment, making sure you heard him. “So my question stands: When are you going to put him—and yourself—out of this misery?”
Your friends let you sit with that question for a silent moment, then Yelena selected one of the knives, claiming it was an early Christmas present for herself and made her way over to the checkout.
Steve was also apparently buying something, accepting a small wrapped package from the cashier that he slipped into his pocket. You were too overwhelmed by your thoughts to be curious about it anymore though.
You stood with Bucky near the entrance to the tent, waiting for your friends to finish their transactions while your mind swirled. You were grateful to your friend for leaving you alone with your thoughts, though you knew it was only because Bucky was confident he’d made his point.
And he had. Oh how he had.
Your mind and heart were a mess. You’d spent so many years telling yourself that you could never let anyone catch on about your feelings for Steve, because if they did, it would lead to the end of the friend group. But they’d all known for weeks, and nothing had changed.
Well, nothing except apparently Bucky and Yelena had taken it upon themselves to play matchmaker. And you wouldn’t have been surprised if Natasha had been in on the ploy as well, distracting Steve purposefully so Yelena and Bucky could ambush you.
Still, you couldn’t fully silence the tiny voice of fear deep in your heart that insisted that if you and Steve got together, and things ended badly, you’d lose all your friends.
The rest of the group had known each other for so long and it had been more than a little daunting to figure out where you fit. Adding a romantic relationship into the mix seemed like a recipe for disaster—and if it ended so badly that everyone was forced to choose sides, you couldn’t imagine them choosing yours when they’d known Steve so much longer.
But as you watched Yelena finish paying for the knife, her words about always being your friend came back to you. She was your best friend—and you were hers. As if proving the point, she caught your eye and smiled impishly as she caught up with you, linking her arm through yours and tugging you back out into the market.
In that moment, something settled in you. Without fully realizing it, you’d always been a little insecure in your group of friends, always worried they would kick you out at the smallest infraction. But Yelena had said it plainly—they’d always be your friends, and you owed it to them to believe her, to trust her, because that was what friendship was.
That was what you had to do to have any kind of meaningful relationship.
As your group of friends wandered further down the row of stalls at the holiday market, you couldn’t help the way your eyes kept straying to Steve. Each time, you found him either looking at you already, or glancing your way within seconds, like he could feel your gaze.
When you looked at him, really looked at him, you noticed a little bit of hurt in his eyes. There was only a hint of it, like he was trying to hide it from you and everyone elese, but you could see it.
You wondered, briefly, how you’d missed it, but a part of you knew you’d been seeing it since that night at the bar. You’d just been ignoring it along with everything else swirling in his gaze.
“When are you going to put him out of his misery?”
You’d known you were making yourself miserable—of course you had. But the realization that you were making Steve miserable, even as he made a valiant effort to hide it, was what finally made your decision for you about what to do with everything Bucky and Yelena had told you.
No matter how scared you were that things might end badly, and you’d end up getting your heart broken and lose all your friends, you had to trust them when they said they’d always be there for you. You had to trust that Steve knew what he wanted—and that what he wanted was you.
The group came to another stop when Bucky spotted a specialty chocolate vendor and he ducked inside. Nat and Yelena followed him in—the latter giving you a meaningful look as you trailed behind before cutting her eyes to Steve. The message was clear and you nodded, giving her a playful shove that made your best friend cackle as she followed Bucky and Nat.
You stepped toward Steve where he hovered just outside the tent, and he shot you a knowing smile when he caught your eye.
“Still feeling like you’ve had enough chocolate?” he asked in a friendly tone, referencing your earlier joke. His beard twitched like he was trying to hold back a smile and it warmed your heart that he not only remembered the joke, but still found it funny.
The side of your mouth curved up in a lopsided grin, and you inched a tiny bit closer, just barely stepping into Steve’s personal space as you looked up at him.
“Yeah, I’ve had my fill,” you said, keeping your tone light. You took on a considering expression, tipping your head to the side and tapping a finger to your chin as if you were thinking. “For tonight, at least.”
Both of you laughed, but the December wind cut through the holiday market just then, and it reminded you of how cold your fingers were, especially out in the open. You quickly shoved your hand deep into the pocket of your coat, and Steve didn’t miss the movement, drifting even closer to you.
“Do you have any gloves, sunshine?” he asked in a low, rumbly voice that had warm tingles of delight dancing down your spine, all the way to your toes.
“No,” you said, shaking your head. Steve had moved close enough that you had to tip your head back to keep looking up at him, and you could feel the heat radiating off his larger body.
His blue eyes were sparkling in the warm, golden light of the market, and you could see the swirl of emotion in their depths that was only there when he looked at you. But there was a crease of concern between his brows, too, and you knew he was seconds away from offering to find you some gloves—or something else that would be chivalrous and perfectly friendly.
You realized, very suddenly, that if anything was going to happen between you and Steve, anything like what had happened at the bar, you needed to make the first move. Bucky had said Steve had been worried about making you uncomfortable before that night, and you were certain it had only worsened after the kiss you’d shared.
So, before he could say anything, you blurted the first thing that came to mind.
“Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?”
