#or butter and honey for a treat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tender-rosiey · 4 months

Note

i need more dad!gojo pls 😔🙏🏼

sulking — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: there was an anon that requested this scenario specifically but for some reason I genuinely can't find their ask so anon if you see this, i hope you will like it! <3

“s/n! get your tiny naked butt over here!”

your son squeals as he waddles away from his chasing dad and goes towards you, “mama!”

“yes, honey?” you reply, before turning towards your son and finding him all naked. at least, he didn’t escape from the tub, since he is still dry.

you giggle and pick him up, “what are you doing you little trouble maker?”

he kicks his feet and points upstairs, “pa!”

“oh, you’re escaping from papa?”

your son nods eagerly, looking around for any sign of said man.

“found you!”

your son squeals and hides his face in the crook of your neck. you pet his hair and look towards your husband who is…also butt-naked. you sigh, “satoru, at least wear your boxers before you chase the kid.”

“aw come on, wifey; it’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” he smirks, leaning towards you and lovingly kissing your cheek, “plus you deserve a show every once in a while.”

you pinch his nose, making him abruptly pull back with a pout, “if you want to give me a show, don’t do it in front of our son, you over-grown pack of hershey’s.”

“do you mean the cookies and cream one?” satoru says, eyes shining at the mention of one of his favorite snacks.

“yes, and I hate it.”

he gasps audibly, before taking s/n from your arms and into his own, “let’s go, s/n! we shall not tolerate mom’s slander for the hershey’s again!”

and so your husband marches back with his (still butt-naked) son to the bathroom.

satoru sets s/n on the sink, and looks down at the tub, “hey, at least the bathtub is full now,” he puts his hand in the water, “and it isn’t too cold for your small butt.”

s/n gives satoru his angriest look, before looking away with a huff.

satoru chuckles before tickling him, “you’re so cute,” s/n breaks character and starts giggling, and satoru starts cooing, “you act like your mama when I annoy her.”

satoru swiftly picks him up in one arm and points at the stash of bath bombs, “which one do you want to use?” he walks towards the box, and s/n instantly holds it with his strong hands.

satoru laughs, “oh you want all?”

s/n doesn’t respond. instead, he aggressively pulls the box towards him, luckily, satoru is able to hold it in his other hand before it fell.

he looks at his son with a pout, “you were going to create a mess, little guy.”

“mess!” your son claps and your husband can’t find it in him to scold him.

so your husband joins in on his chaos and raises him up high, “yes, big mess!”

your son squeals, reaching for his dad’s cheeks. then he starts rubbing his face on satoru’s the moment he is low enough to reach him.

he starts biting satoru’s cheeks and screams, “love you, baby!”

“love you too, my little buttered cookie,” satoru coos, unfazed by the baby eating him alive. he doesn’t let him linger though as he pulls him off his face, “time for a bath, stinky.”

s/n frowns and tries smacking satoru, but your husband quickly gets into the bath. the moment s/n touched the water, he started clapping and trying to dive deeper into the water.

satoru held him just above the water so he doesn’t fall into the bathbomb-filled water, “nuh-uh, you’re not going to fall face first into the water,” satoru spins s/n so he can settle him into the bath butt-first.

s/n wastes no time in playing with the soap foam and starts splashing everywhere.

your son is sat on the stair of the bathtub—a huge bathtub by the way, satoru specifically ordered this one for other activities though. s/n is beyond the moon and almost treats the little stair like his throne.

your husband can’t stop smiling, to the point his face starts aching, and he starts using the bubbles to form two little cat ears on s/n’s head.

your son’s curiously keeps trying to look up, but starts huffing when he can’t see the top of his head.

satoru then decides that the best solution is—“y/nnnnn! can you come over here with a camera?”

“okayyyy!” he hears you yell and shifts his attention to s/n to keep him entertained until you appear.

he leans down a little, exposing the top of his own head to his son and challenges him, “do your worst.”

your son’s—clearly inherited—competitive nature fuels him into gathering as much as bubbles as he can to place it on his dad’s head.

after that, he starts diligently molding the foam into the shape he had in mind. satoru just keeps on humming quietly, letting s/n do his magic.

once s/n finishes, he retracts his hand and clumsily mimics his dad’s proud pose, and satoru feels happier and happier as he spends time of his little ball of joy.

caught up in his emotions, he picks up s/n to hug him, but s/n slips from satoru’s grasp and into the water.

your husband is panicked right away, hands frantically searching and splashing around to get hold onto anything of his son.

he has half a mind to blast all the water away, but quickly decides against it, especially when he hears a “boo!” behind him.

your husband turns to s/n, who is giggling at finally getting to his father, and hugs him tightly, “papa’s sorry he dropped you, s/n.”

s/n, ever the empath, starts imitating what he see you and satoru do when the other is sad: he starts patting his dad’s back with a murmur of “’s ‘kay.”

satoru thinks he is going to sob right then and there, but you finally enter the bathroom, and satoru and s/n quickly perk up at your presence.

“mama!”

“wifey!” satoru grins and starts scrambling to make a new pair of cat ears on s/n.

and so you’re met with one of the cutest sights of your baby that you have ever seen. he is beaming with a smile so contagious that you don’t even notice one being instantly on your face.

he is also sporting a pair of bubble cat ears, so, of course, you get out your phone and start snapping away.

“s/n, look at mama!”

“yay!”

after a couple of photos, you hear someone clear his throat, and you look to your side to see a very pouty satoru. he huffs and looks away from you, “imagine ignoring the love of your life for a small mochi.”

“we made this small mochi, ‘toru.”

“exactly!” he declares then locks eyes with you, “that means I am the original and I should be appreciated more, anyway—what do you think of his cat ears?”

your husband’s tone switches almost instantly and starts fangirling about s/n, taking him into his arms and lightly bouncing him on knee, “he is so cute! almost as cute as me, right?!”

“you’re so right! he is the cutest cutie to ever exist!” you coo, arms reaching out to s/n, and your son throws himself into your arms with no hesitation.

you secure in your hold before chuckling, “you’re mama’s cute boy, right?”

you feel satoru stare daggers at your soul, but ignore him for the time being, “did you actually shower or do anything to clean, s/n? you smell stinky.”

your son frowns at that and buries his face in your shoulder to sulk. you stifle a giggle and question your husband about something that has been on your mind since you entered, “also, satoru—“

he perks up.

“—what is that blob of bubbles on your head supposed to be?”

and that, my friend, is how you got stuck in the bathtub with your two boys, each burying their face into your shoulders and—you guessed it—sulking.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @sonder-paradise @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1 @sad-darksoul @ko-fi-heart @pumpkindudeishere @suyaaachin @babyqueen17 @chaosguy352 @murakami-kotone @sukun4ryomen @yumieis @hearts4itoshi @sleepyxxhead @dunixxd

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

5K notes · View notes

doitwithdaisy · 1 year

Text

#favorite treat #doitwithdaisy #healthyfood #puppytraining #oatballs #oats #freeze dried fruit #honey #maple syrup #cashew butter #almondbutter #sunflower seeds

1 note · View note

phnixcg · 1 year

Text

Honey Flavored

Suitable for 3d printing. Designed in accordance with reality with all the details. Scalable high resolution model. Obj. and stl. formats are for one piece and 3d printing. Fbx. format consists of separate parts. This 3D model is available in 3 different formats: FBX. OBJ. STL. 3MF. Available at: https://www.cgtrader.com/products/honey-flavored Check out my LinkTree: https://linktr.ee/phnixcg

0 notes

kcrossvine-art · 10 months

Text

G'morning all! Its nice to get back things,. Theres been some roadblocks with med shortages and life, and also with the material for these recipes. So far we've covered a lot of pastries, not because theyre mentioned more often in the series, but because being mentioned lends them more specificity in flavor than things like gravy, peas, or various meats. The latter can be prepped, seasoned, and served in so many different ways that it feels harder to make them 'faithfully' because a packet of instant potato mash is just as faithful as a pot of buttered potato mash. Baked goods tend towards 1, maybe 2, 'base' recipes that get altered and added to.

Today, we'll be making Beorn's Honey Cakes! A dish from one of my partners favorite characters- a delectable little treat befitting the… warm personality of the character.

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to Beorn's Honey Cakes?” YOU MIGHT ASKSimple stuff! Simple sweet stuff!

All-purpose flour

Baking powder

Salt

Ground nutmeg

Unsalted butter

Whole milk

2 eggs

Honey

Vanilla extract

The veins of honey cakes ancestry can be traced back to any moment where people began baking bread. Honey is a natural preservative, and sweeter still on its lonesome.

AND, “what does Beorn's Honey Cakes taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKLike your aching muscles repairing themselves

Tastes like a honey graham cracker

But the texture is softer, wetter- somewhat like banana bread

Oh, and this will make your house smell So So Good

If you can resist the temptation of eating them immediately, they taste even richer the day after baking

Would pair well with milk green tea

Would also pair well with fresh orange slices (or those chocolate 'orange slices' candy)

Genuinely don't forget to flip them upside down when they go to bake the second time, not sure what it is but i was curious and did a test where i flipped half of the batch upside down and kept the other half of the batch right-side up like they cooked in the muffin tin. The ones i flipped upside down universally had a more consistent texture and the honey was able to permeate further.

.where honey called for, used clover honey

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From start to finish this recipe takes about an hour of work, give or take some negligible time for prep.

The batter is perhaps the babybird of all cake batters. The gloopy, protruding crumbs of butter, not unlike a squabs beady pupils visibly dark under its skin, break up the mass of sickly smooth and reassuringly sweet-smelling oak-colored liquid. You can feel the confusion of bees outside your home, wondering if this your attempt at making royal jelly.

