Here’s a sneak peak at a dialogue test I’m working on. The audio was taken from an old home video involving a rainforest expedition in our kitchen. Trying to get closer to capturing my sister’s character.
if u ever worry about your future as a wlw please know that my mother who just turned 40 and her girlfriend who started transitioning at 39 (who are both divorced and had children w/other ppl) are currently singing duets in our kitchen while my stepmum plays acoustic guiter and they’re beautiful and happy and there is always hope for you
i can’t wait until i’m living with my soulmate somewhere near the mountains, taking our dogs on hikes, dancing around our kitchen to music and buying fresh produce from farmers markets on a sunday morning
i’m in an america’s test kitchen members only group on facebook, and someone said it might be fun to share photos of our kitchens. ours happens to be quite clean after thursday dinner and a weekend of trying to keep everything nice and neat, so i snapped a quick pic to share. it’s such a happy place. all of the hard work we put into it really was worth it. i’m anxious to start cooking more again, to get back to it after all the health stuff, to really use this beautiful space.
Summary: Bucky may or may not have a crush on Steve’s PA.
Word Count: 5,551
Category: Fluff/Very light smut
Warnings: Cursing (per usual), some smutty stuff but not all that explicit, etc.
A/N: A whole month! Time really flies. This was going to include more explicit smut scenes in it, but, after some deliberation, I’ve decided to put that into a separate work. It’ll be a continuation of this with actual smut in it. Hopefully the separation doesn’t disrupt too much and also allows readers that a) don’t enjoy reading explicit smut and b) don’t connect with an explicitly biologically female reader can still enjoy the story. Thank you for reading and understanding!
She had started out as a way to appease Tony, who had
insisted that Steve needed a personal assistant. Stark blathered on and on about how
much his life had changed after getting a PA and how maybe a little help with
coordinating and the day to day tasks would “remove the stick from that star-spangled
So, Steve had caved and asked Pepper to set up a couple of
interviews with people interested in the job. After a parade of ecstatic fans
and sexual propositions, he was just about ready to give up.
Instead, at the end of a very long day of being ogled and
fawned over, (Y/N) had appeared with a rose-scented resume and two popsicles
she’d bought from the street-vendor outside the Tower. Her smile was sweet and
her eyes kind, a little wide at the opulence of the Stark equipment, but not
predatory like the previous applicants.
A tea gown was a dress/robe hybrid worn ONLY in the home or privacy of family and very close friends.They are supposed to be inspired by kimonos and intended to be a more relaxed garment that could be more flowing and even allowed for the wearer to go corset-less,I’m not sure if that was common. They were simple to put on and could be done without the help of a lady’s maid.
“It has always a train and usually long flowing sleeves; is made of rather gorgeous materials and goes on easily, and its chief use is not for wear at the tea-table so much as for dinner alone with one’s family. 29 It can, however, very properly be put on for tea, and if one is dining at home, kept on for dinner. Otherwise a lady is apt to take tea in whatever dress she had on for luncheon, and dress after tea for dinner. 30 One does not go out to dine in a tea-gown except in the house of a member of one’s family or a most intimate friend. One would wear a tea-gown in one’s own house in receiving a guest to whose house one would wear a dinner dress. 31 Your tea-gowns, since they are never worn in public, can literally be as bizarre as you please.” Emily Post, 1922.
The tea gown would be used as we would use a robe to go to our kitchen and eat breakfast before getting ready for the day, or coming home from an event or work and wanting to relax by putting on pjs. Most people wouldn’t wear their pjs out of the house but it is ok to be seen in them by family and friends, same as with the tea gown. To our modern fashion sense they look very fancy but at the time were the last level of undress acceptable to be seen in during an informal, familial gathering.
Bucky winces as the front door creaked; he’d have to change the hinges soon. The floor boards ached underneath his boots, making awful creaking noises with each step. Goddamit, he was trying to be quiet for fucks sake and his 7,000 year old house was making that nearly impossible.
“You’re back early,” Bucky looks up from the old wooden floor to look upon his wife, standing at the foot of their stairs with a robe wrappedaround her body. Bucky can’t help but smile as he lowers his bag to the ground, immediately enveloping (Y/N) into a tight hug.
