Summary: A few days short of your 21st birthday, you decide to celebrate with your friend at the local bar. Unbeknownst to you, a close friend of your dad's is there.
When he sees you with beer in hand and in the lap of another man, things get heated. Somehow, you end up in his shirt, at his house.
Word count: 5.1k
Warnings: pinv sex, passionate sex, forbidden realationship, violence, blood, underaged drinking, slight angst, cum eating, I love yous', mentions of masturation, tension, arguments, slight jealousy and protectiveness, pet names (girl, woman, ma'am, princess, sweetheart)
AN: not yet proofread, might be rough around the edges! Enjoy girlies🥹🫶
It was his one free night for a long time, and his buds pulled him along for a drink. He had no real objections. He was in a good mood, and it'd get even better once he had a drink in him.
Their group emerged from the damp, rainy night and dove into the smoke tainted air and the usual bustle of the local dive. They ordered their drinks and made their way to the back where the booths were, a jumble of familiar faces greeting them on their way. Until-
Bucky saw a face he ought not to see in a place like this, his anger immidetly spiked. "Excuse me a moment, fellas. I got somethin' to take care of."
Their group turned to him, confused. "Wha-" and looked in the direction he was already headed. "Well shit, good thing her daddy ain't come with us." The group shared a few nervous glances, then shrugged and chuckled. "Wouldn't want to be one of those boys right about now."
-
"Well. . ." A voice chuckled loudly.
She could see the source approaching their table from her peripheral, his form vaguely illuminated by soft lamp light in the gloomy bar. ". . .aint this a sight?"
She knew that voice, she could hear the telltale grin that shaped it.
Catching onto the change in energy, the giggles and boisterous laughter of their small group died down. Instead, tense glances were exchanged between them, all eventually landing on the intruder, all except hers.
The typical commotion from the rest of the dive continued sounding around them. "Anyone wanna tell me whats goin' on here?" The voice asked above the bustle.
Swallowing, she realised she'd been intently staring into a cadleflame. She thought that, maybe, she'd have a chance at going unnoticed if she sat still enough.
"I asked you a question, doll."
She winced, that was his nickname for her. Fuck. She tore her gaze form the candle, snapping it to her friend across the table and gave her a sidelong glance that ment "Trouble" and her friend nodded in agreement.
The low light that made the place cozy just moments before, now only existed to muddle her thoughts. But, it could work in her favor. She carefully pushed her drink behind her elbow, hoping it wasn't too late to hide, and her friend followed her lead.
"Hey, Buck." She turned toward him, speaking slowly with a cheap grin plastered across her face. As if it somehow would make him more agreeable.
"Hey there, princess." He grinned, hat on his head. "Wanna explain this to me?" And lazily pointed at their gathering.
"Nothin special, we were just leavin', in fact."
A scoff blew past her ear, "The hell we are." The lap she sat on stiffened beneath her, tapping his feet–once, twice–in a show of impatience, rocking her body in the process. The man then whispered in her ear, "Who is this guy anyway?"
She inclined her head, nervous eyes avoiding the big cowboy that stood imposing at the end of their table, and murmured a quiet reply over her shoulder. "No one. . . in particular." A lie, of course. "Let's just go."
The cowboy chuckled. "You're not leavin' with him, you're leavin' with me." That drawl could make the most steeled stumaches jittery with butterflies. Her friend must've felt it too by they way she squirmed in her seat.
She had to screw her eyes shut in a moment of contemplation. Why'd he have to be here tonight? Why'd they have to go to a bar he frequented?
She looked back at her friend with panic in her eyes. Boy, were they in for it. And she could think of nothing else then to ask nicely. "Please, go."
He smirked, putting his hands on his hips, showing a stern, but playful disposition. "Your daddy know you're here?"
She pinned him with her eyes, narrowing them with independent annoyance. "Im my own woman, B-"
'What's it to you?' The guy beneath cut her off.
Bucky switched his attention to the guy, and she could feel him shrink a little under Bucky's gaze. "Hell, no need for that tone. I was just sittin' with my buds over there," he pointed to the group of men Buck came with, no doubt to put some pressure on the poor guy. From the looks of it, they'd been listening in on our conversation, and now waved to her, idly laughing at the situation, ready to jump in at any moment.
She shyly waved back, a tight smile on her lips.
"See, I just saw your little group havin' a grand ol' time over here and wanted to join you," Bucky laughed, "and when I noticed that fine woman in your lap, I thought I'd have a chat with her." He disguised it well, but she could hear the anger beneath his humored exterior. Bucky took a moment to look me over, a scan for any harm. But his eyes stuck on my short skirt and thin shirt, and if possible, he looked even more bothered.
The man's hand slunk to the bare skin of her thigh, as if marking his territory. "What's with the hat, you some kind of sheriff? Either way," he waved his hand dismissively. "She's fine where she is, she can make her on decisions." Just like that, he'd successfully stolen the point she'd been trying to make. She shook her head. Stupid, stupid boy.
Bucky's face hardened, any sign of humour gone from him. "I assure you, I dont need a sheriff's badge to take her home, It's within my right." He braced his hand against the table, leaning closer to them. "Now, get that hand off of her, boy." He snarled, annoyance and authority resounding in his voice, promising a solution to the mans cocky demeanour. "She ain't yours to touch."
"Why?" The guy asked. "She yours?" The guys hand slid higher, squeezing her thigh, challenging the much broader man.
She exhaled, releasing a frustrated hum in early defeat, he'd doomed them both.
The cowboys jaw tensed. Silently, but undoubtedly steaming, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and pushed them above his elbows. The veins on his forearms popping from strain, knuckles turning white from the fists clenching at his sides. "Fella. . ." He began, calming his composure, then pointed two loose fingers at the girl in the mans lap. "Had she been mine, you'd be on the floor already. Now, that girl, ain't of drinkin' age, neither is she to be touched by a slimy bastard like yourself."
Fuck, so he did see the drink. She shook her head again, warning him. "Bucky. . ." A very bad attempt at dissuading him from doing whatever he was about to do. She could almosy feel the guy beneath her sink into the booth they were sitting in. Perhaps he had some sense after all.
Her friend grabbed her arm, loosely yanking on it as her anxious eyes flickered between the men in conflict. She herself sitting in the lap of the guy's friend, who was preparing to step in if necessary. "We should go before this gets ugly." Her friend whispered.
"Respectfully, ma'am, she ain't going nowhere without me." The cowboy opposed, directing his attention to her friend.
No, no, no no. . . Dread filled her, he'd drive her straight home to her parents.
Bucky's eyes fell back on the guy, now shrunken and small under his gaze. "So. . . Stand up, 'n leave, boy." He spoke with the authority of a sheriff, but stood with the confidence of an outlaw. "Theres no need for altercations, I was enjoyin' my night. N' I don't wish that to change-"
"I'll call on the bouncer." The guy shot out, his face probably as pale as his overly white and fragile shirt, and pointed to a man behind the cowboy. Her eyes followed the steps down from the seating area, through the dimly lit dive where a big man stood posted by the door. The guy beneath her then glanced at his friend across from him, both extending curt nods to oneanother.
She wanted to wretch, he was acting a coward, standing up to Bucky with the threat of enlisting two other men to his side. She sighed loudly, making a point for him to hear as she eyed her friend. "Well, I sure know how to pick em'. . ." She whispered, smirking while slowly sliding off his lap. Her friend–despite the commotion they found themselves in–covered her mouth in a snicker.
Bucky narrowed his eyes in a second of silent fury, then answered with a laugh, not missing a beat. "You mean that bouncer?" He asked and turned around, calling a greeting to the bouncer, who in turn tipped his hat with a smile. The type of gesture that indicated a longstanding friendship. "We're well aquainted." Bucky grinned. "But im sure he'd love to sort this out."
If they had any sense at all, the two men would leave with what little dignity they had left and realise that they were already outnumbered inspite of being 2 to 2.
"Leave, girls." The guy easily dismissed them.
How very. . . demeaning. She gave him a pointed look, flashed her eyebrows and jerked her head to the side in a "you had it coming" motion, then grabbed her friend's hand.
"Asshole." She sighed, and steered them out of the booth, taking the cider in her other hand. Silly as she was, she thought she could simply leave, perhaps just slip by Bucky. But no, his strong hand grabbed her bicep as she passed by, and he set his blues deep into her home. "Wait by the truck, I'll drive ya' home." He said, looking between the two girls.
"Fine. . ." She sighed.
"N' dont even think of running, I'll catch you." He warned, and she rolled her eyes, despite the burning that settled in her core. She tried to yank herself free, but he didn't let go.
"What? You wanna hear a "yes sir"?" She dared the words, nervousity building in her gut.
His eyes searched hers, a slow grin spreading over his lips as he leaned closer, bending down to whisper in hear ear. "Dont get cocky with me, girl." His hand began sliding downward, making her shiver, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch.
She swallowed, that tone, the hat? God. Her uterus purred, and in a sudden surge on confidence, she answered. "No, sir."
He grabbed the glass bottle from her hand and grinned, taking a sip. "Good, girl. Now go." And pointed to the door.
Would it be wrong to say she started salivating? His words, together with his lips making contact with the same surface she had? There was something about it, something that made her. . . pulse.
Bucky whistled–and his friend, the bouncer–came bounding up the steps, he along with the group of dad's and bucky's friends who were only a few steps behind.
The bouncer tipped his hat to her and her friend in passing, a smirk on his lips. Nice to know there was still some gentlemen in the world.
She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He was quite handsome too.
"Dont even think 'bout it." Bucky warned.
She rolled her eyes, and then they were finally on their way out, meeting bucky's group of friends on the way, all nodding and greeting her. "Tell your daddy we missed him tonight." One said, and they all chuckled.
The girls hurried off, giggling.
Voices raised behind them, and as they were about to exit, she turned around just in time to see Bucky's knuckles collide with the jaw of the guy she'd spent her night on, aending him sprawling.
Plunging into the deep night, the cold swept over them. "He's hot, ain't he?"
She didn't want to answer, pr she didn't want to admit it, more likely. Simply giving her friend a look of understanding.
"God, I was ready to pounce on him the second he called me ma'am."
She understood that too.
After about ten minutes wait, Bucky emerged from the bar. Unscathed, apart form a bloody hand. Before even saying a thing, he had already removed his jacket and wrapped ut around her shoulders. "Only got one, apologies ma'am." He told her friend, and the girls shared a knowing look, their thoughts fiendish. "Let's go."
The ride was relatively quiet, we knew better than to anger him further. Anxiety was growing within her, she didnt wanna know what would happen when her friend was let off.
"Text me ok? I'll se ya' later." Her friend said, eyeing Bucky. She leaned her head through the open window of the truck. "Let me know how that goes," she whispered. "Good luck." And raised her eyebrows with a smirk on her lips.
She had to restratin herself from smiling too coyly. "Sure will." And with one last wave, they were off.
Since her friend had stepped off, the tension grew ever thicker. Now that there were only the two of them, they could say whatever they wanted with confidence. But so far, there'd only been a few sighs and breaths for calming themselves. Neither of them were particularly pleased with the situation.
"I'll be 21 in a few days, Buck."
"Doesn't mean you have good judgement."
She bristled. "I'm not a little girl anymore," and crossed her arms with resolution, her eyes narrowed and staring at him.
" 'Course not, I can tell by how you dress. That what a grown woman look like to you?" He nodded to her body, barely covered apart from the thick jacket over her torso.
She oulled it closer around herself. "What, what exactly do you mean I look like? A slut, a hooker?" Her face stung from embaressment, she felt like a child again, being berated for something she wasn't able to puzzle together by herself.
He clicked his tongue, jerking his head to the side. His patience was running thin. "Dont twist my words, doll. I'm callin you careless."
"That dont matter comin' from you, you're not my daddy." She could feel the comment drivning Bucky into overload.
"No, n' you should thank fucking god he wasn't there to bust you. I was the better option, I can promise you that."
"So what, you gonna tattle on me now?"
He looked over at her, brows furrowed right beneath the rim of his hat. "That all you care about?"
"Right now? Yeah."
"And if I say yes, what then, girl?
"I dunno, m' gonna have to convince you not to."
"Like you convinced that guy to buy you beer, huh? What'd you do, flirt with him? Give him a handjob, suck him off? What did I miss before catching you?"
Her mouth hung open in disbelief. "You fucking asshole!" She shook from anger, she never expected words like that to be thrown at her. Especially not by him. But she'd get him back, there was no reason behind her actions now. "Maybe I would've, I even bet it would've worked if I'd asked you. Right? You would've just loved having your friends pretty daughter gettin' you off, huh!" She half shouted the last sentence, her chest heaving with effort and fury.
"That's enough." His tone was unforgiving, shooting a sense of reality back into her.
"I'll shut up if you answer the god damned question Buck, would it have worked?"
But Bucky didn't answer, his jaw clenched and unclenched, biting back his words. If she thought the silence had been bad before? It was deafening now.
After calming down again, her words hit her like a freight train. She always had a friend in Buck, but now she wasn't sure. The words that'd been thrown back and forth had set them off balance, their entire relationship was on unsteady ground. Something had been rewritten in the rules between them.
There'd always been attraction, but that wasn't something they ever spoke of. They'd always been close, good friends even. But now, something had changed. And it made her feel sick. She'd had an ally in him, but now, she wasn't so certain.
After a long whole of shutting her mouth out of stubbornness, the fate of her father finding out was worse, so she broke. "Please don't bring me home, Buck. Dad'll throw a fit." She tried to smile, to soften her voice. But it felt wrong.
After a moments uncertainty on her part, and strained breathing on his, he spoke. "Im not makin' the detour, you can sleep at mine, that was always the plan anyway." He admitted, sounding utterly tired.
And now she felt extremely guilty, eyes studying him as he gripped the steering wheel harder. Her gaze drifted over his body, his face, his hands. Stopping on the roughed up and bloody knuckles. He'd beaten that guy for her. Out of jealousy, or simply because he was protective?
She turned away, her chest feeling hollow and followed the birches and sprucetress as they flashed by the truck. Their colors and textures blending together as they met the dark consistent sky above them.
Bucky's house was dark, he only lit a few tablelamps when they arrived. It was better that way, she recognized herself here, within the gloom and the safety of his home. It was second to her own.
"I'll get your something more comfortable," he said, his eyes avoiding her clothes, her body as a whole and disappeared into his bedroom.
Was it because he thought they didn't fit her, or the opposite? Had he been mad at himself for being attracted to her?
She nodded slowly, calling out to him, "we should do something about that hand of yours."
"It's fine, I'm fine." He said, re-emerging, meeting her eyes. "Here," he handed here a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, most likely too big for her. "I'll take the couch, n' you can take my bed."
She nodded again, and headed into the bathroom.
Buckys t-shirt was longer on her than the skirt she'd worn, so she opted out of the shorts. Luckily findig a roll of gauze in the bathroom cabinet.
She emerged from the bathroom, a pair of panties and the oversized t-shirt the only things on her body. "You want something to-" Bucky paused as she rounded the corner, and suddenly she herself stopped short–caught off guard.
Bucky stared at her, and whatever he'd been about to say was lost the second he looked up. Bucky cleared his throat, and with the weight of a 15 year long friendship on his shoulders, his eyes stayed glued to hers.
Inwardly, she smiled and hoped the lowly lit livingroom couldn't reveal the blush on her cheeks. "Found some gauze," she held the roll up, indirectly asking for permission to bandage him.
He opened his mouth to decline, she could even see his head begin to shake in dismissal.
But she cut in before he had the chance. "Just let me help, you can be mad and still let me help."
His eyes hardened, but hesitantly, he nodded all the same. "Im fine, doll."
She raised her brows with skepticism and made her way toward him, the fabric of buckys shirt doing its best at showcasing her breats.
Bucky clenched his fist in an attempt to control himself, he winced, the wounds on his knuckles re-opening.
"Yeah," she scoffed. "Sure seems fine to me." And placed herself infront of him. From his position on the couch, he had to look up at her. At that, a flicker of heat blazed in her core. Oh, those eyes. His big, pleading eyes, all sad and hurt. Did he want her gone or want her in some other way?
She kneeled, settling between his thighs and grabbed his hand. "You don't got to be so stubborn all the time. . . Just wanna help you." She wrapped his hand carefully, enjoying every second of his corse skin over hers. Once done, he tried flexing his hand, and winced again. He still hurt, that much was clear, but was too proud to admit it. "Want me to kiss it better?" She joked, hoping it would lighten the mood. But he did that thing again, where he said nothing, and instead clenched his jaw, as if holding back a yes. So she took her chance.
Keeping their eyes locked, she brought his wrapped knuckles to her lips, and kissed them through the bandage once, then moving further up to kiss the softer skin of the back of his hand. Again, his eyes were pleading, and he moved the hand to cup her cheek, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. She took it as encouragement and kissed his palm, his wrist, his forearm. She stood up on her knees, kissing his bicep and reached for his shirt to pull him closer. She cupped his face and brought him inches from her own, nuzzling her nose against his.
Finally, when her lips reached for his, he pulled away. "Stop, stop," he nudged his forehead against hers. "We can't," he moved his lips away, cheek to cheek, he kissed the soft spot in front of her ear. "We can't."
"Cant, or wont?" She asked dully.
Those pleading eyes were back, begging her not to make him answer that question. She nodded absentmindedly, pulled into her thoughts. She stood up and moved away from him, his hand sliding down her arm and locking around her wrist, stopping her. "Dont leave."
"I'm comin' back."
After a few minutes of bustling in the kitchen, she returned to him. Sidling up next to him on the couch, her curled up legs lulling into his lap as she handed him a whiskey glass, then cradled her own. He whispered a thank you, looking into her eyes, and she whispered a you're welcome, looking into his. Then they sat like that for a while, quiet, unmoving. Bucky's hands finding their home on her legs, glas in one hand and her knee in the other. Somehow, this wasn't crossing a line for them, this was their normal, this was something not even her family questioned, this was them.
"Im sorry, doll." he said finally. "I never meant to imply-"
"It's ok, Buck." He opened his mouth to speak again, but she stopped him. "Really, It's fine. I'd rather not dwell on it."
Another moments silence passed between them, it was uncomfortable, but the unsaid lingered in the air like a thick wall between them, and hung over them with the threat of smothering. "We need to talk about us."
"I didn't like the way he was touchin' you," he said, choosing the topic before she had a chance at it. If he had to approach them, he would do it indirectly. "It didn't look like you were enjoyin' it."
Her eyebrows raised, "You would've punched him even if I were enjoying it." She commented sourley.
He squeezed her knee, gently rubbing circles into the skin beside. "He acted like he owned you," He turned his unscathed hand upside down, brushing his knuckles up and down her sensitive skin.
It all went straight to her head, veins throbbed with heat she didn't know she could feel. All brought out by a single touch of his hand.
But she wouldn't let off. "And what do you 'spouse beating him for it is?"
He stayed silent, his hand turned again, this time to grab her soft flesh, squeezing it with purpose. Much like the guy had done, but this felt different. This felt good, real good.
She swallowed, closing her eyes to focus on the words she needed to say. "What made you think you had the right? If not that I already belonged to–" she stopped, and their eyes met in a quick glance.
He let out a frustrated sigh. "I was only protectin' you." He defended, but it didn't quite sound like he believed the words himself. Nor did she. But if he wasn't ready to see it as it was, she wouldn't pressure him.
Instead, she laid her head on his shoulder. "It shouldn't be this hard."
He shook his head, the words seemingly struck a cord within him. For he sat insilence, pondering, a long while. "I would've said no, you know. And it would've killed me." She looked at him strangely, forgetting what he was referring to for a moment. "I would've said yes, if you hadn't felt forced to it, like it was a last resort to keep your secret."
Oh. . . "Had I wanted it, you'd said yes?" She stared unbelieving into the dark space infront of them.
"Nothin' could stand in my way." He slid his hand further up her thigh, fingers exploring the skin just beneath the hem of his/her shirt.
She sat up straight to look at him properly, she couldn't tell if he was serious. "You want me?"
"More than anything," his voice was breathless, barely a whisper. His index and long finger reaching further up, exploring more than he'd ever dared. "Cant even explain how many times I imagined you gettin' me off after you said it. How much I hated the thought, the sight of you with that guy, his hands all on you."
A pang of need shot through her. She put her whiskey down, and braced her hands against his chest. "But why tell me now, whats changed? Whats changed in this last hour?" His fingers rubbed the skin of her hips beneath her panties, sending shivers running over her body, shivers she'd only previously dreamed he'd be the cause of.
"You're right, it shouldn't be this hard. I'm makin' it too hard." His hand slid to her waist, still invisible to him, but no longer untouchable. Magnetically, they were pulled together, faces inching closer and closer to oneanother.
"And what about daddy?" It was becoming hard to focus, she wouldn't stop him for the world. Bow, they were close enough to feel the dampness of their breaths.
His hand continued exploring farthur up, fingertips finally reaching the soft, plush flesh below her breast. "Your daddy ain't here, is he?"
She began shaking her head in disbelief, lips brushing against eachother. "Dont promise something if you can't follow through."
His hand stopped, "I can, please," he begged, waiting for her go-ahead. "I can. . ."
His words vibrated against her skin, electrifying her body. "Fuck," she moaned, he's right there. Right, there, infront of her, for her. "Then do, please do, Buck."
