#sunshine one and grumpy one

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The Sunshine One and the Grumpy One No. 2, ehm, Maggie and Nina :D ❤

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Never Been Kissed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: You've never been one to kiss and tell.

A.N. - This one is for all my The Prophecy Girlies... also known as the most self indulgent thing I've ever written.

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

"Come on," Sam coaxes. "Tell us or take a drink."

You swipe up the shot set before you, downing it without so much as a wince. You cross your arms, keeping your chin defiantly raised as you settle further into the couch, "I'm not telling you anything."

“Boo,” Sam playfully heckles, his drink sloshing in his hand. “Come on, it’s not that big a deal. Just tell us.”

“Absolutely not, I already took the damn drink.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow, refusing to back down, “Unless it was someone here?”

“Oh my God.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Sam, I did not hook up with anyone in this room.”

“Yes!” Sam teases. “That explains everything! That’s why you drank!”

“Or maybe I just don’t kiss and tell.”

“You’ve been drinking all night. And there’s only one reason you won’t tell us anything - because it’s someone in this very room!”

“Settle down, Sherlock,” Bucky cajoles.

You swipe the glass from Sam's loose grip, “You’re drunk, Sam.”

Sam boops your nose, swiping the glass back, “I’m not the one that’s been drinking for every question.”

“And yet, I'm still not nearly as drunk as you are," you shoot back, setting your drink on the table. You pat Bucky's shoulder, standing up from the couch, "And now, I’m going to bed. Goodnight, children.”

“Come on,” Sam drunkenly whines. “Don’t be a sore loser!”

“I have a debrief first thing, and I’m the only one of you assholes that won’t need to be carried to my room.”

Sam shouts after you, “Boo!”

Not a moment later, you feel a warm hand tap your shoulder, “Hey, wait up! I’ll walk you up.”

“Oh, sure.”

As you walk together, Bucky leans in conspiratorially, “So… now that it’s just us… Who was it?”

You groan, “Not you too.”

“Come on! It’s me! You can tell me!” Bucky cajoles.

“It’s none of your business.”

"I’m not asking for details. I just wanna know."

"You’re pushy when you’ve been drinking that Asgardian stuff, you know that?"

"Come on. It really can't be that bad. I probably don't even know the guy... unless I do?"

You hold his gaze for a moment, silently pleading with him to just drop it, "Bucky... enough."

"Was it Sam? Steve? Come on, I won't judge you if it was."

"Bucky, stop."

"Come on, just tell me!"

"No! Now drop it!" you snap.

Bucky freezes, his eyes widening, "I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

You start to storm off, tossing a sharp retort over your shoulder, "Maybe not to you."

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry." He jogs after you, resting his warm, gentle hand on your forearm to stop you, "Really. You don't have to tell me. I was just being a dick. You’re right, it’s none of my business."

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the guilt pooling in the pit of your stomach for yelling at Bucky. "I can't tell you."

His brows furrow, "What?"

This was it. This was when everyone found out your deep, dark, embarrassing secret. You take another deep breath, bracing yourself for Bucky’s laughter and ridicule, "I can't tell you... because it hasn't happened yet."

His worry and confusion only compounds. His neck cranes slightly, almost like he believes his super solider hearing failing him is more plausible than your complete and total inexperience, "What?"

You take another massive breath, your cheeks heating, "I've never - it never happened for me."

“Huh?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

"Wait, wait, but earlier - earlier Natasha asked you about your first time. You said - you said it happened later than people might think."

You couldn’t believe he really wasn’t getting it. It was something you had come to accept about yourself. There was just something fundamentally wrong with you. Something not quite right. Something unloveable - at least in the romantic sense.

Shame heats your face, and you have to clench your fists in some hopeless attempt to keep it together in front of Bucky.

You try to shrug as casually as you can, "It's not technically a lie. Most people don't think someone can make it this long without your first kiss happening."

“Wait, wait.” If he was struggling to understand before, this may have just broken him. “You haven’t had your first kiss?”

You swallow the knot in your throat, hoping the word doesn’t sound as strangled as it feels, “No.”

Your shoulders sharply rise with a forced intake of breath as you wait for it. You wait for the litany of platitudes. The halfhearted consolations and excuses.

While you’d never told anyone about this missed rite of passage, you had mistakenly confided in a select few. You never said too much. Never said that you hadn’t ever been kissed. You usually offered something offhanded about not really dating much.

They didn’t need to know just how deep your inexperience ran. It didn’t matter anyway. The response was always the same. Some surface level words of comfort or dismissal.

You could practically hear the words falling from Bucky’s lips.

'It'll happen when you least expect it.'

'You just have to stop looking.'

'Put yourself out there.'

'You should lower your standards.'

'You're not missing out on much.'

The words you know all too well never come.

He chews on his bottom lip, his own mental turmoil as clear as day on his face. He didn’t know what to say and that was clear. He opens his mouth and your brace yourself for impact.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

You freeze, a little shocked by his response. “Don’t be.”

“No, no, I was being a dick and pushing you to talk about something you’re not comfortable with. I should understand that better than anyone else here.”

“I just - I don’t really tell people. It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?”

“Yeah, Bucky,” you scoff, a little too defensive. “It’s a little embarrassing. I’m a grown ass woman that’s never been kissed. I’m a grown woman that no one’s ever show the least bit of interest in.”

His hands stop mid air, “I’m sorry, what?”

“What?”

He quirks an incredulous brow, “No one’s shown interest?”

“No…”

His entire head twists with disbelief, “No one? Really?”

“I’ve never even been asked on a date before,” you confess.

“What?”

“Will you quit saying that?”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just a little hard to believe.”

You can't help but roll your eyes, “Why is that hard to believe?”

“Because it’s you! Look at you! Someone must’ve shown interest at some point.”

You try to shrug it off again, desperately hoping that Bucky doesn’t see how much this actually does hurt, “No. It’s always just been me.”

“Not even like a schoolyard crush or something?”

“Well, I had crushes, sure. That doesn’t mean that anyone had them on me.” Bucky’s face remains frozen in that confused, disbelieving grimace for a beat too long after you’ve finished speaking that you feel desperate to paper over the emotional cracks. It’s fine. That’s what you’ve told yourself your entire life, and that’s exactly what you’ll tell him, “Listen, I’m fine with it now. I’ve come to terms with it. I’m content. Maybe romance just isn’t in-“

“Can I kiss you?”

Now, it was your turn to look confused and taken aback, “What?”

“Can I?” he offers again, his eyes flicker to your lips so quickly you can’t be sure you didn’t just imagine it. “Kiss you?”

You immediately begin to backtrack, taking a half step back to put some distance between the two that seems to shrink with every passing moment, “Bucky, you really don’t have to do that.”

“What if I want to?”

Your eyebrows pull together in disbelief. “Do you?”

“Yes.” His answer is so immediate and reflexive it’s hard not to believe him. “I want to. Please.”

His whispered ‘please’ is your undoing. You nod ever so slightly, your voice nothing but a choked whisper, “I won’t be good at it.”

“I don’t believe that.” At this point, he’s staring at your lips more than anything else. His flesh hand raises to your cheek, softly cupping it. “Just relax.”

Your breathing comes faster as his breath dances across your cheeks, “Bucky…”

“I want you to remember this.” You’re not sure he meant to say that out loud, but the words sent a pleasantly unfamiliar shudder down your spine.

