#and to be able to make cupcakes in the damn oven

[victorluvsalice]

-->And then it was time for everyone to converge on the greenhouse and help out Victor – specifically, by doing some targeted harvesting while he finished up his tending! I had Alice return to normal and rush in there to pick the coconuts, the pineapples, the soy and black beans (and evolve a couple of plants while she was at it), while Smiler picked a bunch of their herbalism stuff (with a focus on stuff like the noxious elderberries and poison fireleaf I didn’t have before). Smiler then dusted Victor’s bees with mite treatment, fertilized their noxious elderberries so they could evolve them up to nice level, and headed upstairs to have a nice bath –

-->And Alice got sent to the kitchen to make some more food for the food stand, using her new appliances! :D Because if we’re going to have a food sale, we need to have food to sell! She’d already made a garden pizza last playsession while at the store, which was already in the stand – I thus had her make a fresh batch of dough in the stand mixer, then bake up some banana split waffles, a loaf of artful focaccia, some minty mocha cupcakes (in the oven! :D), and a pineapple pizza! Yes, I was thinking a bit about food that Smiler would probably like, as they were the one who was going to be running the stand – sometimes I regret that they’re a vampire who can’t eat regular food in this save, as I know any human Smilers would be all over banana split waffles and pineapple pizza. In another save, Smiler, I promise! I’ll fudge things a bit in my potential future Valicer In The Dark save! XD

-->While Alice was getting her cooking on, Victor and Smiler were keeping busy with the last of the farm chores (while the chickens were keeping busy with a fox – I gotta get some more livestock upgrade parts). Victor FINALLY finished the tending (and deactivated poor Elmer to stop the bot from constantly trying to weed a glitched plant) and got the initial batch of super-selling done, then left Smiler to finish off selling everything while he cleared out the cow shed (and once again dropped the results on the ground next to said cow shed – I just had him put the trash in his inventory for later recycling). Smiler got Gardening skill 9 from all the super-selling (and harvesting the lemon tree in the corner that had gotten skipped in all the super-sell batching), which pleased me greatly –

And then I realized “wait a minute. Isn’t it supposed to be New Skill Day? Where’s the holiday thing?” Concerned, I checked the calendar, and confirmed that it was indeed a holiday – but that I didn’t have the overlay for it in the corner of my screen. Uh-oh. That DEFINITELY seemed like a sign the save file was on its way out. I decided not to worry TOO much about it at the moment, as New Skill Day is just a pop-up holiday, and not a particularly important one, and instead Alice box up the final pizza, slapped all the food in the foot stand, and had Smiler grab said food stand and gather everyone up to bring them to the Brindleton Bay Pawspital –

[zepskies]

Down to the Crust

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You’ve set out on a very specific mission for Dean. The problem is, you now have ulterior motives for your (formerly) pure love of baking.

Request: Since reading your imagine, "Dean Gives You an Impossible Choice," I have not been able to shake it, one point specifically. I was wondering if I could request a fic where the reader is learning to bake pies for Dean. She's best friends with the boys, but she and Dean have undisclosed feelings for each other…

AN: You guys know I love baking shenanigans lol. This one is set at a particular time during season 14…

Song Inspo: “Joy” by Blackstreet

Word Count: 2.6K

Tags/Warnings: Flangst, hurt/comfort, hint of spice~

No, no, no, no, NO!

You did your best to scoop out the salt you’d just poured into the flour.

You can’t really be this dumb, you berated yourself. How could you confuse one white powdery thing for another? Salt vs. sugar—it wasn’t that hard!

You shook your head in simmering frustration. You decided to just dump the whole contents of the bowl, salty flour and all, into the garbage. You’d have to start again…for the third time now. 

Frankly, this was getting ridiculous. You could make cookies, brownies, even cupcakes (with homemade buttercream).

How hard could a pie really be?

Maybe it was the telltale tremble of nerves in your hands.

Maybe it was because you had an ulterior motive for doing this, besides your formerly pure love of baking.

Maybe because this promised dessert was for one pie-loving glutton who was set to come upstairs from the garage any minute. Or at least, whenever Dean’s stomach finally called him back to the kitchen.

Though recently, he hadn’t been all that hungry. He’d denied your friendly offer of a snack earlier (since when did he turn down taquitos?), and he’d barely touched the pizza you guys had for dinner yesterday. (One slice? The man could eat half a pizza in one sitting. To your knowledge, there wasn’t a pie he didn’t like.)

Dean hid it well, but he wasn’t on his game. You knew why, of course, but…

You sighed and measured out the last of your flour for a fresh try. If you messed this one up, you’d literally have to wash your hands of this mission. And yes, it had become mission fucking impossible, as far as you were concerned.

Once the flour was safely mixed with a cup of sugar, you cut up some chilled butter to create the pastry dough. You followed the instructions in the recipe even more carefully this time, from your open laptop on the kitchen counter. The keyboard was dusted with flour at this point, along with your hands and arms. You even felt it under your nails and in your hair, but you didn’t care.

You were going to make this damn pie if it killed you.

You’d even bought real cherries, not the canned filling. It meant more work for you in removing all the pits inside them, but this was worth the extra labor.

However, as it just occurred to you, you’d left them simmering with some sugar, lemon juice, and cornstarch in a pan, around the time of your second attempt at pastry dough.

“No!” you gasped, hastening to open the lid and checking the saucepan.

Oh, thank God, you thought, seeing that the cherry filling wasn’t bubbling over. It actually looked like the proper thickened consistency and smelled delicious. You just needed to do some more stirring.

An hour or so later, you had successfully shaped the dough, chilled and poured in the filling, and covered it with the (embarrassingly uneven) lattice work on top.

“Whatever. The man still believes in the Five-Second Rule. He’ll eat this,” you muttered as you slid the pie in. You even remembered to do an egg wash on top. You admired it for a moment in its raw pastry form, then closed the lid to the oven with a nod of satisfaction.

You wore a wide smile, feeling accomplished, until you turned around and saw the disaster you’d made of the kitchen. Flour was dusted across the counters, a pile of dishes in the sink, cherry remnants in the pan and dripping across the stove, and so much more. You winced at the sight.

“What the hell is this?” came a gruff voice.

Your gaze drew to the doorway with a sharp intake of breath. Dean was standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a bewildered expression on his face.

The man had a thing about people in “his kitchen.” You got ready to placate him with your hands raised as you took a step towards him, but then you gasped.

“Shit!” you yelped, slipping in some egg that had dropped on the floor. Your hand accidentally banged the oven on the way down, but your head also hit the corner of the wall.   

You ended up sprawled on your side across the dirty floor, dazed and winded. Dean hurried to your side with one of those frowns that always made you want to smooth the wrinkle between his brows.

He braced your shoulder, almost but not quite touching your hip with his free hand.

“Damn. You okay? This ain’t a slip n’ slide,” he said.

Your lips twitched at a smile, but you sighed. “I’m okay.”

“You hit your head?” he asked, beginning to help you up slowly.

“A little,” you admitted. “Nothing the old bag of frozen carrots in the freezer won’t cure.”

Dean grimaced, but after he made sure you were settled on your feet, he checked the back of your head. You tried not to blush (and revel) at the feeling of his fingers slipping into your hair, even if he was trying to feel for a knot back there.

He was close enough that you could almost feel his body heat through the black shirt he wore, for once without the outer layer of plaid. He smelled like grease and sweat; likely he’d been working on Baby.

Were you weird for kind of liking that smell?

“Well, I don’t feel any goose eggs, so you’re probably fine,” he remarked.

“Thanks, House. Is that your final prognosis?” you asked, beginning to smirk.

Dean’s gaze met yours in amusement.

“Tell you what,” he said, “If you get a headache, I give you full permission to take one of the fun little pills I’ve got in my dresser.”

You laughed. “If it’s not Vicodin, I don’t want it.”

House M.D. was one of those shows you and Dean liked to watch together, along with Game of Thrones, and even Smallville, on occasion.

Dean smiled slightly. But even that was a small feat, and something you hadn’t seen from him in weeks. Not a real smile, anyway. Before today, nothing you’d tried had been working to brighten his mood.

Not pizza Fridays. Not letting him listen to the same damn Zeppelin album without complaint for that eight-hour ride on the last hunt. Not trying to gouge his level of broodiness and offering to hang out, to be a listening ear if he needed it.

