#Eury2kchallenge

[divine-mistake]

it's messy inside, let me take your coat

Summary: “I can make you a drink,” you offer, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom with your arms crossed over your chest, staring at him, “or I can come over there and you can kiss me drunk instead, ‘cause I’m already halfway there.”

Characters: Bucky Barnes/Plus-sized (f)Reader

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of smut, female nudity), strong language, alcohol consumption, copious amounts of fluff, soft and nervous Bucky Barnes, original female character friends, one-night stand, body insecurity, anxiety

Word Count: 8723

A/N: This story was written for @eurynome827 and her 2k follower challenge with the prompt "Mimosas and Bloody Marys at brunch." Thank you for hosting and congrats again on your milestone!

main masterlist | AO3

“Cheers!”

The flutes clink together, orange juice sloshing and spilling and dripping down the glasses and onto the table as your giggles fade into the background noise of the café’s patio. You tip your head back as you drink, mimosas bubbly in your throat like your own happiness, threatening to pour out of you and dribble onto your shirt, already tipsy.

“God,” Carissa says, throwing herself back into the metal chair, “I cannot wait to have his babies.”

Beside her, Kora claps. “I can’t wait to be an aunt! I’m going to spoil them all so rotten you’re going to want to throttle me by the end of it.”

“Spoil them all you want, I’m having eight of ‘em.”

At that, you go ahead and polish off your drink, carbonation stinging your throat, and while you set the empty glass down your hand goes up in the air, signaling the waiter for another.

Sara points at you. “I’m with her.” She makes a face at Carissa. “If you have eight kids I will make like your dad and bounce.”

Kora slaps her on the knee but the four of you descend into laughter anyway, and it’s easy and light and beautiful, like always. Washington D.C. can be pretty in this way—iron-wrought fencing and fancy metal tables and red patio tiling. Good food, better mimosas, best friends. There’s a breeze in the air that’s calling for autumn, scattering cloth napkins sitting in laps and spreading the scent of fresh baked bread.

The bags at your feet carrying your new shoes for the winter wedding that’s approaching rustle. That feeling isn’t just D.C. It’s excitement and love and adoration, too.

Carissa, bride to be, catches you in her gaze. “When are you going to finally settle down, huh?” She gestures across the table at you with her half-filled mimosa. Everyone else looks at you too, waiting for your response.

You shrug. “You’re having plenty of babies, I don’t need any.”

“I don’t mean babies,” she says. “I mean a human, a connection, something that isn’t an empty apartment.”

“You need—no, you deserve—someone to take care of you!” Kora adds. “You’re always taking care of everyone. Don’t you want someone to, y’know, take care of you?”

“I have plenty of vibrators in my empty apartment.”

Sara snorts, covering her mouth. The waiter delivers another round, thank god.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask, sighing. “You’re just bothering me ‘cause it’s wedding season and you want to set me up with your weird—”

“He’s not weird,” Carissa interrupts. “He’s tall and he’s mysterious which is exactly your type.”

“She’ll find someone when the time is right,” Sara says. “Just ‘cause we’re happy with our boyfriends doesn’t mean she needs one to be happy.”

“Thank you, Sara, my one-true-best-friend-in-the-whole-wide-world.” You force your glass against hers in a loud clank, turning the heads of all the patrons on the café’s patio before taking a gulp. Your face is already getting a little hot, the alcohol hitting you. This is why you aren’t allowed to pregame before you go to brunch anymore.

“We’re not trying to force you,” Kora starts, but her mouth is pulled into a concerned frown. “We really do just want you to be as happy as we are, that’s all.”

You smile at her. “I know.”

And you do know. You understand. It’s been years now since you’ve had anything real—anything worthwhile, to be specific. At some point, the relationships slowed down. Boyfriends became friends with benefits when you were working on your masters. Friends with benefits became ignored booty calls at two in the morning when you started your dissertation, on the road to get your doctorate. Now, you’re lucky to go home with someone from the bar, and they never, ever, come home with you.

It’s okay. You aren’t lonely. The right person just hasn’t landed in your lap, and maybe that’s kind of because it’s not open, but it’s just ‘cause you’re busy. You’re busy. Passionate. Need to change the world.

Love can wait.

The next mimosa is finished and you’re feeling a little fuzzy.

“I’m happy for you,” you tell Carissa. “I’m happy for all of you, and I’m happy with my life, and I’m happy that we’re all together and we’re celebrating and I’m happy that you all care about me enough to worry but I’m perfectly fine with how things are.”

Carissa smiles, but it’s got too much teeth. “I could set you up with Kie—”

“No, no setting me up with Kieran or Harry or Josh or anyone. But especially not Kieran.”

You’d already fucked him once and it wasn’t worth the experience.

“Fine! Fine.” Carissa busies herself with her drink. “No setting you up with Kieran.”

“Good. Now let’s talk about the reception!” You pull out your phone and open the planning spreadsheet, smiling. “So I called the venue for you about the tables…”

This is easier. Planning Carissa’s wedding, helping support her, being excited for her—that’s easier than talking about your love life. If anything, this is your love life. Taking care of the people you love, your best friends, having fun and being together and romanticizing the time you spend with them. It’s not just mimosas over brunch and a green spreadsheet for wedding planning. With them, it’s the wind in your hair and the sun making your eyes sparkle and the alcohol making all your insides feel effervescent.

It’s love. It’s perfection. It’s your own brand of happiness.

And sure, maybe it’s a little defensive, but this is easier than loving someone and trying to make them love you. It’s easier.

“Whose dress are we still waiting on?” Carissa asks a little later, mouth full of avocado and bacon and looking very un-bridely.

“Mine,” Kora says, a little guiltily. “It’s at the tailor getting taken in—again.”

“I have mine,” you pipe up, wiping your mouth of jam. “And god, do I look like a full course Michelin star meal in that piece. Like, we’re talking ass for days, legs for days, tits for—”

“Excuse me, ma’am, excuse me.” A man, towering over the café table makes himself known, dressed in dark clothes and wearing a look on his visage that you can’t name.

“—days,” you finish, swallowing hard.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he says with a smile, “but I’m raising money for uh, breast cancer awareness, and I was hoping you would donate and sign up for uh, a marathon we’re doing.”

You blink. “Sorry,” you tell him, “but we don’t carry cash on us.” With a small smile, you nod at him, your eyes passing over your friends and looking around the café to see if any of the other patrons have noticed what’s going on. None of them look bothered.

“Not even for breast cancer awareness? C’mon, girl.”

“We don’t carry cash,” Sara repeats with a deadpan, but her eyes don’t meet his.

He doesn’t look at her either, content to stare at you, and your skin crawls.

“What about signing up for the marathon?”

“Fine,” you snap. Anything to get him to leave you all alone. “How do I sign up?”

“You give me your phone number and I’ll text you the details.” His grin is a little wider now, edging a little closer to where you sit at the table. You’re regretting that third mimosa. You aren’t on your game. The panic running through you is covered in a champagne haze.

You scoff. “No way.” Immediately you grab your purse, digging through it, and you slam a handful of loose change onto the table in front of him. “Here—a donation. Now please leave.”

His face twists into a scowl, but he scoops the money off the table and pockets it.

“You don’t have to be such a bitch,” he suddenly says, and anger courses through you until you shoot up from your seat, chair skidding behind you. He’s tall—much taller than your short stature. But, fuck it, the alcohol’s dimming the fear and fueling the need for you to protect your friends.

When you glance over, Carissa is already gathering the bags, eyes wide. Kora has her arms wrapped around her middle, trying to make herself smaller, ready to run. Sara’s phone is in her hand, 9-1-1 already dialed.

And still, no one in the café is doing a goddamn thing.

“Excuse me?” You glare up at the man.

“I just wanted your number, you fat bitch.” He sneers. “No wonder you’ve got an attitude, you obviously don’t get laid.”

Really, you can sit there and say it isn’t the fat comment. It’s not the insult. You’re used to that, with your overly-generous curves and your soft jawline and the fact that you’re wearing a skirt showing off the cellulite running through your thighs like a creek and a crop top that lets everyone peek at your stretch marks. You’re used to it.

And, really, you could handle this better. You certainly have before ‘cause this isn’t the first time you’ve been hustled or the first time some creep has hit on you. Old men have been slapping your ass in public since you were sixteen. You’re hot, you get it. If you saw yourself on the street you’d want a piece of your own goddamn ass, too. It comes with the territory, but it’s gross. And it’s sad but you’re used to it. So it’s not him calling you a fat bitch.

It’s the comment about getting laid. It’s sore as fuck.

You grab your would-be fourth mimosa and drench him in it, the glass slipping from your fingers and shattering upon the patio’s tiled floor in an instant.

“Slut!” The man lunges for you and you jump away, bumping into the table and losing your footing. You fall to the ground as glass comes crashing down around you, spilling sweet-smelling alcohol all over you. Ouch. Your friends scream, but you can’t take your eyes off him.

And then a gleam of black and gold blurs past you and grabs the creep by his neck, throwing him down. Now, a tall, wide body dressed in a dark hoodie is blocking you, guarding you, sheltering you.

“Try it,” Mystery Savior says.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Carissa chants, calling your name.

Your hand is sticky when you wave her away. “Get out of here, I’m fine. Just go. I’ll meet you—meet you at Kora’s.”

“We’re not leaving you!” Sara shouts, but something, maybe adrenaline or fear or fucking champagne, is running through your blood vessels at high speed.

“Just go!” you scream back at her. “I’m not fucking kidding, go!”

Because if there is one redeemable thing about you, it’s the length you’ll go to keep the people you love safe. And Mystery Savior might have just choked a creep out for you, but he also choked a creep out for you, and that’s enough to get your heart pounding in your ears. You don’t know who the good guy is—if there even is a good guy here.

“Fuck,” the creep curses, but it comes out raspy as he grasps at his quickly bruising neck. “You’re a—” he wheezes, “—you’re a murderer!”

Mystery Savior holds up his hands, and that’s when you see it. The black and gold of a vibranium arm just peeking out of the sleeve of his hoodie.

This isn’t a murderer. Not a Mystery Savior either. This is James Bucky Barnes, the Avenger, holy shit. Definitely good guy. Probably. He’s reformed, the news talks about it.

“Caught me,” he says, voice monotone. “What are you gonna do about it?”

If you weren’t currently sprawled on the ground, covered in mimosa, and panicking wildly about whatever is unfolding right in front of you, the very buzzed part of your brain would really appreciate the smoothness of Bucky’s voice when he said that, the cool, calm, collected delivery.

You’ll file it in the back of your mind for when you go back to your empty apartment.

“That fat ass ain’t worth it,” the creep chokes out, scrambling to get up. As soon as he’s on his feet, poised to take off, Bucky moves faster than you could have imagined and grabs the guy by his shirt.

“I don’t think so, buddy.” You can’t see his face, but you think Bucky might be smiling.

A portly man, a little shorter than Bucky, pushes through the gathering crowd, eyes wide and panicked, face red, already sweating. When you glance at his golden nametag, it reads: Jason, Manager. Cool that the manager showed up this late. If Bucky hadn’t stepped in, you’d probably be in a pile of limbs on the ground by now. Also—is he going to comp your bill? ‘Cause at this point, you’re starting to think you deserve it.

Okay, not a good time to be distracted.

“Thank you for getting him, sir,” the manager says, a little breathless. “Winter Soldier, sir.”

“It’s Bucky,” he says, and then he shoves the creep toward the manager. “Not sure why you didn’t step in before he got violent.”

Exactly! Why did everyone just stand around and do nothing as some six-foot man hustled the four women sitting beside the street? You glance around again, seeing your friends have disappeared and now, both the wait staff and other café patrons, are crowded around your table. It’s a little unsettling how no one cared to even look at you until everything escalated.

As the manager grabs the creep and hauls him off toward the street to wait for the cops, Bucky Barnes relaxes his shoulders and turns toward you slowly, and it’s—well, for lack of a better word—it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

He looks nothing like the superhero in the pictures. Here, with the D.C. sun hitting him unabashedly, his slate eyes like glass marbles, the lines surrounding them wrinkled in concern, his tongue darting between his lips to wet the skin where his teeth bite down, a habitual sore, his short locks ruffled by the breeze or maybe the fight or maybe he just wakes up perfectly rumpled, here he looks like a man.

“You okay?” he asks, somehow nonchalant and still worried, and he holds out a calloused hand to you.

Or, well, maybe Bucky had been watching. And maybe that’s enough.