And without another word, his lips gently brush yours. For a long moment, you just stand there, not moving an inch. Until your hand moves of its own accord to rest on his chest. It slowly trails up his shoulder and down to the nape of his neck. Your mouth hesitantly moves against his, slowly becoming more relaxed with each little breathy sound he pulls from you.

It feels like forever and a split second all at once. Especially when he slowly drags his lips away from yours. As he pulls away, he licks his lips like he’s savoring the taste of you while it still lingers on his lips.

He rest his head against yours for a long moment. His lips are puffy and glistening under the low light of the Compound hallway, “There. Now, you’ve been kissed.”

AnonymityIsFun MasterlistBucky Barnes Masterlist

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[emsromanoff]

Lazy mornings | N.R

Summary: A typical morning between your girlfriend, who is hard to get out of bed and you, being the morning person.

Warnings: none, just fluff, grumpy x sunshine trope

Pairings: Natasha romanoff x reader

Word count: 1k

The sun had barely cleared the tops of the buildings outside when you stirred. The light was already beginning to peek through the half-open blinds, casting soft stripes across the room. You blinked sleep from your eyes, stretching slowly before rolling onto your side to face her. Natasha was still asleep, face half-buried in the pillow, red hair a mess across her back. She looked peaceful, which was incredible rare. You smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist, snuggling closer to her, chest pressed against her back. You stayed still, taking the scent of your girlfriend and tracing mindless patterns on her skin. You decided then to wake her up. You brushed a hair strand out of her face and whispered.

“Natty wake up. It’s morning.”

She didn’t move. You smiled a little.

Of course not.

So you tried again — this time brushing your lips lightly along the bare skin of her shoulder.

Natasha made a low sound of protest, something between a groan and a growl. She burrowed deeper into the pillow. “M’sleeping.”

“Time to wake up, sleeping beauty.”

Natashas eyes stay closed and she pulls the blanket over her head, trying to hold onto the last bit of sleep. “Thats the worst nickname you gave me this week.”

You laughed softly, nose scrunching as you moved closer, slipping your arm further around her waist. Her skin was warm under your touch, the kind of warmth that made it hard to leave the bed, but you weren’t interested in leaving. Not yet.

“Don’t blame me,” you murmured, lips brushing her shoulder again. “You’re the one who looks all soft and fairytale-ish when you sleep.”

A muffled groan came from under the blanket. “I kill people for a living.”

“And yet here you are, hiding under a blanket like a grumpy kitten.”

She didn’t answer, but you could tell she was smiling. Barely. Just a twitch at the corner of her mouth. That was the thing with Natasha. she didn’t give much away, but when you knew her like this, you didn’t need much to know everything.

You let your hand drift up her side, slow and light, tracing the slope of her waist to the curve of her ribs. “I will make coffee,” you whispered, kissing just below her ear.

No response.

“With cinnamon.”

Still no reaction.

“And I’m not wearing anything under this shirt.”

There was a pause, and then the blanket shifted. Her head emerged slowly from beneath the covers, red hair tousled, eyes heavy with sleep but fixed on you now. She blinked at you, half-dazed but clearly amused, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Her eyes drifted over your face, down to where the oversized shirt clung to your frame - just barely covering anything - and to the panties peeking out from beneath the blanket.

“You’re trouble,” she murmured, voice still gravelly with sleep, eyes darkened by something far more awake.

You grinned at reaction. “The kind you like.”

Natasha didn’t argue. Instead she reached out, fingers cool against your bare thigh as she pulled you closer. Your body temperature always differed. Cold and warm hands. Almost like a reflection of your opposite personalities. But somehow, you balanced each other out.

You went willingly, sliding one leg between hers as your bodies pressed together again, chest to chest.

Her hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, resting on your hip, thumb stroking slow circles against your skin. “What time is it?”

“Still early,” you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against hers — soft, barely there. “No reason to rush.”

She hummed in agreement, tilting her head to catch your mouth in a proper kiss. It was lazy, warm, and deep. the kind that tasted like safety and morning breath and domestically. She kissed you like she wasn’t in a hurry. Like the only thing in the world worth focusing on was you.

Your fingers tangled in her hair, gently pulling her closer as your lips moved in sync, slow and teasing. She kissed you again, then again — less sleepy now, more present. Her hand moved up your back under your shirt, fingertips tracing your spine.

She pulled back just enough to press kisses to your jaw, your cheek, the hollow just below your ear. “You always smell like vanilla in the morning,” she muttered, her voice barely above a breath.

You smiled against her mouth. “That’s just my shampoo.”

She chuckled softly, low and rough, then leaned down to kiss along your collarbone. Her lips were warm, soft, and unhurried like she had all morning to worship every inch of your skin. You hummed softly, the feeling of her hands under your shirt and lips on your skin made it hard to imagine ever wanting to leave the bed.

You let her stay there, pressed beneath you, head resting on the pillow, red hair spread across the sheets like something out of a painting. She looked up at you with barely-there amusement.

“You’re unusually cheerful for this hour,” she murmured, voice raspy and thick with sleep.

“I’m always cheerful,” you whispered back, brushing your fingers through the ends of her hair.

A low chuckle escaped Natashas throat. “Right.”

“You’re staying home today, right?” you asked quietly.

Her hand moved to your cheek, thumb stroking gently. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” You kissed her again, lips brushing hers like a promise. “Because I want to spend the whole day doing nothing with you.”

Her lips curved into a small smile against yours. “That sounds… tolerable.”

You laughed, the sound soft and full of affection. “You’re such a romantic.”

“I’m trying,” she whispered.

And she was. In her own quiet, grumpy way — wrapped around you, holding you close, kissing you like she finally knew what it meant to stay.

[gleafer]

Everyone, Gabby.

Gabby, everyone.

Meet my new favorite person-shaped being, the archangel f*cking Gabby!

[cadillacjohnf1]

literally Sebmark summarised:

[mid-knight-black]

Corporate needs you to find the difference between these two photos 🤓

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

i love gay marriage

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

#Lucy Chen #1 Bug/Animal Defender 

[barnesonly]

grumpy bucky x sunshine reader? angst with smutty ending?

this is going to be my first smut on here, kinda nervous 🙈 i’m not sure If this is angsty enough, let me know xx

─ ⊹ ⊱ Touch-Starved ⊰ ⊹ ─

grumpy!bucky x sunshine!reader

tropes: post-mission, rainy night, one-bed situation (obviously…), annoyingly cheerful reader who just wants Bucky to relax.

word count: 711

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, fingering, PIV, rough sex, unprotected sex.

You were soaked, bruised, and exhausted — but somehow still smiling.

Bucky, on the other hand, looked like a storm cloud with legs as he slammed the motel room door shut behind you.

“Goddamn mission…” he muttered, pulling off his jacket and tossing it with a wet slap. “Should’ve left you in the van.” You watched him carefully. He was like a ticking bomb who was just about to explode. A very sexy ticking bomb.

“Rude.” you said cheerfully, peeling off your own soaked shirt. “I saved your ass back there.”

He shot you a glare as he wrung out his hair over the bathroom sink. “You also disobeyed direct orders.”

“I improvised.” You flopped onto the bed — the only bed — grinning. “You’re welcome.”

“Don’t push me tonight, doll.”

