#incorrect buttercreams

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Sweet on you

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Authors note: so I'm on the fluffy side again, no angst this time, I swear, only pink buttercream swirls and a very sweet grumpy super soldier 🥰🥰🥰

Warnings: fluff, SMUT 18+, lots of sugar and a bit of suppressed feelings

Word Count: 4,9K

Summary: Decorating cupcakes for Mel's bridal shower should’ve been a simple task until Bucky Barnes offers to help. One frosting fight, a kitchen full of chaos, and a few stolen kisses later, it’s clear the tension between you isn’t just in your imagination.

“Come on, it’s just one afternoon!” you plead, practically begging as you trail after Ava across the rec room, while she’s trying to make a swift escape into the hallway.

“I’m not asking you to sew a wedding dress from scratch, just bake a few cupcakes and help with the frosting – pink creamy swirls, that’s it.”

Ava doesn't even break stride. “I have an extraction in Prague in six hours.”

You groan. “You’re literally intangible, you could phase in, phase out, and pipe a few rosettes on your way out the door.”

“No.”

You spin around and aim your best puppy eyes at Red Guardian, sitting at the big table and chewing something. Is it just you, or is he always chewing something?

He raises his hands. “I do not bake. That is women’s chaos.”

You stare at him. “What does that even mean?”

“I said what I said.”

You throw your hands up and pivot toward Yelena, your last hope, who’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, polishing a knife and blowing pink bubbles with her chewing gum.

“Yelena,” you say, trying not to sound desperate. “Please, it’s Mel’s wedding shower. Mel. She let you borrow her dress for that infiltration in Vegas. You owe her.”

Yelena chews slowly, then shrugs. “I don’t do sugar.”

“Then pretend! Wear gloves! Anything! I just need an extra set of hands.”

She pauses, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, then they glint with sudden revelation. “Use him.”

You blink. “Use who?”

She jerks her chin toward the door.

You turn, and there he is.

Bucky Barnes stands in the doorway, brow furrowed like he just walked into an ambush. He pauses, clearly catching the tail end of your meltdown, eyes flicking between you and Yelena with a look that says he regrets coming in at all.

“Use me for what?” he asks slowly.

You freeze.

Nope, absolutely not! Abort mission!

Bucky is the last person you’d ask for help, not because you don’t want it, but because you do – you want his help, you want his attention, God, you’d never say it out loud, but the truth is… you want him.

And that’s exactly why you keep your distance, because Bucky is … Bucky.

He’s been cool and polite since the day you joined the Thunderbolts, never rude, never unkind, just distant, reserved, like he’s keeping you at arm’s length on purpose and you’re not about to throw yourself at him like a lovesick idiot when he’s clearly not interested.

You swallow and wave awkwardly. “Nothing. It's fine. I’ll just, uh, do it myself.”

“Incorrect,” Yelena says, already pushing off the couch with a wicked glint in her eye. “You said you need hands. He has two. Technically one and a half.”

Bucky glances down at his metal arm like it surprised him. “What exactly am I helping with?”

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, waving a hand. “I’m just being dramatic. Ignore me.”

Yelena, of course, does not ignore you. “She needs help decorating cupcakes for Mel’s bridal shower. Piping bags. Ribbons. Pink and pastel chaos. I know you’re soft on the inside.”

You feel your soul leave your body. “Yelena, no. He doesn’t have to…”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, clearly baffled. “You want me to… decorate cupcakes?”

You can’t even meet his eyes. “No, no, you really don’t have to…”

“OK, I’ll help.”

You blink and he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Mel’s cool. And you seem stressed.”

Your heart thuds in your chest, your brain stalls, and for a moment you struggle for words.

“Great,” Yelena uses the opportunity. “I’ll go tell Mel that Bucky Barnes is decorating cupcakes for her bridal shower. She’ll die.”

Bucky frowns. “Wait, why is that funny?”

You meet his eyes for the first time, and your throat dries. “It’s not. It’s just… unexpected.”

His lips twitch into the faintest smirk. “I’m full of surprises.”

The kitchen smells like vanilla and warm sugar, a soft hum of music plays from your phone on the counter and you glance up from the bowl of batter just as Bucky steps back from the oven, proudly closing the door with a dramatic flourish.

God help you.

His hair’s a little messy from where he kept brushing it back with flour-dusted fingers, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled halfway up his forearms.

“One tray down,” he declares, metal hand resting on his hip like he just saved the damn world.

You grin, licking a bit of batter off your spoon. “You’re really taking this whole cupcake mission seriously.”

He shrugs, almost bashful. “It’s Mel’s shower. Besides, you said it was important.”

You blink. “Yeah. I just didn’t expect…”

One thing is surely true – from all the possibilities you didn’t expect him to be the one standing here in your kitchen, helping.

He looks away, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m just here to help.”

He tries, he really tries to make it sound as nonchalant as possible, almost like he doesn’t think he belongs here, like he’s just doing you a favour, and not quietly, desperately hoping this afternoon will stretch a little longer. 

Inwardly, he’s cursing himself for the umpteenth time already.

Cupcakes, Barnes? Really?

He’s never baked a damn thing in his life, let alone frosted something pink and dainty enough for a bridal shower. He should’ve picked something else to impress you, something cool, tactical, not... buttercream-related.

But when Yelena volunteered him and you didn’t immediately shut it down, he couldn’t bring himself to say no. How could he? This was the first real chance he’s had to be around you, really around you, in your home, not in training or on missions or with the whole team watching.

And maybe, just maybe, if he can manage not to completely humiliate himself with a piping bag, you’ll see he’s not that miserable after all, and maybe you’ll stop feeling so out of reach.

You raise a brow, forcing some levity back into your voice. “I bet you just want to lick the spoon.”

He doesn’t deny it, instead, he reaches over, dips a finger into the batter, and brings it to his mouth – not the flesh hand – the metal one.  

Your brain short-circuits – the sight of his tongue curling around vibranium should not be this distracting, but there it is, lighting a fuse somewhere low in your belly.

“Pretty sure that’s a health violation,” you mutter, trying to sound unaffected as you reach for the piping bags.

“I’m not baking for a Michelin star, doll. Just trying to impress your cupcake crowd.”

You pause at that. Doll? Impress? Them or… you?

You hand him a piping bag filled with pastel-pink frosting. “Please, try not turning the frosting into abstract art.”

He accepts the bag carefully, like it’s a weapon he’s not trained for. “I’ll have you know,” he says, giving you a sideways glance, “I watched four cupcake decorating tutorials on YouTube last night.”

You blink. “You did what?”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning over the counter like it’s classified intel. “I’m committed.”

You try not to smile, but it slips through. He’s awkward, earnest, and so fucking sexy, and it kills you.

Especially when you glance at the ridiculous apron you made him wear: white, with “Bite Me (I’m Sweet)” printed in loopy pink cursive across the chest.

You half expected him to roll his eyes and retreat the moment you handed it to him, but he didn’t, he just tied it on without complaint, and somehow… somehow he just manages to look both impossibly hot and impossibly cute in it. With rolled-up sleeves, jaw dusted with flour and that quiet focus etched across his brow… he looks so completely out of place and yet so right in your kitchen.

And that’s what’s dangerous.

“So,” he adds, positioning himself at the counter beside you. “How do I make mine look like yours?”

Your hand moves before your thoughts do, as you reach out to guide him, fingers brushing his wrist, and your stomach flips like you’re teetering on the edge of something huge.

“Like this,” you say softly, helping him guide the bag. “Steady pressure… and swirl from the outside in.”

His head tilts, and when you glance up, his face is so close, closer than expected and for a moment you just stop breathing.

There’s something in his expression that makes your knees go a little weak – a hesitancy, like he’s afraid to look at you too long, and a tenderness like maybe… oh, no, girl, get those stupid thoughts out of your head, you’re imagining too much, you mentally slap yourself and try to refocus on the task at hand.

“You’re good at this,” he murmurs.

You glance up at him. “Teaching you how to pipe frosting?”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes flicking to your mouth. “That too.”

There’s a beat of silence, the music hums gently in the background, the scent of sugar thick in the air, and your breath catches just a little too obviously.

Suddenly his metal finger dips back into the frosting bowl, and before you can react, he smears a swipe of pink right across your cheek.

You gasp, mouth falling open. “James Buchanan Barnes!”

He grins, really grins, and the rare sparkle in his eyes knocks the breath right out of you. “What? You had something on your face.”