He still hadn’t taken you up on the last one. While that hurt, you also understood it. You understood how Dean dealt with things he didn’t want to think about, let alone talk about, even to his own brother.  

Dean now looked down on you knowingly, gesturing at the rest of the kitchen.

“You gonna tell me what you’re doing in here?” he asked.

You crossed your arms and raised your chin, a smile playing on your lips.

“What, can’t handle somebody else in your kitchen? What’re you, Gordon Ramsey?” you teased.

Dean’s brows kicked up, his lips twitching.

“You’ve made a mess of my kitchen any number of times, but I ain’t ever smelled sweet, sweet cherry coming out of that oven,” he said. “You’re finally making me pie?”

You had to laugh. Inside, you were pleased that he now looked excited, his green eyes dancing. You clapped your hands over his arms.

“Yes, I’m making you your damn pie. Only took me fifteen tries, but it’s happening,” you said. You turned to check on it, but the second you opened the oven, black smoke billowed out.

Your eyes widened in horror and your mouth fell open on reflex, but harsh coughs tore from your throat as you waved your hand against the smoke. Dean quickly handed you the oven mitts, and you shoved them on before taking out the steaming dessert.

The entire top crust was scorched black. Cherry filling oozed out, and not in a good way. You slammed the oven shut with your hip, and you had to toss the pan onto the counter for how hot it was.

Inside that pan was a dreadful excuse for a pie.

Dean had an arm crossed under his elbow, while a hand came up to cover his mouth as he took in the state of it. He then looked over at you.

He saw the shock, settling into pursed lips and tight shoulders. You turned in slow movements.

You saw that the oven had been switched to “Broil” on the highest setting. You’d probably messed that up when you fell and hit the dial with your hand. But Christ, was that a powerful oven.

Those old white guys really didn't mess around when they built this damn bunker, you thought sourly.

Dean took another look at the steaming pie and grimaced, despite his amusement.

“Well, she won’t be entering any beauty pageants, that’s for sure,” he teased.

His playful smirk fell, however, the moment you turned around. He saw the way you were biting your lip, and the tears brimming in your eyes.

He softened, and he went to you.

“Aww, sweetheart. It’s okay,” he chuckled, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “‘S probably better than I could do.”

You rested your head against his chest and sniffled. You blinked to try to stem off your tears. 

“It’s not about the damn pie! I mean, not really. It’s just…” you trailed.

You quieted, realizing you were about to say things you’d rather not.

Dean noticed though. Because of course he did.

“Then what’s it about?” he asked.

You avoided his gaze at first, though he was too perceptive not to notice. He jostled you a little against his side.

“Huh? You wanna answer me?” he asked. His lips curved at the way you were fighting a smile yourself. Your tears won out though.

You turned under his arm and leaned up on your toes, so you could hug him. Your arms twined around his neck and you held him tight.

To say it surprised Dean would be an understatement, his eyes widening a fraction. He still held you back, almost on reflex.

“I couldn’t do anything else,” you said, through tears. “Not for you, or Sam…or for Mary.”

Dean’s confusion descended into grim understanding. A weight fell deep in his gut, clenching painfully the way it always did, when he thought about his mom.

The fact that Jack didn’t have his soul didn’t make a difference, no matter what Sam said. Not in Dean’s mind, anyway.

Jack had killed their mom.

She was gone, had been taken from them. And that second loss had torn a new chasm in Dean’s heart, deeper than the last one. He held you a bit tighter without realizing it.

“I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing his back. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to…to do something for you.”

Slowly, Dean pulled away a little. His hands moved to your waist as he looked down on you with a heaviness in his eyes. For a moment, he just took in the contours of your face, your eyes shining with tears that clung to your lashes. You were looking up at him like all you wanted to do was fix it. And fix him.

Well, you had to know that was a lost fucking cause. But it just didn’t stop you from staying here with him and Sam, living with them, hunting with them, being one of the last friends they had, after all these years.

It didn’t stop Dean from loving you for it, either.

He let out a breath, and he couldn’t help but raise a hand to get some of the flour off your cheek. He smoothed the back of his hand against your skin, along your jaw, and finally brushed his thumb across your lower lip, where you had worried it with your teeth.

“You’re too damn much, you know that?” he murmured.

You were blushing hot at his touch, but you frowned at his words. Until you noticed the fond glint in his eyes…and for the first time, something more. Something he was finally allowing you to see.

When he bent down and claimed your lips, your thoughts stuttered to a halt. You gripped the front of his shirt instinctively. He framed your face with his hands; they were calloused and smelled like motor oil, but you didn’t give a shit. Not one iota. Because it meant something, and your heart swelled with a warmer, brighter feeling.

You gripped his shirt tighter and leaned up to meet his second kiss. His hand moved to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You grabbed onto his shoulders and let him invade your mouth with his warm tongue slipping against yours. You moaned, the sound echoing between you both and shooting right to his dick.

His brows furrowing, Dean’s fingers slipped into your hair again, but this time, to tangle in the strands. He walked you back until your ass hit the counter, where he grabbed hold of your thighs and hefted you on top of it, regardless of whatever stains covered its surface.

He moved in between your jean-clad thighs and encouraged you wordlessly to wrap them around his hips. You didn’t need much encouragement.

“Dean,” you whispered, between heated kisses, hands wandering down your body, exploring soft curves and warmth over clothing.

“Hmm?” he said, into your mouth. It was distracting, but you found the strength to slow things down, gently taking his face into your hands.

You both caught your breath for a moment. It allowed Dean to see the thread of uncertainty in your gaze, even though you caressed his stubble-covered cheeks.

“I just…do you…is this…” you tried, but your brain seemed to be on a short fuse. You blamed his sinful lips entirely.

Said lips drew into a smirk. Dean’s hands moved up your thighs and held your waist less gripping, more comforting (and claiming).

“I really do, and damn straight it is,” he said, slightly teasing. He did lean back in to press a gentler kiss to your lips.

“Trust me,” he said, as he became more serious. “If you want more from this…”

At that, your uncertainty melted into warmth. You released his face, holding onto his shoulders instead.

“Yeah, Dean,” you nodded. “More than anything, yes.”

He read your sincerity, and it warmed him too. Again, he gave into the urge to brush his thumb against your blushing cheek.

“I uh…I had a feeling it was always gonna be you,” he said.

You raised a brow at that, even though your smile threatened to unravel him further.

“Oh, yeah? How long?” you asked.

Dean pretended to think.

“Since that first batch of oatmeal cream pies,” he said, with a cheeky grin. “Pretty sure I was marked from there on out.”

And not just because he’d been imagining what you’d be like to taste, ever since.

You giggled, though you gestured with your eyes at the charred pan next to you on the counter.

“Guess I should try again on that pie. Wonder what that’ll get me,” you hedged, letting your thumb graze his neck. Dean smirked.

“All right, sure. Remind me to pick up a new fire extinguisher,” he said.

You guffawed and hit his shoulder, but he just laughed and pulled you in for another kiss.

It was sweet enough on its own.

AN: I know, I know. I'm a sap. 😂 Let me know what you thought of this pie-filled episode! 🥧 💕

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean Winchester One-Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma

@iprobablyshipit91 @melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy

@wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons

@anticxrrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk

@midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19 @agalliasi @venicesem

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx

@candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester

@chernayawidow @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse

[littlemarianah]

Katniss is a cleaning lady on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. And on the weekends she work as a bartender all night.

Looks like a zombie most of the time. But it's for Prim. Soon the girl will go to college and Katniss's work will be complete. Just two more years, from Prim.

Katniss doesn't even have time to make food, she buys a bunch of junk food to eat while she's on the bus to work. Thai food, street hot dogs and any cheap scnak she can find.

Every day she passes in front of that damn bakery. While she eats that hard, tasteless microwave burger. They show off those cheese buns, cupcakes and cream croissant. Is cruel.

When she gets her paycheck on Wednesday she finds a way. Pays for Prim's asthma medicine first, which is a fortune. Pays for electricity and food for the week. There is still 11.32 dollars left. She takes a bus and now has 9.67 left.

She enters the bakery, smelling like bleach. Her hands are red from scrubbing tiles. Her hair is messy in a braid made many hours ago. She hides the uniform logo with her coat. It's kind of embarrassing to everyone to know that she cleans bathrooms to survive.