And just like that, both hands were beneath her shirt, pulling her into his lips and squeezing her breasts.
Breathless moans filled the silent air, they tore at eachother greedily. Pulling and pushing eachothers bodies, fighting to get Bucky free of his clothes.
Snaking one arm behind her back, he guided her down onto cushions and placed himself above her. Still clothed by jeans, he rolled his hips against her core, grinding the rough fabric against her barely clothed clit. This, is what she had been craving. The exact static friction, the heat and movement between their bodies producing all the pleasure she needed. She moaned heavily, beacause still, she wanted more. Pulling her legs up and her panties off, she wordlessly signaled for him to do the rest.
With a groan, Bucky dove into her neck, kissing and sucking, all the while he unzipped his jeans and pulled them off together with his boxers. No time was wasted, he lined his member up with her core within a second, prodding and teasing at the opening. "Please, please, please." She sounded desperate, but fuck, she was. And feeling it was worse then sounding it.
"Yes ma'am." He said, and thrusted into her. A gasp escaped them in unisome. With the arm still around her waist, he pulled her into his hips, his body straining as he delved deeper inside her than she thought possible.
"Yes. . ." She whined. "More."
He kissed his way up her throat, their hips freed and collided into eachother with steady, strong thrusts, pushing her deeper into the cushions with every rut. Nothing could compare, he was unparalleled. Bucky, despite what he was already achieving, kissed his way up her neck, unfaltering in his duty.
Her hands found his face, cupping it and bringing him back to her, and their lips met again. "Taste so sweet," he murmured, sinking his tongue into her. The salt of her skin mixing with her saliva. "Want all of you."
She smiled against him. "Harder."
He did as ordered, keeping his pace and adding pressure. "Yeah," he moaned. "Being so good for me, girl." And pulled her deeper onto his member. Her breaths grew rapid and shallow, fingers clawing at his back as she had nowhere to go, all pleasure directed straight into her. "Close, so fucking close," she cried.
"Good," he chuckled breathely against her skin, and that was a she needed. Her back arched in euphoria, and stars stung her eyelids, speckling the darkness. "Good job, sweetheart. Just breathe," he continued thrusting into her, softly, easing her through the orgasm. "Good girl. Well done. . ." He whispered, kissing her jaw. The stars began fading and she regained her senses, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Beautiful, girl." He moaned, still rutting into her, chasing his own high while wiping the tears from her face. Her body began tingling, on the vege of breaking down.
"Dont know how much more I can take, Buck." She kissed his cheek, focusing on the skill of his lips.
"Almost there, almost. . ." he moaned, increasing his pace. The slickness of her core created a sickening sound together with the slapping of their skin. It was heavenly, but she could feel the pressure building within her again.
"Mmmh, m' gonna cum again, please buck, dont stop."
He didn't, he continued, intent on coming together with her. He bit into her lip, causing her to yelp and yield the hold on his face and licked a trail down her chest and breast, then taking it into his mouth. Sucking and slurping in an insane rythm with the slapping. "Yes, yes! Fuck, Bucky." she called out, and Bucky pulled out of her.
Coming only a second after, his seed spilling over her abdomen. "I love you, I love you." He moaned with faltering breaths, bracing himself on his forearms on either side of her, kissing every part of skin that he could reach.
Holy shit? "I love you too." She smiled lazily, drunk off of her two consequent orgasms. Laying her hand on her stumache, she felt his sticky substance coat her fingers.
His eyebrows knit together in guilt. "Sorry 'bout that sweetheart, I'll get a towel-"
She grabbed his bicep and shook her head, locking her eyes onto his as she brought the fingers to her lips and licked them off, popping them in her mouth to suck them clean.
Bucky stared, unable to form words.
"Cat got your tongue, cowboy?" She asked, a coy smile on her glistenting lips.
"Fuck," he awed breathlessly. "I just love you." He whispered, lowering himself onto her once again, this time striking his tongue into her core.
summary Bucky and you visit the museum as it won’t stop raining. As you are looking through the exhibition you stumble across an old picture of him and Steve…
warnings established relationship, mentions of Bucky’s past, fluff
word count 1k
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“I want to go to the history exhibition first” You announce as you take a close look at the museum plan.
Bucky just nods, giving you a soft smile “Sure, whatever you want, doll”
It’s been raining for 3 days and it’s getting really boring in the compound with not much to do there. So, Bucky had the idea to spend a day at the museum. And this is where you two are right now. You walk through the halls together, looking around curiously. The exhibition is impressive and Bucky’s hand rests at the small of your back as you look through the displayed items together.
As you enter the next room you find yourselves in an exhibition of World War 2. You take a look at Bucky, who is already looking around a bit stunned and speechless. “We can skip it, if you want” You suggest but Bucky quickly shakes his head.
“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry, doll” he shoots you one of his handsome smiles and you return it as you both start to roam through the exhibit.
You are looking through some old medals and pictures displayed. As you are searching for Bucky you can find him in front of a showcase, so, you step closer to get a better look. “Is that…?”
“Yes,” Bucky nods “it is.” You are looking at the old uniform of none other than Captain America. It’s pretty different from the tactical suit Steve wears nowadays on missions. The one from back then is more like a suit for theatre, which is not surprising considering what he had to do at that time. The suit looks worn out a bit, the red and white stripes still bright though.
This part of the exhibition shows the life of Steve Rogers back than as a national hero. As you continue to admire the uniform Bucky looks around. He comes to a stop in front of a wall full of old letters and pictures. You come closer too and notice his changed expression. He looks deep in thought, a bit nostalgic and wistful even. He is looking at an old picture of young Steve right before going to war. Next to him is a young man with short dark hair, wearing the same military uniform as Steve.
“Is that… you?” You ask in utter disbelief. Bucky doesn’t respond, only gives you a short nod. He can’t tear his eyes away from this picture. Under it is a short description, quoting “Steven Rogers and his friend James Barnes, one day before departure, 1943. It is the last picture of James Barnes before his death 3 days later”. To say you are shocked is an understatement. Of course, for the world this soldier was just a number, lucky enough to be friends with Americas national hero, who died 70 years ago.
But he is still here, right next to you. You cannot believe that this is a picture of young Bucky. He must be around 26 years old on it. And even though you can see in his eyes that he has been through a lot since then, he still has the same cute smile. A wave of emotions rushes over you as you continue to look at this picture and the description. Their life was so differently, and yet, somehow they both ended up in a reality that shouldn’t exist for the both of them. And you don’t even want to imagine what they had to endure over all this time.
Your breathing starts to get shaky and tears dwell in your eyes. You then feel a hand on your shoulder, comforting you. It’s Bucky. He is no longer looking at the picture, his eyes are focused solely on you. There’s concern in his face. “What’s wrong, doll?”
You simply shake my head, taking a deep breath. You shouldn’t be the one who needs comfort right now. Instead, you should be the one who comforts him, as this is for sure not easy for Bucky. “Nothing” You give him a forced smile.
Bucky tilts his head, not believing you. “Don’t dwell on the past. I’m still here” He whispers the last part and pulls you into a soft hug. Your arms wrap around him immediately and you burry your head into the crook of his neck. “I’m still here…” He repeats his words, talking more to himself than to you, which shows just how much he is dwelling on the past right now, even though he tells you not to.
Before you pull apart Bucky presses a soft kiss to your forehead and looks into your eyes, still concerned. “Everything okay, doll?”
You nod and peck his lips with yours quickly. “Yes, how about you?”
His smile grows a bit. “Of course. If all those things didn’t happen, I wouldn’t be here with you now”
His words make you smile as well, and he takes your hand softly in his before you walk out of the exhibition together, taking one last look at the picture. You spend the whole evening sitting on the couch together in the compound, Bucky talking about his life before war, before Hydra, and you listen closely to every single detail. And even though not all memories are good ones, his infamous smirk returns to his lips every now and then.
A/N Here is my complete masterlist with all the ff, imagines, oneshots, smut and whatever. Check it out and leave a like :)
Pairings: George Weasley x Fem!reader
Summary: you realise how much you love George when he loses his ear
Warnings: mention of blood
you looked at him carefully as he talked to his mum, telling her that he will be ok
you knew it was a dangerous task, and you begged to go with them, but he told you no. that he didn't want you to get hurt.
you had told him not to go multiple times, but he had said he had to, that he couldn't not do it.
"hey" he said, snapping you out of your thoughts
"hi" you mumbled
"I'll be ok. I promise" he smiled
"you can't promise something like that, George" you shook your head. you had talked to everyone else because you didn't want to say goodbye to him, because you didn't want to know that it might be the last goodbye
"yeah, but I wouldn't lie to my best friend" he raised his eyebrow, Best friend.
that's what you two were, best friends since your first year at Hogwarts.
"we have to go" Mad eye grumbled
"see you when I get back" he sighed, pulling you into a hug
"please be careful, George" you muttered, holding him tightly
he let go and smiled at you before leaving the burrow, going to private drive to Harry
"alright, how about we make some supper for when they return. hm?" Molly takes a deep breath, looking at you and Ginny who stood by the door
her hands were on her hips and she frowned
Ginny shrugged and went to help her mum, leaving you at the door, wishing you went with them
-
you put the tray in the oven and take off the mittens before you heard a crash outside the burrow
you, Molly and Ginny rushed outside and saw Hagrid and Harry, drenched.
"harry, Hagrid!" molly yelled out "what happened?"
"where are the others?" she asked
"is no one else back?" Harry raised his eyebrows
"they were onto us right from the start, Molly. we didn't stand a chance" Hagrid spoke disappointedly
"well, thank goodness you two are alright" Molly nodded
"the death eaters were waiting for us, it was an ambush" Hagrid informed you and Molly as Ginny went to harry
you went inside and talked to Molly as you heard rushing to the door.
you turned around as saw Lupin and Harry helping what looked like an unconscious George to the couch
"Georgie" you muttered out as you watched them lay him down on the couch
you rushed around the couch and went down to your knees in front of him. ignoring Lupin interrogate Harry
his eyes were closed and he looked tired
the whole side of his face was covered in blood as the red liquid ran down his neck. his hair was a mess and shoulder of his jacket was stained red.
you went to hold his hand but noticed it was covered in blood as well
"oh George" you whispered
you almost felt like crying, you couldn't imagine the pain he's going through, and you couldn't but imagine if it wasn't just his ear.
you didn't care about the blood and held his hand anyway.
what if you had lost him, not just his ear, but what if he hadn't returned and had died.
you were worried sick the entire time there were out and now that he had returned, you felt even more sick.
"you said you would be careful" you murmured, staring at his sleeping state
"it's not like I planned this" he replied quietly, his voice slightly breaking
you looked at his ear and almost threw up at the sight
"George, I told you to stay here, I sai-" you started
"I had to" he cut you off softly
you stroked his hair and shook your head, even though he couldn't see you
you leaned in kissed his forehead as you lightly sobbed
--
you laid in your bed in the burrow, in Ginny's room.
Ginny slept heavily as you twisted and turned.
you had slept for like ten minutes before waking up from a bad dream.
a bad dream where George didn't just lose his ear, where Lupin had showed up to the burrow alone, breaking the news to Molly, to you and to Ginny.
you woke up in your own tears as you worried about George, what if he was still in pain? what if he was bleeding out through his bandage in his bed, what if you had imagined he came home and he actually did die.
you started panicking as you sat up.
you didn't want to lose him, he was one of the most important people in your life, and you loved him.
and this situation really made you realise that you didn't only love him as a friend, but more, that you wanted to hold his hand, that you wanted to kiss him and take care of him. it made you realise that you never wanted to leave his side again.
that it would kill you inside if he was to die.
you took the covers off yourself and got out of the bed.
you quietly walked out of the room and made your way to George's room.
you opened the door and crept inside, closing the door behind you
the light snores of the two twins filled your ears.
you walked up to George's bed and saw his sleeping with a frown, his ear bandaged up.
he was cleaned up after he had a long bath to ease his nerves and pain. his neck wasn't bloody and his clothes were clean and fresh.
you didn't want to be creepy, but you needed him in that moment, you craved to be near him, to know that he was still here
you lifted up the covers and slipped into his bed and cuddled up next to him.
he moved around and groaned
"love? what are doing? he asked you huskily
"making sure your ok" you muttered
"can you repeat that? I can't exactly hear through that ear anymore, love" he replied
you choked back a sob as you tried talking to him
you ended up just staring at him in the darkness, nuzzled in his warmth
"love?"
"I love you" you admitted "I know you don't love me too, but I didn't want to lose you and it could ki-"
"are you kidding? of course I love you, I can lose everything, but not you, oh merlin, I would rather die than lose you, that's why I didn't want you going" he confessed
"George, I didn't want you going, and look what happened" you motioned towards his ear
he pulled you closer to him and leaned his head away to not irritate his hole.
"it's only one ear, at least I can still hear your beautiful voice" he smiled lazily
"it's better than losing an eye, or an arm, or leg, or anything else" he shrugged
"yeah but you're still hurt. it still hurts, doesn't it?" you questioned
"it's numb, all I can hear out of it is a constant ringing sound, it took me ages to fall asleep because of it" he replied
"sorry" you apologised
"huh?"
"I said sorry" you repeated so he could hear
"it's ok, you make it better" he yawned
you stayed in silent for a moment before he whispered again
"do you still think I'm handsome?"
you laughed quietly at his words as you shook your head
"the most handsome guy I've ever met" you beamed
"more than Fred?" he raised his eye brows
"way more" you nodded
you felt him place a delicate kiss on your forehead and you closed your eyes
"I love you, George" you sighed, hearing his heartbeat as you rested your head on his chest
Summary: George and the reader are rather… close. Fred and Ginny are very, very suspicious as to why they weren’t informed that their best friends were together.
Request: Could you write a George Weasley imagine with the couple trope “what is personal space” with a reader who is the Golden Trio’s age and friend and Ginny’s best friend? Thank you!
A/N: I tried so, so hard to get George to right character-wise so I really hope I did him some justice here and I really hope you like it my love – sorry it’s essentially Christmas themed
Reader: female
Warnings: none I think – very PG! Maybe British swears? A common theme I suppose… kissing?
A/N: if you see me butchering british slang 🤨 it never happened 🤫
Pairings: George Weasley x Fem!Reader
Summary: Your worst nighmare takes a nasty spill during a scrimmage because he was distracted by you. It’s only right you go and check on him. 1.9k words
Warnings: violence by bludger, description of injury, cursing, lovesick losers, enemies to lovers???? ‘enemies’ to lovers but really idiots to lovers
George taking a bludger to the face was not the kind of news you would have liked to wake up to. Something had gone wrong during an emergency weekend scrimmage. He was laughing at something Fred said or shouting at Ron or maybe he was just distracted by his own thoughts and hadn't noticed the pesky bugger barreling towards him with every intent to bludgeon him unconscious. So he took a nasty spill from a considerable height and has been passed out in the hospital wing since six forty-five.
You rush down the hallway in your pajamas, cursing under your breath, face scrunched into a scowl, dead set on your target. Bloody quidditch. A few first years watched you nearly trample a group of girls in the hall. They were traumatized. It was bad.
"He's gone daft! This is absolutely mental—nothing is that distracting!" you shout at Ron who is actively trying to defend himself against you. He stopped you at the door because he heard you storming down the hall a full minute before you arrived.
"Calm down! He’s still alive isn't he?" he says.
"Not for long if I have anything to say about it—"
"Oi," Fred shouts, lounging in a rickety chair beside George's cot, "would you wait 'till he's at least cognizant to threaten him?"
"You!" you fume, "why didn't you warn him!" Ron has given up trying to stop you at this point. You push past him, headed straight for Fred.
"I did! I shouted for him three times. The git was proper distracted. Must've been dreaming of something really special." He winks at you, and you think you could ring his neck right about now.
"I think you mean someone," Ron teases.
Both of them. You'll ring both of their necks.
"What the hell are you two chittering about?" you hiss.
"Oh, nothing at all, your graciousness. We'll leave you two lovebirds"—Fred clears his throat, standing and nodding to his youngest brother—"I mean friends... to it."
You grumble and flip them both off as they leave. You plop down into the chair just in time for Madam Pomfrey to come fluff the pillow propped beneath his left leg. She catches your weary glance over his limp body.
"I wouldn't worry too much, dearie. Nasty spills are what young men are made for. He just needs a little rest. Time to recover," she coos, smiling up at you from the base of the cot. You briefly worry the back of your neck before managing a nod.
"Thank you, madam. I appreciate it."
She grabs a quilt from the stack she had brought to his bedside and flattens it across his torso. You tug the side to even it out, a hitch in your breath when your fingers brush his cold knuckles.
"You know, when I attended Hogwarts, the quidditch boys were all the rage. My boyfriend was a Beater as well—"
"Oh, George—! He's not my..."
"He was wonderful. But of course, he was always getting into spills. It drove me mad to see the boy I loved in so much pain. In the end, I told him he'd have to be more careful or I'd call it quits. He told me he had to focus on his career anyway." She stands silently for a moment. Solemnly.
"That's terrible. I'm so sorry."
"You live and you learn. Boys will be boys, I suppose." Out of her trance, she shrugs and gestures to the clipboard sat on the desk. You hand it to her.
"May I ask... what became of him?"
"He retired from Quidditch very young. Only a few years in and, bam: traumatic brain injury. Some people can't be helped!"
You can't help but snicker at her frankness. She smiles, pats your shoulder, and sighs.
"You just have to love ‘em while you can."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."
"Of course, dear. You let me know when he wakes up." She scuttles away.
You take the silence of the moment to look at him. While you can. You prop your elbows on the edge of the cot and rest your head in your hands.
"Not sure how I feel about all of that information. Not sure how much I trust that advice." You tell him like it’s a secret, nose scrunched like there’s anyone else within earshot.
How fragile he seems laid flat atop this plastic wrapped bed. How rich the watercolor purples and yellows of his bruise. Down his neck, out across his jaw. The subtle swoop of his lashes, the rosy bridge of his nose. Then down to his bird bone fingers, your heart skips at the thought of tracing over the delicate skin.
He twitches, and you startle and sit pin straight. His muscles relax, though yours refuse to. You notice a rip at the hem of his folded quidditch robes and perk up.
Eight minutes later, you’re tugging just the edge of his robe into your lap while the rest is feathered out across the linoleum floor. Your emergency sewing kit is perched on your other thigh as you thread your needle and begin stitching.
George blinks the ache from his eyes, finally awake just to find you with a thin string caught between your teeth, your brow furrowed, and your fingers pinching fabric together. He reaches up and presses the heel of his palm to his forehead.
"Thank Merlin I wore something under my uniform today—"
"George!"
The sewing kit clatters to the floor along with the robe and thread. Hopefully that needle will be easy to find. But you smile for now, and it’s one of the sweetest things he’s ever seen. No wonder he took a bludger’s hit. You’re bloody distracting. Even when you’re not around.
“I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey, she said—"
"Were you... stitching up my quidditch robes?” he says, just a hint of teasing in his hoarse voice.
You look down and gape at the mess.
"There was a tear in—when you fell, the bottom—there was a rip! I had a sewing kit on me, I was just... helping a friend."
He blinks. If he wasn’t completely crushing on you before, it’s safe to say that was the nail in the coffin.
"That's adorable," he warbles.
You look cross and put your hands on your hips and scoff.
“Well, you can’t very well play with a rip in your uniform!"
"No. No, of course not,” he mumbles, “Silly me.”
Usually, you’d mock him. You’d call him names and tease him for getting knocked on his ass by and inanimate object. But that smirk has you incapacitated. He's making this very difficult for you.
"Well!” he chirps, “Don’t let me bother you, I’ll just be lying here."
"But Pomfrey—"
"I'll live. My mind is alive, the neurons are firing. All is well, it can wait,” he says, “Please.”
Goddamn you, George Weasley. You muster up a pathetic sigh and sit back on the stool, getting back to work on his robe.
But he’s back to grinning like a fool, admiring the way your tongue pokes the corner of your mouth when you focus. It’s incredibly endearing.
"You're very beautiful."
Daggers. “Shut up.”
He chuckles. "What? I find you to be very agreeable, poppet."
"Gee, thanks, Weasley,” you huff, “Do you want this stitch fixed or not—"
"Don’t get your dear panties in a twist, I’m only trying to compliment you. Would you just take it while I’m too ill to make fun of you properly?"
But he finds you very agreeable. And now you know that out loud. More than an inkling. More than friends. Oh, he’s awful.
"Quit staring."
"Sincerest apologies."
You roll your eyes and glare at him while the needle punctures the thick fabric.
"Why don’t I just tell Madam Pomfrey—"
"And ruin a moment? Come on, let me get a good look at you, you're the reason I’m in this mess,” George mumbles.
"Me?"
"Yes, you! Your stupid face won't get out of my head."
"Be serious, Weasley—"
"I am! You’ve cursed me, poppet, can't think straight unless I’m thinking of you."
"That's not fair!" you say.
"No, it’s not," he huffs, "I love you."
Shock. From both of you. More than friends, and more than a simple crush, now. But love. Love, for Merlin’s sake! Do you love him?
"You're being idiotic—”
"No. I'm not. I've thought long and hard about it, and I love you, and you can't change my mind—"
"George, quit it,” you say.
"Everyone knows it, poppet, I adore you, and—"
"I love you, too, George, now would you shut up!"