Just like a babybird, it becomes more than the sum of its parts. Layer on that honey drizzle, layer it on thick, theres no risk of drowning subtle flavors. Its crisp edges will keep its form, springy and warm, inviting you as if you're not the one who crafted it (food you didn't cook always tastes better). The bees are sooooooooooooooo jealous of your opposable thumbs and muscular strength.

If you dont have eggs you could try substituting with apple mash. I can't vouch for it in this recipe but replacing eggs with mashed up apples for pancakes gives it adds a nice fruity flavor without changing the texture, and in theory should work here as well.

I give this recipe a solid 10/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.)

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

270 grams all-purpose flour

1 1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 tsp freshly ground nutmeg

1 stick unsalted butter

160 grams milk

2 eggs

110 grams your favorite honey

1 tsp vanilla extract

Muffin tray and parchment paper

Method:

Preheat oven to 350f

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, and nutmeg.

Add the butter and rub it into the flour with your fingers until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs.

In a small bowl beat the eggs until just combined. Pour in milk and then vanilla extract while stirring. Keep stirring vigorously while slowly pouring in honey.

Stir until the mixture is consistent in color.

Pour the liquids over the dry mixture and stir until just combined.

Pour the batter into a greased muffin tray, don't use any muffin paper/lining/cups.

Bake for 16 minutes, or until they reach their full height.

Carefully remove from the muffin pan and place the muffins upside down on a parchment lined tray.

Using a silicone pastry brush, generously cover the tops of the cakes with honey. Allow to sit for about 5 minutes to let the honey soak into the cakes.

Bake for an additional 8-10 minutes, or until the cakes are golden brown.

Remove from the oven and allow to cool.

#cross cooks lotr #tolkein #the hobbit #food recipe

2K notes · View notes

xxblairexxss · 9 months

Text

Sharing is caring

Pairing : dad!Charles Leclerc x mom!reader

Theme : Fluff

Another short one because this has been in my draft for a while.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

charles_leclerc

Liked by pierregasly, arthur_leclerc and 1,820,638 others

charles_leclerc My world ❤️

username1 cuteeeeeee 🥹😩

username2 that matching ribbons! ugh so adorable

username3 my dreeam! 🥹🥹🥹🥹

ynusername

Liked by charles_leclerc, calra.broker and 633,929 others

ynusername Excited for her popcorn 🍿

username1 THAT LITTLE FEET

username2 omg she’s so cuteeeeee

username3 bowl is too big 😭😂😂

username4 that small hand on the bowl 🥹

"1, 2, 3–"

The sweet, lovable voice filled up your kitchen as your little one counted everything you put on her plate. She had just started learning numbers, so everything that she could count, she wouldn’t miss a chance.

"5!"

"No, honey. It’s 4, then 5. There you go. Can you carry it?" You leaned down to slowly place the plate on her little hands. She was always excited for her snack time because you would put all different things together, so she had more choices for her food. This time, you had prepared frozen banana yoghurt bites, small slices of apples, a few small peanut butter bites, and some goldfish crackers.

"No! I carry."

"Okay, careful!" You were going to help her bring the plate to her small table in the living room, but she wanted to do everything on her own now.

"Need dada’s help?" Charles heard the little steps tapping against the floor first before he saw his little girl with a plate full of her snacks. The plate was bigger than her face, and it was a bit of a struggle to carry it but she kept on denying every offer of help.

"No!" She placed it on her table, looked at her dad with the biggest smile and started clapping her hands. "Yay!"

"Yay! What have you got there?"

"This.." She pointed at the frozen banana yoghurt bites and took one in her hand. "Banana!"

"That one?" Charles pointed at the goldfish cracker.

"That is fish!" She took one and munched on it, her cheeks puffing out from trying to chew them thoroughly.

"Can dada get some?”

"Let me think!" She puckered her lips and scanned through her plate to decide which one she was going to give to Charles. "Dada want this?" She took a few goldfish crackers, leaving her with two left. "There. I need more fish! Dada wait!"

"Oh? You want me to wait here? Okay, baby. Can dada eat this?" He showed her the handful of crackers in his hand that she just gave.

"Yes!" She stood up wobbly and ran to the kitchen again, this time with a half-empty plate. There were only two crackers left and one banana bites. "Mommy, more?"

"Did you actually eat all of them? That was quick." Your brows furrowed as you took the pink-coloured plate from her.

"Dada ate too!" She giggled and extended her arms to get her plate back.

"What?" You peeked at your husband laying on the couch with a fistful of crackers, treating it as some sort of popcorn, while his eyes locked on the television. "Charles! Are you being serious? Stop taking her snacks!"

Your voice made him jumped, but he continued chomping on the crackers again. "Honey, she was the one who gave it to me."

“Well, then stop taking it!" You put a few more crackers into a small bowl this time before giving it to her. "Don’t share with daddy. This will be the last one, okay? No more."

"Thank you, mommy!" The sound of her footsteps clomping again as she ran back to her dad "Uh oh, mommy angry." She pulled a face and pointed her little finger at her dad, making him laugh.

"You cheeky girl! Mommy’s angry at me because of you." He pinched her chubby cheek as she munched on the crackers again. "Is it good?”

"Yes! Dada want?" She took one off her plate and handed it to Charles.

"It’s okay, baby. Dada’s full."

The little one frowned and looked down on her plate with her bottom lips jutting out, feeling rejected. The cracker she had in her small palm kept being twiddled in it.

Charles pressed his lips together to control his expression. His little girl had already learned how to give attitude if none of her requests were being obeyed. He would always get in trouble because you would scold him for being too fulfilling with her requests, but how could he say no to that squishy little face?

"Okay, okay. Give me one." She the handed him the one she had fiddling in her palm and squealed when Charles ate it.

"Dada more?" She offered another one and he shook his head again.

"No, thank you, baby."

"Please dada.." She pulled a pleading look with her big, round eyes, making him lose this round as well. She giggled and put the cracker in his mouth when he leaned closer.

You then walked into the living room with your hands crossed, glaring at your husband, who was still chewing on something. "Can you stop taking your daughter’s snack?"

"I’m not, honey! I swear! Right, baby?"

"Dada wants more!" She squealed, making Charles’s mouth wide open.

"Honey, don’t listen to her!"

"Well, she obviously doesn’t know how to lie! Right, baby? Is dada taking your snack?" Your brows were still furrowed as you looked at your husband, who was speechless in his seat.

"She was the one who offered me the crackers!" Charles argued.

“Dada said more!” She shrieked and handed another one of the fish crackers to Charles, making you chew on your lips.

“You know, if you really want it, I can give the whole packet to you. Stop taking it from her.”

“I’m not, honey!”

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj @ietss @leclerc13 @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! 😭 Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagines #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

1K notes · View notes

askwhatsforlunch · 1 year

Text

Honey Roasted Apricots

These beautiful Honey Roasted Apricots are soft and juicy and sweet and gorgeously glazed; a delightful treat. A treat you may have at breakfast, in the mid-afternoon or to end your dinner, according to your preference, mood or choice of accompaniment (they are as lovely with yogurt as they are with ice cream!)

Ingredients (serves 1):

a teaspoon unsalted butter, softened

3 just ripe apricots, rinsed

a heaped teaspoon pure clear fragrant honey (I used the delicious Mountain Honey we brought back from Auvergne, delectably woodsy with the fresh ness of mountain flowers)

1/2 teaspoon pumpkin seeds (optional)

Preheat oven to 200°C/395°F.

Generously butter a ramekin (or individual pie plate) with half of the softened butter.

Halve and pit apricots. Arrange apricot halves into prepared ramekin. Drizzle generously with honey. Scatter bits of the remaining butter on top.

Place in the middle of the hot oven, and roast, at 200°C/395°F, 15 minutes.

Remove from the oven, and let cool slightly.

Enjoy Honey Roasted Apricots warm, sprinkled with pumpkin seeds if you wish, on their own or with a dollop of thick yoghurt or a scoop of Ice Cream.

15 notes · View notes

thedeadkings · 1 year

Photo

Main Dishes - Grilled Peach Toast with Mascarpone and Honey

#A delicious sweet toast with grilled peach #mascarpone cheese #and honey is the perfect treat on a hot day when peaches are in season. toast #peach toast #teaspoon butter #honey #sandwich #peaches #mascarpone

0 notes

z0mbiefrank · 11 months

Text

by popular demand here is the TOAST POST!

gerard is a homemade jam. sweet little berries that can be tart too. dedication and passion put into every jar. touch too long and your fingers come away stained like blood

ray is a beautiful poached egg. hearty and full of protein. delivers brilliant flavour without the need for fancy trimmings, but equally performs well with a wide range of ingredients. you can travel culinary continents with a poached egg

mikey is sliced bananas and honey. a little unusual for a toast topping but a universal pleaser. a sweet weekend treat you would make with your family. bonus points for making the banana slices into a face

frank is peanut butter. reliable and always sat waiting in your pantry ready to go. eat it straight out of the jar whilst stoned or crying. peanut butter understands.

#now before you all yell at me they could all be several toppings #and they overap #ray would also be a jam i feel #and mikey could be sliced fruit or nutella or marshmallow fluff #mcr come back im begging you #mcr #z0mbie thoughts #gerard way #ray toro #mikey way #frank iero #op #toast post

1K notes · View notes

scorpioracha · 3 months

Text

Dating Yoongi

We've finally got the dating Yoongi headcanons!! I'm sorry it took so long but boy is it lengthy so strap in. this is not proofread and im fucking exhausted so edits to be done eventually. if you enjoy reblog, like and leave a comment. cw: does contain smut and one kys moment

Your meet cute with Yoongi ended up being more of a meet awkward than anything. It was 3am at one of the many random convenience stores in Gangnam and you were exhausted, exhausted and hungry. You were doing a year in Seoul for your major and the timezones were really fucking you up. Puffy sleepy eyes,glasses on and a sleep mask resting on your forehead made quite the picture.

