pov- imagines

THE BEST COOKIES IN THE WORLD- B. BARNES

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, mentions of wanda maximoff
warnings: christmas centric, edited and posted on mobile so hopefully it doesn't look that weird and the read more will work
about: prompt: we tried to make cookies and are now sitting in the kitchen covered in flour
another for jamecember!

"eight cups of flour?" you exclaim, whispering a quiet oh my god as you blink in surprise, looking closer at your phone, already covered in flour and other ingredients even if you haven't begun to bake yet. it seemed it was already not agreeing with you, "how many fuckin' cookies are we making?"

"eight?" bucky repeats, eyebrows furrowing, "that can't be right."

"that's what it says," you defend, jutting your phone out into his line of vision and pointing at the line where it says so. bucky squints at the light of your phone, a finger reaching to swipe at the screen. he shakes his head and shrugs.

"maybe the measurements have changed since the twenties," bucky mumbles before turning to you, "d'you want to ask wanda?"

you shake your head, "no, she's with vision right now. besides, they're cookies. we promised we'd bake them because they were the easiest on the list. last month wanda made twenty-four in like ten minutes without baking time. baking time must be like eighty percent of the recipe, it can't be that hard. just mix. put thirty cookies in the oven, take thirty out, serve twenty- four cookies."

"i guess," bucky mutters, looking back at the recipe with a thoughtful exhale.

you put your phone down and clap, trying to psych yourself up, "let's do this. finish these in half an hour at most, then watch the nightmare before christmas while they bake. easy."

bucky nods, "easy."

-

five minutes later, you're eyeing the sugar in the measuring cup with wary eyes, bucky squinting from next to you. "that's too little, right?" you ask.

"i think... but shouldn't we follow the recipe?"

"but what if they're not sweet enough?" you wonder worriedly.

bucky cracks a smirk at this, seeing an opportunity as he looks to you with a dumb grin pulling his cheeks and crinkling edges of blue. you turn to him, features tugged in confusion, amusement playing in the confused smile on your lips, "what?" you question warily.

"if it's you makin' em, i don't think there's a way they aren't sweet enough, dove."

you can't help the flustered laugh that escapes you, putting down the cup to place your hands on your warming cheeks, "bucky," you breathe.

"'surprised i'm not in a diabetic coma with how sweet you are, pretty," bucky continues, pressing a kiss to your nose. you put a hand on his cheek to get him to look at you.

"stop, you're making me get all warm."

"revenge," bucky winks before pressing his lips to yours, pulling away after enough time to leave you dazepop pod and stupid, your hand falling from his face to tug at your earlobe.

"but, yeah, more sugar, sugar."

-

"i don't think we're supposed to mix it yet," bucky frowns, reading through the recipe again as you dump all the dry ingredients into a mixing bowl, placing it underneath the whisks of the electronic mixer.

"of course we are," you argue, collecting what's left at the bottom of the bowl to push it down, "if we don't, there'll be sweet and salty spots when it's supposed to be even," you tell him, a memory from some baking show, unsure if it's even true, but it makes enough sense for you, so you don't bother to look into it.

"okay, how many eggs again?" you ask, pushing the bowl into the middle, finding the button to push to get it to mix slowly.

bucky scrolls up, brushing away ingredients that have fallen on the screen on your phone and smudged the instructions when he reaches the top. you spot an egg rolling off the counter, and go to reach for it. "three–oh, fuck."

you quickly stretch to catch the egg, the finger still on the button pushing farther to the highest setting when your fingers wrap around the egg and you turn your attention to bucky, "wha–"

immediately, the mixer speeds up, the kitchen bombarded in white powder from the power of the mixer, making you squeeze your eyes shut and back away instead of trying to turn the thing off.

"turn it off!" bucky yells, hands reaching to find the top of it while even more of the mixture goes airborne.

"right!" you yell back, slapping your hand on the counter and dragging it to the device, searching for the button to turn it off. bucky finds it before you do, and you stare at each other while the flour and salt and sugar settle, still blurring the air. "holy shit," you say.

bucky is covered in fine white, lightening his hair and sticking on his dark eyelashes. he's wide-eyed, blinking as he tries to avoid looking at the kitchen, completely soaked in the cookie mix. you're not much better, the flour and sugar mixture continuing to fall on your cheeks just like it is on bucky, and you resist the urge to shake your head like a dog in an effort to clean it off–something that would just make the already dirty kitchen even dirtier.

"what were you gonna say?" you ask in an effort to break the silence, a small puff of flour accentuating your words. you cough a little when you breathe and suck it in.

"it was three cups of flour. not eight, your phone was just covered in chocolate and flour. we fucked up the measurements."

you nod, "okay. well, we probably lost the extra five cups of flour in all that, so," you gulp, "i think it'll be fine."

-

after shoving close to sixty cookies in the oven to bake, you and bucky find yourself slumped down in front of them, backs pressed against the counter, still surrounded with flour, and legs splayed in front of you both. your flour-caked face is smushed on your boyfriend's shoulder, observing as your cookies bake, the ladybug timer ticking next to you.

"so we made too many cookies," you state.

"which are probably ninety-percent flour and i doubt edible," bucky points out.

"i don't know. i added extra everything because it didn't look right. maybe i'm a secret baking genius and these are the best cookies in the world."

"maybe," bucky cocks his head thoughtfully, "wouldn't put it past you," he shrugs, leaning over to kiss your forehead.

they weren't.