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spidey-y · 24 days

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Now this… is what I’m talkin about 🤭 keep em coming🙏🏻

Go get em’ tiger

Austin Butler Fanfiction

Austin Butler x you | Drabble

Summary: A snipper of domestic life with Austin before the Golden Globes.

“Come in,” you call out absently, your fingers giving no pause as they continue to fly across the keyboard in front of you. You’ve become so accustomed to the occasion knocks to the door of the room you call your home office that have peppered the last few hours of the day. It had started with Austin’s personal assistant coming in to ask if you had seen the spare keys to one of his cars, and followed with his publicist (“Do you want a coffee? We are ordering in”), a stylist (“I’m so sorry to ask you this but did you have any extra safety pins by any chance?”) and ending with his personal assistant again (“We’re grabbing dinner for everyone, do you want something?”) coming in to ask various questions.

You finish up the sentence you are currently working on as you hear the door creak open before it shuts with a soft click. You expect to hear a question thrown your direction, but the silence has you puzzled. You toggle your mouse to hit the save button - a habit which you’ve formed years ago after having lost a document too many after being bested by technology failing on you, and crane your neck to peer over one of the two screens which you have in front of you. A pair of blue eyes meet your gaze, and you find your lips splitting into a smile.

“Am I disturbing?” His voice cuts through the space between you. Austin doesn’t move from where he is leaning back casually against the door. You drop back down into your chair, legs shuffling slightly, wheeling the office chair slightly to your right so you have an unobstructed view of him.

“Most definitely,” you say without so much as a pause, and you see Austin’s lips quirk upwards into a half smirk.

“I see,” Austin hums patronisingly in response, playing along, as he pushes himself up, legs striding across the floor of your office with an easy gait, easily reducing the space between you. He perches himself in front of you, on the edge of your office desk, “well I’m sorry to be interrupting such important business.”

“Very important business,” you say with a nod which you follow with a tilt of head towards the computer screen.

“Nothing less,” Austin says as he eyes you from his perch, arms crossed loosely across his chest. You content yourself with letting your gaze drift from his face down the rest of his body taking note of his styled hair, face with barely there make up for the red carpet to cover blemishes. He still has on a loose flannel, the top three buttons undone, and dark sweat pants. Austin’s gaze follows your hand as you reach out to tug the end of his shirt lightly.

“Don’t you have to change soon?” You ask only for him to shrug.

“Yeah, probably,” he says unfazed as he reaches out to envelop your hand with his. Austin’s palm is warm, and slightly calloused. You follow the tugging motion coming from his palm and limber to a stand. Austin manages to manoeuvre you into the space between his legs. Your place your palms flat on his thighs as he weaves his arms in the gap between your arms and body, pulling you as close to him as the position would allow.

“Are you very sure you don’t want to come?” He asks, his fingertips finding themselves wandering beneath the back of your top to meet the skin of your lower back. He moves to lean his forehead against yours only for you to retract your head. It makes Austin frown, a brown lifting slightly in question.

“They’ll kill me if I mess up their work,” you say opting instead to bring a hand up to the nape of his neck, your thumb rubbing the space below his ear in a circular motion. Austin lets out an audible sigh, but he doesn’t say anything - because he knows better than to grumble. Austin knew the value of hard work and wasn’t one to mess up work that someone else had put themselves into. He settles instead for letting the weight of his neck sag into the palm of your hand while letting his eyes flutter shut.

“I wish you were coming with me,” he says, eyes still shut.

“Well you know, important business and all,” you joke. Truth to be told it wasn’t work which was keeping you from going as his plus one to the Golden Globes, but more because, as you had told him, this was all Austin, his time to shine - and you didn’t want to take away from it by having the media and audience overshadow him and his work with less savoury headlines.