Especially in that bakery with the white floors and chic wooden counters. Everyone there seems to have a lot of money.

They only sell the bread package. 13.99 for 500 grams of cheese bread . She takes a deep breath.

She has 9.67 on her debit card.

She finds a dollar bill in her pocket, very crumpled.

Now it's 10.67 dollars.

She throws the coins on the counter while the baker looks at her confused. She has 1.75 in quarters.

All she has is 12.47 dollars. That's all the money.

She could cry now.

"If you don't have money, you better get out of here. The line is getting long" The baker says it sharply.

Katniss's eyes fill with fury, but she is so tired and so hungry. She just wants those buns. That damn idiot. She wished she could punch him in the face.

"Hey Bran, let me take care of this" the other baker comes. The other baker comes. Your nametag says 'Peeta'

"Listen, I think I have five dollars somewhere" she says.

"It's "It's okay, give me the coins and the dollar bill to help with my change and I'll give you the bread."

She suddenly turns red, her eyes can fill with tears.

She is so happy, but she can only say it harshly "I'm not a beggar"

"I know, that's why I'm asking for the coins" He reacts well, he wants to help her, but he doesn't want her to feel bad. The other baker rolls his eyes and sighs.

"OK thanks." she says awkwardly.

He smiles and she smiles back. He takes the coins and she keeps the bread.

Katniss cries as she walks home. Eating those chesse bread that just came out of the oven. She would never be able to repay that.

[hyperfixated-on-cod]

Some Captain Price headcanons bc I’m in a silly goofy mood🤭

Most of this will be NSFW, so MDNI🔞

He will make you the best meal you’ve ever had in your LIFE but he cannot bake to save his damn life. He’s too used to cooking where it’s not a huge deal if measurements are estimated, and he’s stubborn AF, so when you say to him “1 teaspoon means 1 teaspoon,” he’s like “nah that’s just a suggestion” and next thing he knows his cupcakes have exploded in the oven.

If you say you want to go to Home Depot with him, he’ll look at you like a child who just got the present at the top of their Christmas wishlist. He also gets really excited when he sees a “nice looking piece of wood” and doesn’t understand why you’re not equally excited.

HATES war movies but still reads a chaotic amount of military history books.

The only way you are able to get him whimpering for you is if you surprise him at work by hiding under his desk and sucking his cock right then and there while he’s trying so hard to remain productive (albeit, the effort is futile at best).

He is a WHORE for blowjobs in the car, whether he’s actively driving or not.

He will try almost any kink once but one of his favorites is cuckolding (second only to breeding, duh🤪).

Idc what anybody says, bratty doms exist and that’s exactly what John Price is.

If you two are having to spend significant time away from each other (like if he’s on deployment), he’ll send you photos and videos of him jerking off just to tease you. Sound on, looking into the camera while he thinks of you so you can really watch and listen to him cum as if you’re there with him.

Loves when you call him “Captain” or “Sir” while he’s fucking you.

Also a whore for intimacy, sometimes sexual, sometimes not. Anything from slow dancing in the kitchen to Frank Sinatra, to slowly undressing you, to wholesome, passionate, romantic sex.

[hellowhisperingstars]

Chapter Three: The Luncheon

Summary: Your day is disrupted when your father comes calling demanding you join him and his new partners for lunch.

Pairing: Rockstar/Bar Owner!Eddie Munson x Baker!Reader

Words: 5K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, cussing, Y/N used, alcohol, overly pleasant people and one smug bastard. I think that's it. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Chapter three! Sorry it's taken so long to get out. I'm taking my time with this story to make sure it flows correctly! Please let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! Enjoy!

Previous - Masterlist - Forward

It’s been a few days since you woke up in Eddie’s bed and you haven’t heard from or seen him, which honestly didn’t surprise you since you didn’t exactly leave anything for him to contact you with. Well, there was always Steve. But you didn’t want to put that on your cousin, so you just shrugged it off and got back to your normal routine. 

Before you left the front to Marty and Emma who were helping customers at the two registers you wandered around the front of the shop making sure everything was in place, shelves were restocked, and cafe tables were clean. Satisfied, you headed into the kitchen and over to the corkboard filled with all the orders that had been placed within the last few days; an anniversary cookie cake for Thursday pickup, a batch of cupcakes with a smash cake for a one year old for tomorrow, a pie for Saturday, another cake for Monday. Cupcakes and smash cake it was. “Vanilla and chocolate marble smash cake with vanilla and chocolate cupcakes. Blue and red whip cream frosting with Elmo on the cake. Easy Peasy.” 

Pulling the order from the board you slipped it into your apron pocket and got to work. The three of you girls worked around each other seamlessly. Not once did one of you get in the way of another as you moved around grabbing mixers, bowls, cake pans, and other things you’d need to bake these cakes. 

For you baking was easy, simple science, the best kind of science. The kind you get to eat after it's done. Eggs, milk, oil, sugar, flour, and all the good things that make your little science experiments successful, delicious, experiments. 

Glancing over the items on the counter in your section of the kitchen you rolled up your flannel sleeves and got to work. After years of doing this you were able to get both the vanilla and chocolate cake mixed up in almost no time. Grabbing two large cupcake pans you dropped some liners in and reached for the ice cream scoop to fill them. Scoop by scoop you fill the pans to the appropriate height first the vanilla and then the chocolate. With both cupcake tins now full, you grab the small cake pan and with the scoop you drop dollop after dollop of both the vanilla and chocolate batter into it until it's at the proper height before grabbing a spatula giving the batter a little swirl to make it look more marbled. Tapping the tins one by one on the counter to get the air bubbles out of the cake until no more popped to the surface. Satisfied, you grab both cupcake pans and take them to the oven smiling at Ada as she opened it for you. “Thanks Ada.”

“No problem.” She smiled watching you place the pans into the open mouth before she turned and grabbed the marbled cake pan for you and brought it back to be placed inside as well. “Last one.”

“Damn you’re good.” You laugh as you set the timers and move back to your spot to clean up before you could get started on the whipped cream frosting. You stacked the mixing bowls on top of each other with all the bits and bobbles that you had used and carried them to the sink to wash, turning on the faucet you checked the temperature and started scrubbing, placing the clean items onto the drying rack as you went. Taking the sponge from the sink you wring it out before moving back to your spot and cleaning the counter of any spilled batter before going to toss the sponge back into the sink and wash your hands. Drying them on the apron around your waist you checked the timers and started to set up your station to start on the frosting.

Tiffany does the toothpick test on the cakes when the timers go off and takes the cupcakes out to cool, leaving the cake inside to bake for a little longer. She winked at you as she grabbed a tray of macarons and took them out front for the display case. 

It was while you were mixing the ingredients of the frosting that Steve showed up. You heard his voice from the shop and Marty poked his head around the wall to look at you slightly confused. 

"Someone named Steve, is here to see you?" His thick dark brown brow quirked up in question.

“Oh yeah he’s my cousin. Go ahead and send him back.” You said over the sound of the mixer. You watched him nod and then disappear again.

“Hey Birdie,” Steve said as he sauntered into your kitchen looking around before he saw you and walked towards you. “You would not believe how annoying Eddie is.” 

“Hmm?”

“He has not stopped asking about you. 'Harrington, have you heard from her?', 'Steve! Is she going to come back?', and my personal favorite, the act of desperation, he got on his knees and begged me for your number.” 

“And you didn't give it to him?” You asked as you looked over your shoulder at him. 

“One, I didn't want to invade your privacy. Two, I didn't know if you even wanted him to have it since you left him without a word the next morning. And three, I think it's funny to watch him beg.” Steve said as he crossed his arms leaning back against the counter next to you. 

“You are both a great cousin and a horrible friend all in one. Kudos.” You laugh as the second timer goes off. Turning from the mixer you grab an oven mitt and open the oven doing your own toothpick test before taking the cake from inside, setting it next to the cupcakes to cool. Checking the heat you start tapping the top of the cupcakes and nod to yourself as you start to take the tiny cakes from the pan setting them to the side. "So,” You look over at Steve, “When should we schedule that taste test? And how many people?" 

“Oh shit yeah, how does Tuesday sound? The bar is closed during the day anyway and there will probably be four. Me, Robs, Dustin, and… Eddie I think…” Steve said as he counted on his fingers giving you a side glance to see your reaction. 