It was also quite the picture when you ran into a rack of honey butter chips and wiped out on the floor.

Full wipeout.

Legs up,gravity turned on its head wiped out.

Thankfully the only thing wounded was your pride, but you kinda wished you knocked yourself out so you couldn’t see the handsome man towering over laughing so hard his eyes practically disappeared and a gummy smile on his face. He had a cup of ice and one of those americano packets balanced in one hand and a helmet dangling in his other.

“...chana?”

“Huh?”you said in a daze.

“Gwaenchana?”he purred in a low rumble. He looked at your lost expression and sucked in a breath.

“Are you okay?”It was a little clunky and half mumbled but you didn’t want to put this man through any more mental torment so you nodded quickly.

“Ne, na gwaenchana!”you replied and quickly scrambled to your feet, almost falling once again because your ankle decided now was the time to roll. He quickly reached out and steadied you, looking at you with so much bewilderment the whole situation felt comical. He looked at the hand that still rested on your arm and quickly pulled it away, you swear you saw his pale cheeks turn pink.

“Um…”he rumbled, looking at you with weary eyes. “stay”

You nodded with wide eyes as you watched this random man run around the convenience store and come back with a juice box and a random red pouch. He looked at you and held up each one.

“Bae juice”

He held up the red pouch. “Hong sam jelly for sukchwi…one moment”

He pulled out his phone and typed quickly. He held the phone to his ear and hummed.

“For hangover”he said, pointing to the two items again. Your eyes widened and you shook your head rapidly. You weren’t drunk. He definitely misinterpreted the situation and just smiled, giving you a smile and waving goodbye before disappearing into the night.

And what do you do when a pretty man buys you pear juice and ginseng jelly in a foreign country?

You fucking c o n s u m e it.

And the next morning when you woke up late to your 8:00am lecture, you just blamed the crazy night because wow what the fuck happened.

You spent the rest of your classes thinking about that handsome stranger. Maybe you did hit your head because WHY didn’t you ask for his name or his katalk? You could have done the whole ‘oh handsome young man, I need to pay you back’ kinda schtick but your brain decided to cosplay the very first windows computer and blue screen the minute you looked at him. stupid.

“Stupid” you groaned, trudging back to your dorm. You had been blessed—got accommodations—for a single room so it was just you and your twin sized

Oh yeah, and your pining.

Couldn’t forget about your pining.

You needed a drink. A good drink,some good food and some cartoons to get your mind off this random man. Within minutes you had a bottle of soju and a hefty platter of tteokbokki on the way. Maybe you’d go out for bingsu sometime this week with the girls from your lecture. They were sweet and treated you just like anyone else despite the racial and cultural differences, doting on you as their new maknae and always making sure you ate between classes. It was nice to be looked out for so thoroughly, especially when you were so far away from home. You pulled your phone out to text them when you got a notification that your delivery driver was already on the way.

Huh. they were already earning themself a tip. You stood eagerly by the door waiting and even though you were watching the app like a hawk, you jumped when the doorbell rang and scrambled to open it.

“Gamsahab-”you looked up and saw a familiar set of eyes. “...-nida”

“Soju?”he raises his brow in a way that says ‘again?’. You felt your face grow hot and shook your head rapidly. He just smirked and handed over your takeout bags.

Once again you fucked up,blanked and forgot to ask for his name.

Damn pretty boy with his pretty eyes and his stupid smile.

It was months before you had seen him again.

Time heals all wounds and you began to move on. You hung out more with your friends, went to karaoke,saw the sights of Seoul and slowly but surely felt yourself moving on.

It was on a rainy day in May where you found yourself at your usual convenience store. The weather went from sunny skies to torrential downpour within minutes and you had just gotten your hair done. You were looking for an umbrella but found yourself in the snack aisle.

Blame it on the wind.

What you didn’t expect to find in the snack aisle were seven men bickering.

You kinda just stood like 🧍🏾‍♀️ until one of them finally turned and god he was stunning

“Yah, Yoongi-yah!! Move and let this lady through!”

The ‘Yoongi’ in question quickly scooted out of the way, mumbling about how they were all in the way.

That mumble…

“Yoongi..”you whispered before you could even stop yourself. His gaze snapped up and for once you caught him off guard. His eyes flitted over you rapidly and his mouth opened and shut like a nutcracker.

“Soju girl,”he whispered. Then the moment was lost.

"na iroumi aniya(that’s not my name)” you huffed in annoyance. You know there was an honorific you were supposed to use somewhere in that sentence but your point still stood.

“You speak Korean”another boy said and god he was tall.

“Yes I speak Korean”you said, tilting your head up at him.

“Hyung, you said soju girl couldn’t speak Korean!”a voice laughs. You squint your eyes at this Yoongi who seemingly wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He stared at you like he had seen a ghost actually which wasn’t making things much better. The tall boy sighed and took a step forward, bowing even.

“I apologize for my hyung,”he said solemnly. “He’s usually not this dumb. I’m Kim Namjoon and these are my bandmates. What’s your name?”

You smiled and returned the bow, happy to finally have some familiarity, both language and warmth.

“I’m y/n”you said. “I think me and your hyung have some catching up to do”

Yes, to say it was a meet awkward was the nicest way to put it.

It was a fucking train wreck of events if you were being completely honest.

You had exchanged info with Namjoon seeing as he spoke the most English and was the only one who didn’t 👁️👄👁️ at you which was nice and had quickly become good friends with one another.

Seeing that their leader liked you, the rest of the boys quickly followed suit and you suddenly had a much bigger friend group than you could even imagine.

Yoongi had become a lot more reserved in a way that was off putting to say the least. You’d only ever spoken to him twice before but there was something off.

you’d asked Namjoon about it during one of your study/music/kill each other from frustration sections and he just shrugged mumbling something about ‘hyung being busy’

you rolled your eyes and grabbed your stuff to find out yourself. That’s what you get for asking a dumbass.

Yoongi had been exactly where you’d expect him to be, crammed into one of the practice rooms with his headphones and laptop.

“Yoongi,” you said, tapping on his shoulder. He spun around in a startle and looked at you with a relieved sigh.

“Oh god”he breathed out, “I thought you were one of the maknae begging for food”

You couldn’t help but to smile, all the prior annoyance melting out of your pores and back to the depths of hell where they belonged. Talking to Yoongi was easy, that is when he was still talking to you.

“How do you know I'm not begging for food?”you smirked, taking a seat on the lumpy couch.

“Well, are you?”he asked, raising a brow. You shook your head and leaned back into the couch.

“You’re off the hook”you said, “but I do have a question” “Which is?” “Why have you been avoiding me lately?”

The room grew silent enough you could hear a pin drop. Cornered was the only way you could describe Yoongi. His shoulders scrunched up and he seemed to fold in on himself.

“No reason,”he said plainly.

Your eyes narrowed.

“So you have been avoiding me?”

His eyes widened.

“That’s not what I meant-”

“Then what did you mean?”you asked. Your patience was wearing thin and your heart was racing something ugly.

“I was trying to give you space”

“Space for what? I didn’t ask for space!”you snapped.

“Space for you and Namjoon!”he snapped back, folding his arms over his chest.

“Me and Namjoon?”you gagged. “The last thing me and Namjoon need is space, please collect your dongsaeng cause he won’t leave me alone!”

“Well he’s your boyfriend!”Yoongi threw back.

Huh.

“Huh?!”You shrieked.

“It doesn’t take a genius to find out,”Yoongi continued, rolling his eyes. “So you can drop the naive act”

“Naive act—Yoongi, you think I'm dating Namjoon?”you asked. You felt like you were going to be sick. Namjoon wasn’t bad by any means, he was just so older brother coded it was disgusting.

“I don't think, I know,”he said. “You guys spend all your time together,you go on dates,you take naps together; it’s obvious”

“Well since you’re such a genius”You said, “How come you couldn’t tell that i’m in love with you?”

Huh.

“Huh?”he said, spinning around in his chair to fully face you. You ran a hand over your face and honest to god laughed.

“Idiots”you said in disbelief. “You’re all idiots”

“Hey-”

“I've been pining over you for months and this whole time you think i’ve been dating Namjoon”you said, shaking your head.

“You’ve been what?”Yoongi said.

“Crushing on you”you emphasized, “You idiot”

“i..I don’t know what to say,”he said. You sighed and fully leaned back against the chair, feeling all the blood rush to your head from your bold confession. This isn’t how this was supposed to go.

“You can let me down gently for starters”you chuckled humorlessly.

“Let you down—what are you talking about?”he asked.

“Just reject me already!”You exclaimed, waving your hands frantically. You felt like a madwoman.

“Why would I reject you?”his eyebrows furrowed.

You were going to be sick.

“I’m going to be sick”you laughed, running your hands over your face and god were you crying?

“Why are you crying?”he rumbled softly, leaning in and wiping the tears off your cheeks. You just laughed harder, but that ended up turning into a sob because you were so tired. You weren’t expecting a fairytale but this wasn’t the turn you thought today would take. You felt yourself being pulled closer and you knew you should pull away, you knew better. It was all too much and he would just hurt you, but his hoodie smelled like coffee. His hoodie smelled like coffee and his hands were warm as they wrapped around you. You always wondered if he ran hot or cold, but he was neither; Yoongi was pleasantly warm. His hand had somehow wriggled between the two of you and rested on your cheek, rubbing the streaks where your tears trailed. His breath rose and fell in a steady rhythm and for a moment you felt weighless.

“What a mess, huh?”he mumbled, tracing his thumb over your temple. “I went and made all these assumptions…because I was afraid to say I love you”

“You love me?”you whispered.

