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munsonsmixtapes · 1 year ago

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🏀❤️‍🩹🏕

sunshine!Steve x grumpy!fem!reader

cw: mention of blood

When you had signed up to be a camp counselor for the summer, you hadn’t expected Steve Harrington to be there. If you had known, you definitely wouldn’t have gone to that particular camp. There was something about him that rubbed you the wrong way. It was almost as if he seemed too happy and you didn’t like that. With him, there was always something to look forward to and maybe you just didn’t like him because you were jealous.

Despite your dislike for him, he was always nice to you when you were both in school. He’d greet you with in the cafeteria with that megawatt smile and you’d grimace, but that would never deter him. In fact, he’d just smile wider, as if the look on your face made him happy.

But it didn’t. Seeing you always so angry upset Steve. He wanted to get to the bottom of it. To know what was making you tick and how he could fix that. He had been that way for a years after everything that had happened in the Upside Down and after he had found healthy ways to cope with it, he tried his best to help others around him.

He sat next to you every day for every meal and you’d just brush him off. You didn’t need friends. You just wanted to be alone, which was ironic since you had decided to spend your summer around a bunch of kids. But Steve wasn’t going to give up. He was going to sit there every day until you finally talked to him.

The day you did finally speak, you turned to him long enough to utter the words “fuck off” before turning back to your tray. After that, Steve decided to leave you alone for a while.

He watched you from afar, smiling to himself as he saw you interact with the campers. His heart warmed seeing you help one of them out with an injury. One of the girls had fallen on her way inside the lodge for dinner and scraped her knee and you had been quick to react, taking a first aid kit from the backpack you had carried and wiped the debris out of her cut along with the blood that had run down her leg.

You were talking to her the whole time, trying to distract her from the pain and it worked like a charm. You asked her what her favorite color was and she seemed very passionate about pink, blush pink to be specific. She talked about it the entire five minutes you cleaned her up and you nodded along, agreeing that it was a great color.

Once your work was done, you helped her up from the ground and she decided that she wanted to sit next to you for dinner which you had no problem agreeing to. She seemed to be a loner just like you and you were happy to have someone who you got along with.

You sat at the table and waited for Clementine who was in line getting her food. Steve stood in front of her and helped her pile her plate high with the options that were available that night. You watched him lean down to talk to her, that stupid fucking smile making its way onto his face. You got this weird feeling in your chest as you watched him help her, the smile on both their faces as he did so.

Once they had their food, Clementine grabbed Steve by the hand and pulled him right over to the table where you were sitting. You tried your hardest to keep your smile on your face as he approached you.

The tension was high and Steve wasn't sure how to approach the situation. He wanted to sit with Clem since she had been so eager, but now that you were in the equation, he wasn't so sure. He was still trying to be respectful.

"Y/n, look who's going to sit with us!" She exclaimed as she got to your table with Steve's wrist in her hand. You bit back a laugh at how awkward the man looked. For someone who used to have the word "king" tacked onto his name, he definitely didn't seem very confident. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but there and you felt the same.

"Hey, Clem, he started to say, knowing that you didn't want him to sit with you, but you cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

"Take a seat, Stevie," you said as you pulled out the chair to the left of yours. Not only were you calling him by the nickname that he loved, but you also were letting him sit with you? What alternate dimension had he entered? Definitely not the Upside Down. This dimension was much nicer since it had you in it.

Steve hesitantly set his plate on the table and sat down next you, your chairs dangerously close to one another, but you weren't going to admit that you liked it. You could feel his eye's on you, but you ignored him. You weren't going to let him win.

You got up from your seat to throw your plate away, but there was something slippery on the floor, causing you to slip. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for the fall, but it never came. Someone had caught you. You were so grateful that you had been saved that you had to know who had caught you.

You opened your eyes to be met by the warm honey ones you had become familiar with over the summer. Steve helped you to your feet and you looked at him, his eyes boring into yours as he searched them for any sign of discomfort. You liked that he wanted to protect you and you knew you had to nip that right in the bud. You couldn’t be with him as much as you wanted to. You just couldn’t.

You pushed Steve’s hands off of you and stepped away, feeling yourself bubbling with anger as you watched his face contort into even more concern. He stepped forward and you stepped back, putting you hands out we he’d keep his distance.

“Stay away from me, Harrington,” you told him before fleeing the lodge. You could still feel the way his arms held you and felt even more angry that you kind of liked it.

What was Steve’s deal. Why was he playing at? He was still so nice to you despite your dislike for him and you didn’t like that you were slowly warming up to him. That he was starting to that’s your frozen heart bit by bit.

You went to your cabin and got ready for bed even though it was still light outside, trying not to think about him and his pretty smile or his beautiful brown eyes that made you melt when they looked into yours. You weren’t falling for him. You just weren’t. You never would have worked out anyway. You were just too different. The complete opposite of each other.

You got into your bunk and your mind drifted to Steve, the moment where he caught you replaying over and over in your head. You were starting to feel bad for the way you treated him. He was just trying to help and you blew up at him. You didn’t think you deserved his niceness.

You tossed and turned the entire night, wondering how Steve was doing and if you still had time to apologize for being so rude to him. Somehow, you just knew that he’d forgive you.

You couldn’t sleep, your guilt of being rude to Steve practically the entire summer eating you alive. You checked the clock and saw that there was only an hour before everyone would be up so you got out of your bunk and sneaked out the door to the lodge for some early breakfast.

You slowly crept inside and noticed a box of cereal out on the counter, feeling your stomach growl as you thought about having a bowl of the stuff. You went to grab the box only to find someone else in the kitchen with you. Steve. Maybe now was your chance to finally apologize.

“Hey,” he smiled and you still weren’t used to the fact that he was a morning person. How someone could be that chipper at 7:00 AM, you didn’t know.

“Hi, Steve,” you grumbled and Steve reached for the cereal and poured you a bowl before holding it out to you. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he smiled before passing you the milk and a spoon. “Do you want some orange juice?”

“Sure,” you nodded and he grabbed the orange juice from the fridge and set it on the counter before reaching for two glasses from the cabinet that was behind him. He turned his head towards you and watched you stretch, your t-shirt riding up as you did so. He was so distracted that the glass in the hand fell to the floor and shattered into many pieces.

Your head jerked in his direction and you rounded the counter, no wanted to get hurt in the glass. The cabinet managed to close on its own, whacking Steve in the forehead. He clutched it in pain and you pulled him backwards to get him to a safe zone.

You swept up the glass and got rid of it before checking on Steve to make sure that he was okay. You noticed a little blood on his forehead. You pulled him over to the sink and grabbed the first aid kit that was under it. You grabbed an alcohol wipe and wiped away the blood causing Steve to wince at the stinging sensation it brought.

“Sorry.”

“That’s alright. You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know,” you nodded. “But I want to.”

“You do?”

“I’m sorry, Steve. For everything. I was a bitch and-”

“You weren’t a bitch. You had created boundaries and I crossed them.”

“I told you to fuck off when you were just being nice. You can say that I was a bitch, alright? And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for pushing you away when all you were trying to do was be my friend.”

