#faboolous pets | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rookthorne · 11 months

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐅𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐅𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

It was always a rocky road, establishing new traditions within a family. Naturally, the two men wouldn’t make it that hard, but they wouldn’t make it so easy, either — it did not mean that it would be any less fun, or any less messy, that was for sure.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ༄ Fireman!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader x Fireman!Steve Rogers

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ༄ 2.5k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ༄ Fluff, crack, food fight

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ༄ I must admit, this was some of the most fun I have had writing. I couldn't stop laughing.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ༄ Almost (Sweet Music) by Hozier

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ༄ @rookthorne's Fright Night — Masterlist

𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Navigating the household that belonged to the two men that lay slumbering was no easy feat – not when there were two puppies hellbent on disrupting the peace of the early morning with their yips and demands for attention.

“Babies, babies- Come on, quiet now,” you hissed, petting their heads hastily. The loungewear you had thrown on when you clambered out of bed was being attacked by paws, claws, and tongues as the two puppies jumped from their crates. “Hush, shh!”

Cap and Cleo just stared at you from the floor, heads tilted. “Inside voices, alright?” you pleaded, scratching their chins. “They’re asleep–don’t wanna wake them up now, do you?” They huffed and grumbled low in their throats, then sat back on the floor. “Exactly. Let’s get you some breakfast and then you can go outside and play.”

The two puppies inhaled their breakfast with as little as a tail wag, and then they stormed outside onto the dewy grass that was covered in fallen leaves. You sighed and closed the sliding door behind them, chuckling as they tumbled through the leaves and chased one another.

Fall had arrived faster than you could anticipate, and with it, you were itching to get started for Halloween – carving pumpkins, drinking hot chocolate (which Bucky and Steve splashed a bit of whiskey in, ignorant of your displeasure), and heading into town for the Fall Markets.

Today, however, you had warned them that you were breaking out the flour and sugar; it was bake day, a tradition you had come up with on the spot when you had searched the web for Halloween cakes.

Bucky and Steve were both still asleep. When you had shuffled down the mattress to throw on some clothes, Bucky was the only one to stir, and he pulled Steve close in place of you. The sight warmed your heart.

It didn’t stop you from walking to the kitchen and mentally preparing for what was to come, though.

With Cap and Cleo fed and outside, you turned the coffee maker on with a whirl and you grabbed three mugs from the cabinet. “This should wake them up,” you mumbled as you placed the mugs in a line in front of the machine that hissed and gurgled as it worked.

The smell of fresh brew filled the kitchen, and you turned to the pantry, determined to set out the ingredients for what was needed.

“Flour.” A large white bag hit the counter with a dull thud. “Sugar.” The small container of raw sugar and the larger tub of granulated sugar thumped onto the counter. “What about- Hmm.” You stopped and stared at the shelves of spices, eyeing off the cinnamon amongst many others. “Fuck it.” The cinnamon moved to the counter as well as the salt and baking powder.

All of the other ingredients you needed lined the counter after a few more twirls, and you stopped to consider just how you were going to pull this off. The recipe, one you had found during your hunt for the perfect cake, promised that this was ‘The most faboolous Halloween treat’, and while the photo certainly made that impression, you were not the most successful baker – average at best, you hoped.

You hummed and looked towards the bedroom door where Bucky and Steve slept. They would have their work cut out for them, you decided – you needed their help.

The coffee machine beeped and steam flew from the now full jug of coffee. “Perfect timing.”

Just as you started to pour the dark, smooth, god-send of a liquid, you heard footsteps down the hall. Arms wrapped around your middle and you were pulled into a warm, strong chest. A chin rested on your shoulder and the person huffed.

“Good mornin’, Cherry, baby,” Bucky rasped, and he kissed you on the cheek. “Whatcha makin’? Smells good.”

“Hey, Buck,” you replied, smiling at him. “Coffee–I need yours and Stevie’s help today. Do you think you could go wake him up?”

He sighed. “Do we gotta, sweetheart? That bastard is grumpy in the mornin’s.”

“Yes, we do. And we're baking today, remember,” you reminded him, pointing a spoon at his nose. It dripped coffee as he pouted. “Please go wake your husband up.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, and he let go of you to pad back towards the bedroom. You turned then to look at him – grey sweats hung low on his hips and he shuffled his feet while he rubbed his eyes. His hair was in a messy bun that had more strands loose than tied back. “I can feel you starin’.”

“And?”

Bucky looked over his shoulder and winked before he disappeared behind the door of the bedroom. There was a squeak from the mattress, then a whooping call. “Wake up, husband!”