“Oh, you’re so dead,” you growl, lunging for the frosting bowl with a wicked glint in your eye.

You scoop up a generous portion of frosting, brandishing the spatula like a weapon.

Bucky’s grin falters, just slightly, as he checks the mischief in your eyes. “Wait…wait, hold on…”

Too late, you swipe a thick smear of pink frosting across his cheekbone with gleeful precision. “There. Now you have something on your face.”

He stares at you, mouth open in mock betrayal, fingers slowly wiping the frosting away.

“You realise, this means war.”

“Catch me, if you can,” you shoot back, grinning, and take off before he can retaliate.

He lunges, and you shriek with a laugh as you duck behind the kitchen island, nearly sending a mixing bowl flying. He chases after you, laughter booming in his chest, rich and free in a way you’re not sure you’ve ever heard from him before, and it makes something inside you flutter wildly.

You grab another spoonful of frosting and launch it over your shoulder, it hits him square in the shoulder with a soft smack.

“You little menace,” he growls, swiping a handful of powdered sugar from the counter and flinging it at you.

“Saboteur!” you shout, blinking sugar from your lashes.

You’re ducking and dodging, laughing so hard it hurts, frosting on your cheek, powdered sugar and flour streaked across your apron and hands. Bucky lobs a spoonful of soft-pink frosting that misses your head by inches and lands on the fridge.

“Friendly fire, Barnes!” you yell.

“You started it!”

“Because you smeared frosting on me!”

“You looked like you needed a smile!”

Another volley and this time it’s you, launching a handful of sprinkles that explode across his hair and shoulders like edible confetti, and he just stands there, blinking through rainbow chaos, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

Then he pounces, catches you by the waist as you try to slip past the island again, spinning you around with embarrassing ease. You squirm and squeal in his arms, twisting like you still have a chance, but he’s strong, steady and unfairly fast.

And then he smears frosting onto the tip of your nose with his finger.

“Got you,” he murmurs, breathless and flushed.

You stare up at him, cheeks burning, chest brushing his with every ragged inhale, the spatula in your hand hangs useless now, your fingers sticky and shaking.

The kitchen is a mess, there are flour footprints across the floor, rogue sprinkles clinging to the cabinets, frosting in places frosting absolutely shouldn't be, and you’re breathless with laughter, cheeks aching and heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with too much sugar.

You lean against the counter to catch your breath, Bucky’s hand – the cool metal one – comes up slowly, brushing a smear of pink from your cheek with his thumb. The touch is featherlight. You freeze.

His eyes are already on your mouth.

“You’ve got something right… here,” he murmurs, your breath catches and before you can process what’s happening – he kisses you.

It’s soft at first, hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to pull away, but you don’t. You couldn’t if you tried.

You kiss him back, slow and uncertain. His hand – the warm flesh one this time – rises to cup your jaw as he deepens the kiss, his body still not quite touching yours, like he’s afraid to press too far, too fast.

He swallows hard, parting from your lips. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, like he means it. “I just…”

You stop him with a soft smile, lips still tingling. “Don’t be.”

His eyes flicker over your face.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

His brow furrows. “What?”

“You’ve always been… distant, cold. I figured you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

He huffs a quiet, disbelieving laugh and shakes his head. “No, doll. I stayed away because I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

You blink. “You’re kidding.”

He shrugs, sheepish. “You’re too cool for me.”

“Too cool for you?” You let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “You wrestle bad guys with your bare hands, brood in corners like it’s your second job, and somehow still manage to look hot in an apron that says ‘Bite Me, I’m Sweet.’ You’re the cool one, Barnes.”

His lips twitch. “Still I managed to kiss you.”

“Miracle,” you murmur, leaning into him again, your voice softer now. “Do it again.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time, his lips crush against yours, the kiss deepens, it’s slow and searching, like he’s trying to map your mouth with his. Your hands tangle in his hair, flour-dusted and soft between your fingers. There’s frosting on your chin, sugar in your hair, but none of it matters, not when his lips feel like that, not when he kisses you like he’s afraid he won’t get another chance.

He breaks away just long enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, voice rough. “Tell me to stop.”

“Why would I do that?” you whisper, already pulling him in again.

He exhales, relieved and wrecked, and the next kiss is even deeper and hungrier.

He lifts you effortlessly, his hands curling under your thighs, setting you on the counter like you weigh nothing. The sudden shift knocks a cupcake tray to the floor, but neither of you cares. He steps in close, slotting his body between your knees, hands roaming without direction – one warm and steady, the other cool and strange but just as careful.

His vibranium fingers brush your bare skin beneath the hem of your apron, you suck in a sharp breath as the contrast sends a shiver straight through you.

“Too cold?” he murmurs, pausing.

You shake your head, a little breathless. “No, just different. But good.”

Encouraged, his hands keep exploring, bolder now, his metal fingers slip beneath the edge of your soft velour shorts and press gently between your thighs, through the thin cotton of your underwear and you gasp, hips shifting into his touch before you can stop yourself.

He stills.

“Too much?” he asks again, voice low, but laced with concern.

You look at him and your chest aches at what you see: the hesitation in his eyes, the way he’s holding himself back, terrified he’s crossed a line even though you’re practically melting for him.

You slide your hand over his jaw, thumb brushing his unshaven cheek. “Not too much. Not even close.”

Something flickers behind his eyes, something fierce and unguarded, and then his mouth is on yours again. His flesh hand wraps around your waist, steadying you, while his metal fingers push your panties aside and slide through your slick folds.

The cool touch makes you shiver, but it’s the contrast – hard metal and soft pressure – that has your breath catching, as your forehead falls against his shoulder with a soft thud and a moan slips out before you can muffle it. 

“What did you tell me?” he whispers in your ear. “Steady pressure… and swirl from the outside in.”

You gasp when one of those fingers start teasing your entrance, circling before slowly easing in. You clutch at his shoulders, clinging to him as he pumps it gently, then adds another, stretching you with firm, patient care.

His mouth follows the trail of frosting and flour on your skin like a man starving – your collarbone, your throat, the hollow of your neck.

“You see?” he groans, his tongue flicking along the line of your jaw. “These fingers do a hell of a lot more than spread frosting.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair as his metal hand moves with more confidence now, learning you, what makes you gasp, what makes your thighs tremble, what draws out that desperate sound he seems to crave.

Your hips roll into his touch, breath stuttering when his fingers find that perfect rhythm, slow and deep, and so damn good.

His thumb brushes your clit in slow, teasing circles as his fingers continue working you, and your body starts to tremble, heat building fast. He’s relentless in the best way, drawing soft, broken sounds from your lips as your head tips back against the cabinet behind you.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmurs, lips brushing your throat. “Wanna come on my fingers first?”

You whimper in response, nodding, hips grinding down into his hand, chasing the friction shamelessly now.

His fingers curve, and your body jolts with pleasure, another moan escaping your lips, louder this time, helpless, you’re barely coherent now, panting and whining.

It builds faster than you expect, tight and hot and overwhelming.

“Bucky…I…” you gasp, and he kisses your temple.

“Let go, baby,” he whispers. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

And when you finally do, tumbling over the edge with a loud, broken moan, thighs shaking, body arching into him, it’s like everything else melts away, it’s just heat, frosting, and the sound of his voice in your ear, telling you what a good girl you are for him.

He holds you through it, steady and strong, pressing soft kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your mouth, his hand never leaves you, not until you’re done shaking and collapse against him, breathless, half-laughing, half-stunned.

When the tremors finally fade, he eases his fingers out and kisses your forehead, chest heaving against yours.

“Jesus, Buck,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed. “That was…”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back from your face. “It was.”

Bucky’s arms wrap around you from both sides, pulling you into his solid chest and you stay there, nestled against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath and the unmistakable hardness pressing against you.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, as if he’s afraid that showing how much he wants you might ruin the fragile, perfect thing unfolding between you, but his body gives him away.

You tilt your head up, lips brushing his. “Your turn?”

His voice is quiet, almost unsure. “Only if... you really want to. I… I don’t need anything. Just having you like this is already more than I thought I’d ever get.”

You lean in, brushing your lips over his jaw. “I want to make you feel that good, too.”

Bucky closes his eyes for a moment like he’s trying to keep himself from shattering on the spot. “You already do.”

You smile against his skin. “I can do better. Let me show you.”

