Mob Bucky walking into the kitchen and picking you up to carry you out to the bedroom when you spent whole day cooking. You argue that you still need to bake two pies and make a salad, or something, but Bucky doesn't care.
"You spent the past two days on your feet. Now you're gonna spend the next twenty four hours on your back. Maybe on hands and knees, if I feel like it."
Hahahaha! Because we WOULD. But it's our chef heart!
Collection: Devour
Title: CUSTARD
Characters/Pairings: Mob Boss!Bucky x female!Chef!Reader
Word Count: 687
Logistical Notes: Takes place after the series (shh, I know I'm still working on the final chapter). Prompt from the ask in bold italics, and notching a Naughty prompt from @the-slumberparty's Naughty or Nice challenge in plain bold.
↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
James was calling your name, but you didn’t hear him until he was in the kitchen with you.
“What the hell are you doing?”
You didn’t register the dangerous chill in his tone either, too busy skimming your fingers back over the recipe you were studying, frowning back at the mixture in the metal bowl whipping up in front of you.
“Mmm,” you hummed, completely focused on your work, “will you taste this?” You reached for one of the small spoons in a jar on the counter, dipped it into the bowl, and held it out for your mob boss.
He crossed the kitchen and was at your side in an instant. You only looked his way briefly enough to thrust the spoon into his mouth just as he opened it to speak again. You reached for another spoon to taste the custard’s current status for yourself.
“It definitely needs the nutmeg,” you murmured, wondering why the recipe you were referencing didn’t have any listed.
“You definitely need to be out of this kitchen!” James ordered.
You whipped your head back to glare at him. “I promised I would bring pie to the brunch, James.”
“And you’ve already made one.”
“But I didn’t make that pie for the brunch! It’s the backup pecan pie, and everyone deserves to have pie that was intended for the brunch. Pecan pie is not a proper brunch pie,” you argued. “I really should make a fruit pie to go along with this buttermilk pie, too,” you added for yourself, tone dropping back to your concentrated cooking tone.
“No! I forbid it!”
“You forbid it?”
“Yes, I forbid it! Against my better judgement, I tolerated you cooking the holiday meal with our families, but you spent the past two days on your feet when you’re supposed to be off, chef.”
He pulled the spoon out of your right hand and the spatula out of your left, flung them onto the counter, and flung you over his shoulder.
“James Buchanan Barnes!”
He didn’t speak as he walked you out of the kitchen and down the hallway. You squirmed a bit – knowing with all his strength there was no way he would let you fall, but also wanting to protest over being dragged away from your task.
He tossed you unceremoniously onto the bed and was on you immediately.
His large frame trapped you beneath him, though you tried to squirm away. He took each of your hands and pinned them in one of his above your head, while his other hand grabbed your jaw and angled your face for him to perfectly capture your lips in a kiss. He forced his tongue against yours, and immediately you could taste the sweetness of the custard still lingering in his mouth. He kissed you until you stopped struggling, softening beneath him. He released your hands, and you wound one around his neck and the other through his hair. His free hand didn’t stay free for even a second before it was palming your breast through your shirt, and you moaned.
Finally, he broke of the kiss, but only moving his head back a fraction of an inch.
“Damn you,” you breathed against his lips, but you knew from the look in his eyes that he knew he’d demanded and earned your utter and complete surrender.
“You’re going to spend the next twenty-four hours on your back,” he said. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then drew the heat along your jaw and down your neck. The desire in your core was fully ablaze, and you could feel how wet you were already growing between your thighs.
He nipped at your collarbone, and you gasped.
“Maybe on hands and knees if I feel like it,” he added as he ripped the front of your shirt open.
The audacity of this man! you thought while you could still think.
An audacity that you gladly put up with until well after midnight as he had you cumming more than once on his cock, then woke up to first thing with his head between your thighs.
I PROMISE ONE DAY I WILL FINISH THE FINAL CHAPTER, I JUST CAN'T HELP IT THAT PEOPLE KEEP SENDING FANTASTICALLY INSPIRATIONAL ASKS THAT TURN INTO THESE LITTLE ADDITIONAL SCENES FOR THEIR FUTURE!
one year later: GRAPES
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I have a question about Aspen! What prompted her interest in Gelmorra?