That was new. The pet name. You filed it away for later.

Instead, you watched him from where you laid on the bed, head propped on your elbow. His red henley wet from the rain only made his muscular form pop out even more. Not that you were complaining. “You know what your problem is, Barnes?”

“Please enlighten me…” He deadpanned.

“You’re touch-starved and pissed about it.”

He froze, knuckles white on the sink.

“I’m what?”

“You heard me. You’re all clenched jaw and scowls because no one’s touched you like you deserve in years.” You stretched, letting your towel slip just enough to expose your shoulder. “Bet you’d fall apart if someone kissed you soft.”

He turned slowly, eyes locked on yours, dark and dangerous. “Keep talking like that and you’re not gonna like what happens next.” You could feel his gaze scanning you, taking in the sight of you only in your bra and soaked from the rain jeans.

You smiled sweetly and wrapped the towel around your chest, covering yourself teasingly. „Oh, I think I would.”

You didn’t have to repeat yourself.

One second he was across the room — the next, he was on you. Your back hit the mattress, a gasp caught in your throat as Bucky loomed over you — wild-eyed, hair falling into his face, chest heaving, towel falling off your body as his mouth crashed against yours. His dog tags brushed your bare skin, cold metal trailing heat in their wake. His hands were everywhere — one pinning your wrists above your head, the other sliding down to grip your thigh and yank it over his hip.

“You want soft?” he growled against your mouth. “I’ll give you soft. Right before I fuck you hard enough to forget your own name.”

You gasped, breathless, heart racing.

“Do it.” You whispered.

He chuckled — low, dark, dangerous.

He shoved your jeans and underwear down and spread your legs with a firm grip, cool vibranium fingers digging into your thigh while his flesh hand slid between your folds.

“So wet…” He muttered, almost in disbelief. “You want this that bad?”

You nodded, your hips arched up into his touch, chasing his fingers.

He shook his head and chuckled darkly.

„I need you to be more vocal, doll.”

„I want this… Please…” You sounded almost pathetic.

His breath hissed out through his teeth as he sank two fingers inside you, curling them just right — and when your head tipped back with a moan, his mouth was on your chest, sucking a bruise just above your heart.

“You feel like fucking heaven.”’ He groaned, working his fingers in and out of you, rough and perfect. “Gonna stretch you out before I ruin you.”

“Bucky—” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulder, but he was already tugging his pants down, eyes dark with need. When he finally lined himself up, thick and hard and aching, you both stilled.

“Last chance.” He rasped, voice breaking. “Say stop and I’ll walk away.”

You pulled him down and whispered against his lips, “Shut up and fuck me, Barnes.”

He sank into you with a growl that was half-curse, half-worship — slowly at first, inch by inch, until he bottomed out with a deep, guttural moan.

“Fuck.” he hissed, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel so good, doll…”

He started to move — hard, deep thrusts that had your legs shaking around his waist, hands fisting in the sheets. One of his hands slipped under your ass to pull you closer, the other tangling in your hair to hold your mouth to his.

“You take me so good,” he grunted, sweat dripping down his chest. “Fucking made for me.”

You were barely coherent, gasping his name, your body a livewire.

„P…Please…” You cried out.

He kissed your jawline, smirking against it as he heard your plea. He pulled away slightly, just enough to look into your dazed eyes.

„You wanna cum for me, doll?”

You nodded quickly, desperately. Your mind too dizzy to form a coherent sentence —not even a single word.

„Say it.” He demanded.

„I… I wanna- Please…” You managed to say through moans, your body arching.

Bucky grabbed your legs, putting them on his shoulders, adjusting the position, allowing him thrust deeper into you — just how you needed it. You felt your body tensing, ecstasy taking over you.

And when you came — stars bursting behind your eyes — he followed you over the edge with a growl, spilling inside you as he buried his face in your neck, trembling.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing, tangled together like there was no space left between you.

Then he kissed your forehead. Gently. Almost shy.

“You’re so annoying sometimes…” He murmured.

You smiled, boneless beneath him.

„I love you too.” You whispered.

[baronessvonglitter]

Holiday Heat

Joel Miller x f!Reader | WC: 2.3K

Summary: Sharing a hotel room with a grumpy (and handsome) stranger while a storm makes travel inaccessible. What could possibly go wrong?

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Only one bed/forced proximity trope (with a dash of sunshine x grumpy because we love a cantankerous Joel). Age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel's in his 50s). Strangers to lovers. Oral (f receiving). Sleeping together to stay warm. Unprotected p in v. Fingering. Reader has very little description apart from having hair long enough to get in her eyes. No use of y/n. Please lmk if I've forgotten anything!

Author's note: It was my pleasure to step in to gift this fic to @frannyzooey for the @pedrostories Secret Santa exchange! I hope you had a great holiday and have a wonderful new year, hon! ❤️Also, huge shoutout to @pedrorascal who so generously created the ✨gorgeous✨ banner for this story!

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

Wind and snow roar outside as the taxi pulls up to the last motel for the next hundred miles. The driver doesn't dare to drive any further in the snowstorm, and offers to bring you to a place where you and your fellow passenger, a gruff, unsmiling man named Joel, to stay warm and have a roof over your head.

"This place is a shithole," he grumbles as you're pulled to a stop.

"It's quaint," you say, refusing to let his sour attitude ruin what's left of your holidays.

You're both heading home for the holidays: you're returning from your senior year at college and he reluctantly admitted he's returning home as well from an extended trip north to visit his brother.

Despite the fact that you're both Austin citizens just trying to get back to your loved ones, Joel remains a total grinch. You've had to endure this man the entire drive from DFW airport. He sat in the aisle across from you on the flight down from Nashville, sighing and making exasperated grunts every time a baby cried or a young person took a selfie. His legs jittered with impatience. You took pity on him and offered him a CBD gummy, hoping to ease whatever stress he was under but he brushed you off with an annoyed groan.

When you found out there were no connecting flights to Austin, you and Joel were the last in line for a car rental. And of course, the last one was rented out to a couple in line ahead of you.

You saw this as an opportunity to help your fellow man, especially as it was the holidays. But all Joel did was shrug when you offered to split a taxi to whichever hotel was closest.

"It's not the Hilton, but it'll do for tonight," you tell him, persisting in your sunny outlook, hoping it will catch on.

The bored-looking eighty-year-old man in the motel office tells you that due to high demand and the inclement weather, there's only one room left, with a single bed.

"We'll take it," you bounce on the chance, much to Joel's chagrin, offering your credit card. Your surly traveling companion offers to split the room, but not without complaint.

"No way in hell am I sleeping on the floor," he says as soon as he steps into the room. There's a stale stench of cigarettes that the cinnamon air freshener on the small round table can't mask.

"Of course you're not. We'll just.. divide the bed. I'm good at staying on my side."

"You'd better be. I don't need you grabbin' onto me in the middle of the night 'cause you're havin' a nightmare or somethin'."

"You wish." It's the only thing you tell him that has some sting behind it.

"Just don't steal all the blankets, sweetheart. Gonna need 'em with this deep freeze comin' through."

"I'm gonna shower first if that's all right with you. I need to warm up." You grab your pajamas from your bag.

"Don't use up all the hot water," he calls out before you close the bathroom door.

"If there's no hot water to spare we could shower together." You glance behind your shoulder, eager to see his reaction.