You smirked, “Okay… you really think Eddie would want to come to my little bakery?” 

“I think if I tell him you'll be here he'd be gone in a puff of Eddie shaped dust and here in five seconds.” Steve laughed as he scratched his neck looking at you with a narrowed gaze as he walked closer to you. “Are you a witch? I've never seen him like this about anyone.” 

“Maybe I have a magical vagin-”

“Do not finish that sentence.” He said sternly pointing at you. “I don't need to know about your sexu-”

Plucking an oatmeal raisin cookie from the cooling sheet next to you, you shoved it into his open mouth with a laugh. “Then don't ask stupid questions.”

He glared at you as he chewed on the cookie taking it from his lips to look down at it. “Holy shit that's good.” 

“Thanks!” Tiffany smirked as she walked back in from the front. “You should pick up some more before you leave!” 

“I might," He said with a wink to her. Tiffany just laughed as she grabbed a few more display trays and went back out front. 

“So what's her story?” He said, snapping his fingers at you with little finger guns. “Should I turn on the charm?”

“She's married and has a five year old.” You laugh as you move back to the mixer to check the consistency of the frosting. Once it was where you wanted it you separated the cream into two different bowls adding food coloring and folded it in so the white slowly became blue and red. “What happened to the brunette you went all Dracula on at the bar?”

“Turns out she's got a boyfriend.” He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, “They got into a fight. So she and her friends decided to go out to spite him.”

“Did you sleep with her?!” You asked with wide eyes looking over at him. You stopped your mixing so you could lean your hip against the counter one hand braced on the top.

“No,” He shook his head. “I tried but she felt bad for leading me on and told me at the last minute.” 

“I'm sorry.” You mumbled as you looked back at your station and started to scoop the frosting into piping bags, twisting the tops and setting them aside. “That was really shitty of her. But at least she told you.”

“It happens," He shrugged. “Now. Enough about my sad dating life. Tell me about what happened between you and Eddie.”

“You just said you didn’t want to know about my sexcapades!”

“I wanna know!” Ada said around a mouth full of food from the lunch table by your office, a sandwich in her hands. “You didn’t tell us any kind of gossip on New Years day! Tiff! The dude's name was Eddie!”

Tiffany scurried in and looked at you in almost shock. “Eddie!? You slept with a guy named Eddie?!”

“Oh my god please say it louder,” You cried throwing your hands up in the air. “I don’t think they heard you in Chicago!”

Steve laughed at you and your friends. “He’s actually a really good guy!” 

“Oh I’m sure he is.” Tiffany said as she smirked at you. “He’s also pretty good in bed apparently. She was walking a little funny when she came in!”

“Tiffany!” You huffed as you chucked an oven mitt at her causing everyone to laugh in the room as she ducked and stuck her tongue out at you. 

Steve chuckled as he braced his arms behind him on the counter watching as you chased Tiffany around the island in the middle of the kitchen, Ada now standing by the lunch table pointing her finger at you while all three of you girls starting to bicker about your night with Eddie and how they needed to stay out of your sex life. He liked seeing you like this, open and carefree. It was great, so different from when you were living with your father. Having grown up with you in the same family he knows how much they can drag you down. Their constant need to be perfect and for the world so see them as such was exhausting. 

A loud cough sounded through the kitchen effectively silencing the loud bickering laughter of the girls. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. In the doorway leading to the back parking lot stood your father, in all his perfectly pressed suited glory. He was glaring at you with his hands behind his back.

“Uh, hey… Dad.” You said as you looked over at him the previously thrown oven mitt now back in your hand ready to be chucked again. The fun vacated your body in a swoosh the moment you heard his voice.

“Uncle Richard.” Steve nodded as he stood up straight. It amazed him how his mother was related to this man, she wasn’t great in her own right but at least she didn’t kill any kind of joy by just walking into the room.

“Hi Mr. Y/L/N,” Ada and Tiffany said simultaneously with little awkward waves. 

"Y/N. Steven. Ladies. Hate to interrupt." That was a lie you knew, he loved to butt in. “If I could have a moment with my daughter. Privately.”

“Uhh, yeah. We can talk in there.” You nodded and gestured over to your office as you looked at the others. Sticking your hand in your apron pocket you took the order card out and handed it and the oven mitt to Tiffany. “Will you finish up frosting this please?”

“No problem.” She nodded as she took the items and headed to your abandoned station.

Steve looked between you and your dad. He had a bad feeling about this. Watching as your dad moved to the office and entered waiting for you to join him. He pushed himself off the counter and moved over towards you giving you a hug. “Let me know what he says okay? I’ll get back to you about Tuesday.”

“Yeah. That sounds good,” You nodded, giving him a smile and a small hug as you walked towards your office. Clearing your throat you moved through the doorway and into the room with your dad. Closing the door behind you, you turned and smiled at your dad who was sitting on the old yellow couch that sat against the wall next to your desk. "You wanted to talk?"

“Yes.” He said as he stood up. He always had to be above the person he was talking to, trying to prove his authority over them. Over you. He wanted to make you feel small. “I'm having a luncheon Tuesday afternoon that will lead into a tea for the ladies while the men go talk business. I expect you to be there early, dressed appropriately, and ready to entertain.” 

“I can't on Tuesday. I just made plans with Steve to do a taste test. I'll be preparing for that all morning and then I have to clean up and then I hav-”

“Reschedule.” He stated like it wasn’t a big deal. To him it wasn’t. “Or have one of the girls do it. It's just a tasting for your silly little bakery.” 

You felt your back start to tense. He never liked the idea of your bakery, thought it was beneath you and a waste of time, since you come from the very distinguished Y/L/N family. It obviously wasn’t as important as his own company doing god knows what. You didn’t care. “This bakery isn’t silly. It’s my business and it’s important to me. Why can’t you just be proud of me for that?” 

“Y/N, this lunch is important to me.” Your father snapped as he looked over at you, his eyes narrowing. “The Malloy’s will be there. They are very big on family. I need the support of my family to make me look good. You owe me for skipping out early on the New Years Party. Peter Malloy was very upset that he didn’t get to talk to you that night.”

You bite your bottom lip in frustration trying to keep yourself from saying something you’ll regret, like how you didn’t give a shit about Peter Malloy, after a moment you took a breath and just nodded your head. You knew leaving early would come back to bite you in the ass. But then you thought of Eddie. Eddie with his big brown doe eyes and charming smile. Yeah, you didn’t regret that, you would leave a million parties to see him again. But you owed your dad this much. “I’ll reschedule with Steve. What time should I be there?”

“Ten. So you have time to get presentable. Lunch will be served at noon, with tea to follow for you, Evelyn, Mrs. Malloy and your grandmother. Bring some of your little desserts. I’m sure the ladies would love that.”

“Sure...” 

Tuesday afternoon was here and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes for the twelfth time. You’ve counted. Your father was boasting, as he does, about how much of a family man he was, how much he loved you and Evelyn, and how proud he was of you for your schooling. It was sick, quite honestly.

The before lunch re-introductions had been awkward to say the least, you had met them once before but since you avoided them at the New Years Party your father wanted to make sure you knew exactly who his new business partners were. Mr. Malloy, whose first name you learned was Lewis, was a quiet man, calm, and serious. Salt and pepper hair styled perfectly in no nonsense look and his tan skin was starting to wrinkle around the eyes and his mouth a little like it was stretched into a permanent frown. His handshake was firm when you greeted each other. Has this man ever smiled a day in his life?

Mrs. Malloy was almost the exact opposite. She was all smiles and slightly more energetic than her husband was. At least it looked like this woman had a passion for life. She was busy chatting with your stepmother when you entered the dining room and shook her husband's hand. She clocked you immediately, breaking away from Evelyn, who looked very annoyed at the rebuff, to come over to you as you walked from the two men towards your grandmother. 

“Y/N, it’s so nice to see you again.” She said getting your attention. 

You turn with a smile. “Hello Mrs. Malloy. How are you?”

“Charlotte, please, Mrs. Malloy makes me sound so old. I’ve been well, thank you for asking! How have you been? It’s a shame we didn’t get a chance to talk at the New Years Party.”

“I’m sorry about that. Something came up and I had to leave earlier than expected.” Like the fact that you didn’t want to be there to begin with. 