The smoky, spicy, pungent flavor lingered on her tongue. It filled her nose with the subtle aroma of peppers, and salt, and something strange. It wasn't unlike the sauces she'd tasted in La Noscea, the ones imported from across oceans, but there was more depth to the flavor of it. Something strange and different.
Mun-tuy. That was what the locals called it. Such a strange word, it too seemed to linger on her tongue. Foreign, and yet enticing.
She visited the cellars to see it made. It was a welcome distraction. The keepers there all too eager to talk of the mash and the mix, of fermentation and acids. These were words she could bear, words she had learned in this Eorzean tongue. Read first in books, among lists of ingredients, then in the descriptions of methods and preparations, and later practiced around fires while avoiding the words none of them wanted to say.
So she visited the cellars again, and again. Learning to ferment the beans, how to slip their shiny skins from them, how to mash and season them. Her sauce wasn't perfect, but she'd always liked it a little more peppery.
The more she visited, the more they shared. Gossip, old stories, favorite recipes, local politics, and history.
It was the history that caught her ear. All tying back into the beans, of course. They showed her the grate leading down into the lower tunnels, long since denuded of their bricks and rendered unsafe for occupation. They told stories, of this one's grandfather, or that one's distant cousin, returned up to the surface from the depths below.
The curiosity lingered, much as the flavor of the mun-tuy had, until her curiosity insisted she seek out more.
The first tunnel she came across wasn't so interesting, a hundred yalms of darkness wreathed in old stones. Picked clean of anything interesting by its own progeny. Beneath that one, another tunnel. And beneath it, another. She could sense the bits of aether that lingered among the still air, the energy of people that had once lived here, and yet had escaped so long ago.
But they had said there were some that stayed. Why would they? What could the deepness below their feet offer that the abundance of the world above could not? What had flourished beneath the earth, unfolding in dark corners where even the thin light of the Shroud could not reach? Why had they stayed? Why had they stayed when the world was outside?
The prickle of recognition was not lost on Aspen. Why had they stayed and locked themselves away from a world so vibrant? Was it their own Green Word that deemed it to be so? Was it law or custom, or had they merely forgotten the joy of fresh air and blue skies?
Aspen's interest in Gelmorra really did start with her pursuit of cooking and trying local flavors and cuisines. But it very, very quickly evolved into an obsession with a similarly isolationist society and a need to find answers somewhere. I think she hopes that in making sense of Gelmorra she can find some closure she knows she'll never get from her own people.
Speaking completely OOC, I wanted her to have a common interest with @pidgeon-sorrel in exploration and poking her nose where it doesn't belong. And I desperately want a Gelmorra expansion so if I can't have that I'll just make up shit to write about it instead.
Ruth🐶: Where do you sleep and stay when your owner isn’t around? Is there a room, cage, or cell?
Sarah and Ruth🐰: How are you punished for being a bad pet?
Aspen🐻: How broken are you?
Aspen 🐨: Is your owner full on evil and constantly hurt you? Or do they act nice and give you love and affection when you’re good?
putting answers under a readmore bc this got long!
🐶: Where do you sleep and stay when your owner isn’t around? Is there a room, cage, or cell? (Ruth)
"Um..." Ruth hugs herself, "I had shared a room with Mary Warren. And Sarah and I share the, um, the bed in the basement. It's nice to have someone else with me."
(verna has a finished basement she uses as a guest room)
🐰: How are you punished for being a bad pet? (Sarah and Ruth)
Verna lets out a low warning growl; Sarah presses into her side. Ruth curls onto the couch; she shakes her head, but says nothing more.
"We're not," Sarah says, her voice tight, and a flash of anger in her eyes. You get the feeling she's been asked this, or something like this, too many times before. "Verna is my aunt, and Ruth's guardian, not our owner."
🐨: Is your owner full on evil and constantly hurt you? Or do they act nice and give you love and affection when you’re good? (Aspen)
Aspen bristles; Mari, sitting beside her, reaches out and grabs her hand. She leans over to whisper something in Aspen's ear. Aspen nods, grinding her teeth, and finally answers, "Mari's my sister. She's never treated me as anything but."