Steve’s brows lifted in surprise, and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from trying to take the words back as soon as they’d slipped out of your mouth. And you were glad you did, because as the moment stretched on, and Steve realized you were serious, his brows lowered and his blue eyes darkened with interest.
“Ya sure about that, sunshine?” he asked, his voice low enough that you knew it was meant for only you. He ducked his head slightly, so he was nearly at your eye level, and held your gaze. “I wouldn’t want you doing anything you might regret.”
The words stung a little, but you knew you deserved them, especially after you’d told Steve that kissing him had been a mistake. So you held his gaze and stepped even closer to him, until there was barely any space left between your bodies.
“I’m sure,” you said firmly, letting Steve see the honesty in your open expression. “I know what I’m doing and I—this is what I want.” You were proud of yourself for only stumbling once, and held your breath as you waited for Steve’s response.
The corners of Steve’s mouth flickered in an eager grin, but he wiped the expression away, like he was worried that if he appeared too excited, he’d scare you away. You felt a pang of regret, and it doubled your determination to show Steve that you weren’t going to panic and run away again.
Pulling your hands from your pockets, you brushed your fingertips against Steve’s stomach in a silent reminder of your question.
“Can I?” you asked, your voice breathless with anticipation.
“Yeah,” he rasped, his eyes molten with heat as he stared down at you. “Go ‘head, sunshine.”
You were cold enough that you didn’t waste any more time, slipping your fingers beneath the hem of Steve’s soft sweater and pressing your frigid fingertips to the warm, smooth skin you found.
“Fuck, your fingers are freezing,” Steve rumbled, the muscles of his abs contracting beneath your touch like they were trying flee. But before you could apologize and pull away, Steve’s hands flattened over yours outside his sweater, pressing your palms against the hard-packed plane of his abs. “Good thing ya got me to keep you warm, sunshine,” he teased, his voice so full of charm that you melted into him.
“Yeah, good thing,” you echoed in a whisper, the edges of your mouth curling up into a pleased smile. You shimmied closer to Steve, watching the way his blue eyes sparkled with affection as he held your gaze captive.
He wrapped you up against him, holding you in the loose cage of his warms while your fingertips stroked idly against his smooth skin. You wanted to let them wander further beneath his sweater and explore the wonders of Steve’s bare chest, but you managed to keep the urge in check since you were in public—though it was a near thing.
“You know what I like to do most in the winter?” you asked Steve, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of you. The sounds of the market all around you were a distant soundtrack.
“What?” he asked indulgently, squeezing you slightly in his arms.
“Curl up in bed and snuggle on a snowy day,” you said with a sly smile. And then, as if a thought had just occurred to you, you tilted your head to the side. “Hey, is your bed comfy? Do you have a lot of nice warm blankets and good pillows?”
A grin pulled across Steve’s face even though he was fighting it, trying to look like he was taking your questions under serious consideration.
“Y’know, I think it’s very comfy,” he said, giving you a knowing look. He’d obviously picked up on the not-so-subtle cue that you might want him to take you back to his place, and you appreciated that he was sticking to the bit. “But it sounds like you’re an expert, so I think you should come over and be the judge of that.”
An answering grin curved your mouth and you murmured, “I’d like that.”
Then, before you could let your fear get the best of you again, you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes, your lips brushing against Steve’s beard as you moved to whisper in his ear.
You shivered at the physical reminder of the coarse hair rasping deliciously against your cheeks when he’d kissed you and it took a moment to remember what you’d been about to say. When you did, you couldn’t hold in your smirk.
“Did I mention I do my best snuggling naked?”
“Sunshine.”
The nickname was uttered in a gruff, rumbling rasp, like the sound of a plow on snowy streets. It was so deep and delicious, your toes curled in delight and your mouth pulled into a full-blown grin.
You barely had time to pull away before Steve was wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and towing you in for a kiss.
Steve’s mouth was wonderfully soft and exquisitely warm and achingly familiar against yours. He wasted no time licking along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance that you happily gave him.
Your fingers curled around Steve’s sides beneath his sweater, digging greedily into the soft skin at his waist while you kissed him back feverishly, trying to close every gap between your bodies.
“Fuck, how does this feel so much better than I remember?” Steve growled against your lips, his hand on the back of your neck tilting your head just the way he wanted so he could lick even deeper into your mouth.
Your breathy, delirious laugh was swallowed by his all-consuming kiss, the sound turning into a helpless moan.
God, he was right, it did feel so much better than you remembered to have Steve’s mouth on yours, and you couldn’t fathom how you’d run away from him before because, in that moment, the last thing you wanted to do was stop. You wanted to kiss Steve for the rest of your life.
“I don’t know, but Steve, please, don’t stop,” you murmured when he finally let you up for air. You tried to catch your breath while he was busy pressing insatiable kisses to your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, anywhere he could reach without straying too far from your lips.
Pulling your hands from beneath his sweater, your no longer freezing fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, pulling him closer while at the same time pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes again. Your bodies slotted together even more perfectly, and you moaned softly into his mouth as you tugged him in for another kiss.