You slip off the counter and gently turn him around, pressing his lower back against the edge, as you reach behind him to untie the sexy apron before your fingers trail to the hem of his shirt. “Off.”

He obliges, pulling it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind you, possibly onto a cupcake, but priorities have shifted.

Your hands slide up his chest, warm flesh over steel muscle, the dips and ridges of him, so solid and steady, and beautiful. His body isn’t perfect, he wouldn’t even call it good, but you look at him like he’s a piece of art carved from marble, and it makes him dizzy.

“God, you’re…” you trail off, fingers grazing the joint where metal meets skin at his shoulder. “You’re gorgeous, Bucky.”

He laughs softly, disbelieving, nervous. “You’re biased.”

“I am. Wildly.” You press your lips to the center of his chest. “Still true.”

He swallows hard, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he still can’t believe this is real. “Tell me what to do,” he says, voice low. “Where you want me.”

“I want you right here,” you whisper, sliding your hand down and cupping him through his jeans, your palm firm and slow, he hisses in a breath, eyes going dark.

You drop to your knees before he can say a word, fingers working his fly as you glance up at him through your lashes. 

When you free him, thick and flushed and already leaking, his breath stutters, and then stops entirely as you wrap your lips around him. 

“Shit,” he breathes, bracing one hand on the counter, the other twitching at his side like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

You start slow, your tongue teasing the underside, your hand stroking what you can’t take, his vibranium arm grips the edge of the counter so hard it creaks.

“Fuck… baby,” he groans, jaw clenched, eyes shut like he’s trying not to lose it too fast. 

You hum around him, pleased, pulling a low moan from his throat, his hips twitch, but you hold him there, mouth wet and eager, taking him deeper until he brushes the back of your throat and his knees nearly buckle.

“Please,” he rasps, as he looks down at you, like he’s never seen anything so filthy and beautiful all at once. “I’m not gonna last if you keep…”

You pull off just enough to murmur, “Good,” before sinking back down, lips sealing around him once more and this time, you don’t hold back.

You bob your head in a slow, steady rhythm, hand wrapped around the base of him, working in tandem with your mouth. You swirl your tongue along the underside, savoring every gasp he gives you, every shaky breath and whispered curse that tumbles out of him.

“Ohhh….fuck,” he groans, his voice cracking, metal fingers threading through your hair, not pushing, just holding.

You glance up at him through your lashes and moan around him, just to feel the way his body jolts in response, his thighs tremble, hips twitching again, trying not to thrust but so close to the edge he can barely help it.

“God,” he chokes out, chest heaving. “You’re gonna…shit, I’m gonna…”

You take him deeper, until your nose brushes his lower belly and he lets out a ragged, broken sound, his body tenses, and with a guttural groan, he comes hard, spilling into your mouth, his hand clenching in your hair as his hips stutter against your lips.

You swallow around him, slowly, gently, not letting go until he’s gasping for air and tugging you back with shaky hands.

He’s still breathing hard when you rise to your feet, licking your lips with deliberate slowness, eyes locked on his.

Bucky’s hand finds your waist in a daze, pulling you in, you smile, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “Still think I’m too cool for you?”

He laughs, softly. “Yeah. But I’m not letting that stop me anymore.”

“Good,” you cup his jaw, brushing your lips against his before you kiss him again, greedily slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he groans, low and helpless, grabbing at your hips as he turns, lifting you in one fluid motion and setting you back onto the counter.

His mouth is everywhere, your throat, your collarbone, the slope of your shoulder. His hands tremble just slightly as he pulls off your T-shirt, your shorts and your soaked panties follow, as he tosses them somewhere into the flour-dusted chaos. 

He leans back for a moment to look at you – bare, flushed, wanting – then wraps one hand around himself, stroking slowly from base to tip. He’s already thick and hard, but he takes his time, watching you with dark, hooded eyes as his other hand slips between your thighs, fingers gliding through the slick heat of you.

You moan, breathless, hips twitching toward his hand as his thumb circles your clit just right, sending sparks through your limbs, but your eyes keep flicking lower, watching the steady movement of his hand over his cock, hard and glistening at the tip, and you swear your whole body clenches in anticipation.

When he finally steps between your legs and pulls you to the edge of the counter, your heart races. He lines himself up, the swollen head pressing against your entrance.

He doesn’t push in yet, just holds there, letting you feel it.

The stretch when he finally starts to press into you is intense – a slow, thick push that has you gasping, back arching as your body yields around him inch by inch.

“Jesus, Bucky…” you breathe, gripping the edge of the counter.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs with a groan, as he bottoms out. “You take me so damn well.”

You feel impossibly full, every inch of you stretched to accommodate him, the pressure riding the edge of too much, but it’s exactly what you want, exactly who you want.

He starts to move slow and deep, like he’s afraid you’ll break, but the way you gasp and cling to him makes it very clear you’re not fragile, you want him rough, you want him deep and raw. You just want him in every possible way.

And God, once he sees it, feels it, something in him snaps, he growls low in his throat, hands tightening on your hips as he picks up the pace, thrusts growing harder, sharper, more desperate. The counter jolts under you with every movement, a frosting bowl toppling to the floor with a clatter you barely register.

All you can focus on is him, the stretch, the heat, the delicious drag of him inside you over and over, stealing every breath and thought from your head. Your moans rise with every snap of his hips, unfiltered, raw, your fingers digging into his shoulders for something to hold onto.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, mouth at your ear. “You feel so good, so fucking good, can’t believe you’re mine.”

You gasp at that – mine – because you want to be. You are.

“Harder,” you whisper, the word half-moan, half-beg.

His thrusts turn feral, his grip bruising in the best possible way as he fucks you like he’s trying to make you feel every inch of him, like he’s making up for every minute he spent holding back. The slap of skin against skin echoes through the sugar-sweet air, drowned only by your moans and the sound of his ragged, desperate breathing.

Your orgasm builds fast, dizzying, the pressure coiling sharp and tight in your core.

“I’m… Bucky…I’m gonna…”

“I’ve got you,” he growls, his hand slipping down between your bodies, fingers rubbing your clit in quick, perfect circles. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

You fall apart on a sob, walls clenching around him as your orgasm rips through you, white-hot, devastating. He curses, feeling you squeeze around him, and thrusts a few more times before he follows with a broken moan, burying himself deep as he comes hard, hips stuttering, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

You're both shaking, breathless, ruined.

He doesn't pull away, just holds you there, hands gentle again, mouth brushing your temple, your cheek, anywhere he can reach like he needs to prove to himself that it’s real.

“Are you okay?” he whispers eventually, still buried inside you.

You smile against his jaw. “Better than okay.”

The sound of bare feet shuffling against the floor is the first thing that returns to the ruined kitchen, followed by a gentle puff of steam as you and Bucky re-enter, freshly showered.

He exhales, relief pouring out of him as he kisses you again.

There’s a suspicious red mark on Bucky’s collarbone and a matching one on your thigh, but neither of you mention them.

You move slowly, limbs still shaky, your whole body deliciously sore in the best possible way. You had really meant to just take a shower, when you’d shoved a pink-and-white frosting-smeared Bucky into the bathroom, but you hadn’t quite accounted for the fact that your newly minted boyfriend (oh God, was he really that now?) also happened to be a super soldier with super soldier stamina.

The shower had quickly devolved into another round, maybe two, possibly three. You lost count somewhere between his mouth on your neck and being pinned against the fogged-up glass, Bucky buried in you to the hilt while steaming water poured over both of you, muffling every gasp and moan.

Now, standing side by side in the wreckage of your kitchen, reality hits you like a sugar-dusted freight train.

“…Oh my God,” you whisper, hand flying to your mouth, and Bucky follows your gaze.

The kitchen looks like a war zone – a frosted, sprinkled, powdered-sugar-bombed war zone.

Flour coats every surface like freshly fallen snow, a piping bag lies crushed and limp across the counter, one cupcake tray is face down on the floor, and a single rogue cupcake sits in the sink, soaked and tragic. 

Bucky surveys the carnage in silence for a beat, then runs a hand through his damp hair and mutters, “I don’t think I can ever look at cupcakes the same way again.”

“Mel’s going to kill me,” you gasp, tears in your eyes.

“She’ll understand,” Bucky says, pulling you closer. “Tell her it was a matter of national security.”

“You think so? And what exactly were we protecting?”

He leans down, lips brushing your temple. “Your smile.”