Well, then. Secrets out, no holds barred.
And he’s smiling all smug to himself, even though his left side is a bit swollen. And you’re back to fiddling with the stitched up tear in his robe. You’ve got crazy eyes. He thinks you might murder the stitched up tear in his robe. Or confess your love to it.
You groan.
"Stop smiling like that. You look crazy."
He shrugs. "I am crazy…"
"Do not—"
"… Crazy in love."
"I hate you"
"I know."
You look at him. And he’s looking back at you terribly fondly. As fragile as he seems now, he feels invincible. You fold up his fixed uniform and set it on the desk.
"George,” you sigh, “you have to stop getting hurt."
He nods curtly. "Okay. I’m sorry."
You squint at him, suspicious and expecting just a little pushback.
"... It's... okay, I just worry about you. I don't like seeing you like this." The stool scrapes against the floor, and George reaches for your hand.
"I know you don't, poppet. It won't happen again,” he says.
"Good. And if it does, then—"
"Then I’ll quit the team.”
"What!"
"I’ll do it. I’ll quit for you. I’ve got other things to worry about anyway. More important things than some silly sport where balls fly at your face."
Your eyes sparkle. For him, and it makes him absolutely giddy. He presses his thumb to the back of your hand and cocks a brow.
"Now,” he sighs, “would you come here and give me my hard won kiss?"
"Oh, so you won a kiss.”
"Nobly so. Dutifully and honorably. Nothing less than the best for your highness."
"Fine, whatever, only because you think I’m beautiful.”
You lean over his arm, trying not to nudge any of his tender injuries. While you’re being so careful, he’s straining for your kiss, jutting his neck out and shuffling under the quilt. He grunts at the overexertion, and you sit back before he gets his kiss.
"Nope! I’m getting Pomfrey!"
"One peck! Swear, I won’t move an inch!"
"Madam, he's awake!”
"Wonderful news, darling!" she calls from the other side of the wing, preparing a jug of water and a two glasses.
"You're horrible, and you torture me. You don’t love me at all, witch!" he whines, voice low
"On the contrary, I love you a good deal too much, which is why I’m so horrible."
He grumbles something under his breath.
Then chirps: "Be my girlfriend.”
You fold your hands in your lap. "If I must"
"And let me be your boyfriend,” he pleads.
"Well, what else would you be?"
"Your servant, your house pet. A footstool if you needed it.”
“George Weasley, you’re a fool,” you tease, reaching over to fix a strand of hair behind his ear.
Summary: George Weasley finds himself longing for the comfort of being the little spoon, but his pride and embarrassment hold him back from asking. As he navigates his feelings, he discovers that vulnerability can lead to unexpected moments of intimacy.
Word Count: 1022 words
Prompt: Georgie wanting to be the little spoon but too embarrassed to ask. Just well built guy wanting spooned or to sit in your lap with his hair getting played with.
A/N: anon
George Weasley was many things: a prankster, an inventor, a loyal friend. But there was one thing he longed for more than anything else, something he kept hidden behind his confident facade—the desire to be cared for, to let his guard down and be wrapped up in the arms of someone who loved him. George Weasley just wanted to find love. It wasn't something he openly admitted to, especially not to his twin brother Fred, who would never let him live it down. George had always been the one to be the protector, but lately, he found himself yearning for the warmth and comfort of being held.
It was a quiet evening at The Burrow, the fire crackling in the hearth as George sat with his family, lost in his thoughts. He watched as his siblings and their significant others chatted and laughed, envy gnawing at him as he longed for the kind of closeness they shared.
As the night wore on, George found himself drawn to the idea of being held more and more. He imagined the feeling of strong arms wrapped around him, the gentle strokes of fingers through his hair, and the soothing rhythm of a heartbeat against his back. But admitting his desire felt like an insurmountable hurdle. What would his people think? Would they mock him mercilessly, or worse, pity him for his vulnerability? George couldn't bear the thought of being seen as weak, even if it meant denying himself the comfort he craved.
The days passed, and George's longing only grew stronger. He tried to bury his feelings beneath layers of humor and bravado, but they lingered in the back of his mind, a constant reminder of what he was denying himself. Every person who crossed his path was assessed for romantic partner potential, but nobody seemed to measure up.
One evening, as the family gathered for dinner at The Burrow. Charlie had brought one of his many friends with him and George found himself sitting next to you. He stole glances at you when he thought no one was looking, admiring the way your eyes sparkled with laughter and the way your smile lit up the room. This wasn’t the first time you had been a guest of the Weasley family but there was something different this time, something that seemed to call out to George, drawing him in.
As the meal progressed, George's desire to be near you grew almost unbearable. He could hardly concentrate on the conversation, his mind consumed with thoughts of you holding him close, your soft touch soothing his troubled heart. But as much as he longed for it, George couldn't bring himself to ask. The fear of rejection, of being laughed at or dismissed, held him back, trapping him in a cycle of longing and self-doubt.
After dinner, as the family dispersed to their various activities, George found himself alone with you in the living room. The fire cast a warm glow over the room, bathing everything in a soft, flickering light.
"Hey, George," you said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you. "Are you okay? You seem a bit...distracted tonight."
George hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to confide in you. But something in your eyes, the genuine concern and warmth you showed him, gave him the courage to speak.
"I...I've been feeling a bit off lately," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just...struggling with some things, you know?"
You nodded sympathetically, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm here if you want to talk about it," you offered gently. “I know we’ve never really talked, but, and don’t tell Charlie this, you are most likely my favourite Weasley.”
George felt a lump form in his throat, the weight of his unspoken desires pressing down on him.
“Thanks. I mean, for the talking and the favourite thing.” His cheeks flushed a little as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. You were always so kind to him, it was no surprise he seemed to have developed a bit of a crush on you. “Things have just been a little…” he trailed off; his brow furrowed.
“Stressful? I know you must be feeling a little like a third wheel now Fred and Angelina are together. It’ll be fine though, just focus on what you want.”
George considered your words, and, in a moment of bravery, he blurted out what he had been so desperately trying to keep in; too afraid to confess.
"I...I want to be the little spoon," he confessed, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
To his surprise, you didn't laugh or mock him. Instead, you smiled softly, your eyes shining with understanding and compassion.
"George," you said, your voice soft and reassuring. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to be held. Everyone needs comfort sometimes, even the strongest among us. I think you’d make quite a good little spoon.”
With those words, something inside George shifted. The weight of his fears began to lift, replaced by a sense of relief and acceptance. He had bared his soul to you, and instead of ridiculing him, you had embraced him with open arms.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
Without hesitation, you pulled him into a warm embrace, wrapping your arms around him and holding him close. George leaned into your touch, savoring the feeling of being held, his eyes closing as he wrapped his arms around you in return.
Several hours later, Charlie wandered through the living room, his eyebrow raising and a smirk playing on his lips at the scene before him. The two of you were lay on the sofa, half asleep. You were stroking George’s hair and whispering words of comfort, while George’s eyes were closed, a contented smile on his lips and a sense of peace washing over him. Charlie slowly backed out of the room, leaving the two of you in peace. He’d always wondered how long it would take you and George to get together, and now it didn’t seem like he’d have to wait much longer for that answer.
It was the first sunny afternoon in what seemed like forever, but in reality had only been a few days, and the residents of the burrow were eager to escape onto the vibrant, green lawn.
“Fred, George you stay out of trouble now!” Molly shouted from the kitchen as you run out the door with the twins.
“Come on now, it’s our last summer before they ship us off to Hogwarts! We gotta make the most of it!” Fred replies, sprinting out to the shed where the Weasleys stored all their brooms.
“Hurry up Georgie, or I’m taking the good broom!” You tease as you race past the other boy, snatching the best broom from the rack before he has the chance to protest.
“Aw c’mon! Why’s she always get the good one?” Ron complains as he catches up with you all.
“Oh shut it Ronald,” George retorts, not bothering to give his youngest brother a second glance.
The four of you spend the afternoon zooming across the field, a beat up quaffle tossed between you in carefree bliss as the sun shines down on you and Ginny watches from the ground below.
Eventually you all tire and you find yourself lying in the shade of the old oak tree that loomed over the garden. Thankfully the rain had scared off the gnomes that had a habit of sneaking into the garden for a tasty treat.
“Show me how to make those daisy crowns? Like the muggles?” Ginny asks, bringing over fists full of the little white flowers.
“Not now Ginny,” Fred sighs, rolling his eyes at the young girl.
“No, no, we can do it now,” you argue, patting the ground next to you, gesturing for the younger girl to sit beside you.
“Yeah, let her stay,” George agrees, smiling fondly at you.
Fred snorts at his brother, eyes rolling once more.
“You always side with her, you’re supposed to be my twin! How are you two going to survive without each other?” Fred retorts, leaning back against the tree.
“It’ll only be a year, then y/n can join us in the fun,” George replies happily.
“Oh at this point you might as well just marry her,” Fred responds with a huff.
You feel your cheeks begin to grow red and you turn to focus all your attention on the young girl beside you, showing her how to intricately wrap the stems together to form a chain of daisies.
You’d known the twins for as long as you could remember. You’d practically grown up with them. Your father Remus did the best he could raising you on his own, he really did, but it was hard. Especially on full moons. The Weasleys always took you in on those nights, often resulting in you staying for days while Remus recovered.
George had had a soft spot for you since the beginning, always being the slightly softer twin while Fred was more severe and brash. You could remember a particularly bad night when it had been storming, the loud thunder making you shake with fear. George had stayed up with you all night, making sure the storm didn’t get you. You had been seven at the time.
It had started back then you supposed, your little crush. It had confused you at first as you had thought of all the boys as your brothers, but now, at the ripe old age of ten, you could tell that Georgie was different from the other Weasley boys.
“There!” George announces excitedly, shaking you from your thoughts as he brandishes a single daisy up into the air, its stem tied rather roughly in a small circle.
Without warning, he grasps onto your hand, sliding the makeshift ring onto your finger, looking rather pleased with himself.
“There. You’re my wife now,” he says proudly as you stare at the little flower adorning your finger.
“You didn’t do it right! You have to ask her to be your wife. Everyone knows that!” Ginny exclaims, watching the two of you with a dopey little grin on her face.
“Oh. Right. Y/n, will you be my wife?” Georgie asks, batting his eyes dramatically at you and sticking out his bottom lip.
“Yes I will,” you reply with a laugh, admiring the pretty daisy that now sat on your finger.
“You two are so gross,” Fred says, making a face.
“Oh, oh! Do the promises! The ones where you say I do!” Ginny urges excitedly, clapping her hands.
“Alright. Do you promise to always laugh at my jokes, always be there for me when I need you, and always take my side when we argue with Fred?” George asks.
Fred begins to make dramatic gagging sounds.
“I do.” You reply with a giggle as Fred just glares at you. “And do you promise to always make me smile, always protect me, and always make me hot chocolate when I can’t sleep?”
“I do.”
It was dark. The whole house was dark really. All the time. Dimly lit and constantly smelling like mold and rotting wood. And the furniture seemed to be permanently damp, the coldness settling into your bones.
You hated it here at Grimmauld Place. The constant shrieking of decrepit, old portraits, the eerie feeling of constantly being watched. The only positive attribute about living in this wretched place was the fact that Remus had never been happier.
It had taken months to do it, but after Harry had been able to help Sirius escape the dementors, Dumbledore had inconspicuously been able to move Sirius into Grimmauld place where you had been staying ever since.
It had been strange at first, no doubt. You had only just met the man, but he grew on you quickly. Like a fungus. You loved seeing how comfortable he made Remus who visibly softened whenever the other man was near. And you hadn’t seen Remus smile as wide or as often, well ever. You could tell that the two of them were just meant to be side by side, and honestly, that was enough for you. Especially in dark times like these.
“Lighten up love, we have a surprise for you before dinner,” Remus announces, entering the drawing room where you sat wrapped in a pile of blankets, a book in hand as you tried to ignore the screeching bag lady in entry way portrait.
“Is it another one of those horrendous sweaters that Sirius keeps digging up from somewhere?” You ask, nose scrunching at the thought of another one of the putrid smelling things being presented to you. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you detested the nasty things, so you had been giving them to Kreacher to dispose of rapidly. “I know I keep telling him that they’re lovely, but how many of the things does he think I need?”
Remus just laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve told him to move onto something else, but he’s determined to fill your wardrobe I think. But no. It’s not another sweater. For now at least. No, I do believe you’ll quite enjoy this little surprise.” He tells you before leaving you to your book and your thoughts.
Dinner time couldn't come fast enough as you eagerly eyed the clock every fifteen minutes, only to be disappointed by how little time had gone by.
About thirty minutes before the three of you usually ate dinner, you began hearing a chorus of voices coming from the entry way. And not the familiar voices of the Black family portraits.
"Well where is she then?" a loud voice asks.
Hearing the voice, you immediately perk up, not quite believing you'd heard correctly. This place might be driving you mad.
"Oh bloody hell mate, don't seem too eager now," comes the sarcastic response.
You'd know those voices anywhere. Practically throwing yourself from the couch, you eagerly scramble to the door and down the staircase to be greeted by the whole Weasley family grinning up at you.
"Look Georgie, there's your wife, don't get your knickers in a twist now," Fred scoffs.
You fly into George's arms, sighing contentedly as his arms wrap securely around you.
"Well hello to you too," you hear him laugh as he gives you another squeeze before releasing you.
You hadn't seen him, or the other Weasley's for that matter, in what felt like ages. He and Fred had grown their hair out, and you didn't quite remember them being so tall last you saw them. His smile never changed though.
Bashfully, you greet the rest of the Weasley bunch, even Fred giving you a quick hug, before rubbing the top of your head affectionately and effectively tossling up your hair. You stick your tongue out at the boy in response, batting his hand away.
"I missed you all, so much! I've been going absolutely bonkers being here alone for so long," you tell them.
"Well not to worry love, we'll be here all summer. Hermione too, though she's not coming for another few weeks." George tells you.
Feeling eyes on you as you laugh with the boys, turning to see both Sirius and Remus gazing at you intently, eyes flickering between you and George.
Sirius silently points at you, then George before drawing a line across his neck with his finger before giving you a wink. You feel heat creeping into your cheeks as you turn back to the boys.
"What are you all doing here?" you ask eventually as the adults begin to file into the kitchen.
"Came to be used as house elves of course," Fred replies, earning him a nudge from George.
"Mum said that Sirius volunteered the house to be headquarters for the Order," Ron butts in.
"Yeah, then mum volunteered us to help clean the place up," Ginny adds.
You make a face at that.
"We have a lot of work to do then, this place is disgusting," you tell them, leading them up the stairs to the room you'd been staying in. On your way up the stairs, George's hand never leaves yours, fingers intertwined as you guide him up the dusty staircase.
"Long as there aren't any spiders," Ron replies, eyeing the spiraling stairs with suspicion.
You just look back at the boy with concern, pity overtaking your face as his own face turns pale.
For once Grimmauld place was silent. A rare luxury you'd found, especially since the Weasley's had moved in. Not that you minded, the red headed family made the grim, old place feel alive and vibrant. Something you thought the it needed desperately. But you liked the quiet too.
It had been a strange couple of weeks as everyone, the adults especially, seemed to be on high alert. And who could blame them? Hermione had just moved in, sharing a room with you and Ginny. You could hear their breathing now as you stared up at the dark ceiling above.
After the Weasley's arrival, you had all spent countless hours decluttering Grimmauld place. Sweeping, dusting, banishing the more mouthy portraits to the attic. It was hard work, but you had loved every second of it with George making you laugh until you keeled over, tears streaming down your face. His presence just made everything better. You thought so at least.
In the darkened room, your mind drifts to the conversation you had heard between the adults just hours ago. It definitely wasn't a conversation you had been meant to overhear, but Georgie had given you a pair of extendable ears that he and Fred had developed, and you just couldn't help yourself.
"Oh really Sirius, they've all practically grown up together, George would never do anything to hurt her," Molly had said.
At the mention of George's name, you just had to find out what they were talking about.
"We never said he was going to do anything malicious, we just don't want to see her get hurt," Remus replied with a heavy sigh.
Her?
"They're practically adults, you can't protect her forever. So what if they fancy each other? They're not children!" Molly retorts.
"Oh that's rich coming from you. Just the other day you were going on about young witches and wizards rushing into marriage during the first war. And how many times have you told the twins that they're forbidden from joining the Order hmm? They're adults, Molly, you can't protect them forever," Sirius responds.
"Oh but at least I've done all I can to protect them up to this point. What have you done for y/n? Nothing. Because you've been locked up!" Molly spits. You can hear the fury in her voice.
Your fists ball up in rage at her comments. None of it was Sirius's fault. He didn't do anything wrong. How dare she?
"That's enough!" you hear Remus cut in, a sharpness in his voice that you hadn't heard before. "We weren't coming to attack George, or the way you raised any of the children. We were simply raising our concerns, as any good parents would. Now that we've made our point, if you don't wish to interfere, fine. We won't either."
After that the only thing you had heard was the shuffling of feet as they abandoned the dining room. They had most definitely been talking about you. No doubt about it. You hadn't realized they were concerned about you. They never said anything. And it was only Georgie. The two of you had been married for six years now. In all the ways that mattered to you at least. He would never hurt you. In fact, he'd made it a promise.
Mind racing and unable to sleep, you slip out of bed, careful not to make a sound as you slowly creep to the drawing room that you so often took refuge in. To your surprise however, a dim light was already flickering inside when you approached, and a familiar head of red hair sat facing away from you on the sofa.
"Georgie?" You whisper cautiously, not wanting to spook him.
His head turns in surprise, but his face lights up when he sees you.
"What are you doing this up this late, love?" he asks.
"I could ask you the same."
"Fair enough. Just a lot on my mind I suppose."
"Me too," you reply.
A silence falls between the two of you as you stand, watching mesmerized as the light flickers on and off of the boy's handsome face.
"Want me to make you a hot chocolate?" George asks finally.
A smile grows on your face and you instantly perk up at the mention of your favorite treat. George always knew how to put you to sleep, and he always made the best hot chocolate. Nodding enthusiastically, the two of you make your way down to the kitchen where George begins gathering supplies.
One thing you'd always admired about him was that he never minded doing things the muggle way. While Fred was always quick to magic his way through things, George was content taking his time.
"Help stir the milk so it doesn't burn?" he asks, gesturing to the pot now on the stove.
You silently take the wooden spoon from his hand, fingers brushing ever so slightly, before focusing on the task at hand. George sets out two mugs on the counter before helping you melt in the chocolate.
It all felt terribly domestic. As if there wasn't a sociopathic murderer on the loose. Like it was just the two of you.
It isn't long before George is pouring the dark liquid into the mugs, sprinkling in a few little marshmallows and a cinnamon stick or two and the both of you are retreating back up to the drawing room.
The first sip sends shivers of satisfaction down your spine as you lean into George who wraps his free arm around you. You pull a blanket over you and revel for a moment in the comfort.
"Care to share what's been on your mind?" George asks, breaking the silence.
"Only if you go first," you reply, not quite sure how to explain that he was really the only thing on your mind these days.
George just sighs. "It's nothing you we haven't told you before," He tells you. "Mum is just fighting for her life to keep Freddie and I out of the Order, but Moody agrees with us. We're of age. There's nothing she can do to stop us."
"Will you be safe?"
"Safe as can be. Mum has made sure they don't give us any real missions. Just patrolling Diagon Alley since that's where we set up shop."
You simply nod your head, letting it fall against the boy's chest as you feel his even breathing and let it overtake you. You'd never admit it out loud, but you were grateful for Molly to an extent. The twins had an abysmal lack of self preservation skills, and you didn't know what you would do if you lost Georgie.
"And what's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"
You feel your shoulders shrug as you think carefully of what to say.
"I overheard our parents talking today," you mumble, not exactly sure where you were taking this.
"Oh?"
"Dads are worried about us," you tell him, hiding your face in his chest.
"Worried?"
"I dunno. They said something about your mum talking about how a lot of wizards and witches rushed into marriage during the first war, and there was a lot of talk about you being of age and what not. It got intense. There was a lot of yelling."
You feel George's chest rumble with soft laughter at your words.
"Well that's a silly thing to be worried about considering we've been married for years now at this point," he says.
You're not sure if he's joking or not. Maybe the exhaustion was finally getting to you.
"I'm being serious Georgie. I didn't know they were so worried about me. And Sirius sounded so upset," you reply, sitting up to take another long sip of your hot chocolate.
"So am I." he responds, looking you dead in the eye. The usual mischievous gleam is gone this time and you know he's never been more serious about something. "You know I'm not one to break a promise."
The air grows heavy as you feel yourself freeze for a moment at his words before you sink back into his warm embrace.
"I still have it you know. Your ring. Your mum charmed it for me so it wouldn't wilt. She knew all along," you tell him.
"She tends to have a sixth sense when it comes to these kinds of things."
Another silence falls between the two, but this time, the silence brings comfort as you feel your eyes growing heavy. George tries to stifle a yawn, but it escapes anyway. It was later then you had realized.
"I'm glad it's real for you too," you murmur, leaning further into the boy as your eyes flutter close. Something about being in George's arms provided a sense of security you couldn't find anywhere else.