“It’s okay,” he put his hands over yours, his honey eyes looking into yours and you could see how serious he was. He was forgiving you and it was time for you to forgive yourself. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course you can.”

“I really like you.” Out of all of the things he could have said, that definitely wasn’t what you were expecting. His tone made it seem like he wasn’t meaning liking you as a friend.

“I really like you too,” you replied and his eyes widened at your confession. His mouth was agape and you supposed that it was shocking that his feelings were reciprocated considering your supposed hatred for him. “I feel like I have for a long time but I was afraid to let you in. Getting close to people is scary, but I’m not scared anymore.”

“Are you saying that you want to start something with me?”

“I’d really like that,” you nodded and Steve smiled, warming your heart.

“I’d really like that too,” he smiled back and you put a bandaid on his injury before wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a sweet kiss.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #sunshine!Steve #grumpy!reader

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dandydrunky · 6 months ago

Text

Word count: 1402

A/n; I'm proud of this (hope I did this properly) tiny last minute editing.

Warnings; bad day, angst with a happy ending, Rafe being boyfriend material pet name (pretty girl) hurt x comfort

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rafe Cameron, prideful, persistent, and above all punctual.

Admirable, aggravating.

When Rafe texted you and said he was coming by, you knew that meant 10 minutes max, before he would be knocking on your door.

You were paniced, reasonably so. You had just stepped out of what was supposed to be a relaxing shower, your skin pricked with goosebumps as the cold air hit your exposed skin.

10 minutes, and here you were debating if you wanted to respond or not, but anything was better than staying at that house any longer.

Love would not be enough restraint for you if you had to deal with another one of your family's feuds.

It soon hit you that time was ticking, your hands tossing your phone into the pile of pajamas you were in earlier as you quickly got to work dying yourself off.

As soon as he approached the porch you appeared in the doorway, a soft smile tugged at his lips seeing you standing there.

Hips leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, and your beautiful face staring expectantly into the distance.

Even still he walked up the creaky steps, hands open to relieve you, but when you remained planted, eyesight shifting towards his polo, the closed collar underlining his broad chest, and muscles caught your gaze.

He countered the hug within distance, slugging an arm around your shoulder, he leaned down, pressing his cold lips against your heated skin, causing your cheeks to bubble, lips pursing in a supressed smile. "Missed me didn't you?" He cooed, the keychain circling his index jiggled, the tip of his finger teasing the underside of your jaw.

You stiffened at the action, taking the first step forward, muttering a quiet 'sure'.

"Ahha," he chuckled dryly, following your lead.

Even if you didn't share the enthusiasm he was happy to see you.

You approached the car, Rafe cutting you off mid step to pull back the handle, the dark paint job facing you now as you scoffed playfully circling the door.

"After you milady," You rolled your eyes at his antics, kicking one foot into the car, the other followed by your chin pressing sharply into your chest as you ducked the roof of the car, settling side.

You wiggled in your seat, immediately reaching for the seatbelt, pulling it smoothly across your chest.

You let out a breath you were holding. Had it got stuck or you couldn't adjust it just right and you had to wrestle it, you'd scrap the whole car. Even if it wasn't yours, you were especially fragile right now.

Rafe got in the driver’s side, the engine roared to life at the twist of his hand, a triumphant grin crossed his face, his nose scrunching as he did so, looking at you excitedly.

Would it be rude to ask why he was so...energetic...today?

The answer?

He saw it.

Through his tinted shades currently sitting in his cupholder.

The attitude in your body language, the shift of weight from one leg to the other, the strain in your formerly guarded form, the unhappiness in your features, and especially the wrinkles siding beside the corner of your eyes. They weren't from smiles, but from heavy glaring.

And smiles would be evident in the way your cheeks pigmented a visible tone after long periods of laughter, and how puffy the corners of your mouth got.

It didn't at all sound attractive when he brought it up to you, but he explained his admiration for your joyous nature, and how when you smiled you smiled big.

And despite your objection in his words, your lips wavered, peeling back into the corners of your face, showing him just what he thought to be true.

"Did you..." You paused, his attention immediately turning on you. "Have you been hanging around Barry again?" Was the only respectful way you could ask.

He didn't take offense, instead braced his hands against the steering wheel, "No," he drew out, putting the car in reverse.

You nodded, awkwardly placing your hands in your lap.

At first being home free helped. Something about the drive around, loud music, and sea salt in the air had made you forget the knot swelling inside various places.

Just as progress was made a flip switched.

It was the song playing on the radio. Something you didn't care to remember because you felt it.

Those sick, unwell feelings form in the pit of your stomach at the words, and now more than ever a raw intensity pulling within you drawing you back to a place of anger.

A place of hurt.

Rafe noticed at first, it was subtle. The head nodding, rolling your eyes as he turned the volume up. He paid attention.

He knew these.

He knew you.

Then a couple miles down, you were singing along, looking as you did do, but he could feel you loosening up.

But just as fast as it appeared it stopped.

He turned the music down, hoping you would continue, but you didn't.

Back to silent nodding and now something else. Your eyes. They were blinking... rapidly.

Now he knew something was up. Something heavy.

Little did he know the events of the morning lingered a dense electric gray over your head, and rain would soon pour from your clouded irises.

"Did something happen? You're all sad and,"

"And shit," you responded, tilting your head back.

"Yeah... all sad and...shit," as you had not so eloquently put it.

"It's nothing," by now it was everything.

"That doesn't sound right," he countered, his foot applied pressure towards the break, the wind breaking acceleration had decreased to the speed limit at best.

And you held back a couple of tears, but that didn't stop strays, warm against your skin. You could feel a burning in the top of your nose, and a climbing temperature around your ears indicating you were about to cry.

"Do you want to talk about it? I can listen," he offered.

You simply sniffled, you palmed up, roughly pushing against your skin, wiping tears. "Do you even know where we're going? We've passed that same park like three times," you said referring to the open field with 101 benches placed too close together.

Sometimes your deflection could be ignoring his question, answering vaguely, or in this case, insulting his navagation skills.

"No, no," he played along, "That's the country club, it's got an expansion, pretty much every road has a view of it."

That actually makes sense now.

Still.

He continued to examine you, your body language.

It was just as tense as before, if not more.

Your little breakdown had only gone on for a quick minute and then you were back to being stone.

If only he could turn you into statue.

Unlike your earlier suggestion before you the dizzy world had slowed and vision returned.

Not before the sight of a concerned smile, his hand parked over the steering wheel, the other resting on the armrest, his torso twisted to meet you.

This time he didn't try to convince you, he let his sad, pretty eyes manipulate you into a sharing state.

"It's just not my day today," you confessed, a little bob in your head confirming that.

"Well, we can change that," his ringed fingers found there ways rubbing against your salted skin swiping tears.

He leaned forward, his lips pressing to your cheekbone, lingering over your skin, the edge of his nose rubbing up the bridge of yours, traveling kisses planted on you in various spots.