God, you don’t even know this man outside of his Avenger persona, the headlines you read on the news, the pictures you see on social media, but there’s just something about him that makes you want to trust him. Like he guarantees safety, and you know that no one, least of all an Avenger, can guarantee safety. Even if that’s their job.

Stop feeling safe around him.

But you take his hand anyway, his long, thick fingers folding over your own like he means to swallow them, and Bucky pulls you up as though you weigh nothing. In fact, he does it so easily that you crash straight into him with a yelp and his arms instantly slide around your waist to catch you as your knees go weak, buckling beneath you.

When you look up at him, your hands trying to find purchase in the material of his hoodie, he’s staring down at you with the hint of a smile.

“Thanks,” you say, quiet and a little stunned.

His lips crack a little wider. “No problem.”

For a few seconds longer than deemed socially appropriate, you stare at Bucky, captured by the changing color of his blue-gray eyes. And then, as if god is slapping you on the back of your head, you blink and remember that you are covered in alcohol and currently pressed against the chest of a superhero, and your eyes go wide as you quickly push away from him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you tell him. “I’m disgusting—you probably have orange juice all over you now, fuck.”

“Hey,” he says, his flesh hand wrapping around your upper arm to steady you, “it’s okay. Seriously though, are you alright?”

You open your mouth to say something and then shut it again when you realize nothing sounds like the right answer. Bucky waits patiently though, peering down at you, his grip a little more grounding than you wish it was.

“Yes?” you say, but it sounds like a question. “I mean, maybe? I’m—It’s not like I’m not used to this happening. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky frowns. “Used to it?”

You shrug. “Not all men are superheroes. Most don’t have good intentions. And I’m not even that pretty, can you imagine what other women deal with?”

It slips out before you realize it, the self-hatred you keep at bay.

“Not pretty?” Bucky’s face twists into something confused. “That guy assaulted you just to get your number. I’m not saying it’s right, but if you think you aren’t pretty, well that’s just wrong.”

Oh god, what are you supposed to say now? So stupid. If you had just kept your mouth shut, you wouldn’t have forced an Avenger—a really fucking hot Avenger—to give you an awkward compliment and now you have to scramble to figure out what to say. If you deny the compliment, you’ll look ungrateful. If you accept the compliment, that’s too egotistical. Too into yourself.

You’ve backed yourself into a corner here, and Bucky’s on the other side of the ring.

“Look,” he interrupts your inner monologuing, running a hand through his hair and glancing away, “if you don’t mind me saying it, you’re—well—you’re gorgeous. I hope you know that.”

Your mouth falls open and you stare at him, nervous energy radiating off him, and when his eyes shift back to yours he coughs.

“I mean, don’t take that the wrong way. I’m not—I’m not trying to hit on you after what just happened, I promise.” His eyes go wide, then, and he throws his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. “That’s not to say I’m not! Not hitting on you. I mean, shit, I just think you’ve gotta be the most beautiful dame—woman, sorry—that I’ve seen in years.”

There’s something soft about it, something sweetly suffocating, like buttercream frosting in the back of your throat, about his nervousness. The gentle panic, the way his eyes go back and forth from the ground at your feet to your eyes like he’s checking to make sure he hasn’t said the wrong thing, but he just keeps putting his foot in his mouth like it’s a magnet to metal. It’s endearing. It’s real.

“Do you want to get a drink with me?” you blurt out, and Bucky blanches. “I know it’s only, like, noon but I need a drink. And I owe you. For saving me.”

He relaxes at this, another one of those small smiles easing its way onto his face, and his shoves his hands into his pockets like he wasn’t just panicking two seconds ago about calling you a dame, which if anyone else had done, you would have socked them in the mouth, but he’s like one-hundred-and-six or something and you kinda get it.

“The drinks you’re wearing ain’t enough, doll?”

A laugh breaks from your mouth and he lights up, grinning.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You can’t help the smile splitting your own lips. “Sure, make fun of the girl who just got hustled, easy prey.”

The way he looks at you is burning.

“I’m Bucky,” he says. “James Bucky Barnes.”

“I know,” you say with a laugh. When you give him your name, he almost looks like he wants to try it out, but he keeps it on his tongue like he’s tasting it instead.

“So, a drink?” he asks, a little cautiously.

“I’d like that.” Then, you look down and curse. “But I’m gross. I really need to go home and change.”

Bucky nods, but a look of disappointment crosses his face, there and then gone again, just enough to make your heart tighten into a painful brick weight atop your chest. Everything in your brain is saying no, don’t do it, don’t do it. But your heart hurts and it hurts for him, a man you’ve only met in news articles and awkward interviews until now, when he’s saved you from being slapped around by some creep or worse, and god, you have such a soft heart sometimes and it’s gotten you in trouble before but you can’t just ignore it.

“Do you like Bloody Marys?”

His eyes meet yours again and you’re drawn into the storm that swirls in his irises once again.

“Never had one,” he admits. “They don’t look much like a drink.”

“Well, if you’re interested, I have the stuff to make a really good one at home. And then I could change and clean up a little and still y’know, thank you for saving my life? I mean it’s not much, but—”

“Yes,” he says, his voice as sure and steady as it was earlier when he was in hero mode. “That sounds great.”

Oh, you’re fucked. You’re so fucked.

The walk back to your apartment isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s not easy. Bucky walks beside you like a forcefield, using his body to guide you through the throng of people walking along the streets without even touching you. He reminds you of a sheepdog. The thought almost makes you laugh more than a few times during your stroll.

He walks with his hands in his pockets most of the way, especially his metal one. And he isn’t much of a talker, not that you mind as long as he keeps answering the questions you’re asking him, like what kind of food he likes and what he thinks about sphynx cats and if he likes memes—of which his answers consist of anything, what the hell is that and why is it naked, and a resounding yes.

Bucky asks some of his own questions, though they are few and far between and a lot more cohesive and meaningful than your own. He asks about how long you’ve lived in Washington D.C., about what you do for a living, and about your friends.

“Why did they leave you there?” He’s staring at you when he asks, brows sharp and furrowed.

“Because I told them to,” you answer. “I didn’t want them to get hurt or anything. And I’m kind of the person that if I’m yelling, you better listen ‘cause I’m usually yelling for a good reason.”

He nods like he understands, but his lips are pressed flat. “They shouldn’t have left you.”

You shrug. “I wanted them to. I would’ve been more pissed if they hadn’t run off and gotten tangled up in the middle of everything.”

“You’re a good person,” he says, still looking at you. His face is softer, that hint of a curve in his mouth the only sign that anything’s changed.

You give him your own smile. “Maybe.”

It’s only once you get to the front door of your apartment that things shift and your stomach rolls, heavy and fluttering light all at once, a not-so-familiar-anymore anxiety chilling your skin. The keys in your hand jingle and you aren’t sure if it's because your fingers are shaking or not.

“It’s not much,” you say, beckoning him inside, “but y’know, it’s enough for me.”

Bucky steps through the door with a reverence, a caution, a carefulness that strikes you right in the heart. He looks out of place for a minute, like he’s never entered an apartment before. And then, as you kick off your shoes, losing the extra inch of height, smiling and gesturing for him to do the same, there’s something in him that snaps and bends and his shoulders fall, relaxed.

He toes off his boots, leaving them by the door, and suddenly there’s a different air in the apartment. Almost intimate. Comfortable.

Stop it. You don’t even know him.

“Make yourself at home. Can I get you anything? A glass of water or something?”

Bucky shakes his head as he follows behind you, slowly, his eyes roaming over your space. It’s really not much, you know that. A little more than a box with a bathroom and a bedroom attached, what with the living room and the kitchen being “open-concept,” a word you’re pretty sure was invented to sell tiny apartments for more money. You don’t even have a table to sit at—just a couch to plunk down on while you’re eating.

“I’m alright, doll,” he says, running a hand over the soft cushions of said couch. “You go change, I’m fine.”

As soon as you disappear into your bedroom, the door locked behind you, you lean against the wood and let out a sigh. This is awkward. What the fuck were you thinking? Asking an Avenger—Bucky Barnes—back to your apartment for a drink? A bloody mary? Who are you trying to kid?

It’s been years, literal years since you’ve invited anyone back to your apartment. In fact, you don’t think anyone besides your friends has even stepped foot inside. Maybe they haven’t even made it to the door.

Why would you invite him here?

In frustration, you strip your dirty shirt off and throw it onto the floor, shimmy-ing out of your skirt and kicking it toward the hamper just as well. You sort through your drawers, looking for something comfortable to throw on. Or maybe you should wear something nice? Something that looks similar to what you wore to brunch. But Bucky’s dressed in jeans and a hoodie. But he also looks like a modern god in just that.

Fuck. You are fucked. Why did you ask him back to your place for a drink? What did you think would happen?

You throw an old band t-shirt over your head and pull a black pair of loose shorts up over your hips, cursing when you realize they don’t even hit mid-thigh. Does that seem suggestive? Is Bucky going to think you want to fuck him if you walk out in these?

Do you want to fuck Bucky?

No. No. This is not what this is about. You invited him over because you owed him a drink and because you needed to change and because he seemed so damn sad when you said you couldn’t go out for a drink. So you asked him to come home with you. Oh, god, that’s so complicated. What have you gotten yourself into?

Stop. Just stop thinking.

But—you have to admit it to yourself—you want it. You want him.

Your friends’ earlier words repeat in your head. A human, a connection, something that isn’t an empty apartment. They aren’t wrong for thinking that it’s something you want. For most of your life, you’ve lived thinking that you shouldn’t need someone. But isn’t it okay to want someone? You’re tired of being alone. Bucky Barnes is the first man that’s been in your empty apartment since you moved in, and maybe it’s a bold move, but you know what?

You throw yourself out of your bedroom, probably looking a little too frazzled, and you quickly comb your fingers through your hair as nonchalantly as possible to fix the flyaways. Bucky’s sitting on your couch, looking lonely, his hands rigid on his spread knees.

He looks like he fits there, on your sofa, in your empty apartment.

“Look,” you say in a breath, catching his attention. When he looks at you, his eyes sweep over your body like he’s never seen a woman before; shy, timid, a little nervous, but there’s something else there. It’s the same thing that’s heating your insides right now.

“I can make you a drink,” you offer, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom with your arms crossed over your chest, staring at him, “or I can come over there and you can kiss me drunk instead, ‘cause I’m already halfway there.”

Bucky’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then a cocky grin is curling his lips up, his face brightening the entire apartment. You don’t know if your body is warm because you’re embarrassed at your own daring or because Bucky Barnes is so beautiful it’s criminal, but you know that there’s static and stretch in your limbs and desire pooling in your belly. Liquor and lust are chasing away whatever fears you had before.

“Really?” he asks, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice that reminds you of what a fucking flirt he is, or that he can be, and you think butterflies might be taking up residence in your tummy.

“Really,” you mimic, wearing your own charmed smile. Bucky lets his head fall to the side as he looks over you, then crooks one metal finger at you, beckoning you to join him on the couch. With as much confidence as you can muster, you stride toward him, putting a little swing in your steps. Maybe you look crazy doing it, but it’s enough that his eyes flicker down to watch your hips, and it sends a thrill through you.

“This isn’t like me,” you tell him as you sink down beside him, as close as possible while still giving him space to bolt if he needs to. “I don’t invite strangers over to my house like this.”

He smiles and it’s warm and big and easy. “I’m glad you did,” he says.

God, his eyes are pretty. “Me too.”

With Bucky’s thigh pressed against yours, his hand resting dangerously close to one of your bare knees, knuckles brushing your skin every time he shifts, you’re melting into his touch and you don’t care. It’s intoxicating—not the alcohol, which you swear should be wearing off by now, but him.

“I don’t do this often,” you say again, like you need to defend your bold behavior.

“Does that mean I’m special?”

“I think so,” you murmur, only loud enough for him to hear being this close.

Kinder than you thought possible, somehow simultaneously suave but still a little nervous, and yet authentic to a fault, Bucky Barnes is a thousand and one contradictions. Nothing like you ever thought he’d be. And maybe that’s what gives you the courage, the thought that someone so hardened could be so soft. That someone who looks like him, chiseled and striking and like a charcoal sketching on stark paper, could turn red at your innuendos and your charmed quips. That there’s a chance he could be attracted to you.

This—This is the connection you’ve been waiting for. The person who makes you feel like this. Tipsy when you shouldn’t be tipsy anymore.

“I know we barely know each other, but I really, really want you, Bucky.”