You glance up at him, warm all over again.

“OK,” he adds, sighing as he surveys the mess, “I guess we’re starting from scratch.”

You nod, slipping your arms around his waist. “Good thing I’ve got backup now.”

He kisses your forehead, squeezing you tight. “Yeah. Your frosting soldier is reporting for duty.”

You burst into a fit of giggles, hiding your smile against his chest and somewhere in the midst of flour and pink buttercream, you both know this was never about the cupcakes.

[an-absolute-trainwreck]

Guys I make these like awesome cupcakes. I’m not even tooting my own horn here, they’re really fucking good cupcakes.

But now. I just want to eat all the cupcakes.

They’re fr addictive

I’ve had like… I don’t even fucking know. Five?! Today.

Um

So this is the recipe I use

Top 15 things you’ll ever put in your mouth and that’s a promise. Stg you don’t even need the frosting. Or I just mixed some cool whip and a strawberry jello packet.

Just trust me guys

You’ll think “oh gosh this batter looks really thin maybe I shouldn’t add all the water-“ *extremely loud incorrect buzzer noise* ADD THE WATER!!!! Bake em for like yk 15 minutes and they probably won’t be done yet so just keep doing the crumb check with the toothpick and as soon as you start getting those moist crumbs sticking to the toothpick, get em out of there.

The top will be sticky and you’ll think “oh gosh the tops all sticky it’s not done yet-“ ITS DONE ITS DONE ITS DONE TAKE THEM OUT.

They’ll be hard to get out of the pan, they’ll be worth it.

Just trust me. This cupcake recipe is my creed, I’ll swear by it as long as I live. Probably the best cupcake you’ll ever have, unless you’ve had really really good cupcakes that I don’t have access to.

They’re also really fast to make, especially if you don’t do anything fancy with the frosting. Honestly I wouldn’t make a buttercream for this, although that’s good too. The cupcake can stand on its own. Just make some whipped cream or, again, cool whip and a jello packet.

Just trust me bro

[buffercake]

Do you know anyone who can rock out to screamo and rap every single word to Lil Wayne back to back, who can move his hips and make jaws drop from his sex appeal, who can line dance and perform choreography, who played in the marching band in London and a rock band at the local church, who can assist an exceptional needs peer through school, who can throw like a quarterback but turn down being the star on the team, who finds peace at the gym but who can also eat a slice of cake with two pounds of buttercream, who can laugh until he cries about politically incorrect jokes for their sheer ridiculousness while actually being an open-minded ally, who can haggle for moped prices with locals, who can respectfully lead his team and lift them up, who can go clothes shopping for his little girl with ease and will even let her style his beard, who is a stickler about subjects and objects when it comes to you and me (not I), who can questionably brainstorm serial killers and mafia strategies like it’s a normal conversation, who will go to book conventions to help his wife sell smut, who will randomly speak French while having sex, who eats pussy as if women should be worshipped, who can suck a dildo with his wife and stay confident in himself, who can enjoy all the skin and flesh, who can indulge in the most bizarre fantasies, who memorized his wedding vows for the big day, who has made balloon arches and worked on a cruise ship, who has driven race cars on a track and has fun while driving on the I-4, who is a multi-time extra for Epic Universe, who has annihilated his intestines with ghost pepper hot wings, who—despite all that—still calls a lot of extremely spicy food at most “a six,” who snaps candy bars in half because he like the way it feels, who can cook just about anything in thirty minutes, who is known for his sense of humor (but might not know this about himself), who loves spooky season but is simultaneously a Christmas sap, who enjoys puzzles and escape rooms and basically any kind of challenge, who enjoys creating just to destroy it (Minecraft, writing, and art alike), who is an artistic soul with natural talent in multiple mediums, who is so smart he can have a conversation with anyone but down plays it like he knows “just enough about everything,” who went to therapy “to see what it’s like,” who (on that note) is the total epitome of “try everything” and a “never say no” kind of person, who is also learning when it’s okay to say “no” and put himself first, who is patient and understanding even when others don’t necessarily deserve it, who is an ever-changing hobbyist and loves learning (but hates school), who will always consider multiple viewpoints, who is teaching his daughter what a partner should be (just like he shows his wife!), who grows and excels with every year?

I do! And it’s you! Duh. And I am honored and grateful to know you. You inspire me and still surprise me after over ten years. I love you, I love getting to know you, and I admire you so much. 

Here’s to making 41 even better than last year, in your best decade yet, and happiest of birthdays to the best person I know!

I love you more every day (and week and month and year), Boogermouth Hedgeworth Ticklebutt III

[buttercream-imagines]

incorrect buttercreams

Jack: Dude. How long have you been standing there?

Caspar: An hour

Jack: An hour?

Joe: Are you serious?

Caspar: I've mastered the ability of standing so incredibly still, that I become invisible to the eye. Watch. [slowly starts moving his hand]

Jack: You're eating a piece of pizza

Caspar: But my movement ... is so slow ... that it's imperceptible

Jack: Mmm, no

Caspar: I'm sure I'm invisible

Josh: [enters the room] Hi, Caspar

Caspar: [pauses] Dammit

[incorrectjackboxquotes]

Schmitty: “Okay, let’s unpack our groceries and put everything away.”

Schmitty: *starts unpacking and handing items to Quips.* “Uncanned ham,”

Quips: *takes ham*

Schmitty: “One casaba melon,”

Quips: *takes melon*

Schmitty: “One small child,”

Quips: *takes Buttercream*

Schmitty: “One box of corn flakes-”

All: *Realise Buttercream is the small child.” !!!

Schmitty: *rechecks the list* “Peanut butter, instant mashed potatoes, American cheese, corn chips. No. No baby on here.”

Cookie: *enter stage right* “Look at all this stuff you bought! Candy and sausage patties and popcorn and a baby and donuts and... Oooh just put it all away! *walks away*

Schmitty: “I usually do. Watch this, I give him 5 seconds.”

Schmitty: “4. 3. 2. Que Masterson.”

Cookie: *rushes back* “A BABY?!?!?”

Buttercream: *laughs cutely while clapping his paws*

Cookie: *stutters a bunch of gibberish in shock*

Schmitty: “I didn’t know Cookie spoke Swahili!”

[mayberrycryptid]

pix credit is @tailsticks on instagram. please keep credit if reblogging!

Mr. Pickles agrees - March 10th should be Hawaii Five-0 Day!!!

Which means we have roughly 100 days until we celebrate Steve’s birthday AND our awesome show! 🤙🍤❤️🤙🍤

I’m gonna throw out some ideas and see what the Hawaii Five-Ohana wants to do?

also, also - I’m either super organized or a complete mess (my disabilty comes with its own randomizer chart. yay!!!) so I will do my best to keep posting reminders—but y’all have been warned😂😂😂

I know other fandoms have re-watch parties. We could watch the pilot and one other episode? I have NO idea how other fandoms do this, so if anybody knows how this works…

I do have digital copies of all the episodes. I could put the pilot and the ‘top ten’ episodes in google drive. Then we could take a survey of what the second episode for the rewatch party will be? would that work?

if so, then I need a list of what y’all think the top ten episodes (besides the pilot) are!

Would y’all like to do a bingo card challenge? I could post bingo cards in January, so people have plenty of time to make stuff!

If so, then what about saying anything goes for the bingo challenge—fic, art, photos, vids, etc. What do y’all think?

Another thing that might be fun is all of us doing ‘3 recs and 10 things’ posts that day:

3 recs for cool H50 fan stuff (3 great fanvids, 3 favorite fanfics, etc)

10 things from show (10 funny moments, 10 whump moments, 10 ohana moments, etc)

again, what does the Hawaii Five-Ohana think? would that be a fun but easy way to celebrate 3-10?

things we really need: Some March 10th graphics and pix, cheerleaders and rebloggers, and enthusiasm! and maybe a Camaro😁

sadly, I can think of no way to gift every amazing person is this fandom their very own buttercream grenade-shaped cake. Although I guess we could pass the salt…

any other ideas or things or challenges? Something you think would be fun or cool to do?

