#reading my dinner

[lokiswifeduh]

Long Night

Pairings - Roommate!tfatws!Bucky x Fem!Roommate!Reader

Summary - You've been stood up twice in a row now. Bucky is tired of seeing you disappointed. So he takes you on a date.

Warnings - angst, being stood up, angry/annoyed bucky

Notes - I'm horrible at summaries, I know!! This happened to me a couple days ago, wishing I had a Bucky to take me on a date in Brooklyn right about now! Not proofread so lmk if there are any mistakes! Thank you for reading loves!!

WC - 1,750

masterlist

"Whatcha gettin' ready for, doll?" Bucky leaned on your bedroom doorframe, watching you straighten your hair in the mirror on top of your dresser.

"I have a date." You smiled, not noticing the slight drop in Bucky's smile.

"Oh, with anyone I know?"

You shook your head. "His name's Nash. Someone Sam set me up with," You explained. "He's supposed to pick me up in twenty minutes."

Bucky internally rolled his eyes. The guys Sam hung around with were nice, yes. However, he never got the guts to take you out on the date you deserved. A date with him.

"Are you sure you want him picking you up?" Bucky asked, making you look back in confusion. "I mean you don't know him that well... You could meet him there or uh, I'll drop you off." You let out a small laugh, "Yeah Buck, I'll just have my male roommate drop me off at a date, that'll go over well."

Bucky shrugged. He walked away from your bedroom to grab a beer from the fridge before sitting on the couch. He turned on whatever channel didn't require him to use the remote too much before slouching into the cushions.

Twenty minutes passed by when you slipped out of your bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

"Wow, doll. You.." Bucky's eyes widened slightly, "You look great."

You grinned, looking down at your outfit. It was basic but it was the most comfortable yet fashionable outfit you had. Black flared leggings with a sage green sweater and some white sneakers. It was simple yet appropriate for a late-night-diner date.

And to top it all off your makeup had cooperated for once. Both eyebrows looked like twins and not sisters. Your highlight was perfect, shimmering, but not too much. And you had the perfect lipgloss that made your lips look sunkissed. Perfect.

"He should be here any minute!" You sprayed some perfume, your favorite vanilla scent, and went to sit in the armchair across from the couch.

Bucky hummed, keeping his eyes on the Tv, taking another sip of beer.

However, twenty more minutes went by and Nash hadn't texted you, hadn't called, and hadn't shown up. Bucky was starting to feel bad and you could tell by the pity looks he kept throwing your way.

"He uhm," Bucky cleared his throat, "Maybe he hit traffic. You know, with it being New York and everything." You nodded, trying to hold onto at least a small bit of hope. "Yeah, traffic." But then another forty minutes went by and he still hadn't even texted.

And then another hour.

And another hour.

By the time Bucky finally turned off the Tv it was three and a half hours since the time Nash was supposed to come pick you up.

You were still sitting in the armchair, having dozed off with a couple tears streaked down your face. Ruining your once-perfect makeup.

Bucky sighed, silently cursing Sam even though he knew it wasn't his fault.

"Alright, doll," Bucky whispered, placing his metal arm behind your back, and lifting your legs with his right. You groaned awake, holding your phone in your palm as you wiped your cheek. "What time is it?" Your eyes shoot open, "Did he show up?" Bucky placed you in your bed, handing you one of his t-shirts you had stolen a while ago. "No, doll. I'm sorry." You stripped your shirt off to change as Bucky went into your bathroom, grabbing a couple of makeup wipes.

"Here." He softly spoke, hating your distraught and disappointed expression.

You wiped your makeup off, shedding a couple more tears in the process. The tears dripped from your cheek to the grey henley Bucky had given you. "It's okay. Maybe he was just busy." Bucky wanted to roll his eyes. He wanted to tell you that any respectful man, any gentleman wouldn't have done what Nash did to you. But he kept his mouth shut, opting to hum in your favor, and threw the makeup wipes in the trash when your face was completely bare.

"Goodnight, Doll." He placed a kiss on the crown of your head as you hummed in response. "Goodnight, Buck."

---

A couple days later, you finally got a text back from Nash.

"Bucky I was right!!" You came sliding into the kitchen, your socks making it easy to ice-skate on the smooth wood floor.