Steve kissed you harder, holding you tight to his chest like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear on the wintry wind. In turn, you held him just as fiercely, your nails raking through the beard on the underside of his jaw and tugging lightly to bring him closer until he was rumbling a pleased sound deep in his chest.
“Get a room!”
The perfect bubble that had formed around and Steve abruptly popped, the sounds of the bustling holiday market rushing in along with the December chill and you pulled away, your first instinct to worry about what your friends would think. But then you caught the look on Steve’s face.
He was staring at you with such a blissed out expression, his blue eyes dark and hazy, a pleased smile on his kiss-swollen lips, that you couldn’t help but relax and melt back into him. You took your time to press a sweet kiss to his lips before turning to your friends.
Natasha, Yelena and Bucky all wore matching smug grins. Nat was even popping little chocolate candies into her mouth like she was enjoying the show.
“Oh no, please don’t stop on our account,” she called to you and Steve, gesturing with her hand for you both to continue. The whole group burst into raucous laughter.
Cracking up and shaking your head, you buried your face in Steve’s rumbling chest, feeling a little shy about being caught making out so heatedly by your friends. But you felt relief, too, that no one was upset—that all your friends were happy for you and Steve.
When you’d finally gotten ahold of yourself, you tipped your face up and caught Steve’s eye, giving him a sly smile that had his expression instantly darkening with a hunger that made you pulse with desire.
“So about that comfy bed of yours…” you murmured, just for him to hear. When he nodded once, quickly, to acknowledge he remembered it, you went on. “I’d love to see it if you’re ready to go?”
The implication of your question was clear and Steve clutched you tighter to his chest, capturing your lips for a brief, hot kiss that did more to warm you from the inside out than any of the hot chocolate you’d consumed that evening.
“Sunshine, I’ve been ready to take you home for years,” he rasped against your mouth, the honesty in his voice making you smile.
When Steve pulled away, he tugged you over to your group of friends and told them you were heading home—yes, together, he confirmed. All three of them murmured encouraging words in your ear as you hugged them goodbye, and you could tell by the pink tinging Steve’s cheeks that they were doing the same to him.
Once farewells were said, Steve snagged your hand and laced your fingers together. As you walked to the subway, he tucked your clasped hands into the pocket of his overcoat, and then your other into the crook of his elbow, where he covered it with his palm to keep you warm.
Steve held you tucked into his side the whole way back to his place while he made idle conversation, asking about the latest books you’d read and movies you’d watched. He only let go when it came time to pull out his keys and unlock his door.
There was a giddy, electric energy between the two of you as Steve helped you out of your coat and hung it up. Your gaze kept drifting back to him while you took off your boots and he hung up his overcoat. Once done, he stepped close, toeing out of his shoes next to where you’d dropped your boots.
“Do you want anything to drink?” Steve asked, his voice rough and a little uneven, like he was nervous. It made you smile, settling your own nerves to know he was right there with you.
You stepped further into Steve’s space, your fingers sneaking beneath the hem of his sweater and giggling when he sucked in a sharp breath. He’d made an excellent effort to keep your fingers warm on the way home, but the December cold had still snuck in.
It was a good thing Steve was there to warm you up again.
“I think I’d just like to see this comfy bed of yours,” you murmured, pushing up onto your tiptoes and kissing Steve.
The two of you lingered in the entryway of Steve’s apartment for long minutes, kissing and learning what made each other gasp and moan. His teeth nipped at your lower lip, sinking in hard enough to make you whimper before relenting and soothing the sting away with his tongue.
Meanwhile, you let your hands wander further beneath Steve’s sweater, finding a light trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his slacks. You raked your nails through it, and relished the pleased sound that rumbled in his chest.
Warm, wet desire was gathering between your thighs, and it wasn’t long before you squirmed impatiently against Steve, needing more.
By the time Steve broke the kiss and spun you around, his heavy hands dropping to your hips to guide you through his apartment, your panties were damp and you were aching for something only Steve could give you.
Both of you moved quickly as you let Steve lead you to his bedroom, pausing just inside the darkened room while he flicked on a light.
A soft, golden glow emanated from two lamps set on low wooden tables on either side of the massive bed. Curiously, your gaze roved over the room, taking in the earthy colors and tasteful design.
It seemed Steve hadn’t only gotten his wardrobe and appearance together—he’d also made his home a place that was warm and welcoming and entirely him.
The king-size bed was swathed in a thick, forest green comforter with dark charcoal sheets, a veritable pile of pillows at the head that looked far too enticing. The rest of the room was furnished with a dark wooden bookcase and dresser that matched the bed frame and side tables. There were even some vintage photographs of Brooklyn decorating the wall, along with some framed pictures on dresser.
Wandering over, you picked up one of the photographs. It was from the first autumn after you’d met Yelena and the others. The group had rented a car and gone to a farm upstate to go apple picking and enjoy all the other autumnal delights the state had to offer.
In the photo, you were tucked into Steve’s side on a bale of hay, ready for the hayride the group had decided to go on, with Yelena on your other side. There was a blanket draped over your laps, and Steve’s arm was wrapped around your shoulders. The three of you were beaming at the camera.
