For Your Consideration- He

Ln4

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Carlos Sainz

#cs55🌶️

Of course it’s got the little marshmallows in it Eddie. Uncle Wayne knows how to make hot cocoa ☕️

How do you see chubby!bucky’s body in your mind?

James Buchanan Barnes, aka Bucky, is an impressive six foot four (and half).

He has long, luscious chestnut hair that curls around the nape of his neck. He usually wears it in a low bun and he loves for you to play with his hair. And it almost always smells like your conditioner because he has a habit of using your products instead of his own.

Bucky has bright crystal blue eyes that seem to notice every single detail about you. They're so expressive, it's always so obvious when he wants you or when he's excited about anything.

He doesn't like to shave so he always has stubble on his round cheeks, if not a full beard. He's constantly blushing because of something you said or the way you looked at him. His deep, smooth voice is usually mumbling your name under his breathe whenever you do something to bring that blush out.

And he has the habit of biting his bottom lip, always leaving indents behind that you like to trace with your fingertip while he smiles down at you.

His biceps are massive from carting around sacks of flour and heavy kitchen equipment. He has a broad, toned chest with a grey surrealistic tattoo that wraps around his right shoulder and goes down to his wrist. It makes his right arm look as stunning as his vibranium one.

Bucky has a soft, round belly that's perfect for sleeping on, thick yet firm in the best way. There's a small happy trail that leads to a very impressive package surrounded by a pair of thick, hair covered thighs.

Max Verstappen

#mv1🏆

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Imagine just being obsessed with biting beefy Bucky. Whenever he’s near by you just want to chomp down on his pretty thicc chest, nibble of the soft flesh on his tummy, corded muscles running beneath, and nip at his thighs. If he walks by you in those slutty tight tshirts of his, there’s definitely teeth marks once he’s past you because you have to sink your teeth into his meaty arms.

It always makes him blush

Imagine he forgets the absolute damage you did to his shoulders and back when he takes his shirt off at the gym only to be met with wide eyes and smirks and high fives, bites and bruises decorating his tan skin. He doesn’t get it until he hits the showers and realizes his little demon of a girlfriend has mauled his back.

On the flip side, imagine you’re not actually together and you just playfully bite his shoulder whenever he’s near by. It makes him so shy and flustered, gently stroking his ego because you love how big he is.

Those pictures made me FERAL. Iykyk.

Better?

Eddie Munson x fem!reader [0.8K]

Eddie’s bedroom was a lavender blue haze in the night. The shadows were only and the streetlight that managed to leak in from behind the curtains was a tangerine, barely illuminating the lumps and bumps of legs and hips under the duvet.

You watched the hours tick by, Eddie’s beside clock mocking as the red numbers changed over. It seemed an impossible task, falling asleep. You weren’t sure why, it could’ve been a number of things, really. Our impending exams, college applications, the fact that your boyfriend had only just been exonerated from first degree murder charges.

Ironically, the boy in question was asleep beside you, bare chested and warm, leaning into your side in a way that was soothing, but steady up and down of his chest still wasn’t enough to pull you into a sleep.

You shuffled, winced when the bed creaked, and tried to find a spot on the pillow that would be the comfiest. Everything smelled like Eddie, his cologne, his laundry detergent, a little smoke and spice. It was easier to push your head to his shoulder, sneaking the chance to press a little kiss to the exspanse of his throat, hopefully without waking him up.

It was a little selfish but it calmed you, the way you could feel his pulse jump a little under your lips. But the boy stirred, mumbling a little, his body turning and seeking out your own even half asleep. His hands found your waist under the sheets, fumbling to push under your shirt - his shirt - for bare skin. He hummed, pulling you into him as his eyes fluttered open.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Eddie mumbled, voice deep and scratchy, his lips brushing over your forehead as he curled into you.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him you hadn’t managed to sleep in the first place, the clock telling you it was nearing half past two. So you hummed back and let him hold you, a warm, wide hand tracing patterns over your spine, guitar string callouses catching at you and making you shiver.

You weren’t sure how he knew. Maybe it some kinda magic, some soulmate thing, maybe Eddie could just feel the way you held yourself too stiffly in his arms, unable to relax no matter how hard you tried. So he pulled back from where his nose was pushed into your hair, eyes a little blurry and his curls sleep mussed. He peered down at you, gaze aching soft in understanding and he sighed.

Not unkindly, not impatiently, just a little sad for you, knowing how awful you’d feel in the morning despite how much you longed to close your eyes now. He knew you couldn’t help it and he hated seeing you when the sun came up, lips downturned and cradling a mug of coffee like it was your firstborn.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” Eddie told you softly, swinging his legs out of bed. “You comin’?”

He didn’t leave much room for discussion, gathering the duvet from you and tucking some pillows under his arm. He headed for the empty living room, bare feet shuffling, cotton shorts low on his hips and the black ink of his tattoos only just visible in the dark.

You didn’t ask questions, didn’t argue. Not this time, not when you’d tried before and lost, Eddie throwing you over his shoulder when you protested and told him to sleep, that you were okay, it was fine.

So you tumbled out of bed after him, walking down the hall until you could watch him throw the bedding on the sofa, the remote control already in hand as he fussed with the TV, flipping through static until an old school horror filled the screen, still in black and white.

Eddie flopped onto the couch, curls messy over the pillows and he held his arms out to you, smiling that smile you swore was just for you.

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

He made an exaggerated “oof” when you let yourself fall onto his chest but the boy was grinning, arms wrapped around your waist to pull you closer, legs tangled, lips dancing across your hairline.

“You okay?” He asked when you got yourself settled, covers pulled over you both as you lay between his legs, cheek pressed the warmth of his chest. “This better?”

The movie played low, a gentle buzz of dialogue and background music, bad special effects and low light. It made the living room feel cosier, the light bouncing off of the walls, reflecting off the windows. Eddie’s arms were strong and solid around you and he nosed at your temple, a different but sweet kind of kiss.

Sleep already tugged at you, soft and kind like an old friend.

“Yeah, Eds,” you mumbled into his neck, smiling “this is better.”