Lets throw our fandom — and Steve —the biggest birthday ever!!!!🥳🎂🥳🎂🥳

I tagged as many H50 blogs both past and present as I could but tumblr only allows 50 blogs so…

@five-wow @stephmcx @cowandcalf @alohaspaceman @kristen9999 @hawaiifiveoh @teruel-a-witch @ellena-asg @baci2244 @trickster-archangel @bgharison @comfortfromyourpain @stellagioia @mcdannowave @mcdannoangelwolf @ankhsunamun @redgoldblue @anastablack @gatorasmus @incorrect-mcdanno @rahiodead @cowboymitchell @jacksadventuresinwriting @allh50allthetime @h50europe @h50bigbang @h50bamf @itsmrvlxh50 @fyeahstevemcgarrett @acceptanceispending @bubblegumorthemoon @indiguus @mahalohanaloha @power-bottom-steve @danny-williams @twoonezero @merlin-wolfgang-trades-hale @bee1968-ch @the-itzy-bitzy-spider @confessionofashopaholic-blog @simplyn2deep @murphyhatesme @angels-c @chaosrising451 @grindy-cog @ilikemcdanno @annanight @mymcdanno @iolani-palace @peggyswilliams

[hollywoodbabylondean]

elaboration:

cookie table: a western pennsylvania wedding tradition where in lieu of appetizers, the families bake batches of cookies.

gobs/whoopie pies: two small cakes make a sandwich with a cooked milk/buttercream icing (correct) or a marshmallow fluff based icing (incorrect)

pennsylvania dutch ham pot pie: a ham stew with leavened dumplings boiled in at the end

pierogies: ravioli but with potato and cheese based filling

birch beer: root beer but made with birch sap instead of sassafrass root

pittsburgher/pittsburgh salads. so. take a massive burger. put fries on it. take a salad. put fries on it. drown it in ranch.

red beet eggs: hard boiled eggs pickled in vinegar and beets

del grosso theme park: so. take a very successful but mid spaghetti sauce. now take an amusement park. you are eating spaghetti outside in 80 degree weather.

eat n park smiley cookies:

mallo cups: reese's but with marshmallow-coconut filling

[mikrokosmo]

incorrect buttercreams - 2/?

[shadowknight465]

Black Conqueror:

Licorice:

Chess Choco:

Poison Mushroom:

Sorbet Shark:

Pink Choco:

White Choco:

Milk:

Buttercream Choco

Also I'm calling The Dark Conqueror Au to Black Conqueror Au. It suits better.

[soymimikyu]

Food in Netflix’s Series of Unfortunate Events: Season 1

I like food in television and for a long time have been finding inspiration in dishes I see in anime. Don’t think food anime, like Food Wars. Think of Sophie cooking bacon on Calcifer in Howl’s Moving Castle, Mugi’s tea time treats in K-On!, the pastries made by Kaori’s family in Your Lie in April, or the meal shared by Taki and Miki in Your name. Essentially, I like it when food is not the focus, but accentuates a scene or deepens a character or a relationship. While this is not anime, I had a lot of fun with it!

Having read the books more than a decade ago, I was surprised (possibly because I have forgotten) at how much food is in this series. From episode 1, I took semi-detailed notes on what dishes appeared in each part and made an attempt to also note down the scene in which it appeared. The following list does omit somethings because I felt they were not important (what the market sellers sold in the Wide Window – fish heads, limes, and something I can’t recall and didn’t write down). I may circle back at some point and double check the list, but I will definitely check it against the books when I reread them. If anyone thinks I forgot something critical – please let me know.

Enjoy!

Some side remarks:

If I made the recipe, I will mark it with an X.

If I have thoughts on recipes, I will include them. This might be rambling nonsense to some (most) of you.

Food in A Bad Beginning

Mint Jelly and Braised Leg of Lamb

Brought by Justice Strauss

Pasta Puttanesca [X]

Adding more anchovies did not really add more anchovy flavor. They are heavily masked with the kalamata olives and capers. Perhaps a milder olive?

Served to Count Olaf

Comes up serveral times in later episodes.

Raspberry Cupcakes

A raspberry swiss meringue butter cream would go really well here. To get extra fruit flavor in your icing you can add finely ground (and sifted) freeze dried fruit. Infused butter is another route.

Working raspberries into a sponge might be tricky as they are rather wet. Control moisture carefully.

Offered to the children by Count Olaf

Wedding Cake Slices with Vanilla, Nutmeg, or Lemon(y) buttercream

I believe Olaf picked the Vanilla flavored cake.

Spiced butter cream sounds delicious. Perhaps a spiced butter or a spiced tea butter?

Hook handed man asks Olaf for his opinion.

Food in The Reptile Room

Coconut Cream Cake

Never thought about a coconut cream cake. Not sure what the frosting would be. Sponge looks like yellow cake with coconut flakes.

Offered by Doctor Montgomery to the children.

Chinese Take out with pot stickers

Meal shared between the children, Doctor Montgomery, and Stefano.

Popcorn

Eaten by Stefano at the theater. Unclear if it was buttered or not.

Canned Peaches

Consumed by Hook Handed Man posing as a detective after murder.

Food in The Wide Window

Peppermint

Offered by Mr. Poe to the children

Vegetarian Chili [X]

Cab driver’s meal. I also believe the children made this when Josephine was out buying limes.

Chilled Cucumber soup

This actually looks really tasty despite the context and dreariness of the scene. Meal shared between Josephine and the children.

Lemon Meringue Pie

Meringues are tricky beasts. Italian meringues are stable, but be sure to get your sugar syrup to the soft ball point (~230 F). Also don’t dry your meringue too much.

Mentioned by Lemony and possibly carried by Larry.

Cold Lime Stew

I believe this was Josephine’s proposed hurricane meal.

Fried Egg Sandwich with toasted rye and a runny yolk

[X]

Date meal between Josephine and Captain Sham.

Extra Special Family Fun Appetizer

We never actually see this, but I propose bacon, french toast, crispier pancakes (fried in the bacon fat), and beneigts topped with maple syrup.

Described as a “bunch of fried things served with a sauce” by Larry (the clown).

Cheer Up Cheese Burgers

The pickles, mustard, and ketchup make a smiley on the burger. Offered by Larry (the clown).

Wasabi Mayo

I believe this is what Mr. Poe received as part of his brunch meal.

Fuzzy Navel

Captain Sham’s drink at brunch.

Banana

Josephine’s last meal.

Shredded Beef Tamales

Lard plays a role in making the dough.

Meal given to Ike by Count Olaf resulting in Ike’s death.

Chewing Gum

On the box in the truck carrying the children to Lucky Smells.

Food in The Miserable Mill

Clam Chowder

Consumed by Mr. Poe and distracts him for some time

Dense Beef Casserole

I don’t know what would make beef casserole dense. Too much flour? Incorrect cut of meat?

Served to workers at Lucky Smells.

Blue Berry pancakes and fresh orange juice [X]

How a good day can start according to Lemony

Must be served in bed by a butler, otherwise the day may not be quite as good.

Chewing Gum

Lunch at Lucky Smells

Goat Cheese and Beef Jerkey Omelette

This seems wrong. Jerky is rather tough and toughness is generally unbecoming of an omelette (we want soft to the palette but structured to the bite). Perhaps the Jerky was a side? Perhaps it was finely chopped? Perhaps Charles makes his own beef jerky less tough because he knows Sir likes it in omelettes?

Served to Sir by Charles

A fresh peach

Offered to the children by Charles

Cannoli

A mold can be fashioned out of copper piping. Cheaper and just as effective. Cut to appropriate length.

Don’t use foil

Poe’s punishment if he does not find the children

Cookies [X]

Looks like (store bought) short bread cookies.

Receptionist Shirley offers the children and Sir.

[dreamingthroughkit]

My Sister’s Birthday (05.26.21)

The rich, artificial blue of the abstract roses delicately swirled in buttercream frosting decorated the entirety of the small, circular vanilla cake. The cerulean food dye was tantalizing—equivalent to a glass full of the richly false, blue water at the mini golf course in Colorado Springs. The one where the giant gorilla perched atop the plastic cave, and various species of dinosaurs on display throughout the course with signs detailing their origins...signs we did not read. And I wished to dip my finger into the smooth, buttery surface of the decadent desert and feel the waxiness against my skin. Birthdays were phénoménale as much as they were abominable. They were the inescapable fact that each time the Earth circled the sun, we leaned in closer to death. But it was not death that scared me. It was greyed hair and wrinkled skin, a body that was dying, a body that had never lived. Yet, if it were not for time being forced into reality by mechanical ticking clocks and calendar markings, markings we were coerced into believing, I would never grow old. I would stay frozen in this youthful state for as long as I could convince myself to stay. 