🐻: How broken are you? (Aspen)
Aspen leans forward, face in her hands, pale and uncomfortable. Her eyes glaze over. Something stirs in their depths, something she's trying not to remember. She shakes her head, swallows thickly. "I don't--I don't want to talk about this anymore." She gets up and disappears down the hall. The bathroom door slams shut behind her.
Ooooh ofc! So I’ll start with just a little background, so you can understand how she got to be where she is in S5 after the time jump... it’s all under the cut!
After graduation, Aspen goes to Yale where she studies law. Her parents are both so proud of her, because not only is she the first in the family to attend college...she’s going to an ivy league! amazing! Unfortunately for Aspen, Betty Cooper also attends Yale so try as she might, Asp isn’t able to escape her blonde nemesis. They have a few classes together where they end up reluctantly pairing up for projects, as much as they both despise each other they know and appreciate that the other is good at what she does - so whenever they do team up they actually get amazing grades. They don’t have any interaction socially though, they pretend they don’t know each other outside of the classroom and both have their own social circles. Aspen and Sweetpea stay together for a good few years after high school, he visits her at Yale whenever he can (there is some drama where the other students at Yale see this tatooed trucker turn up in his plaid shirt and think he’s no good for Asp but she stands up for him). Eventually they break up and it is sad and they both still love each other but their social schedules, school, work, distance just takes too much of a toll on the relationship and they decide it’s better for them to call it quits. They both always have the idea that when the time is right, they’ll find their way back to one another - so watch this space.
After college, Aspen moves to New York where she interns for a few years at the District Attorney’s office before passing the bar and becoming a defense lawyer in her own right. She leave’s the DA’s office and starts working for a pretty high profile law firm where she is moved up the ranks quite quickly. As she’s living in New York, Aspen rekindles a friendship with Veronica Lodge who is missing Riverdale and her old life. The girls actually become quite close and see each other regularly, going for drinks, shopping, just generally hanging out you know. It’s Ronnie who finally persuades Asp to come back to Riverdale.
So back in Riverdale, Aspen has admittedly not been in touch as often as she would have liked, or as much as she should have been so she’s not that up to date on the comings and goings of the town. She doesn’t know about Hiram’s agenda or what he’s doing, and it’s only when she gets a tearful call from her mother to tell her that her dad has been arrested for something that Lettie is adamant he didn’t do that Aspen starts to realise something isn’t right. It’s at this point that Veronica turns up at Aspen’s office and tells her she thinks her father might be behind John Mills’ arrest and that Aspen needs to get back to their home town to defend her father in court because she’s the only lawyer that knows enough about Hiram’s tricks to be able to convince a jury to declare her father innocent.
When she gets back to Riverdale the first thing Asp does is go to see her father in jail and get as much information as she possibly can to help defend him. The second thing she does is visit Sweetpea, they have an...emotional reunion. Asp doesn’t quite know how she feels about Toni as Serpent Queen, and she’s not particularly pleased that she’s renamed Le Bonne Nuit the Whyte Wyrm because that was Aspen’s home, it was her plan all along to return the Whyte Wyrm to the Mills family...so that’s a bit of a kick in the teeth and Asponi definitely have some conflict.
.... wow that was a lot, but if anyone is still here or interested I’m happy to answer any more Qs about S5 Asp!!
Tfw you're talking to someone and they say "autistics are hard to love because they don't show love. They don't trust people, they don't even trust food!" And you're like oh :') nice to know I'm hard to love :'') 🍂
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You dropped this man in my askbox at the beginning of the week, and I knew I knew him, but it took me a couple of days to figure out exactly which Steve he was...
And then I realized he's absolutely Buck's Eleven Steve...
Collection: Buck's Eleven
Title: Bookings and Rings
Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x Female Reader
Word Count: 650
Summary: Our first glimpse of Steve's girl in this AU. Can be read as a standalone, you only need to know Bucky and Steve are putting together a big heist job for New Year's Eve 1960.
Content Warnings: hints of 1960s societal views, movement toward smut at the end (fade to black)
Logistical Notes: Thank you @vonalyn for spiffing this up and making sure it was up to snuff. This ticks off my first box in my @the-slumberparty Bingo Card B4 "Proposal."
↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
You lock and close the door behind you, letting out a happy sigh. You’re home. You drop your keys on the table in the entry and step out of your heels, clutching them in one hand and your travel bag in the other, then make your way down the hall into the living room.
You pause and grin at the sight in front of you.
Steve is sitting in one of the armchairs, relaxed, reading the paper, the bright afternoon sun streaming in from the window behind him. You can tell he’s had a fresh haircut since you saw him last week. He’s in a brown tweed sport coat and black shirt. He always looks good.
“You’re home early,” you say.
“Is that a complaint?” he asks, returning your grin as he lowers the paper to look at you.
“Well, you’re also in my home, not your home.”
“Until you agree to call my home your home, sometimes I just can’t help myself when I want to see my girl.”
You roll your eyes and shake your head, but the grin is still on your face. “Good thing you’re handsome, Rogers.”
“And you know I’m good for other things, too,” he says as he folds up the paper and sets it aside. “Now come over here, tell me about your day. Where were you?”
You deposit your heels and your sleek blue Pan Am duffel on the couch, then sit on the coffee table in front of Steve. “Rio de Janeiro.”
“Long flight then, let me take care of my girl.” Steve gestures for you to rest your feet up on his thigh, and as you do, he immediately takes one of your stocking-clad feet in his strong hands and begins pressing his thumbs deeply into the sole. You moan and some of the tension in other parts of your body starts to melt away. Steve smiles at that. “Tell me about your day.”
You do. While you talk, he listens, asks a few questions, moves to rubbing out your other foot completely, and then starts working up your calves.
When you’ve caught him up on the relevant pieces of the things that have happened the past few days, shared the frustrations as well as the funny stories, you finally ask him, “What do you want? I get the foot rubs when you want something.”
“You’d get this regularly if you’d accept my ring, honey,” you open your mouth to protest, but he shakes his head and continues. “I know, I know, you’re not ready to give up your explorations.”
“No, I’m not.”
“But you remember I’ve always got that ring with me. You say the word and it’s yours.”
You lean forward and kiss him, then say, “I’m not saying no, I’m just saying not now.”
“I’ll take you everywhere you want to go.”
You lean back a little and tilt your head. “I know.” You rest your hand over his heart. “And I am yours… just not your wife yet.”
“Yet,” he echoes.
You laugh then kiss him again. It’s a long kiss this time, one that has him eventually pulling you into his lap, and your arms are wrapped tightly around each other, lips and tongues dedicated to nothing more than connecting and expressing the feelings between the two of you.
It only ends when you’re both completely breathless.
“What do you need from me?”
“Two things… I need to get a team into Vegas. Can you book them in?”
“Sure, leave me the list of their names and departure cities before you leave, I’ll put them in.”
“Thank you, honey.”
“What else?”
He grins and his hand slips between your thighs, moving right up to your mound. “Let me take you to bed and give you more reasons to make it hard for you to hold out on finally becoming my wife.”
↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!
🍽️ - What’s their favorite food? (for Aspen) AND 🎲 - Pick a random question to answer from this list. (for Cera), please!
The steam from the pan billowed up as Aspen shifted the whisk from one hand to the other. The damp ends of her fringe curling in the humidity as she set back to the task of whisking the pale cream colored mixture of sugar and eggs and rum.
Despite the ache in her elbow as she doubled down on her efforts Aspen felt a thin trickle of satisfaction building in her chest as the mixture rose, fluffing into soft peaks. It would be another bell before the mixture would be cool enough to add to the cream and soft cheese, and longer still until all of it had been gently folded together.
As she set pulled the pan off the stove and set the bowl off to cool Aspen glanced at the cooling cakes, their thin, oblong shapes settling as they cooled. This was the part that she loved, seeing all the pieces begin to come together. It was like discovering something wonderful each time she made the dessert. Remembering that she had the power to coax such a decadent treat from such rustic ingredients.
As she settled into her chair some bells later, a rose printed plate balanced on her lap Aspen sighed, the mellow, almost savory flavor of the Tiramisu lingering on her lips.
Goddamn it I'm hungry and it's bedtime. Anyway, Aspen will cook the hell out of a Tiramisu and then eat the whole thing by herself. It's a monthly ritual. Thank you @yloiseconeillants for indulging me.