You could see it now, an article titled “Austin Butler and girlfriend sighted at the Golden Globes - trouble in paradise?” - with a long, entirely false and made-up story about how you both were on the rocks all because you walked two steps behind him on the red carpet. You both were out as a couple, but liked your privacy and kept your relationship out of the public eye as much as possible; yet it only made the media vultures worse, spinning every little glance they could get into a sensational, elaborate rumour.

Austin sighs as he opens his eyes. He lifts the weight of his neck off from your hand, taking your palm in his, he skims the back of your knuckles with his lips - a move that wouldn’t mess up his hair or make up - before dropping both your hands in between your bodies.

“I’ll be home after.”

“You should go for the after-party,” you tell him as he rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, “you’ll have lots to celebrate.”

Your words make him huff out while shaking his head in true Austin fashion - always doubting himself, slow to believe he was as good as they said.

“I rather celebrate with you,” he says an undercurrent of doubt running through his voice, clearly not believing that there would be anything to celebrate.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” you promise to the blue eyes staring back at you, “with peanut butter and jelly,” you continue and you see the twinkle that lights up in his eyes. Peanut butter and jelly - unusual, you would think if you looked at Austin, but it was a comfort food of sorts, something that you knew reminded him of his Mom.

He opens his mouth to say something when a rap of knuckles against the door of your home office interrupts. Austin does groan outwardly this time, because work was work but he hated when work took him away from you.

“Yeah,” he calls out, knowing that they’re looking for him. The door creaks open and his publicist sticks her head in.

“They need you for outfit now,” she says, darting a glance at you both. Austin had his head turned so his side profile faces her, while also effectively shielding you from her view, as if he were trying to keep distinct his work and private life.

“I’ll be out in three,” he calls and she nods, stepping and shutting the door behind her.

“Go,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Say bye before I leave?” He asks, an almost child-like quality to the deep, raspy voice.

You nod in agreement and Austin brings the back of your hand up to his lips again. He keeps his gaze connected with yours as he presses a kiss into your knuckles.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” you say with a wink as he slides off the table.

“Yes m’am,” he offers you a lopsided grin, as he goes hands in pockets towards the door towards his first golden globe.

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spidey-y · 1 month

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based on a conversation with @fynn-arcana

not my drawings, my edit

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spidey-y · 1 month

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Like I’m actually so bored of it. Every time i come across a fic and it has “18+ FILTHY MINORS DNI” I scroll right past that shit. Don’t get me wrong I do read smut every once and a while but dayum can a bitch get some angst????? Some fluff???? Anything?? And I have a question for those writers. Do y’all ACTUALLY like writing smut??? Is that really all you wanna write about??? Nothing else? And not like angst that goes into smut or fluff that leads to sex. Do y’all ever just wanna write something that doesn’t have sex in it? Sigh n e way good night

I'm trying to prove a point to my brain: Reblog if you think fanfiction does not need sex to be good.

There is a trend I’ve noticed that smut fics tend to be much more popular than anything else and honestly I just want to have something to look at to remind myself and that writing doesn’t have to have sex to be worth putting out into the community.

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spidey-y · 1 month

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More ppl need to write for Elliot and Dom😞😞

If You Shoot For July - Elliot x Reader

Summary: You just couldn’t carry him through it -- 18+

Warnings/Content Ahead: angst, talks of past drug abuse/addiction, breakups, longing, bittersweet ending

A/N: Here's a lil something sad and bittersweet for my angst girlies and guylies (I'm one of you!). First time writing for Elliot, so I just winged it and had fun with it! Based on one of my favorite Dom songs (can you guess it lol) and some stirred-up emotions I felt breaking to the surface. Reblog and comment if you feel called to, it's all appreciated! I love you, and enjoy <33

(don't steal my writing or post on any other platform as yours...that's rude)

Word Count: 2.6k

The crisp summer air breezes through the screen door to the patio and I stare at it longingly, itching to be out in it. I watch as my friend takes another shot and internally sigh. There’s no way we’re leaving anytime soon.

I had originally believed that forcing myself to go out would distract me from this debilitating ache that resides within me; from the rawness of having to mend the version of me that was ripped away with his absence.