He made it to your hair, letting out a hum, tilting his head against yours, making himself level with you, you looked up through your eyelashes to find his comforting gaze on you already, promising better.

Amist the intimate gesture he leaned into it, his elbow honking against the wheel, a bold whistle vibrated through the car, making you jump.

You felt his long lashes tickle your cheek, an embarrassed sigh left him, his forehead still pressed against your face.

And while he thought the accidental honking had ruined the slow, intimate vibe, it tickled you.

His reaction of resignation and reserveness had made it better, and you couldn't hide the smile on your face, the peaks of your teeth peering through and a hearty laugh escaping you.

Rafe carefully kissed your jaw once more, slipping back into his seat, both hands holding the seatbelt at the chest, as he was still fixated on you.

You were smiling.

Rafe made a face, to which he followed up with "there she is," and the mellowness of his tone was enough to make you melt.

"There's my pretty girl."

#obx x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks #fluff #obx men #rafe x reader #angst with a happy ending #angst #poc reader #x reader #obx kooks #grumpy!reader #hurt/comfort #deffogivingseason3

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ghostsforghosts · 9 months ago

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Grumpy!Reader

This is the masterlist of all of the Grumpy!Reader Drabbles. This reader is gender neutral and with John Price.

(Yes, I know that I've made masterlists on my main blog and could just link the masterlist to my pinned post, however, I'm making new masterlists so that I can just update this instead of the old one when/if I expand this series. Yes I am linking posts made from my main blog, yes this is me.)

Your Kid Throws Their Ball into John Price's Backyard

John Price Meets Your Kid

John Price Taking You & Your Kid to a Fair

John Price Meets Your Ex

Call to the Headteacher's Office

Your Kid Calling John Price "Dad"

John Price Asking Your Kid Permission to Marry You

The Proposal

This masterlist is possibly ending soon! (I think all I have to do is write the wedding & that'll be it, unless someone requests for it.)

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rosepetalslibrary · 2 years ago

Text

Heartwarming 💚

🍋 pucker up, buttercup 🍋

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.

#read #to be tagged #long fic #one shot #grumpy x sunshine #sunshine!bucky #grumpy!reader #fluff #meet cute #@witchywithwhiskey

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snail-day · 2 months ago

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Poor Satoru doesn’t know what to do with himself when you get like this.

When you're too sleepy and too stressed to play with him, when your eyes are heavy and your voice is sharp, snapping out little “not now”s and “please, Satoru”s that sting far more than you'd ever intend. He knows it’s not about him. He knows. But still.

He stands there awkwardly at the edge of the bed, fingers twitching at his sides, his usual brightness dulled into something quiet and anxious. You’re lying on your stomach, cheek pressed to the pillow, body still and closed off in a way that tells him you’ve hit your limit.

But he still needs to touch you. He has to.

“Is... is two finger touch okay?” he asks, voice unusually soft. Baby blues raking your body.

You don’t answer, not really. Just make a tiny noise, more exhale than anything. But it’s not a no.

So he climbs into bed with a surprising amount of gentleness. No attempts at disturbing your peace. And then he reaches out, dragging just two slender fingers down the curve of your spine. Featherlight. Barely there. Up and down. Up and down. Sometimes he traces your sides, and when you twitch or tense, he’s quick to shush you, soft, pink lips brushing your shoulder.

“I’m not gonna do anything,” he murmurs. “Just touching. Just this.”

Eventually, when you don’t push him away, he lets out a quiet breath and shifts. Lays down beside you - not quite beside, really. More like on you, curling his long frame to fit your back like a blanket. His cheek finds home against your lower back, arms tucked in as he breathes you in.

“I love you,” he whispers into the silence. “Even when you’re crabby. Even when you’re too tired to look at me. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He stays like that, still and soft, waiting. Waiting until you’re ready to turn around. Until your hand reaches back to tangle in his tousled white hair. Until you mumble that you're sorry, or maybe just press your face into his chest without saying a word.

He’ll wait forever, if that’s what it takes.

Because sure, he doesn’t like it when you’re cranky. But loving you means being close even when you can’t meet him halfway. And if this is all you’ll let him have for now - two fingers and a cheek pressed to your back- then he’ll take it, gratefully.

Because that’s still you. And Satoru doesn’t know how to be without you.

#Remember two finger touch for the sting rays #You're just his sea pancake when youre grumpy #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #Gojo satoru x reader #Satoru x reader #Satoru gojo x reader #Jjk x reader #Jjk gojo x reader #Gojo fluff

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bluebeary-jay · 3 months ago

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Crawlin' back to you

Joel Miller x f!sunshine!Reader

Summary: you ask Joel for help while preparing for your upcoming date with another man. (or so it seems)

Tags: grumpy x sunshine, idiots in love, sweet sweet fluff, age gap, a drop of angst, peepaw is insecure abt his age :(, Jackson era, Joel is kind of slow but it's okay we still love him (pookie doesn't realize how hot he is), me dancing around the smut like i'm a fucking circus acrobat

Word count: 4K

A/N: sooo very long time no see 🙈 ever since the start of 2025 i'm telling myself to get back into writing but it still felt like a chore lol. but i REALLY wanted to finish this fic before tlou s2 drops so here it is!!! i'm really proud of how it turned out and i hope to write more in the near future. love you all so so much and as always, happy reading!! 💕

dividers by @saradika 🩷

Joel Miller didn't have friends.

He had a couple of buddies before the outbreak with whom he used to watch the game sometimes, but nothing more than that. Tommy didn't count, of course, because he was his brother and therefore had to be nice to him. The only other person who could put up with him was Ellie, but the kid was… a kid. As for the other people in Jackson, they were wise to keep their distance from Joel, not wanting to hang around a shadow of a man such as him.

He didn't mind. He liked the peace and quiet, and it didn't bother him one bit that everyone seemed to give him a wide berth, whispering about the danger that he was.

Well, almost everyone avoided him. You, the exact person that should stay far away from a man like Joel Miller, gravitated to him with an almost effortless ease. Even amongst all the hopeful people that created Jackson, you were the purest, brightest ray of sunshine, always helpful and compassionate towards anyone who came your way. And even though Joel wasn't exactly welcoming to you in the beginning, you never gave up and persisted – and eventually, befriended him.

And ever since the first time you spoke to him, he didn't stand a chance. You were young and pretty, and so charming with your innocent optimism… Before Joel realized, he was fantasizing about you during the lonely evenings, dreaming of your voice late in the night, and looking for you in the crowd when he was out of the house.

He was way too old to feel this kind of way, and every now and then it felt like he was balancing on a tightrope between being stupid and borderline creepy. Such a sweet girl like you wouldn't look twice at an old man like him if she knew the things that sometimes ran through his mind when he was seeing other men flirting with you, seeking the same warm light that Joel grew addicted to.

That was the poison mixed with your sweetness – even though it was irrational, with you everything seemed easier than it was.

…even falling in love.

And fall Joel Miller did. It was an embarrassing, tainted experience, especially when he remembered how much older than you he was. But he couldn't help it, and once this burning want became clear to him, he didn't really want to fight it, either.