“Mission went off without a hitch,”
“Mmhh, that’s good,” (Y/N) hums softly as she runs her fingers through Bucky’s sweat matted hair. “No bruises, cuts, broken bones?”
“My leg has a small scratch, nothing to be too worried about,” (Y/N) releases Bucky from their hug instead taking his hands as she quietly led him up the stairs, stopping when the floorboards would creak gently. It took a few minutes but (Y/N) finally got them up the stairs and into their shared bedroom.
(Y/N) immediately drags Bucky to their bathroom, gingerly forcing him down onto the side of their bathtub, a vintage claw foot that Bucky spent years trying to install.
“Clothes off,” (Y/N) states matter of factly as she reaches under their sink, grabbing the first aid kit she always had on hand.
“(Y/N), it’s really nothin’ to worry about doll, just a little scratch-”
“Don’t make me tell you again Mr. Barnes,” (Y/N) clucked her tongue at him, smiling just a bit. Bucky smiled as he unbuttoned his vest, letting it droop to the floor as he began worming his boots and pants off. Before his pants were even off his leg (Y/N) pounced upon him, inspecting his wound thoroughly as though she were some kind of surgeon. She might as well have been a surgeon given how often she was stitching Bucky up, making him feel better and okay.
“I don’t think it’s going to need any stitches- this time,” (Y/N) adds the last part with a soft smile. “Probably just some cleaning and a bandage.”
“See, what did I tell you-”
“But you need a shower, you smell horrible,” Bucky chuckles gingerly as he shakes his head, still being mindful enough to be quiet.
“Only if you join me,” (Y/N) smiles softly, chuckling herself.
“I have to go make breakfast soon-”
“We’ll help each other, promise,”
“James Buchanan Barnes, the last time you tried to cook in my kitchen you nearly burned our entire house down,”
“Yeah, but then we got to renovate, remember how fun that was?”
“I remember you nailing your hand to a piece wood, that’s for sure,” (Y/N) chuckles again, shaking her head fondly at the memory.
“Well, I have experience now and I promise I won’t burn our kitchen down,” Bucky smiles softly, his eyes twinkling with a warm sort of fondness for his wife. “Please join me?”
“Fine, but only because you asked so nicely,” (Y/N) slides off her robe as Bucky turns their tub on, letting it fill up with warm water before he and (Y/N) clambered In.
Bucky looks back as (Y/N) slides her bra off, leaving her completely vulnerable to his gaze. It felt like Bucky’s breath had been taken away; it didn’t matter how many times he looked at (Y/N), every time he did it felt like the first, every single time.
“You’re gorgeous,” Bucky whispers as he settles his hands on (Y/N)’s waist as his gaze rakes up and down her body, taking every chunk of her in. “So gorgeous,” Bucky leans forward, pressing a series of kisses along (Y/N)’s hips, stomach, and sternum. Her breath hitches in the back of her throat and her hands immediately fly to his hair, gripping it gently.
“Bucky, bath first, sex after breakfast,” Bucky smiles as he pulls back, looking up at (Y/N) adoringly.
“You’re no fun,”
“Get in the tub you loser,” (Y/N) chuckles as they give his shoulder a gentle tap, before she clambers into the tub, taking up almost half the thing.
“God, we need a new tub,” Bucky mutters as he slides in, right between (Y/N)’s legs.
“And you’re not installing it,” (Y/N) presses a gentle kiss to his forehead as she grabs his shampoo bottle, flipping the cap open and squirting some onto her palm.
“Why not?” Bucky pouts adorably as (Y/N) uses her free hand to work some water into his hair.
“I don’t need to remind you of what happened the last time you tried to install something,” (Y/N) chuckles as she works the water into his hair, soaking it before working the shampoo in. Bucky hums in delight, sighing as he relaxes against (Y/N)’s body.
“It was my first time, I can do it so well now-”
“Bucky,” (Y/N) title his head up enough that she can lean down to press a kiss to his lips. “No more repairs or installations for you, we’ll get a contractor to come out and help,”
“What the hell kind of contractor is going to come all the way out here?”
“Bucky, stop squirming or you’re going to get shampoo in your eyes,” (Y/N) chuckles as she fondly strokes her husband’s scruffy cheek, just a barely there touch that she knew he enjoyed so much.