But I was so, so wrong.

“I should’ve never came to this fucking party.” I think as I pass through the hall to the back door. The house was smothering me with a heat that sweltered my lungs. I can taste the ash lingering in my throat.

My nerves instantly ease at the sound of the crickets chirping and the breeze on my face. What’s up with me tonight? I thought I was over it. I thought I was doing better.

My back meets the brick of the house behind me, and I get lost in the constellations I can’t name — except for one. The sky reflects a memory from a time I’d rather forget, but I find myself slipping back into it like a sweater that I’m starting to outgrow, but can’t get rid of yet.

“There’s so many!” I stare up in amazement at the arrangement of glowing orbs above me.

Elliot smiles affectionately at the wonder on my face before agreeing. “Yeah, I know. You can’t get a view like this in the city, all the pollution and shit,”

The blanket acts as a thin barrier from the invasive sand beneath us. The waves crashing on the shore serenades us with their soothing sounds. There was no one on this beach except for me and him. No drama-ridden friends, no worries about what tomorrow may hold; it was just us and no one could take this moment from us if they tried.

We were supposed to be in bed.

Elliot asked me to join him on a mini rendezvous at the beach, and I agreed without hesitation. After spending a day collecting various items around his room to bring with us, we found ourselves sneaking out of his home and down to the beach, giggling like lovesick teenagers along the way.

“I believe that one’s the Cassiopeia,” I trace an alignment of stars with my finger. He follows where I point, and he smiles in recognition.

“Oh, that’s dope! I see it!” His hand retraces the path of stars mine did, the “97” sketched there catching the moonlight. “It looks like a crooked ass W,” he says through a laugh.

I shove my face in his neck to stifle a laugh he did not need to hear to stir him on. His arm cages me to his side, molding me firmly into him. He smells like the ocean and fresh musk and I never want to let him or this moment go. I pinch myself and I’m still there.

We fell into a comfortable silence after that. Taking in the world around us; being in awe that we get to do it together. Elliot presses a lingering kiss to my temple and it burns when he pulls away.

“I love you,” He whispers.

We were so beautiful. He held me whenever the world tried to swallow me whole, and I held him whenever he allowed it to.

My eyes well up with tears, and I’m quick to shake myself out of it. I’m not there anymore, and I never will be.

I close my eyes as I tune back into the present. I pinch myself, and I’m still here. The wind is still easing me with its invisible presence and the loud chatter of the party drifts into the atmosphere with it. My phone sits lifelessly in my pocket as I hope it will vibrate soon with a message reading, “It’s time to fucking go!”

I don’t flinch when I hear the door sliding open, assuming it to be some partygoer coming out for a smoke or my friend coming to find me. I hear their footsteps moving towards the balcony and their breath hitches not too far from me.

“Fuck.”

My body stiffens, instantly recognizing the voice. My stomach sank, and I wished the rest of my being could go with it.

It clicks for me then, why the house was so suffocating, why the stars were looking down on me with cruel reminders of the past. Realization dawns upon me that I was so lost in my head, that I didn’t process whose house this party was at.

A mutual friend of a friend. I almost laugh at the universe’s wicked depiction of a joke.

A part of me wanted to keep standing there with my eyes closed; like keeping them shut would make me drift off somewhere so far into my mind, that my body would barely be here anymore. A part of me wanted to stop existing so facing him wouldn’t be possible anymore.

But I was here, and I had to allow myself to be. Even if it was the last thing I wanted, I peel my eyes open to a portrait of heartbreak.

It’s Elliot who stands there with a face full of shock and devastation. An unlit cigarette sits slackly between his fingers, along with an orange lighter. So that’s why he’s out here. He looks down at his feet, grappling for the words he wishes to speak.

“I-I wasn’t expecting to see you here."

That was a fucking understatement.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair. His eyes take me in and mine can’t help but do the same. Now, his hair falls past his ears, the blonde has faded and stains a distant memory on the ends of his hair, his natural tan has returned, and his form is more broad and full. He looks good.