I had thought a lot of death, of tragic death, unfortunate ways to meet one’s end. And I was a romantic, even in death. I did not imagine growing old, having a long life well-lived. I died in poetry, in tragedy, in art. I wanted to leave the world in a manner that meant something...that stood out from the inescapable mundaneness of “real life.” Of course, it was not my birthday today, but my sister’s. 

I held my sister in my memory at nondescript ages throughout childhood— laying in bed with our eyes closed dreaming about fairyland, going on family roadtrips in the back of the green minivan, the roundness of her face before the baby fat fell away, the Holiday Inn breakfasts… biscuits and gravy and rotating cereal dispensers full of Froot Loops, her incessant need for drive thru Chik-Fil-A, jumping over mild waves that appeared like tsunamis in my prepubescent brain. Striking poses, diving in the ocean, swimming in indoor pools, Disney movies, and hotel cookies. Cradling her head like a baby while she talked in a funny way that would be politically incorrect today, and there was our turtle that ran away or perhaps got taken by a stray. There was the field where we would play, and the basement where we’d stay and watch new episodes of Avatar on display. There were swim meets and practices riddled with boiled eggs and glasses of milk, falling asleep at recitals when we all used to play violin. There were dark circles she’d paint on her face. Like a raccoon’s eyes, our parents would say. She was barely a teenager then with a whole different group of friends. There was Hollywood Park and the blue, water-proof watch that had been replaced by getting on a plane to LA, slide phones switched out for iPhones, and she’s 24 now. In less than 3 months I’ll be 20. Oh how we’ve changed. Oh how these people we used to be would now seem like strangers to her and me. Strangers we’d embrace with shaky arms and blurry tears. Practically unrecognizable, the roots from which we grew.

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Somebody Sweet to Talk To ❁︎ 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

Pairing: Harry Osborn x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Gif credit: @buckeybarns

Summary & Warnings || Series Masterlist

Extra warning for this chapter: reader has a panic attack near the end.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝

❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎ ・・・・・ ❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎

Harry fixed his hair in front of his bedroom mirror three times before leaving the room. His father was being served breakfast already, he saw the maid pouring coffee as he entered the dining room.

Not a glance was spared at him when he sat down at the table, but as soon as he took his cellphone out Norman reprimanded him.

“I’m sorry,” he spluttered, “I was going to ask my girlfriend if she was busy.”

His father stared at him. “Who is she?”

“(Y/N) (L/N).”

“How did that happen?” Norman moved his butter knife so Harry would continue.

“Peter is friends with her, his aunt now lives at The Avenger’s Compound with Stark’s driver so he does too.”

“I want to meet her.”

He took a sip of his coffee to hide his smirk. “She’s free on Saturday evenings.”

“Next Saturday,” Norman said in the most neutral tone he had used the entire week, “invite her for dinner.”

“Of course.”

Telling you would be very different, he had to prepare you for the kind of comments and questions his dad could make... fuck, it wasn’t such a good idea now that he analyzed the situation more carefully. It was done, and the only thing he could do was hope for the best.

He made a few stops before getting to The Compound. Outside, about to knock, he found himself second-guessing appearing there without having told you he would— or Peter. But he was there already so he sucked it up and rang the doorbell.

“Oh!” May exclaimed after she swung the door open. “Hi, Harry.” She stepped to the side so he would get in.

He closed the door, thanking her. “Is—“

“Pete isn’t home.” She pouted sweetly.

“I’m not here to see Peter...” he lifted the roses in his grasp, hoping the woman would understand.

May smiled, sweetly still. “Kitchen.”

He bowed thankfully. While following the familiar path to the dining area, music started filling his ears. Familiar with the melody because Gwen loved Taylor Swift, he wondered for a moment if May hadn’t guided him toward the incorrect person.

She hadn’t. Harry saw you measuring ingredients, head moving to the rhythm to the song. He cleared his throat loudly to not startle you.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you greeted him, attention still in the flour you were now sifting.

He swallowed. “Neither did I.”

The song changed at that moment, a radical change if he had to be completely honest. He knew that one too, and couldn’t help the curiosity overcoming him— what other types of music did you listen to? Did you enjoy every genre as you did with movies?

“I brought you flowers,” he interrupted George Michael’s Don’t Let The Sun Go Down on Me to say.

You gave him your attention at that, blinking at light speed. Putting the mesh strainer down, you took the bouquet he was offering while Elton John started singing his verse. You turned around to withdraw a vase from one of the doors under the cupboard with one hand.

He unconsciously hummed to the song, making you smile as you gave him your back. Undoing the bow the flowers came tightly in, you arranged the roses in the vase before filling it with water.

You pursed your lips not to laugh when the song changed again. Seeing Harry do the same when you turned around to go back to your prior task, you snorted. “Sorry, it’s my mixed playlist.”

“I see,” he nodded. “It’s cool.” You lifted an eyebrow, right hand picking the strainer up again. He lifted one too, “What? You don’t think your own playlist is cool?”

You shrugged. “Everyone finds it kinda hectic. I only play it when the place is empty or almost empty.”

“What are you doing?” he changed the topic, pointing at the ingredients on the island.

“A cake for later.”

“Want some help?”

“Do you want to help?”

He shrugged, “you would have to teach me, but yeah.”

You nodded, pointing at a small door next to the oven. “You can find an apron there.”

Harry learned many things that day: what a double boiler was, how to whip a mixture to ribbon stage, what ribbon stage looked like, the differences between a genoise and a sponge cake, how to make folding movements to not ruin a mixture, the easiest way to temper chocolate, the fact that coffee enhances chocolate’s flavor... in between each one, he learned you were more patient than you let on, that you would be a good teacher, that your mother used to bake often, the different ways you found to change a few ingredients for healthier alternatives, and your favorite cooking techniques of which you explained a few.

You built the cake, three layers of chocolate sponge and three of buttercream with a crumb-coat. Putting the cake to chill in the fridge, you explained you would have to wait for that coat to harden before decorating it properly so it would stay firm and smooth.

The two of you washed everything you wouldn’t use anymore by hand, flicking each other with water just to tease. He scrunched his nose, scratching it with his knuckles. Fuck if he didn’t look attractive while doing it... shaking your head, you moved out of the way when he put a hand on the tap from where water was running to make it rain.

“Harry!” You squealed, a laugh bubbling up in your throat.

He bit his bottom lip to try not to laugh and shut the faucet off, considering if it was a good moment to tell you. “So... I told my dad this morning.”

“I haven’t told anyone, I woke up to an almost empty place and May didn’t ask.”

“I’m sure she knows,” he nodded toward the flowers. “She opened the door for me and told me where you were.”

Humming, you rested your back against the edge of the counter to look at him. “What did your dad say?”

He scratched the nape of his neck and you knew you were up for something. “Told me to invite you over for dinner next Saturday.”

“Isn’t it too soon?”

God, you sounded so alarmed... not knowing what to say, he just stared at you. You were expecting him to answer the question, and he was expecting you to say something else. If you said you didn’t want to meet his dad, everything would be over for sure.

“Dad’s like that.”

“Well, mine would probably act the same...” your father would now that you thought about it. Maybe it had to do with the fact that this was your first supposed relationship.

Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

The timer from his phone went off; you had used his so it wouldn’t cut through the music you were playing from yours. You rushed toward the fridge, taking the cake out carefully and placing it on the counter.

Smoothing buttercream was hard, Harry learned that too while you tried not to laugh at his attempts. You helped him, guiding his hands with your palms on top of the back of his. The trick was on rotating the turning base at an even pace that was dictated by how agile his other hand was— at least that was what you said, he was too busy trying not to blush.

The cake was finished quickly after that, you let him sprinkle the chocolate shavings all over it and then taught him how to write with cream or in that case chocolate too. He marveled at the movements of your wrist as you wrote the Welcome Back Home sign on top, and at your cursive calligraphy that he didn’t even know you could write in.

“It looks so good!” May said as she leaned to see the cake.

You smiled tightly. “Thank you. Harry helped, maybe that’s why.”

He huffed a bashful laugh, prompting May to coo which made him flush a little bit, just a pinch.

Steps broke through the moment and May hurried to receive the arriving people. Harry carried the cake to the fridge as you opened the door for him to slide it in. You were pleased with your work, and he was happy with having learned to do something new.