Bucky settles down, enough for (Y/N) to wash his hair, condition it, and manage to cover some parts of his body in soap.
“And I’m sure uncle Clint wouldn’t mind coming in to help fix the tub,”
“You’d pick Clint over me?” Bucky looks almost appalled as he looks up at (Y/N), his eyes narrowed and mouth open. (Y/N) smirks as she hands the soap over to Bucky, smacking the soapy bar into his outstretched hand.
“Mhm, yes I would,”
“I’m offended,” Bucky mutters as he washes all the parts (Y/N) wasn’t able to get, namely anything past his pecs.
“Boohoo,” (Y/N) chuckles as Bucky begins to work on his legs, having to sling one of them over the edge of the tub to clean it. “I’ll make it up to you later,”
“Yeah,” Bucky grumbles as he works on the other leg. “I’m sure you will,” (Y/N) smiles as she tilts her head, just enough to kiss the side of Bucky’s head.
“How about waffles for breakfast and me for dessert?” Bucky hums as he sets the soap down, tilting his head up to smile at (Y/N).
“That sounds heavenly,”
“Well let’s get going then Big guy,” (Y/N) chuckles softly as Bucky clambers out of the tub, grabbing a towel for himself and two for (Y/N).
“Thank you,” (Y/N) gets on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Bucky’s lips before quickly pulling away again. “You’re running out of clothes to wear,” (Y/N) comments as she throws him a pair of boxers and loose sweats. “We’ll have to go shopping soon,” Bucky
Hums as he gets dressed, sliding his clothing on as he watched (Y/N). God- he could just look at her all day. She was beautiful in his eyes, any little imperfection that she hated Bucky loved, any stretch mark or unwanted mole, any “fat” that she claimed to have he loved it.
Bucky can’t help but wrap his hands around (Y/N)’s waist as she slips a shirt on, letting it bunch around his arms.
“I missed you,” Bucky whispers as he nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck. “I missed this,” (Y/N) sighs as she settles her arms over his, grasping his hands gently and giving them a gentle squeeze.
“I missed you too…how long will you be staying this time?”
“Whenever Fury calls me back,” Bucky presses his lips to (Y/N)’s neck, giving her a series of open mouthed kisses. (Y/N) hums pleasurably, tilting her head to the side a bit to give Bucky better access.
“We miss you,” (Y/N) whispers, stopping Bucky dead in his tracks. We. (Y/N) and their children; their children. Sometimes Bucky forgot he had a life here, a loving wife, three amazing kids, he was so caught up with Shield and missions and hydra that he forgot that he was past that part of his life; he didn’t have to worry about hydra, shield and missions weren’t his day and night anymore but (Y/N) was, his family was.
“I know baby,” Bucky sighs as he breaks away, rubbing at his forehead as he does. “I need to resign, I need to do something-”
“Don’t do anything you don’t want to do, I don’t want you to feel like you have to give up shield for us-”
“But I want to,” Bucky hangs his head, sighing once again. “I want to leave that chapter of my life behind. It’s like I’m stuck on the same damn page twenty four seven and I hate it. You guys are my new chapter, I just need to stop going back and rereading the last ones…” (Y/N) smiles softly as she reaches out, holding Bucky gently.
“Then take a break, stay at home, learn how to cook, fix our tub and walls-”
“I thought you said no more renovations for me?” Bucky smiles just a bit, one quirk of his lip is all.
“Mh, I’ve changed my mind, plus if you’re going to be here all the time you’re going to need to learn how to do some work,” Bucky chuckles as he holds (Y/N), a sweetly almost earthy sound filling the air.
“You’re rude to me,”
“Yeah I am,” (Y/N) smiles as she gently kisses Bucky’s bare chest. “And you love me for it,” (Y/N) pulls away, taking Bucky by the hand as she gently guides him down the stairs and into their kitchen.
“Yeah, unfortunately I do,” (Y/N) gasps, feigning hurt as she clutches at her heart.
“I’m hurt, wounded,” Bucky chuckles as he wraps his arms back around (Y/N)’s waist, smiling as he squeezed them gently. “No, stop, I’m mad at you,” (Y/N) laughs as Bucky nuzzles his scruffy face in the crook of her neck, tickling her gently. “Bucky, stop, we have to make breakfast!” (Y/N) whispers harshly to the soldier but her smile betrayed her tone.