You were everything he should stay far away from – young, pretty and so bright with your smiles, your hope, your innocence. A sinner like Joel Miller had no place in your life, and yet he couldn't muster the courage to let you go. It was selfish of him, he knew, but spending time in your company was one of the few brightsides of his life… and he didn't have many of those, lately. He genuinely enjoyed being near you – a lot more than he probably should.

That's why, when he noticed you skipping his way with a bright smile splattered across your cheeks, he felt his heart instantly lighten. It was a hard day of work at the construction site and he was relieved to finally be heading home, but just the sight of you made the weariness disappear from within his bones.

“Joel! Hi!” Something must have stirred you quite strongly, for you were practically bouncing with excitement. The words were spilling out of your mouth before he even had a chance to say hello. “I need your help, right now. Please.”

“Slow down, darlin’,” he chuckled, letting you drag him by the arm to a wall of the nearest building and away from the crowd. “You alrigh’?”

“Yeah, yes, of course.” You waved to someone passing by, totally unfazed – or maybe just ignorant – that you were being seen with him in public. “I just need your help.”

“Well, what is it?” he repeated the question and finally, you turned to face him. Joel couldn't help but match the pretty smile on your face, but it quickly faded when you blurted out your next words.

“I like someone.”

That short, simple sentence wrecked Joel’s world by the foundations. For a couple of seconds he just stared at you with his mouth slightly agape while you fidgeted with your hands nervously, but still overjoyed.

“Wh– uhh, sorry?”

“I like someone,” you repeated excitedly, as if your words weren't piercing right through Joel's heart. “And I need your help.”

All of the sudden, the world lost all its colors, as if all the meaning was sucked out of the universe just by your words.

Why it was such a surprise to him, Joel didn't know. Of course you'd sooner or later get together with someone. He should have expected it. You were young, pretty and such a joy to be around, people were gravitating towards you instinctively. Like moths to a flame.

Just like him – yet he was always destined to only get burned.

“Joel?”

You leaned closer and Joel's eyes instinctively focused on your lower lip worried between your teeth. You were obviously oblivious to his feelings, as well as the effect you had on him – otherwise he doubted you'd tempt him like that, unknowingly making his mind fixate on how perfect your lips would have felt under his touch.

But no, it wasn't his caresses you wanted. There was someone else, someone far more deserving of you, and you were asking Joel only for his help. And though it hurt him – it killed him to lose this small sliver of affection you had been giving him so far – he nodded supportingly.

“Wha… what do you need help with, sweet girl?” he asked softly, trying not to show how devastated he felt inside. Joel had no desire to hear about whoever was fortunate enough to gain your favor, but again, luck wasn't on his side.

“I made a plan to meet him,” you explained enthusiastically, grabbing his forearm. Joel looked at where your fingers touched his skin, barely listening to your words. “Tonight. And I need you to come with me.”

That woke him up from his reverie. Joel huffed and shook his head sharply, looking at you like you were out of your mind.

“No.” His tone was almost biting, but through his firm refusal, a trace of panic was slipping through. You pouted, squeezing his forearm lightly.

“Oh, come on, please? I just want to make sure everything’s perfect.”

“No,” Joel repeated, much weaker this time. “Hell no. Why would I–” Then, a dark thought bloomed in his mind and his face turned concerned. “You're worried he'd do somethin’ to you?”

“Oh, no, no!” It was your turn to shake your head, and you actually cracked a smile at Joel's worried tone. “No, he'd never hurt me.”

Your voice got softer; your smile turned serene. Joel wanted nothing more than to turn away when your eyes started to wander across his features, but again that proved to be too herculean of a task compared to the hold you had over him.

“He's kind,” you continued absentmindedly, and on the edge of consciousness Joel remembered your hand was still on his arm, tracing small lines with your thumb. “Respectful and thoughtful… A real gentleman.”

“A-and who’s he?” Joel found the courage to ask, breaking you out of your daydreams. You smiled happily again – that damned, sweet smile of yours – and removed your hand. He immediately started missing the feeling of your touch.

“You'll see.” You looked over your shoulder when someone shouted your name a street away, and waved from the distance. You gave Joel one last pleading look, clasping your hands together. “Come to the Tipsy Bison at 9. Please? You can just sit in the corner but I'll feel so much better and safer with you there.”

Once Joel looked into your beautiful, pleading eyes, he was a goner. He never could deny you anything either way.

Even when he would kill for a chance to go on a real date with you.

“Okay,” he finally caved in. “Alrigh’. I'll be there.”

The overjoyed smile you gave him was almost enough to soothe the hollow pain in his chest.

Almost.

Great. Fucking great.

Joel made another turn around the street, trying to build up the courage to approach Tipsy Bison. The flannel shirt he wore was itching uncomfortably, but he was already half an hour late and there was no time to go back home and change.

He regretted ever setting foot in Jackson. It was a nightmare situation for him, having to spend the evening in a room full of loud, drunk people and watch as you go about your date with another man. Joel thought a dozen times about making up some excuse as to why he can't chaperone your date after all. He even went as far as to beg Tommy to accompany him, just that he wouldn’t have to suffer alone, but his younger brother just gave him a pitying look, saying something about spending time with Maria tonight. Joel could always cancel, lie that he can’t make it after all… but then he remembered how hopeful and thankful you looked, and all his resolve was wavering again. He couldn't ever say no to you, even though he desperately wanted to.

He looked at his broken watch, sighing at the hour. He delayed the inevitable long enough, so with heavy steps he approached the bar at last. You asked him to go through the back door, for whatever reason, and he was too tired at the time to point out there’s nothing back there except for the kitchen and storage rooms. Whatever. You probably were already in the main hall, with your date, and either you were angry at Joel for being late, or not thinking about him at all. He wasn’t sure which one would be worse.

Once he stepped over the threshold, he carefully closed the door behind him. The racket from the bar was muffled here, but from the nearest room he could hear someone muttering. Joel swallowed heavily and cleared his throat to alert whoever was on the other side of the wall.

“Joel?” he heard your voice before you appeared in the doorway. At the sight of him your shoulders dropped and with confusion he noted that you didn’t look angry or disappointed – you seemed relieved. “Goddammit, finally you’re here. You took your sweet time, huh?”

Before he could answer, you walked forward and took his sleeve, half-dragging him behind you. Words of protest bubbled on his tongue, but they all died quickly when Joel saw the room you emerged from.

The storage shelves were decorated with fairy lights and in the middle of the room stood a small table with two chairs opposite each other. The only other source of light were a couple of candles on the table and around the room. There was food on the table – probably cold by now – and a bottle of wine. But most importantly – there was no one else in the room except for Joel and you.

While he was looking around like an absolute fool, searching for an explanation for this situation, you cautiously closed the door and walked around the man, coming to a stop by the set table with your hands clasped in front of you.

“...Well?” you asked after an uncomfortably long silence, letting out a nervous laugh. “What do you think?”

Joel blinked, not sure if you were talking to him.

“Where's the guy?”