Mrs. Malloy, you probably would never call her Charlotte, waved her hand in the air like she was brushing away your excuse with a light smile on her face. “Sometimes things happen that are out of our control. I’m just glad to see you were able to join us for lunch!”

Glancing around the room she found the person she was looking for and waved him over. “You remember my son, Peter?”

“Of course.” You nodded as he walked over, more like strutted really. Once he was close enough you held your hand out for a shake. “It’s a pleasure to see you again Peter.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” He said as he grabbed your hand, but instead of shaking it he flipped it over in his grasp and kissed your knuckles trying to act like a gentleman. Out of the corner of your eye you see his mother smiling proudly. His hand was soft, so different from Eddie’s rough ones, like he hadn’t worked a single day of hard labor in his life and he probably hadn’t. The smile on his face made you want to rip your hand away. He thought he was charming. Smarmy was the term that came to mind when you look at him. He had a very punchable face in your opinion. You hated him already. It’s not that he wasn’t attractive. He was and the problem is he knew it, his green eyes stood out against his tanned skin and dark hair. Peter was the spitting image of this father. He was tall and muscular, almost too bulky, much different from the lean muscle of Eddie. 

Before he could utter another word your father announced that lunch was now ready and you could all take your seats. Slowly you slip your hand away from his grip as you force a smile that turns into a real one when your grandmother comes over handing you a tall glass of iced tea. 

“I think you’ll need this.” She says with a wink as she pats your back and gestures to the table.

Now you find yourself sitting at the long table in the dining room, all you had to do was get through this and the tea to get through and you are home free. The chairs were seated in such a way that your father and Mr. Malloy sat at the opposite heads of the table while you got stuck next to Evelyn and thankfully your grandmother. Peter, who was sitting across from you, his mother to his left close to his father, was being his normal creepy self and was pretty much just staring at you throughout the entire meal, throwing you sly smiles and the weird occasional eyebrow lift. If this was him flirting he was failing horrendously all it did was make you even more uncomfortable then you already were. Oscar, your fathers assistant, had also joined you for lunch and was sitting to the right of Peter, next to your father. Up his ass as always.

Taking in a deep breath you grabbed your tall glass of iced tea, that your grandmother had lovingly turned into a Long Island, and downed the last bit of it praying to any god that would listen for this to just be over with. You couldn’t handle your stepmother's fake laughter, Peter’s nonstop staring, or your father talking anymore. Placing the glass back on the table you pushed your hair from your face and smiled a little at Mrs. Malloy as she looked over at you. 

She wiped the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin before setting it back in her lap. “Your father tells us that you like to bake in your spare time.”

Frustration bloomed in your chest. Baking wasn’t just a hobby for you, it was a passion of yours, it was how you made a living. You clenched your fist in your lap as you put on a fake smile for the lady. “I wouldn’t really say it’s ‘in my spare time’. I own a bakery called Sugar Cloud in Hawkins. It's in a small town about an hour away. I’m the head baker. I’ve always loved baking so I made it into my job. I enjoy sharing it with others.”

“How lovely!” Mrs. Malloy smiled as she looked over at Peter and her husband who didn’t look as impressed. “We’ll have to go and see it someday soon!”

“I would love that!” You nodded, hoping that they never stepped foot into your safe haven. 

“She brought some treats for us to have with our tea after lunch!” Evelyn said as she looked around the table also pretending to be proud of you. 

“I’m sure they will be delicious!” Mrs. Malloy said as she took a sip of her drink.

“I hope you brought those lemon squares.” Nana said as she finished the small sandwich on her plate. “You know how I love those.”

“I did!” You gave her a genuine smile and leaned over a bit. “I also brought a few extra just for you. They're in a different box in the small fridge.”

The pleased look your Nana gave you was worth all this. Her and Steve were the only two people in this family who were actually proud of all you accomplished. "Thank you Birdie."

“Anything for you Nana.” You grin, bumping her shoulder very gently with your own.

The rest of lunch went by with mostly the men talking and the ladies putting in their two cents every once in a while. Slowly you stood from your chair when everyone was finished, pushing it back enough that you could get out and step to the side waiting for your grandmother to get up. 

Nana stood gracefully and wrapped her arm through yours as you walked from the dining room towards the formal living room. The floral couches and chairs were definitely something you would never want in your house, it just continues to show Evelyn's terrible taste. 

“You ladies have a nice tea.” Mr. Malloy said as he pats his wife's back gently. “I’ll just be in the study with Richard, Peter, and Oscar discussing business.”

“We’ll see you soon.” Mrs. Malloy said as she moved into the room taking a seat on the first available plush chair as the four men headed towards the study. 

“I’ll be right back,” You mutter, making sure your grandmother is comfortable on the couch before you try and get away for a moment of quiet. You needed some time to breathe away from all the stuffiness of this lunch. 

“Go get some air.” Your grandmother said, patting your arm before waving you off gently with a smile. 

You smiled back with a nod and headed out of the room after you muttered a quick excuse. Taking the first left, you entered the bathroom and closed the door behind you leaning against it as you took a breath. This place was exhausting. Maybe Daniel and Alice would like some help. Taking a little more time in the bathroom to freshen up you nodded at your reflection before heading out of the room and walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, as you got closer you heard the hustle and bustle of your fathers personal chef Daniel and the housemaid Alice getting things prepared for tea. They were a lovely couple who met, fell in love, and got married all while working for your father. Peeking your head in you smiled at them. “Need a hand?”

Daniel laughed as he looked over his shoulder at you as he set the two teapots on the burner, “My god, where have you been, young lady?”

“Ah! Y/N!” Alice grinned as she looked up from setting four tea cups on a tray. “How are you? Get in here and give me a hug!”

“I’m okay! Living in Hawkins now!” You say as you walk into the kitchen laughing as you hug the older woman. “How are you doing? How are the kids?”

“They are just fine!” Daniel said as he turned to grab the box of treats you brought with you from the fridge and placed it on the island counter. “Justin is student council president of his eighth grade class and Kayla is graduating high school this year!”

“That’s amazing! Come to Sugar Cloud and I’ll give you a great deal on a cake for her!” You smiled widely as you let Alice go so she could get the plates that sit in the three tier serving tray. Holding your hands out for the plates that Alice held you got to work helping them get the trays set up nicely making sure everything looked presentable. “In the small fridge next to Nana’s lemon squares is another box that has a triple chocolate cake slice and a strawberry shortcake for you guys!”

“You didn’t have to do that!” Daniel smiled as he poured some hot water into the waiting teapots to warm them up before dumping that and adding more water through the tea strainer to let the leaves steep. 

“I wanted to. As a thank you for putting up with all of this!” You said your hands gesturing towards the tea items. 

“Thank you Dear!” Alice said as she placed the now ready pots on the tray with the tea cups. “Best get these out!”

“I’ll grab this!” You said pointing to the three tier tray. Giving Daniel a quick hug you carefully grab the stand and head out with Alice back into the formal living room, just wishing for this to be over already.

Finally this awful afternoon was over and as soon as the guests were gone you could book it out of this hell. Mrs. Malloy praised you for the delicious treats, you just smiled and thanked her graciously standing to the side just waiting for them to get out. 

Peter took a moment to separate from the group and come over to you. “It was nice seeing you today. I’m sorry we didn’t get to chat at the party.”

“Yeah,” You said with a forced smile. “Something came up and I had to leave. I hope the lunch was to your liking?”

“It was. Your fathers chef is fantastic.”

“Daniel will be pleased to hear it!” 

“Peter,” Mr. Malloy called, waving his hand at his son getting both of your attention. “We’re leaving now.”

“Be right there.” Looking back at you he smiled and placed his hand on your upper arm making your skin crawl and you tried hard not to pull away from him. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Sure,” You nod a little, as he gave you a wink and walked away from you grabbing his jacket from his mother before shaking your dads hand and then headed out the door.

Turning away you start back to the living room to help clean up. You didn’t want to leave it all to just Alice.

“Y/N.” Your father called as he walked after you grabbing your arm to turn you back towards him. “I need you to play nice with Peter. He likes you. Give him anything he wants.”

Pulling your arms out of his grasp you nod your head with a small frown as he turns to leave. What the fuck was that about?

You find out what your father meant when only a few days later while you were about to head down for a day of work in the kitchen, your house phone rang. Sighing in annoyance you moved quickly to it and grabbed the phone from its perch. “Hello?”