A loud groan answered Bucky’s shout and you chuckled. The springs of the mattress creaked and another grunt of surprise. “Get off’a me, you bastard,” Steve barked.

“Nope,” Bucky replied, and there was laughter in his voice. “Cherry said you had t’a get up, so you are gettin’ up, you lazy son of a bitch.”

“Boys!” you yelled over the arguing, and they fell silent. “I have coffee. Get your butts out here.”

There were rapid footsteps hurrying down the hall after your words, and you giggled. “I got ‘im!” Bucky said proudly, puffing up his chest. “See, it worked.”

You rolled your eyes and looked at Steve, who was blinking and smiling sleepily at you. “Hey, darlin’.” His body was warm as he pulled you into a hug, and you sighed happily. “Now that you sent this oaf after me, what are we doing?”

“We are baking a cake–I made sure to have everything ready.” You pointed at the ingredients lined on the counter, and Bucky reached over to grab his and Steve’s cup of coffee. “And you know I need my two best helpers to make this work. So, Buck,” you said, looking at him.

He stared back at you with wide eyes over his coffee mug, and he hastily swallowed before standing to attention. “Ma’am?”

You snorted. “You are on mixing duty. The bowls are there, and I need these amounts,” you explained, handing him a slip of paper with measurements for both the dry and wet ingredients. “Don’t forget, different bowls for the wet and dry.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky said seriously with a salute. He marched to the counter, straight-backed and with perfect military precision.

“Drama queen,” Steve muttered.

“And you,” you piped in before Bucky could snipe back. “I will get you to help me with the oven and pouring the mixture into the trays.”

“Got it.” Steve walked over to the cupboard that held the baking trays and pulled out a few to prepare them. You couldn’t help but stare at his navy sweats as they clung to his ass, and the tight, white tank top that was far too tight over his chest. “You stare any longer, honey, and we’ll be baking this cake on our own.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, averting your eyes as both Bucky and Steve chortled. “Anyway, I will get the things needed for icing–I want to make it purple and orange. What do you two think?” They hummed an ascension and you walked to the fridge to get the cream, having already organised the dye earlier.

The three of you worked together to start the cake off, somewhat successfully. Bucky was covered in flour after a much too enthusiastic moment of mixing, and Steve, the smug bastard, had thrown a handful of it at his husband and it landed on target – the side of Bucky’s head, turning his brown locks into white.

“You motherfu-”

“Language!” you laughed, arching a brow. “Or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Since the fuck when!” Bucky argued, his mouth falling slack at the incredulity. “I’ve been swearin’ like a sailor this whole damn time and only now you have a problem wi-”

A cloud of flour exploded over his chest and neck, forcing him to clamp his mouth shut so he wouldn’t inhale the powdered mess. You lowered your hand, now covered in the incriminating evidence, as Bucky blinked and coughed; clouds of white exploding around him.

“Cherry, run!” Steve warned, but you couldn’t move – you were rooted to the spot as your heart hammered and you fought the urge to laugh hysterically.

Bucky put the bowl in his hands down on the counter, shaking his head from the worst of the mess. His eyes found yours, and he stared – a flash of playful anger danced in his eyes before they darkened, that mischievous glint you were oh so used to there to stay. “Yeah, Cherry,” he said slowly, deeply. “You better fuckin’ run, ‘cause if I catch you…”

You hightailed it from the kitchen with a squeal of laughter, your feet slapping on the tile as you bolted towards the dining room. “Oh, shit!”

All you could hear over the pounding of blood in your ears and Bucky’s feet on the floor as he chased you was Steve’s laughter in the kitchen – you could see him bent double by the oven, barely able to stay upright in his mirth. “Steven Grant! Help me!”

“You’re on your own,” Steve called, finally sinking to his knees in the kitchen, unable to stand any longer.

“You bastard!” you hollered back, dodging Bucky’s hands as he rounded the table. “Help me!”

“No one can, Cherry! I’ll get you!” Bucky sang, and he launched himself at you.

You shrieked and dodged to the side before running off again, this time straight back to the kitchen and directly towards Steve, whose bed head was all of what you could see of the blond, his head bowed in hysterics while his shoulders shook from laughter.

“Think fast!” you said quickly, and you jumped behind him, crouching behind his bulk as Bucky skidded to a halt. Steve straightened and held his arms out, placing himself firmly between the fuming brunette and you. “Thank you, finally you’re useful.”

“Excuse me?” Steve huffed. “For that, you can deal with ‘im on your own.” He put his arms down just as Bucky grinned wickedly.