“Do you remember that trip?” Steve asked, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder while he peered at the photograph.
“Yeah,” you said, nodding. Then you winced as you remembered something about the trip. “Wasn’t this the time I fell asleep on your shoulder on the way home and drooled all over your jacket?”
Steve laughed huskily in your ear.
“It is,” he confirmed, brushing a kiss to your cheek before murmuring. “I didn’t wash it for a month.”
It was your turn to laugh, though the sound was more of a surprised exhalation as you twisted your upper body so you could see his face better.
“What?”
Steve grimaced, wrinkling his nose and scuffing a hand against the back of his neck sheepishly, like he regretted admitting that to you.
“It was more because it smelled like you than because of the, y’know, drool,” he explained, his tone a tiny bit defensive. But then he looked at you, finding your face still frozen in surprise and his expression softened. “I’ve liked you since I met you, sunshine.”
It wasn’t anything Bucky hadn’t already told you, but it still felt like an entirely new revelation coming straight from Steve, and all you could think to say was, “Oh.”
You turned back to the photo, still held in your hand, and all you could think about was the fact that you had the same one tacked up on the corkboard over your desk. You wondered if Steve liked it for the same reason you did—because it made the two of you look like a happy couple, even with Yelena sitting next to you.
“I liked you too,” you confessed in a small voice.
Steve was quiet for a moment, his hold on you loosening slightly as you stepped forward to put the photograph back on his dresser. But when that was done, he towed you back in until your back was pressed to his chest.
“Liked?” he asked, enunciating the ‘d’ at the end of the word.
Your mouth flickered in a smile and you turned around in his arms. Your hands smoothed over his broad shoulders while you leaned into him, your soft curves pressing into the hard planes of his body.
“I liked you then, and I like you now, Steve,” you said, holding your breath as you stared up at him. Even knowing he felt the same way about you, it was still scary to lay your heart bare for the first time, and you waited eagerly for his response.
An exhale gusted from Steve and you couldn’t help but note the relief in his expression, even as he grinned wide.
“That’s good to hear, sunshine, because I like you, too.”
“Good,” you said with a grin, dragging Steve down for a too-brief kiss. “Now, will you take me to bed already?”
Steve’s laughter was muffled as he kissed you again, guiding you around and walking you backward until the backs of your legs hit the bed. He didn’t break the kiss as he lowered you to the soft mattress and helped you slide up the bed until your shoulders settled into the pile of pillows at the head.
Your arms wrapped around Steve and you pulled him down on top of you while he braced himself so he didn’t crush you. One of his legs slid between your thighs and he lowered himself down on top of you until his bulge pressed into your stomach. Your belly swooped with excitement and your pulse thrummed with desire.
Hiking one of your legs up around his waist, you writhed beneath Steve, grinding your hot core against his thigh through your jeans.
You couldn’t seem to stop touching him, your hands sketching the exact measure of his body, and he seemed to be doing the same. Steve’s hands couldn’t stay still, sliding up and down your sides before finally pushing beneath your sweater.
His warm, calloused fingers stroked covetously over your skin, and you felt extra sensitive wherever he touched you, his every caress sending shivers of pleasure racing through your body.
“Steve,” you whined, wrenching your mouth from his to drag in a much-needed breath. Even still, you craved more and your body rocked up into his, grinding against his thigh while his bulge pressed insistently into your belly.
“You feel so good, sunshine,” he rasped as he kissed a trail along your jaw and down to your neck. The scratch of his beard against your skin had you shuddering beneath his big body. “Can I…?” he asked, his fingertips teasing along the edge of your bra beneath your sweater.
“Yes—please,” you gasped. Your own fingers curled into the soft fabric of Steve’s sweater between his shoulder blades and you tugged on it, trying to pull it over his head.
Steve chuckled into your neck before he sat up and yanked his sweater off for you, baring the broad expanse of his chest. You caught glimpses of soft brown hair dusted across his pecs and endless swaths of golden skin before he was helping you out of your sweater.
You grumbled disgruntledly when your view of Steve was cut off as he tugged your sweater over your head, then as he leaned close to unclasp your bra and toss it somewhere in the room. You only dragged your eyes away from Steve’s perfect chest when he made a low, almost anguished sound.
He looked a little dazed, his eyes staring down at your bare breasts. Your chest was heaving slightly, making them bounce gently, and Steve looked almost hypnotized by the sight.
Snorting to yourself, you curled your fingers around his firm biceps and tugged him back down on top of you, whimpering when your nipples brushed against the hair on his chest. They pebbled as pleasure spiked through your body, settling heavily between your thighs and making even more wetness soak into your panties.
The movement had broken Steve from his trance and he began kissing from your neck down your chest. The rasp of his beard over your clavicle sent a delicious shiver down your spine, making you keen and tremble beneath him.
“Fuck, you’re so soft,” he rumbled gruffly into your skin. He buried his face in the valley between your breasts, groping your supple flesh in his big hands while pressing teasing kisses and gentle bites to your skin. “You’re so perfect, sunshine.”