“Y/N? It’s Peter.” He said, you could hear the smug grin in his voice. 

Rolling your eyes you put your forehead against the wall cursing yourself for not just ignoring the call. “Peter. Hi. How are you?”

“Great thanks for asking! Listen,” He didn’t even ask how you were. Rude. “I was wondering if you were free tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night?” Glancing up at your calendar you see the blank spot where Saturday sat and glared at it. You could make something up, but your fathers voice rang through your head. ‘Play nice with Peter.’ “Uh, no I have nothing planned.”

“Great! How would you like to go with me to dinner? Say seven? I know a place in Indianapolis that you are going to love.” 

Biting back a groan you bang your head against the wall as quietly as possible. ‘Give him anything he wants.’ Through gritted teeth you force yourself to play nice. “Sure. That sounds awesome.”

“Mark your calendar. I’ll call you tomorrow with the details.” He laughs, “And wear something fancy. I’ll see you then.”

He hung up without so much as a real goodbye. Glaring at the phone in your hand you stick your tongue out at it and slam it back into its home. “Fuck.”

Tag List:

@theonlyh3artbreaker @eddiesprincess86 @haylaansmi

[honeybeecomebuzzingme]

I want to see if this works to help me sleep, I'm not sure if it will, but here we go.

Instead of staying up all night cleaning I decided I'd experiment with baking.

I decided to use up some tinned fruit and make cupcakes. However, I misjudged the cooking temperature and times. I didn't give them a chance to rise in the oven... They were burnt in the top but gooey in the middle and stuck to the cases.

I believe I made a good attempt though because I haven't baked or cooked for so long and that I'm able to know what I did wrong with the recipe I made up is good.

When I bake I feel closer to my Mum and I don't understand why my dad doesn't remember doing things like this when I was younger. I remember we baked and decorated cakes for my birthdays over the years but for some reason he doesn't remember doing that. It makes me feel like my entire childhood and all of my good memories are retcons and falsehoods.

My life is like the crash bandicoot series.

Looking back at the beautiful PlayStation one games, created by naughty dog, it gave me everything I could ever ask in my life and I was able to see so many things.

My dad could never comprehend the beauty in a fluffy orange fictional devil...

Cos damn, I don't forget that crash was my first love for obvious reasons - look at how ginger half my partners have been!

Where was I with this metaphor actually?

Oh yes, sometimes with my dad the good parts of my childhood and relationships with my family are likewise forgotten about like the crash bandicoot games that were made for the PlayStation 2 by those other developers... Ehrrrhmmm? 🤔

Spyro had the same treatment in my opinion but that's up for debate cos I am too tired to go reading about Spyro this time of now morning. A lot of people I know associated the PlayStation with Crash Bandicoot and the PlayStation 2 could be more Ratchet and Clank, Jak and Daxter, and Sly Cooper. But let's say I see the PS2 as dominated by a gorgeous silver haired dude in the red trench coat. (I have tattoos for this, I love video games).

I want to talk more about video games because I realized that that is the main thing that I wanted to do with my life.

Crash doesn't really need to be talked about when I should be asleep...

The point I was trying to make at some point I think was the whole I feel like my dad doesn't remember or doesn't acknowledge the parts of my childhood that were good with my mum and how she inspired me to become a gamer nerd 🤓 inspired me a lot really with art and music and writing. All of the things that I went on to study were because of my mum and all of the friends that I have that are lifelong friends, like my Nakama, and I love them all so much they are like family.

Crash Bandicoot reminds me that you go on adventures and when you're fighting against a boss it means you're going in the right direction... Also remember to save the game and go back to the first island to get wumpa fruit and grind until you have enough lives to face the big baddy daddy.

Life is in the game? 💪😁

Anyway, Nakama is Ohana, brother is like a family man. I love all my friends! 😍💗🥰

[storiesofsvu]

Can I request Heather Dunbar x Jackie Sharp x Reader with “just frost the damn cupcakes,” please?

Poly Duckie x reader Covers the "baking disaster" square for bingo. warnings: language, alcohol consumption, some sass, that's about it. just a lil drabble.

You and Jackie were drunk, there was no doubting that.

Okay, maybe drunk was the wrong word, tipsy was better aligned with the state of your inebriation. But it was finally the Christmas holidays and all three of you finally fucking had time off work, time to yourselves, and of course, a holiday party to prep for. A holiday party that you and Jackie were more than okay completely forgetting, ready to spend the time off with only the three of you. However, Heather... was Heather, and always had to host at least three events between December 20th and January 1st.

She'd left to have lunch with the kids, leaving you and Jackie with the task of baking. It wasn't hard, she wasn't entrusting you with making things from scratch, she'd left some pilsbury sugar cookie packs in the fridge and pre-made mix for cupcakes and icing in the pantry. You'd pouted, rolling your eyes as Jackie let out a groan, both of you knowing just how much she hated being in the kitchen, but baking specifically. Heather simply tsk'd at the two of you, pressing soft kisses to the top of both of your heads before shooting you a warning glare and leaving the house.

You and Jackie knew you had a few hours before she would be back, opting to crack a fresh bottle of champagne for more mimosas. Because, what was the point of the holidays if not for day drinking? And what did day drinking lead to? Wandering hand of course.

With the freedom of no work or responsibility, Jackie's brat side was always more prevalent, especially when Heather wasn't around and she knew she could get away with far more. It started with her undoing the blue satin robe she had on, leaving it open so you could get a glimpse of the lingerie set she had on underneath. Then it lead to her abandoning the robe all together. Little giggles and smirks, lips meeting gently, teeth nipping at skin while her fingers danced across your body. Finally you were able to convince her to do *some* baking, getting the pilsbury cookies onto a baking tray and into the preheated oven.

Once the oven door was shut Jackie had you softly pinned to the counter, lips making a home in the crook of your neck as her fingers started to undo your robe. It wasn't until one of you smelt burning that you realized you'd forgotten to set the timer.

You let out a low swear, pulling the very crispy cookies out of the oven, grimacing across at Jackie. She simply shrugged with a grin and poured out a couple of fresh mimosas.

Figuring that you should at least try and have something presentable for Heather when came home you pulled down the cake mix and urged Jackie to grab the ingredients from the fridge that you needed.

There were still wandering hands and little laughs, stolen kisses and the like while you worked, but at least this time they made it into the oven and you made sure to set a timer.

By the time Heather got home, she rounded into the kitchen to one hell of a scene. The island was covered in baking ingredients, spilled cake mix, a dropped egg, a cup of empty eggshells, dirty dishes and more, but at least there were twenty cupcakes cooling on their cooling racks and they looked presentable. Jackie had at least put her robe back on, but had you lifted up onto the counter while her lips danced across your skin, fingers playing with the knot in your robe. You gasped when she bit your neck and your eyes flew open, cheeks flushing instantly at the sight of Heather.

"I see you two are having fun?" She raised a somewhat unimpressed brow and Jackie finally pulled away from your skin, a wicked grin on her cheeks as she giggled.

"We got the cupcakes done, didn't we?"

"And the cookies?"

"Might have forgotten the timer on those ones." You winced as her eyes swept over the pile of blackened goods.

"Well how about you two get your hands off each other and finish the one job I left you with?"

You let out an embarrassed giggle, slipping off the counter and tying your robe before washing your hands. Heather got you started and helped the two of you with your task but naturally it was only a matter of time before Jackie's finger swiped through the icing, first sucking it into her mouth, moaning over the taste. When you let out a whine of a scoff that she was treating herself she repeated the process but wiped it off onto your nose, pulling a loud giggle from you. You were about to retaliate when Heather managed to snag the icing container before you could get to it. She gave the two of you a scolding look,

"just frost the damn cupcakes please."

"you're no fun." Jackie pouted, wiping the icing off your nose before holding her finger up so you could suck it off.

"Sorry m'am." you mumbled and Heather leant in, pressing a kiss to your cheek before looking at Jackie.

"See, that's how good girls behave. Now she'll get rewarded tonight. You on the other hand?" She raised a brow, "there's no doubt you were the instigator in all of this."

"Maybe that was the point." Jackie smirked and Heather swatted at her ass.

"At the very least you could have poured me a mimosa."

"All you had to do was ask."

"Thank god one of you behaves." Heather muttered with a roll of her eyes, turning back to you with a soft smile as she noticed you were properly icing the cupcakes now.