Bucky chuckled at your ability to skid so gracefully without falling. He had tried it once but vowed to never do it again after he slid into the dining room table. You would never let him live it down.

"Right about what, doll?" Bucky flipped the pancake, adding some vanilla to the dough.

"About Nash! He actually was busy!" Bucky quirked an eyebrow. Wondering why he had waited this long to text you back. Six days to be exact. "Did he say with what?" Bucky turned back to making breakfast.

"He said he got busy with work, and that something at work pissed him off so he didn't wanna see me while he was upset." You explained what Nash had told you.

Bucky had never wanted to hit someone in the face so hard.

Well, actually that wasn't true. But he did want to sock Nash in the face for standing you up and giving you a half-ass excuse days later.

"I mean that explains things, yeah..." Your brows furrowed at Bucky's flat tone. "Do you not believe it?" Bucky sighed, pulling the milk and eggs from the fridge as you sat on the countertop. "It's not that I don't believe it, it's just that it kinda seems like he forgot and or didn't wanna see you so he made up an excuse a little less than a week later to not seem like a dick." You nodded, taking in the information. Bucky couldn't sense your reaction quite yet, seeing how you were just staring at the ground with your hands in your lap, swinging your legs in the air.

"I mean, I'm seeing him tonight. If everything goes well after then I'll know it really was true."

"You're seeing him again?" You nod, "But this time I'm meeting him at the fourth corner Bakery. And I'm meeting him earlier this time, around noon."

Bucky looked over at the clock, seeing it was already 10:45. "Well you better go get ready," He said almost reluctantly, "Breakfast will be done before you need to leave."

You smiled, hopping off the countertop as you gave Bucky a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Buck. You're the best!"

He smiled, but then remembered he's only making you breakfast before you go on a date with a guy who's already stood you up once. Rolling his eyes, he scrambled the eyes, listening to your music in the other room.

---

You had already left for your date three hours ago when Bucky decided to go over to see Sam. His excuse was wanting to discuss the next mission they were due to go on in a week. But he just didn't want to sit at home all day, thinking about how you were on a date with another guy.

However, before he could reach Sam's he had to pass by the bakery where you were meeting Nash.

Yet when he looked through the window, there you were, sitting all alone at a table for two, eating a piece of cheesecake. No Nash in sight.

An internal war started in Bucky's mind. Should he go in and see if you were okay? Or should he believe Nash was in the bathroom and you were just sitting by yourself for a minute or two?

But then he noticed the solemn look on your face. The way your fork poked at the half-eaten cake. And that was your favorite kind. Bucky mumbled a soft curse, opening the door to the bakery and making his way over to you.

Without words, he sat down, his gloved hand resting on the table in front of your plate. You kept your head down, not quite looking at Bucky but knowing he was there.

"He didn't show, again." You mumbled. If Bucky didn't have super soldier hearing he doubted he could've heard what you had said.

"I know, doll. I'm sorry." You finally looked up, tears in your eyes which made Bucky's heart clench. "Why me, Buck? Why am I the one who's alone?" Bucky stayed silent, knowing you needed to vent.

"Am I unlovable? Is that what it is? Why does every single one of my friends get to find the one? Get to fall in love, get married, and have kids and I'm the one without someone?!" Your outburst made some other customers look over in concern.

You groaned, resting your head on your hand and hiding your face from the rest of the bakery. "I- uh, I'm not sure, doll. But I know one thing.. you're not unlovable. You just haven't found the one who wants to take the effort to show you how effortless you are to love."

You looked up at Bucky, fresh tears gleaming in your eyes. You had never seen him look so vulnerable before. He usually grumped his way through emotions. But not with you, not anymore.

He gave you a sad smile, clearing his throat before he stood, "Y'know what, doll. Let's go." He held out his hand. You looked around, "Where are we going?" Bucky took your palm in his gloved hand, "It's a surprise." You laughed, before standing and throwing the rest of your soggy cheesecake away. "You know how I feel about surprises." "Okay, I'll give you a hint." Bucky opened the door for you, making sure to walk on the side of the road with the bustling cars and traffic. Bucky called a taxi, opening the door for you. "You're about to have the best date of your life." You stared at him in awe before laughing and climbing in the taxi. Bucky's knees barely fit as he scooted in next to you. The driver asked where to go as Bucky licked his lips, "Brooklyn, please." You smiled, "Brooklyn?"