You whined a needy sound, reacting to his touch as much as his awe-filled words, and threaded your fingers through Steve’s soft hair. You held him tightly to your chest, wordlessly pleading for more, and he enthusiastically indulged the request.
Steve wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked deeply, drawing so much of you into his hot mouth, it felt like he was doing his damndest to devour you. You were already so sensitive for him that it felt like there was a direct line connecting your sensitive peak to your clit, and you cried out in pleasure, your spine arching up off the bed and pushing your chest further in Steve’s face.
He grinned, doing a poor job of hiding his self-satisfied expression in your soft tits, but you didn’t begrudge him the smugness—not when he nibbled at your hardened nipple so good, it made your hips buck up from the bed. A whine slipped from your lips when you realized you no longer had his thigh to grind against, your legs kicking restlessly at the sheets.
After giving the same torturous treatment to your other nipple, wringing even more whimpering whines and desperate keening sounds from your mouth, Steve began kissing his way further down your body. He nipped playfully at your belly before lifting his head to catch your eye.
It took you a moment to blink them into focus enough to see him clearly.
“I’ve been dreaming about your taste for years, sunshine,” he rumbled, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your jeans and tugging just enough that you knew he was asking if he could take them off. “Please, can I…?”
You were already nodding, your fingers fumbling over the button of your jeans. Steve seemed just as eager as you, gently pushing your hand aside and taking over as he thumbed it through the hole in the denim and pulled your zipper down. Then he was peeling your jeans down over you hips and thighs, taking your panties off at the same time.
In only a few seconds, you were stripped bare for the first time in front of Steve Rogers, and if it wasn’t for the shuddered exhale that gusted past his lips and the sizable bulge twitching in the front of his slacks, it might’ve occurred to you to feel a little insecure.
But before those thoughts could even begin to creep in, Steve was dragging his hands up your thighs and spreading your legs with a reverent look on his face, giving an appreciative rumble deep in his chest as he raked his eyes up the naked length of your body.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, sunshine,” he rasped, pressing his face between your thighs and taking a deep breath.
Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to wonder at how you smelled because Steve was licking his tongue into the seam of your pussy, groaning like he’d eaten something delicious.
“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” he growled before diving in deeper, burying his face against your cunt and eating you out like he was a dying man and you were his last meal.
In no time at all, he had you crying out, your hips bucking up off the bed as pleasure swirled through your body. It was all you could do to try to stop yourself from humping against his handsome face.
Steve’s thick biceps banded around your thighs and he held you spread open while he feasted on you, his eyes staring up past your quivering belly and heaving chest to watch your reactions. He sucked and nibbled and flicked his tongue over your sensitive clit, paying attention to what had you writhing and moaning your pleasure beneath him.
He licked into your pussy, fucking you with his tongue until you were squirming and panting on the bed, your thighs tensing and trembling with your building release.
Needing something to hold on to, you threaded your fingers into Steve’s hair, holding his head against your greedy pussy and rocking your hips into him. You moaned loudly, unabashedly, grinding against his mouth and beard as you neared the edge.
“Oh god, Steve, ‘m so close, please—please, don’t stop, ‘m gonna come,” you babbled, your spine arching up off the bed as you threw your head back into the pile of soft pillows. “Fuck, please, please, please!”
It was clear that Steve was a quick study when it came to your body, and he put what he’d learned to good use, sucking hard on your clit and flicking his tongue over it, steadily driving your pleasure higher until, finally, it crested. And then he pushed you right over the edge.
Your fingers fisted in Steve’s hair and you humped shamelessly against his face as you came with a cry of his name—“Steve!” Your body tightened, and then loosened as wave after wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, making you shiver intensely while Steve’s mouth worked you through your release.
When the pleasure began to ebb, you melted back into the soft blankets on Steve’s bed, a dazed smile curving your mouth. Steve eased you down with gentle sweeps of his tongue and soft kisses to your inner thighs, murmuring sweet words to you about how good you tasted on his tongue.
It wasn’t until you whimpered from overstimulation that Steve stopped. He pressed one last kiss to the top of your mound before pushing himself up. His happy grin when he saw the sated, content expression on your face made your heart skip a beat in your chest. He was just so damn handsome.
“Good?” Steve asked, though you knew from the self-satisfied look in his eye that he already knew the answer to his question.
Still, you nodded. “So good,” you purred, stretching and reaching for him. Your fingers curled into coarse hair on the underside of his jaw and you tugged him up your body for a kiss.
You could taste yourself on his lips, and his beard was so drenched in your juices, it made your own cheeks damp. A groan worked its way up your throat at the filthiness of the kiss, and you pulled Steve closer, letting him muffle the sound as his tongue slipped into your mouth.
Even though Steve had just made you come harder than anyone else in your entire life, renewed desire was beginning to bloom in your core, the heat of your arousal already building again. Distractedly, you recognized that you’d never felt the way you did for anyone but Steve—insatiable, unwilling to let the night end just yet.
When Steve’s hard bulge knocked against your hip, a devious smirk curled your lips and you wasted no time trailing your fingers down his bare, golden chest to grope his cock through his slacks. He was hard and heavy in your hand, and an excited thrill raced down your spine at the thought of taking him in your mouth.