Pausing the music, you took your cellphone from the counter, disconnecting it from the speakers. He suddenly remembered something: “I forgot to tell you, but on my way here I stopped at the farmer’s market when I saw a gigantic orange.”

You saw him pick something from the dining table, lifting the fruit with a hand. You laughed at the sight, walking toward him. When you had to hold it with both hands was his turn to laugh. And what a melodic laugh he had, you almost sighed dreamily while hearing it and only composed yourself because you heard approaching stomps.

“I think this beats the flowers.”

“Good to know my girlfriend is a simple woman,” he teased back.

Knowing what he was doing, you continued with the show. “Good to know my boyfriend remembers the things I like.”

A clear of a throat, a very fake one, made you both turn around to see Bucky leaning on the edge of the dining room’s entrance. “You should be baking a cake, sweetheart.”

“It’s in the fridge,” you assured him, putting the kind of heavy fruit down and wondering if it would even taste good.

The soldier didn’t seem to believe you because he crossed all the way toward the fridge, rounding the counter. Impressed, Bucky with a hand still on the door he had just closed, craned his neck to see the... couple. He saw you two share a complicit look, and he wasn’t the only one because Pepper laughed, patting each of your backs with a hand.

“Now we know dating won’t distract you, (N/N),” Pepper teased lightheartedly.

Harry spoke proudly, “I’ll simply help her.”

“Help who?” Peter asked breathlessly, eyes widening when he saw you were there too.

You faked a smile at your best friend, “me.”

Bucky pointed at the flowers on the back counter, “did you buy flowers for Steve? He likes peonies, not roses.”

You and Harry snorted at the pathetic attempt. You shook your head and moved around the room to pick the vase up. “They’re mine, but if you want I can go and buy some for him. Just let me put these in my room.”

“Give me that,” Harry took the vase from your hands carefully, “I’ll carry it.”

Peter trailed behind you as you walked toward the elevator, questions about what was his best friend doing there, why he didn’t know, or if Gwen hadn’t talked to him filling his mind. He didn’t know what to ask first or how to, you could get in a bad mood like the other day.

The normalcy that Harry sat down on your bed with startled Peter and the way you simply sat beside him was not comforting at all. The shorter young man sat beside you, watching your dangling feet swing.

“You look like a kid,” he teased you, “Harry’s your dad, I’m your uncle.”

Harry and you shared another look. “I’m not into incest, it’s gross,” you deadpanned.

Peter changed the subject then, “do you know what you will wear for Mr. Rogers’ homecoming?”

“The dress laying on the couch.”

Both males leaned to see the dress. It was a simple plaid one, but Harry knew you would look great in it because green and blue suited you amazingly. He told you so, almost smiling when your gaze dropped bashfully.

“How do you know?” you blurted, inwardly cursing yourself for your eagerness to be complimented.

He made you rest your head on his shoulder, arm around both of yours as his hand dangled from your farthest one. “Because I always stare at you, I’ve seen you wear almost every color.”

“Har,” Peter interrupted the two of you, “can you drive me to buy a tie? I just remembered!”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, standing up from your bed without taking his eyes off your face.

“(N/N), can you help Pepper with Morgan until I’m back?”

You nodded, standing up too. Harry and you were aware that Peter was trying to make you spend less time together, but it made you feel uncomfortable instead of good. Your fake boyfriend lifted his eyebrows slightly and you slowly blinked downward, hoping he’d catch it. He did and leaned down, leaving a soft kiss on your lips that you didn’t really get to reciprocate because of its shortness.

As soon as the door closed behind the two young men you exhaled heavily. What mess were you truly getting yourself into? You supposed in the end it would be worth it, but the sensation of doubt couldn’t be shaken off no matter how hard you tried. The buzz Harry’s lips left on yours couldn’t either.

Looking at the time, you decided to take a shower before helping Morgan get ready for the evening. It was a quick one, you had showered in the morning and were only doing it to make sure you were perfectly clean after the sweat you shed due to the warmth of the oven.

As you dropped the laundry in its basket, you realized Harry’s cologne had lingered on the fabric and for a mere second thought of retrieving the items to sleep in them before reminding yourself you were acting like a fool. An hour later both Morgan and you were ready, the little girl dressed in a pink dress and you in the plaid one.

Peter hurried into his room to get changed as May yelled for him to need to pay more attention the next time. You walked slowly with Morgan who insisted on guiding you with her smaller hand tightly griping your fingers.

Your cellphone buzzed in your other hand, but you didn’t check on it until you all were in the living room in expectancy of Steve.

Send me a photo of you in the dress.

What for?

Phone wallpaper.

That’s... a bit too much.

Peter has Gwen and Gwen has Peter.

Gwen feeds Peter, do you want me to do that too?

With airplane sounds and all.

You burst out laughing, imagining yourself treating 6’1 Harry like a child when he was taller than you. Realizing you were crying out of laughter as your imagination wandered toward standing on a stall to reach him, you cleared your throat and wiped the tears from your face.

Put (Favorite Artist) on a plaid shirt, they look better.

Absolutely not. Is Rogers there already?

He won’t get here in other 25-ish minutes.

Come out? Pete thinks I left.

You sprung up from the couch, directing yourself to the main door in the longest strides you could muster. You would chastise your own self for your eagerness later on, at that moment you just wanted to get out of there for five minutes or a little more.

He had the back of his thighs against the hood of his car, cellphone in hand as he looked down at it. The sound of you closing the front door prompted him to look up; as he caught sight of you, he locked the device and dropped it into his pocket.

“Take a picture, Osborn.”

A smirk curled up in the left side of his mouth, hand sliding into his pocket to retrieve the device he had just stored there. You rolled your eyes at his antics but quickly widened them when he lifted the cellphone to truly take the photo. You turned your head to the side so he wouldn’t snap anything, but he still did.

“It looks kind of artsy if you ask me.”

Realizing he was trying to show it to you, you shook your head. You didn’t consider yourself photogenic, at all, and weren’t in the mood for getting insecure in front of anyone.

“It looks fine. I’m not a bad photographer, I promise.”

You stood quiet, his skills weren’t the problem but the model and telling him would be boring him to death with something you only spoke about with Bucky who understood feeling bad because of looks.

He got closer to you, moving his head to get into your field of vision. You looked down, attempting to ignore him. Harry wasn’t having any of that and lightly took your chin between his thumb and index to gain your attention.

“I should get back inside,” you murmured, fighting the urge to stare at him. “Tony will freak out and it will be a mess.”

Shifting his hand, he rested it on your cheek like he had done the night before. That made you lift your gaze and realize he was staring at your lips. Not processing what you were doing, you licked your bottom lip and he leaned down, prompting you to stand on your tiptoes so he wouldn’t hurt his neck as much.

His eyes clenched shut at the brush of your mouth on his. This time he dared to deepen the kiss more, his other arm coming to wrap around your waist as your hands rested on his shoulders to not lose balance. Harry was about to pry your mouth open when a cough made you part.

To his damn luck, it had been Steve Rogers himself who had both eyebrows lifted impossibly high. You smoothed your dress, smiling at the soldier. Steve hung his head a little bit, smiling back.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” you told Harry, not daring to look at him in the eyes.

“Yeah, have a nice rest of the weekend, babe.” Fuck, where had the pet name even come from?

Steve coughed again and you inhaled deeply. “Steve, Harry; Harry, Steve,” you moved a hand between them to introduce them.

Both men shook hands a little awkwardly. They definitely weren’t feeling more awkward than you were, but Harry couldn’t be too far off.

The soldier didn’t make a motion to enter The Compound until Harry’s car had disappeared from your sight, making you think he would say something. Nothing came, thank God, and you pushed the front door open, allowing Steve to enter first.

Greetings were so effusive that no one seemed to realize you had entered with Steve and you were so thankful you could’ve cried. Your heart was still beating fast from the kiss, lips tingling, face burning, and hands slightly shaking— you had shared many kisses but none of them had felt so real.

What was happening to you? It was a fucking kiss, people shared them all the time. Friends did, and couples, and strangers— it was a mere sexual expression. But it could be romantic too sometimes... shaking your head harshly, you sat down with Pepper and May to make light conversation and think about something else.

The table was full of food, people, and chatter. Everyone was catching up with Steve, naturally, and he was extremely interested with his kind eyes and all of that you weren’t really paying attention to. The smell of Harry’s cologne didn’t leave your senses with anything, nor the chocolate you tasted from his lips and as you tried to focus your eyes on anything to distract yourself, you caught sight of the gigantic orange.