He clears his throat, tucking the cigarette behind his ear. “How have uh -- how’ve you been?”

I stare at him incredulously, a scoff begging to come out at the audacity of the question. I swallow it with a light shake of my head as I train my eyes to look towards the trees. “I’ve been fine,”

“I’m sorry,” The words have me turning back to him.

“...I’m sorry for how we ended,” He continued, shoulders slumped from his confession. “I wish there was something I could do to change what happened. I wish I didn’t have to wake up every morning knowing you’re out there and I’m not with you -- and it’s all my fault.”

“It’s not-” He’s quick to cut me off.

“It is, and you can’t tell me differently because I know that you barely being able to look me in the eye right now is because of me.” His voice breaks with the last word. “And I have to live with that.”

He steps closer to me resulting in our faces being inches apart. I feel his breath against my face, and it causes my own to constrict.

“And you wanna know the worst part of it all?” His question is rhetorical, but I still find myself nodding.

“I still love you…” He trails off with a bitter laugh. “And I don’t think anything’s ever gonna change that.”

In another life, I would have kissed him.

I would have kissed him like my life depended on it. I would let his tongue explore my mouth the way it used to and I would have enjoyed every moment of it. When we pulled away, we’d stare at each other in astonishment, but goofy smiles would cross our faces because things were going to be okay.

I would have pulled him close and told him, “It’s okay, El. We can be Us again.” I would have allowed my knees to go weak, knowing he would be there to catch me because he was always there to catch me.

Was.

But this was not another life, and we could never go back to how things used to be. I pinch myself and I’m still here.

I stare at him, not knowing what else to say that wouldn’t make his fears come more to life. He takes a few steps back from me, realizing our position and why we couldn’t be that close anymore.

“But it’s okay. We both know it’s for the best,” He gives a lazy shrug, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You were right. I did have a problem, but I’m getting help for it now. I was too selfish to let you go, but too scared to do anything about it…”

His words die off as he looks up at the sky. A flash of crestfallen recognition dances on his features as his eyes locate the same constellation I showed him all those months ago. “And I hate it took me losing you to realize that.”

His expression was cold and stiff. Harsh, glazed eyes met my teary ones. It felt like he was looking straight through me. Like I was merely a ghost standing in his path. God, those eyes.

“This was a mistake,” His voice is strained, holding back the emotion clawing its way up. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Please be a dream. I pinch myself and I’m still there.

“W-what are you talking about, El?” My voice cracks when I say his name. He pretends not to hear it, but I see his mask slip anyway. I read him too well not to notice.

“Everything’s just too much,” he rushes out. He reaches a hand up to run through the blonde strands of his bleached hair. “I-I’m sorry I-”

“Have you been using again?”

The silence smothers the both of us with the unspoken truth.

My skin pricks with smoldering pins at the realization. “So that’s why you’ve been so off lately?” He cowers at my tone, but the flaring in my chest is spreading. “That’s why you’re being such a coward now instead of getting help?”

I feel a tear slip down my cheek, not realizing they started falling. Elliot starts to step over to me, but I hold up a hand to stop him. “You knew all along you had a problem and you let me love you anyway. You’re so fucking selfish!”

Now he’s the one who can’t look at me. He glares at the floor and I notice the shiny, wet streaks lined his cheeks; mirroring mine. I’m left in a heated staring contest with the top of his head before he lets out a sigh. “I’m leaving, okay?”

He ignores my calls as he grabs his phone and keys off the table. His shoulder brushes against mine as he swiftly makes his way toward the door. He grasps the doorknob before I repeat his name once more. The defeat is clear in my voice and I feel so, so lost. He stops in his tracks, leaning his head against the door’s surface. I stand there: hoping, wishing, waiting.

“I can’t be what you need, baby. I’m sorry.”