Steve groaned against your lips, his big body shuddering when you squeezed and stroked him through the thick material of his pants. So you did it again, rubbing him with your palm until you felt his hard length jump against your fingers, like his body was just as eager for your touch as the rest of him.
“We don’t have to do more,” Steve said, his voice a little breathless. “I-I mean, you don’t have to return the favor or anything. I’m good to just go to sleep if that’s what you want.”
Steve’s words were honorable, but you didn’t want to sleep.
You pushed at his larger body until he flipped onto his back. Following after him, you kissed down his chest, taking a moment to nuzzle in the soft hair scattered across his pecs before you lifted your head and caught his eye, letting him see the desire in yours.
“I bet I’ve dreamed about sucking your cock just as much as you dreamed about eating my pussy,” you whispered huskily, holding his gaze determinedly while you shifted down his body until your face was level with his bulge. You mouthed at his hard length through his slacks. “Please, Steve, can I…?”
“Yeah—yes—fuck, sunshine, you can do whatever you want,” he rasped, helping you undo his button and fly, his fingers trembling. Then he lifted his hips so you could pull his pants down.
You felt like you were unwrapping the most perfect Christmas present as you tugged his slacks and boxer briefs down his thick, toned thighs. You even let out a little gasp of delight when Steve’s cock bounced free, marveling at the sheer masculine beauty of it.
Impatiently, you pulled his clothes the rest of the way off, pausing only to kiss his thighs, enjoying the softness of his leg hair against your lips and cheeks, before returning to his cock.
Taking him in hand, you circled your fingers around the thick shaft and gave him a loose pump, watching how he bucked his hips into your fist from just that little bit of touching. Steve’s hands were fisted in the blankets on the bed, like he was holding himself back from touching you, and you decided you want to make the man—your man—lose himself in pleasure, just like he’d done to you.
You ducked down and licked the tip of Steve’s cock, humming in delight as the salty, musky taste of his precum burst on your tongue. The vibrations made Steve groan and you hid a self-satisfied smirk against his cock, before refocusing on your task.
You pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses up and down Steve’s shaft, staring up his hard, firm body while he watched you worship his cock. His cheeks were tinged pink, a light sheen of sweat dotting his brow and his eyes were so dark, his pupils blown so wide, they looked like the navy blue night sky on a winter evening.
When you ducked down further, taking his balls into your mouth and suckling greedily, Steve’s gaze widened and his cock twitched in your hand.
“Sunshine,” he rasped, the nickname sounding like a plea for mercy as he groaned loudly. “Ya keep sucking my balls and I’m gonna come way too soon.”
With a smirk, you gave his sensitive sac one last little suckle before letting it fall from your lips, then you licked up the length of his cock.
“Can’t have that,” you quipped, shooting him a smug grin. You pressed a kiss to the tip and wrapped your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth and sucking hard enough to make his hips buck up off the bed.
Another anguished sound wrenched free from Steve’s lips.
“Oh fuck,” he moaned as he settled back down, one of his hands coming to rest on the crown of your head—not pushing you down or pulling you away, just holding you like he couldn’t help but touch you.
For a moment, you focused on Steve’s cock, pulling back before taking him deeper into your mouth, using your tongue to swirl around the head and trace the veins decorating his shaft while your fist stroked him. But when you flicked your gaze up to Steve, you found him watching you with adoration in his eyes.
“You’re amazing, sunshine,” he rumbled when he noticed he had your attention, one side of his mouth pulling up in a lopsided grin. “You’re gorgeous—and you look so fucking hot with my cock in your mouth.”
The corners of your mouth flickered in a pleased smile as his praise washed over you, and you closed your eyes, soaking it in. When you opened them again, you redoubled your efforts on Steve, bobbing up and down on his length at a steady pace while you pumped him in your fist.
You lost yourself in the pleasure of sucking Steve’s cock, and before long, you could feel yourself growing wet all over again. Your inner walls clenched pathetically around nothing while your mouth was filled with his big dick, but you didn’t want to stop.
However, before you could make Steve come down your throat, his hands gently gripped your head and he pulled you up off his cock. With his considerable strength, Steve hauled you back up the bed and rolled you over onto your back beneath him, bracing himself on one hand while the other slide between your thighs. He bit off a curse when he felt how wet you were.
“Christ, sunshine, ya got this wet from sucking my cock?” he asked, a note of teasing in his tone that had heat coursing through your body. Before you could respond, though, his mouth found yours for a kiss.
You were certain he must’ve been able to taste himself on your tongue, but he didn’t seem to care. He was too determined to devour your lips and swallow your moan while he speared you open with two fingers, capturing your cry of pleasure.
“Oh god, Steve,” you mumbled against his mouth, your hips rocking into his hand and fucking his fingers. “Please, I need you—I need you to fuck me.” Your hand was fisted in Steve’s soft hair and you clung to him, your entire being straining to get closer while still taking all the pleasure his fingers offered.
“Thank fuck—I need you so goddamned bad, sunshine,” he groaned, easing his fingers from your dripping hole and rolling onto his back so he could reach for something.