You threw him a confused look, but truly, it was the only thing Joel could think of. He glanced around the room again, as if his mysterious competition was going to jump up from behind one of the shelves, but there was no trace of anyone else here.

“Your… your date,” he clarified after a moment and cleared his throat once more. A spark of understanding flashed in your eyes and you pressed your lips together. “It's late. Is he… He didn't set you up, did he?”

“That depends,” you finally answered softly, keeping your wary but hopeful eyes on him. “Are you finally gonna sit down?”

A cog clicked into its place in Joel's mind and he turned his head, not sure if he had heard you right. You smiled nervously and motioned to the table.

“The food’s probably cold by now, but I can heat it up. It’s your own fault, though, since I asked you to be here forty minutes ago–”

“I don’t…”

He didn’t understand. Nothing made sense, but he had to make sure, “So there’s no… there’s no date?”

You were clearly nervous, judging by the way you were fidgeting with your hands, but you sent him a shy smile nonetheless. “I mean, you’re here…”

Joel didn’t answer – frankly, he didn’t know what to say. So many conflicted emotions were swirling in his chest, blocking his throat from squeezing out even a sound. It created almost a physical pain between his ribs, especially when your eyes were still on him, so hopeful and patient.

After another pregnant pause, you let out a quiet breath and took a step forward, throwing him a lifeline since he clearly must’ve looked like an idiot. “There’s no one else coming, if that’s what you’re asking. I made all of this for you – for… us, maybe. I just…” You half-shrugged, and only now Joel realized how nice you looked, wearing a dress he never before saw you in, “didn’t know how to tell you.”

Joel swept his gaze over the room once more – the dinner, the lights, your pretty dress… and you. And it was all for him, apparently.

“Why?” he breathed, the weight of his age almost making him collapse to his knees. He desperately wanted to say something more profound than one word at the time, but his voice was failing him. Thankfully, you were always kind enough to fill in the silence.

“Why did I lie to you or why did I drag you here of all places?” You rounded the table, eyeing the decorations with a proud smile. “Well–”

“No, darlin’, why…” He shook his head. Everything felt too unreal, too sudden. And he felt so tired. “Why me?”

That made you pause and you turned to him with a surprised look, like what he just said was the last thing you expected to hear.

“What do you mean, why you?” you huffed incredulously, leaning forward against the back of the chair, and though you tried to look casual, the nervousness in the tension of your body was apparent. “You’re just… I mean, it must be pretty clear that I really like you… And I thought you might have felt the same. You know, with all the ‘darling’s’ and looking at me, and stuff…”

Was it a dream? You always looked like you were out of a dream, but something about this moment… the fairy lights, your shy demeanor, the words he never thought he’d hear from you… Joel didn't know if he was still alive or maybe that's what the afterlife looked like.

“...You could say something,” you half-joked with a trace of worry in your voice, obviously growing uncomfortable at his lack of reaction. “You know, Tommy only let me have this place ‘til midnight before they come by to restock the bar. We can at least eat and talk a little, right?”

“Did Tommy put you up to this?” Joel asked bitterly, unable to stop himself at the mention of his brother’s name. He recalled the look Tommy gave him earlier today, his excuses as to why he can’t come with him... What other explanation could there be for such a gorgeous, young woman to be interested in Joel of all people, if it wasn’t just a product of his kin’s poor humor? However, he instantly regretted asking you this when your soft smile disappeared altogether, and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“You can just say if you don’t feel the same way,” you said dryly with an angry and hurt furrow on your brow. “No need to be a dick about it.”

You walked by him, apparently done with Joel’s accusations and grumpiness, but he quickly caught your arm before he could think better of it. You spun around, probably ready to tear into him, but he wouldn't hear a word either way – no while a vortex of doubts and questions raged in his mind. Joel didn’t know how or why you’d ever take interest in an old man like him, but he was now certain of two things.

One, you were telling the truth. For whatever reason, you really liked him – enough to plan and prepare a whole dinner date just for him.

And two, if Joel let you walk out now, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

You must’ve noticed the change on his face when his eyes flickered to your lips because you froze, the words of hurt and disappointment drying out on your tongue. Joel swallowed and wet his lips, looking for any sign of hesitation or regret on your face, but there was nothing in your eyes but pure, fragile anticipation. He delicately put his hand on the side of your face, the rough pad of his thumb brushing your cheek slowly. Your eyelashes fluttered closed and you let out a shaky breath, and that was all it took for Joel to lean down and press his lips to yours.

The kiss started delicate, but almost immediately turned into a fervent, hungry thing, which you ardently reciprocated. Joel wanted to take his time, to test the waters and build up the anticipation until you were ready to beg for him, but he didn’t expect just how fucking good kissing you would feel – and how eager you were for his touch. The smell of you, the feel of your hands on his chest and arms… it was driving him crazy with want, and without thinking twice, he spun you around and pinned your back against the edge of the table, making you whimper into his mouth.

“Goddammit, baby…” The term of endearment slipped out before he realized it, but judging by your reaction you didn’t mind at all. Your breath hitched, making him smirk to himself as he started to realize just how much power he held over you. It certainly shouldn’t excite him as much as it did. “Are you absolutely sure that’s what you want?”

“Joel, if you don’t stop questioning me…” you started, and although your words were firm, your voice leaned into a deliciously needy pitch, the kind of which he yearned to hear for far too long. Joel groaned into your mouth, moving down to press hot kisses against the line of your jaw and down your neck, greedily drinking in the noises you were making.

“Tell me, darlin’,” he asked in a low voice, experimentally running his palm up your thigh under the pretty dress you wore. The effect was immediate, and you pressed your body closer to him, seeking his touch the moment it left your skin. “I need to know if you really mean all this.”

“For fuck’s sake, Joel–” You made a surprised noise as he hoisted you up and onto the table, but it turned into another needy whimper when he knocked your knees apart and slotted himself between them with ease. You glanced behind you, worried that you'll push the silverware off the table, and Joel took this moment to resume the onslaught on your neck, kissing and sucking every inch of skin he could reach. You choke back a moan as his touch made a shiver run up your spine. “Joel, please…”

“I need to hear it, sweetheart,” he murmured lowly against your skin, slowing down to tease you when he felt your heartbeat quicken up beneath his lips. “Need to make sure you know what you're gettin’ into.”

“I do, I promise,” you assured him fervently while your hands went to the back of his head, fingers tangling into his gray locks. “You have no idea how many times I thought about this. I wanted you for so long, Joel, please…”

“Wanted you, too, darlin’.” He put one of his hands on the small of your back, pulling your lower half closer to the edge of the table so you could feel what you were doing to him. “God, every time you smiled at me it was all I could think about… So kind and beautiful, never thought you'd look twice my way.”

You didn't bother to answer this time, instead angling his head up to kiss him deeply again. The doubt and fear were still present in Joel's mind, but he honestly couldn't focus on them with you in front of him. You were so warm under his palms, so pliant and eager, a literal putty in his steady hands. He could never imagine how incredible it felt to be wanted by someone so much, but at the same time he knew he had to take his time. As much as he wanted to keep going, to make you see stars and sing his name, it was more than just lust with you.