Your shoulder is pressed to his shoulder, your chest nearing his chest, your chin tipped up to stare at his eyes, his nose, his parted lips. Bucky stares down at you, his Adam’s apple dipping and bobbing as he swallows hard. Your lips curl, threatening to giggle. He’s so damn cute. How can someone like him, an Avenger, a super soldier, look so cute?

But the hand at your knee finally creeps up your skin, his hot palm glossing over your bare thigh, resting a little higher than a friendly touch would go. He presses indents—not too hard, but not too soft—into your plush, silken flesh.

“You do?” he asks, tongue darting out to wet his lip and you want to follow it back into his mouth with your own.

To answer, you push closer, your hand coming up to drape across his neck, a little off-balance as you sit up on your knees.

“Mhm,” you hum, and that’s all he needs to grasp your thigh roughly and drag you over him, seating you upon his lap as a squeak of surprise flies from your lips. His hands fall to your hips as if your body was made for him to hold and suddenly you’re looking down at him and he’s looking up at you instead, and god, he’s staring at you like you’re heaven and earth and everything he ever needed to be saved.

“I want you too,” he says, exhaling as if you’ve stolen all the air in his lungs.

“Then will you finally kiss me?” Your nose brushes his and his breath ghosts over your mouth.

Bucky’s lips surge up to meet yours, swallowing the last sounds of your words like it’s the first drink of water he’s had in years, cool and refreshing and tinged with smoke, something uniquely him.

As your hands thread through his short locks, desperate to hold onto him in any way, his fingers begin to curve over your ass. You rock into him, pressing against him harder, sucking at his plush lips as his tongue skims over your top lip until you grant him entry. Bucky kisses like he’s trying to taste every single part of you and it sends waves of pleasure through your belly and to your core, where you grind down until you feel his hardening length beneath you.

Immediately, you start to strip him of his hoodie, divesting him of that layer to feel the soft shirt beneath—but only barely because it’s hell trying to pull his hands away from where they’re touching you.

And he’s touching you everywhere. His fingers roam over every generous piece of your body. The silken planes of your thighs where he’s pushed your shorts up, the wide canyons of your hips, the bumpy hills of your waist where your stomach is too big and too soft and where he slips his mismatched hands under your shirt to trace the lines of your stretch marks. It isn’t long until he brushes by the band of your bra and then he’s tugging at the hem of the shirt, pulling away from your lips long enough to rid you of it.

You take the moment to rid him of his too, and then you’re both topless, still sitting atop his lap and panting from lack of air. No words are shared between you before Bucky is capturing your mouth again. It’s only passion, frenzied and hot and wanting.

His fingers fumble with the hooks of your bra blindly as your teeth sink into his bottom lip, nipping and giggling and tangling your tongue around his. As soon as you hear the snap, you lean back and Bucky pulls it off you, flinging the offending garment somewhere else in the apartment.

Now, with your naked chest completely bared to him, you wait for it to happen. For his eyes to dart away, for the apprehension to cross his features, for the disgust to set it. The real reason that it’s been so long since you’ve invited someone into your empty apartment—into your empty life.

You’re scared.

Like you’re expecting the blow, you close your eyes and brace yourself, but you don’t cover up. You’ve learned not to cover up. You refuse to make yourself smaller, or prettier, or more tolerable for people. It’s why you don’t get entangled with one-night stands anymore, why you don’t ask strangers to come home with you, why you don’t let your girlfriends set you up with anyone. Because you refuse to make yourself something you’re not just to fit in, and that’s what always, always ends up happening.

Bucky touches you and it makes you flinch, his vibranium fingers a little chilly against the soft, warm skin of your stomach. He touches you and it’s electric, but you don’t open your eyes.

You’re too afraid to look and see the disappointment in his gorgeous blues.

His hands skim over your rib cage, sliding around the sides of your waist, his thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts. You shiver at the contact. He continues his trail upwards, but then he lays his palms on your shoulders and caresses over your neck, his fingers finally finding the edge of your soft jaw to cradle your face. A shaky breath leaves you.

“Look at me,” he whispers, closer than you thought.

And no matter how much you’ll berate yourself over it later, there is something so safe about Bucky Barnes that your lashes flutter and your eyes open, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, staring at you with those stormy sea eyes half-lidded and glazed over with lust, his pink lips parted in awe, and you gasp at the intensity that strikes right through the center of you.

“You’re…” he trails off, swallowing nervously again. “Doll, I don’t think I know a word in English that describes you.”

Bucky presses forward, his chest brushing against your hardened nipples, stealing your breath and then sealing your lips with a kiss that isn’t like before. This kiss isn’t needy or wanting or filled with teeth and tongue and desperation. This time, his mouth moves with yours as if he’s trying to spell out a thousand words in twenty different languages to tell you how he feels, his lips leading yours in a dance that isn’t worried about an audience or the music or if you step on his toes.

When he pulls away, you wonder if your mouth is as swollen as his.

“You’re perfect,” he says with a finality in his tone that almost makes you collapse into his arms.

Then, Bucky wastes no time and captures a nipple in between those swollen lips, causing you to let out an embarrassingly loud noise in surprise. His metal hand finds your other breast, thumb stroking over the bud until you’re arching further into him. As his tongue traces patterns around one nipple, his fingers tweak and twist and pull its sister, and your hands grasp his broad shoulders in an attempt to hold on.

Finally, he presses gentle kisses over your rosy buds, all worn out by his touches, and then circles your breasts with more kitten licks and grazes of his teeth. Bucky’s hands settle at your hips again, fingers grasping your skin like he can’t get enough of the feel of you. He’s trying to imprint your body on his palms.

“I need to have you, doll,” he says all breathy as if he isn’t the one absolutely drenched right now. “Please. Please,” he asks so softly that you wonder if this is the man who even came to your rescue today, all tall and brooding. When you grind down on his lap again, feeling his hard cock beneath his jeans as he lets out a groan and tightens his grip on your waist, you realize you’re not the only one feeling the tension.

Still, there’s something cheeky left in you and you reach out to swipe your finger across his nose, effectively booping it cutely. A grin splits your lips.

“You need me?” you ask teasingly. “What if I need you instead?”

It’s like it sets something ablaze in him or something, ‘cause as soon as you go in for another kiss, Bucky stands up from the couch, his hands cradling your ass as you shriek and wrap your legs around him in reflex.

“Oh my god—”

“Now you’ve done it,” he grunts, burying his face in your neck to pepper kisses all over the stretch of skin that encompasses your shoulder, your jawline, even up into your hairline by your ear.

“Oh my god, put me down Bucky, I’m—you’re gonna drop me, I’m too heavy!”

“Heavy?” He chuckles against your throat and the vibrations almost make you shudder in pleasure. God, what is this man doing to you? “Darlin’, I don’t think you know the meaning of heavy.”

Bucky flashes you a wide, almost predatory grin, and you wonder where that soft, nervous boy went.

“If I wanted to,” he says, his voice low and steady, “I could fuck you right here, in the middle of the room, for hours.” He must feel the shiver that goes through your entire body because he’s laughing again. “But I want to fuck you into your mattress if that’s okay. Can I do that?”

Your throat feels dry when you whisper, “Yes. Please.”

He punctuates your plea with a heated kiss to your lips, his tongue tasting the citrus and bubble from your mimosas, the alcohol long since worn off. It’s all him that you feel, all him that intoxicates you, and all him around you as he walks you into your bedroom, not even straining under your weight, and dumps you onto the middle of your sheets.

There, he cages you, hovering above you to kiss down your body, already intent on tearing your shorts off.

“Bucky,” you whine. In the afternoon light streaming through the single window in your room, his eyes are a startling color you wish you could name, all clear and confident and crystal and god, god, his fingers are already exploring the slit of your core so lightly it makes you flush and want to hide, your inner thighs sticky and coated in your own slick from how hot he’s made you with such simple touches.

“You want me?” he asks as if he doesn’t know.

“Yes,” you hiss in pleasure, body writhing beneath him. Bucky leans down to kiss the shell of your ear, his tongue blazing a hot trail that makes you moan and buck your hips up to meet his, but he won’t have any of that.

“Good,” he says, “‘cause I need to have you, and I don’t plan on letting you go ‘till I’ve gotten everything you’ve got to give, doll.”

That nervous Bucky, all awkward smiles and panicked glances and sweet lines, he’s gone. In his place is this Bucky, assured and charming and suave and smooth and making your eyes roll back into your head until a scream is threatening to burst from your lips unless he swallows it with his own kiss, which he does, over and over again.

“I’m gonna ravage you, darlin’.”

You aren’t sure which one you like better—but is it greedy to say both?

As the light of a new day spreads through your apartment, you awaken easily, softly, but painfully. Someone’s pulled the blankets up to your chin and tucked them around you, and the thought leaves an empty feeling inside of you. When you stretch, every part of you burns deliciously, a memory from the hours spent in bed, on the couch, on the fucking counter after you’d eaten and he still wasn’t satisfied, and then again in bed.

And now, looking over at the space beside you, he’s gone. His clothes are gone from the floor. There’s no sound echoing in the building. He even left you tucked in, for god’s sake.

Your apartment is just as it always has been—empty.

With a groan, you kick the covers off and plant your feet on the floor, willing yourself to get up. The ache in your muscles is nothing more than a pleasant memory, an unpleasant reminder of the marks he left on you, his absence.

Stop it. You shouldn’t have even gotten attached to him in the first place. You knew what this was, and he did too, and it’s no wonder he’s gone this morning.

Get over it.

You swipe an oversized shirt from your dresser and throw it over your head as you stride out toward the kitchen, content to go pantyless for the day after the abuse you put it through last night. Yawning, your eyes screwed shut in another big stretch to warm up your overused muscles, you hear him before you see him.

“Mornin’, doll.”

Like that, your eyes snap open and he’s there, standing in your tiny kitchen in nothing but last night’s boxers, looking fucking glorious in the spotlight of the warm sun that’s streaming through the room and highlighting the counters.

“Bucky?” you ask, but it’s a little loud and a little shrieking, something you don’t intend. But all he does is smile at you, metal fingers tapping the plastic countertop, so at ease he just looks like he belongs there.

“I thought I’d make you breakfast but you have nothing in your fridge,” he jokes, leaning back against the drawers and crossing his arms over his bare chest.

You shift, embarrassed, looking anywhere but at him. “Yeah, I need to go shopping.”

A long stretch of silence fills your apartment and you’re unsure of what to say in order to break it. Bucky’s clearly watching you, drinking in the sight of your love-marked body, bruises peeking out of the hem of your shirt that barely skims past the tops of your thighs, and you remember you’re wearing nothing underneath.

And he’s here, right here, and you really aren’t sure why. It seems the two of you have almost switched places. Where Bucky was nervous and shy at first, he’s now confident and comfortable and you’re left with heated cheeks and a tongue-tied in knots. Whatever boldness that came over you all yesterday has fled.

It’s left a deep pocket of insecurity inside of you.

“Why are you still here?” you ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, like you don’t care, but your voice shakes a little. He’s too far away to really tell, but you think a flash of hurt passes over Bucky’s brow.

“‘Cause you still owe me a drink,” he says as if it's obvious, a small smile still sitting so prettily on his mouth.

You blink, a little confused, but shuffle closer. “Bloody Mary?”

“Yeah,” he says with a deep breath, his grin growing bigger the closer that you come toward him. “Will you still make me one?”

You nod, toes finally crossing into the kitchen, and then you and Bucky are staring at each other. There are scratches left like the bones of a graveyard on his arms, and you’re almost sure if he turned around they’d cover his neck and back just as well. Seeing those reddened marks, similar to the bruises he’s left on you, makes you relax your shoulders just a little.

“Do you need help?” he asks, eyes sweeping over your barely covered form.

“No,” you say, heading to the kitchen which is little more than a countertop, a stove, and a fridge. “But you can keep me company.”

So this is what happens in the morning after. Bucky leans against the counter next to you, watching you with a burning intensity that nearly matches last night’s, and you pull all the ingredients out and line them up next to two glasses and try not to falter under his gaze. He looks at you like you’re this fascinating thing he needs to study and it bothers you, but only in the best of ways.

“Do you always stare this hard at your dates?” A smile plays at your lips as you crack open the tomato juice.

He doesn’t look away. “No,” he says, but he sounds unsure. “Is this a date, doll?” There’s something in his voice that you can’t figure out, faintly hopeful, fairly confused. Vaguely surprised, even.

You shrug. “Maybe.” Especially after all of yesterday, you would hope he thought so.

But Bucky shakes his head. “No.”