“If you keep yellin’ like that you’re gonna wake the kids up,”
“Yeah, and it’ll be your fault-” (Y/N) smiles as she waddles towards their fridge, dragging Bucky with her as he refused to let go of her waist. “I thought you said you were helping,” (Y/N) smirks as she reaches for the milk and eggs, holding them both in one hand while the other retrieved a small pack of bacon.
“I am,” Bucky chuckles as he grips (Y/N)’s hips gently.
“Then get me some flour and salt,” Bucky smiles as he presses a kiss to (Y/N)’s cheek before sauntering off to retrieve all the necessary items for waffles.
Bucky’s hand stalls as he reaches for a bag of sugar- He stared at the metal plating, stained with years of wear and tear, bodily fluids, and plenty of chalk and paint from both Steve and his children. It didn’t seem like too long ago when he’d used that same hand to choke innocent victims, it didn’t seem like years ago when one day a certain woman came up to him, held his hand, and begged him to help her. That’s how he had met (Y/N). She was being followed by a few shady men and she came to Bucky’s side for comfort. She didn’t even know him, he looked like an ex con for fucks sake and yet she still took his hand and begged for help. He remembered looking into those shining eyes of hers and feeling his heart clench as he was met with a fearful gaze. She begged him to pretend to be her boyfriend, which he gladly did.
They had walked around, stopped at a cafe, talked, and eventually stopped at Central Park. Bucky was having such a fantastic time that he didn’t even notice when the men stopped following the two of them, and apparently so did (Y/N).
“They stopped,” (Y/N) had whispered as she looked around the park. “Oh my god, thank you so much Bucky, thank you so, so, so much. How can I repay you?”
“How about a real date, one where we don’t have to worry about men following us around?” Bucky knew it was a long shot, he was the infamous winter soldier after all, there was no way (Y/N) would ever agree-
“I’d love that,” (Y/N) had whispered, giving his hand a good squeeze. It was in that moment Bucky realized for the first time in forever he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t afraid he was going to hurt (Y/N), he wasn’t afraid that hydra was lurking around the corner, he wasn’t afraid of what the next mission would be, for once he could finally just be.
“Buck, I need that sugar,” (Y/N) smiled tenderly at Bucky as she held a whisk in her hand, parts of it dripping in thick batter.
Bucky clears his throat as he reaches for the sugar, snatching it up before handing it to (Y/N).
(Y/N) had given him a second chance. He had been a broken shell, something of the man he once used to be but when (Y/N) showed up the pieces slowly started to fall back into place. He didn’t feel so scared anymore, he slowly adopted the old Bucky Barnes back into his life, the fun, playful, loving one that everyone had missed so much. (Y/N) had given him a second chance at life.
“Daddy!” Three high pitched voices break him away from his thoughts. Three pairs of feet hit the hardwood as Bucky’s kids come barreling after him; Elizabeth, Collin, and Ben. Ben and Collin were his first two kids, twins, and Elizabeth was the youngest, daddy’s princess.
All three kids latch onto Bucky immediately, shouting happily as they climb all over him. Bucky laughs as he picks up Elizabeth and Ben, letting Collin climb (more like
Jump) up onto his back.
“Yeah, yeah, daddy missed you too you goofballs,”
“Daddy, I drew you a bunch of pictures!” Elizabeth cries happily, pointing to the fridge with a small finger. Bucky looks surprised as he looks at them, smiling widely when Elizabeth giggles.
“They’re beautiful baby,”
“Daddy! I finally hit our baseball into that meadow!”
“Did you now?” Bucky looks at Ben, who was looking up at his father adoringly.
“Oh yes he did, he went in to retrieve it and I couldn’t find him for half an hour,” Bucky laughs as (Y/N) continues to whisk and fold the batter.
“And Collin,” Bucky tilted his head backwards, smiling at his son. “What have you been up to Buddy?”
“Mommy’s been teaching me how to read big boy books!”
“Yes!” Colin smiles excitedly.
“That’s so cool!”
“Yeah!” Collin nods as he wraps his arms around Bucky’s head, making it impossible to see anything.