The look on Joel's face is priceless as he nearly chokes on his next breath. "What? Are you out of your mind? There's no way I'm showerin' with you!"

You grin. "Gotcha."

You step out, hair still damp, towel wrapped around you, shyly going back into the room. "I forgot my panties," you say softly, going to your bag.

Joel tries not to stare too much, but it's a challenge.

"Turn around," you tell him so you can have privacy.

"Go change in the bathroom."

"I had a hot shower, it's still humid. I can't get dressed in there. Just close your eyes."

He grunts but accedes to your request, leaning back against the headboard as he puts his hands over his eyes. His heart is pumping madly, listening to the rustle of clothes as you get changed. He tries to distract himself with other thoughts instead of wondering what the shape of your body looks like.

Relief is a brief respite before he sees what you're wearing to sleep. He thought you'd wear something comfortable and decent, like those fuzzy plaid pajamas girls your age like to wear during the holidays, but instead you're in an oversized t-shirt, the hem down to the middle of your thighs, revealing your bare legs. He puts a pillow on his lap to hide his growing erection.

You get onto your side of the bed. "The shower's free if you want it."

Joel swallows hard before he forces himself to think about something other than you in the bed with him. "Yeah, uh, thanks," he says gruffly, his voice strained. He quickly gets up, trying to hide his aroused state, and gathers his pajamas before he goes into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. For good measure he locks it.

"Get it together, Miller," he tells himself, splashing some cold water on his face. He can't deny the effect you have on him, but he also knows it's impossible to act on it. He barely knows you. You could have a boyfriend or a husband for all he knows, though there's no ring on your finger.

He showers, hoping to stay in as long as he can to avoid you. But it's a shitty motel after all, and soon he runs out of hot water and has to rinse the shampoo from his hair under the icy cold spray.

Dried off and clothed he steps back into the room and finds you on the bed, rubbing lotion onto your arms and legs. The sight nearly takes his breath away. He tries to look away but his eyes are drawn to your glistening skin.

"Good shower?" you ask, catching a whiff of his body wash, something fresh and woodsy. From lowered lashes you check out how he looks in his sweatpants.

"Yeah," he replies. "Outta hot water though. Since you used it all up."

You roll your eyes and go back to applying your lotion.

"Smells nice," he says, sitting close to you.

"Thanks. It's coconut."

The sweet scent hangs in the air as he watches you spread the white lotion across your skin, giving rise to lewd thoughts about what other thick white substances would go well on you. The coconut aroma, the sight of you touching yourself, the forced proximity and having to share a bed.. it's all sensory overload.

"I like coconut," his voice is thick with restraint.

Your hands stop and you hand him the bottle, your eyes meeting his in a silent understanding. "Will you help me?"

He takes the lotion from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours a moment. "Where do you want me to start?"

"My legs," you tell him, spreading them slightly as you lean back.

Heat pools in Joel's groin and he bites his lip to stifle a groan. He squeezes out some lotion onto his palm and kneads it into your shin and calf, his touch gentle but firm, lightly massaging. He spreads it up to your knee, brushing against the tickly spot right beneath and smirking when you try to stifle a sound.

"Feels nice," you eke out.

"Your skin is so smooth," he murmurs, eyes drinking in the sight of you looking both relaxed and wanting. His hands move over your thighs as they part and he realizes you're not wearing panties after all. His brain goes haywire for a moment, unsure if he should call attention to your undressed state or not.

The scent of your arousal reaches him, and he dares a glance between your thighs. His dick pulses when he sees the telltale sheen at the apex of your inner thighs. His eyes meet yours and there's a charge, a current that passes between you.

"You have no idea how much I want you right now," he rasps, his voice thick with desire.

It's too much, too fast, but the part of you that doesn't care wins out, falling for his low, silky remark.

"Joel.. put your mouth on me," you whisper, legs parting further, an open invitation.

His eyes darken to nearly black, all semblance of restraint breaks as he leans forward, his lips hovering just above your skin, his breath warm on your inner thighs. "As you wish, sugar," he rumbles, placing a soft kiss on your soft flesh. His kisses move higher and higher up, and he gently moves your legs over his shoulders as his kisses get more persistent.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as his hands find their way under your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your belly and the mounds of your breasts, your nipples hard in anticipation. Willfully trapped beneath him, you're at his mercy when he finally buries his face in your cunt, gripping your thighs to hold you in place.

His tongue runs over your soft, saturated folds, tasting you and listening to the sounds of your moans and gasps. He laps at your softly, then adding more pressure, dipping his tongue inside and swiping at your clit, teasing you just enough to get you screaming for more. A strange sense of tenderness surfaces among the lust of the moment as he brings you to life. There's no denying there's something inherently sweet and affectionate about the lascivious act.

Joel can't get enough of your taste, your smell, the way you feel against his mouth as you desperately grind against him. He's lost in the moment, his every sense consumed by you. Hearing you panting his name he hums against you, the vibrations adding to your pleasure, and he gladly licks up the nectar you gush out.

"Oh! Joel! Keep doing that!" you gasp, tugging at his greying locks. His mouth is hot against your pussy, tongue stiff and pointed, soft and wet. The pleasure seems neverending. Just when you think you know the pattern, he switches it up, licking harder or softer, tracing shapes with the tip of his tongue. "Please.. don't stop.. I'm gonna.."

Pleasure blossoms from within, too big to keep in, and you come apart beneath him.

There's a feeling of ownership, something dominant and masculine and protective in Joel as he works you through another one, his hips rutting against the bed in need of his own release. At last he moves over you, bodies pressed close as he kisses you for the first time. It's sweet and soft, the taste of you still on his tongue, tangy and sweet.

"Thank you," you sigh, your foreheads touching, breath mingling.

"No need to thank me, sweetheart," he says quietly, brushing loose strands of hair from your forehead.

You're still feeling the lingering traces of pleasure, but even you can feel the cold seeping into the room. "Get under the covers with me," you tell him, and giggle at the speed with which he pulled both of you under the western-themed duvet.

Clothes fly off, thrown over the sides of the bed, landing in haphazard piles. Joel slots himself between your legs again. Desire grows bright in him, making him feel like he's burning from the inside out, starving for the taste and feel of you.

Your body is a perfect fit for him, the glorious slide of his flesh into yours causing you both to cry out. He's completely sheathed within you, surrounded by your perfect, tight, wet heat. Thrusting slow at first, he watches your expressions, planting little kisses on your cheeks and eyelids, drinking up your moans as his tongue slips between your lips.

"More," you whisper as his lips graze your neck, gently biting your ear lobe, and you're rewarded with a more forceful pace as he spreads you open, angling your hips up to get in deeper, finding that sacred spot within that makes you see God. He plants one hand on the headboard above you for leverage as his other hand kneads your breast, tweaking your nipple as your own hands grip his sides, digging your nails in as you blissfully curse with each push of his hips.

"That's the spot, ain't it?" he grunts above you. "Right.. here."

Stars collide behind your eyes as he gently glides over your G-spot. His lips curve into a smile when you clench around him, but he slips out before he can come, replacing himself with three fingers. "Come on them, sweetheart. Come on my fingers then you can have my cock again."

You're lost in bliss as he glides his fingers in, curving to get that spongy spot, eager to make you scream. You bring your own fingers to your clit, gently pinching and rubbing until you feel your climax begin in your extremities, gathering pressure within until it's released, your orgasm shattering you with Joel's name on your lips.