"It was always real. I'd never break a promise to you, love."
bby's first non-slytherin boy fic🫣
don't ask me if I edited this- the answer is no and I don't want to talk abt it💀
Summary: Your best friend suspects your fiancé of having an affair when he starts working late, but Bucky would never cheat on you, right?
Warnings: slight angst - discussion of Bucky potentially cheating (no actual cheating), soft fluff
Word count: 2.4k
A/N: thank you so much for this gorgeous inspiration my love 💕 this is my second entry for the Connect 4: Into an Alternate June-iverse Event by @buckybarnesevents, for the prompt ‘Modern AU’. Banners by @vase-of-lilies
Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library | ko-fi
“Where’s Bucky? You two just got engaged, I would have thought he’d barely be able to keep his hands off you - he does at the best of times.” Nat jokes before taking a sip of her wine.
She had been stopping off at your apartment on her way home to drop some supplies for your engagement party next weekend, when you invited her to stay for a drink, wanting to take your mind off your fiancés absence.
“He’s been working late recently.” You try to say nonchalantly, but Nat’s far too observant to miss the disheartened edge to your voice.
“He’s a builder. Start early, finish early, what’s he doing still working at 6:30?” You didn’t know the answer to that question. And though part of you is curious as to what he’s up to, you’re also nervous to find out the truth.
It’s Bucky, the man who has loved you through every high and low, treasured every part of you, especially on those days where your insecurities were at their worst. Who has done the silliest, most embarrassing things just to hear your laugh. Who trusted you enough to reveal his deepest trauma, who comes to your arms for comfort through every nightmare.
You find it difficult to believe that man would be capable of hurting you, even knowing he hadn’t been completely forthcoming with you the past few weeks.
“I’m not sure, he’s been a little secretive since we got engaged. I don’t wanna push him to talk about it, I just wish he knew he can trust me with whatever it is.” You say as Nat supportively takes your hand, something of sympathy in her eyes.
“Oh sweetie, you are far too pure for this world. Working late, the ring, the secrecy - has it crossed your mind that he might be having an affair?”
“It crossed my mind for half a second before I scolded myself. It’s Bucky, he would never cheat on me.” You state with conviction, the memory of each night you’ve fallen to a peaceful sleep in Bucky’s arms only supporting your belief that he would never put himself in that position with someone else.
“As much as I want to believe you, you know I’m a cynic. In my experience men are pigs, you give them an inch and they take a mile. I know he’s sweet and you love him, but at the end of the day, he is a man.”
But Nat doesn’t know Bucky intimately like you do, hasn’t experienced his selfless and generous heart day after day for the past two years, hasn’t been loved all-encompassingly by him like you have.
You’ve never even thought to question his loyalty to you - Bucky has never given you reason to.
You hear keys rattle in the front door and shoot Nat a look which unquestionably screams don’t bring this up.
Bucky smiles instantly when he sees you seated at the dining table, that same adoration and serenity brimming in his eyes as when he always comes home to you. Though you do notice his skin is somewhat flushed, as if he’s just been physically exerting himself, his hair looks a complete mess and appears slightly darker with sweat.
You know exactly what’s running through Nat’s mind at this very moment.
“I’m gonna let you two talk.” She declares with a perceptible tension in her tone as she stands and grabs her purse. “But I swear if you ever hurt her Bucko, you’ll die a slow, painful death.” She vows with a glare that seals her promise. Though you know Nat well enough to perceive she isn’t joking, Bucky seems to think she’s kidding.
“Duly noted Nattie.” He chuckles as he watches Nat shoot you an encouraging look and then make her way out the front door Bucky just walked through. “What was that all about?”
“She’s just being protective.” You justify, not knowing how to, nor really wanting to tell him that your best friend suspects he’s having an affair. “I told her you’d been working late recently.”
“What… she thinks I should instead be here doting on you hand and foot?” Bucky asks as he moves behind where you’re seated, his hands reach for the back of your neck and begin massaging the tension from your shoulders which had built up from your long week at work. “You know I’d much prefer to be here with you than working.” You shudder slightly at his words as he places a gentle kiss to the skin where your neck curves into your shoulder, your body subconsciously revealing that you don’t fully believe he was working.
“What’s wrong, doll?” He asks, feeling your muscles tense even further underneath his hands, and you internally curse yourself for letting Nat’s speculation get under your skin.
“Where were you tonight?” It’s a simple, four word question, yet the weight of significance on his answer feels like your whole world could start crumbling before you depending on his response.
“I told you this morning: Steve needed me working late.” Bucky replies without hesitation. It’s a straightforward answer, yet there’s something about it you can’t quite believe - a half truth that he’s practised too much that doesn’t quite feel natural. “Why do you ask?” There’s a hint of worry to his voice, as if you’re getting a little too close to something he’d like to keep to himself.
“Nat thinks ‘working late’ is code for you cheating on me.” You comment, placing all the blame on your friends postulation rather than your own curiosity.
You hope Bucky won’t hate you too much for indulging in your friends theory, that he won’t completely resent you for insinuating he’s been unfaithful. Because you don’t think he’s cheating on you, but you also don’t believe he was working late tonight.
Instead, Bucky steps towards you and tentatively places two gentle fingers under your chin, tilting your face so that you’re gazing directly into his vulnerable, sincere eyes.
“Doll, you know I would never, ever, hurt you like that. I love you, you’re my whole world, I wanna marry you and spend the rest of my days making you feel as loved and cherished as you make me feel.” You sense the heaviness of your engagement ring on your left hand, you’re still getting used to carrying the small weight of it around with you everyday, though right now it feels substantial.
“I know you wouldn’t Buck, but since you proposed you’ve been a little secretive. Long days, working weekends. I mean you have to admit it’s slightly suspicious.”
He sighs, coming to some sort of internal decision when his gaze meets yours again. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you in an attempt to distract you from the topic of discussion.
“I promise you, I can explain everything, but I think it would be easier to show you.” His hands snake down your arms and when he takes both your hands, pulls you from your seated position at the dining table.
“Show me?” You query, having no idea what that could indicate he’s been keeping to himself.
“Yeah, care for a drive?”
* * *
The night is dark as you sit in the passenger seat watching the world pass you by, the empty roads only lit by periodically placed street lamps and the bright headlights of Bucky’s truck.
You have no idea where he’s taking you - you’ve never been to this part of town before and have no preconceived ideas as to what being here indicates for his unplanned surprise.
Bucky drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other rests comfortingly on your thigh, an indicator that he’s not upset about you insinuating he could be having an affair, and that where he’s taking you to is not a revelation you should be anxious about.
Soon enough he turns down an innocuous street and pulls the car to a slow stop. You're in the middle of a suburban area with expansive blocks of land, stopped a few metres behind an SUV that has stickers of a family of five and a dog on their back window. Looking over at Bucky, you find he’s staring at you with an excited expectancy from the driver's seat.
You turn to look out the car window and the reason Bucky’s been ‘working late’ hits you like a bus.
You’re parked in front of a half built house - at the moment it’s just studs and partitions, with an unemptied skip out the front, but you can see the skeleton of a beautifully spacious two story house.
He’s building you a home.
“Bucky…” You comment under your breath, unable to articulate the swarm of thoughts buzzing around your head and the pure love blooming in your chest like a flower as he rounds the car and opens the passenger door for you.
“I know it doesn’t look like much yet, it’s just the frame and foundation, but soon there will be a roof, walls, windows, and a proper floor. It’ll really start taking shape.” He's nervous, you can tell by his shaky tone of voice, which you find adorable.
“You’re building us a house?” Your stomach contorts with guilt when he smiles crookedly and nods. How could you have ever been suspicious of his long working hours when they were spent building a physical monument to his love for you?
“I wanted to build our dream house, somewhere we can grow old together.” Your heart just about bursts when these words fall from his lips. Though the night is dark, the moon and the small torch Bucky keeps in his truck are the only source of light available, you can see the fondness in his eyes.
You give him a sweet kiss before approaching the house, an outline in chalk on the ground indicates where a front porch will be built and the entry to the house is currently only the rectangular frame of timber.
Bucky starts walking you through the house hand in hand, explaining what he had planned each room to be used for. There's only wooden studs outlining every room and a concrete slab for a floor, but you can already imagine what the space will look like when it’s all complete.
The entry foyer has high ceilings where you can currently see the stars shining, a large winding staircase connects the ground floor with the one above. To one side is a large garage, an offset office and bathroom, to the other has a large sitting room.
As Bucky pulls you further into the structure, the house opens up to a large, open plan living area. You can picture cooking together in the kitchen, room enough for a large island where you can sit and watch as Bucky cooks you breakfast, sneaking kisses in between breaking eggs. A smile grows on your features as you imagine what the future holds for you two, and what you envisage is beautiful.
He shows you where he thinks the lounge room television would go, before steering you to the right to an open room where the walls don’t have horizontal studs like all the other rooms you’ve seen so far.
“And this will be your sunroom.” He comments, eying you with a smile as your jaw drops in awe.
“A sunroom?” You ask as your voice cracks and hot tears well in your eyes.
Your dream house always seemed so far out of reach, you wondered if you would ever earn enough to own a place of your own. But it didn’t stop you from wishing for your dream house. That concept had changed over the years, but the one aspect which remained the same was it containing a sunroom. A place where you could sit in quiet contemplation and read your plethora of novels in peace, the warm afternoon sun heating the room as you draped your legs over beloveds, finding tranquillity together.
Bucky really is making all your dreams come true.
“It wouldn’t be our dream home if we didn’t have the sunroom you always wished for. This entire wall will be a huge built-in bookshelf, then the rest will be just glass, looking out over our backyard and have the perfect view of the setting sun.”
You find yourself completely lost for words, unable to articulate how remarkable this entire house is, that he built it for you, and how you will forever come home to a physical reminder of just how much Bucky loves you.
“If there’s anything you don’t like I’ll change it. I want it to be perfect, I want you to love it.” He says as if he can’t see that you already adore every inch of the house he’s built, thinking that your silence indicates aversion rather than pure amazement.
“Bucky, it’s already perfect.” You lean over to kiss him, slow and sweet, because you need to express the overwhelming gratitude and affection for him doing something so special for you. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you when you were putting in your spare hours to build us a home.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry, doll, I shouldn’t have lied to you about where I was and what I was doing, but I wanted it to be a surprise.” His arms snake around your middle and pull you closer to him so none of the cool night air separates you.
“It is a surprise, such a wonderful surprise. I love you so much and I can’t wait to spend our life together here.” You say, looking up at him with wide eyes, only closing them to kiss the stubble on his sharp jawline.
“I love you more than you’ll ever know.” Bucky places a kiss to your forehead, his voice soft but heartfelt and full of tenderness.
For a moment you stay cuddled into his strong, warm chest, his arms gently stroking up and down your back in soothing motions, feeling completely loved and so excited to start your marriage in a new home together.
“Will you show me the bedrooms upstairs?” You ask with a small voice, part of you not wanting to move from Bucky’s embrace, but also intrigued to see how much more work he’s done in the name of love for you.
“Of course, my love.”
He kisses you once more, for emphasis, before guiding you carefully upstairs to show you the spacious master bedroom where you will be spending your first nights as a married couple.
If you're interested in seeing the floorplan I based the house off, you can find that here
pairing: sunshine!bucky barnes x grumpy!fem!reader
summary: it's been a long day of working at your lemonade stall during the town's busy summer festival and making the day worse is all the unwanted attention and come-ons you've gotten from customers. by the time bucky barnes tries his own tired pickup line, you've had enough—but then he goes and spills a fresh pitcher of lemonade and offers to make a new one. you're reluctant to admit bucky might not be like all those other guys. in fact, he might be someone you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with.
warnings: fluff with a bit of angst, some references to sex (not really 18+ content but as always i'd prefer if minors didn't interact with my blog!), kissing, nicknames, some gross pickup lines (not from bucky), possessive/protective bucky, i think that's it!
word count: 6.9k
a/n: i wanted to write a short bucky fic but it quickly spiraled out of control and became this 😅 but i loved writing this one so i have no regrets!! i didn’t originally intend for it to be for @the-slumberparty’s june challenge but it fits—i used the “fresh pitcher of lemonade” and “festival” prompts (though i may have interpreted “festival” different than others). anyway please enjoy some fluffy romcom-y goodness with a grumpy reader and sunshiney bucky!!!
-
“Pucker up, buttercup.”
That was it—you’d hit your breaking point. You’d been working in the lemonade stall since that morning, setting up alongside the other vendors in the farmer’s market section of your small town’s summer festival, cutting up and squeezing lemons, mixing them with sugar and water and serving the ice-cold drink to countless locals and tourists. The sun beat down on your modest little wooden stall, the roof of which thankfully offered some shade, but it was a swelteringly hot summer day and you’d had so much of your own lemonade, you’d already had multiple sugar crashes.
So when that deep, overly charming voice slid through the hazy heat of the afternoon, hitting the back of your neck as you rushed to make another fresh pitcher of lemonade, it made your hackles rise right along with your blood pressure. Anger pulsed through every nerve of your body, making your fingers grip your knife a little too tight, your hands pausing in the middle of chopping up a lemon. Violent thoughts were a riot in your mind for a moment as you struggled to keep yourself under control.
You’d never hurt anyone of course, but you had half a mind to stab your knife through the sign your friend had convinced you to put up. It was a kitschy little thing featuring a cartoon lemon with big eyes, bigger eyelashes and cherry-red lips pursed for a kiss under the words, “Pucker up!” It had seemed like a cute, but ultimately harmless addition to your lemonade stall. You had no idea at the time how wrong you’d be.
All throughout the day, every cocksure single guy—and far too many not-so-single guys—had taken the sign as an invitation to flirt with you and your friend. That had been fine because your friend had soaked up the attention, but then she’d had to leave, abandoning you to the sea of smarmy guys hell-bent on getting the lemonade stand girl’s number. Every single one of them thought they were so clever with their lemon puns or their various uses of “Pucker up!” in a sentence, and you’d had to force yourself not to make a sour face as you shot them all down. If that stupid sign wasn’t nailed to the wooden structure of your stall, you would’ve taken it down hours ago.
Instead, you’d had to put up with the steady stream of guys—from teenagers far too young for you to men who looked like they could be your grandfather—shooting their shot with the lemonade stand girl, ignoring the fact that you didn’t seem the least bit interested in any of them. It was enough to give you a blistering headache and so when the latest guy stepped up to your stall, trying his hand with his tired pickup line, your anger bubbled over. Throwing down your knife, you whirled around, turning to the front counter and preparing to give him a piece of your mind.
But then your gaze caught on brilliant blue eyes sparkling in the summer sun, looking like the calm surface of the most refreshing lake. The sounds of the summer festival—screaming children, haggling parents and, more distantly, the bells and whistles of carnival games and rides—quieted around you, turning into a dull roar as you took in the man standing at your stall.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with brown hair swept back from an excruciatingly handsome face. Stubble dusted along the sharp edge of his jaw, framing his perfectly soft mouth. You couldn’t help but let your eyes trace the exact curve of his lips, the dip of his cupid’s bow and the tilt at the corners, showing off a hint of a smirk.
While you stood staring at the man, you noticed his expression shifting. The arrogant smirk smoothed into something softer and his eyes focused on you in a way that felt attentive, like he was really taking you in, not just seeing you as the lemonade stand girl. He scrutinized you, and you despaired at the realization he was seeing you after so many hours of working the stall.
At the very least, your hair was a mess, pulled back from your face haphazardly, and you had no doubt you were shiny with a sheen of sweat. Not to mention, the brown burlap apron you wore wasn’t exactly cute, especially since it hid the majority of your outfit—a pair of shorts and a tank top you’d normally be confident in. Altogether, you didn’t feel like you were looking your best. Meanwhile, the man looked like he’d just stepped out of a professional photoshoot, which only gave you more reason to resent him.
Wiping your face self-consciously, the grating feeling of your fingers against your skin let you know you only managed to smudge sugar across your cheeks. Then, you stepped up to the counter. “Can I help you?” you muttered, the words coming out harsher than you’d intended.
“Oh, h-hey, I’m Bucky,” the man said, ducking a little to avoid the glare of the sun. His brows pulled together in a cute, flustered expression, chipping away at your defensive anger. He leaned in so he could see you better and you got a whiff of his cologne, something earthy and spicy. It annoyed you how much you liked it.
Bucky looked at you expectantly and although he seemed to have shed the insincere pretense he’d used to greet you, you wondered if he was just switching tactics. Instead of giving your name, you blinked at him warily, waiting for the cheesy pickup lines or the cajoling come-ons.
A nervous, lopsided smile spread across Bucky’s face that was more charming than it had any right to be. “If you won’t give me your name, I’ll have to keep calling you buttercup,” he said, his words a friendly threat.
It really showed how broken down you’d been by the obnoxious flirting all day because, even as tiny little butterflies took flight in your stomach at the thought of this handsome man calling you buttercup, your first reaction was to scowl. “Do you want lemonade or not?” you demanded, crossing your arms over your apron. You didn’t know what this guy’s game was, but you weren’t going to trust it. Even if you kind of wanted to.
“Yeah, I’ll have some—and some for my friends,” Bucky said, turning to gesture into the crowd.
You saw what was about to happen, but you were too tired from the day to react quick enough to stop it. Because Bucky had been leaned into your stall, when he turned to point out his friends, his arm knocked over your only remaining pitcher of lemonade. It tipped over the front of the counter, falling to the ground at Bucky’s feet with a clatter on the concrete.
“Oh shit!” Bucky yelped, jumping out of the splash zone before looking up at you with a chagrined expression. “I’m so sorry, buttercup.”
Your headache pounded in your temples, and you shook your head, brushing away his apology. With a resigned sigh, you walked around the counter, stooping down and starting to clean up the slices of lemon that had been in the pitcher with the lemonade. Thankfully, the pitcher was safe, since you’d learned a long time ago not to use actual glass. It made sense to only use plastic pitchers when you knew the festival would be full of boisterous kids—and apparently clumsy, attractive men.
“Let me help,” Bucky muttered. He crouched down beside you, gathering up the pitcher and picking up lemon slices.
Looking up in surprise that he was actually sticking around to clean up his mess, you caught his eye. He was so much closer than you expected, close enough you could smell his cologne again and it warmed something inside you. You wanted to lean into him, but held yourself back. “Thanks,” you said grudgingly.
“You smell like sugar…and lemons,” Bucky said dreamily, his eyes a little unfocused before his gaze sharpened back in on you. A light pink tinted his cheeks and you wondered if he’d gotten too much sun or if, for some reason, he was blushing.
“Well, I’ve spent the whole day making lemonade,” you pointed out awkwardly, trying for a friendlier tone. You figured if he was going to abandon the pickup lines and be a decent human being, you could try to be nice. Thankfully, he wasn’t making you regret that decision. Yet.
A wry grin curved Bucky’s mouth and he ducked his head. “Right, of course.” He stood, one hand holding your pitcher and the other cupping a bunch of lemon slices. You straightened up and directed him to the garbage in your stall, where you both dumped the wreckage of Bucky’s clumsiness.
It felt a little too intimate to have Bucky behind the counter, so you grabbed the pitcher from his hand and swept past him. You didn’t want to ask him to leave—especially since you didn’t know how to without being rude—so you hoped he’d take the hint of you not striking up conversation as an indication to leave. You put the pitcher in your portable sink and briskly washed your hands. He’d knocked over the last of the lemonade you’d had, so you went back to work on a new batch before the next round of customers arrived.
“Is it just you here?” Bucky asked, leaning against your work station, watching your hands as you picked up your knife and set about chopping lemons. He seemed genuinely interested and since he didn’t seem to mind talking to you while you worked, you supposed you could indulge him.
“Yeah,” you said. After a pause, you realized a conversation would mean you’d have to say more, so you went on. “My friend was helping earlier through the noon rush, but she had to go.”
“Do you want a hand now?” Bucky asked.
You were surprised enough by his question that you paused what you were doing, looking at the man to see if he was being serious. His expression was open and you realized he was actually offering to help. It surprised you how much you wanted to accept Bucky’s help, but you weren’t sure it was a good idea.
“Do you really think I should trust you after you spilled a whole pitcher of lemonade?” you asked, quirking your eyebrow as you turned to him, a hand on your hip. The corner of your mouth flickered with a barely restrained smile, waiting to see what he had to say for himself. You didn’t know where the urge to smile came from, but you tamped it down.
“Hey now,” Bucky started, looking affronted. “I make a mean lemonade.” It startled you when a laugh bubbled up your throat and burst from your mouth. Bucky looked triumphant for a moment, before his face turned serious again. “Just give me a chance,” he said, his expression was pleading. He pressed his hands together in front of his chest.
You could feel yourself wavering and when he ducked his head and looked up at you, giving you the full effect of his puppy dog eyes, you broke. “Fine,” you muttered, going back to chopping your lemons. “There’s an apron under the counter.”
“OK,” Bucky said, clapping his hands and looking around at the ingredients you had laid out. There was, of course, lemons in a basket, a gigantic mason jar of sugar, jugs of water and coolers full of ice. “Let me grab something and I’ll be right back.”
He seemed to be waiting for your permission, so you waved him off, telling yourself you didn’t really care if he came back. But the clumsy man was true to his word, and he returned with a small bundle of something. You tried not to look interested, but you watched out of the corner of your eye as he tied on his apron and washed his hands, then set to work on his own lemonade.