He steals one last glance at me before he opens the door-

“I…” I contemplate my next words carefully. The intensity of his stare doesn’t affect me like it used to, but I still feel the lingering pull of it as he turns to look at me once more. “I’m happy you’re getting help.”

“And I hate the way we ended things too,” I admit somberly. “I’m not angry at you anymore, El. If anything, I was more angry with myself for not accepting the truth earlier. I’m just…tired. I’m tired of loving you and I’m tired of what comes with it.”

Elliot sighs as his eyes shift to the ground. “Yeah, I don’t do anything but hurt people.”

“We were just hurting ourselves,” He flinches at my words, but the expression on his face reads that he understands the weight of them. “I hope you learn that you deserved better than that too.”

His silence urges me to continue.

“And there are things I could've done differently in the end, but I was in denial about how bad things were -- how bad they had gotten. I just wanted it to get better, you know?” He gives me a solemn nod. Of course he knows. “But that wasn’t my decision to make, and I think it made me angrier that you weren’t making it.”

My chest feels lighter with each word I speak. I never realized how much I had to say to him until he was in front of me giving me the chance to say it. It still doesn’t take away the ache, but some things can only be healed with time.

You’re not so cruel after all, universe.

“But I’ve come to accept that what happened needed to happen for our own good, even though it fucking hurts sometimes,”

Elliot’s brittle laugh is evidence of his agreement. Timidly, he approaches me once more. His hand shakily reaches for mine at my side, moving at a pace that gives me time to reject it. I meet him halfway instead.

His thumb traces gentle circles on the side of my hand, our fingers locked loosely. “Thank you for loving me, even when I didn’t know how to take it,” He sucks in a shaky breath, his hand tightening around mine for a second. “I’m still learning how to forgive myself.”

“It takes time, but it gets easier,” You mirror the lazy shrug he did before. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

“Really?” He asks lightly, a gleam of hope sparking through him. “We’re alright?”

“We’re alright,” I affirm.

We stay like that for a while. Standing there in the brisk heat of July, with the cicadas singing around us and the Cassiopeia shining above us, our fingers tightening the hold on the others. Perhaps I was too cynical before. Even though we would never be on that beach again with the waves crashing around us and the sand supporting the weight of our love, we still had our moment where it was just Us.

And it was the perfect way for us to finally let the other go -- even though it hurt all over again.

We nod to ourselves when the wind tells us our time is up. His longing gaze settled on me as we slowly released the other's hand.

“Hey,” I found myself saying as I poked his shoulder. His lips quirk at the action, his eyes glistening with curiosity. I look at him, and I know this will be the last time I truly get to. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

He takes me in as he absorbs my words, the finality of them, and the finality of our last moments. A couple of beats pass as a small, genuine smile graces his face. “Yeah, you too.”

Finally, he turns and begins his trek away from our past, our present, and what could’ve been our future. I watch his figure retreat back into the hot swarm of people. The last piece of me that belonged to him drops from his hands and the click of the sliding door cements the separation.

The splattered remains lay on the ground, and I contemplated if I should leave it there to rot and mold back into the earth. I contemplate running over to it and dusting it off, cleaning it, and molding it to fit back in the place it came from. I wonder if it’s even worth the trouble anymore — if I should even bother.

But I figure it’s no longer needed. It’s been used. And that part of me has been gone for a very long time now.

Maybe some things are just better off staying where they’re left, but I wish it could be easier than that. And for my sake, I hope it can be someday.

Until then, I pinch myself and I pray I wake up this time.

Thanks for reading!

You can find more of my writing here -> Honey's Writing

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spidey-y · 1 month

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how I read the most toe-curling, spine-shattering, nerve-wrecking, nastiest smut ever written in this god forsaken app

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spidey-y · 1 month

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spidey-y · 1 month

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If you see this

You were visited by the magic kitten of rest. Reblog to have a good night’s sleep.