He gives you a moment to come back before he lays down, letting you straddle him. Though he was just inside you, it's still a stretch to fit around him, and you slide down slowly before you're comfortable enough to start riding.

"There you go, darlin'," he murmurs, large hands on your hips. "Do what you need to do to come on my cock, baby."

In a delicious haze of pleasure you ride him, switching up the pace, going slow and deep before slamming down on him, making him groan as he tries to hold back. Your slick is pooling on his groin, coating his balls. Holding your hips steady he rams up into you, eager for you to come all over him again.

You're positively feral at this point, shaking and crying out as you come harder than any other time before, and Joel follows soon after, spilling inside of you, his dick twitching.

Hours later you're curled up together under the thick blankets, sharing and savoring what warmth you've generated.

"Thank god for this storm," Joel murmurs, holding your back close to his chest as he spoons you.

"That's the first positive outlook you've had all day," you smirk, snuggling against him.

dividers by @cafekitsune 👑

[harrywavycurly]

Summary: You’re moving into your first apartment after graduating college and you use a moving service your friend recommended. Not really expecting much of the company with a name like “College Hunks Hauling Junk” you take extra care to box your things up really well. But no amount of bubble wrap can keep the cocky, snarky, semi retired frat bro Harry Styles from damaging a few of your boxes which leads to him learning the hard way that sometimes he’s going to have to handle things with a little more care than he’s used to. 📦✨

Pairing: frat!Harry x fem!reader

Trope: Grumpy x sunshine

CW: Frat Harry (some people really aren’t into this lol), language, tiny bit of angst, one drunken moment

Story Type: Mini Series (5 parts)

A/N: This is gonna be a whirlwind of an emotional roller coaster for Harry from the very start so if you’re into that then this is the story for you! ✨

Status: Completed ✨

Tag List: Open

Extras: here

Highly Recommended

This Can’t Be Happening

Are You Okay?

Sunshine and Citrus

What Have You Heard?

Extras:

Did you wanna do it? (Run in with your ex)

Take My Time

[nimuello]

he really just melts around her i can't stand them 😭💜

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Every Part of You

Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader A.N. - Alright, I've been asked to write about Bucky and Sunshine's first time many, many times. And the thing is, like sure, I could write that, but also I want us to take a moment to consider trying to build up to that. There's so many firsts buried in there that I think need to be navigated through before they even get there. This is one of those firsts. Like the first time you see Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Grumpy Sunshine Series

"You're just- " You stop speaking, searching for his lips again. Though you're breathless, you can't bring yourself to pull away from him, "You're so pretty."

You shudder as you feel his hand slip under your sweater. The occasional graze of the cool metal on your skin enough to send shivers down your spine.

His lips trail down, nipping at your jaw, "I'm not pretty."

Your hands, winded in the hair at the nape of his neck, glide down his neck, to clutch the fabric of his henley. The moment he feels your fingers toy with the collar of his shirt, his heart hammers against his ribcage. Not in the sort of way that he usually feels in these moments with you. He feels a sense of dread, of panic. It wraps around his spine like a python. It feels like he can't breathe.

"You're so -"

He wrenches away from you, his chest heaving, "Stop, stop, stop."

You freeze, immediately dropping your hands. Panic starts creeping up your throat, coating your words. "Did I - did I do something wrong?"

He gulps, silently shaking his head. It takes him a moment to regain his composure, to regain the ability to speak clearly, "No, no, you're - you're perfect."

Guilt starts to eat at him. He can see you doing your very best to keep your own feelings off your face. He can see the sting of his rejection in the way your lips press together in a tight line. The embarrassment in the pallor of your once flushed cheeks.

You two have worked so hard to overcome your own personal issues and traumas, to build trust in each other, moments like these hadn't come easy. And he so callously pushed you away, it makes him feel worse. And what makes his heart ache even more, he sees nothing but concern for him shining in your eyes. You just look so worried for him.

Your hands rest in your lap. You twist and untwist your fingers. "If you don't want to, we don't - we don't have to do anything. I'm really sorry -"

"No, no, please don't be sorry." He reaches for you, gently squeezing your hand. It soothes him as much as it does you. "I want to. You don't know how much I want to."

"But?"

His eyes squeeze shut. He can't bring himself to meet your eyes. "You haven't seen it before - my arm, my shoulder."

"Oh."

He drops your hand. That feeling takes over him again. It feels like there's not enough air in the room. He slides away from you, closer to the edge of the tiny couch in your apartment. "It's - I am not pretty."

It breaks your heart, watching him pull away from you. You can only imagine how many people have turned away from him before. "James..."

He fervently shakes his head, refusing to open his eyes, "No, no, I know what you're gonna say, but it's bad. A lot worse than you're thinking."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

"It's bad," he insists. "I see it every day and I can barely - it's just bad, okay?"

You take his hand, squeezing it tightly. "It's okay if you don't want me to see it. I understand."

He finally opens his eyes again as his eyebrows pull together. He still doesn't meet your eye. "No, no, I want to - I trust you with this, I do. I just - I want you to be prepared."

In that moment, you realize that it's not really about preparing you. Not at all.

He thinks you're going to react badly. He thinks that this will make you turn away from him for the first time ever. He's worried that the love and adoration in your eyes will turn to disgust and repulsion.

It's less about preparing you for the scarred flesh, and more about warning you that he couldn't take a bad reaction. He's not sure he could take it if you turned away from him too.

"I love you," you promise him. "There's nothing that you could show me that would change that. I hope you know that."

There is no response to that. And you know that he won't believe it until he sees it. It takes him a moment. His hand toys with the hem of his shirt. His hand grips the hem, only to let it go.

"I love you," you remind him.

He takes a large gulp of air, pulling off his shirt with one quick movement.

You weren't really sure what you were expecting. You knew the story. You knew how Bucky lost his arm. He even confided the bits and pieces he remembered from getting his vibranium arm.

Your eyes trail over his skin. The shoulder is scarred, scars jut in every direction. Each scar is etched into his skin. It's clear it was a painful, violent experience for him. The metal plate protrudes from the scar tissue in a way that you're sure was painful when first placed. You look on with curiosity, you're not really sure how this, a sign of survival, a badge of resilience, could ever make anyone turn away from him.

He's as breathtaking as you could ever imagine.

Your eyes flicker up at him. He looks at the blank wall of your apartment, scared to watch your facial expressions as you take it in. "Can I?"

He nods, barely able to look you in the eyes. He sucks in a breath when your fingers make contact with the scar tissue surrounding the metal plate.

You immediately pull your fingers back, worried you've accidentally hurt him. "Does it hurt?"

"No," he answers reflexively.

You know he's lying. "I've seen you holding your shoulder before - holding it like it hurts."

"Sometimes," he amends. "The doctor said there's a lot of nerve damage. Things they can't fix."

"Does it hurt now?"

"No."

You run your hand over the plate, over his scars, down to his shoulder blade.

"Still think I'm pretty?" he sarcastically remarks.

You press a gentle kiss to his bare shoulder. "I'll always think you're pretty. Every part of you."