As Bucky chopped lemons and muddled some of them with the herb he’d gotten, you realized from the smell that wafted from his work it was mint. He was making mint lemonade and you couldn’t help but feel a little impressed. You’d always wanted to experiment with other flavors of lemonade, but since it was often just you working the lemonade stall, you figured it was more manageable to stick to the basics. Your curiosity built as you worked side by side in silence, more than half of your attention on what Bucky was doing. It was a good thing the process of making lemonade was drilled into your bones through muscle memory, or you would’ve been in trouble.
You finished your batch of lemonade first and set it back on the front counter, replacing the one Bucky had knocked over, then leaned against the work station to watch him. The clumsiness you’d seen in him during your earlier interaction was gone, as was the smarminess. All that was left was a quiet confidence you realized you found attractive. For the first time all day, you found yourself wanting to make conversation with a customer.
Before you could think of something to say, though, Bucky was grabbing one of the plastic cups you served your lemonade in and he poured you some of his batch, handing it to you with a flourish and setting the pitcher on the counter with a loud thunk. “A fresh pitcher of lemonade—mint lemonade,” he said, genuine pride in his tone.
Hiding a smile behind your cup, you took a sip. The flavor of the lemon and mint burst on your tongue, the sugar of the drink cutting through the tartness of the fruit and the mint leaving you feeling refreshed. Your smile bloomed into a full-blown grin as you looked up at Bucky, ready to tell him he’d done a good job, but he already looked stunned.
Bucky’s face was slack as he stared at your smile for a long enough beat that you grew a little self-conscious, squirming under his intense gaze. He seemed to snap out of it, his expression shifting back into one of attentive interest. “What do you think?” he asked eagerly.
“It’s really good,” you said, still smiling a little, though you felt a little shy all of a sudden.
“Do I make the cut, buttercup?” Bucky murmured and you realized he’d stepped closer. Lemon and mint mixed with his spicy cologne and you wanted to bury your face in his neck and breathe him in. You didn’t know where the urge came from, but you didn’t give in to it. Instead you looked up, catching his eye and finding him looking at you with heat in his gaze.
“S-sure,” you said, stumbling over the word. Your lips tingled with the desire to kiss Bucky and they felt clumsy doing anything else, but you forced the words past your tongue. “You’re better than I expected.” You winced a little when you heard what you’d said, realizing it sounded like you were complimenting more than his lemonade-making skills
Before you could correct yourself, Bucky asked, “So I can stay and help out then?” A happy grin spread across his face as he waited for your answer, hope in his eyes.
His question knocked some sense loose and you stepped back, shaking your head. “You don’t have to,” you started to say, but he cut you off.
“I want to.” He looked so earnest, it shattered your defenses. You didn’t have any good reason for him not to help you, especially since he was already so good at making lemonade. Still, you weren’t getting your hopes up that he’d stay for very long.
“I’ll have to pay you,” you said grudgingly, but it didn’t have the discouraging effect you were hoping for. You’d hoped he might interpret the statement as him inconveniencing you, but instead, Bucky looked more hopeful.
“I’ll take whatever you give me, buttercup,” he said, reaching for your hands and squeezing them gently. “Just say I can stay and help.”
“OK,” you said, shrugging like you didn’t care one way or the other. But, in reality, it was a relief to have some help. The festival had been busier than expected, and ever since your friend had left, you’d barely been able to keep up with making the pitchers of lemonade you needed to serve all your customers—not to mention dodging the attention-seeking flirting of every jerk that walked past your stall and saw the “Pucker up!” sign.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw three men approaching and you stepped back, ready to let Bucky handle them. You figured there was no time like the present for him to get a crash course in serving lemonade. But, to your surprise, they seemed to already know your newest helper.
“Barnes, we sent you over here to get drinks from the pretty lemonade stand girl, not get conscripted to work for her,” said the Black man in the group, his face screwed up in an angry, annoyed look. It was similar to how you must’ve first looked at Bucky, and that realization almost made you laugh, but you bit it back.
“Ignore him,” Bucky said to you, rolling his eyes at his friend. He introduced you to his friends—the man who had spoken was Sam Wilson, the tall blonde was Steve Rogers and the third was Joaquín Torres. When Bucky was done, he looked at you expectantly and you finally gave him your name, letting him introduce you to his friends. Bucky turned your name over on his tongue, seeming to like the way it sounded. If you were honest with yourself, you liked the way it sounded in his voice, too.
“So what can I get for you guys?” Bucky asked once introductions were done, addressing his friends. “We’ve got lemonade and mint lemonade.”
While Sam and Joaquín were giving Bucky a hard time over what exact ingredients were used to make the lemonade—“Water, sugar and lemons,” he answered exasperatedly—Steve caught your eye and leaned in. He darted his eyes to your “Pucker up!” sign and back to you before speaking. “Please tell me Buck didn’t use a pucker up pun on you,” Steve muttered, keeping his voice down so the others didn’t hear.
You pressed your lips into a flat line and just stared at Bucky’s friend without responding, letting him read the answer on your solemn face. Steve sighed, running his hand through his short blond hair.
“Don’t hold it against him,” Steve said, his tone pleading while his expression remained open and honest. “He’s a good guy, he can just be an idiot sometimes.”
Glancing at Bucky, who was arguing with his friends—it sounded like they were trying to haggle for the lemonade and Bucky was increasing the price every time they tried to go lower—you realized you believed Steve. Bucky wasn’t as much of a jerk as you’d first thought. It surprised you a little, but you actually liked him and you hoped he stuck around your stall for the rest of the afternoon, though since his friends had shown up, you weren’t sure he would.
“Have you gotten a lot of pickup lines because of the sign?” Steve asked, drawing you out of your thoughts.
Before you could stop yourself, you grimaced. “Too fucking many,” you muttered, casting a glare out at the crowd of the festival, hoping to deter any prospective jerks. No one looked your way, and you couldn’t help but be thankful for Bucky’s friends, who were all big and broad, taking up most of the front of your stall and hiding the “Pucker up!” sign.
Steve made a sympathetic noise, drawing your attention back to him. “Well, now that Bucky’s here, he’ll scare ‘em off,” he offered.
You didn’t want to admit how much you liked the idea. You were a strong, independent business owner, you could run your own stall and deal with customers. But, if you were honest, you were tired, and you wouldn’t mind if Bucky could help you avoid all the unwanted attention you’d been getting. Still, you kept your face impassive as you responded to Steve. “I figured you guys would want him to go hang out with you,” you said, trying to tamp down the hope that Bucky might stick around longer.
Shaking his head, Steve glanced at his friend behind the counter. “Nah, we just wanted to see what was taking so long,” Steve explained. He turned back to you, his eyes sparkling—reminding you of the calm blue of Bucky’s eyes. “I don’t think he’d let us drag him away from you.”
Before you could ask Steve what he meant by that, Bucky edged in beside you and gave the blond a hard look. “Anything for you, Stevie?” he asked pointedly. “Or are you just gonna flirt with my girl?”
Your heart thumped and butterflies suddenly took flight in your stomach at the possessiveness in Bucky’s tone when he called you his girl. You were so stunned by your body’s reaction to it, in fact, that you didn’t protest, the words dying in your throat as you looked up at Bucky, your eyes trailing over his profile while he stared at his friend.
Bucky’s jaw was gritted and you had the insane impulse to press a kiss to it in an effort to soothe the tension away. But you just stayed frozen in place, staring at the man you’d only just met and wondering when you’d started liking him so much. Or, for that matter, when he’d decided you were his girl.
Meanwhile, Steve scoffed. “You know I can’t flirt for my life, Buck,” Steve said, rolling his eyes and rocking back on his heels. “Let me get a regular lemonade.”
As Bucky turned to grab a cup for Steve, he looked at you. “Can you give Sam and Joaquín their change, buttercup?” he asked, his hands moving swiftly and assuredly as he filled the cup with ice and started pouring the lemonade. “I figured you wouldn’t want me going into your cashbox.”
Bucky’s blue eyes were bright in the dimness of your stall and you were captivated for a moment, watching the tall, handsome man pour lemonade in a burlap apron that matched your own. In that instant, you could picture your future so easily.
You’d laugh together as you ran the lemonade stall, Bucky occasionally knocking things over, but you’d learn to anticipate his clumsiness and would save the pitchers or whatever else he’d bumped into. Bucky would insist on branching out with new flavors of lemonade and he’d experiment with other fruits and herbs, until you had all kinds of drinks on the menu. Bucky would join you in the lemonade stall on the weekends, helping you pack up, then going home together and curling up on the couch, your bodies entwined.
That potential future unfurled in your mind’s eye and you let yourself indulge in it. It seemed almost too good to be true. Shaking yourself free of your thoughts, you reminded yourself that you weren’t sure how long Bucky was planning on sticking around at the stall, let alone if he had any interest in you beyond that. “Right, yeah,” you muttered, dodging around Bucky to get to your cashbox beneath the counter. You kept your head ducked as you counted out Sam and Joaquín’s, then Steve’s, change.
Joaquín shoved a generous amount of bills in the tip jar and caught your eye. “For your trouble, buttercup,” Joaquín told you, a barely restrained grin on his face as he winked at you and darted a glance at Bucky.
“Alright, that’s enough, Torres,” Bucky barked, crowding into you from behind, his chest pressing to your back.
You couldn’t help but enjoy the feel of him, warm and firm and steady behind you. He made you feel safe and comfortable in a way you hadn’t for much of the day, with so much unwanted attention being thrown your way. So you finally shot back with a retort of your own. “Yeah, only Bucky can call me buttercup,” you said, a smile flickering at the corners of your mouth, softening your words a little so Bucky’s friends knew you were just teasing.
Joaquín laughed happily, not even a little bit miffed about being put in his place. Steve, too, looked pleased as he took a drink from his cup to hide his smile. Sam chuckled, dropping a tip in your jar. “I like you,” he said, pointing at you, laughter in his brown eyes. “If Barnes gives you any trouble, you just let us know, and we’ll set him straight.”
“Nah,” Joaquín jumped in, tugging Sam back from the stall playfully. “She can handle him, can’t you, lemonade girl?” All three of Bucky’s friends looked at you, waiting for an answer.
You didn’t think Bucky was going to give you any trouble in the way Sam was implying. If anything, you were in trouble of losing your heart to Bucky, whose hand had come to rest on your hip, anchoring you from where he stood behind you. Your heart flipped and those butterflies continued their never-ending flight in your stomach. You tried not to let the thought of how much you already liked Bucky scare you—and found it was easy with him so close to you.
“I can,” you replied, sounding more confident than you felt. It helped that Bucky was still there behind you, his hand resting on your hip letting you know he was with you.
Bucky’s friends laughed and said their goodbyes, melting back into the crowd to check out the rest of the summer festival. More customers stepped up to the counter and you and Bucky were pulled into a dizzying dance of serving lemonade, making change and, between it all, making fresh pitchers to replace the ones sold. It wasn’t long before Bucky used up all the mint he’d gotten and he had to duck out to get some more from a farmstand down the row.
True to Steve’s words, Bucky was happy to scare off anyone giving you unwanted attention. Soon after his friends departed, an arrogant jerk who looked to be in his early twenties swaggered up to the counter and whistled while you were bent over, getting more lemons from a cooler. “Don’t worry, your main squeeze is here, baby,” the man said in a sleazy tone, making you stand up quickly and turn with a pinched look on your face. “Why don’tcha pucker up for me?” he asked, clearly not noticing your disgust over his pickup line.
A growl erupted from Bucky, getting the man’s attention, and all the blood drained from his face as he took in your six-foot, broad-shouldered helper. “What did you just say to her?” Bucky demanded in a low tone, barely leashed rage in his voice.
“S-sorry, man, I didn’t see you there,” the guy stammered, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “I just want some lemonade—I heard it’s good.”
The stranger’s attempt to pacify Bucky with a compliment didn’t work and Bucky stepped up to the counter, leaning forward and showing how much he towered over the guy. “You’re not getting any lemonade, get out of here,” he said, his expression and voice so dark, you understood why the man cowered the way he did. “And if you ever talk to a woman like that again, I’ll find you and make you regret it—got it?”
Nodding frantically, the man squeaked and darted back into the crowd. Bucky’s face cleared of all anger as he turned to you, his expression scrunching up into one of concern. “Has it been like that all day?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s pretty much been an endless stream of assholes and their lemon puns,” you confirmed, shrugging and dumping the lemons you’d grabbed onto your work station. “Except for one,” you said, shooting Bucky a smile over your shoulder.
He stepped up behind you, dropping his head to your shoulder. “I’m sorry I was one of those assholes, buttercup,” he muttered.
You patted his arm and tried to hold your laugh in, but you couldn’t help it. “It’s OK,” you told him. “You redeemed yourself.” That made Bucky laugh slightly, though you could tell he still felt a little guilty. But he settled a hand on your waist, giving you a soft squeeze before returning to what he was doing.
In between customers, Bucky would make conversation as much as possible, asking you how you’d started the lemonade stall, what you did for fun and all kinds of other questions about your likes and dislikes. You asked about him too, at first trying to seem like it was only polite, but you found you were greedy for his answers, wanting to know all you could about this man that had crashed into your life.
More and more, you could see yourself and Bucky falling in love and building a future together, working at the lemonade stall and having both your friends over for a dinner party. It surprised you how easy it felt, how comforting the thoughts were when you anticipated being scared of the potential of being hurt. But Bucky had a way of grounding you and making you feel safe, and it occurred to you that that was one of the things you liked most about him.
As the sun dipped low in the sky, you collapsed against the back counter of the stall, heaving a sigh of relief as the latest customers—a large family with a bunch of kids—went on their way. You noticed that the crowd of the festival had thinned and you realized it was close to closing time. There were some vendors who would stick around throughout the evening, but in your area that was mostly a farmer’s market, everyone would begin packing up soon.
“So, I was thinking,” Bucky said from where he was leaning on the front counter of the stall. You looked to him, noticing he had a sheen of sweat on his face and his swept back hair was a little unkempt. When he wiped at his jaw, he left a streak of sugar. You bit back a smile, thinking he’d become a true lemonade stall employee, nodding at him to go on. “Instead of paying me for helping out today, I was hoping you’d let me take you out on a date,” he said, his blue eyes hopeful.
To distract yourself from the way your heart soared in your chest, you stepped closer to Bucky, using your thumb to wipe away the sugar on his jaw, your finger brushing over the stubble on his face in the process. Bucky’s blue eyes darkened as he stared down at you, waiting patiently for your answer. He was so warm and you’d moved closer than you thought so you felt a little overwhelmed by his presence, but it didn’t even occur to you to retreat.
“That sounds fair,” you murmured, the edge of your mouth pulling up in a half smile.
“Just fair?” Bucky rumbled, his voice deeper than you’d heard it before. He pushed off the counter, standing up straight and suddenly your bodies were so close you had to crane your neck back to keep looking at his face. He pressed closer until your chests brushed, his hands falling to your hips. Your heart pounded in your chest, excitement pumping through your blood, making you feel daring.
“A date sounds good, but I was hoping you’d ask for something I could give you tonight,” you admitted, letting your eyes drop to his mouth, hoping he’d take the hint.
A surprised sound rumbled in Bucky’s chest and he walked you backward, pinning you against the back counter of the stall. His broad body blocked out the dwindling crowd of the festival so it felt like you were the only two left in the world. “Were you hoping I’d ask you for a kiss for my troubles, buttercup?” Bucky rasped, ducking his head until his mouth hovered a hairsbreadth away from yours.
His breath smelled like mint and lemons and your entire body throbbed with excited anticipation. Your hands fisted in his shirt, clinging on to him and holding yourself back from closing the distance between your lips yourself. “Yes,” you answered on a soft exhale.
“Would you have said yes if I had?” Bucky asked, tilting his head and teasing you with the soft gust of his breath. An excited shiver raced down your spine, your entire body tensed with acute awareness of Bucky’s mouth.
“Yes,” you whispered, tugging on his shirt impatiently. He didn’t budge right away, though, making you wait a moment, his lips curving in a smirk as he teased you. Your mouths were so close you felt rather than saw his smirk and you tugged on his shirt again insistently.
“Pucker up, buttercup,” Bucky murmured before slanting his mouth to yours, finally pressing a kiss to your lips and giving in to the tension he’d built up.
Bucky swallowed the laugh that threatened to spill from you, kissing you so thoroughly, you forgot his words entirely. His mouth was tentative at first, but quickly turned ravenous as you pressed into him, eagerly giving in to his kiss. It felt like relief and salvation to finally kiss Bucky after spending so much of the afternoon trapped in the tight space of the lemonade stall with him, unable to stop yourself from noticing again and again how handsome he was, how attractive it was to see how competently he could help you run the stand. Your hands slid from his shirt and buried into his hair, feeling the soft strands slide between your fingers as you clung to him.
Groaning into the kiss as you tugged on his hair, Bucky’s hands cupped your face, his thumbs beneath your chin tilting you gently to the angle he wanted as his lips devoured yours. When he licked along the seam of your mouth, you opened for him with a soft moan, melting in his arms. He surged forward, deepening the kiss until you felt consumed by him. His taste, the heady strokes of his tongue, the rumbling groans in his chest, it was overwhelming in the most delirious and delightful way.
It wasn’t until your lungs were gasping for air that Bucky pulled away, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “You even taste like lemons and sugar,” he said dazedly, a little bit of awe in his tone.
You couldn’t stop the giggle the burst from your lips and you buried your face in his shoulder. “You taste like lemons, too,” you said around your laughter. “That’s what happens when you drink lemonade all afternoon.”
Bucky’s mouth pressed suckling kisses to your neck and you tilted your head to the side, giving him better access as you moaned softly into his shirt. “Mm,” he hummed, unconvinced. “I think you always taste like that, buttercup.”
Laughing, you murmured, “I really don’t.”
He hummed again, trailing his lips up to your jaw, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “Well, I guess you’ll have to let me stick around and find out,” he rumbled in your ear. “Let me find out if you taste like sugar everywhere, buttercup.” He punctuated his words by pressing another suckling kiss to your neck, making your head tip back and a breathless moan spill from you.
“OK,” you said on an exhale.
Bucky chuckled against your skin. “C’mon, buttercup, let’s clean up and go watch the fireworks.”
“OK,” you repeated, making Bucky laugh again as he pulled away. His eyes were sparkling and he was looking at you with so much affection, you knew in that moment you were both in danger of giving your heart to the other. Instead of being scary, though, it was comforting to know you were in it together.
Dropping one last kiss to your lips, Bucky extracted himself from where he’d been curled around you. As you turned to start cleaning up your work station, you noticed him readjusting himself in his pants and you could’t help but smirk to yourself.
Suddenly, you couldn’t wait for the date you’d agreed to go on with Bucky—and especially what would come after. If his kiss was heady and all-consuming, you could only imagine what being with Bucky more intimately would be like. You had to shake those thoughts away, or else you wouldn’t get anything done, and you were excited to go watch the summer festival’s fireworks with Bucky.
The work of closing down the lemonade stall went quick with the two of you, and it wasn’t long before everything was packed up in your car. When it was done, Bucky threw his arm around your shoulders and led you to the grassy hill where everyone was gathered to watch the fireworks. You found his friends on a blanket with some others, and were handed a drink as you sat down. Bucky sat behind you, his legs on either side of your hips as he pulled you into him until your back rested against his chest.
While his friends chatted, you tilted your head back to look up at Bucky. “I could get used to this,” you said, smiling up at him. Once the words were out, you realized you meant more than just sitting curled up with Bucky. You meant spending time with him, getting to know him, fitting into each other’s lives. You meant you could get used to him being in your life.
You weren’t sure if Bucky understood the full meaning of your words, but his gaze softened as he looked at you with so much fondness, it made your heart flutter. “I could get used to this too, buttercup,” he murmured, stroking your cheek softly with his thumb. You tilted your face up further, pouting your lips in a wordless plea for a kiss. Bucky chuckled. “Pucker up, buttercup,” he murmured before kissing you softly.
The fireworks show started with a loud boom overhead, but they were nothing compared to those that lit up inside you at the feel of Bucky’s lips against yours. He kissed you slowly, sweetly, like you had all the time in the world—and you realized you did. When he finally pulled away, you snuggled deeper into his chest and he wrapped his arms tightly around you, holding you close as you watched the fireworks together.
Bucky walked you back to your car at the end of the night and kissed you again against your door before having you put your number in his phone. He waved as you drove away and you heard your phone chime with a text before you got home. He’d asked that you let him know when you were home safe and you replied when you were, though the conversation stretched long into the night.
Later that week, Bucky took you out for the date he’d promised, and at the end of the night, you grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him into your home when he dropped you off. Bucky insisted on kissing every inch of your body and claimed every bit of you tasted like sugar and lemons. Though you weren’t sure you believed him, it made you laugh all the same. Then he pulled you close, your bodies fitting together intimately and you stopped laughing, your giggles dissolving into moans as you reveled in the feel of each other.
The following weekend, Bucky helped you open up the lemonade stall and the first thing he did was take down that “Pucker up!” sign. He grumbled that he was the only one allowed to say that to you, but you knew he was doing it because he knew the attention it brought bothered you. You told him to keep the sign, saying he should hang it up at his place. He agreed with a sparkle in blue eyes, and when he invited you over after your next date, you saw he’d hung it in his bedroom. You laughed as he pulled you in for a kiss, swallowing the sounds down with a chuckle of his own.