Ow.

That hurt more than you were expecting it to. Calling yourself his date had only been a joke meant to lighten the mood, ease him up a little, cure the tension swirling in the room. You guess you should have expected it, though. You owed him a drink—he didn’t owe you a date. It wasn’t supposed to be a date, anyway.

All you had done was sleep together, for fuck’s sake. This is why you hate morning afters. This is why you would have preferred it if he had been gone when you woke.

But was that even true? Because the relief you felt when you found him waiting for you in the kitchen was immense and hard to understand.

You open the bottle of vodka a little more forcefully than you intended.

“When we go out on a real date,” he continues, and your eyes meet, “I’ll be taking you out and treating you.” A slow grin crawls over his face that reminds you of his wicked mouth and what it can do and the sight makes your heart beat and beat and beat, faster and faster, like the wings of a hummingbird, quick quick quick.

“When?”

“When,” he affirms.

“That’s bold of you,” you say, popping ice cubes from a tray into the glasses.

“Maybe,” he says, “but I know what I want now.” Bucky shifts a little closer to you, his vibranium arm brushing by the bare skin of your soft one as you try and focus on not spilling the juice, but you can smell him and he smells like cedar and bergamot and smoke and clove. A smell that consumed you whole last night, surrounded you, drowned you in it.

He’s so close you can feel him inhale.

“I’ve lived a long time not knowing—not getting to decide—what I want,” he admits, his voice low and quiet and soothing your nervous heart. “So you can call it bold, but I call it right.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your hands still and you look up at him, eyes wide. In the soft white lights of your tiny kitchen, sharing the tight space with him so close, Bucky’s eyes are thunder and rain and lightning all at once, peace and chaos both, promising release and the sweet scent of earth and oil afterward.

“You don’t even know me,” you whisper.

Bucky leans closer. “But I want to.”

He’s so close, too close, close enough that he can surely hear the rhythm of your heart, unsteady and racing just for him. You could surge forward and kiss him, stake your claim once again on those pinkened lips that have held your attention from the first time you saw them, feel the stubble of his jaw rub against the soft peach fuzz of your own, let it remind you of how it felt against the apex of your thighs as he made you cry out over and over again, breaking on his tongue over and over again.

It makes you feel dizzier than any alcohol ever could.

But Bucky reaches over, past you, and takes one of the glasses from your hand, warm fingers brushing over your cooler ones. He holds it up, toward you, gesturing for a toast. With a swallow, hardly glancing away from his slate eyes to grab the other glass, you tap your Bloody Mary against his with a soft clink.

He watches you over the rim as he takes his first sip and you think he might be smirking. Then, he darts toward you and takes your lips in his own, tasting of spice and tomato juice and perfection, all Bucky, all for you.

When he pulls away, too quickly, he rests his forehead against your and looks down at you, staring into your hazy eyes.

“Will you let me stay?” he asks, like he doesn’t know what you’ll say. The soft, nervous Bucky is peeking out from behind his confident visage once again, his voice hopeful and frightened and the hand that’s gliding beneath your shirt and over your waist more timid than it was last night.

There’s a million things you can say. You can tell him to take you out to brunch instead. You can tell him you’re too busy. You can tell him that this was a one-night stand, it was only ever meant to be a one night stand, and that it was fun but you can’t afford to get attached to him and god, you know you’re going to get attached to him if he stays and that scares the ever-living fuck out of you. You can tell him that it’s messy here, inside your empty apartment, inside your empty heart. You can tell him that he could take up residence here. You can tell him so, so many things.

“Yes,” you say instead, and Bucky laughs against your mouth when he kisses you hard once more.

#Eury2kchallenge #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #plus sized reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #mcu #marvel #bucky barnes smut #smut #divine masterlist

[navybrat817]

His Star

Pairings: Chris Beck x Reader Summary: Beck makes good use of the pool with you.  Word Count: Over 1.5k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, fingering, feelings, Chris Beck (he’s a warning, okay?) A/N: This is my submission for @eurynome827′s 2k Challenge with the prompt “A Glass of Rosé By The Pool”. Congrats! Beta read by the wonderful @buckyownsmylife , but any and all mistakes are my own. Thank you! Also, I know the gif is Will (why did I put Carter?!), but we can pretend. Hehe.

18+ Please!!! Enjoy, lovelies!

Chris Beck would do anything for you. He'd give you the stars if you asked. So when you suggested putting in a pool, he agreed before you could give him the list of why it would be a good idea. It was worth agreeing just to see your beautiful smile. And he had to admit, it was one of the best suggestions you made for your home.

You teased him for how detail-oriented he was about the project from start to finish. Of course, he was meticulous in his planning. The little things mattered to him. More importantly, he wanted it to be perfect for you. Your opinion was what mattered.

The day it was finished, he refused to let you see it. Not until he set up the romantic meal outside. You even let him blindfold you before he led you out. The look on your face when he removed it made it more than worth the effort. The two of you barely made it through the meal before he had you on the pool's edge, your legs wide and open as he gave your first orgasm of the day. The first of many. 

Swimming became part of your routine. The fact that the pool was heated helped. Some days, you timed how long it would take for him to jump in with you. Others, you timed how long it would take for you to tear your bathing suit off. It was a fun game. And today, you wouldn't have to wait long.

He watched, mesmerized, as you jumped off the small diving board. You made it look effortless as you dove into the water, making him smile to himself as you moved under it. His eyes stayed on your beautiful form, wondering how you'd react if he joined you now. It would put an end to the sweet torture you didn't know you started by simply existing.

You surfaced with a smile and the ache in his heart almost matched the one in his hard cock. The sight of you reminded him not only how stunning you were, but how lucky he was to have you in his life. You swam to the side and reached for the glass of wine he had waiting for you. He wasn't sure what he wanted to taste more in that moment, the rosé on your tongue or the droplets of water that slid down the column of your throat. 

"Are you going to join me or are you content with staring?"

"Just enjoying the view," he winked.

Your soft laughter drifted to his ears as you set the glass down, beckoning him with your finger. "The view is better up close."

"Is it now?" he asked with a raised brow.

"Much better," you replied as you checked him out, no doubt seeing his erection as he stood up from his lounge chair. He had no reason to hide what you did to him. 

"The best view," he agreed as he went to the steps, your eyes on him as he joined in. Walking with a hard-on wasn't exactly easy, but he got used to it. He was constantly "at attention" when you were close by.

"You've been to space. You've seen beauty that some only dream of," you pointed out, turning away from him to take another drink. The tone of your voice was light, but he was determined now to show that you were the real beauty. 

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Ever," he swore as he went behind you. 

You set the glass down again, smiling over your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you. "You never fail to make me feel beautiful," you said, turning your head away to lean back against him. 

His expert hands slid up your stomach to your chest, slowly sliding under your top. "Why do you even bother wearing these?" he breathed against your ear, his fingers toying with your perky nipples. 

You moaned in response as he played with you. As much as you drove him crazy, he knew the feeling was mutual. He was more than aware how quickly he could reduce you to a needy mess. "So you can take them off me."

"The stars are a nice touch," he whispered as you rubbed back against the bulge in his swim trunks.

"Not as nice as your touch," you whispered back. He could hear the smile in your voice before he removed his hands. "Why did you-"

He spun you around, the water splashing a bit, before he pressed you against the side. Your top was disheveled and the sight made him want more. "My touch is nice?"

"You know it is," you answered, moving your hands to his shoulders. 

He looked in your eyes as he moved a hand between your legs. Even with the heat of the water, he felt how much warmer your pussy felt. "Just nice?" he questioned as he rubbed you, not yet ripping away the offending fabric.

"More than nice. It's amazing," you sighed as he shook his head. 

"I need more than that," he teased, making your glare. That fire in your eyes made his cock twitch. It matched his own, his stare hot and blazing.

"I also need more than that," you boldly said. "Fingers. Tongue. Cock. Something."

"Maybe I should leave you like this," he threatened as he leaned in close, touching the tip of his tongue to your lower lip. "Needy and wanting more."

"And neglect yourself?" you smirked, but you relented. "Your touch and tongue make me see stars and your cock makes me see galaxies. Is that what you want to hear?"

He thought about it as he stopped rubbing you, untying your swimsuit bottoms and letting them float away. "No."

"No?" you repeated before his thumb found your clit, rubbing it gently.

"My name. I'd prefer to hear that."

"You smug-" your retort turned into a whine as he slid two fingers inside your wet heat without warning.

"That's not my name," he grinned, setting a leisurely pace as he moved in your tight channel.

"Chris," you panted, getting his fingers nice and wet. Just how he liked them. 

His breath mingled with yours before he leaned in for a deep kiss. He held the back of your head with his other hand, tangling his tongue with yours as you moaned. You told him that he made you see galaxies and you did the same for him. Kissing you was like seeing every color in a different shade. It was a new experience every time. 

"We both know you can moan louder than that. I want to hear it," he rasped as he broke the kiss. 

You clenched around his digits as he slowed his pace, keeping you on your toes...and on the edge. "Chris," you moaned louder, gripping his arms for support as he curled his fingers again.

"How badly do you want to come? Tell me."

You bucked against his hand, not holding back your noises now. There was no need when it was just the two of you. "So badly, Chris. Please."

The expert precision of his fingers made you tremble. He wished he could experience the sensations that you felt as he took you apart, but witnessing it was always a thing of beauty. "One more time, baby, and I'll make you see stars."

"Chris!" you cried, grinding yourself against his hand. 

He stroked that sweet spot within you, his thumb rubbing your clit in time. "Come. Make a mess on my fingers."

Your body tensed, your head nearly falling back as you cried out. His hand kept you firmly in place, not wanting to miss a second of your gorgeous orgasm. He helped you ride it out, his fingers only slowing when you whined. 

Your chest heaved as he removed your fingers, taking in your dazed expression as he licked them clean. He would never get over the taste of you. He used that same hand to grab the glass of wine, making you laugh breathlessly as he downed the rest of it. 

"You...stole...my wine."

He closed the gap, letting you taste the wine and yourself in a passionate kiss. "Fair trade for the orgasm I gave you."

"Fine," you smiled, reaching down to palm him. "I still need to take care of you."

He helped you shove his swimsuit down, the water around him not giving him any relief. He would only feel relief inside you. "And I'm ready to make you see stars again."

You smiled wider as he lifted you easily, your legs wrapping around him. You stopped him just before he entered you. "Do you miss it? The stars?" you asked, your voice smaller than normal.

"No," he answered truthfully and easily, closing the gap for a tender kiss as he sheathed you.

As Chris made love to you in the water, he reaffirmed it. He wanted to drive away any doubt in your mind that he had better places to be. He didn't need to be among the stars because you were his star. And he had his whole world right in front of him. 

#navybrat writes #eury2kchallenge #chris beck x reader #chris beck x you #chris beck x y/n #chris beck imagine #chris beck fandom #chris beck x female reader #chris beck fanfiction #chris beck fic #chris beck smut

[definitelybarnes]

Old Fashioned Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Your first date with Bucky is as cozy as the bar he chose.

Warnings: Social drinking, first dates, fluff.

Authors Notes: This little piece is written for @eurynome827’s 2k challenge! Thank you very much for hosting and for allowing me to join. Congratulations on your milestone🎉 ! My prompt was: An old fashioned in an oak paneled-dimly lit bar.

English is not my first language, please pardon my grammar and spelling errors and kindly point them out to me if I’ve made any. :)

The cab pulled up outside of the quiet bar your date had chosen for tonight. You paid the driver and thanked him, getting out and taking in your surroundings. It was a small village, a small community of people who knew each other really well. And fortunately for you, you had met Bucky here almost two weeks ago. He finally asked you if he could buy you a drink and you couldn’t wait to get inside, knowing he was sitting somewhere on the other side of the oak door.

You’ve been to this little bar many times in the past, celebrated many happy events here. And each time you cross the threshold, a warm giddy feeling pulls on your heart strings and it’s just like home. You’re surrounded by nothing but oak. The paneling on the walls is oak, the bar is made from oak, the floor is oak and the tables and chairs are also oak. It’s your heaven, oak is the most beautiful wood you’ve ever seen.

The low soft music greets your ears as you walk in, as does the local chattering from the locals and the occasional hissing from the beer pumps behind the bar. The wood is crackling in the fireplace, taking away the bitter feeling from the cold and replacing it with warm and relaxation. Your eyes scan the room until they eventually land on the bulky muscled man sitting next to the fire with his hand in the air and a smile on his face.