Bucky Barnes Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes@beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a@weallhaveadestiny@mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064@michealharrypotter @mrs-bucky-barnes-73@withyoutilltheendoftheline@the-photo-hoe @rae-nna@sarachabeans1 @double-shot-of-tequila @spookyparadisesheep

[1d1195]

The Lottery I

~3.7k words

From me: I thought I would close out 2024 with a mini-series. I'm hoping for shorter parts but I should be able to post on a regular basis (Mondays). You should see MANY similarities to my favorite show. I have been planning this one for over a year. I really hope you enjoy 💕

Warnings: angst (?) fluff

Summary: Small towns have the biggest romances and the best view of the moon.

“I don’t know how you ended up there,” Bailey shook her head.

“Bails,” she laughed. “I Googled it. It’s cute.”

The little town was adorably cute. The kind of place where the Christmas-hating CEO female lead in the movie would fall head over heels for the place in a month because of the small-town charm. It was about thirty minutes outside the city but with traffic it could take up to an hour. It was quaint. The exact kind of place she could envision her little dream.

“Your house is good?” Bailey asked. She nodded, flipping the camera to show her the little place she found to live in. Two stories. But the second floor was small. A bedroom, a bathroom, and a small room for storage. Maybe in the right light it could be a small office, but it would be better holding all her books. The bottom floor was open. Living room, dining area, and a kitchen. Down the hall was another bathroom and her bedroom. Right now, it was filled with boxes and no clear markers for any of the rooms. Her furniture was misplaced—the table in the living room, the TV on top of it, the couch was near the kitchen, and the lamps were atop the counters in the kitchen.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was home.

Moving in was second to her priorities. So the boxes would stay, her clothes haphazardly falling out of boxes, the iron on top of the island in the kitchen to get the wrinkles out of her blouses. “Neighbors are good?”

“I’ve only met Edith and David. They’re about sixty-five years old and hilarious. Edith is insistent on having tea by the end of the week and David wants to set me up with his grandson.”

“I can’t imagine you outside the city,” Bailey sounded wistful.

“It’ll be good for me to be away from all the big lights. I missed the stars... and the moon,” her voice was filled with fondness. Like the moon was her old friend she hadn’t seen in a while.

“We could see the moon in the city,” Bailey reminded her.

It wasn’t just the moon, it was the stars, and silence that the city never allowed. “It’s not the same and you know it.”

“You know babe...” Bailey trailed off. “You look... happy.”

She was. Really happy. The kind of happiness that couldn’t be faked because she was supposed to be happy. The kind of happiness that would make anyone jealous. And why shouldn’t she be happy? She was young, basically fresh out of college, ready to start her own business, and do everything she wanted on her own.

“I am happy,” she nodded and looked at her best friend through FaceTime. “I know everyone thinks I’m crazy. Try not to let them be too mean to me. I’m... I’m good,” she promised. “This is good.”

“You know,” Bailey grinned and shook her head. “I think you’re right.”

*

She wore her lucky dress—the one that she is certain got her a scholarship—and chose a pair of flats over heels because in her quick self-tour of the town she noted the brick sidewalks were likely to take out her ankle. She made sure every single strand of her hair wasn’t out of place. She wanted this to be a good impression. All her books and shows told her that small towns were lovely, but she was an outsider. It was possible that they wouldn’t love a newcomer and so she didn’t want to make it seem like she was changing everything.

But since it was her first night in her new home, there was nothing to eat. Nor to cook with even if she wanted to. Maybe if she had a loaf of bread, she could find her toaster in one of the boxes. Moving on her own was tough but she was proud of herself. Another check she could mark on her to-do list.

Her first order of business was securing her business. However, that couldn’t be done on an empty stomach. She locked the door to the little home she now owned. The trim needed a coat of paint, and she desperately needed to buy a lawn mower. Some of the windows needed to be replaced. She tried opening one of them and nearly threw her back out. The bushes in front of the little porch needed to be trimmed or taken out altogether.

But it was home, and it was lovely. She was excited to do it on her own. It made her feel proud.

Her family was far away. Honestly, it was for the best. They thought it was a terrible idea for her to move, maybe because they couldn’t depend on her any longer. If she thought too long about it, she got upset. But this was good. She was doing what her grandma believed she could do. What her grandpa wanted her to do.

With a family far away, her place was filled with boxes. Hardly anything was unpacked. It was a miracle she found her lucky dress but perhaps that was why it was so lucky. With the distance between them, it was easier to ignore the group chat. Easier to not feel obligated to help her family.

They’re adults, honey. They’ll figure it out.

She hoped her grandma was right.

Her friends were still in the city. Completely shocked she left the hustle and bustle for a small-town place. Their lack of support or what they passed off as worry made her nervous all the same. How would it survive? But she researched the perfect place and took plenty of time setting up everything she needed so she was ready to go when she graduated.

The only thing she wished could be different, was that her grandparents got to see her.

*

The main part of town felt like a city. But way friendlier. People shouted in the middle of the road. Kids ran across the road to the school. There were very few cars but even the ones present parked illegally and the officer strolling the sidewalks didn’t pay any mind to it. It was adorable. It felt like she was in a Disney movie, and she wanted to sing.

The center green was being set up with seats and banners. People were on walkie-talkies directing more items about the area. The space was warm and cozy. Like where she could spend the day reading in the grass and have a picnic with herself or a friend.

God, she hoped she made some friends. It seemed possible. Everyone was so nice. They all knew each other. That was evident. It was so comforting, exactly the change she wanted and needed, and she prayed they wouldn’t hate her for trying to bring something new to their little place.

As her stomach reminded her once more of its presence and emptiness, she approached the diner on one side of the main street. Squished between the post office and a shoe store. Someone was exiting as she opened the door, so she gestured for them to exit before she proceeded. “Thank you, darling,” the man tipped his hat to her.

With one deep breath, she entered.

It was like she was the new girl at school. The second she crossed the threshold of the diner, everyone stared at her. There wasn’t a voice to be heard, the only sound coming from behind the counter in the kitchen. “Uh... hi,” she swallowed. Quietly, she made her way to the counter and situated herself at the end of it away from everyone else.

Sure, she wanted to be part of the community and wanted to be liked, but she didn’t want to force it. The place continued to be quiet, although the murmuring began. No doubt everyone whispered about her. “No newcomers lately, I guess,” she mumbled under her breath and pulled out her folder of paperwork to go over it again.

You’re going to crush it! Bailey’s message read. She smiled gratefully, feeling her heart slow. She was wearing her lucky dress. It was going to happen. She was going to be happy no matter what.

“Shit!” It was paired with the distinct sound of something shattering. She turned directly to the sound as did everyone else in the place and she was on her feet immediately. It wasn’t anything major, a coffee mug on the floor.

“Jesus, honey, watch it!” It was an older woman who scolded her husband with a light thwack on the arm.

“I didn’t mean to, Alice!”

“Harry!” Someone called.

“Jus’ a second,” the voice was from the back, low, almost like it didn’t want to be heard. He must have been cooking or something because there was a commotion in the back behind the kitchen door. She didn’t think much of it because she was worried that poor Alice and her husband were going to get hurt picking up the broken shards or slip in the mess of spilled coffee on the floor.

“I can help,” she offered and crouched near the older woman—Alice—as she struggled to grab the pieces. “Here,” she grabbed a rag off the counter even though she had never been there and it wasn’t her place to do so. Gently she pushed the broken pieces and coffee into a neat little pile sopping up the mess as best she could.