It was still there months later when you moved in with Bucky, and he’d wake you up in the mornings by murmuring, “Pucker up, buttercup,” in your ear. Then, when you and Bucky moved together, trading in his apartment for a house, the sign came along with you. It hung in the kitchen, and whenever anyone would ask about it, Bucky would take your hand, kissing the pair of rings on your left hand, and tell them the story of how you met.
He’d always conclude the story the same way—by turning to you, his blue eyes sparkling with all the affection he felt for you. You’d tilt your face up, pouting your lips, knowing what was coming. Bucky would murmur, “Pucker up, buttercup,” and then he would kiss you.
And no matter how many times Bucky kissed you, he’d always tell you that you tasted like lemons and sugar. You’d always laugh and shake your head, telling him he tasted like lemons and sugar, too. But what you really meant when you said those words was that he tasted like something better—love.
Tags: angst, smut (p in v), Winter Soldier!Bucky, Dreykov’s Widow!Reader, mind control, mentions of torture, depictions of violence, memory hacking, Captain Marvel spoilers, Doctor Strange spoilers(?), Black Widow spoilers
AO3 Link
Summary: The year is 1992. The Winter Soldier is under HYDRA’s control, and the Red Widow is under Dreykov’s control, but when they find out their organizations are working together to have them kill each other, they decide to make a deal.
A/N: Yes I know there’s a Red Widow in the comics so please just ignore that completely because I haven’t read the comics so while I know of them I do not know anything from/about them.
***Check out my Masterlist! Wanna join my Taglist? Follow me & make sure you are listed as 18+ ***
Request: Y/n is a very shy girl in school right? And is a loyal member of Hellfire, being Eddie’s right hand gal. But all of a sudden she has not been showing up to hellfire and Eddie gets suspicious that his best friend who he has grown feelings for isn’t showing up. Eddie and the hellfire gang low key “stalks” y/n and finds out she has been casted in Hawkins Highs Production of Grease and she plays the star role of Sandy. Eds finds out and sees her opening night and she sings her heart out on “Hopeless Devoted To You” while making glances at Eddie. After that Eddie and the gang congratulate her and Y/n confess to Ed’s about her feelings.
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: fluff, kind of shy!reader, also reader doesn’t really come in until about halfway through, kisses
AN: This was a request from @honey-eyed-munson! Thank you so so much for sending this in! I had so much fun writing it. I love when reader is a theatre person (I am one myself so it’s easy to write about)! Before anyone gets confused with the placement of the song, in the stage musical Hopelessly Devoted is either placed at the end of act 1 or at the beginning of act 2. I went with the most recent Broadway production as inspiration and put it after the prom which takes place at the top of act 2. Just a fun fact for all of you, Hopelessly Devoted was not in the original Broadway production of Grease. It was written specifically for Oliva Newton-John for the 1978 movie.
First installment of the series: how they met. There is a lot more to come but!!! I’m having a lot of fun with this one. {Masterlist}
This story is +18 and simply fluff. MINORS DNI or you will be blocked. Thanks! Requests are open as always and thank you for reading.
Eddie fucking hates red carpets. The flashes blind him, paps screaming at him make him mad and even if he has has the shittiest of days he has to be nice to the interviewers.
Today is a little different. Yeah, it still sucks but him and the boys have been invited to Angel Valley’s 20th anniversary gala. His favourite band after Metallica had invited Corroed Coffin to their anniversary event and he is still pinching himself.
And most importantly, he was hoping to meet you. The sweetest face in the world and enchanting eyes, he’d seen you in magazines, followed your instagram and had the stupidest crush on you.
Contrary to what one might believe, you were far from the kind of girl people thought he’d go for. A casual style but still chic, always the right amount of flattering make up and kind disposition. Quite literally you two were midnight and sunshine.
You knew Eddie, who didn’t? The bad boy persona with a touch of awkward, the long hair and the soft parts you knew he had in him, he was, in your eyes, dreamy. When you saw him in the guest list you made sure to line up his turn with your turn so that you could bump to him. Your plan for the night was to get his number, at least he could become a good friend.
Sure enough, Eddie was being interviewed when you started taking your first pictures.
“So Eddie, how is the new album coming along?”
“Oh!” Same fucking opening question before the saucy ones, he knows. “Yeah, it’s looking great! We have been experimenting and we are very excited!”
“Who are you looking forward to meeting the most tonight? Some lady maybe?”
“I’m in a room full of my heroes John, my love life is really the last of my thoughts as of now.”
“Ah ladies and gentleman, the eternal bachelor from Corroed Coffin!” Eddie refrains from punching the life out of the man. “What about the most talked about lady here tonight?”
Eddie instantly turns to look at you, effortlessly posing for the camera and he thinks he might faint. You looked like something out of his daydreams and he worried he would have actual drool trailing down his chin.
“I feel like my hands are tied here mate, her dad invited us here and I’m not about to get kicked out. Again, these people are our heroes.”
Seeing as Eddie won’t spill anything, the man ends the interview and he makes his way next to Gareth and the boys, who oddly enough are sat in the same table as Metallica. Of course you had changed the sitting arrengements so that he’d be in your line of view for the night and it was only a bonus he was sitting next to fucking Kirk Hammett.
The dinner goes smooth, a few speeches here and there, a bit of music, good food and of course some shared glances and a dust of blush in his cheeks.
“You should go talk to her, you know.”
“Huh? Who?”
“Y/N, you two have spent most of the night staring at each other.”
“Oh, we met after the red carpet actually, but I don’t think it’s a good idea, Kirk. Her dad is right here and they’ve done so much just inviting us.”
“You are one of the big names now, Munson. Just as important as anyone in this room. Besides, look at her.”
“Yeah she is beautiful but-“
“And borred out of her mind. She loves this things but we’re all a biiiit older than both of you, I bet she’d love a friend right now.”
Eddie takes a deep breath and as everyone goes to mingle on the makeshift dancefloor (who would’ve thought most of these people enjoyed the ocasional Abba) and talk to old friends and familiar face, he makes his way to the chair next to you.
“Hi, we met in the red carpet before! I’m Eddie.”
“Eddie, I do remember you. Not that I’m complaining but what are you doing here?”
“Just figured you’d like a friend, people here are…”
“You can say they are older dude, it’s fine” you laugh and he can’t help but laugh along.
“I’m just going to say it, I thought you were spectacular in Romeo and Juliet.”
“You saw it? Don’t you think it’s overdone?”
“Yes I saw it! And I thought the spin on the whole thing was great, really. I don’t usually enjoy romantic stuff but it was great.”
“Ah, so the great Eddie Munson doesn’t like romance? More of a heartbreaker kinda guy?”
“Oh god no what I meant-“
“I know dummy, I’m just messing with you. We’re friends, right?”
“Right, right.”
“It’s weird isn’t it? I’m your friend yet I don’t have your number.”
Eddie feels like he might die. You are asking for his number and calling him a friend but he knows, the tone in your voice is saying a whole other thing.
He does give you his number. You save each other names with silly emojis next to each other. The rest of the conversation flows easily, a little bit flirty even. It isn’t until Gareth calls him over that he actually moves. He doesn’t want to but he was the one to tell the guys they had to network.
You stay sat in your chair, thinking over your interaction. He’s cute and he seems like a great friend already. It makes you want to meet the rest of the band too. This gatherings would be so much better if he just came with you on a regular basis.
“Uncle Brian” You smile at your uncle who isn’t your uncle but he is for sure your uncle.
“So? You and Munsooon?”
“Uuuuugh please don’t tell me you and dad saw!”
“Only me, darling. He seems nice, future boyfriend perhaps?”
“Friends, just friends.
“For now?”
“I don’t know, but you know how things are in this world. He’s cute but it’d be super public. Besides, he really admires dad and I wouldn’t want to make things weird.”
“Sweets, I’m not telling you what to do. However, take him to breakfast. You never know, it might be love.”
It was the start of a beautiful, but you were just fine knowing that both his tour and your next film shared a few locations. And breakfast with Eddie Munson sounded sweet like honey. This was the start of something that could go terribly well or fucking terrible, but both of you were excited to know which one would it be. What’s life without a little adventure?
🎵my man gives real love that’s why I call him killer, he’s not a ‘wham! bam! thank you ma’am!’ he’s a thriller.🎵
summary: After being stood up on a blind date, the cute bartender you’ve been ‘trying’ not to flirt with keeps you company.
word count: 12.6k
warnings: 90’s AU / 18 + no minors! /eddie is in his early 30’s, fingering, oral (f receiving), semi public smut (p in v), cream pie, dirty talk.
authors note: my love letter to the 90’s 💕after one month of brain storming and three weeks of writing here’s part one of Whatta Man! Eddie’s night. (This is a singular one shot. Steve’s night is part two, can you find the easter eggs for his night 😉)Thank you to my very talented friends who always brain storm with me and share ideas. This fun lil AU wouldn’t have happened with you. ily 💗 edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple
You didn’t want to go on this date. Not when your roommate set you up, and you certainly didn’t want to go when he picked The Foxy Lounge. But when Weather Man Mike predicted the first warm day after three months of bitter winter you’d take any excuse to wear your favorite dress.
You’d been here before, always stumbling in after a night out with friends because they were the only 4am place in town. Those late nights turned to early mornings were more of a thing of the past now so when you got to the familiar chipped red door you didn’t recognize the bouncer standing outside. He has a head of honey colored hair that’s just long enough to run his fingers through. His toned frame sits pretty wrapped in a tight black tee and long legs covered in dark wash jeans tight enough for you to really have to focus on keeping your eyes on his face. A freckle covered neck leads to a strong jaw and a chiseled nose. Leaning against the brick wall with his boots crossed at the ankles a toothpick twirls between his straight teeth.
The platform of your sneakers hitting the pavement as you come to a stop and the jingle of your power beads alerts him of your presence, hazel eyes going round like the moon in the sky. Straightening his posture he snatches the tooth pick out of his mouth, stuffing it in his back pocket. You swear you see a Tamagotchi tucked away as he clears his throat with a puff of his chest.
“I.D.?”
Your lips twitch, the forced deep baritone in his voice isn’t fooling you, and you wonder if it fooled anyone when the signature beep of a Tomogatchi pet needing to be fed goes off in his back pocket. He coughs to try to cover the noise while you quickly pull what he needs out of your cross body. Holding it out for him to examine you look up with a glossed smile matching the one in the picture. Narrowing his eyes, you catch a glimmer of playfulness when he clicks on his flashlight.
Examining it like it could be a fake, you bite back a giggle while he turns it around giving it one more once over before handing it back to you with a soft chuckle.
“Funny, we have the same birthday.” His voice comes out normal this time, soft and friendly just like you thought.
“Twins!”
A genuine smile lights up his face like the sign above your head, his boyish features coming out despite the stubble on his chin.
“Might as well call us the Olsen’s.” Throwing you a wink he pulls the gold handle to open the door for you. The sounds of Return of the Mack break through the hums of the street behind you. “Have fun tonight honey, be safe. If anyone bothers you, just come grab me okay? I’m steve.”
Your cheeks heat up at the endearment and you have to remind yourself that you’re here for a date. You catch a hint of his cologne when your shoulder brushes against his chest on your way in, the expensive scent making you dizzy when it hits your senses.
“I will, thanks Steve,”your words are shy when they come out, making his lips twitch in response. Nodding his head, you catch the tinge of pink on his skin before he closes the door with a small wave.
It's even louder inside with the drunk conversations battling for dominance against the music. Tugging nervously at the bottom of your dress you look around the bar for the vague description of this guy Craig your friend gave you.
You scan the crowd a few times before your eyes catch the big brown ones of the bartender. The stool in front of him freeing itself at the same time your eyes connect, the corners of his plush lips pull up as he beckons you over with two heavily ringed fingers. The unruly dark auburn curls that hit just below his shoulders catch the low light behind the bar, the yellow glow softening up all his edges.
Rocking back on your heels you pull the strap of your cross body closer, doing your best to collect yourself before you push through the crowd accepting his invitation. His smile widens, pulling up his stubble covered cheeks to reveal a set of perfect white teeth to you. The one you give him in return comes out a little shy as you plop down on the ripped vinyl that matches the red of the door.
Ink litters his arms disappearing under the frayed ends of his sleeves letting you know there was more under the tight fit of his worn faded black Metallica shirt. The two rips near the collar give you a glimpse of the chain wrapped around his neck. The scruff lining his jaw adds a few years from afar but from this close he looks your age. The silver hoop in his nose catches against the bright lighting under the bar like the rings adoring his fingers. Pulling out two empty shot glasses with a twirl he quickly fills them up with Jameson.
“This one’s on the house sweetheat, it’ll help make your date cuter.” He winks with a sly grin, your stomach flutters with his full attention on you like this.
The glass is heavy in your grasp as you stare at the dark liquid with a faint grimace. His low chuckle catches your attention before the pop and hiss of the soda fills your ears. As if reading your mind he slides over a coke, letting you keep your pride by not having to ask for a chaser.
“How do you know I’m here for a date?” Raising a questioning brow, the sides of your lips twitch as you struggle to hold a straight face. “A girl can’t come to the bar alone on a Friday night?”
The chocolate in his eyes lights up at your playful banter, slinging a white towel over his shoulder he leans in, forearms pressing hard against the counter as he invades your space. The spice of his cologne and the burn of cigarette smoke joins with him and you find yourself sucking your bottom lip between your teeth.
“Are you telling me you’re available then?” Dropping his voice low enough to feel between your legs, you wished more than anything you had a different answer to give him.
The heaviness of his gaze has your cheeks warming, the intensity of the eye contact forcing your gaze away for a second as you clear your throat. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear you muster enough courage to meet his eyes again.
“N-no unfortunately, you were right.” Exaggerating a heavy sigh, his confident demeanor never wavers despite his confirmed suspicions.
“Unfortunately is right, huh?” Winking, he pushes back leaving only the lingering scent of his cologne raising his shot in an offering of cheers. “To what could have been, baby.”
A giggle bubbles past your lips when his fingers brush against yours meeting in the middle with a clink. Downing his shot like a professional, he’s left to watch the way you struggle with yours. Amusement is evident on his face while he watches the way your throat stays unwilling to open. Holding the alcohol in your mouth longer than anyone would want, it finally gives in letting the bitter liquid go down with a bite. Pushing the can of coke towards you with his knuckles, his laugh booms loud from his chest as you search for reprieve in the sweetness with desperation.
Chugging with abandon, you forget your surroundings for a second before your eyes meet his over the rim of the can and it’s almost enough to have you snort the rest of it all over yourself.
Coming up for air you grumble a half assed “shut up” doing your best to try and fight the smile begging to spread across your lips as you wipe them with the back of your hand.
“Not a whiskey girl I take it?” Punctuating the ‘t’ harder than normal, his teasing falls on deaf ears when you get distracted at the way his thick fingers wrap around the shot glasses.
“Not a shot girl in general, I’d rather not taste the alcohol if I can help it.” Shrugging, you trace invisible patterns on the sticky quartz of the bar top with french tipped nails silently reminding yourself for the second time tonight you’re here for a date.
“So how’d you two meet?” He raises his voice so it comes out sickly sweet while a shaker and a lemon appears in his hands. Setting them down on top of the worn jagermeister logo that covers the drink mat he starts rolling the fruit against his palm.
“We haven’t met yet actually, a friend set us up.”
Eddie’s movements freeze for a second, eyebrows furrowing together in a look of confusion as if that was the craziest thing that anyone had ever told him. He grabs the bottle of simple syrup adding more to what looked like it was going to be a sweet drink before he answers.
“Someone like you shouldn’t need to be set up, sweetheart.” He looks up at you from under the hood of his lashes quickly picking up on the effect he has on you.
He twirls another empty glass onto the counter top before he smashes the lid of the shaker on, not giving you a chance to respond he starts shaking it louder than you know is necessary. The bats tattooed on his arm dance across the muscles with the flex of every flick of his wrist.
“Really? Laying it on thick, huh?” Raising your voice enough to know he could hear you, he taunts you by cupping his free hand over his ear to make a show of pretending he can’t, mouthing a ‘sorry’ with a smirk. The laugh he earns from when he finally relents is the prettiest sound he thinks he’s ever heard.
“Well I hope this ‘friend’ has a good vetting process. No less than three interviews or no dice.” He pours your drink with panache, like he’s putting on a show for you, like you’re sure he does with all the other girls.
Grabbing a straw he plugs one end with his index finger before he dips it into the slightly lighter liquid. The heat between your legs becomes almost unbearable when his lips wrap around the end tasting his creation with a low groan, his pink tongue pokes out to collect the sweetness left behind.
“I think, I think you’re gonna like this one. It’s an Eddie Munson original, I’m calling it "Wasting Love.” The roll of your eyes makes him bark out another laugh. The signs of the smoke you smell on him are more noticeable in this one’s rumble.
“I wonder what could have inspired it?” Biting your lip to hide your smile, you knew you shouldn’t be flirting with him while you waited for Craig, but you can’t help yourself. Besides, he was already ten minutes late.
“I think you know what inspired it sweetheart, I can tell you’re not just some pretty face.” Dimples poking through his cheeks, he finally takes notice of the glares from the customers filling up the bar. Everyone’s patience starting to wear thin while they waited for whatever this was to be over.
“I gotta stop ignoring all the other people in here real quick, but I’ll be back for your review.” He throws you another wink and it has you shifting in your seat as he starts to walk away.
“Wait! I never opened a tab!” Calling after him as you reach for your purse, he tuts loudly, turning around to face you, continuing his path walking backwards.
“You shouldn’t be paying for a thing tonight, gorgeous.” He waves his hand dismissively before his back is to you again giving his undivided attention to the bearded man who looked ready to murder the carefree metal head if he didn’t get his Bud Light in the next five seconds.
Trying not to get too caught up in someone that wasn’t your date you timidly bring the straw to your lips. Humming appreciatively when the sweetness hits your tastebuds you’re pleasantly surprised at how much you actually like it. Feeling bold enough to take a bigger gulp, you look around for Craig again. So lost in the little bubble you had been in with Eddie you didn’t realize how much more the bar had filled up since you arrived. A new kind of rowdy energy in the air — the low murmurs of conversation get loud enough to drown out Semi- Charmed Kinda Life.
Glancing down at your pink swatch watch, your date was now twenty minutes late. Turning around to check and make sure the lavender cross body you told him to look for was visible, you crane your neck around looking one last time. It’s easy to shrug off the sinking feeling of rejection when you turn back around to watch Eddie in his natural habitat.
He moves behind the bar like he’s been doing it his whole life, like everything was muscle memory. As if he could feel you staring he catches your gaze throwing you a smirk before he tosses a bottle of tequila in the air catching it with ease. Pouring it into four lined up shot glasses, the group of girls in front of him celebrating what looked like a bachelorette party with all their multi-colored hats and boas squealed with drunk delight. Your eyes hit the back of your skull in a hard roll when one of them bats their eyelashes at him with a hand on his arm.
Sucking down the rest of your drink, the slurping once you hit the ice is loud enough to annoy the guy next to you who shoots you a warning look over his shoulder. Mouthing an apology you push your empty glass away looking around the bar one more time. The guilt of flirting with Eddie starts to disappear when you look at your watch again and start coming to terms you were actually being stood up. Searching for his doe eyes again, your heart sinks when you find him this time.
Dimples in his cheeks again, he’s practically beaming at her. Their body language telling you this isn’t their first time meeting and how animated he is when he talks to her is like he’s known her for years. Gesturing wildly with his hands while she nods enthusiastically, something he says has her throwing her head back with a laugh loud enough you can hear it over the music. You huff through your nose, the sting of rejection sneaking its way back in. The reminder that he was just doing his job and you were here for a date, one that never showed up, slaps you right in the face.
Averting your gaze to spare whatever confidence you have left, your eyes find the bouncer at the front door. Inside the bar now with a hard glare set on his handsome face. His arms sit folded across his broad chest while his jaw clenches at the same time as the muscles in his shoulders flex. Steve looks pissed.
Interest piqued, you follow his line of sight despite it going in the direction of the bar you were trying to avoid. Somehow not surprised when your eyes land on her again, you notice Eddie has already busied himself with someone else. With his back towards both of you he fills two pints with Blue Moon, the uncomfortable look on her face couldn’t be missed. The greasy blonde hair on the man that was clearly invading her personal space told you he’d been drinking all day. The grimace on her pretty face says she could smell it on his breath too.
The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when you see him grab onto her arm while trying to whisper in her ear. You feel yourself ready to stand up and help when she pushes him away, with the way the veins in her neck were flexing whatever she was saying to him wasn't nice. Shoving her hand in his face she storms towards the front door where Steve is waiting, looking seconds away from killing the man who followed her path out of the bar with a leer.
The scowl on her face softens instantly when she’s met with Steve opening the door, the glare on his face being replaced with a deep flush when you catch a “Thanks, Stevie” fall appreciatively from her lips.
SMACK
Jumping at the sound of metal hitting wood, Eddie’s dimples show themselves only this time they are for you as he leans forward on his arms again, eyes flicking towards the spot next to you. He pulls himself even closer when he notices no one new occupying the stool, making you search for friction with the fat of your thighs.