Flowers, oranges, chocolate, movies, music, chess, ice cream... he was giving a lot of things you liked a new meaning. Were you falling for Harry Osborn? Fuck, no, no, you couldn’t be in love, you weren’t suited for relationships, and whatever was happening between you was a lie— you needed to remember that, it was imperative.

“(N/N),” Carol placed a hand on your thigh, shaking you softly.

“Yes?” You turned to look at each side of the table.

Steve lifted an eyebrow. “I asked how long have you been dating Harry.”

“Oh! Uh— technically an exact week.”

“That didn’t look like a week relationship thing...”

Yeah, it didn’t feel like that either. “First relationship,” you pathetically excused. Hyper aware of everyone’s eyes on you, you took a gulp of wine to not blurt out you were freaking out more than them.

“Where did you meet him?”

“He’s my best friend,” Peter explained, glaring at you.

“Yeah, we go to the same university and all of that,” you nodded, the reminder of having to see him around the halls after the fiasco finished suddenly causing a pang on your chest.

Focusing on your plate, you continued eating as the conversation moved to Peter and his career.

Dessert time arrived, and praises for the cake were thrown your way. If only they knew they were only causing you more distress! As you served it, you couldn’t shake from you mind Harry’s face as he paid attention to what you were explaining, the way his semblance lighted up when he understood the steps, his eagerness to help, how endearing he sounded when making a follow-up question, that attractive thing he did with his knuckles...

A sudden wave of nausea hit you, prompting you to push the chair off the table and stand up abruptly. You hurried to the closest bathroom where you allowed the contents of your stomach to come out through your mouth.

Letting yourself fall onto your ass on the bathroom floor, you started sobbing uncontrollably. Your hands were now shaking thoroughly, chest tightening so much you felt you would choke. Your brain didn’t allow itself to reason or process anything other than the fact that you were utterly terrified, every fiber of your being screamed there was danger near you and you were certain there was because there couldn’t be any other reason to feel so much weight and anguish.

The flush of the toilet made you jump, Tony’s kind eyes worriedly gazing into yours. It only made you cry harder, making the man kneel in front of you to pull you into a hug. His metal arm was around you like Harry’s had been earlier and you let out a cry at the thought, hiding your face on your mentor’s chest as his hand rubbed your back lovingly.

Soothing sounds resonated in his chest. Tony rocked you both, trying to mentally find a song to hum that would help you relax. When he did, he started humming Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door. By the end of the song he felt you hug him back, clinging to his body in a way you had done less than five times.

Curled up on your bed, you avoided Bucky’s eyes. Tony had asked him to substitute him while he showed Steve to his new room and the Sargent was more than happy to comply.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, “I just want to know what triggered it so no one does it again.” You shook your head. “Please, I won’t laugh.”

“I like Harry.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to like him.”

Bucky crawled on the bed, closer to you, “Why?”

“I just... don’t.” Silent tears streamed down your face, the sensation of the temperature contrast of their hotness against your cold due to the AC cheeks only reminding you of the times you cried yourself to sleep as a child.

“He likes you too,” Bucky assured, side-hugging you. “It’s okay to like people.”

“Of course not. Liking people means giving them a reason to hurt you.”

He sighed in exasperation. “Who told you that?”

“Life.”

“If you don’t want to like him, why go out with him? Or kiss him? Steve told us with details what he saw, that sounded like two people who really like each other...”

“People kiss all the time, Buck—“ Tony slipped into the room, closing the door behind him and kicking his shoes off to sit on your bed too. You remained silent.

“People kiss all the time and then what?” Bucky pressed.

“And that’s it. Human beings aren’t typically asexual although they of course exist... my point is that kissing someone doesn’t mean anything.”

Tony frowned. “Kiss me then.”

“You’re married and like my second father.”

“Kissing someone doesn’t mean anything,” he repeated your words, presumably trying to give you a lesson.

You groaned, resting your head on Bucky’s side. “Tony, what I clearly mean is that it’s not proof of really liking or loving someone. Maybe instead of talking about this, we should research androstadienone and its potential as a pheromone.

“You’re telling me you go out with Harry Osborn because of his pheromones?” You nodded. Tony shared a look with Bucky before turning to stare at you. “You’re starting therapy on Monday. It’s not a question.”

“I have a job, Anthony.”

“You’re in no condition to do your job.”

You pushed yourself off your comfortable position against Bucky to sit up. “You’ve never said that when I get panic attacks!”

“You’re talking about feelings as if you weren’t human!”

“Who cares?! That has nothing to do with my job, I’m a scientist.”

“I care,” Bucky said firmly. “And Tony does too. He is right.”

“No!” You burst out crying again, shaking your head as your breathing quickened. “He thinks he is right because he doesn’t know how I feel, none of you do!”

“You had a panic attack because you like your boyfriend. It’s worrisome.” His hand rubbed your upper back soothingly.

“I’ll break up with him,” you sniffed, “but don’t take my job away from me, please.”

Wide-eyed, Tony shook his head. “You don’t have—“

“Yes, I do.” Wiping the tears from your face, you sniffed again. “Could you two leave so I can call him?”

“No,” both said. Bucky continued, “you deserve to have a relationship, and he might be a little weird but he treats you right.”

Your bottom lip trembled and you groaned, throwing yourself back onto the bed. You always got attached easily when people treated you right because it didn’t happen often, but you had never felt so strongly toward someone. A week was all it fucking took you, it was a new record— it took Quentin a month. But Harry wasn’t like him, was he? As fake as the relationship was, he had been honest about it...

[timelostcarrion]

He's been there before, at Syo's place, back when the building looked even more incomplete than it does now. A couple of knocks on the door announced his presence and when the door opened, he greeted her with a lifted hand clutching tightly at the handles of a large bag. Inside, there was a meticulously packaged chocolate cake with buttercream frosting and strawberry topping. Next to it, a bottle of Irish cream liquor. ❝Happy birthday, you two...❞, he murmured and timidly averted his gaze. -Fang

She wasn't expecting an almost face full of bag as soon as she opened the door, although the look of surprise flooded her face - it twisted to pleasant as soon as her eyes set up to seek out his face, tittering softly before both her hands came out to carefully remove it from him. Peeking inside - his acknowledgment didn't go over her head but it took her a good moment to take a good gander over everything that was inside, but even from the angle she had her head, it was easy to see the welling excitement on her face. Admiring the finest things and the packaging, she made sure she didn't do any flinging from the sudden burst that was following up - even if she looked like she was going to be composed about it, that could be anymore incorrect. As soon as she considerately placed the bag down to the side by her feet, Fang would get a face full of hands that grabbed his cheeks, tugging him forward and down with considerate pressure not to hurt him before flinging her arms around his shoulders in a hug.

"Thank you, Fang!" Chirping in with her excitement, she made sure not to put too much crushing pressure around his nape. Him having to bend down to her height wouldn't last much longer, as the toothy smile she bore was lost to a snug kiss to the side of his head before releasing him entirely so he could sit back up. Scooping the bag up by its handles, she peeked back inside, merely being able to smell the sweetness present even through the packaging. "I can't wait to try it, it smells delicious- we'll enjoy it." Although, she knew Syo didnt eat much, she'd likely pry him to try it if he didn't. She already knew the liquor wouldn't be a problem though.

[buttercream-imagines]

If I had a gun with two bullets and I was in a room with Hitler, Bin Laden, and Mikey, I would shoot Mikey twice

Jack, probably

[incorrectjackboxquotes]

Buttercream: *is putting his costume on* “Dad, don’t look at me.”

Mayonnaise: *in the other room* “I’m not looking! Are you almost ready?”

Buttercream: “Yes!”

Mayonnaise: “Do you need any help?”

Buttercream: “No!”

Mayonnaise: “Okay.”

Buttercream: *comes out of his room, dressed in a nice suit.*

Mayonnaise: “Woah... that is definitely not Spiderman.”

Buttercream: “He’s not a real superhero.”

Mayonnaise: “He’s not? Okay, I give up. Who are you supposed to be?”

Buttercream: “I’m you Daddy!” :3

Mayonnaise: *smiles*

Both: *hug*

Mayonnaise: *scoops him up* “Alright, let’s get you some candy.”

Buttercream: *cute giggle*

[incorrect-corner-gas]

Brent: That's not how the game works.

Hank: It is now bitch!