Bucky nodded, throwing an arm around your shoulder. "I may be old but I still know some good spots to take my best girl on a date." A blush rose to your cheeks as you looked over to him. "Your best girl?" Bucky nodded, picking up your hand with his metal one before leaving a soft kiss on your knuckles. "Always and forever, doll."

---

masterlist

[notbecauseofvictories]

also I've spent the last couple weeks reading some older historical romance novels, and my made up, wholly unverified hypothesis that in the 2000s romance authors finally grasped that the old-fashioned "no, don't! stop, you brute" etc. scenes were not really landing with audiences anymore. So they faced a conundrum about the future of the genre. Ultimately, I think they chose to quietly stop writing those heroes, and switch them out for a more sensitive model. Still dark and brooding! But with limits, often a Heart of Gold, and more general emotional intelligence.

Still, somewhere out there is a parallel universe where these authors decided to take the opposite approach---to write heroines as unhinged, cruel, impulsive, and emotionally ignorant as their heroes. I don't know if I want to live there, but I wouldn't mind a trip to their library sometime.

[krampus-chai]

Kyle Gallner, ballpoint pen.

[turtleblogatlast]

Leo getting hit with a truth curse but instead of forcing him to admit to super sad or worrying things it’s things like “it was me who broke the remote” “I saw Mikey prank Donnie and helped hide it because it’s way funnier if he didn’t know who it was” “I rip my clothes to look more like Raph’s because he’s really cool” “my stripes aren’t even red they’re pink!”

[hai-nae]

meant to post these sketches a few days ago? a week? but, well, life.

[luvmoonie]

me finding out there’s no fics for kyle gallner and that he’s married all in the same day

[absolutelyzoned]

"my dinner 🤤" this "our dinner 🤤" that. i want to be THEIR dinner.

[yasmeensh]

Got the Master sword! I believe there is still one more upgrade to go...

Bonus Groose after Link sealed the imprisoned.

[calciumyum]

Treebark Week [Day 4 - Divine]

Lamplight AU Ren and Martyn! :] AU by @liloinkoink and @unexpectedly-haunted Music is Anonymous M by Pinocchio-P Frames under the cut!

[3-aem]

thinking about touch starved touch sensitive gojo again. Absolutely desperate for even the most grazing touches from getou and yet overwhelmed by it all.

[obsob]

here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud!!

✷(print shop)✷

[stararch4ngelqueen]

YOU SAID SOFT!JASON AND I CAME RUNNING

soft!jason who just needs a fucking hug but its a stubborn bitch about it until reader basically forces him to hug her (its koala szn ok i dont make the rules) and his resolve is just GONE and he melts into her touch bc he really needed it

I follow the book of SZA for this season.

Personally ima imagine Gotham Knights Jason cause he gives off ugly bulldog vibes and I love that, but all Jason lives matter here 😊❤️

—

It’s been a while since you’ve witnessed a squash get butchered into many interesting pieces.

The tackling of the oddly tough spaghetti squash was always handled by your boyfriend, who made cutting it into its prepared state look incredibly easy. Cut it into multiple rings, season them, roast them, then fork out the perfectly cooked, sizable noodles with said utensil.

He was lost in thought, he had to have been, as said rock hard vegetable had been resorted to crooked, uneven cubes. His bowed head and dark expression after you quickly noticed, only signified the assumption to be true.

“Jason.” You tried his name again for a second time, concerned enough to settle a hand along his forearm. It was a miracle he hadn’t lost a finger yet, but knocking on wood in your mind would’ve been powerful enough to make it happen.

“Jason.”

The knife pauses, the man blinking once as if someone snapped in front of his face. He lifts his head a bit, coming back to his senses only to realize the state of what mess he’d created on the cutting board.

“Shit,” Jason mutters once, glancing over to see if the other half of the spaghetti squash was still intact.

“Shit.” The curse was further dragged out a little louder. Too lost in his dark cloud of remembrance to realize he butchered it all. Great. Just great.

“Hey,” you speak up, watching him catch your gaze for a split second before avoiding it, quickly setting the knife down.