“Kids, why don’t you go play on the swing and daddy will come play once breakfast is almost done?” The children squeal happily as they jump off Bucky, rushing to the back door and out into their endless backyard.
Bucky smiles fondly as he watches them scurry off, his heart clenching just a bit. Years ago he never would have believe he’d settle down, get married, have a family, he had been too dangerous for that but here he was, making breakfast for his wife and children and in his own home too, not some tower or sanctuary, his own home with rooms and a kitchen and a backyard.
Bucky can feel the tears burn at his eyes but he ignores them for now. Instead he wraps his arms around (Y/N) once again as his lips find purchase on her temple.
“Thank you,” Bucky whispers hoarsely, making it obvious he was on the verge of tears. (Y/N) immediately looks at him, her beautiful eyes shrouded in worry.
“What for?” Bucky smiles gently as he rubs his nose against (Y/N)’s, inhaling her comforting scent deeply.
I like your hc about Yuuri only wearing shirts and Victor only wearing pants to bed bc 1)they could match every single time (or clash terribly) and 2) together they make a pajama set and i find that weirdly endearing (also, would you be up to sharing more thoughts about sleep talking Victor? Please?)
The full headcanon for the only pants/only shirts thing is basically “Viktor and Yuuri go to the store and jointly decide which pajamas they are going to buy” which means that between the two of them they own only five pajama sets and also they’re all in Viktor’s size because he’s the larger one. This also means that Yuuri sometimes walks into the bedroom wearing a red-black plaid pajama top and Viktor looks down at his own canary-cream (It’s not yellow and white, Yuuri) polkadot bottoms and just says, “No, this can’t happen.”
“But we’re just going to sleep–”
“What if there’s a fire, Yuuri? What will our neighbors think of us, if they see that we can’t even coordinate our sleep clothes? They’ll think we’re dysfunctional. On the brink of divorce.”
“Oh?” Yuuri’s eye twitches. “Is that what they’ll think?”
“Or worse–that I have no fashion sense.”
Yuuri doesn’t know how to tell Viktor that their neighbors have seen Viktor wearing Lululemon yoga pants with a sweatshirt saying DADDY’S COLD and that any misconceptions they may have had about Viktor’s sense of fashion long ago imploded.
Eventually, Yuuri returns to the closet. He can’t find the canary-cream polkadot shirt. Instead, he tosses on an old practice shirt of Viktor’s so worn and old that it’s almost see-through. The fabric has stretched unevenly along the hem and almost hits his knees in places. He returns to the bedroom and crawls under the blankets. Viktor melts on the spot. By the time Yuuri falls asleep that night, he isn’t wearing anything.
On the subject of Viktor sleep talking, it goes like this:
Yuuri walks in the door on a very cold day in mid-January and Viktor has been sick so he’s been sleeping rather fitfully, tossing and turning and having weird dreams. Today his fever broke, and he’s in what seems to be a deep sleep for the first time in days. Yuuri is very quiet as he makes his way into the kitchen and puts the groceries away.
“Yuuri?” comes from the couch, pitifully, and Yuuri feels shame like he has never felt for the sin of waking his poor sick Vitya.
“Oh Vitya, I’m so sorry,” Yuuri coos, creeping closer to the couch. He’s forgotten about the box of kasha he’s clutching. “I didn’t mean to wake you up, love. Go back to sleep. I’m gonna make dinner.”
“I want soup,” Viktor mumbles. His face is still buried in the back of the couch.
“Okay, baby, I’ll make you some soup.” Yuuri abruptly realizes that he’s holding the box of kasha out in front of him like some sort of offering; he sets it down on the coffee table and kneels beside his languishing husband. “Yakov and Yura send their love.” When Yuuri told them that Viktor had taken sick over the weekend, Yakov grunted and let a look of concern cross over his features for exactly six seconds before clearing it and grunting, “Mustard plasters.”
“Mustard. Mix it with flour and water, put it on his back–it clears the system.” Yakov waved vaguely in the direction of his own chest. “Is he coughing? Yes, mustard plasters.”
Yura just rolled his eyes. Yuuri knows enough about him to understand that this is Yura’s reaction to any and all emotions. When Yuuri gathered his things at the end of the day, he found in his bag a recipe for chicken soup featuring intense amounts of garlic, and also a list of five stores in the area where red caviar is available at a reasonable price.