"Sorry about the cookies." You frowned.

"It's alright." Heat huffed, pulling another two boxes out of the grocery bag she'd come home with, "I knew the two of you would probably fuck something up."

"I'll preheat the oven then." Jackie grinned, passing off a mimosa to Heather while swiping the cookies to tray up.

"Finally."

_____________

@svulife-rl @naturalxselection @clarawatson @yesterdaysgone @hbkpop @momlifebehard @alexusonfire @daddy-heather-dunbar @dead-of-niight @borg-queer

[orleans-jester]

Roommate Go-Go HCs

Although she’d lay claim to the bed - hey, Dale pretty much gave her the option, she was taking it, if there were times when she felt like she couldn’t sleep, she’d wake him and tell him that he could take it. She pulls a lot of all nighters while working on projects, so he’ll get it probably half of the time.

She’ll usually bring home some leftovers from work for the two of them. Omurice mainly, sometimes sandwiches, curry with rice, and desserts every once in a while, cupcakes that unfortunately have drawings of the maids tucked into them. Go-Go always makes sure that Dale never gets one of her.

When she gets into a project, like the wheelchair which she’d do in the bedroom because he’s weird about seeing what she’s doing, she’ll neglect food and sleep until she’s finished, she gets extremely focused like that.

When she does eventually leave, things will be better than they were before. She was like Willem and his dolls, always tinkering. The oven will have better circulation, the toaster will work quicker, automatic soap dispenser built onto the bathroom and kitchen sinks, boosted the reception on the television, increased the water pressure in the shower, made the dishwasher run more silently, and upgraded Elsa’s vacuum for better suction.

It’ll be near impossible to catch her in her work uniform. She changes at work, both before her shift and after, just so she doesn’t have to ride back with the humiliation.

There are times when she might be caught in the bathroom, practicing “cute” expressions for work because the main complaint that she gets is that she’s not kawaii enough. And then she often sticks her tongue out and makes fun of herself under her breath. If it wasn’t for the damn money...

She steals her bike from her house along with some of her other things, so she’s able to get to and from work when the weather isn’t bad, so she’s not bugging Dale for rides or anything. Once in a while, she’ll get a ride from one of her racing friends if there is unfortunate weather because no one wants a drowned-looking cat-maid to serve their drinks.

She doesn’t invite people over or anything - except for Scout, she’s really respectful of the place. She’s also not a neatfreak but she does clean up after herself, even if it’s a few hours later.

Redline, Hackers and Tetsuo The Iron Man 1 are her comfort movies, so if she’s curled up with those and big headphones, she’s not having a good day.

If theres anytime that Dale’s laundry ends up with hers, she’ll usually fling it back at him clean. Like full on slingshot his underwear to his face. Dunk his pants on his head so the legs are up like pigtails.

Also this scene comes to mind and I don’t know why???(cute tho)

[signoftheswine]

The elitism of someone taking a spirit flight is gross. The impossibility of flight, to hurl through the sky and get to a completely new city in a few hours is a god damn miracle. And yet the middle class has the audacity to judge someone for taking a spirit flight because you can afford to sit in a greasy leather seat and watch a marvel movie in a 6x6 blurry screen while flight waitresses serve you gingerbread cookies and 25% of a coke can. What do they do with rest of the soda can?

That’s if you’re lucky enough to get that on a short spirit flight but who fucking cares. You’re inside an air stream, hurling 600mph through the sky and you could potentially have a window seat. The only reason you know this experience is real is that you end up in the city that you put your credit card number in via Priceline.com and the pilot announces the city, time zone and gate. AirPods exist. Daydreaming exists. Listening to the hum of the engine, ascending into the sky almost vertically until you become horizontal to the continent and boredom persists unless you’re one of the chosen ones that realizes the miracle of flight via the window seat. And somehow, these mostly men in their starched white shirts and rolling suitcases can land these drones filled with hundreds of genetic mutations gently onto tarmacs that start on the edge of the sea *cough San Francisco cough.*

Somehow this is seen as normal. That comfort over the miracle of flying above mountains and oceans and valleys and cities and flatness and and whatever it is that makes states, states is just taken for boring and waiting in like to go pee, and waking up from a coma like sleep to get the snacks and ignore the person you’re touching shoulders with. A bizarre, miraculous, experience. And the fact that some of us can get there in smaller seats, or packing light or not getting a dry cheese box and a FULL can of ginger ale is something to look down upon only reinforces that humans can barely entail 0.0001 seconds before judging someone that’s doing 0.0001 seconds a little worse than they are because of money or being able to afford a flight on delta.

Zoom out. Zoom out. Zoom out. Zoom out. Tonight, I watch Reservoir Dogs and wait for my electric oven to heat up to make a frozen pizza with before I fall asleep in my warm bed with thick socks and a lamp that looks like a moon and a small looking egg device that plays my favorite podcast and gently wakes me up in the morning with soft, round sounds. How lucky am I to be born in this exact moment of comfort that I can watch movies and eat delicious food, 100% apple juice, udon noodles, spam, cupcakes, ginger beer but I should somehow be ashamed that the car I drive has peeling paint. Whatever. I recognize my luck. Perhaps I’m a reincarnation. But this is the best reiteration then.

The timer counts down. My frozen pizza is almost ready. I wonder if Trader Joe’s will be around in 100 years. Do we remember grocery stores that existed in the 1920s? Did grocery stores even exist back then?

Who knows.

[todoscript]

sweetest delight

SYNOPSIS: While Shouto’s out hunting down villains on Valentine’s Day, you try your hand at making some sweets to celebrate the occasion, and in doing so, find your efforts rewarded in more ways than one.

pairing: pro hero!todoroki shouto x fem!reader

genre: smut. fluff. pro hero au.

word count: 7.3k+

warnings: 18+. characters are aged up. dominant!shouto. apron kink. praising. oral (both receiving). face-sitting. 69. cum-eating.

author’s note: god, this is long overdue, but i finally got this thing out after all this time. and of course, it ended up getting out of hand again

“Fuck, fuck, fuck–”

A range of curses spewed from your mouth as the unpleasant smell of your burnt confections permeated the space of your kitchen, threatening to notify the fire alarm overhead of your latest baking mishap. Luckily, you entered the kitchen just in time to dissipate the smoke before it can do so, fanning your towel while navigating to the oven to find your crisp, blackened sweets already ruined inside. The corners of your lips slipped into a scowl at another failed batch of mini chocolate cupcakes at your hand. You slid on a pair of oven mitts to transfer the set off the rack and onto the kitchen counter.

A flicker of optimism in your head presented the thought that they didn’t seem that bad at first glance, going so far as to believe they might’ve tasted relatively fine and that the burnt parts simply added a bitter flavor that would balance the overall sweetness of the decadent chocolate cupcakes. But upon closer inspection, you knew you were lying to yourself.

Flipping the miniature cakes out of the molds, you discovered the sweets were encased in a dreary black outer shell, a sight which made you grimace, wondering how you screwed up so badly to have concocted such a dismal image. You definitely had no right feeding these to Shouto, let alone offer them to him as a Valentine’s Day gift.

As everyone knew, the fourteenth day of February marked Valentine’s Day, the day where couples expressed their love to one another by giving gifts, spending quality time through dates, and displaying many other forms of affection. This year, however, Shouto was called in at his agency to investigate a case of villains whose plan was to wreak havoc on this special occasion.

Now, any person would find it normal to be peeved over these circumstances—having their lover’s free time eaten up by work when they could be celebrating together with a nicely lit dinner or a casual, romantic night at home, and perhaps cap off a wonderful evening with a smooth transition into the bedroom. Much better than spending a day at home alone, pitifully watching couples intertwine their hands together in envy as they walked along the sidewalk beneath your apartment complex, right?

Well, you, on the other hand, were a different case. Rather than sulk around as you waited for Shouto to arrive home later, you decided this would be the perfect chance to whisk up some sweets to surprise him. After all, what’s Valentine’s Day without some chocolate delights on the side, made with vanilla, sugar, cocoa butter, and lots of love and effort. A perfect way to welcome Shouto home from his mission while honoring the festivities, you’d say.

Besides, you understood the situation well enough to recognize that the citizens’ well-being came first before any date of yours. Your boyfriend was a hero, after all, and a Pro at that. It’s not as if you and Shouto hadn’t celebrated Valentine’s Day together before. So long as he came home—intact—prior to the clock ticking to midnight, one day didn’t bother you.