“Hey.” He clears his throat, his hands piling together the fragments of their now ruined meal. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You try to insist, watching him scoop up the pieces in his hands. “We can still roast it, make it into something still eatable.”

Jason didn’t respond.

This makes your worry meter spike just a little bit more.

“What’s with that frown handsome? You love Italian night.” You question, keeping your hand settled along his forearm.

There was nothing Italian about this dinner, except the homemade sauce and crumbled choice of sausage from an authentic butcher.

He groans but not out of irritance for your words. His hand shifts, making your hand etch back as he leans against the counter, his head bowing once more.

“Nothing.”

What’s going on in that kind mind of his? Was he involuntarily reminiscing of topics and experiences you don’t dare to mention? Was he beating himself up inside for his slip up, ruining a crucial part of your guys’ dinner?

“Come here,” you step closer, slightly extending your arm out a bit as an offering.

Jason nearly etched his head off to the side, nearly mumbling an ‘No. M’fine babe,’ but you weren’t having it.

“Come heeere,” you tried again, reaching your arm up along his opposite bicep, attempting to capture his broad build into your limited embrace.

You make the effort to squeeze in between the tall man of muscle and the kitchen counter, managing to fit both hands over hud shoulders, securing them being his neck.

“We can fix it.” You tell him before he can say otherwise, his brow either furrowing or raising in mixed surprise, and or denial, “We can ask Alfred for one of his secret recipes. If it doesn’t work, fuck it. We’ll make nutella sandwiches or something.”

His brow sharply quirks.

You return the expression with a smile.

You’re a bad influence on him. He adores that about you.

He huffs, an edge of his tone resembling a weak, throaty chuckle. A corner of his lip raised into a limp smile, which was all you needed to see.

“Long day?”

He merely has the strength in his social battery to respond as his head lowers to settle along your shoulder. With a single sigh, the weight of his body against yours nearly had you squished against the counter. A pleasant company along your sides were those ‘unrealistically’ large hands guarding your back from digging too deep against the marble countertop edges.

“Yeah.”

Your small hand cradles the back of his head, nearly soothing the pain from his tension headache. His eyes close, another small sigh leaving his nose. Not all of the palpable stress leaves his body, but your comfort nearly dulls it down into something much more manageable in seconds. Something much more bearable.

Your soft voice floods his aches and pains with a golden warmth of serenity. Your secret super power did wonders on his heart and mind. You didn’t even have to try.

“How’s Nutella sandwiches sound, actually?”

“We don’t have the marshmallow fluff.”

“No, but.. think we got strawberries.”

His brow slightly quirks again. Tonight sounds like it’s getting better already.

[stinkypeanutbutter]

Do NYOT TRUST THIS MAN !!!! 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️

bro is obviously manipulating , or trying to manipulate Ben into joining . I think . Like he starts to bring up his past of taking matters into his own hands when others , the authority , didn’t , even including Logan in the scenario because he’s his friend . Saying all this and bringing up the fact that if they joined , he can protect them , is him pretty much jsut playing dirty into what he knew Ben had had trouble with in the past and using it to his advantage with that promise of a sort . That compromise .

All in all

DO NYYOOTTT TRUST GIM !!!!! NO NO NO !!!!!! 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️✋✋✋✋👎👎👎👎🤯🤯🤯🤯

[penumbra-mayhem]

Darlin’ HCs

• They get scared shitless every time they use a toaster. Every. Damn. Time.

• When they do manage to eat (which is rare prior to Sam), they wolf everything down (haha) so fucking fast

• They devour sour candy; it’s a wonder they have any taste buds left

• They love pranking Asher by giving him candy that doesn’t look sour to see his (very dramatic) reaction

(He falls for it every time, that man can’t resist sugar. And sometimes the candy actually isn’t sour, so he can never predict it.)

• They have a stutter that developed from head trauma during their last fight with Quinn (more about that here)

• After they come back home, Darlin’ starts working for a soup kitchen. They work in the warehouse packing/distribution center.

• They love their job cause it allows them to do physical work for a good cause without having to interact with many people

• They are constantly changing their hair color/style, but their favorite colors to dye it are black and neon purple

• Darlin has been a punk since high school. The jacket they never take off is their battle jacket.