You watched, transfixed with fear, as Bucky’s hand dug into the bag of flour. “Barnes, no, don’t- Don’t do it.”

“Or what?” he challenged, stilling his hand. “What will you do?”

“I will forbid you from having any cake, or cookies, that I bake!” The threat didn’t dissuade him, however.

Flour flew through the air and landed square on your middle while the residue fell to your thighs, and then onto the floor. Bucky cheered and fist pumped. “Bullseye!”

You looked down at your body, then back up at Bucky with a smirk. “Oh, it’s on now.” Launching yourself forward, you hugged Bucky tightly and spread the loose flour on his own shirt. As he groaned and squirmed to get out of your grip, you pushed him back so you could dig your own hand into the bag of flour.

“Cher-” Bucky warned, but he was cut off by a fistful of flour hitting him dead in the face. He sneezed continually and shook his head while you laughed. White powder covered his face and caked his stubble. The entirety of his front was covered and he looked like your very own Casper the Ghost. “Goddammit!”

Before you knew what was happening, another ball of the ammunition of choice landed on the back of your neck. You whirled around to see Steve’s hand covered in the powder. “That’s it!” you hollered. “All bets are off now.”

Flour flew through the air, landing on every surface of the kitchen and turning it white, much like your clothes, skin, and hair. You could hear laughter and curses as projectiles hit their targets, and the more you threw, the worse the cloud of white became until you could barely see where you were aiming.

“Uncle! Uncle–oh my god,” Steve coughed, and through the haze, you saw him bent double and panting for breath. He was as white as a sheet, and his eyes, the ocean blue you had fallen for, popped in the contrast of the flour that caked his face.

Bucky huffed and landed one final hit to finish off – right on top of Steve’s head. “Serves you right, fucker,” he said.

You panted and looked around the kitchen as the clouds of white settled. It was a mess – flour covered every surface, and the cake that you had put so much thought into sat abandoned on the counter with far too much flour to be worth saving.

“We made a right mess,” you sighed. “Look at it, and the cake can’t be saved.”

“Wasn’t my idea,” Bucky petulantly stated, crossing his arms. The action made another cascade of flour fall to the floor. “You two started it.”

“Did not,” Steve grumbled, frowning at Bucky. “Bastard.”

“Punk.”

“Jerk!”

“Boys!” They both looked at you, brows furrowed. “Let’s get cleaned up and then we can clean the kitchen, okay? We have a cake to bake, and this time, actually bake.”

“We look like ghosts,” Steve said suddenly, and he pointed at Bucky and you. “Look.”

“Oh my god, we do!” you giggled, while Bucky stared, unimpressed, between the two of you. “Fine. Come on.”

They followed you to the bathroom, and after over an hour of cleaning the flour from one another’s hair, you ventured back into the kitchen, hands on your hips. Bucky grumbled and pouted while he wiped down counters, and Steve huffed while he vacuumed and mopped the floor.

By the end of the afternoon, you stood proudly between the two men as you looked at the final product of all of the combined hard work – a triple layered cake, covered in white icing with small orange pumpkins decorating the bottom ring. Cutouts of purple bats and black cats covered the top. “It’s so pretty,” you whispered.

“We did good,” Bucky replied, kissing Steve and then you on the cheek. “But I think I know how to make it better.”

“How?”

“We eat it.”

Steve sighed and shook his head. “You’re impossible, babe.”

“What?” Bucky asked, looking at Steve. You turned and put your hands on Bucky’s chest, forcing him to walk backwards and away from the cake. He put his arms out with his palms up in a shrug, and he dug his heels in. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“After all I went through to make the damn thing?” you asked, arching a brow at him, and you pushed harder, making him stumble. “You won’t touch a single dollop of icing.”

Bucky sighed and hung his head. “Fine, whatever.”

“Drama queen!” Steve called from the kitchen, and Bucky flipped him off while you shook your head.

“You both are,” you said with an air of finality. “And I love you both for it.”

“We love you, too,” they both said at the same time, and then they devolved into an argument over who loved you more.

“No, punk–that’s a fuckin’ lie-”

“How would you know; all you love is her fucking baking.”

“I do! And the rest of her!”

You sighed and stared at the cake behind Steve’s back, happy that you had at least maintained the new tradition – not without causing havoc, but you would choose to have that flour fight as part of it, ‘till the end of time.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #steve rogers x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #steve rogers x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #stucky x female reader #stucky x f!reader #stucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #stucky fanfiction #stucky fluff #rookthorne's works

327 notes · View notes