Russian remedies are just as odd as American ones.
“Yakov,” Viktor mumbles presently, and seems to nod. “He’s good?”
“Yeah,” Yuuri coos, tracing his fingers softly up and down Viktor’s back. “He told me to put mustard on your back. I think he was trying to help.”
“No,” Viktor mutters, burrowing his face closer to the couch. “No mustard.”
“Why don’t we try it, baby? You sound so miserable. It could help, he said it clears your lungs.”
“No mustard in the soup,” Viktor grumbles.
Yuuri’s hand stops on his back. “What?”
“Don’t let Yakov put mustard in the soup,” Viktor insists. He rolls over then, and Yuuri sees that his eyes are closed. The flush high on his cheeks says his fever may have returned. “Don’t let him, Yuuri.” He sounds distressed.
“Okay, shh, I won’t. It’s fine.” Yuuri leans down his kisses his head. “You’re fine, Vityusha.”
When he pulls back, Viktor’s eyes are open. Cloudy with sickness, but aware. he roughly murmurs, “Kitten? When did you get home?”
“A few minutes ago.” Yuuri brushes back Viktor’s hair.
“I was having the strangest dream,” Viktor mumbles, blinking hard and clearing sleep from his eyes, “About Yakov…and he was in our kitchen…”
It takes a lot of effort for Yuuri not to laugh.
This isn’t the last time Yuuri hears Viktor talk in his sleep. Viktor’s subconsciousness has some interesting opinions on figure skating politics, and also Yuuri once convinces a sleeping Viktor to tell him where he plans to take them on their third wedding anniversary because He Doesn’t Like Surprises and he needs to know if he should pack a jacket, for God’s sake Vitya.
Sleep-Viktor also likes to lovingly coo into Yuuri’s ear in the middle of the night, “I love you, marry me.”
“We are married,” Yuuri tells him, patting his hip.
“Yes, for about five years now. Remember? I wore white. You wore a blue rose in your lapel. Yakov was there.”
“Oh, yeah,” Viktor mumbles. “That was fun. We should do it again.”
Meet lady, she’s 6 years old, half corgi, half sheltie mix. And let me tell you; she’s a TOTAL Princess. She’s greedy with food, always pretends to be hurt when I’m about to leave the house, and she thinks my bed is all hers. Plus she never likes to share anything. On the bright side, she’s loyal and sweet and loves to prance with me when I dance in our kitchen and will always stick by me when I’m sad or sick. I wouldn’t trade my lil pampered doggo for anything in this world!
Our ADT smoke alarm on the other hand works really well.
If you don’t answer the phone right away when ADT calls you cause you’re busy trying to get the smoke out of your house from a burnt pot of caramel, ADT will dispatch the fire department to your house immediately.
prompt: hands clasped tightly between church pews, a love unseen.
a list of things i’ll give you once we’ve moved out
of our parents’ houses and found the church
where we don’t have to be afraid to hold hands:
-homemade tomato soup
-quilts to keep you warm by night
-love poems to keep you warm by day
-space when you need it or maybe just
want it for a while
-sunflowers & sunflowers & sunflowers
-a new rosary
-fresh warm coffee
-pots of rosemary, basil, & mint on
our kitchen sill
-the surety that god has blessed this
patient love between us with the same
hands that coaxed stars into burning
-a kiss on the mouth in front of everyone
I am the half full jar of honey on our sunlit kitchen shelf that you forget about until you are sick to the bone and coughing up a lung; begging me to glide down your throat in an attempt to slowly rekindle yourself.
I am the packet of rose seeds sitting at the bottom of our gardening shed watching the grass peeking up as you slowly feel the air shift and come out to find me again; the ice dividing us took its time melting off and we are both eager for romance to sprout once more.
I am the tree in our backyard with long arms that yearn for touch and glowing leaves that quiver as the echo of your voice travels down to my roots; the shade safe space you forget about until midsummer creeps up on your skin reminding you that I am your refuge from her.
I am the slightly bent umbrella tucked into the corner of our coat closet patiently waiting for the first drops of autumn to caress your cheek; evoking your hand to feel my absence as it once did a year ago almost to the day.