“Over here doll!” He calls out, making you flustered under the stares of the other locals. You excuse yourself as you shimmy past some of the tight spaces and feeling relieved when you reach Bucky, greeting him with a hug.

“I hope this place is okay?” He chuckles nervously, pulling your seat out.

“This place is great! And you picked the best spot.” You grin, rubbing your hands together and hold them close to the fire.

“Yeah well, I had to beat a drunken old man to get here first.” He laughs lightly, “what do you want to drink?”

“I’ll have a whiskey! Let me grab my purse.” You reach into your bag when Bucky stops you.

“I’m buying.” He smiles, standing up and heading towards the bar. You take a moment to marvel at the atmosphere in the bar. It’s relaxing, the locals looked relaxed and you’re sure it’s because the lights are turned right down. The soft glow from the roaring fire and the candles doing the job it’s meant to.

Bucky returns to your table with two whiskeys and some snacks minutes later. From the times you’ve met him, he’s looked tired and a little stressed out. But tonight, he looks just like everyone else: relaxed and comfortable.

“Thank you!” You take the whiskey and slowly sip it, the liquid burning the back of your throat. “So how long are you in town?”

“A couple of weeks, a couple of months. I have no idea at this point.” He chuckles, chugging the drink down in one and your eyes widen. “Oh, the alcohol has no effect on me.” He clarifies, noticing your expression.

“I’m just impressed. If I did that I’d be on the floor.”

“And I’d be here to pick you up.” He winks, opening the bag of something you couldn’t read and sticking his gloved hand inside the packet. He offers you the packet and you do the same. It’s salty and crunchy, something your thirst won’t appreciate later.

“You’re so charming.” You grin, taking in his appearance. You’ve never seen a man look so good in a leather jacket before, until now. “Tell me about yourself.”

“What do you wanna know?” He asks, crunching the salty snack. “I’m not that interesting.”

“Oh come on, I beg to differ. You caught my interest. I wanna get to know you.”

“My favorite book is The Hobbit...” you leaned your elbow on the table and rested your chin in your palm as you listened to every word that spilled from his lips. You listened intently, holding onto to every detail.

#Eury2kchallenge #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #writing challenge #bucky fanfiction #bucky fic #bucky fluff #first date au #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes drabble #Bucky Barnes drabbles #bucky drabble #drabble #drabbles #old fashioned bar #oak bar #marly writes #one shot #oneshot

[whisperlullaby]

Grand Central

Pairing: Nick Vaughan x Reader

Words: 1216

Warnings: Angst, fluff, a happy ending I promise!

Summary: You and Nick are fighting about how much time he is spending performing instead of focusing on your relationship.

A/N: Special thanks to @river-soul and @navybrat817 for their endless support and beta skills. I am humbled and honored to call you my friends. This is my submission for @eurynome827​ 2k Challenge! May you have 2k more my sweetheart. I hope you enjoy your favorite trumpet boy in this story.

"But he's never really there

So you want him even more

And you drown inside the eyes...

I could look at him forever"

It was a stupid fight. You said some things you didn’t mean, he said some things he didn’t mean and then he left like he always did. When he came back several hours later you thought everything would be okay. That you would make up, and he would play you that one song you loved, but it didn’t happen like that this time. As the days went by he seemed to spend as little time as he could in the same room as you. The more he isolated himself the more you felt the pull to him, to fix whatever was broken.

“Nick, talk to me. I’m sorry for what I said. I miss you when you’re gone.” You pleased, grabbing his arm as he started walking towards the door.

He shook you off and grabbed his trumpet. “You don’t support me or my music. You haven’t in a while and I can’t listen to you say how much my performances are hurting you again. It’s killing me.”

“I do support you, I just don’t understand why you have to be out at different dive bars every single night. It’s too much, Nick,” you sighed. You could hear yourself starting the fight again.

“I have to go.” Nick looked at you, his eyes glassy from unshed tears. “I can’t have this fight again.”

As the door clicked shut you sank to the floor and started sobbing. You thought Nick was the most talented musician you ever had the pleasure of hearing play. That’s what drew you to him in the first place. You remembered it so clearly. You were coming home from visiting your family, his gentle tunes drifting through Grand Central Station. You followed that soft melody and it led you right to him. As he played his eyes were closed and you could tell he was feeling the music coursing through his body. When he stopped and looked at you with his clear blue eyes, you lost yourself in his gaze. You realized how close you were to him and when he smiled time stood still.

Reveling in the memory you stood up with a new conviction. You fell in love with Nick because he was passionate, romantic, loving, and he put himself into everything he did. His absence in your shared home wasn’t an intentional slight. He was gone so he could build the life he’d always dreamed of having. You ran into your bedroom and slipped on the dress you wore the night you met. Going into the bathroom you fixed up your hair and make-up. After you were satisfied you rushed to hail a cab.

Approaching the bar, you took measured breaths. It had been such a long time since you’d been to see Nick perform. He was right. Somewhere along the way, you stopped supporting his ambitions. You needed to make more of an effort to support him in everything he wanted just like he supported you.

As you pushed open the door you were met with the sweet smell of cocktails and easy flowing jazz music. You slowly made your way to the bar to order a drink before sitting to face the stage. Watching Nick effortlessly play his trumpet with the rest of the band made your heart soar and tears swell in your eyes. You didn’t know how you could even suggest Nick give up something he so clearly loved doing, just to spend a little more time with you.

You took a sip of your cocktail as your eyes locked with Nick’s on stage and you saw a flash of surprise in his eyes as he watched you. Suddenly the music started changing and that familiar tune was playing. The song that Nick was playing when you first met. You slowly made your way to the stage, swaying to the melody with each step as Nick watched you with gentle love in his eyes. 

When the song stopped the band announced they were taking a brief break and Nick approached you.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Nick grabbed your hands, placing gentle kisses on each of your palms.

“I’ve been a jerk,” you started, voice trembling as you try to hold back tears. “You have a gift, Nick, and I was being selfish. I love you and I want to support you. If spending more time with you means coming to more of your shows, I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever it takes. You’re it for me, Nick Vaughan.”

Nick looked at you with kind eyes. He cupped your face with calloused fingers and brought you in for a slow sweet kiss.

“Sweetheart, I just want you to know that the reason I am able to play with any ounce of talent or passion is because I think of you when I’m playing. You are my muse.”

You sighed and placed your hands over his, tracing soft circles on the back of his hands.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, I know it.” You give him a soft smile.

After a few minutes, Nick was called back on stage to finish out his set. You walked back over to the bar and ordered another cocktail, gently swaying to the sound of the music.

“You like this sort of music?” The bartender asked while drying a glass.

“Yeah, and I’m pretty fond of that trumpet player, too.”

After Nick had finished playing, it was nearly midnight and you both decided to walk back to your apartment. Nick’s hand fit comfortably in yours as you rattled off your favorite songs of the evening and retold stories of how the people who were watching reacted to the set. He looked at you with a soft smile, content to watch you animatedly recount your evening. 

When he met you at Grand Central Station he had almost given up his dream of becoming a musician. Your support and understanding had given him the confidence and drive to pursue his passion. When you stopped coming to see him perform and then started looking so upset each time he left he almost quit. Actually, he did quit. Tonight was supposed to be his last show and he was going to put his trumpet away for good. You showing up at the bar tonight was fate. He was meant to be a musician as long as you remained his muse. 

You walked into the apartment and kicked off your shoes. Nick grabbed your hand and spun you into him as he started to sway to the silence.

“Honey, there’s no music. Do you want me to put some on?” You suggested.

He hummed thoughtfully for a moment. “No need sweetheart, I have all the music in my head.”

You laughed and placed your head on his chest. Closing your eyes you could hear that song from Grand Central Station playing and you were happy to continue swaying to the music only the two of you could hear.

“I could stay here forever, Nick. As long as I have you I’m happy.”

Nick pulled back and looked into your eyes. “I have never been happier than when I’m with you.”

#nick vaughan x reader #nick vaughan x you #before we go #eury2kchallenge

[sweetkingdomstarlight-blog]

truth hurts

Pairings - Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Words - 1704

Warnings - oral sex (m receiving), shitty families

A/N - My first ever Ransom fic, massive thanks to @thicccsimp​ and @mollygetssherlockcoffee​ for reading this over, helping me fix a few things and hyping me up enough to post! This is for @eurynome827​ 2K Challenge, well done on your milestone my love, it won’t be long until you’re at 3K I'm sure. Thanks as always to @buckyownsmylife​ for helping me with the idea too! As always this is not for minors so if you’re under 18 then please shoo.

I was given the lyrics to a Six The Musical song - You can build me up, you can tear me down You can try but I'm unbreakable You can do your best, but I'll stand the test You'll find that I'm unshakeable

Tagging because I think they might like this - @bestofbucky​ @mashep23​

You handed your father the brown paper lunch bag, the one he had left sitting forgotten on the counter this morning. Quickly planting a kiss on his cheek, you turn and make your way into the grand house, leaving him to continue tending to the rose bushes.

You heard them before you saw them, arguing about whatever one of them undoubtedly saw on Fox News that morning. Grabbing a glass of red wine before you sit in the corner of the room and watch them tear into one another, you smirk at the petty insults they often hurled at each other when they didn’t have an actual counter argument.

Sipping on the wine you check your phone for the third time in five minutes, he was meant to be here before you and you need him to be the buffer between you and his family. They weren't your biggest fans and you quite enjoyed riling them up, waiting to see who'd snap at you first. You and Ransom often wagered about who would be the first to burst out into a screaming fit.

They all had such short fuses, so all you had to do was mention something ‘snowflakes’ were concerned with and they all absolutely lose it, at this point you considered it your own private theatre. Normally you like to keep a distance since they weren’t shy in reminding Ransom why you weren’t the right match for him, today however you were needed.

The family lawyer has requested that both you and your father be present for Harlan’s will reading. Both you and Ransom thought he would be getting something substantial from his grandfather and the family wouldn’t be happy, so he would need you and your father there for support.

You sit for twenty more minutes, laughing at the nonsensical crap Joni was pushing as usual, something about jade eggs and where Gwyneth Paltrow decided they should be inserted this week. You hear the front door close and jump up as he finally arrives, running and jumping into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist, another fun way to annoy his family, kissing him deeply and moaning as he gripped you. Whispering into his ear “where the fuck have you been? I’ve had to annoy them all on my own today” he smirks and kisses the tip of your nose before putting you back down and walking hand in hand in the room greeting his family.

It was fair to say he was the black sheep of the family, he hadn’t accepted handouts as easily as the rest of them since the two of you got together, deciding instead to try and make it on his own. He moved into your apartment and gave up the house his grandad was paying for, living off his savings ever since. He had been writing his own novel for the last six months and he was getting so close to finishing, he didn’t want to tell the family and have them shit all over his idea, especially Walt who thought he was the literary one now that Harlan had passed.

You grab two glasses of whiskey and sit in Ransom's lap, kissing his cheek and handing him one of the tumblers. Asking him what kept him so long he tells you he thinks he’s finished and wanted to re-read some of it before he told you. Pride flashes over your face at how thrilled he is and you both do a mini squeal at his news. “I can think of the perfect way to celebrate” you whisper in his ear before licking the shell and telling him to come and find you in a few minutes.

You hear him looking for you a few minutes later and pull him into the cloakroom, kissing him urgently and grabbing his ass “you want to have some fun?” you say kissing down his neck and biting his shoulder. He breathes out a ‘yes’ as you get on your knees, pulling his hardening cock out and licking the tip while he leans against the wall behind you.

“We don’t have time for teasing kitten” he says gripping your hair and pushing deep into your mouth, you lightly gag on his length and hollow your cheeks, sucking and licking at what you can. It doesn’t take long for him to spill down your throat, you smile up at him licking your lips and place a gentle kiss on the tip before tucking him away. He gently pushes you against the wall, gripping your hips and whispering what he plans to do to you later when you get home.

You’re interrupted by a sharp knock on the door and someone clearing their throat, straightening yourselves out you open the door and see his father, Richard, staring down at you both. “Can I help you, Dickie” you ask, smirking at the frustrated expression on his face. He tells you there’s 20 minutes until the reading and the family wanted to discuss what they were expecting, you tell Ransom you’re going to see your father out back and blow him a kiss, sneaking away before anyone can moan at you.

You help out in the greenhouse with some of the planters he’s prepping, talking to him about work and the trip you’re planning with Ransom to New York, when you both hear it, screaming and shouting, your father goes to the house with you, always ready to protect you from those vile people.