A moment later, you heard the sound of a wooden drawer snap closed and he rolled back on top of you, the square foil packet of a condom held in his fingers.
“Ya wanna do the honors?” he asked, his grin so charming and so like the Steve you’d known for so many years that it took your breath away.
But there was a comfort and an ease to the moment because you were there with Steve—your Steve—and you laughed at his silly offer. You were shaking your head even as you took the packet and tore it open, tossing the foil aside and making quick work of rolling the condom onto his cock.
When you were done, you gave the base of his shaft an affectionate squeeze and Steve chuckled, capturing your lips in a kiss while he shifted on top of you, pressing his knees between your legs and spreading your thighs to make room for his big, broad body.
You opened happily for him, kissing him back while your legs hooked around the backs of his thighs. Together, you lined your bodies up until Steve’s cock lay heavily against your mound, kissing lazily all the while.
After a moment, Steve broke the kiss, pushing himself up with one hand while the other fisted his hard length and held himself away from the place where you ached for him to fill. He stared deep into your eyes and gave you a serious look, a little bit of anxiety swirling in his gaze.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his eyes roving over your face like he was searching for any hidden remnant of hesitance on your part—any sign that you might run, you realized. “Because I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you for so long, that if you tell me tomorrow this was a mistake…” Steve paused, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed, “it’ll break my fucking heart, sunshine.”
Steve’s voice cracked a little on the pet name and it made your heart split open in your chest. You didn’t know if you’d ever forgive yourself for hurting Steve the way you did, for saying those things you didn’t mean and trying to push him away when all you’d wanted was to pull him closer.
You decided then and there to make it up to him—and that began with being honest with him. Always.
So you threaded your fingers into Steve’s beard until you were cupping his face and you stared him directly in the eye as you answered his question.
“I’m sure, Steve,” you said firmly, certainty resonating in your tone. “I was scared before—I’ve wanted you for so long that the thought of finally having you was terrifying.” You gave him a tremulous, apologetic smile, and his expression softened. “But I’m sure about this,” you said again, your voice stronger. “I’m sure about you, and I’m sure about us.”
When you finished your confession, Steve’s eyes closed and he exhaled a long, relieved breath. You pulled him down for a kiss, and it was a gentle thing—tentative as you both savored the vulnerability you shared, physically and emotionally, thanking one another for the trust that took.
It was only when the kiss ended and Steve pressed his forehead to yours that he pushed inside you for the first time, his thick cock sinking deep into your pussy with one determined, inexorable thrust.
Your arms and legs were wrapped around him already and you clung to Steve as you cried out, tears of emotion pricking at the backs of your eyes even as pleasure radiated through your body.
“You ok?” Steve asked softly and the question—so gentle and genuine—had a tear spilling onto your cheek. He brushed it away.
“This is the happiest I’ve ever been,” you admitted in a thick voice, tugging Steve’s mouth back to yours, kissing him deeply.
Together, you gave yourselves over to your instincts. Steve pulled his hips back until only half of him remained inside, and your heels dug into the backs of his thighs, urging him to plunge deep into you again. He slid home, and both of you moaned.
Steve rocked into you with slow, thorough thrusts, but when you moaned for more, he drew back more each time and thrust harder. It wasn’t long before he was fucking you in hard, deep strokes that hit all the most perfect spots inside you, his mouth kissing your cheeks and neck and anywhere he could reach while he held you pinned to his chest, his hips working his cock deep into your cunt.
With every hard thrust, you clung more tightly to Steve, holding him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers buried in his hair, thankful he’d grown it long enough that you could grip it tight in your fists. Your body writhed beneath his bigger form, using your legs draped around his thighs to meet his thrusts.
For what seemed like forever, you and Steve were nothing more than two writhing bodies trying to get closer, deeper, tighter together, like your hearts were straining to become one. And you were so consumed with pleasure that it wasn’t until you were right on the precipice of your release that you realized you were close.
“Steve,” you gasped, trying to tell him you were going to come, and just then he changed the angle of his hips, stealing the words from your lips.
He was driving his cock so deep into your cunt and grinding against your clit so exquistiely that you saw stars. Your body shook under a deluge of pleasure and the coil of tension twisted tighter in your core.
“Come for me, sunshine,” Steve rumbled, fucking you hard and deep and so perfectly you knew you were forever ruined for any other man. “Be a good girl and come on my cock before I fucking explode.”
His filthy words were your undoing.
You shattered apart, sharp, sparkling pleasure devastating your body and mind while you screamed Steve’s name as you came. Your whole body clenched tight, clamping down on Steve’s cock hard enough that he grunted into your neck, then you succumbed to the pleasure as it dragged you under its thrall, whimpers and moans spilling from your lips mindlessly.
Steve’s hands gripped your hips tightly, and he rutted into your clenching pussy with wild thrusts as he chased his own release. He found it only a moment after yours, groaning your name against your cheek while his hips stuttered and shunted forward, burying himself balls-deep in your fluttering pussy while he came, his cock throbbing deep in your cunt.