“Mm”he rumbled in affirmation. “You didn’t know?”

“No”you said, keeping your voice low, scared if you spoke too loud, the moment would disappear.

“I thought I was being obvious,”he said.

“I thought I was being obvious,”you said. You pulled your head back to look at Yoongi and that gummy smile was on full display.

“We’re both idiots”

Actually dating Yoongi went much smoother than the confession process.

In the early days, the two of you spent a lot of time in the genius studio doing parallel play, you’d work on your assignments and he would work on music.

Obviously with many interruptions from the maknae line + hoseok, occasionally being prodded by Seokjin and Namjoon to eat,drink and get fresh air

Y’all needed to touch grass and they were sick of it

Being so close to the band in their early days formed an immeasurable bond between you all

But it also lead to a lot of sacrifices on your part that you weren’t prepared to make.

There was the obvious like no posting about the boys on social media,nda’s up the wazoo,etc. This was all expected and you were willing to do so.

What you weren’t prepared for was how cruel the kmedia could truly be. You weren’t from here, you were a foreigner and that already put a target on your back. The fact that you weren’t thin or pale didn’t help one bit either.

Thankfully, the boys and Yoongi reassured you in private. Namjoon did damage control and argued with the company to do more on your behalf, while Jimin and the maknae stood by your side like bodyguards wherever you went in silent solidarity. You were never alone. Jin dropped you off at university in the morning, along with Jungkook. Scolding the two of you to have a good day and to eat something that wasn’t chips. Naturally, Jungkook would bring you back once your classes were done and continued to gripe that even though he was older than you, he was still stuck in highschool.

You still hold this over his head to this date.

So thankfully, you had support. Support that if you didn’t have you weren’t sure where you would be honestly. It really felt like you all had become a little family, and being so far from home that was something you desperately needed.

Once the group got larger and was in a more stable position you better believe they all stopped holding their tongues, especially Yoongi. He could be a little hard to read at times but you were not expecting him to be getting himself into full on twitter wars on a burner account over you 💀

“Yoongi stop telling people to kill themselves”

“No”

Being in love with Yoongi felt easy, it was natural. He continued to take care of you in little ways whether it was packing your lunch,giving you transit fare or rubbing your temples when you were tired and falling asleep on him.

Our mans is definitely about that acts of service life. He loves quietly.

Pda made him want to die just a little inside but he wasn’t opposed to holding your hand. It wasn’t like he had anything to hide anyways, you guys were already public.

He wasn’t the jealous type and although he’d never admit it, he loved how much you and the boys love each other. He’s got a bunch of pictures on his phone of you just in the dorms being domestic. You spent more time there than you did in your own dorm room.

So although he doesn’t say it often, he shows it with every part of his being. The way his eyes sparkle when he sees you in the morning, his proud smile in your graduation photos. It also made his heart flutter that you got his dry humor and you dished it right back to him, smack in the middle of the maknae line teasing him and Jin about being old.

And when you learned Daegu Satoori from Taehyung to surprise him? Namjoon had to hold him back from proposing on the spot. And to think he ever thought you and Namjoon were dating.

Yoongi bits ✨tid bits about you and yoongi ✨

Yes Yoongi genuinely thought you were drunk and he wasn’t flirting(he got that nuerodivergent rizz)

When Yoongi told you the mint hair wasn’t real and washed it out you cried 🧍🏾‍♀️

You guys have two apartments together, one near Hybe and one in Daegu. You both prefer the apartment in Daegu because that means Holly gets to stay with you guys.

Everytime a new design for shooky it mysteriously appears in the apartment.

You guys have two cats per your request(a white one named sugar and a black one named gloss) the things Yoongi does for love

You guys have been happily engaged for the past year and he proposed in the most unromantic way possible

NSFW

Baby, Yoongi is a switch with a capital S

Now I have never met a non kinky neurodivergent person and Yoongi is no exception. He enjoys a good power dynamic and has definitely explored kink in the past with previous partners so he’s experienced.

But Yoongi does occasionally just like to fuck, no rules no dynamics. Just vanilla sex

He’s a lot softer than his image and he honestly likes the separation between the two for his own sanity. The fans think he’s this no nonsense hardass, but he’d much rather praise and reward you than dole out punishments.

He’s a softie at heart and finds a bit of bratty behavior to be cute so you can definitely get away with a lot. Not to say he’s a complete pushover but he definitely will let a good amount of back talk slide before he puts you in your place. It's almost infuriating how calm he is if you’re the type that brats in hopes of a punishment. He’ll just look at you and laugh about how cute you’re being before returning back to whatever he was doing.

It’s pretty hard to tick him off but also not impossible, the easiest way to get him to snap is to mess with him in the studio; especially if he has a deadline coming up. That's how you end up on your knees crammed under his desk not even allowed to suck his dick but just sit there and keep it warm while he works. The condescending mumbles and coos he lets out while stroking your head is enough to send you careening straight into subspace. “Just needed something in your mouth, huh?”he’d purr and gently drag his nails across your scalp

Tongue technology. We all know about it, but you get to experience this first hand at your beck and call. Yoongi is the first one to admit you’re spoiled and when you’re not being a brat, all you have to do is ask and he’ll be in between your legs. He could and has spent hours down there teasing your folds and giving you orgasm after orgasm until you can’t take it anymore.

Somnophilia. This is a kink that goes both ways for you guys but honestly he finds it really hot when you take what you need from him. Waking up groggy in the middle of the night to you fucking yourself on his cock is one of the quickest ways to get Yoongi whining and gripping the sheets. Bonus points if you tie his hands up or cuff them to the bed posts.

He’s not really a fan of quickies and prefers to take his time, but he’s not opposed to shoving you into a closet and getting you off on his fingers if you’re getting needy. He just wants to take care of his girl.

Speaking of his hands, they end up around your throat and in your mouth quite often. Whether you’re sucking or gagging on them, Yoongi makes good on this little fixation and makes sure you get your fill.

He’s down to being pegged. Somebody had to say it guys,🗣️ Yoongi wants something up his ass ‼️

Whether you have him bent over a table or you’re tied up and he’s riding you, Yoongi does enjoy penetration and he’s not ashamed of it. He likes how dazed and pliant you get when he’s bouncing on your strap all flushed and pink and whining. it’s a rush to his head and sends him over the edge faster than he can get a hand on himself.

He’s a fan of cozy aftercare and pillow talk. After you’ve both cleaned up and the bed is moderately clean, he’s off in the kitchen getting snacks and water so you two can cuddle and recap what you liked and disliked. He gets really affectionate after he cums so it usually dissolves into him mumbling praises and kissing all over your face before falling asleep.

All in all Yoongi is the best boy.

#yoongi headcanons #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #Yoongi smut #bts headcanons #bts hard thoughts #bts hard hours #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi smut #bts min yoongi #bts fanfic #bts yoongi #yoongi drabble #min yoongi

347 notes · View notes

literaila · 11 months

Text

still here

tasm!peter x reader

summary: there’s an ache in me, put there by the ache in you

(for @elysian-chaos)

warnings: angst, fluff, feeling unworthy, feeling useless, you know, seperation

a/n: ‘tis the damn season is the best song ever. dont argue

there's this little thing called stress baking.

typically, stress baking is referred to as coping by making something delicious to scavenge on, instead of dwelling on the feelings scavenging you. and typically, it's done with a certain type of elegance--one that is made up of chaos. completely insane, yet completely in control. it's a messy dance, but perfectly choreographed.

stress baking is a very reviving task. filling up the house with muffins and pies is not only good for distracting yourself, but also for making friends when you run out of room. or smiling at the cashier every time you have to go to the store for ingredients.

it's something you've practiced for years. something you've become somewhat addicted to.

but then there's baking while stressed. which, you swear, hadn't been your intention.

brownies from a box were supposed to be easy. they were notoriously easy. a couple of eggs, some oil, and some water. the hardest part of your job was mixing, but you'd done it so many times that you zoned out while doing all of it.

box brownies were supposed to be non-stress and quick. but when you burn the brownies and batter rises over the top of your glass pan, and the oven is dirty, and the apartment smells like burnt batter and oven cleaner--well, you have to reread the directions.

you're a good baker. you've been making cookies and cakes for parties for years. you pride yourself on not needing measuring cups because you can eye a recipe by the gram.

not that these brownies would agree.

and it's already five-forty-five. peter is going to be home in the next fifteen minutes and this was supposed to be a treat. something good.

"surprise! i ruined our oven, and now we're going to have to spend the next few nights at your aunt's house in your twin-sized bed until the smell of death goes away!" doesn't typically bring out any smiles.

and peter's been stressed lately, and you've been stressed about him.

and now you're making brownies from scratch without butter--because you used it all on the last batch, oops--and the number of candles you've lit is a sure fire hazard.

but if peter would just smile at you, pull you in by your waist and laugh while he kissed you with a chocolate mouth, it would all be fine.

if there wasn't so much riding on this one (two) pan(s) of brownies. like being able to sleep comfortably tonight.

you turned the oven down, found a new pan--threw the other one out because it was nothing but a source of disappointment--and cleaned the oven just enough to not draw any suspicions. but you could still feel the failure lurking.

peter was going to come home to a chaotic house, and it was your fault.

so you scrubbed at the counters. fixed the stack of bills on the table so that you couldn't see any of the stamps, folded the blankets, and even swept the kitchen floor.

still, you knew peter would know. because he always knows. and maybe that was why he was acting so weird lately--maybe that's why you were acting so weird.

the door opened when the timer on the oven went off.

you'd wanted to watch peter walk through the door--so you could gauge how tired he was, how miserable--but maybe it was better not to know. to let him put on a mask while your back was still turned.