So when you reached for the buttons of his shirt, he gently grabbed your wrists and moved them away, finally regaining his self-control. You whined disapprovingly, but the crease between your brows quickly disappeared when Joel kissed your fingers softly, not taking his eyes off you.

“Shh, sweetheart, don’t rush,” he cood, earning a small disappointed pout. He had to close his eyes, lest he caved in. Fuck, the sight of you before him – your pupils blown wide, lips swollen from his ministrations, your heavy breath and the dress bunched around your hips… Joel was sure you’d let him do anything to you right now. And God, he couldn’t wait. “Let me do this properly, yeah? Have a nice date with you, then maybe take you home if you don’t change your mind…”

“We can skip the dinner,” you quietly offered, your breath still uneven and cheeks flushed. He huffed a laugh with fondness and leaned in to plant a soft kiss on your forehead, his own breathing also slightly erratic.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured against your skin before taking your face in his hands. “Someone did say I’m a gentleman, no?”

You seemed to regret your previous choice of words, accentuating it with a disappointed whimper and a buck of your hips. Joel groaned and kissed you deeply again, almost able to taste all the impatience and desire on your tongue. Surprisingly, you didn’t fight him further and instead obediently slid off the table, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck to be as close to him as possible.

Joel was grateful for this moment of calm before even more excitement – and he didn’t mind spending it by watching you, standing so close and smiling up at him as brightly as the sun itself.

“You believe me now?” you asked teasingly, stifling your giggles when Joel rolled his eyes playfully. “Good. You will have to make it up to me, then.”

Worry crept back onto Joel’s face, but you were quick to calm him down with a tender kiss to his jaw, and then another one lower, on his pulse point. “You were late. If you got here on time, we could’ve been doing this at least half an hour longer.”

Joel chuckled and lifted your chin with his finger, before kissing you briefly one last time.

“Baby, let’s enjoy the dinner you prepared, first. After that, I swear I’ll make it up to you in however many ways you want.”

Judging by your smile, you didn’t seem to mind at all.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller x y/n #tlou hbo #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #grumpy x sunshine #the last of us fic #joel miller x you

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buckyalpine · 4 months ago

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I will elaborate on this but imagine MobBucky has to kidnap you for whatever reason, ransom, to send a message, insert your preference here and he has you tied up in some room of his house. It’s all fine until he hears the scraping of the chair moving against the floor so he, Steve and Sam go over to make sure you’re not trying to escape.

He the closer he gets, the louder the scraping is, he bursts through the door.

“You better not try to lea-what-what the hell are you doing-

You momentarily stop your scooting to look and him and then back at your destination, only to start all over again. You were so close, you didn’t care if your hands were bound, you’d find a way-

“What’s she doing in there” Steve questioned, seeing Bucky run an exasperated hand over his face.

“She’s trying to pet the cat”

“What?”

Bucky stared at you as you finally reached where his very white, very spoiled fur baby was perched. He was so sure she’d try and swat at you, at the very least hiss, after all, she was as picky and grumpy as her daddy-

“Merp” she hopped down to nuzzle against your leg, bumping her head against you with a happy purr. “Meow-

“Alright, that’s enough, Alpine get over here”

The sassy feline gave him a hard stare before reluctantly pulling away and sauntering over, batting his leg before trotting off. He was supposed to be the leader of his gang and meanwhile his hostage was trying to pet his cat who just scolded him after being told to leave.

“Well thanks for that” You gave him an annoyed huff, obnoxiously scooting back to where the chair originally was.

“Brat” Bucky mumbled his breath, biting back the smile that almost made its way to his face.

Almost.

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mugglebornmarvelite · 5 months ago

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Game Night

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: Steve’s mandatory game night takes a turn when you and Bucky are paired up.

Word Count: Roughly 1.4k

Warnings: Fluff, banter, friendly competition, implied threats, destroying property (Bucky and Sam), romantic tension everyone can feel, and some overprotective Bucky because that man does not play about his sunshine.

Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay; I was helping my friend with a research project. Ugh, it feels choppy, but I hope this is to your liking, babes ;)

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics

The living room buzzed with energy as the Avengers tried to recover from the chaos of their most recent mission; the munching of chips and clinking of drinks in glasses filled the space.

Peter and you were talking animatedly about the mission, with Peter recounting how he flipped mid-air, webbing a bad guy to a nearby wall.

“I mean, I swear, the guy didn’t see it coming. I was way higher up than I thought, and then BAM!” Peter dramatically mimicked the motion with his arms, sending you into fits of laughter.

“It’s honestly kind of unfair that you can just flip your way out of everything, Pete,” you teased, elbowing him.

He shrugged, all smugness. “I mean, someone’s gotta make the web-swinging look good, right?”

Before you could reply, Steve stood up from his spot, clapping his hands for attention. “Alright, team! Time for some mandatory bonding!”

A chorus of groans erupted from the group, each one from someone hoping to escape Steve’s relentless enthusiasm for ‘team-building’ nights.

“Tonight is Charades.” Steve declared.

That’s when Steve decided to assign the partners. He glanced around the room with a twinkle in his eye and paired you with Bucky, clearly anticipating the fun to come.

You gave Bucky your signature puppy dog eyes, and he looked away with a scowl as he crossed his arms over his chest, not wanting to give in and show that he was happy to be partnered with you.

“Oh, great,” Bucky muttered, rolling his eyes. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

You didn’t let his grumpiness throw you off. “Bucky, come on!” you said, plopping beside him on the couch. “We’ve got this! We’re unstoppable!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow and shot you a skeptical look. “Sure, sure. We’ll see about that.”

He didn’t seem convinced, and as Sam overheard, he couldn’t resist adding his two cents.

"Oh, this is gonna be easy," Sam declared loudly, rolling his eyes. "Grumpy Barnes can’t even smile, let alone act."

"You’re gonna regret that," Bucky shot back, his tone thick with warning.

His words weren’t loud, but they were laced with enough warning that Sam quickly leaned back into his seat, hands raised in mock surrender.

"Okay, okay, I get it," Sam laughed, but you caught the wariness in his eyes. "But not holding my breath, this will be easy."

Then, leaning in toward you, he whispered, “If we lose to that clown, I’m never letting it go.”

You gave him an exaggerated look of disbelief, pretending to be shocked. "Who knew you cared so much about winning?"

Bucky’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk. "Don’t mess this up," he teased.

You winked at him. “You’re with me. How could we lose?”

As the game started, it quickly became clear that Bucky treated charades less like a fun group activity and more like a tactical mission. His intense focus was almost comical, but you fell into an unspoken rhythm.

When it was your turn to act, Bucky’s sharp eyes locked onto you, and after a few gestures, he almost always guessed your clues. When it was his turn, he leaned into the ridiculousness of it all, whether miming a gorilla or pretending to be a ballerina, just to keep your laughter ringing through the room.