You held each other close as you came down from your releases. Your fingers stroked through Steve’s soft hair, the strands damp with sweat, and twirled around the gently curling ends. Meanwhile, his hands were petting up and down your sides, his face buried in the pillow beside your head while he rumbled muffled words of praise in your ear.
Eventually, Steve sat up, pulling his softening cock as gently from your body as he could manage, watching your face closely for any hint of pain. You were a little sore, but when he pulled free, your body mourned the loss of him more than anything else.
He quickly disposed of the condom and wrapper in his bathroom, then came back with a warm wet washcloth. He cleaned you up with gentle caresses, pressing a kiss to your hip and nipping playfully at your belly until you were giggling and pushing him away, your body too tired and sated and oversensitive for such treatment—but you were grinning all the same.
When he was done, you rose from the bed and went to the bathroom while he padded to his dresser. After you were done, you found Steve relaxing on his bed in only a pair of lounge pants, his chiseled chest deliciously bare and biceps bulging with his hands tucked behind his head.
You paused, raking your eyes over his gorgeous chest, only catching his gaze when he made a deep, rumbling sound of good-natured warning.
“You better put on some pajamas, sunshine,” Steve started, his blue eyes heated and a playful smile flickering at the edges of his mouth, almost hidden by his beard. “Unless you want me to fuck you again.”
The threat in his tone was flirtatious and you almost took him up on the offer. But you knew that if Steve fucked you again, you’d be sore the next day, and you didn’t want that. Huffing a petulant sigh, you moved to the pile of folded clothes Steve had left on the corner of the bed.
The heat in Steve’s eyes didn’t abate as he watched you pull one of his shirts over your head, tugging the hem down until it covered your ass and part of your thigh. You didn’t have any clean panties, so you crawled into bed like that, your eyes finding Steve and watching as the heat of desire softened into the warmth of affection.
The two of you slid beneath the blankets and you curled up at Steve’s side, your head on his chest. You fell asleep quickly and easily to the sound of his gentle breathing, and the steady drumming of his heart beating beneath your cheek.
The next morning, you woke to snow flurries drifting past the windows of Steve’s bedroom, the flakes having covered his neighborhood in a blanket of white while you slept. You pressed a happy smile against Steve’s sternum, the expression deepening when you felt his heart skip a beat at your closeness.
“So, is my bed comfy enough for you, sunshine?” he asked in the deep rasp of a man who’d just woken up. Using his arms looped around your waist, he pulled you on top of him, his mouth finding yours for a decadent good morning kiss before he let you answer.
“Hmm,” you hummed playfully in thought, smiling against his mouth while you pulled him closer with your fingers curled into the scruffy, coarse hair of his beard. “It could use a few more pillows—and maybe a nice throw blanket.”
“Consider it done,” he murmured, rolling you beneath his broad body and sliding his hips between your thighs. His morning wood brushed against your bare core and you moaned into his mouth. “Anything you want, you just tell me, sunshine,” he rumbled in between slow, drugging kisses, his hips rolling leisurely against you. “I want my girlfriend to feel comfortable here.”
“Girlfriend?” you gasped breathlessly, your heart beating harder with excitement while he pulled away to kiss down your neck. You could feel Steve’s grin against the side of your throat before he pressed a kiss against your thrumming pulse.
“You wanna be my girlfriend, don’t ya, sunshine?” he asked.
It was only because you’d known Steve for so long, and were so determined never to hurt him again, that you heard the tiny thread of anxiety in his tone. You squeezed him tightly in your arms and rushed to answer, eager to put his worry to rest.
“Yes!” you cried happily. “Yes, I want to be your girlfriend, Steve.” You twisted your fingers in his soft hair and tugged his mouth up from your neck. “Now kiss me, boyfriend,” you murmured and Steve, obligingly, crushed his mouth to yours in a blissful kiss.
You and Steve reveled in your new relationship, spending a long time in bed just kissing and exploring each other and making up for lost time before your growling stomachs finally made you get up.
After breakfast, Steve seemed to remember something and he padded to the entryway, coming back with the box he’d acquired at the holiday market the evening before. He handed it to you, saying there was no way he’d be able to wait until Christmas to give it to you.
You opened the present, finding a simple silver chain and a stunningly engraved sun pendant within. You were so overwhelmed with happiness that tears sprang to your eyes and you had to hastily wipe them away.
“A little bit of sunshine for my sunshine,” Steve murmured against your temple before pressing a kiss to your skin.
At your insistence, he helped you put the necklace on and you thanked him graciously—with words and kisses. Then you towed Steve back to bed, and the two of you gave in to the pleasure of your bodies until you collapsed, sated once again.
All day, you couldn’t stop smiling. You were doing one of your favorite things, snuggling on a snowy day, with one of your favorite people in the world—your boyfriend. And you were making plans for the future, talking about what you were going to get your other friends for Christmas and arguing about how to best decorate Steve’s apartment for the holiday.
The whole time, you couldn’t help but think about how Christmas would always be extra special for you from that year on. It was a wonderful holiday but, more importantly to you, it was when you and Steve Rogers finally admitted your feelings for one another and took the first step toward a forever together.
So, this time of year would always be your favorite time of year.