"hey, baby," he said, as you were pulling the brownies out of the oven, setting his house keys on the counter and sighing. "i'm home."

you peeked over your shoulder, giving him a hint of a smile--the same type he was giving you. "hey, honey," you said back, "you're home."

peter walked around the island to stand right behind you, kissing the back of your head and stealing a look over to the stovetop. he clears his throat. "brownies?"

you shrug. "thought you might like something sweet when you got home."

you take off the oven mitt, not really wanting to look at him--maybe because you're scared of what you'll see, or maybe just because you can already feel his eyes tearing down your skin.

but you can feel his breath on your neck as he chuckles. his exhaustion as he leans into your back.

"i've already got you, though," he whispers one peck at the edge of your jaw, another by your ear.

you snort and pull away, turning so you can look at him. and then you pretend to throw up.

he laughs and pokes your forehead.

you're not looking at him and he's not looking at you.

you turn back to the brownies.

"did you drop something in the oven?" peter asks, leaning his chin on your shoulder.

"no," you answer, a bit too defensive.

"sure?"

"am i sure that i didn't burn something in the oven, peter? yes."

there's a beat. "...cause it smells like it."

you headbutt him. "you smell like it. go shower. you can't eat these yet."

"yes, ma'am," peter takes a step back, and you look at him again. you can see the question in his eyes, and see your own reflecting the same question.

what are you hiding?

"we have some ice cream, too."

peter moans, his head back. you roll your eyes at him.

and you start cutting the brownies, worries, and chocolate chips sticking to the knife, listening to peter's footsteps, feeling his presence sticking to you like sugar, sticky and rich, his eyes keeping you on edge.

you know you shouldn't feel stupid--peter doesn't actually know what happened, or care--but you do. because he knows, and because even from the split second you looked at him, you could see the strain on his skin, the pressure weighing him down, dragging his feet across the floor.

you feel stupid just because you don't know what to do. so before he can close the door, you turn around. choosing reaction instead of pretending.

"peter?"

he pauses, his head whipping towards you. his eyes are as soft and loving as they always are--his attention remains the same, even when his energy doesn't. like he's wasting himself away just to take care of you.

he swallows. "yeah?"

"are you--" you blink, look away, try not to taste burnt brownies. "are you okay? you seem tired. was work… alright?

peter smiles, shaking his head. "just the usual, bub. work and... work. i think i'll go to bed early tonight?"

you raise a brow.

peter clears his throat. "i mean, i think i'll take a nap tonight before i go out."

you nod. "okay."

you both stare at each other for a moment. he's far enough away that it's easier. you don't have to feel his emotions as he processes them. don't have to see them from up close.

you hate yourself for being afraid of him. for being afraid for him.

“d’ya want to join me?” peter asks, whisper slipping from his mouth, smile taunting from his lips. “we can cuddle and eat brownies.”

you lick your lips, shaky smile enough. “you sure? i’ve heard i can be a bit distracting…”

peter’s laugh makes his shoulders shake. “you heard correctly,” he says eyes crinkled, “but i don’t mind.”

you nod. you’re grateful for his ease. the careful reveal of his true face, the peeling of a mask. the admittance that not everything is perfect, no matter how small.

“go shower. i’ll get the sugar.”

peter kisses you on the cheek before he goes.

and at least you got a couple of smiles out of him. at least you can feel his kiss lingering on your skin.

it's not that serious. honestly.

you hardly even think about it. you're not thinking about it.

you're not dwelling on the smell of soft skin and the feeling of calloused hands running up and down your back, the tickle of a breath against your neck.

you're not thinking about it at all.

and if it's been a week--or a week and a half, or two, or three--since you last spoke, or shared the same space with peter, then it's fine.

this is something you've grown used to. something you're supposed to be used to.

peter has obligations.

he has things he needs to fulfill--not just for himself, but for others, for the guilt that you can see rocking his bones all of the time, the shame in his eyes when he comes home a bit too early. he has places that he needs to be, if only because he won't be able to live with himself if he's not there.

but then again, you're not sure how to live when he's not here. especially when the sink breaks.

still, as long as you can feel him pull you into his chest every night, imagine him kissing your forehead before falling asleep, then it's fine.

you're not thinking about any of it because it's fine.

but you miss him. if only momentarily.

he'll come back--you repeat this like a promise, like it's his voice whispering it to you--because he always does.

space is good for the heart, some part of you swears. though you don't think you could think of peter any fonder than you already do.

he comes in too late at night and is already gone when you wake up. he texts you updates--because you've talked about communication before--and tells you that he loves you through sweet little notes he sends during the day.

if the thing he wishes to share about his life is the worm he found in his apple, then you're perfectly happy to listen (read).

it's normal to miss the person you love most in the world.

and it's normal for your boyfriend to disappear for fourteen hours each day, just barely cuddling with you for three hours before he's gone again.

it's normal for you, at least

he’ll come back.

and so, instead of thinking about peter, and wondering when he might notice the frayed edges of your relationship, you make sure that he doesn't have to worry about anything.

you clean up after the two of you, running the dishwasher and cleaning the bathroom, and packing him lunch on days you know he'll be gone for the office. making sure there's always something he can eat in the fridge when he gets home late at night, and texting him to know what he wants from the store.

you make the bed and wash his clothes and hope that maybe it'll keep him from burning out.

you hope that maybe it will keep you distracted enough to not ask him for anything. like love or support or a five-minute conversation.

if taking care of him is the only way to keep him going--the only way to keep yourself going--then you'll do it. peter takes care of you enough.

but even if you're not thinking about it, it's there.

because you've just fallen asleep--which is extremely rare recently, mostly because you like to wait until you hear the window and then slow your breathing until you feel peter crawl into bed with you--and just woke up.

woke up with sweaty skin and a headache. it's night ten and you're getting nightmares again.

it's ridiculous that you can't even last two weeks without peter there. without him kissing you to sleep.

and when you burst out of bed, you almost fall into him--almost scream because you're sharing the bed with someone else.

tears are running down your face. your heart feels split open--like your dreams have revealed something inside it.

but you look over to peter and he's there; he's still here.

so you take a deep breath--chest caving in, body following--and you rest your head in your hands.

if there's anything you want right now, it's for peter to wake up.

it's for him to know all of this.

you want him to appear next to you, leaning over your back like he's going to shelter from the world if that's what you need. rubbing your back and whispering in your ear. you want him in your house and laughing when you break the shower rod again.

you want him to cuddle with you before he leaves, and cross his heart when you scold him while he crawls out the window.

you want him in more than just your memory.

but peter is snoring next to you, and so you sit there in silence until the tears begin to ease.

peter's not supposed to be home.

he works until five, and then takes the subway home--and you're not expecting to see him anyway. he's been shoving his suit into the bottom of his backpack right as you pull it out of the hamper.

so it's not that unusual for you to be laying in bed, shoes and socks kicked across the floor, hands gripping for some stability, and eyes puffy and red.

and it's not that unusual for you to squeak when the window opens, and spider-man's head peeks into your room.

you can feel peter's wide eyes behind the mask.

you're quick to wipe your face, throw on a clumsy smile. "peter," you say, exhaling. "what're you doing here?"

a body crawls into the window, dirt and grime on clothes finger-tips reaching out to you. "what's wrong?" he asks, voice only slightly muffled.

but you take a step back, moving away from him when he lands on the floor, leaving spots for you to vacuum up later.

"what're you doing here?" you repeat, voice a bit harsher, a bit faded.

"i need--" he reaches his hand out toward you again, retreating when you do. "i needed some more web fluid. i don't--" he shakes his head. "what happened?"

"i, um," you wipe traitorous tears away again. "i think there's some more in the closet. i keep moving it when i'm cleaning, sorry."

"you're crying," peter scolds. like you're being ridiculous. like you're not trying to save him the effort it's going to take to fix this irrational piece of you, these lonely broken bits.

you bite your lip and look away.

because although you can't even see his eyes--they are still scolding. they are quick and cruel reminders that you haven't talked to peter in two weeks.

you turn towards your bedside table, pretending to organize the contents on top.

you can hear peter moving.

"what's going on, bub?" he says, soft enough for the words to crawl under your skin. he's taken the mask off. his voice is clear.

"oh, nothing, you know," you pause, shrugging. "just the usual sad movie type of cry..." peter's hand reaches your back and you flip around, almost knocking over your lamp.

"c'mon," he whispers to you, far closer than you'd been expecting.

you try and take a step back, only meeting a dead-end. he's cornered you. "you should go, peter. you were just--"

"this is more important."

you laugh. "some silly tears are more important than a collapsing building?"

"you're more important," peter swears, his eyes so focused on yours, "to me."

you blink and shake your head. gesture back towards the window. "go and save some people. you don't have to help me too."

peter swallows, brows furrowed. "will you tell me what's wrong?"

"i can take care of myself, peter. you don't need to worry about it."

"well, i'm going to."

you roll your eyes. and then you break free of his hold, moving away from the table, from the cage he's built around you. "move along, spider-man."

peter doesn't move any closer, but his limbs are tense. his face is concerned and hurt--you try and shield that out.

"i'm not leaving you when you're crying."

"i'm not crying anymore."

peter scowls. "stop deflecting."

you take a deep breath, throat dry and aching. "i'm not--" you clear your throat, shaking your head and looking away from him. "i'm fine, peter. but some people actually need you. go and save the day," you tell him. "i'll still be here when you come back."

and you are.

you're sitting on the couch, staring at photos peter took on the wall, wondering how to explain any of it.

how to explain yourself without digging the two of you any further in this hole.

you've been trying to prove just how little you need peter--just how useful you could be--and by doing so, you've put yourself in this situation.

because you do need him. you just hadn't wanted peter to know that.

so you're sitting on the couch, trying not to flinch every time the air conditioning comes on, or there's a footstep from the apartment above you. you're waiting for peter to climb in through the window, waiting to see how exhausted he is before he has to deal with you.

and you've bitten your lip raw. completely eliminated any evidence of fingernails you once had.

your heart stutters with every minute that comes by.

and when you finally hear peter hop in from the fire escape, your heart stops completely.

you wonder if he's going to change before he comes and finds you. before the inevitable happens, and you give him another reason to work so late.

your restlessness must be audible because it only takes peter forty seconds before walking into the living room. he's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.

he's wearing a frown like a well-tailored suit. known and made for him.

you're trying not to frown back.