“Penny for your thoughts, beautiful?” Flashing you his perfect teeth for the second time tonight the bruise to your ego already starts to disappear.
“I drank it without gagging, didn’t I?” Crossing your arms on top of the bar it's your turn to lean into his space and you swear you hear his breath hitch at your new boldness.
Licking his lips, your eyes greedily follow the path of his tongue. His smile stretches across his face even more when he notices, making no effort to move- unwilling to back down from the silent standoff you’ve challenged him too.
“‘I’ll have you know I take that as a very high compliment coming from you.” His breath fans across your cheeks from this close, mint and whiskey hitting your nose when he huffs a laugh. “Where’s Prince Charming?”
“Turns out there was no Prince, just an ugly old toad.” Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you look up at him through half lidded eyes, “Good thing I didn’t kiss him, huh?”
A low rumble shakes in his chest as he dares to lean in even closer, the tips of your noses almost brushing while the bubble you’d lost yourselves in reappears.
“Yeah baby, you can’t give those out to just anybody, they gotta be for someone special.” His voice is low, dripping with the kind of want you’d never had directed at you before. His eyes take in every inch of your face from this close while you try to keep up with his smooth tongue.
“Got anyone in mind, Eddie?” Doing your best to match his tone, his brows pinch together at the way his name sounds coming out of your mouth taking one last look at your lips before meeting your eyes again.
“Yeah, I know a guy actually. He’s a bartender with a great head of hair.” Wiggling his eyebrows when you snort, the front door swings open, breaking you two apart as the girl from before commands the room like a record scratch, silencing the bar for the first time all night.
“Eddie! It’s bad, Steve needs you!” The sheer panic in her voice is enough for the jealous monster inside you to stay at bay as Eddie pushes back on his heels.
An irritated sigh escapes him while he mutters ‘not a-fucking-gain’ under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose before his eyes find yours. You jump a little when he grabs your hands, the warmth of his palms enveloping yours while he gives you a pleading look.
“Don’t - I mean, please don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back, I need to go save my buddy’s ass again. But I promise I’ll be right back, this conversation is too important to leave unfinished.” He flashes you that million dollar smile like chaos isn’t ensuing outside and all you can do is nod, signaling that you’ll stay put.
Hopping over the bar his loose fitting combat boots squeak over the counter top, the black jeans that were hidden from your sight somehow fit him even better than his shirt. Your gaze is shamelessly hungry as it follows him until he’s out the door. The scuffle outside leaking through the music with a blur of bodies outside.
Too focused on the glimpse of Eddie’s towering frame stepping between the two guys to break up the fight, you don’t notice the person who walks through the unattended door until it shuts behind him with a thud. Ready to glare at whoever it is your eyes widen when you meet the ones belonging to who you can only assume is Craig. The burnt auburn hair he sports and the way he zero’s in on your purse confirms your suspicions. This was Craig, you're incredibly late and not even remotely as attractive as the bartender, date.
“Shit, shit, shit.” No matter how quickly you averted your stare, you knew it was too late, he saw you. Panic sets in while your brain goes a mile a minute trying to think a way out of this.
Looking around the bar for some sort of escape, the thought of ducking into the bathroom sounds like a winner but then the image of Eddie coming back and seeing you gone seeps into the forefront of your mind making you quickly toss that idea out the window. Turning to the people on either side of you who are too lost in their own conversations to notice your dilemma, you try to decide which one you could interrupt the most naturally.
The couple on your right looks like they’re on a date going really well and the one on your left seems like two friends catching up. The tap on your shoulder is enough for you to make a split second decision, clearing your throat you spare the newly blossoming romance next you from your desperate antics, choosing to interrupt the friends who are reconnecting with a loud fake laugh.
“That’s when she told me- um excuse me do I know you?” Gruff and confused, the man closest to you looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads. First your loud slurping and now this? This plan was never going to work from the get-go.
Another persistent tap on your shoulder has you grasping for straws. You open your mouth to try to sell whatever this was one last time.
“Umm excuse me?” Craig’s voice comes out loud enough to cut you off and for the poor guy next to you to give you the final cold shoulder. Unable to ignore him any longer, you force yourself to turn around and face him head on. Kind of.
Channeling your inner Alicia Silverstone you try to give him the best Clueless look you can muster and he returns it with an even more confused expression, clearing his throat.
“Hey, sorry I’m late. I’m Craig, Ariana’s friend. I think I’m supposed to be meeting you?” Shoving his hands in the pockets of his tan slacks, the maroon sweater he wears fits loosely over his thin frame, dirty black chucks on his feet, his look screams ‘I listen to Nirvana’.
“Umm, I think you have the wrong person? I wasn’t supposed to be meeting anyone here tonight.” It’s not believable in the slightest when the words leave your mouth, your less than confident delivery giving you away. The look on his face lets you know you’ve definitely been made
“Are you sure? I was told to look for the girl with a lavender purse.” As if to prove his point he points to the exact one he’s talking about slung across your shoulder. He scoffs when you keep up with your charade, “I know I’m late but this is ridiculous.”
“A lot of girls have purple bags, Craig.” His name comes out dripping in venom, the need to get rid of him before Eddie’s return throwing any logic out the window. You needed to believe your own lie.
The sudden harshness has him raising his hands in defense, backing down a little under the daggers of your glare.
“Whoa, chill out, my bad. You just match the exact description I was given, that's all.”
Clenching your jaw in frustration because he just won’t give up, you try to hold your composure while your eyes flick towards the door in anticipation for his return.
“Well you’ve told me you were late twice already so she probably just left. Rude of you to keep her waiting honestly.” Narrowing your eyes at him, you know that he’s aware of exactly what you are doing but you don’t care anymore.
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what happened, and not her being bitter I’m one measly hour late.” The way his words clip signal the rejection sinking in, a glare setting firm on his face.
It’s the stare down of the century before Eddie comes barging through the entrance with a loud huff and a clap of his hands. Cheeks red from yelling and hair slightly more wild than before. He checks to make sure you’re still exactly where he left you before he glances over to Craig for a split second not registering who he is. Hopping over the bar with another skid of his boots, he still manages to give you a lopsided grin when he gets to the other side. Hitting the top of the bar in a series of beats - he’s a ball of energy.
“Sorry to keep you waiting sweetheart, Steve’s lucky the girl he took a knuckle sandwich for has a first aid kit. Rick keeps saying he’s gonna get one but I have yet to see it. Want another cocktail?” Talking a mile a minute with the leftover adrenaline from the fight, he still doesn’t notice the way Craig watches the two of you until he catches how awkward you’re being. Eddie’s face hardens, the softness he was giving you disappearing. “Something I can help you with buddy?”
You don’t even have to look at Craig to know he’s puffing out his chest with a point of his chin addressing Eddie.
“Actually pal, maybe you can.” His tone makes Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, a tested smile spreading over his lips while he lets Craig continue. “I was supposed to meet someone here for a blind date, I was told to look for a girl with a lavender purse exactly like this one. You haven't seen another girl with this exact same bag have you?”
Eddie’s wide eyes meet yours, amusement filling the specks of golden brown as he picks up on exactly what’s happening. The corners of his lips twitch before he nods his head licking his bottom lip holding your gaze long enough to make you squirm before bringing his attention back to Craig with a low whistle.
“Oh yeah, I remember that hottie, man. It’s a shame you were late, she took off with this dude she met waiting for you. She didn’t stand a chance, though, honestly. I know the guy, he’s too smooth for his own good. Pretty good looking too. Can’t be leaving your girl unattended around him. Probably wouldn’t have worked out between you two anyway.” Eddie catches the roll of your eyes at his self indulgent story as you cover your mouth with the palm of your hand to hide your face splitting grin.
“Why don’t you walk away with some dignity. What’s that saying? There’s always more fish in the sea or some shit.” Eddie adds more salt to the wound, finally breaking Craig enough to give up.
“Whatever you say man, this bar is fuckin’ lame anyway. Who wants to drink to Third Eye Blind.” Grumbling his insults as he slinks away, he takes one last look at you and Eddie before his final exit with a flip of his middle finger.
Eddie’s stare is hot on your face, while you bashfully avoid his gaze keeping your eyes lingering on the door. When you finally dare to meet his eyes the shit eating grin on his face makes you groan, the buzz of your drink pulling a giggle out of you.
“Eddie, don’t —“
“Well, well, aren’t you just a little heartbreaker, huh?” His teasing only makes your cheeks grow hotter as you try to hide your face from his view.
“Don’t you need to go attend to all the customers you left?” Your words come out muffled from behind your hands as you slowly pull them down just enough to uncover the fake glare you were sending his way.
“I’ve got my favorite one right here.” Voice dropping low with a smirk, he was right, you didn’t stand a chance.
“I haven’t paid for a single thing, you refused my money if you remember.” Bringing your hands down to fully come out of hiding, he bites his bottom lip when he can take in your features again.
“It’s no good here, baby, I could actually get arrested if I take it and then how would I be able to take you out to get pancakes after my shift if I’m behind bars?” Bringing his hands together in mock shackles and a pout, the chain wrapped around his wrist catches your eyes for the first time.
“You’re takin’ me to get pancakes?” Flirting like a love sick teenager, you even start to kick your feet under the bar.
“It’s the least I can do since you’re my fill in bouncer for the rest of the night.” Smirking, he nods his head to the man at the opposite end of the bar flagging him down with a twenty dollar bill. His eyes sparkling with something new now that he had you.
“Me? A Bouncer? I’m not intimidating in the slightest!” Your cheeks hurt from how hard you smile at his retreating form, the game of ‘playing hard to get’ becoming a thing of the past now.
“Sorry, you owe me, heartbreaker.” He shrugs like it’s out of his control before flashing you the same lopsided grin leaving you a mess of nerves from getting to spend the night with him.
The hours till close go by faster than you anticipate with Eddie topping off your drink any time you ask, the buzz from the alcohol is just enough to handle the growing intensity of his flirting. Now that the only obstacle in the way of each other was time, he was relentless.
Enjoying the game of chicken the two of you had started unconsciously playing, you stop noticing the clock. Every six customers earns you five —sometimes ten minutes of his time and he makes sure to use every second of those breaks as an excuse to lean in close, whispering in your ear, holding your face close every time you talk. He was getting off on the way he could make you shift in your seat and hide your bottom lip between your teeth when he got close enough for his lips to brush against your ear. Your fingers find excuses to wrap around his wrist when he invades your space, playing with his chain, you keep him close making sure to tilt your head just enough for him to catch a glimpse down your neck into the low cut of your dress.
The small hand on the clock above the door hits the three and it’s not until his breaks start getting longer and your touches are able to get a little bolder that you notice the murmur of voices over the music disappears. The few stranglers left sipping their last drinks of the evening are paying the two of you no mind despite the way he’s tucking your hair out of his way to trace the shell of your ear with the tip of his nose.
The realization that you’re finally about to be alone with him brings your nerves to a head and the need to check yourself over in the bathroom mirror becomes urgent. The flick of his tongue along your earlobe distracts you for a second as your head nudges against his when it tickles making a giggle slip past your lips.
“I gotta go to the bathroom, Eddie.” You inhale the scent of pine lingering in his shampoo, giving him one last nudge with your nose before hopping off the stool. He gives you his best puppy eyes as you get up to leave, pushing out his bottom lip when you tug your dress down.
“Please, I’ll be like three minutes.” You roll your eyes at him but the smile that lights up your face tells him you’re eating it up.
“I’ll be counting every second you're gone, baby.” Holding his hands over his heart for dramatic effect the man at the end of the bar snorts loudly ruining the moment. He earns an annoyed glare from the bartender, “Better hurry up and finish that shit old man, it’s closing time.”
You hear him grunt in response to Eddie’s rude reminder before disappearing into the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. Stickers and writing with permanent marker cover every inch of the dark crimson walls. The doors of the black stalls barely hang from their hinges, dents from many reckless drunk nights at The Foxy Lounge punch random spots into the metal. The bottom of your sneakers stick to the floor with every step to the mirror where more stickers and black scribbles line the surface including a girl named Leigh’s phone number with the note ‘for a good time call’ attached at the end leaving just enough room to see your face.
The space buns on top of your head are messy from Eddie nuzzling his beard into your hair all night. You try to salvage what was left of them by tightening the knots a little more before deciding it's a lost cause. He was probably just going to mess them up more anyway. The thought of Eddie’s hands being free to touch you in every way you’ve wanted all night has you taking a deep breath while you hold your own eyes in the mirror.
“It’s happening, you’re gonna have sex with him. You’re gonna fuck the super hot bartender who flirts like it’s his second language tonight and you’re gonna be confident about it okay? You hear me?” Pointing to yourself in the mirror, the determination in your stare is enough for your tipsy pep talk to work its magic.
Taking one last look at yourself with a nod of your head you pull open the bathroom door ready to take on the rest of the night. Only to stop in your tracks when you notice the stool that was occupied is now empty and every inch of Eddie is also in full view from where he stands in front of the jukebox. Your eyes are insatiable taking in his tall frame like this for the first time all night.
You notice the giant chain that hangs from his belt loop this time, and there’s even more rips in his jeans than before giving you a peek at the pale skin hidden underneath. His shoulder blades move under the thin fabric of his shirt when he clicks his choice on the machine. Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer spills out from the speakers of the bar as he turns on his heels, the smirk that plays on his lips dares you to catch the hint with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
“Very subtle.” Crossing your arms as if to act immune to his charms, you know he sees right through your facade but he plays along anyway raising his big hands up in the air in mock surrender.
“It’s just one of my favorite songs, I don’t know what kinda ideas you got going on in that pretty little head of yours.” He takes a few more steps towards you slowly closing the gap, daring to be closer to you than he had been all night without a wooden bar separating you.
“Interesting, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Sixpence fan.” Raising your eyebrow, you have to look up at him when he finally takes the last few steps to stand in front of you.
“Why? Cause I’m such a tough guy?” His grin grows wider when he looks down at you catching the roll of your eyes while you uncross your arms opening your body up to him with a laugh.
“I can’t stand you.” Your swat is flirtatious with your palm hitting his chest. He’s quick to catch it, using your hand as leverage to pull you closer, biting back his groan when a breathy gasp slips past your lips when he tucks you into chest. First your giggle and now this? He just knew you were going to sound so pretty falling apart for him.
“I think Craig would call that bluff sweetheart.” He gives you a minute to let his words sink in, throwing his head back with a loud laugh when you huff at him embarrassed. “I’m teasing, I’m teasing. He needed to be dumped, a girl like you deserves someone that's gonna show up when they’re supposed to.”
The sweetness of his words has you melt against him, the playful pull from before surrendering to his touch and you swear there’s hearts in your eyes from the way he looks down at you after saying something like that.
“Thanks for tonight Eddie,” your voice is small when it comes out laced with adoration, and it’s his turn to get bashful making your favorite dimples come out again.
“No problem sweetheart, honestly it’s my fuckin’ lucky night.” Pulling your knuckles to his lips, he places a gentle kiss to the skin stretched over them before letting your hand drop, noting the disappointment on your face that you’re quick to cover up.
“Wanna get some fresh air while I smoke before I close this place down?”
——
Eddie somehow looks even better under the twinkling stars and pink fluorescent lights of The Foxy Lounge sign. The low hum of the electricity filling your ears as you lean against the brick of the building. His eyes are brighter out here, catching them with your own when he looks at you over the end of his cigarette.
He winks when you meet his pointed gaze, the flame of his lighter casting shadows that dance across the strong lines of his jaw, the orange glow highlighting the stubble that covers it. Batting your lashes at him, you push your hips off the wall playfully while he keeps his eyes on you through his entire first drag, only breaking contact for the split second he needs to blow the smoke he inhaled away from you.
“Don’t look at me like that.” His words come out like a warning before he takes another hit.
“How am I looking at you Eddie?” Biting your lip to hide your smile, you make sure to say his name extra sweet just how you figured out he likes. He shakes his head with a low chuckle blowing more smoke into the clear night sky.
Despite only taking two drags, he flicks the barely smoked cigarette to the side before closing the distance with a few steps leaving him crowding you against the building. Your chest brushes against his with every shallow breath. Getting lost in the darkening amber inside his eyes, the calloused tips of his fingers catch against the soft skin of your chin. The pad of his thumb pulling the velvet of your bottom lip from between your teeth.
“Like you want me to kiss you.”
Ducking his head down he nudges your nose with his, the heat of his breath fanning against your open mouth. His eyes go from yours back down to your glossed lips silently begging for your permission.
“I think it was you that was hinting at kissing me earlier.” Pushing up on your tiptoes, you smile against him when your lips just barely touch.
“Oh? You think that’s what I was doing hmm?” Asking the question he already knows the answer to, his tongue licks against your top lip as your hands find the material of his shirt, fisting as much of it as you can before yanking him down to collect his lips with an eager mouth, giving up winning whatever game this was.
You swallow his moan when your tongues meet in the middle battling for dominance, teeth scraping, you taste the few puffs of tobacco still lingering on his taste buds as his muscle massages against yours. Sliding his knee between your thighs, he smiles smug into the kiss when your hips search for friction against the denim.
He breaks away from your mouth long enough to start trailing wet kisses down your jaw, the rough hair on his chin rubbing your skin raw as he starts nipping and sucking bruises along your neck. Biting hard enough at your pulse point to have to soothe it with his tongue after the mewls he pulls from you are enough to drive him insane.
Your fingers tangle into the curls at the nape of his neck, giving his roots a pull while you turn your head, opening more of yourself to him. Taking your silent invitation he nips at the dip of your collar bone before lifting his head to press his forehead to yours.
“I gotta close up baby, but then…”rubbing his hands up your curves with a low groan he squeezes at the plush of your hips before finishing his sentence, “I think I promised you pancakes.”
Nodding your head because words are stuck at the tip of your tongue, he grabs your cheeks with a strong grip, smushing your lips together before stealing one last kiss.
——-
Eddie doesn’t give you the attention you’ve grown accustomed to all night when he starts the process of actually cleaning the bar. Your body still buzzes like a live wire from the drinks and the kiss outside. He’d been counting his tips with his back to you for the last ten minutes and you were growing impatient for more of him. You needed it.
Counting the last bill he finally turns around and your thighs press together when you get to see his face again. Shifting in your seat when his eyes barely meet yours, he makes his way to the other end of the bar. Pushing yourself up to lean forward with puckered lips, he ignores your advances passing by without so much as a glance in your direction. Huffing when you plop back in your seat, he flips the knob starting to wash his hands in the mini sink with his back to you again. Your foot taps against the metal of the stool as you watch him grab the scratched up red bucket hanging below and a fresh rag quickly replacing his hands with it to fill up.
You wonder if he can feel your stare when he adds the soap, taking his time while he spins the rag in the steaming water, he starts ringing it out. Arms flexing and suds spilling over his knuckles, you were gonna lose your mind if you didn’t get your hands on him soon.
He makes big swipes as he starts working his way towards you, keeping his eyes so focused on his task you’d think you were invisible if it wasn’t for the smirk that was getting impossible for him to hide. It only grows bigger when he stops in front of you, adding a low hum to his charade purposely wiping around the outline of your hands that were splayed out on the counter ready to push yourself up again.
“Eddie - c’mon!”
You’d be embarrassed if it wasn’t for the laugh that falls easy from his chest when he finally looks at you. His face softens and his eyes darken when he catches your angry pout, your fingers are quick to find his free ones making him tsk at you but he doesn’t pull away.
“My hands are wet baby.” He knew you didn’t care and the teeth showing in his wide grin told you he didn’t either.
Giving into your persistence like it hasn’t been a fight to keep his hands to himself this whole time, he leans forward brushing his nose with yours before nudging it against your cheek so your lips just barely touch. When you go to close the space he pulls back just enough to tease, a small whine escaping you at his games.
“What’s got you so needy, huh?” His words are whispered as he presses with the slightest pressure before pulling back again. “I didn’t kiss you good enough outside, you need more?”
“Please.” Your cheeks burn when you hear how your voice sounds, but his grip on your fingers tighten and a low moan breaks through his front at how desperate you sound just for a kiss.
“Gotta give my girl what she needs.” Your brain gets stuck on the words ‘my girl’ taking you a minute to realize he was finally giving you what you want.
It’s slower than outside, he’s taking his time with you this time. Untangling his fingers from yours, his hand comes up to wrap around the side of your neck. The water feels good on your skin as the pad of his thumb starts rubbing soft lines under your jaw while his tongue swipes at your bottom lip looking for more. You don’t give into his advances on purpose, keeping your mouth closed to get him back for all his teasing you feel his smile grow against your own.
Expecting him to stop and surrender, he only doubles down. Catching your top lip with his bottom, he pulls away just enough for you to open your eyes. God, you wished you kept them closed. The brightness from outside had turned them into nothing but black leaving no trace of the specks of brown from before. The knowledge that he was just as affected by all of this as you sends you reeling. Toes curling inside your sneakers.
“Whining over here for me to give you what you want, and here I am baby, and you’re playing hard to get.” Nipping at your bottom lip he meets your heavy lidded gaze again, “Gonna let me give you what you want?”
He barely lets you finish nodding before he’s on you, the hunger from outside coming back as he leans over the bar to deepen the kiss like you’d been begging him for. Opening your mouth for him without hesitation when he asks for permission again your tongues meet lazily, exploring each other like you didn’t get a chance to before. Pushing up again eager to get more of him he pulls back leaving you breathless with spit slick lips.