You walk in together and Linda snarls at you but tries to hide it as a grin, instinctively you stand next to Ransom ready to jump in and defend him, your father next to you throws an arm around you and places his hand on Ransom’s shoulder in support. Ransom smiles at you both and leans down whispering in your ear “down girl” when he sees how tense you are “they aren’t worth it, I promise you” he winks at your father and turns back to them all.

They were arguing about you, apparently you weren’t worthy of a Drysdale, an argument you’ve overheard on more than one occasion, usually he shuts them down but they don’t listen and just wait until you aren’t around before picking at him again. Linda realising that her son isn’t listening decides to take a more tactful approach “look we just want what's best for you darling, we’re obviously about to come into a lot of money today and you don’t want to be tied to her, she only wants what we have”.

Your father clears his throat in warning, he hasn’t ever raised his voice to these people out of respect for Harlan but now that he’s gone and he will most likely be sacked once they inherit the home he sees no reason to stop. Ransom looks to him and pleads with him not to do this right now and your father nods his head in understanding, before pulling you into a hug and whispering in your ear that they are the problem and not Ransom, he's a good man and he always looks after you. You nod your head and turn to face Linda, about ready to give her a little reality check when the family lawyer requests you all join him in the library, your father is about to walk away when he is asked to stay and join the family also.

You take a seat next to your father, Ransom standing behind you both waiting. Both you and Ransom suspected Harlan would look after him, maybe give him some sort of payout on publication of his first novel, he was always so supportive of the idea that he could write a book too. He’d already helped you pay for college, something the rest of the family could never find out about. Harlan was always so kind to his loyal employees and your father had worked for him for more than twenty years. He was offered help with setting up his own business or even help paying his bills but your father refused, instead requesting that your college be paid for. You weren’t allowed to refuse, you were just asked that you find something that you were passionate about.

The lawyer started talking and everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath collectively, he took care of the smaller items first, most of it going to staff and friends. Then came the bigger stuff, half of his fortune was to be divided between his children equally. The family didn’t even let the lawyer finish what he was saying before they were jumping up and demanding to see the paperwork, appalled that they would only be getting half. He sat calmly and asked them to listen until he was finished, next on the list the other half of his fortune would go to you and his home would go to your father.

You stared at each other completely dumbfounded, the shouts and accusations of the family around you buzz like static in your ears. Ransom stood at full height, acting as a blockade between his family and yours as you both absorbed the news. The lawyer handed out copies of the will for their records and asked that you make appointments to see him and have the necessary arrangements tied up properly. He left swiftly after, obviously recognising that this was about to get ugly.

Ransom swept you up in an embrace telling you to ignore the family and focus on him, your father in the meantime sat reading over what he had been given, speechless for the first time in his life about what had just happened. The family were practically feral, screaming abuse and name calling at the two of you. Ransom stood at full height and told them all to “eat shit” one by one calling them out and advising them to speak to a lawyer, if they could afford one, he laughs at his own joke before pulling you both into a big hug and suggesting you all go out for drinks. “You’re paying” he winks at you and grabs your hand leading you past the angry mob waiting at the door for you.

#eury2kchallenge #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you

[nano--raptor]

Curves

Pairing: Dayton White x Female Reader

Words: 1748

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. This is basically porn without plot😏 Warnings for smut, oral (fem rec), sex, cursing, dirty talk, and a bit of praise kink

A/N: Written for my lovely, @eurynome827​​ to celebrate 2K FOLLOWERS!! Congratulations hun! You are wonderful, it’s a pleasure to know you, and I appreciate youuu❤ For the challenge I chose the prompt lingerie, and wanted to give writing our favorite speed racer a try. I had fun with this, and I hope you enjoy! 🥰

18+ ONLY Do Not click keep reading if you are under 18.

That Ferrari. The only thing that he might possibly love more than you. Bright red, flashy, and sexy, your lips match the paint finish tonight, and the rest of your outfit is black. Dayton’s second favorite color.

He opens the door for you after dinner, helping you into the car, eyeing the top of your stockings peeking through the slit of your dress with lust in his eyes as you sit down.

“Oops.” You throw him a wink before he shuts the door, knowing it’ll fluster him just a little bit. He wasn’t always as put together as he looked. A few strands of his hair are out of place when he gets into the car, and he smooths them back effortlessly, glancing your way as he fires up the engine. The car roars to life, settling into a satisfying purr that makes your lips twitch into a smile, and Dayton has that smug, satisfied look on his face as he looks back to the road.

The car hugs the pavement, gliding smoothly around corners until Dayton opens her up on the highway. You catch him sneaking another glance at you, and you can’t help biting your lower lip as the Ferrari’s power rumbles through you. That smug smile crosses his face again, Dayton knows you love feeling it, he loves it too. You’d felt the car’s vibrations many times before; he’d had you spread out on the hood more than once and there were photos to prove it. 

“Dayton,” you breathed, your body revving up as the car sped down the road, hugging every curve with ease. “We should head home.” His gaze slid to you for a moment, a smirk on his face and eyebrow raised as he teased you. “Don’t you wanna go for a drive baby?”

“Not tonight. I have something I want to show you.”

Dayton rests his hand on your thigh and you place yours on top. He squeezes your leg, then threads his fingers with yours and raises your hand to his lips, his eyes flashing with a spark of desire.

After pulling into the garage at home, Dayton kills the engine and the silence makes you shiver.  He gets out first and opens your door, helping you out of the car now. You lean in and peck a quick kiss against his lips, lightly swiping your tongue over his bottom one before you pull away. His breath catches and his gaze runs over your body, pulling his lip between his teeth. He wants you. He wants you, but you want him too. You have all night.

Stepping past him, you walk around the front of the car, trailing your finger over her curves as you head towards the door. Over to the driver’s side and up the hood, then you pause, smirking, and run your fingers over your own body instead, up your chest and along your collarbone. Dayton watches, following the path of your fingers, until one stops caught between your teeth. His gaze flicks from your bright red lips, curled in a smirk, to your eyes, and he stares into your soul, practically devouring you as he stalks towards you.

“Inside, sweetheart. Now.” The door is hardly closed and he has a grip on your wrist, pulling you towards him and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You melt into it, a whine escaping your throat as his touch sends fire through your veins. You back him against the wall, pressing your body against his, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him desperately, hungrily. He smirks against your mouth and he pulls you closer, his hands on your hips holding you tightly. 

Feeling for the zipper of your dress, he finds it and drags it down, smoothing his hand over your exposed skin, before pushing it from your shoulders. You shimmy out of it, your black lingerie now on display for him, his eyes roving over your body appreciatively. His eyes are dark, hungry, predatory, and before you can ask him if he likes it, his mouth is on yours again and he's picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you to the bedroom.

The two of you fall onto the bed, Dayton's lips on your skin now as he worships your body. He makes his way down, your hands gripping his shoulders, until he pauses to rid himself of his shirt. Then he's back, his lips moving over your skin reverently. He trails his tongue along the edges of black lace, and you gasp his name. He smiles, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes.

"So beautiful baby, gorgeous. You're so sexy."

"Dayton. Please baby, I need you." You sound desperate and the words come out in a whine but you can’t help yourself. You’re revved up, craving him. Needing him. With a smirk, Dayton moves further down, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder and nudging your core with his nose.

"Mm, you ready for me sugar?" His tongue teases along the edge of your panties and you ache for him, needing his mouth against you. A whine falls from your lips and you beg him, sighing with relief when his finger hooks into the lace, pushing it aside so his tongue can lap at you. Another moan as he licks straight over your core, flicking your bundle of nerves before pushing his tongue inside.

Your hips buck against his face and his hands grab them, holding you down as he pushes harder against you. You're whining already, trying to get more, to get closer to his face, needing him deeper. He fucks you with his tongue, heating you up and pushing you closer, before withdrawing his tongue and licking up over your clit. His lips close around it and he sucks, making your back arch off the bed, flicking it with the tip of his tongue until your cries fill the room and the wave crashes over you.

His tongue laves over you slowly, fire in his eyes as you come down, and then he's crawling over you, kissing you hungrily with your release still on his lips.

“So good sweetheart, so delicious. But I gotta have you.” He kisses along your jaw and down your throat, nipping at your skin, his hard length pressing against your thigh. You’re in a daze from your orgasm but you’re able to shift when he unclasps your bra, allowing him to pull it off and toss it across the room. Your hands wander over his body, toned muscle and smooth skin, until you’re fumbling with his pants, unbuttoning them and trying to shove them off. A whimper escapes you and he chuckles, nuzzling into your neck before moving away to pull them off.

When he’s back you sigh, wrapping your arms around him as he nudges your legs apart again. Hooking one leg over his hip, you can feel him at your entrance, his crown pressing against you making you clench and whimper, needing him inside you more than anything else.

“Please Day, baby please.” You’re mumbling, unable to feel anything else except him, he’s permeating your senses, your infatuation with him only matched by his with you. A broken moan falls from your lips when he pushes in, and you scratch at his back, trying to pull him closer. He hisses, bottoming out inside your tight heat and running a hand over your stocking-clad thigh.

“Fuck sweetheart, you always feel so fuckin’ good.” He buries his face in your neck, nipping at your skin again while he finds a rhythm, moving in and out of you, filling you completely and driving you towards ecstasy. He seems to be able to hit every perfect spot inside of you, but then he angles his hips just so, and oh, it makes you see stars. You cry out, clutching him harder, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer with each thrust, your hips rocking up to meet his.

Dayton shifts, taking your legs from around his waist and pushing them back against your stomach to deepen the angle, and when your eyes fly open, his flash dangerously, a devilish grin on his face.

“Oh yeah baby, just like that. Takin’ me so well, looking so pretty in this little outfit. You know I love it when you dress up for me.” His smooth voice washes over you and you’re drifting away, being pushed closer to bliss with every thrust of him into you. He’s grunting now too, head thrown back while he grips your thighs, sweat beading across his chest, and you want to get your tongue all over him. You whine again, arching your back, rocking your hips against his, and you wrap your hand around his wrist and squeeze as you balance right on the edge.

“Dayton….” You gasp his name, and he fucks into you harder, panting and urging you on under his breath, curses and praises alike showering over you, and then you’re screaming and clenching down around him, flooding over him as white hot bliss explodes within you. Dayton groans, low and rough, fucking you through your orgasm, driving deeper as he chases his own release now. A few more hard, deep thrusts, his eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched, then his whole body is tensing, and he throbs inside you as he comes with a loud groan. He lets your legs go and collapses against you, panting and spent. Rolling to the side, he pulls you against him with a chuckle.

"Damn baby. You in lingerie drives me fuckin wild." You grin, curling against him and running your fingers over his chest as you try to catch your breath. He trails his finger over your hip with a hum, tracing over your curves now, up and around the edge of the garter belt.

“You like it?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Mmm. I’ll have to show you the red set next time.” Dayton’s eyes go wide and he just grins.

“You’re killin’ me sweetheart. But in the best way.” Then he rolls over, pulling you on top of him and you shriek with laughter, rolling your hips against him and making him groan through his smirk.

“I can keep going baby, just tell me what you like.” Dayton pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes darkening again at the sight of you.

“I’ll have you any way you want baby girl, all night long.”

#dayton white x reader #dayton white #dayton white imagines #dayton white smut #Eury2kchallenge #dayton white x you #dayton white x y/n #dayton white fanfiction

[gigglygiddybarnes]

Happy Anniversary! (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Prompt: A glass of red by candlelight in a cozy italian restaurant.

Warnings: Flirting, red wine consumption, just two people in love, extremely bad writing!

A/N: I wrote this for my dear friend @eurynome827's 2K follower celebration. Congratulations my darling, you've been nothing but kind and caring towards me and you deserve so many more followers!

Also about the cin cin, it apparently means Cheers! In Italian. If it's wrong, feel free to correct me! **Edit: nevermind, I changed a few things!** This is also spoiler free as I still haven't watched a single episode of FATWS.

"Happy anniversary, doll! Here's to us and our new future in our new house!" Bucky cheers, holding out his glass of wine in front of him.

"Cheers to us my darling!" Your glasses clink and you take a sip of the red wine.

The night was going perfect. You and Bucky were celebrating your one year wedding anniversary and the news your offer on your dream house has been accepted and to make it special, he booked a table in an expensive Italian restaurant that wasn't too busy that felt like you might get a migraine from the loud laughter and conversations around you, and it wasn't too quiet where you felt isolated and cut off. It was the perfect balance, and the restaurant was illuminated by candlelight only to offer a cozy and relaxing atmospheric experience.