By the end of the game, the scoreboard showed a landslide victory in your favor. Bucky allowed himself a small, smug grin as you squealed in delight and launched yourself into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“We’re the dream team!” you exclaimed, giggling as you clung to him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, though his grip on you was secure, his metal arm effortlessly supporting you. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Much to everyone's amusement, he carried you back to the couch, where he promptly plopped you into his lap. “You’re comfy,” you declared with a grin, making yourself home.

Sam, clearly displeased, waved a hand in your direction. “This has to be rigged. There’s no way those two didn’t cheat.”

Natasha snorted, leaning back in her chair. “They didn’t cheat, Wilson. They’re just disgustingly in sync.”

Sam grabbed a pillow and chucked it at you. “Sync this!”

The pillow hit you square in the face, and you burst out laughing, holding it in your lap. “It’s just a pillow!”

But Bucky didn’t see it that way. His gaze turned sharp as he caught the second pillow Sam threw mid-air. “If you throw another one at her...”

Sam, of course, took that as a challenge. “What are you gonna do, Barnes?” he quipped, hurling another pillow that you easily dodged.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll give you a five-second head start.”

Sam’s smirk faltered. “Wait, what?”

Without a word, Bucky carefully brushed your hair out of your face, placed you gently on the couch, and stood up. The room went silent as he walked purposefully toward the hallway.

“What’s he doing?” you asked, looking to Steve for answers.

Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, hiding a smile. “He’s going to smash Redwing.”

Sam’s eyes widened in panic.

“Barnes, you touch Redwing, I swear-” He bolted after Bucky, and the two disappeared down the hall.

Moments later, a loud crash echoed through the compound, followed by Sam’s yelling and Bucky’s retorts.

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head as she leaned back on the couch. “This happens all the time.”

You glanced between her and Steve, bewildered. “Doesn’t anyone stop them?”

Steve shrugged. “Nope. They’ll tire themselves out eventually.”

From a distance, the team could hear the muffled sounds of Bucky and Sam bickering echoing through the compound.

“Touch Redwing, and you’re paying for a whole new one!” Sam’s voice was laced with fear.

“Oh, don’t worry, Wilson,” Bucky shot back, his tone mockingly calm. “I’ll make sure to recycle the pieces. I hear it’s good for the environment.”

A loud thud followed as if Bucky had knocked something over or thrown something against the wall.

“Man, what is your problem?” Sam hollered. “You act like I threw a brick at her!”

“You hit her in the face!” Bucky retorted.

“It was a pillow!” Sam defended himself. “It probably felt like a marshmallow.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky countered. “You don’t throw things at her. Ever.”

Back in the living room, you stifled a laugh as Natasha shook her head in amused disbelief. “It’s always like this,” she said, smirking. “I don’t know why Sam keeps testing him.”

Steve folded his arms, looking like the exasperated dad of the group. “Because Sam likes pushing buttons. And Bucky…well, Bucky only has so much patience.”

Another crash echoed from down the hallway, followed by Sam’s yell. “Oh, come on! That wasn’t even Redwing! That was my lamp!”

“You’ve got terrible taste in decor, Wilson,” Bucky said, completely unfazed.

“YOU OWE ME A NEW LAMP!” Sam shouted.

“I did you a favor.” Bucky said dryly. “So say ‘thank you,’ it's polite.”

You couldn’t hold back your giggles any longer. “Should we...I don’t know, step in?” you asked, looking at Steve.

Steve shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Nah. Let them hash it out. Bucky’s not actually going to break Redwing. Probably.”

“Probably?” Natasha echoed. “You’re really putting a lot of faith in him.”

From the hallway, Sam yelled again. “THAT’S IT, BARNES. YOU AND ME. SPARRING MATCH TOMORROW.”

“Fine,” Bucky fired back. “But don’t be mad when I wipe the floor with you, bird brain.”

Natasha leaned over to you, her voice low. “You know he’s only this protective because it’s you, right? He doesn’t care this much when we get hit with stuff.”

You blushed, glancing down at your hands. “He’s just…looking out for me. Like a guardian.”

Natasha snorted. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

Steve smiled knowingly but didn’t say anything.

The sounds of Sam and Bucky’s argument gradually faded as they came back.

Sam was glaring, his hair disheveled, and he muttered under his breath about never forgiving Bucky.

Bucky, on the other hand, was smug, like he had just won a personal victory.

Sam threw himself back down on the couch, muttering something about "not talking to Barnes for the rest of the week," to which Bucky gave a half-hearted shrug.

He sat down beside you, his arm casually draped across the back of the couch. His eyes flicked down to you, and without a word, he reached out to brush his knuckles lightly over your knee.

“You okay, sunshine?” he asked quietly, only for you to hear.

You smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Bucky’s lips quirked upward, just slightly. “Good,” he said softly. “No one messes with you. Not even Sam.”

The others shared amused looks, but neither of you paid them any mind. Bucky’s protective side made your heart flutter in a way you didn’t quite understand, and you sank further into the couch, curling into his side.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp

If you'd like to be added to my taglist or just ask me, and I'll update it!

Much love x

- Maeve

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vanteguccir · 1 year ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤYOU MAKE LOVING FUN * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where the sun inside Matt fell in love with the moon inside Y/N; OR, 4 moments between sunshine Matt and grumpy Y/N.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　mentions of blood and pain.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Y/N has always been known for her serious expression and sarcastic humor. She had a cynical view of the world and seemed to find fault with almost everything around her. On the other hand, Matt was the complete opposite. His smile was like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day, brightening up any room with his contagious positivity. It was as if he was determined to find the good in everything, no matter how dark it was.

The two were in the same class together at Boston high school, part of the same group of friends, which meant they did a lot of group work together, and it was precisely there where their contrasting personalities often collided. Y/N was meticulous and perfectionist in her work, while Matt preferred to approach topics with a more relaxed and laid-back attitude. This often put them at odds, but it also created an interesting dynamic.

One afternoon, during a school work meeting at the triplets' house, Y/N was particularly grumpy. She had faced a series of setbacks in her home and was on the verge of exploding. Matt, as always, tried to cheer her up with his light humor and unwavering optimism.

"You should relax a little." Matt murmured with a smile as his right hand worked quickly with his computer mouse, putting together the perfect slide for the presentation that would take place the next day, using Nick and Alahna's notes and research. "Not everything has to be so serious all the time."

Y/N rolled her eyes from her spot on the edge of Matt's bed, pushing the notebook that rested on her thighs roughly, feeling frustrated with his persistent attempt to lift her spirits. She knew he was just trying to help, but at that moment, all she wanted was some peace and quiet.

However, something inside her changed when she lifted her gaze to Matt's smiling face, who was still holding the mouse as he watched her from the corner of his eye. In that moment, the girl saw beyond the surface, beyond the facade of constant happiness. She saw the genuine kindness in his eyes, the compassion in his smile. And for the first time, something inside her crumbled, breaking the wall that had held firm for so many years.

A small smile began to form on Y/N's lips, almost imperceptible, but still present. It was a smile that lit up her entire face in a way never seen before and made her eyes shine with an inner light that had long been dormant.