"hey," you say, putting on a smile, voice flighty and an octave too high. "everything okay?"

"no one got hurt," peter says, the antonym to your tone.

"good."

apparently, your tight-lipped smile isn't enough to ease the tension in the room.

"are you ready to talk?" peter asks, slowly stepping toward you, just barely meeting your eyes.

you'd scrubbed your face after he left. sobbed in the shower as you washed away any of the shame you hadn't meant for him to see. you'd made sure that your eyes weren't puffy, and your eyelashes were dry before he'd got home.

so when peter scans your face--as he's doing now--he shouldn't notice anything unusual.

besides the facade you're putting on.

you clear your throat, eyebrows lifted like you're unconcerned. "there's not much to talk about."

peter's sullen face doesn't move an inch. "why were you crying?"

"i already told you. i watched a sad movie," you wave a hand, "you just came in at the wrong time."

peter sighs. he sits down on the couch next to you, keeping his distance. "don't lie."

you frown. "i'm not lying."

"you've got some pretty obvious tells, you know," peter whispers, giving you a hint of a bittersweet smile. "you don't have to talk to me. but i'd like it if you did. i just want to make sure that you're... okay."

"i'm fine, peter."

he looks away. "and if you're not then we'll figure it out. i just want to know."

"well, you do."

peter opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head.

he's sitting three feet away from you, but his hands are clasped together, his legs are opposite of yours, and he can't even look at you.

you can feel it, as you push him away. as you try so desperately to hold him close without touching him.

"okay," peter says, eyes meeting yours again. "i don't want to push you."

no, but he should pull you off of this ledge. should keep you from falling any further than you already have.

you shake your head, laughing. it's not funny.

"what?"

you close your eyes. count to ten. forget how to breathe, or how to speak to the person you love most in this world.

"what?" peter repeats, but softer.

you open your eyes.

and then it all crumbles.

you scoff. "can you stop looking at me like that?" you plead, breaking away, physically distancing yourself from him.

"like what?"

it's his fault, really, for coming home so early in the day.

"like you can't deal with this. like this is exhausting."

the tears sneak up on you, knocking you out before you even notice that they're there.

peter's eyes are wide as he stares at you. "you're not--" he swallows, frantically reaching towards you. "this isn't exhausting--i'm not--" a moment, tears beginning to fall. "what do you--"

you sigh, shaking your head. "you're always gone, and you come home exhausted every night after you think i've fallen asleep, and you only talk to me through text, and even now you just--" you stop, voice breaking. "if you can't do this," you say, softly, "then you should just tell me."

peter is closer than he was a moment ago. "what?"

"i know this is a lot of work, okay? and i know that you're already pushing yourself, so it's fine if i'm too much. if--if loving me is too much."

there's a moment of silence, and you're almost sure that peter has already left.

but then there's a thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. you can't open your eyes, can't face the reality you've been desperately holding off.

"you're not too much."

peter moves closer to you, his leg touching yours, his hands moving so that he can hold you closer.

you couldn't push him away if you tried.

"you're not too much," he repeats, the words sinking into your skin, his breath meeting yours. "i can't believe you would think that."

you half laugh, half sob. peter wipes away those tears too.

"you're the only thing keeping me going," he tells you, kissing your forehead. "i'm sorry i haven't been there. i didn't realize..." he shakes his head.

"you shouldn't have to take care of me as much as you do," you whisper.

peter nudges his head against yours. "hey. you take care of me way more than i take care of you. you clean up after me and stay up with me when i can't sleep. you help fix my suits, and do all of the laundry. and you never complain. you're practically my guardian angel."

"that's all easy."

"not for me," peter says, voice lighter than before.

you shrug.

"but you do all of that cause you love me," he adds, kissing your forehead again. "or, i hope that's why."

"it's the sex."

peter laughs, nuzzling his head into you. "well, at least you're honest. but, it's the same reason that i take care of you. you shouldn't feel... guilty because of that. you're no burden on me."

"no?"

"absolutely not."

you bite your lip. try and believe peter. but honestly, you're most lovesick from how close he's holding you. how you can feel his skin and listen to him speak somewhere that isn't your bed. you're not quite sure that this isn't a dream.

"hey," peter moves his head so you're looking at him. "we suck."

you laugh, leaning your forehead against his.

"i'm sorry it's been so long since we've... anything. it's been a rough couple of weeks."

"for me too. it's not your fault."

"you have to tell me if it's not enough, okay? i don't want you to suffer through it by yourself. if you need to talk to me--even for ten minutes--then you have to let me know."

"okay."

"do you promise?"

you nod against him, nose brushing his cheek. "i promise, peter."

peter smiles, satisfied. he groans, pulling you even closer to him. "i love you, bug. so much."

you can barely hear him because of how tight he's hugging you. it sort of hurts, but mostly heals.

"i know," you say back. but peter probably can't hear you, because you say it right into his shirt.

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @sharkswaters @rowniebow @anaislfbv @take-my-hand-time-boy @mileyc111 @starsval @ratsys

878 notes · View notes

insomniumstella · 7 months

Text

spice & honey

bucky x baker!reader

summary: cinnamon buns and wickedly strong coffee must be the only reasons James Buchanan Barnes visits your bakery daily, despite the inconvenience of driving to a small town on the outskirts of Upstate New York. right?

warnings: first dates and crushes (absolutely classified as warnings), mead consumption, a curse word or two, soft!bucky

word count: 4,565

author's note: i've been watching Gilmore Girls a little too much lately (hence the little easter egg). on another note, autumn is my favourite season, so prepared to be sick of James attending harvest festivals and drinking apple cider 🍂🥧🎃

all the stories i've written

September 21st marks the official arrival of Autumn. Though the weather has been rather cheerful lately, today’s air is much crisper and heavier with the promise of looming rain. The streets of Eldermont remain far too green to your dismay, but Spice & Honey—the bakery you’ve owned for the past five years—is rich in shades of marigold and copper. A wide assortment of mugs, mostly in various shapes of pumpkins, and spiced teas, line the shelves, while the fresh jars of apple butter are neatly stacked alongside the register. Besides the usual treats, the glass display teems with seasonal favourite pumpkin tarts and apple cider donuts.

The everlasting chatter of customers and soft sounds of a vintage record you scored at a neighbour’s garage sale just last month saturate the space as you place the second batch of cinnamon rolls on the counter. The clock reads 10:57 AM, and though you’ve been attempting to conceal your excitement, Vivienne could sense it the second you stepped through the door, teasing you about the very special visitor who’s always in need of sugary buns and black coffee at exactly five past eleven.

James Buchanan Barnes is a regular customer, you often argue. The nervous babble, flustered movements, and beaming smiles convey otherwise. And so yes, you might have a little bit of a schoolgirl crush on the freakishly tall, muscular brunette who brings in the latest editions of The Culinary Canvas magazine each Monday and notices the smallest of changes in your recipes. Just maybe, you reluctantly ponder when your thoughts inadvertently wander to that charming grin and baby blue eyes every time you knead the dough for his adored treat — a dessert once reserved for Autumn suddenly available year around.

“Staring at the entrance won’t make time pass quicker,” Vivienne whispers, arranging butterscotch cupcakes by the pumpkin tarts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper back, covering the pans with aluminum foil.

Perhaps hiding the pastries, a favourite amongst Spice & Honey shoppers, is not the best business decision, but Eldermont is merely a small town in Upstate New York. If it wasn’t located a thirty minute drive south of the Avengers compound, most people wouldn’t be aware of its presence in the first place. And besides, everybody in Eldermont is connected to everybody — the town holds no secrets, including the pastries you keep warm and frost fresh.

“The tall, dark, and handsome man,” she points out, “still has a few minutes. Perchance the preparations of Eldermont’s Annual Harvest Festival made it trickier to find parking.” Vivienne turns to you with a mirthful grin, the cupcakes resting perfectly positioned in the glass case. “You should invite him. Heard Brad brewed an incredible batch of apple cider mead this year.”

You sigh, snatching the golden tray out of her grasp. “I’m not asking Bucky out.”

“Ah! Bucky!” The woman’s grin widens. “Forgot his name for a second.” Shades of mischief dance in her tone as she marks Elijah’s, the eccentric owner of Marigold Meadows flower shop across the street, special order of fifty maple bacon BLTs as completed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you mention Bucky at least seven times a day.”

“Seven’s oddly specific,” you note and swiftly, “also I do not,” disagree.

“Bucky smelled great today,” Vivienne mocks your voice, the grin you’ve come to love—and hate—remaining on her features. “Should I add apple to the cinnamon rolls? I wonder if Bucky would enjoy apple cinnamon rolls with brown butter and maple icing unless he’s a creature of habit. Maybe I should suggest a sprinkle of nutmeg in his coffee to test the waters first—“

“Vivienne,” you groan, yet she persists.

“What’s the worst that could happen? Bucky could say no. Bucky could also choose The Sugared Whisk. Bucky wouldn’t. I adore their croissants, but the coffee is terribly weak, and even their tea selection is mediocre. Indigo should include spiced teas. And sure, Luke's doesn't offer spiced teas, but Luke’s sells great coffee and danishes, except the danishes are only available on Wednesdays.” She recites a recent monologue of yours, and if you weren’t mortified, you’d actually be quite surprised at Vivienne’s ability to remember conversations as if they happened minutes ago.