The bottle of red wine was already half empty, and you were two glasses in that allowed your flirty side to come out, a side of you that Bucky always enjoyed the most.

Your foot rubbed against his leg as his hand kept hovering above the candle flame on your table, your chin was resting in the palm of your hand as you bit your lip and smirked across the table at your husband.

"Doll, you're kinda... doing something to me." He chuckles, looking around you to find nobody was even paying attention.

"Oh yeah? What am I doing?" You replied playfully, your foot crawling higher and higher up his leg. His hand slips under the table to move your foot before it could reach its final destination.

"You know, I love this side of you." He smirks, shifting in his seat and subtly adjusting himself.

"And you know, I love you and this past year has been the best year of my life." You tell him, clearing your throat and taking a sip of the wine. Bucky watches the muscles in your throat bob up and down when you swallow the liquid.

"You're my world, doll. There's nothing in it I wouldn't do for you." It's a promise he's kept since you've been dating. Anything you've ever needed or wanted, Bucky has gone to great lengths to make it happen.

"I can't wait to move into our new home and make beautiful memories." You smile, reaching across the table for his hand.

Bucky clears his throat and smirks, holding your hand in his and giving it a small squeeze before he says "and babies." He adds with a wink, pouring more wine into your glasses and you sit back and relax, talking about the future and the future baby Barnes.

#eury2kchallenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fluff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes drabbles #bucky drabble #gigglygiddybarnes #one shot #imagines #imagine

[eurynome827]

I'm Coming Too

Post CA:WS Recovery!Bucky

I wrote this while writing prompts for my 2k Followers Challenge. Inspired by Hadestown - more proof that I see Bucky Barnes everywhere, even if he's Eurydice and I'm Orpheus singing a song to lead him out of the underworld.

I'd like to dedicate this to @nix-akimbo who heard Bucky in this song, @godofplumsandthunder who loves this show, and @jobean12-blog who, when I asked her to name one or two things that she associates with me as part of the poll for my challenge, answered "New beginnings and the buildup of love and hope" - I really don't know how I got so lucky. Thanks, Jo.

Lyrics from "Wait For Me" in italics - Hadestown written by Anais Mitchell. No Warnings but my blogs are 18+ spaces always.

The tall, silent man across the hall with the haunted eyes. You didn't know where he had come from. He'd been hurt, shying away from your offer of friendship at first like a bruised animal. You persevered, offering little gifts at his door and soft words, cultivating a safe haven. Sitting quietly together and letting him just breathe - and finally he allowed your hand in his, the leather of his glove covering what you knew was cold metal.

You loved him on his terms. Slow and safe.

"Bucky." He answered the question you hadn't had the nerve to ask.

"Stay with me, Bucky."

Danger creeping in, his eyes darting on the street. He evades your questions, reverts to his old ways. You're afraid - scared you will wake up one morning and he will be gone.

You can see it in his eyes even when he avoids your glance. You just hope he tells you first.

You'll have to take the long way down

Through the underground, under cover of night

Laying low, staying out of sight

There ain't no compass, brother, ain't no map

Just a telephone wire and the railroad track

You keep on walking and you don't look back

"I have to leave, it's not safe for you."

"I'll go with you!"

"You're not safe with me."

Wait for me, I'm coming

Wait, I'm coming with you

You bargain, and he agrees but your heart is cold. Rushing to pack a bag, it hammers a steady beat. Don't leave me - I'm coming - trust me.

You're on the lam, you're on the run

Don't give your name, you don't have one

And don't look no one in the eye

Bursting through the door, a sob escapes as you see his room empty. It can't end like this - it repeats in your head. This isn't how the story ends. You can still feel him in the air, and you know it hasn't been long since he left. Slamming the door and rushing down the stairs and out onto the street, you search.

Wait for me, I'm coming too

I'm coming too

"Wait!"

He hears you and turns. Waits. You rush up to him, out of breath, eyes rimmed with tears. "I'm coming too."

He's silent, staring at you. It's hard for him to speak, difficult to explain the storm in his head and you know that. You know he's worried and he doesn't know if he can keep you safe, you see it in his eyes. Taking his gloved hand, you pull on each finger, stripping the glove from the metal and curling your fingers around his.

"This is the only hand I want to hold."

A ghost of a smile on his lips, and he nods. Hand in hand, you start off together, down the road.

#I'm coming too #inspired by Hadestown #post WS Recovery!Bucky #thank you for following me #bucky barnes x reader #divider by imerdwarf #Spotify #eury2k #eury2kchallenge

[theycallmebecca]

Drabble: The Clause in the Will

I never planned to write a Ransom story. And then @eurynome827 posted her 2K Celebration and the opening to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice was one of the prompts. I’m a whore for anything Pride and Prejudice... and my brain automatically connected the quote with Ransom. And would not let go.

To make an already complicated drabble even harder... I decided to write it with each section being exactly 100 words. It was both a blessing (this story could have SNOWBALLED quickly) and a curse (if you’ve written a 100 word drabble, you get it).

But it’s finished and I love how it turned out! And I was quite proud of myself for the very-Eury way I ended it.

So to @eurynome827​ congrats again on 2,000 followers!

Title: The Clause in the Will

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: some language, some minor violence/threats, suggestive

Note: This is AU and it uses the characters from Knives Out but doesn’t follow the story.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“Bull. Fucking. Shit.” Ransom Drysdale muttered as he wadded up another of his late grandfather's marriage-related quote notecards. They were hidden everywhere.

It had been nearly a year since his grandfather, the famed author Harlan Thrombey, had passed away, leaving Ransom as the head of Blood Like Wine Publishing. A role that he had spent the last twenty years being groomed for.

Ransom had worked his way through the ranks of the company following college and had been prepared when the time had come.

Well, prepared for everything except his grandfather's cluttered office.

At least the houses weren't his problem.

-- -- -- --

You’d started at BLW Publishing as an marketing intern after college and you’d climbed your way to the vice president of that department in the twelve years that had followed.

You loved every single part of your job.

Or at least you had until Mr. “Call Me Ransom” Drysdale had taken over the running of the company.

He had spent his years at the company floating between departments, to learn everything he could. Which meant the two of you had worked together multiple times.

But he seemed to enjoy pushing your buttons. And knew exactly what buttons to push when.

-- -- -- --

"You told me months ago that the marriage clause wasn't legally binding," Ransom fumed. "And now you're telling me it is?!"

His lawyers avoided his gaze.

"Get out!" Ransom shouted and they scurried out.

He had seven days to find a wife and marry her.

If he didn't, he lost the company.

It was just like his grandfather to pull a stunt like this. Even from the grave.

He should just let his prick of an uncle have the company. Just to prove a point.

But he knew he couldn't.

His uncle would ruin everything.

Ransom wouldn't let that happen.

-- -- -- --

"You're not the pizza guy," you said, opening your front door to find Ransom standing on the other side with a bouquet of roses and your pizza.

"Met him in the elevator. Can I come in?"

Stepping aside, you let him in. Only noticing as he passed that his normal confident aura was missing.

"What's wrong?"

He explained everything while the two of you ate pizza.

"Walt would destroy everything," you commiserated.

"Exactly."

Then he pulled out a ring box.

"Will you marry me and help me save the company we both love from ruin?"

How could you say no?

-- -- -- --

"I got married."

Ransom had chosen a public setting to share his news in hopes that his uncle wouldn't make a scene.

The fact that it was day six of his seven day window was pure coincidence.

Glancing at his wife, he found her staring across the table at his uncle, who, Ransom soon saw, was nearly purple with rage.

"This can't be legal!" his uncle shouted over the congratulations from the others. "It should have been mine! All of it!"

Then Walt pushed his chair back and stormed out of the private dining room, his wife and son following.

-- -- -- --

Logically, you knew marrying Ransom would mean moving into his house, but you'd thought you'd have more time.

But with his uncle looking for any reason to question the legitimacy of the marriage, you and Ransom agreed it had to happen now.

The two of you packed up your apartment and then had everything you were keeping moved to his house.

To his credit, Ransom made as much room for your stuff in the common areas of the house as possible, wanting you to feel at home.

But the only place that truly felt that way was your private bedroom.

-- -- -- --

Ransom sat in the hall with Walt as their lawyers met with a judge behind closed doors following another of Walter's attempts to fight the will.

"I’ve heard rumors," Walt said, his tone was nonchalant, but it was laced with venom. "About how your wife became v-"

Ransom had his hand around his uncle's throat before Walt could make another sound.

"That is my wife," he growled. "You will not say one more fucking thing about her or I will sue you for libel. Do you understand me?"

Walt let out a squeak of acknowledgement and Ransom let him go.

-- -- -- --

You'd known Ransom for years.

But after living with him for a few weeks, you realized you hadn't really known him at all.

Work Ransom demanded the respect and attention owed to the boss.

Home Ransom was softer and wore faded blue jeans instead of three piece suits.

He liked spending Saturday mornings at the market and he loved to cook.

And boy could he cook!

The one on one time with him at home had given you a whole new appreciation for your husband.

He opened up to you about things you were sure he'd never told anyone else.

-- -- -- --

Ball buster.

That's how he'd described her the first time he had worked with her on a project.

It was the reason he had recommended her for the vice president role when it had opened up.

Kind. Funny. Caring. Passionate. 

Those were the words that came to mind now when he thought of her.

She was the type of woman who could tell a dirty joke one minute and then have a serious conversation about his upbringing.

He'd been hesitant to include her at first, but their Saturday morning shopping trips were quickly becoming his favorite activity of the week.

-- -- -- --

You loved Ransom.

It hit you like a ton of bricks as you sat in the middle of a meeting at work, a month later.

You were supposed to be paying attention, but your eyes kept going across the table to where Ransom sat.

You couldn't explain how you knew, you just did.

When had it happened? You didn't know that either.

All you knew was that he was handsome and he was all yours.

At least on paper.

The joy faded from you as you remembered the two of you were roommates. Nothing more.

You wished that could change.

-- -- -- --

Ransom didn't know when it happened, but he realized one Saturday morning, a few months in, that he was in love with his wife.

He hadn't planned to fall in love with her. He'd envisioned them being married for a few years, to solidify his role at the publishing company, and then divorcing as quietly as they had married.

Being in love complicated things.

It made him think about her happiness above his own.

Was she happy with him?

If she wasn't, was he prepared to walk away from her and the company to ensure her happiness?

Yes, he decided.

-- -- -- --

"We need to talk," he said, setting a manilla envelope on the kitchen counter.

"What's that?"

"Annulment papers."

"What?!" you asked in complete disbelief.

"I love you," he confessed. "If you're not happy, I'm -"

"I love you, too," you cut him off, joy filling your heart.

Moving around the island, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for a long, slow kiss.

"An annulment would have cost you everything," you said.

"Your happiness means more to me," he said. "Even if it meant giving everything to Walt."

"The company is yours," you told him. "Forever."

"Ours."

-- -- -- --

"Are you coming in?"

She stood in the doorway to what had been his bedroom.

After their declaration of love, he'd properly courted her.

Taking her out on dates. Sending her flowers just because.

They'd kissed a lot and had made it to all the bases, as they say, except home.

That was the plan tonight, she'd told him.

They'd gone out for dinner and then she'd asked him to take her home.

Home to their home.

To their bedroom.

Her eyes met his as she reached behind her back and unzipped her dress. Letting it fall to the floor.

#theycallmebecca #theycallmebeccawrites #Becca writes drabbles #ransom drysdale #ransom drydale x you #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale fan fiction #ransom drysdale fanfic #Eury2kchallenge

[godofplumsandthunder]

Twisted Fate

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Cancer, both Bucky and reader have cancer, Major Character death, brief hospital terms mainly reffering to cancer treatment. References to amputation.

A/N: This was written for the lovely @eurynome827​ 2k celebration. I got a lovely quote of lyrics from Hadestown, which I wanted to do something that was based off of the musical, but I couldn’t figure anything out. Then I had a big anniversary come up and this was came out instead. It’s very angsty, I cried a lot, and well I hope you like it.

The low, steady hum of the fan fills the awkward silence. The psychiatrist, newly assigned to the case, still doesn’t feel comfortable. “Case number 32557038” was widely known in the health care center. The whispers and rumors floated their way down the hall, past the copy machine, filling the office with this chilling tale. Some regarded it as a terrible series of bad luck, others thought it was an act of some benevolent God, pouring his rage on this poor couple. Dr. Breynord, after reading the notes on the file, Breynord knew that this case was perhaps the worst case of bad luck she ever saw in her career, and, maybe it was her stubbornness or naive belief in medicine, but Dr. Breynord was going to help this poor man get the peace he so desperately needs.