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” Alice chimed. “Thank you.”

“Happy to help,” she smiled politely.

“Did you just move here?” She asked. Perhaps that would satiate the whispering.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Where are you living?”

“Oh... um... Oak Street,” she stammered. It probably didn’t help her newness that she stammered. But her new address was new; she was still getting used to it.

“Oh, Holliston’s place! It’s a lovely home,” someone called from across the room.

“Y’don’t have t’do that,” it was the same voice that called from the back but now right next to her.

“Oh...” Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up at him. Did time seem to stop? That couldn’t be right. She wasn’t going to have a crush on the first guy she met on her first official day as a resident of the small town. “I don’t mind,” she said quickly looking up at him from her crouched position. “Happy to help and...” She stopped speaking again as he stared at her. His eyes were pretty, even if he looked grumpy. His mouth was set in a frown, and she noticed that once more everyone stopped speaking. “Sorry,” she said and stood, scooping the mess as best she could in her hands. Coffee dripped from the rag into the puddle at her feet. She could feel the splatter on her ankles, and she was nervous to look if she had ruined her shoes. It didn’t bother her, but she wasn’t sure she’d have time to head home and change before she went to the town hall.

Harry held out the tray for dirty dishes and she placed the rag, broken pieces of mug, and all into it. He dropped it on the counter about two spaces down from where her folder and purse remained. “Are you okay, ma’am?” She asked softly placing a gentle hand on her arm in a comforting kind of way.

“Alice, Ed, y’okay?” Harry—she presumed—was quiet. It almost rubbed her the wrong way that he repeated her, but he knew them, and she didn’t. So, she returned to her seat quietly after offering one more smile to Alice.

“All good, Harry,” Ed said in return.

Harry went back around the counter and fiddled with the coffee pot. He refilled a new mug and brought it over to Ed.  When he returned behind the counter he stood in front of her silently. Waiting. Not offering a word nor question.

Harry looked to be roughly her age. Handsome. If this was David’s grandson, she would have reconsidered his offer. But his scowl was to be desired. Made her uneasy. She wondered if this was how he always was or if it was something about her.

But she wanted to be liked. People generally didn’t dislike her. It would devastate her if he did. As grumpy as he seemed, she wasn’t going to shy away from her own personality. “Do y’want something?”

“What’s your favorite?” She asked glancing from the menu to him.

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t have a favorite.”

She blinked. He worked here. Did he own it? That would be crazy, he was so young. But she was young and about to own her business too. So who was she to judge his age? “How can you not have a favorite?”

“I like it all,” he shrugged.

“You seriously don’t have a favorite?”

“Since I own the diner,” he was explaining it like she was a toddler, “everything is good.”

“Well...” she took a deep breath. It wasn’t that she was one of those people who assumed everyone would like her, but it was... different to work for friendliness. Bailey told her she had the kind of face that would work wonders in sales. Everyone just opened up to her.

But not Harry. Harry was stoic as could be. It barely looked like he was breathing. Other than the irritation in his eyes, he had a really nice face. Smooth skin, angular jaw, and just pretty features that were probably wasted on someone so grumpy. But she could see something flicker in his eyes. Something that she wasn’t sure he wanted anyone to see which is why it was merely a flicker.

Was this grumpy man amused? By her?

“...Do you have a recommendation then?”

“Anything. It’s all good,” he was clearly over this exchange.

She thought she could get him to budge but it didn’t seem that way. This was the fast track to nowhere. Not the impression she wanted to make on her first official day in town. Sighing, she glanced at the specials board. “You have peach pancakes?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have white chocolate chips?”

Harry sighed, exasperated with the conversation, and she hadn’t even ordered her coffee yet. “Yup...” he was staring at her like this was going to kill him. Or he was going to kill her.

“Can I have one of each? Peaches and white chocolate chip?”

“What?” He seemed surprised. Which was interesting because surely it couldn’t have been crazy. Peaches and white chocolate chips had to be popular if he had them. He shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?” She frowned.

“Because s’extra work t’make a whole batch of peachpancakes and chocolate chip. One or the other.”

Maybe it was his tone or her frustration. The nerves of heading to town hall after breakfast. The piss-poor impression she was making at the extremely local diner where everyone seemed to know Harry. Even though he was grumpy they still ate there. It was obvious this wasn’t their first day being there. They still called out for him when the mug shattered even though she was more than capable of helping.

But she didn’t want to take no for an answer. Maybe if he had placated her or smiled. Or if he just didn’t look at her like she was the bane of his existence she wouldn’t have pressed. “But... I don’t want one or the other. I want one of each.”

“Get ‘em mixed together or don’t have ‘em,” he shrugged.

“But if I get them mixed together, the peaches will sink to one side or slide off all together. The chocolate chips always sink to the bottom. So the ratio in each bite will be off. I’ve tried it before; it just doesn’t blend well.”

“If I make y’one peach and one white chocolate chip, then all m’ratios will be off. I’ll have t’purchase different quantities of peaches and chocolate chips.”

“That seems a little dramatic for one plate of—"

“S’my diner! Jus’ order what’s on the menu or order four pancakes.”

“That’s absurd! I doubt I’ll even eat one whole pancake!”

Harry swallowed hard, his jaw flexing tight. Briefly he looked at the ceiling and then back at her. His voice was quieter when he spoke. “Order what’s on the menu or don’t order at—"

“Fine! Two peach pancakes!”

Honestly, she has no idea why she was arguing in the first place. It was idiotic and childish but there was something about the grumpiness that was off-putting and made her uncomfortable. Perhaps it was solely because he didn’t seem to like her, and she was trying really hard to fit in and he was the only person she had met so far that was close to her own age. If she could get him to like her, then maybe she wouldn’t be friendless and lonely.

With another large sigh (like it was painful for him to be standing near her) he rolled his eyes and headed to the back to make her breakfast. She wouldn’t be surprised if he poisoned them.

The diner was still quiet, and she could feel eyes flicking over to her repeatedly, their gazes heating her up with knowledge she was being watched. To keep her cool, she continued flipping through her paperwork folder and scrolled on her phone.

About ten minutes later, Harry returned holding her plate. It was practically silent again. The show that ensued was not forgotten by the other customers. Harry failed to hide his interest in her paperwork and failed to hide the fact he was reading whatever was in front of her. It didn’t bother her, honestly. She wanted to be an open book. Especially in a small town and especially with the guy that looked beyond irritated with her.

Trying again was insanity. But she was nothing if not one for perseverance. “Do you know what time the town hall opens? I tried to find a time online but—"

Harry snorted. “Town Hall doesn’t do online. S’whenever Sutton gets there t’unlock.”

She blinked. Small towns. “When’s that?”

“Usually before nine-thirty.”

“Usually?”

Harry shrugged, placing the plate in front of her. She could smell cinnamon and maple. Of course, the peaches were starting to caramelize as well and so it really looked utterly delicious. “Sometimes he forgets his alarm. Then s’before ten-thirty.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Alright,” she nodded. “Hey,” she called quietly as Harry turned to leave. “Do you do tabs? I’m probably going to be here every morning before work. It’s fine if you don’t. Just... figured it would easier.”