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spidey-y · 2 months

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girl worth writing to | john egan x f!reader

summary : john pays you a visit while he’s on leave and things get melodramatic lol

warnings : brief mention of suicide, doesn't exactly follow the events of the show

word count : 888

The vibration of gentle snores rouse you from your sleep, your eyes search for the clock ticking away on your nightstand.

5:04 am

The sun had barely risen yet and you cursed yourself for being such a light sleeper, knowing the day you had ahead of you. However, the sight of shirtless John Egan dozing peacefully beside you was certainly one for sore eyes. You lifted a hand to his disheveled curls and attempted to stroke them back into place, whilst your mind replayed the events of the night before…

5:34 pm

You had just returned to your flat from another agonising day at the infirmary, to the incessant ring of the telephone. You are hesitant to answer, as you are sure it’s your head nurse, calling to inform you there’s been another emergency and you would need to return.

With a deep breath you lower yourself onto the edge of the bed and retrieve the telephone.

“Hello?…” You had meant to use a more formal introduction but simply couldn’t find the strength.

“Y/N?! It’s me, Bucky! You remember?” He teased.

You had half the mind to pretend you had forgotten the pilot after not hearing a word from him in almost six months.

“Unfortunately, I do remember.” You mask your tone with sarcasm.

“Atta girl!” He remarked and you found yourself repressing a smile as you imagined the cheeky grin on his face.

“I just completed my twenty-fifth mission today and it was frankly very nearly my last, so they’re graciously giving me the weekends leave!” He boasts sarcastically and you suppress a giggle.

“Lucky Buck!” You retort and hear him scoff.

“Anyways, I was thinking I’d come pay you and London a visit…that’s if you’d have me, of course.”

You take a pause, pretending you have a choice. Unfortunately the truth of the matter was that you’d take the Major in, always and forever no-matter the heartache, come his departure.

“Do you still remember the address?” You asked, placing a hand to your stomach in an attempt to ease the brewing butterflies.

“I couldn’t forget if I tried sweetheart, I’ll see you soon enough.” He teased playfully and ended the call.

You sighed at the realisation that you would have to spend all evening making your tired self presentable for the pilot, knowing deep down that for John it would always be worth it.

5:36 am

You jump at the feeling of his large hand wrap around your wrist that was still embedded in his hair. You feel your cheeks grow bright red as you push your body towards the opposite side of the bed.

“I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean you scare ya.” He croaks in his deep morning voice that never fails to make your knees weak.

“That’s okay! I need to get ready for my shift anyways.” You stutter wrapping yourself in the bedsheet as you crawl out of bed.

“Y/N please…” Bucky groans and grasps at the sheet that is now tightly wound around your shivering frame.

“You always do this…it’s too early and it’s bloody freezing.” He pleads and gently pulls you back into the bed and his embrace, gently guiding your into head to the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry I scared you…twenty-five missions…it’s starting to get to me now, I think.” He admits whilst stroking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I can only imagine the horrors you boys have endured…” You whisper.

“You would probably understand more than most Y/N…what with the hospital and all the bombings.” He adds, his tone soft and comforting as he continues to stroke your hair. This is not the witty and sarcastic John you were familiar with.

“I suppose you could say that.” You mumble as you fidget with the dog tag that hangs around his neck, a cruel reminder.

“I guess it doesn’t help that I have this American pilot of mine who when I’m sure has gone and died on me-”You attempt a teasing tone but it falls flat.

“What’s all this about me being a goner? Don’t you have any faith Y/N?” He interjects, his tone only half joking.

“Well you never write or call? What am I supposed to think?!” You feel anger boiling in your chest as you push yourself away from him.

“Or maybe I’m just not worth writing to!” You accuse before John had time to even consider a response to your sudden outburst.

“I promise it’s nothing like that Y/N… you know how I feel about you. Christ! I wouldn’t be using my weekend off like this if I didn’t have feelings for you!” He scrambles to defuse the situation, knowing your spirited ways.

“Oh really?!” You mock.