“James,” Dr. Breynord’s voice breaks the silence of the office, “I’ve read what my colleagues had to say about your case, but, I’d like you to tell me what has happened if you feel comfortable.”

Shifting in his seat, James sighs, with a small nod of the head, he starts at the beginning.

Bucky Barnes was used to change. Granted, it was other people’s change, but it was still change nonetheless. The poor folks that sat next to him each clinic visit changed, his caretakers changed, it seemed as if the whole world changed around him, while he was stuck in some perpetual hell. Every day dragged out in the same dull, and nauseating feeling, and at times, Bucky felt he was in an endless loop, forsaken by some deity he didn’t believe in. But, for however long Bucky has left in this fallen and cruel world, he’ll remember when you walked in, shattering the miserable purgatory he was banished to, he’ll always remember the day you changed his life.

It happened during his first transfusion session after his surgery. His arm, still wrapped in bandage, IV tubing leading straight to his heart, pumped his body full of liquids, as he waited for the toxic poison to enter his body. He always found it ironic, the “medicine” that was supposed to save his life, that was too dangerous for the nurses to touch with their bare hands, was willingly flushed into his body. Hair loss, mouth sores, and muscle aches were the better side effects. He can’t help but think about what is coming, especially as he sees his nurse, Thor, come over with the freshly made batch of poison [STRIKE THROUGH], chemotherapy as his doctor would want him to call it. Hanging the bag on his IV pole, Thor looks over at Bucky, giving him the “I’m going to go on a rant about something you should care about” look. 

“Now James, we’re getting a new patient today. It’s their first transfusion. They’re going to be sitting in the pod next to you. I swear to the gods, I best not hear another complaint about your attitude.”

“Me? An attitude? No, I think you got me confused with someone else. I’m the brightest little ball of sunshine here!” Bucky can’t help but chuckle. It’s not his fault he wasn’t a “warrior”, blasting “Fight Song” 24/7, as he sips on a kale smoothie with coffee suppositories shoved up his ass. T

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Barnes,” Thor shakes his head as he cleans up his station, “don’t think I won’t throw your bald ass out of here. That cancer sob story, won’t work on me.” 

Bucky goes back to his phone, already feeling the effects of the chemo. No matter how many anti-nausea meds they fed him, Cisplatin always makes him sick. So, he had the right to act like a grumpy old grandpa. While he scrolls through his social media feed, seeing all the accomplishments, brags, and just shit of his friends, Bucky hears your sniffles, as you make your way down to the end of the Oncology clinic, taking a seat next to Bucky. Even if Thor hadn’t given him the heads up, he would have known you were fresh meat. One infusion, his mom asked him how he could tell. It was easy for Bucky, it all had to do with the eyes. A cancer diagnosis shatters you. It kills all hope, light, and goodness that’s in you. You turn completely numb to the world, to the point where your own wailing and sobs feel muted. Bucky saw all of that in your eyes. Behind the puffy, redness, saw the shards of hope, the fear of the unknown. Before you could reach your seat, you stumble, spilling your possessions that you carried all over the floor. Bucky watches quietly as you quickly pick up your items, collapsing into the chair next to him. 

“Sorry I couldn’t give you a hand, only have the one,” he wiggles his stump, and he's met with silence. Talk about a rough crowd, he thinks, his nephews love his stumpy jokes. “So,” Bucky continues, “what are you in for? I’m a sarcoma, in the arm.” You sniffle as you turn your body to look at this new man.

“Leukemia,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper. It takes a real effort to say it out loud because then it makes all of this real.

“That’s good then,” the “sarcoma” man says to you, and Bucky can see the confusion, and pain on your face.

“How is that good? How is cancer good?”

Using his arm, Bucky points around the room, giving you a tour of the room.

“See him, that’s Riley, he has an inoperable brain tumor. That young kid, with the Switch? His name is Peter, his body is chemo resistant. So yeah, leukemia is good. If you haven’t learned it yet, not all cancers are made equal.”

“Oh,” you barely make out. What were you supposed to say to that? 

=====

Much to Bucky’s surprise, he actually enjoyed having your company. Your treatments lined up and so you both got to know each other well. Bucky enjoyed having someone close to his age that understood his problems. And it also didn’t hurt that you had such a great personality, you got Bucky’s dark humor (and it went without saying that you understood it was his way of coping), and you looked great. Not many people can rock a bald head. And Bucky has seen his fair share, and he can say with confidence, you rocked it. Not covering it up with caps, scarves, or wigs. Because why should you hide away? For the first time since his diagnosis, Bucky had a purpose. So, while his immune system allowed him to leave the house, he picked up a bouquet of fake flowers (neutropenia life, am I right?) and a box of chocolates to take with him to the next transfusion. When he got to the clinic, Bucky was a bit worried to see that you weren’t next to him. Instead, there sat Barb, 75 years old with breast cancer. 

“Oh sweetie, are those for me?” Barb looks at the flowers in Bucky’s hand. 

“No!” He snaps, as closes the curtain that surrounds his chair. He hears some huffs and complaints from Barb, but frankly, he doesn’t give a damn. Bucky only has one thing on his mind: you. 

“Are you alright? You’re not here at Club Med” Bucky texts as quickly as his one hand would let him. Dropping his phone, Bucky stares at it all while the nurses prep him. And because of damn, HIPAA, none of the nurses can tell him where you’re at. Minutes turn into hours, and by the time Bucky’s infusion ends, you still haven’t responded to him or shown up at the clinic. 

“Hope you’re okay. Call or text me. I'm worried” Bucky sighs, realizing how much you made his chemo treatments more bearable. How your laugh could make him forget of the poison he had to take, or how the light in your eyes could make him forget, even just for a bit, how much his arm stump was hurting. You were a drug, more potent than any he’s had before, and Bucky was becoming addicted. He’s picking at the hamburger he got for dinner, not having much of an appetite when his phone goes off. Seeing it’s from you, he rushes to answer. 

“Y/N! I… Where were you? I missed you today. I had to sit by Barb and…” The sounds of your cries cut Bucky off. 

“Are you okay?”

“No, Buck. I… Got some bad news today.” 

“Where are you?” He asks. He knows you’re alone, and speaking from experience, you never want to be alone when you get bad news. He knows from experience.

“Buck…” you sigh, “It’s fine. Really.” 

“Please, Y/N, I know what it’s like to be alone after getting this kind of news. Please, let me be there for you.” Breaking further down into tears, you cry at Bucky’s actions, actions of love. 

“I’ll send you my address,” Bucky gathers the flowers and chocolates as he rushes to your apartment, breaking a few traffic laws to get there faster. When he gets there, the image of you, opening the door, eyes swollen from crying breaks his heart. 

“Oh, Y/N,” Bucky sweeps you into his arm, as he closes the door behind, “tell me what’s going on hun.” 

You both sit on the couch, the bag with the flowers and chocolate lay at your feet, as you stay in Bucky’s embrace. 

“I’m… I’m dying Buck!” You manage to say in-between odds. “Dr. Fair... gave me three months to live. There’s nothing else they can do.” You break down in his arms, that last straw finally breaking, as you tell your newfound best friend, the person you were supposed to beat cancer with. Bucky tries his best to remain strong, to be the rock, the foundation you need, but you’re not the only one that is losing a friend. You sit in each other's embrace, as you mourn. You cry for all the missed opportunities, laughs, and memories that won’t be made. 

“What am I going to do,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from crying. 

Kissing your head, Bucky pulls you in closer, “we, are going to make these three months, the best three months you’ve ever had.”

Bucky lives up to his promise, spending every hour he isn’t in the hospital with you. The time you spent together changed your relationship. Neither had to officially say the words to make your relationship official. It was just you, and Bucky. Holding each other close, as the tempest waged on, trying to beat you into submission. You go on walks in the park, picnics, and one night when you both had the energy, went skinny dipping. Your logic being, what are the cops going to do? Arrest two cancer patients, with one of them being terminal? You threw caution to the wind and simply lived. Lived, breathed, and loved. Things seemed to be perfect until reality hit.

Your body wasn’t keeping up. Your cancer was spreading faster than they predicted. The doctors couldn’t give you an explanation as to why the cancer was spreading so fast. It shouldn’t have been. Soon, home hospice came, to try to make you more comfortable. And like the good partner he was, Bucky spent every minute by your side. That’s why, when you felt the inevitable coming, you felt your body give in to the tiredness of fighting, you grab Bucky’s hand. 

“I love you, James Bucky Barnes,” you weakly say, giving him one last affirmation, as you went to sleep, for one last time. 

As Bucky wakes up from his nap, feeling your cold body, he tries to ruse you back awake. Once he realizes what has happened, the last bit of humanity inside of Bucky snapped. He lets out a blood-curdling scream, as tears stream down his face. He strikes your face, pleas escape his mouth. Pleas to you, to a God he has long stopped believing in. His body shakes, his tears wetting your hair, as he holds you for one last time. 

=====

“Oh James,” Dr. Breynord grabs herself a tissue before handing Bucky the box of tissues. “I truly am so sorry to hear that. I want you to know that I am here to help you get happy again, and to heal.”

Bucky sighs and turns away from the doctor as he wipes his eyes. “You’re just like the rest of them. You didn’t listen to me.” 

Breynord was surprised that this was Bucky’s complaint. The other doctors had warned her that Bucky could be sarcastic, standoff-ish, and even flat-out rude to them. Breynord thought she did a good job listening to his story, what did she miss.

“I… I don’t think I understand what you mean, James.”

Bucky lets out a heartless, empty laugh, “you want me to be happy again. I’m never going to be. Not only do I have to live with the guilt of surviving, when she died, in my arms, but I’ll also never find another soul like hers. We had a connection, you know. It felt like we met before. When I held her in my arm, and her arms would wrap around me, it felt like I had the whole world in my arms. I didn’t need anything else when I had Y/N.” 

“So tell me doc, what’s the point of carrying on?”

#eury2kchallenge #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky angst #cancer #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #oneshot

[jewels2876]

An Excellent Pairing

A/N: Two day in a row! I’m slowly making a comeback - today’s is for the most wonderful @eurynome827​ and her 2k milestone celebration! Eury is so amazing and deserves more followers! Love ya dear!

I picked up her prompt “ Sangria in a pitcher outside on a warm, sunny day “ and pairing it with Space Husband that she oh so sneakily got me started loving

Word Count: 357

pic not mine

Warnings: implied smut and not so implied making out - 18+ Only! If you click on the link you agree you are over the age of 18

The pitcher stood in the middle of the small table. Its layers of blood-red oranges, green apples, and lemons bobbed gently at the top while a few droplets of water slid down the outside. The sun’s rays warmed your skin as you stretched out on the chaise lounge. You felt a light drip of water on your arm and peeked one eye open.

“Wanna drink, sunshine?” His glistening bare chest diverted your attention for a moment before you answered.

“Yes please,” you purred as you raised up on one elbow, shielding your eyes from the sunlight to stare at your boyfriend. He bent over the table and you playfully whistled at his tight ass. He chuckled and poured himself a glass first, then yours; he handed you the sangria as he took a seat at the foot of your chair. He took a gulp; you watched as he tilted his head back, his throat slowly swallowing and you pressed your thighs together before taking a sip of your own drink. “Are you going back in the pool?”

His gaze moved from the pool to your bare legs and feet; his hand smoothed over your calf. “No, I think something else has caught my attention,” he cooed as he set down the drink on the patio before grasping your waist. You squealed at the cool contact, then moaned as his body covered yours. You set your drink on the other side of the chair as his lips attacked you.

“Mmm, Dr. Beck,” you murmured as his mouth latched to the juncture of your neck to your shoulder; his hands pulled your hips flush to his, his clothed erection brushing against your core. You moaned as he nibbled and licked your skin. “More please.”

Chris’s lips moved against your neck as he whispered. “More sangria?” He pulled back so you could see the smirk playing on his lips now. You smacked his chest gently, following his lips.

“Damn you, I meant you, you dork. But since you mentioned it...” You picked up your sangria and took a sip, then leaned forward to kiss Chris again. “Mmm, an excellent pairing.”

#chris beck x reader #Eury2kchallenge #dr chris beck #chris beck drabble #sangria #sangria with chris beck #a dripping wet chris beck #sweet space husband 😍 #eury is a wonderful bad influence