The doorbell chimes before she has the chance to finish, and you’re highly unsure of whether it’s a saved by the bell kind of situation or if you’d rather the floor magically swallow you whole.

“Good morning.” James smiles, and it’s then that you decide you’d rather the floor split open because you’re awfully flustered by his entrance despite secretly anticipating the moment since the sun arose.

“Hiya, Bucky,” she returns the favour, secretly nudging your side. “Have you ever been to the annual Eldermont’s Harvest Festival?”

“Cannot say I have,” he chuckles, breaking eye contact between the two for just a second to glance at her.

Though you’d never admit it aloud, those eyes, baby blue on sunny days and resembling the ocean on the ones of rain, cross your mind more than a pair of eyes should. This infatuation borders on obsessive, you often contemplate. James Buchanan Barnes is an Avenger for heaven’s sake, and you’re almost sure a man of his maturity and composure wouldn’t agree to a date with a baker, a clutz one at that. It’s not that you’d want to, nevertheless. The two of you have a great thing together — you serve coffee, he survives on coffee, and if time allows, the lighthearted conversations you have bring colours to otherwise monotone days.

“The decorations, the food, the people are phenomenal.” You might have to assign the redhead to kneading duty if she’s heading to that territory. “This beauty right here could take you on a real good tour. Eldermont is gorgeous this time of year.” Enjoy kneading bread, Vivi.

“Is it?” James grins, his stare flicking between you and Vivienne.

“Drop dead,” she reiterates, “much like the women.”

“Vivienne,” you suddenly cut in, “the coffee station is out of paper cups. Could you bring some from the back?”

She gives you another grin, less mischievous and more understanding, nodding at Bucky before she disappears into the kitchen. The heavy wooden doors create a boisterous sound once they close, and you couldn’t be happier for a distraction because you cannot look at the brunette just yet. The bakery is sweltering, and your hands are sweaty, and, if it wasn’t evident you’ve been nurturing a crush on James, Vivienne practically plastered a HEAD BAKER IN LOVE WITH SERGEANT BARNES sign out front.

“The station’s out of cups?”

“Yes!” You glimpse behind the shoulder, deciding to keep the lie alive. “Spice & Honey gets busy during the afternoons, and we run out quickly.” The words leave your mouth rushed and a bit muttered, but the effort is there. “Black coffee and a cinnamon bun?”

“It’s a habit,” his smile is as charming as always. James hesitates for a beat, observing you locate the plastic to-go containers. “The festival Vivienne touched on, have you ever been?”

The atmosphere stills for an awkward second as you gawk at him. “Oh, sure,” you answer at last, praying her babbling wasn’t too obvious because you couldn’t fathom Bucky choosing The Sugared Whisk. “Every year since I was four. The festival’s great. Brad brews the best mead, and Johnny, the mayor, is comically strict about the decorations, so it’s all pumpkins, and string lights, and festive garlands,” you mumble, scrambling for the pan and cream cheese frosting. “I’ve even heard whispers of fireworks this year. It’s next Saturday if you want to drop by. Cassie bakes the best apple pies.”

“Better than yours?”

“I don’t serve apple pies,” averting your eyes to study the grinder seems like the best decision to avoid his piercing gaze.

“I’m sure they’d be the best if you did.” Bucky beams, leaning against the counter as he observes you make coffee.

“Thank you,” the expression of gratitude melts into somewhat of a question despite your best attempts at keeping your voice level, “but the pies I bake often turn out horribly wrong. The apples were overcooked, and the dough raw last time I tried.”

“How undercooked?”

“The trash can enjoyed most of it.”

James laughs at that, the sound of it hearty and endearing. “I’m sure it found the pie delicious.” If he’s flirting with you, you can’t tell, and you don’t exactly want to, for expectations are the fool’s hope. “If you’re not terribly busy during the festival,” he speaks after a protracted moment of doubt, “I’d love to take you up on that tour Vivienne mentioned.”

“Tour?” The man in front of you must almost all but hear your heart pounding rapidly inside your chest.

“The tour of mead, pies, and decorations.”

“Oh?” You tinker with a couple napkins, peering at him. “I’m not sure I could give you a real good tour, I’m barely a guide, believe me. I got lost in that new Target on Cedar Lane, and I cannot understand maps, and—“

“I’m asking you out on a date.” Bucky chuckles at your flustered visage, baby blues never once breaking the eye contact.

“Shit,” the curse word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and you silently reprimand yourself for the rash impulse of colourful words. “Alright.”

The sergeant titters at your sudden reaction, a shy smile dancing on his lips. “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable. I just thought we might have something between us, chemistry of sorts, and that it might’ve been fun,” he briefly pauses, eyes wild and roaming around your face. “It’s just that Vivienne mentioned Eldermont being gorgeous in the fall, and it got me thinking that I’ve never truly experienced it, because the only thing I visit in this town is your bakery, not that it’s the only place worth visiting—“

“Bucky—“

“There are many stores I should probably check out, and Samuel’s birthday is in a couple of days, which is convenient. I wouldn’t describe Sam and I as the best of pals, but Steve likes him, so I should probably get him a gift.”

“Who’s Samuel?” You ask puzzled, but the flustered soldier standing before you continues to ramble.

“Something small to indicate I remembered but not necessarily care. Something that screams I’m not a total jerk, but you are for reminding the whole compound that your birthday’s on the twenty third. A wooden statue of a bird. Sam likes birds, particularly Redwing, though Redwing’s not technically a bird. A wooden bird statue would certainly insult him, so it’s settled — the plan is to visit Artists & Wood on Land.”

“The shop’s name is Woodland Artistry,” you correct with a gentle smile.

“Right!” James clicks his tongue, studying your softly amused features. “We should probably forget this conversation happened. It was a stupid idea too—“

“Yes,” you interject. “I mean no.” Surely, this scenario is a strange dream that wicked mind of yours created to punish you for the sins you assumably committed in every single one of your previous lives. It’s the only possible explanation for the sergeant’s flustered behaviour. “I would absolutely love to go on a date,” you say and pinch the flesh of your thigh for reassurance, but the scene remains as it was, “with you.”

Gently placing a twenty on the counter, James gleams at you. “I’ve never actually given you my number, have I?”

"No," you shake your head to indicate disagreement, pinching the flesh of your thighs once more. “Only the pleasure of our little chats,” the response makes you wince. The pleasure of our little chats? Something’s definitely wrong with me.

Chuckling, James grasps one of the pens you keep by the cash register and scribbles down a series of numbers on his receipt. "If I don't reply, Steve must be holding me hostage.”

"Duly noted," you grin, folding the piece of paper to tuck it into the back pocket of your denim shorts.

He stands there for a second as if absorbing the situation. “Good. It’s a date, then.” he smiles in the end, taking the coffee and the plastic box, and peeks at you behind his shoulder. “And keep the change, please. These treats of yours are more than worth it.”

A timid smile spreads across your lips at the compliment before you sink your teeth into the soft of your bottom lip, observing the soldier scramble out of the bakery, the phone in his flannel jacket ringing for attention.

“Next time,” the redhead appears beside you once James disappears out of sight with a final wave goodbye, “you should give the man coffee and buns on the house," Vivienne nudges you, "both of them."

A surge of warmth rushes to your cheeks at her innuendo. “It’s great you suddenly possessed the ability to teleport and all, but the dough back there won’t knead itself.”

“No,” she gasps, and you only laugh at her realisation, turning to help the next customer.

It’s a date.

The evening of Eldermont’s harvest festival is pleasant, neither too blazing nor cold, but despite the temperature and the appropriate sundress you’ve chosen for it, you’re on the verge of fainting. I cannot faint on our first date, you think and decide it’s the man next to you’s fault, really. The smell of his cologne is too addicting, the hints of pine and cinnamon in his aftershave too intoxicating. James is a gentleman, which you expected and appreciate, but it’s overwhelming, the way he holds your hand to lead you through crowds and attentively listens to your overdrawn stories about the origins of pumpkin carving. Heavens help me.

“Have you checked out the corn maze yet?” Brad asks cheerfully. He’s surrounded by large beverage urns and stacks of disposable drinkware. “Mary mentioned Elijah’s still in there,” he chuckles, pouring two paper cups full of steaming apple cider mead. “The fool must’ve gotten lost or something.”

“Must’ve,” you glance at him, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a half smile. “Happens every year.”

“The two of you should go,” Brad speaks once again before smiling at Bucky. “It’s a great first date activity.”

James chuckles, and you wonder if he regrets asking you on a date. The small town you call home is ludicrously close, and if Vivienne didn’t spill the beans to Mary as she promised, Mary must’ve spread the ‘rumours’ around herself. The town’s beloved bookshop owner is an incredible woman, but she loves to gossip, and you should’ve expected the second person after Vivienne to consistently insert themselves into your dating life to jump to conclusions. Though the situation isn’t precisely comfortable for you, it must be worse for James. Whilst he has never outright mentioned, the soldier has important reasons to stay under the radar. Bucky has witnessed a lot, horrors you’ve even heard about on the TV, and currently, every resident of Eldermont is aware that James Buchanan Barnes is on a date. With a local baker, nonetheless. Participating in acorn tossing and harvest bingo and conversing with Brad Monty about all kinds of sneaky activities couples get up to in the corn maze. You're certain that James is bound to vanish without a trace due to the town's antics if your diffident and often rather awkward behavior hasn't already scared him away. The anxious parts of your brain have even compiled a mental list of today's disasters:

Johnny wiped his sweaty hands on Bucky’s jacket, realising the blunder only to mumble “I love this jacket, Sergeant Barnes”, and pretending he wanted to initiate a hug before he disappeared.