Did it get even quieter? Harry had a way with sighing. Heavily. Like talking to her and thinking were the two greatest and hardest tasks he’d ever been given in his life. Her eyes quickly darted around the place. There were enough tables to seat about twenty people plus five seats at the counter. It was busy—not crowded or full, but busy. It was just after the morning commute group had left; she had to imagine. The hustle of the nine-to-five crowd was long gone. “Sure,” he shook his head. “Every Friday.”

She was certain she didn’t imagine it that time. The entire place was silent for another ten seconds before the low murmur picked up again.

“Okay, thank you. I just... moved into town and I had no food at my house.”

“Whose house?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Whose house did y’buy?”

“Oh... uh... the Holliston’s?” Was that the name someone said a few moments ago? It had to be because no one corrected her, and it was apparent everyone was listening to her to talk to Harry.

“Nice couple,” she supposed she got it right then. “Do you want coffee?” He asked.

Was this him warming up to her? It was interesting. It wasn’t exactly warm, but it wasn’t arguing. Which she liked. Although arguing with him was kind of... fun in its own way. But she needed a friend before she argued with him for hours on end.

“Oh, yes,” she nodded quickly. “Please. Thank you.” Was it hot in there? Harry was attractive—even if he was grumpy. A sour face usually turned her off immediately. But with Harry... it didn’t seem so grumpy anymore. Especially now that he stopped arguing with her. The crease between his eyebrows disappeared. His frown turned to a more neutral expression. She swore that flicker of amusement was back again. “This is a really cute town,” she remarked.

Harry ignored the comment as he poured her a mug of steaming coffee and placed a little plate of cream and sugar packets beside it. “What brings y’here?” He asked. She did hear his skepticism like maybe he was going to kick her out before she unpacked if she wasn’t good enough for the clique-y village.

“Oh,” she swallowed. “I’m hoping to open a book shop.”

Harry tilted his head at her, surprise all over his face and she couldn’t figure out for the life of her why that would be. “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded. Approval? Was she in the club? “Alright, well... welcome, I guess. Let me know if y’need help with the water at y’house. It always gave the Holliston’s trouble in the winter, and I’d have t’go over and fix it. Don’t want y’pipes t’freeze.”

That was it. He walked away. She watched the grumpy, attractive man tend to the tables, cleaning, and serving all by himself. The others were patient. There was no rushing to get to work like it was Starbucks and everyone quietly waited their turn. There wasn’t a lot of small talk with Harry, but people smiled at him. Like they knew him from the time he was a baby. Maybe they did.

She hoped he would warm up to her. It would be nice to have a friend like him.

Turning to her breakfast, she cut into both pancakes stacked on top of one another, brought a bite of the two little pieces to her mouth after drowning it in enough maple syrup to make the man look at her suspiciously from across the room.

There was no way someone was that concerned about ratios of one patron. He could be grumpy all he wanted, but Harry was dramatic too. (Even if it was way more syrup than she needed, and he probably had a point in worrying about syrup—especially if she was going to be there every day.)

But as the bite hit her tastebuds, she had to look down and see it for herself.

One pancake was peach and the other was white chocolate chip.

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[biscuitboba]

My beloveds....

[aurynsia]

Like The Movies

Sirius Black x Bookworm!Reader

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Summary: You meet a mysterious man in a bookshop who falls for your sunshine personality…

Warnings: Nothing serious (pun intended), grumpy x sunshine dynamic, Marlene once again being the best wingman (it’s a tradition atp), reader is referred to as a girl with she/her pronouns, reader is oblivious to Sirius’ flirting.

Word count: 0.7K

Masterlist

A/N: I couldn’t get this meet cute idea out of my head so I had to write it! Basically all fluff and no plot, Sirius just thinks you’re adorable <3

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Ding!

The bell above the bookshop’s door rang in an echoing call as you stepped inside, a giddy smile spread across your face. You had finally finished your summer reading list, with a chilled breeze marking the end of your book-buying ban.

Preparing to hibernate in your cosy bedroom with a stack of classics, you skipped your way through the aisles to the counter of the store’s joint cafe.

Ordering a hot drink to keep off the chill of the midday breeze, you flashed a grateful grin at the blonde behind the counter as you rounded the aisles, making a beeline for the classic fiction.

You stumbled through the maze of novels, making mental notes of each book you had already read. You found yourself passing three aisles before you discovered a title you didn’t recognise.

Lifting the book to flick through the pages, your gaze intuitively lifted at the presence of someone further down the aisle.

That’s when you saw him.

A dark stroke of hair dropped down his shoulders, collecting in sweet spirals at his chest. His bright eyes held a dark splash of mischief in their depths as he towered over the shelves. His gaze was focused on the book in his hand, eyes flicking over the blurb on the back cover.

Peering over with curiosity, your eyes lit up at the title on the front as he flipped the book in his hands. “That’s my favourite! I’ve read it six times,” you blurted at the mystery man.

His gaze flicked to yours in an instant, a flash of surprise gracing his features before he relaxed into a soft smirk at the sight of you. “Would you recommend it, Dove?” He spoke with a lighthearted and teasing tone as he leisurely stepped closer to your ecstatic self.

“Absolutely! It’s a masterpiece, the author is so talented! You should totally read it,” you rambled, not catching the amusement mixed with adoration in the stranger’s eyes as he watched you.

His head tilted to the side like a curious puppy, listening intently as you gushed over the plot, the characters, the handsome romantic lead, and the optimistic heroine.

He slyly reached for a second copy of the same book on the shelf as you spoke, tucking it under the one already settled in his grasp. You were in your own world at this point, and the man couldn’t help but fluster at your adorable excitement over words on a page. What is this girl doing to me? he mentally asked himself.

She’s got me wrapped around her finger and she doesn’t even know it.

He was beginning to grow soft.

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

You eventually remembered to introduce yourself after a series of rambled facts about the book tumbled out of your mouth. The stranger found you to be the most endearing creature he’d ever met.

“I’m-“

“Sirius? Y’Iced latte’s ready!” He hurried over to the blonde behind the counter who finished his sentence, flashing you an apologetic smile over his shoulder with a slight blush to his cheeks.

Marlene’s gaze fell on the books held tightly in his hands with an arched eyebrow. “Sirius Black, reading a book? My, I thought I’d never see the day!” He laughed while motioning for her to keep her voice down, leaning in closer while you browsed.

“It seems I’ve taken a liking to the little bookworm over there, wriggled her way right into my heart,” he motioned towards you with a smirk as Marlene spots you curiously reading the blurbs of various classics. “Said this was her favourite,” he held up the books in his hands with an uncharacteristically bashful smile, brushing the gesture off nonchalantly. “Didn’t have the heart to tell her I was buying it for Moony’s birthday.”

Marlene rolled her eyes, passing him his drink along with a napkin and a pen. “You’re hopeless, Black, really,” she whispered, turning around to pick up another order.

His eyes lit up at the sight of the pen, “You really do know me well, Marls! And to think I only keep you around for the coffee,” he quipped, though his tone held no bite. He scribbled on the napkin before Marlene passed your drink into his grasp, sending her a final look of gratitude before turning back to you.

“Here you go, love. Now, what was that sequel about again? What happens next?” You glanced up as he handed you your drink with a sweet grin, oblivious to the napkin sitting on top with a phone number scrawled across it, waiting to be discovered as you launched into an explanation with a giggle.

“Wait- no! I can’t tell you, spoilers!”

——————— ⋆☆ ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————