• Their (very beat up) headphones are blasting music 24/7

• Darlin’ has moral OCD, but they don’t know for the longest time

• Quinn quickly picks up on this fact, but doesn’t tell them. He instead uses their obsessions against them to make them believe they are the scum of the earth

• Sam also picks up on their OCD and does a lot of research. He gently introduces the idea to them and helps them get a proper diagnosis and therapy

[hathatter]

💚🧡

[raineandsky]

#134

The scene the hero arrives to is nothing to brag about—a dumpster set alight, some of its flaming rubbish fluttering about harmlessly. The superhero sent them here on the basis of a villain, though, so they’re going to figure out who set fire to this thing if it’s the last thing they do.

No one seems to be around. Maybe this is one of those startup villains, the ones who want a taste of the criminal life but are too afraid to plunge in the deep end. An easy catch, the hero thinks. Simply wait for a slip-up and throw the sucker in jail.

The hero approaches the literal dumpster fire with the intention of looking for clues. What they don’t expect is for the criminal to leap out at them. They grapple for the hero with a vicious snarl and the hero reacts instinctively, whipping their arm out to dislodge them before throwing them down to the ground.

The criminal rolls away, making an attempt at what is probably a bound back to their feet and failing. A heartfelt, “ow,” leaks out as they carefully pick themself off the pavement.

They’re young, the hero can see that. Black clothes—something of a homemade villain’s outfit. A child who’s gotten a flare for rebellion and wanted to live a little. The hero was never one for inspirational talks, but if they can stop a villain in the making, they might as well try.

“I get the impression you’ve a taste for the low life,” they start carefully, “but this isn’t the way to go. Believe me, I’ve seen my fair share of the villainous lifestyle and it isn’t the a good—”

The hero’s words trail off as the kid looks up at them with a scowl. She nudges long hair out of her face, brushing dirt off the shirt the hero has almost definitely seen before. The superhero sent them out for a villain, not for this. Is this a test? Is the superhero mad?

The hero isn’t good with kids as it is, let alone their boss’s daughter.

“What on earth are you doing out here?” the hero snaps. There’s a villain around—it’s dangerous.”

“Damn right it is.” The kid wipes her nose on her sleeve, putting her fists up like she’s genuinely considering a fight. “Wanna guess who the villain is?”

She tries to rush the hero, and it’s here that they realise, ah, she is considering a fight. They sidestep her swing and, as carefully as an attack will allow, toss her on the ground again.

“Does your dad know you’re doing this?” the hero asks sharply.

“He will soon enough,” she spits.

She moves in for another strike. Where she’s aiming for the hero will never guess, but they bat her hand away easily and push her back. “Stop,” they demand bluntly. “You’re going to hurt yourself or, god forbid, someone else.”

“Isn’t that what being a villain is?” The kid laughs, and the hero hates how much it sounds like her father. “Being evil and ruining everything? I thought I was already good at that!”

She leaps in for another punch. The hero, already distracted, doesn’t dodge in time and her fist smashes into their chest.

The hero doesn’t move. The kid’s start of a victorious laugh dies down and she pulls her hand away.

“I hit you,” she points out coldly. “You’re meant to on the floor or something now.”

“You’re good at being evil and ruining everything?”

The kid’s annoyance gets replaced by what the hero can see from a mile away is carefully crafted indifference. “Sure,” she says shortly. “That’s why I thought maybe I’d fit in better here. And I do.”

The hero stares at her for a moment. She raises her fist, but the hero holds a hand up to her and she miraculously listens.

“I’m sorry,” the hero says, although they’re not sure what they’re apologising for. “I’m not fighting you. Go home.”

“You’re a hero!” the kid cries as the hero starts looking for a way to dampen the fire now devouring the poor dumpster. “Act like it!”

“Go home,” they repeat a little sharper, “and stay there. I’ll speak to your dad.”

“He’s meant to find out about this himself,” she snaps.

The hero finds a fire extinguisher, mysteriously tucked under one of the other dumpsters. The kid is pointedly not looking at them when they pull it out. “Don't you worry. I’m not telling him about this. I think he and I need a little chat, that’s all.”

The kid has nothing to say to that. She stamps her foot and huffs momentarily, and then she’s off, abandoning the hero with the physical and metaphorical fire.