Cassie offered you a sample of pecan pie, which you eagerly tasted due to Bucky’s “If I had to choose the second best pie after apple, it would be pecan” comment, and completely choked on.

Vivienne located you in the farmer’s market to say “hello”, and persuaded James to purchase a pair of beaded bracelets, the two of you had ridiculed moments earlier, for “every first date needs a souvenir to remember it by”.

James guided you to Mary’s bookstore because you conferred a series of rare hardbacks Mary hides in the back for special customers, and the older woman steered you towards a selection of intimacy guides.

Indigo, The Sugared Whisk owner, pleaded with James for Captain America’s number in the middle of a busy intersection and discussed his “timeless looks” for the next couple of minutes until a car almost struck the three of you.

Elijah phoned you in distress, panicking about “having to live out his best years in a smelly corn maze”, which disturbed the sergeant and resulted in an “Elijah will find the exit eventually” monologue on your side.

You accepted to take a photo of a tourist couple, accidentally dropping the wife’s phone and shattering the screen because James stood so close, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Thanks, Brad,” you fumble with your wallet, hastily placing a ten on the stand. “See you around.”

“Doll,” Bucky doesn’t move once you attempt to remove him from the nightmare that is the situation the two of you found yourselves in. It gives you a second to evaluate his expression, and much to your surprise, his features are as soft as ever. James is blushing, too. “I wanted to pay for that.”

“You paid for the apple pie,” the words slip past your lips mumbled because the only thing you can truly concentrate on is the fact James is blushing. Blushing as a result of Brad’s stories about couples so in love they simply cannot be bothered to locate the labyrinth’s exit before proving their emotions to the world. Couples that could be the two of you. Possibly. A sane person shouldn’t rush to assumptions unless they earned the sweetest nickname from a dream of a man. You’ve never paid much thought to whether you would enjoy being called a ‘doll’—you do, but you would probably adore every label he’d choose. The notion steers your head toward unexpected and dirty waters, and you couldn’t be happier for Brad’s decision to chime in.

“Cassie outdid herself this year,” he nods. “I’m most definitely going to dream about that blackberry pie tonight.”

“Yes,” James agrees never once breaking the eye contact with you. “The pies were delicious, and it was my pleasure to pay. It was me who demanded a tour.”

“You may pay for the maze then,” you smile at him, “but leave the ten — I’m not that great of a tour guide, and I’m afraid of the dark.”

“Dates should be fun,” James suddenly speaks. “We could’ve skipped the labyrinth.”

The corn maze is high and intimidating, but Bucky’s presence and the soft glow of an orange sunset manage to silence your fears a bit. The passages are almost entirely empty except for the two of you, and each corner you take makes your heart jump at the possibility of encountering spooky surprises.

“This is fun,” you reassure, taking a sip of mead. James shoots you a look you cannot truly decipher, but you decide the meaning is somewhere between worried and teasing. “It is,” you hesitate for a beat. “I just keep remembering the haunted corn maze in Greenwood. They have scare actors there, who jump out of the bushes when you least expect it and completely startle you. Vivienne took me there last year, and I cannot shake the memories.”

The expression on his face melts into sympathy. “If it’s any consolation, I would protect you against all the zombies and monsters this maze might throw at us,” he speaks before, “not that it has any,” adding.

“If theme’s anything to go by, I think we’re OK,” you chuckle at his offer, referring to the cutesy signs and charmingly painted pumpkins scattered throughout the labyrinth, “unless Johnny decided to include a couple gory scenes at the end, though it’d end worse for him than it would for me.”

“Johnny The Mayor?”

“Johnny The Mayor,” you take yet another sip, nodding. The beverage is barely warm twenty minutes into the attraction, providing only the comfort of a soft alcohol tipsiness.

“He’s a charming little fella,” Bucky notes, and you don’t have it in yourself to deny the statement. “I’ve never experienced someone initiating a hug by wiping their hands on my jacket.”

“Sorry,” you offer sheepishly because what could you say after an occurrence so bizarre. Everyone in this town is strange? James must’ve caught on to the fact by this time.

“It’s alright, and besides, I now have a humorous story to recount at parties, which is a first,” he gleams at you. “It may come as a surprise, but I’m not usually the life of it.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You shift to gaze at him before emptying the cup of mead to steady your nerves.

“I don’t promise to answer,” James grins, fiddling with the beaded bracelet, “but yes.”

“Who’s Samuel?”

“That’s your question?” He laughs as his flesh arm slithers to rest upon your waist. At least you think it’s his flesh arm. The man wears gloves whether the sun shines or the rain pours. You’ve seen pictures, though, and read stories of The Winter Soldier in possession of a metal arm. Neither raise concern, not for the reason you’re smitten with Bucky. Rather, because James was manipulated and stripped of free will, and if heaven would descend, perhaps because that metal arm is sinfully attractive. It’s a thought forbidden to be mentioned aloud, for the gloves are a large indicator he’d enjoy staying silent about the matter. “Who’s Samuel?”

“Yes,” you sputter. The butterflies his simple action caused you don’t mention. “I want to hear about this Samuel. I’ve been informed he likes birds, especially Redwing, who’s not technically a bird?”

“The Samuel I was babbling about is Sam Wilson. The Falcon, if you’re a fan of CNN,” James teases, steering you into the left pathway of the maze. Despite your instinct to choose right, you stay silent. “Redwing’s a drone of sorts Sam uses on missions, and, this is a direct quote, for surveillance. I despise the thing.”

“If we get lost, forget the second date,” you playfully threaten. Though the coziness of his body pressed to yours is intoxicating, it does nothing to ease the goosebumps painted on your skin, and as the sky bleeds in shades of crimson and purple, the sun melts into the horizon, teasing you for forgetting a sweater. “I would’ve categorised holding a grudge against an object as below you.”

“If the shoe fits,” he chortles, leading you down a long passage before abruptly stopping. Hesitating for a beat, he drapes the flannel jacket you’ve come to love on the man around your body. The garment is red and weighty, and it smells of James. The gesture makes your heart swell with admiration, but you ignore it. Dates should be approached with a blank slate because expectations are easily shattered. “I shouldn’t deliver Steve that woman’s phone number, should I?” Bucky’s arm finds your waist again.

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, “on the bright side, Indigo is quite a pleasant woman,” you verbalise the thought. James observes your expression, baby blues studying the same features he cannot resist thinking about at nightfall. Blood rushes to his cheeks at the notice of your fingers on his lower back, the heat of your skin piercing through his charcoal henley. “She’d certainly treat Captain America right. On the downside,” you pause, “Indigo is the exact opposite of Steve as the media portrays him. Come to think about it, both of us are.”

“How so?”

“The media portrays supersoldiers as courageous, but Indigo and I once had to call Luke to get rid of a teeny spider. Steve’s active in politics, whilst we often skip the town’s meetings—“

“Eldermont holds town meetings?” James chuckles, subconsciously drawing you in closer.

“Once a month, always on the first Tuesday,” you gleam at him before drawing in a deep breath to calm your violently beating heart. “Last time, we discussed the very pressing issue of Halloween decorations. Johnny insists every business on the main street must participate in the festivities. Indigo and I escaped out the back before the mayor could finish his speech. At the least, Steve would’ve stayed in that meeting, and at the most, he would’ve managed it.”

“People do say opposites attract.”

“Heard that before,” you agree. The loose strand of Bucky’s auburn hair tempts you to tuck it behind his ear, but you halt the impulse of committing such a ludicrous decision. “It must be true because you drink coffee black, and I prefer lattes. You have cinnamon buns for breakfast, and I, if time would be gracious enough for breakfast, would choose danishes.”

“The jury’s decided, then.” The corners of his mouth quirk up into a lazy and wickedly attractive smile, and, you almost wonder if Bucky’s aware of the effect he has on your body because if he isn't, your buckling knees must’ve given it away. “Opposites do attract.” His wildly confident attitude is a new discovery, but you decide you like it. “It would be a shame to ignore matters of the universe.” Confidence is a good shade on him.

“Is this your way of asking me on a second date?” You tease the man, memorising the pink hues veiling his cheekbones.

James guides you around the corner, observing the corn maze’s exit, and halts his movements. “Only if the lady agrees,” he shifts to stand before you, catching your forearms in his gloved hands, “which I’m sincerely hoping she does.”

Resting your arms on his shoulders, you gift yourself a quick moment to explore his features — the stubble gently lining his sharp jaw, the little scar above his eyebrow, and the red lips you, despite hiding it, wanted to kiss since he first visited Spice & Honey. “The lady would love to go on a second date.”

“Good,” an emotion you cannot comprehend waltzes in his eyes, but, for the sake of your composure, you abstain from thinking it could possibly be lust. “The gentleman is looking forward to it.” There's an argument happening inside him, you can sense it by the way he keeps drawing you closer until the space between your bodies is virtually erased, but retains his posture straight and almost rigid. The weight of should he or should he not lingers in the air around you before James catches your stare and smiles timidly, shattering the flicker of hope you have for him to kiss you. You don’t exactly yearn for him to kiss you. In theory, kiss-less first dates are a great idea, paving the way for deeper conversations and a closer bond. They build anticipation. Anticipation is good, you ponder for a second, but all you can truly focus on is whether James would taste like apple cider mead or the sugary desserts you two savoured earlier. “The night is still young," he speaks, the tone of his voice light and reticent. "It would be a shame to end the date this early."

“Luke’s open if you want to grab a quick dinner,” you say with a grin, stepping away from him. “Though we should probably exit the maze first.”

“Yes,” Bucky laughs and extends his arm towards the light at the end of the passage. “Lead the way, pretty lady.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x baker reader #bucky x baker!reader #insomniumstella #bucky x reader spice & honey

711 notes · View notes