Matt was surprised to see Y/N smiling, abandoning his task instantly and turning his face completely towards her, trying to make sure he was actually seeing that. It was as if he had witnessed something sacred, something few were lucky enough to see - maybe only him. The brunette was speechless, simply admiring the sight before him.

"What?" Y/N asked, noticing the look of shock on Matt's face, her smile fading almost automatically, giving way to her usual frown.

"It's just…" Matt began, struggling to find the right words. "It's the first time I've seen you actually smiling. And it's so pretty."

Y/N felt shy by the compliment but also inexplicably happy. She had never realized how her smile could affect someone so deeply, especially someone like Matt, who radiated joy wherever he went.

"You should smile more-"

"Shut up."

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The night was calm when Matt returned from his hockey practice, but the mood inside the triplets' house was far from peaceful. He walked through his bedroom door with his shoulders hunched and his face pale, showing the anguish that consumed him inside and out.

Y/N, who was sitting on his bed reading a book while she waited for him - a habit created between them, and which his parents and brothers adored - looked up when hearing the door open. Upon seeing Matt, she immediately noticed something was wrong. Her heart sank while witnessing the boy's low stance.

"Matt? Hey, what happened?" She asked, setting the book aside and quickly standing up from her previous seat, walking towards him with a frown decorating her face.

Matt didn't respond right away. Instead, he broke down when his ears finally heard the voice he had waited for so many hours, tears flowing freely down his face. He was shaking, struggling to control his emotions as the weight of his feelings enveloped him like a dense fog.

"Hey pretty boy, breathe." Y/N ordered, pulling him into an awkward but loving hug. "It's okay. Just breathe."

Matt sniffed, trying to regain control of himself. He took a few deep breaths, following her instructions, before finally finding the voice to speak.

"It was at hockey practice." The brunette began, his voice wavering with crying and raw emotions. "One of the guys on the team... he said some horrible things to me about my performance, and I-" A sob interrupted his speech, his blue eyes closing tightly in an attempt to hold in the ugly sounds.

Y/N slowly pulled away, snaking her right hand from his bicep to his head, cupping his cheek gently, looking at his face for the first time that afternoon, her movements stopping suddenly.

The girl felt a wave of anger bubbling up inside her as she saw her boyfriend's face swollen and stained with blood in strategic spots, clearly having been punched by someone else. She clenched her left fist tightly, causing her fingers to take in a pale hue, her eyes flashing with contained fury as her chest tightened with the anguish she felt emanating from Matt's body.

"Who was it?" Y/N's firm and determined voice echoed through the room like thunder as her right hand gently turned his face from side to side, her hard eyes running over his injured skin. "Who said those things to you? No, even better. Who did this to you? I'll finish him off, I swear."

Matt's eyes widened instantly, surprised by her reaction. He knew Y/N could be tough when needed - all the time - but seeing her so determined to protect him left him speechless.

His cheeks took on a reddish hue, disguised by the blood and redness caused by crying, his lips pressed together in an attempt to contain a smile while his heart accelerated involuntarily, a small wince escaping his throat with the movement of his mouth.

"I'm fine, baby-"

"You're not, and after I'm done with whoever did this to you, he won't be fine either." Y/N interrupted him rudely, raising her eyebrows in an act of confrontation, as if she was confronting him to continue the lie.

"It's okay, sunshine. Just let it go. Please?" Matt's warm tongue escaped his lips, wetting them, while his blue eyes seemed to beg her to forget about the guy and focus on himself.

"Alright." The girl let out a loud, angry sigh, rolling her eyes as she stroked his blood-stained cheek gently. "Come on, let's take care of this."

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The restaurant was busy that night, with lively conversation and laughter echoing off the walls. Y/N was sitting at a table next to Matt and his brothers, trying to enjoy the meal despite the crowd around them. However, her already dark mood was about to deepen even further.

As Y/N cut into her steak with an air of concentration, she noticed a man at the next table out of the corner of her eyes. He looked arrogant, a smug smile playing on his lips as he said horrible things about a girl to his table-mates. But it was when he looked in Y/N's direction that she felt a chill run down her spine.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Y/N felt a wave of discomfort spread through her. She couldn't explain why, but something about that guy made her nervous, his arrogant and sexist comments causing her body to scream, almost begging for her to do something.

Matt noticed the subtle change in Y/N's expression and followed her gaze to the next table, running his blue eyes over the unknown man's figure. He frowned, confused by the sudden intensity of Y/N's gaze, practically feeling her fury emanating from her body.

"What's wrong, beautiful?" Matt asked in an almost imperceptible whisper, leaning towards her and bringing his mouth closer to her ear, keeping his eyes on the table next to them. "Why don't we like him?"

Y/N blinked, surprised by Matt's direct question. She turned her head towards him slowly, frowning and running her eyes over his curious and playful expression, their noses almost touching with their proximity.

"You're so annoying, do you know that?" The girl asked in a cynical tone, raising her right eyebrow as she assessed him with her eyes.

"But you still love me." Matt replied quickly, as if he already had the answer on the tip of his tongue. A smirk grew on his lips as he draped his right arm over the back of the wooden chair his girlfriend sat on, caressing the skin of her exposed shoulder with his fingertips gently.

"Doesn't make you less annoying."

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Y/N was busy in the kitchen of the large room in her house that she shared with the triplets, preparing a special meal to welcome the boys' parents, Jimmy and Mary Lou, who were about to arrive for a visit in Los Angeles. She was determined to impress them with her cooking skills and make the couple's first day in the bustling city worth it.

While stirring a pan of sauce, Y/N heard footsteps approaching and soon Matt's figure left the small hall that led to their room and entered the kitchen with a beaming smile on his face, his feet taking him closer to his girl almost automatically.

"Hi sunshine, need help?" He asked, stepping forward to grab an apron and approach the stove, his blue eyes darting over all the ingredients laid out as his brain tried to process what she was making.

Y/N looked up at him, her face hardened with concentration as her right hand never stopped moving the spoon.

"No, thank you." The girl responded quickly, shaking her head and returning her gaze to the sauce below her. "I can do this on my own."

Matt frowned, ignoring her answer and rescuing a steak knife from the cutlery drawer, extending his free hand towards the still raw meat, ready to cut it into ideal sizes.

"Matt, I said I can do it myself." Y/N repeated slowly, as if she were speaking to a child, casting a furtive glance at him from the corner of her eye.

"I know you can, petal." The boy murmured softly, putting down the knife and raising his now free hand towards his girl, lightly pressing his warm palm against her still arm, caressing her skin. "But I want to be here with you to help in some way. It doesn't have to be everything or nothing."

Y/N sighed, feeling a little guilty about her own reaction. She didn't want to push Matt away, especially when he was just trying to be caring and helpful.

"Okay... I'm sorry." Her apology escaped in a barely there whisper, her teeth catching her bottom lip in a firm grip.

"What are we having for dinner today?" Chris's loud and excited voice echoed through the living room and kitchen as the boy climbed the stairs that led him from his room, interrupting the moment between the couple, eliciting a laugh from Matt and an eye roll from Y/N.

"None of your business."

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