“Y/N these missions, they’re suicide! I couldn’t never let you get involved with me now! It would be cruel!” His statement cuts the conversation like a knife, silence falling over the entire flat.

A tear rolls down your cheek as you stifle a sob.

“I-I’m sorry John…but I think I’m already…involved.” You stutter.

The pilot sighs, using the bedsheet gathered around your waist to pull you back down into the mattress, so now you are pinned underneath him. There's nowhere to hide.

“If you only knew how many times I’ve heard your voice in my head or seen your face in a crowd…” He whispers whilst gently placing a kiss to each of your tear soaked cheeks.

“You’re my girl…I’m sorry I ever made your feel like you weren't worth writing to.” His tone is soft but sincere.

Without looking away, he reaches for a scrap of paper that was resting atop your bedside table.

“In fact I’ll start right now…My dearest Y/N…” He declares in a exaggerated british accent and you playful slap his shoulder, giving him permission to attack you with kisses again.

When he finally pulls away your eyes meet and you raise a hand to his cheek.

“Come back to me, Major Egan.” The words tumble out before you even able to acknowledge they are there.

“Always.” He whispers, before burying is head in your chest. It wasn't long before you feel his soft snores radiating against your body again.

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spidey-y · 2 months

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Love😞

John Egan x reader fluff

Warnings-none just fluff and quite literally flowers

A/N: to the bitch in my ask box, next time you want something; instead of being rude, try using your big girl words and ask nicely.

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

It was such a nice day, you were reading peacefully on the chaise next to the window before your husband launched himself in your lap to obstruct your breathing with a large bouquet under your nose.

“Flowers?”

You ask with a questioning tone, putting your book down to hold and admire them, they were lovely. Yet knowing Bucky, he more than likely did something and was trying to soften the wrath of your storm before it reached him.

Raising a brow, you look up at the man seated in your lap through your lashes, ready to make him sweat with a single question.

“What did you do?”

In typical dramatical Bucky fashion, he puts a hand to his nonexistent pearls, eyes widening as he looks around, aghast that you would accuse poor angelic innocent him of any mischief, pulling the most wounded pout you’ve seen from him yet.

For your information, he didn’t do anything (yet this time) he just saw a nice flower shop and worried when he took too long to remember when he last got you flowers, which to him was an irreparable error because you were a wonderful woman who deserved her damn flowers.

“I can’t just gift my wonderful dame with nice things?” He asks as he leans over the flora covering your face to press a gentle kiss on your forehead, smiling when you leaned into his affection, humming thoughtfully.

“I never said you couldn’t, it’s just sudden. There’s nothing special happening today.” You remind him, arm moving to hug your flowers because it really was a sweet gesture as you fight the warmth creeping into your cheeks.

“Well you’re here, yeah?”

“Yeah?” Slightly confused as to where he was going with that.

“Then it’s always gonna be special. Cause’ you’re here n’ I think your real special bunny.”

You couldn’t keep the broad grin taking over your face if you tried, lowering your lovely gift so you could kiss him softly. Pressing your lips together gently and pulling away in smaller pecks before wiping some your lipstick off him.

“Thank you John, you’re so sweet and I love the flowers, they’re beautiful darling.” Properly thanking him, peppering soft kisses all over his face, giggling as he sighs and purrs like a house-cat, thoroughly enjoying your affections. Snuggling onto your lap completely as he rests his head next to yours.

“Read to me? Since I am so sweet after all?”

Yeah. That’s definitely still your husband.

“Of course, anything for my big baby”, you coo and his reaction is delayed in his comfort.

“M’not a big baby”, he mumbles as he shuffles around on top of you. You fight a smirk.

“Right. Um, if I may, who’s sitting on who’s lap again?

“….” Was he silent or was he silenced?

“Anyways…” you clear your throat with a giggle as Bucky huffs until he hears your smooth voice pick up off where you were in your book, happy that he made you more happy, just enjoying you and the sweet scent of flowers.

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