Despite the way his chest heaves trying to catch his breath, he does his best to play it cool, smirking when you have no shame chasing for more.
“I gotta finish closing up.” He gives you one more chaste kiss before he starts wiping the rest of the counter down.
Jutting out your bottom lip into a pout, he laughs, throwing out a ‘you’ll survive five minutes baby.’
You leave him alone doing your best not to distract him, despite how much your fingers itch to have him close again. Grabbing the money from the register and the receipts for the night he disappears back into what you could only assume was Rick’s office. When he pops back out he looks a little more relaxed.
“Just gotta wipe the bottles down and then I’m getting the prettiest girl the best pancakes in town.” Clapping his hands together with a rub of his palms, he grabs another rag.
You were starting to hate pancakes. Not that you didn’t want them, you just wanted him more.
“Hey Eddie?” Trying to hide your ulterior motives in the sweetness of your voice, his eyes meet yours almost instantly and they narrow just as quick.
“Yes, sweetheart?” Setting the rag down he leans forward with his palms on the bar he gives you his undivided attention. An intimidation tactic. Unable to help yourself, your eyes trace up the ink covering his arms.
“Teach me how to make that drink?” Looking up at him from under your lashes, you see something flash across his face, fingertips digging into the countertop after the question leaves your mouth.
“Wasting Love?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t call it that now, would you?” Laying it on thick, a slow smile spreads across his face. He saw what you were doing and he was going to fall into your trap willingly.
“Why don’t you come back here then, we’ll make our own.” His voice comes out low, his pupils taking over all the brown, pretty white teeth baring themselves at you.
His gaze is predatory when he watches you jump from the stool, the exaggerated sway of your hips keeps his eyes trained on the curve of your waist as you make your way into his space for the first time all night. Leaning against the back counter, his legs are spread wide leaving little to the imagination on how worked up you had him. His eyebrows raise when he sees the automatic press of your thighs at the sight. It wasn’t fair, you were trying to seduce him, not the other way around. He wasn’t even trying.
As if on cue the jukebox that had been left to play all night clicks, Ginuwine’s Pony pouring out of the speakers as he licks his lips unashamed at the way he’s drinking all of you in like this.
“Gonna teach me how to make something sweet, Eddie?” Trailing a finger along the bar while you close the distance, you drag out the ‘e’ at the end of his name just enough to get him to groan.
His hands grab your waist squeezing just hard enough to feel his strength before using it to pull you flush against him. The material of your dress doing nothing to hide how hard he is pressed into your ass. His lips trace the shell of your ear, the heat of his breath tickling your neck as you push back into him searching for more. The stubble on his face rubs rough against the soft skin of your cheek as he punctuates each word with a roll of his hips.
“The sweetest, baby.”
You bite back your moan when his nose trails up your neck, his lips just barely grazing the warmth of your flesh before they settle back against your ear. You hold onto the wood of the bar in front of you when he hums low, feeling it deep in your core. His calloused fingers start a path up the bare skin of your thigh hiking up your dress when they catch the hem.
“Tell me,” your eyes close when his nose is pressed to your temple as he speaks, “Do you like cherries, baby?” His tongue catches your earlobe sucking it into his mouth, grazing it between his teeth when he lets it back out.
Your knees almost buckle at how good everything feels, the slow rock of his hips never stopping as he plucks at the lace trim of your underwear.
“Y- yeah, I love cherries,” you whimper when his palms lay flat on the outside of your thighs, the cool metal of his rings biting into your skin when he squeezes at the fat working his way back up.
“Of course you do, pretty.” His thumbs hook the sides of your underwear, “You’re just so sweet all the time, huh?” Despite the need for friction, you spread your legs for him wondering if he can hear the way your lips pull apart sticky, arousal coating the inside of your thighs.
He chuckles soft in your ear praising you with a ‘so sweet’ before giving them a tug, letting the red lace fall to the floor. Keeping his hands on your hips, he presses himself against you hard enough to have the heels of your sneakers pick up off the ground. A low ‘fuck’ slipping out from under his breath when you whine a little.
“Red lace? Was Kurt gonna get lucky or was this just a ploy to get me all along, sweetheart?” Your cheeks burn at his question, his low chuckle tickling your ear when he hears you huff out an annoyed breath. “‘Cause if that’s the case all you would’ve had to do is walk through that door on any given night.”
He grinds himself against you one more time, but you can really feel him this time and it makes your legs shake.
“Are we gonna make this drink or do you wanna keep talking about Craig?” The shake of your voice doesn’t go unnoticed despite trying to be sharp with him but the grip on your waist still tightens at the mention of the other man’s name
“Sure we can, if that’s really what you wanna do.” His words taunt you but with one hand holding you against him the other flips a clean cocktail glass onto the bar top with ease, like he wasn’t rock hard digging into your back.
Reaching around, his hand trails up the front of your thigh sending goosebumps across your heated skin. A shiver runs down your spine when he dares to dip between your legs inching his way towards where you want him most.
“We better not mix liquors so why don’t you be a good girl and grab the whiskey for me.” His lips brush against your ear with every word, his hand never faltering on their path even when his fingertips meet your slick folds. Feather light, he traces along your slit, not daring to break the barrier yet. Brain hazy with want you don’t even comprehend what bottle you reach for, blindly grabbing for whatever was in front of you.
“That is tequila, sweetheart. Tsk, tsk, tsk are you even listening to what I’m saying? Or are you too…” Before he finishes his sentence he pushes his index finger past your entrance, your warm walls wrapping tight around his digit, “…distracted?”
Your head lulls back against his chest, your eyes closing when he pushes two knuckles deeper. Your needy whimper makes him kick up again making you grind your ass against him in response. Licking your lips, you try to collect yourself only chasing for more of his finger once.
“N-no, I can do it.” Determined to prove him wrong, you focus just long enough to grab the Jameson bottle, “What’s next?”
He hums in approval while his smile grows against your skin. Deciding to indulge in your stubborn game still, he curves his finger enough just to make you gasp his name.
“Are we keeping this simple, or do you want something a little more—” Adding a second finger, you stretch easily for him now, dripping down his hand, “Complicated?”
You shudder, a moan slipping past your lips while your grip on the bottle tightens so much you're scared it’ll shatter. Fuck, you gotta keep it …
“S- simple - oh.” His thumb finds your clit applying just enough pressure to have your mouth fall open and your brows to knit together, and just as quick as he’s there, he’s gone.
Pulling himself free, he tries his best to ignore the way your pussy tries to suck him back in, your body begging him for more. You whimper at the loss, your eyes opening to remind you where you are.
“I’m gonna need both hands to do this, baby.” His fingers shine with your slick when he wiggles them for show, stepping back just enough for you to see the grin on his face but not enough to get out of your personal space.
Grabbing his wrist, his eyes go dark when he realizes what you’re about to do. Gaze turning half lidded when your mouth opens, huffing out a deep breath when your tongue flattens against the pads of the two fingers that were just buried inside of you. Wrapping your lips around them, your arousal is tangy sweet hitting your taste buds.
Hollowing your cheeks as you suck them clean, you watch the confidence drain from his face, eyes rolling in the back of his head at the sight. The blunt ends of his nails dig through the soft material of your dress and he starts rutting into you with a little more force when you slide your tongue between each knuckle.
“Jesus christ,” his voice is strangled, words coming out through gritted teeth when you let him go with a loud pop.
“Now you can use both hands,” you say innocently, like you didn’t just suck them clean. You let his fingers tug at your bottom lip before dropping his wrist.
He fists a handful of your dress, a low growl rumbling from his chest getting a taste of his own medicine. Licking his lips, his eyes narrow at you before his teeth start to show, mischievous in the low light.
“Well if we want this drink cold, we need to fill this shaker with ice.” Just like the glass, he flips it on the counter one hand never leaving your waist despite his claim.
Pressing his lips to your ear again, he makes sure to let his breath linger a little before he talks, enjoying the goosebumps that appear from such a simple touch.
“Fill it up for me, baby?” Your thighs clench at the deep rasp in his voice, both of his hands finding a home spread out on your thighs.
Nodding your head you slide open the silver metal door of the ice chest below you, bending over more than you needed to to scoop it up into the shaker. He groans loud when you press into him like this, his fingers making quick work to flip the back of your dress up.
“Look at you, so fucking messy for me and I’ve barely touched you.” Grabbing a handful of your ass, he ruts into you, the rough denim hitting your clit in a way that has you moaning his name.
He laughs quietly at your neediness flipping your dress back down when you straighten out. Chests heaving in time with the other, neither one of you was ready to back down. Not yet.
“Might need to unzip those pants.” Looking over your shoulder at him you fake a pout, “Feeling a little strained back there handsome.”
Smugness dripping from the smile on your face, he raises his eyebrows at you in a challenge.
“Since you wanted something simple sweetheart, we just need two more things.” One hand snakes its way back between your legs, squeezing at the inside of your thigh before he lets you go for the first time since you set foot behind the bar.
Craning your neck so you could follow him, you find him bent down grabbing lemon juice from the mini fridge under the shorter back counter. Shutting the door with his foot when he stands up, he throws a wink your way when he grabs the simple syrup.
Setting the bottles in front of you he steals a quick kiss that leaves you wanting more before he grabs the small tub of cherries from the fridge he forgot his first go around.
“Okay, so you’re gonna grab the Jameson, and I want you to pour it out to the count of three for me then cut it off.” He returns to his place behind you, his large hand swallowing yours when it shadows your movements.
Your pour is shaky when he counts low in your ear, nuzzling his nose in your hair calling you a good girl after each successful addition to the simple concoction.
“Alright, now you’re gonna shake it as hard as you can angel.” His hands squeeze your hips for encouragement.
Doing as he says he pulls you against him even harder when your arms start to go wild. Your chest bounces with each movement making you giggle and you almost don’t hear the hitch in his breath at the sight.
He helps you by putting the strainer over the rim of the glass when you’re ready to pour. Mumbling soft words of praise while he nibbles at your ear lobe. The drink is much lighter than the one you had all night, the dark orange turning lemon as the white foam fizzed on top.
“I think I could take your job.” You smirk reaching for the cherries to top it all off.
“You think you could take my job?” He snorts incredulous, watching you unwrap the plastic wrap from the small tub dropping three cherries into the already very sweet cocktail.
“Absolutely.” Grinning while ignoring his stare you reach for another cherry, “No doubt in my mind.” You grab the fruit between your teeth, finally meeting his eyes as you pull the stem, relishing in the burst of sugar and grenadine that erupts against your tongue.
“Tough luck princess, unless you know how to tie that cherry stem in a knot with your teeth, no bar in this town is gonna touch you.” Grabbing his own cherry, he dangles it in front of your frowning mouth for you to bite. Obliging him with it bumps your bottom lip you tug gently, taking the fruit before chewing slowly while he sucks the stem once before it disappears in his mouth.
“I’m calling your bluff now. No one knows how to actually do that.” Daring him to prove you wrong he mutters a ‘watch me’ between his working teeth.
You don’t lose focus on the way his hand on your waist starts to wander, the blunt ends of his nails scratching against the fat of your thigh while his tongue ties the stem like it’s easy. Jaw flexing with each twist of his tongue before he pushes it out to show you, a pleased look on his face when the small knot in the middle comes out perfectly placed.
Swiping it off his tongue with the fingers that were inside you minutes ago, you wonder if he can still taste you when he sets it next to your drink satisfied by the way your jaw drops.
“How do you think I got this job? I’m more than just a cute face.” The touch of his hands grows bolder when they start working their way up your dress, a thickness in the air that wasn’t there before filling your lungs.
“That’s quite the skill set you have there Mr. Munson,” your giggle is breathless, your eyes going from his down to his lips as you try to play it off.
“I can do more than that with my tongue sweetheart, if you wanna find out.” His nose nudges against yours, the smirk on his face making you sweat when his fingers trace up your wet folds again.
Surrendering instantly, you forget all about the drink the two of you made nodding without hesitation the desperation for him all night finally taking over.
“Yeah?” His voice breaks when his thick fingers push into your entrance again feeling just how worked up all his teasing had you.
“Please - Eddie,” the pad of his thumb finds your clit again making you beg, “Fuck.”
“Asking me so sweet, how could I say no to you?” Murmuring against your lips, he finally gives in and kisses you. Wet and sloppy he only does it long enough to take your breath away before dropping to his knees.
His big hands on your hips angle you to face forward, flipping your dress up over your ass again. The air of the bar is still hot against your folds, arousal dripping down your thighs, you’re fully exposed to him now. You hear him suck the skin of his teeth at the sight, a ringed hand coming down just hard enough on your right cheek to make it jiggle before both hands palm the fat.
“I can’t believe you were gonna let anybody else but me have this pussy. Should be a punishable offense.” Pulling your cheeks apart to expose more of you to his hungry eyes, he pushes at the small of your back signaling for you to bend over more for him.
He moans loud enough to make you jump when you listen to his command, even you can hear the sound of your lips pulling apart for him.
“All this for me, baby, fuck, you spoil me.” He wastes no time burying his face between your folds, his talented tongue collecting your juices before finding your clit. The rough hair on his chin rubbing your sensitive skin raw as he shakes his head from side to side.
Squeezing your ass to pull you closer to his face when you try to run away, he sucks your bundle of nerves harder when he gets you back to where he wants you, dipping his nose into your entrance every time.
He does the motions he would do when he ties the cherry stem into a knot against your clit, a strangled moan ripping from your throat when he does it again.
Your hands find purchase on the top of the bar, eyes closed tight while you see white behind your lids. Your nails dig into the wood when his tongue flattens, the lewd squelching of your arousal filling your ears when he pushes his face so deep between your legs you aren’t sure if he can even breathe. The moan that rumbles through his chest and vibrates to your core tells you he doesn’t care. Wrapping his lips tight around your clit he sucks even harder, not caring when your legs start to shake from overstimulation.
“Eddie, Eddie, I’m gonna - fuck!” His name comes out long and drawn out when you fall apart on his tongue. Relentless, his teasing never stops, his hands holding you up while your body starts to shake. Humming low in satisfaction against your cunt.
“I n- need, I need…” willing your eyes to open, your vision’s blurry from how hard he made you cum. Pulling away with a loud smack of his lips, he palms your ass cheeks before craning his neck to try and get a good look at you.
“What do you need, baby?” He nips at the curve of your right cheek before pressing his face to it, dazed from getting what he’s wanted all night completely content.
“I just, I just need you to fuck me,” you don’t recognize the choke in your voice when you whine for him. Whine for more.
“Jesus christ.” His words tickle against your skin when he groans, kneading the soft flesh of your ass one more time before standing up.
His hands are on your hips before you can fully register the change in position, spinning you around and lifting you up he sets you on top of the counter behind the bar. The one where drinks aren’t served and the one that’s low enough for Eddie to slot himself perfectly between your legs.
Eyes blown black while his beard and nose ring shine with your slick, his lips part - swollen and pink from pulling your first orgasm out of you. Bangs clinging to his forehead, his hair is a wild mess on top of his head from your hands. The confident air about him is gone, replaced with nothing but the need to have you. Snapping out of your daze, you’re quick to find the metal of his belt buckle.
His forehead presses to yours, while he watches the way your dainty fingers work the leather out through the loop. The white tips of your nails catch his eye when you undo the button of his jeans and his cock twitches at the thought of them pumping him for all he’s worth.
He hisses when you push the denim down his hips, his hard dick springing out to smack against his shirt that you immediately wish wasn’t there. Precum leaks from the angry looking pink tip while your hands fist the hem of the worn cotton, silently begging him to get rid of it. The big vein that follows the curve of his length makes your mouth water as he obliges your pleas, ripping his shirt off and throwing it somewhere you’d have to find later.
You’re able to really take all of him in like this, his chest is heaving covered with just as many tattoos as the rest of him, the silver chain you’d peeped earlier hanging right in the dip between his pecs. Your eyes follow the dark patch of hair that leads to his cock, long with the kind of girth that you know is going to be a stretch, a strangled whine bubbles out of you at the sight while your thighs spread begging for him.
“God, I want you so bad,” you whine wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him even closer giving into your animalistic instincts.
“I know baby, me fuckin’ too.” He pumps his cock a few times groaning loud, squeezing hard at the base before pressing the head between your dripping lips. Mesmerized at how they wrap around his tip, his precum mixes messy with your arousal making lewd noises as he sweeps it through your folds.
Body shaking every time he hits your clit, you finally hook your ankles growing impatient when he teases your entrance.
“Fuck. Me.” You get out through gritted teeth, the lopsided grin he’d been giving you all night turns cocky when he pushes the tip in, your head lulls back at the invasion, the silk of your walls desperate to start sucking him deeper.
“Not so sweet now are you, huh?” Pushing himself all the way in, his rough thatch of pubic hair hits your clit when he bottoms out. His confidence falters for a second when a deep moan rips through his chest at the feeling. “So fuckin’ tight baby - shit.”
Your nails dig half crescent moons into his inked skin while you adjust to his size, his nose skimming against your cheek while he whispers how good you take him when your walls start to milk him, your body letting him know it was okay to finally move.
“Feel so good, Eddie, fuck - so good.” Your hips start a slow rock, feeling every ridge and curve of him. Your dress sits rucked up at your waist giving a perfect view of the way you take him, and it’s even better than what his imagination had come up with all night.
He lets you use him for a minute, big hands resting on your waist — content with just watching the way you coat his cock with everything you have left over for him from the first time he made you cum.
“That feels good, huh?” Cooing at the way your brows knit together and your mouth falls open, he picks up the pace, taking control.
Pulling you all the way to the edge, his strokes get deeper, the tip of him hitting the spot that you know Craig would have never found. He pulls his cock out half way, relishing how your velvet walls try to keep him in place, he holds his composure before pushing back in, filling you to the brim. Addicted to the way it makes you gasp his name and arch your back, your body asks him for more when you’re too cock drunk to get the words out.
The straps of your dress start slipping down your shoulders with every thrust, your breasts bouncing just begging for his attention. His cock twitches inside you, it's almost too much. Greedy for more despite fighting the urge to cum, he tugs the front of your dress down to reveal a matching bra to the panties on the floor. Hips stuttering for a moment he growls at the reminder of your date before tugging the lace down, your nipple pebbling instantly for him before he takes it in the heat of his mouth.
Pushing yourself closer, needing more, your hands find their way to bury themselves in his curls, holding him close. You needed him close. His tongue flicks at your sensitive bud and it makes you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Your hips finding a way to match his strokes, reigniting the flames deep in your gut. God, he was gonna make you cum again.
He grunts around your breast, spit dripping down your soft skin from his ministrations while the snap of his hips start to get harsher and you know he’s nearing his end. He lets your nipple go with a loud pop before his hand comes up to grip your chin, his lips finding yours in a frantic mess of teeth and battling tongues.
The wood creaks underneath you from the force of his thrusts and the bounce of your ass to meet them. Mouths tangled, you swallow each other's ragged breaths, both of you desperately searching for your end when his fingers find your clit. Rubbing circles with just enough pressure to have your body start to shake against his, he nips at your bottom lip grunting when he feels the way it makes you flutter around him.
“Come on baby, give me another one. Be my sweet girl again and tell me how good I make you cum.” His fingers slip against your clit, fingers wet from how worked up he had you but his words are enough to have your world stop for a second.
“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Ed-“ Going blind behind your closed eyes he coaxes your second orgasm out of you with a silent scream falling onto his turned up lips. Proud of his work, his hips start picking up their pace inching closer to his own release he’d been fighting off since going down on you.
“God, - fuck I’m close - where d-do you-?” Sweat drips down his forehead while he struggles to find his words, his impending orgasm making him short circuit.
“Inside, shit - please, I need it, Eddie.” Still needy and barely coming down, your legs around his waist tighten their hold, locking him in place while you use the last of your strength to help get him there.
“Whatever you’re doing - holy shit , Jesus - I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” His hips press hard against yours when his cock twitches, spilling warm inside your greedy walls that don’t stop asking him for more. His face hides in your neck, the heat of his breath fanning against your sweat kissed skin while his body shakes with his release.
The roll of your hips never stops, just slowing enough to make him shiver after he starts softening, spent inside of you. You know there’s a mess starting to drip but neither one of you has the energy to move just yet. His lips start leaving small kisses along your neck, nose nudging against the space behind your ear and you can feel his smile against your cheek before he finally lifts his head up. The brown in his eyes return to a warm auburn like before when they meet yours.
“Rick is gonna fucking kill me if he ever finds out what happened on this counter tonight.” Rolling your eyes, you snort at his joke before shoving against his chest.
“You’re telling me you don’t fuck all your cute customers behind the bar, Eddie?” Batting your lashes at him, he squeezes your hips with a smirk.
“Only, the really, really cute ones. I take them to get pancakes at IHOP around the corner, too.” Something shifts in his eyes and you think for a second you might see self doubt in them for the first time all night, “That is, if they still want to.”
“Well lucky for you, I only let bartender’s from The Foxy Lounge take me out.” Nudging your nose against his, your smile touches his lips.
“Sweetheart, you know I’m the only bartender here right?” Grinning like someone who just won the lottery, he quickly gets rid of the space between you, kissing you like it too.
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Fictional Simp @letsonelittle5lovato - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