Though… after witnessing the aftermath of several failed attempts at baking thus far, you started to wonder if it would’ve done you better not to get so involved, only to waste resources and pervade your kitchen with an acrid smell.

Still, despite the trials and tribulations, you were determined to come out on top. You tapped your index finger repeatedly against the surface of the marbled counter. “Did I mix up the baking times? Maybe I undermined the portion sizes so the cupcakes started cooking faster?” you speculated out loud, wondering how to troubleshoot the minor errors to come out successful in your next attempt.

After some thought, you decided not to dawdle on your overthinking for too long and shrugged off the idea of redoing another batch of cupcakes. “It’s fine, I’ll just move onto the chocolates then. They’re the star of Valentine’s Day so better to focus on those,” you told yourself. A grin found its way on your face as you rolled the sleeves of your blouse up your forearms. “Alright, let’s get to it then!”

You retrieved a recipe sheet from across the counter, scanning through the contents while overlooking the ingredients lying in front of you. Compared to baking cupcakes, chocolates should be easier to tackle since you weren’t entirely making them from scratch. All you had to do is temper the chocolate melts in a bowl over a heat source, pour them into silicone molds, and refrigerate until hardened and shaped to the perfect, bite-sized delight. Seemed simple enough.

.

.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite as simple as you thought.

Or rather, you chose to make the whole process more complicated than it needed to be, not realizing the ambitious turn your take on these chocolates was moving toward until you drove yourself into another mess.

Your first trial of bonbons was sprawled out over parchment paper, waiting for your verdict. Eyes roaming the array of sweets tentatively, you absorbed the mixture of pink and white hues with an unsure look on your face. Somehow during the process, you opted to forgo the customary milk chocolates for white and strawberry, which was the closest you could get to matching Shouto’s signature hair colors.

You’d thought it’d be cute for the treats to have a slight resemblance to him as a simple yet sweet reminder that he was on your mind throughout your progress. But staring down at the final product, you wished you guessed ahead of time that the vision you sparked in your head was not going to be as bright and pretty in comparison to what came out.

You frowned at the batch with narrowed brows before begrudgingly scooping a piece and tossing it into your mouth. The sweetness of the strawberry and white chocolates coexisted together to form a smooth texture that left behind a creamy, floral undertone on your tongue. What was incredibly lacking, however, laid in the looks department. The visuals left… more to be desired, to say the least.

With the idea of wanting to use two different flavors of chocolate, you also played on the notion of incorporating a theme. That theme being half-and-half. And half-and-half being splitting the colors on the chocolates right down the middle.

Though not a complicated plan for an adept baker, it was the exact opposite for a newbie like you who had came up with the idea on the spot. With your chocolates appearing in odd shapes and sizes, not one seemed to resemble another, which was the result of both your lack of patience and miscalculations. You had to allow one of the flavors to harden in the mold before adding the other to not prematurely mix the colors, but judging by the swirls of pink and white surrounding the chocolates, that didn’t seem to go so well. Add on to the fact you had some trouble inverting them out of the silicon molds—the edges of the chocolates ending up smooshed or torn off entirely—and you were left with another failed attempt at a Valentine’s present.

“Guess making sweets isn’t really my thing, huh?” You sighed, body slumping forward against the kitchen counter in defeat. Your eyes wandered from your sad chocolates to the hefty amount of dirty dishes piled in the sink. All this, and you weren’t able to make anything worth giving to Shouto. What exactly were you going to tell him when he came home, bearing witness to this entire mess? No, Shouto was probably under enough stress and fatigue as it was after working all day. Plus, his anticipation for a gift would only be amplified if he saw the number of baking supplies you’ve wasted today. At this point, you had to turn in the towel.

“Oh well… I better clean everything up before Sho comes home and start on din–”

Your words were interrupted by the sharp sound of the front door opening.

“I’m home!” an all too familiar voice announced, one that you were more than aware belonged to a particular fire and ice hero.

Surprised, you glanced over at the clock to check the time, which read a bold 6:00 PM—sooner than you expected your boyfriend to arrive home from his duties that day. So soon, in fact, that you weren’t able to even begin erasing any of the evidence littered around the kitchen.

“Y/n?” you heard him call. Freezing in place, you picked up Shouto breathing in a quick whiff. “What’s that smell?” he asked but didn’t wait for a response, traveling through the enormous apartment to find that answer for himself. Hearing his feet shuffling across the hardwood floor, you moved quickly.

“The kitchen smells sweet but also... bitter.”

Sweet and bitter..? you repeated but soon realized what he meant—those damn burnt chocolate cupcakes you left out. While in your rush with making the chocolates, you had forgotten to dispose of them beforehand. Though the bitter smell was not as prominent as when the cupcakes first came out of the oven, it still didn’t evade Shouto’s keen senses.

After shoving the burnt mini cupcakes in a trash bin, you scrambled to the entrance to the kitchen, thankfully cutting Shouto’s path off just in time as you met him there. “Oh hey, Sho, why didn't expect you to come home so early!” you greeted, a cheerful lilt in your tone as you leaned an arm on the side of the doorway, hoping to come off ordinarily chill to avoid any questioning looks. It seemed you achieved that much at least by how Shouto smiled warmly at your appearance.

“You should’ve shot me a quick text or something.”

“Sorry, we managed to track down the group of villains right away and finished the mission smoothly without any casualties,” he explained. “I guess I was in such a hurry to come home and celebrate Valentine’s Day with you that I must’ve forgotten.” The soft look on Shouto’s handsome features had you in a daze for a second; you nearly missed him descending his head to your level so his lips could find yours. Eventually, you broke from your stupor and swiftly turned your head so he planted a peck on your cheek instead.

You were never one to purposely avoid a kiss on the lips like that from him—far from it actually—but you didn’t want him to find any residual sweetness on your lips from the confections you taste-tested that day and have him bring up if you made anything for him. One thing you surely couldn’t avoid, however, was his puzzled face at your uncharacteristic actions. Still, Shouto wasn’t one to overthink the details. Instead, he decided to look at the bigger picture, such as the dirty yet cute, pink and brown frilly apron tied around your body.

“Your apron’s a mess,” he chuckled lightly. The comment caught you off-guard, eyes slowly traveling down to the flour and chocolate stains on your Valentine’s-themed apron. “Have you been cooking?” he asked. You fumbled with your answer.

“O-Oh yeah..! In fact, I’m… still cooking, actually!” you quickly added, making up for your lack of words. “C’mon, it’s probably been a long day for you. You should go freshen up in the shower while I get everything done and cleaned!” You tried shoo-ing Shouto from the kitchen’s vicinity, but he didn’t budge.

“I can help out if you like. I wouldn’t want you to fix everything up by yourself, especially since we’re supposed to spend the rest of Valentine’s Day together,” he said, and as much as you liked to take him up on his kind and thoughtful offer, you had to object.

Firmly shaking your head, you continued your attempts at pushing Shouto to retreat to the shower and scrub off the troubles of his day. “No, you’ve probably done enough work today as it is! Just let me handle the rest, ‘kay?” you insisted, straining a smile. However, your hurried shoving felt almost too persistent than what Shouto found normal.

“Well, what are you making then–” As he tilted his head up to sneak a peek, you followed his movements, elevating yourself onto your tiptoes to block his vision in time.

“S-Soba noodles..! Cold! Just how you like them,” you answered after partially interrupting him. Quirking a brow at your fidgety gestures, Shouto stared at the smile etched on your lips which screamed of suspicion. Now he was sure something was up.

“Love,” he said, his voice a tone lower than usual that made goosebumps appear on your skin, staring at his turquoise and gray eyes warily, “are you hiding something from me?”

“What? Psh, no,” you feigned innocence, shrugging, “Why would you think that?”

Shouto gave you a look, silently telling you that you should more than know the reason why, but you chose to remain ignorant. No point in questioning it any further then. He would have to pry the answer out himself.

Aware that you had no intention of letting him pass voluntarily, Shouto began putting his hero training to use. He side-stepped in a single motion, quickly pivoting on the balls of his feet to slip through your defenses. You didn’t have time to ask yourself what happened before you turned around to watch his reaction to what you left for him on the kitchen counter.

Upon entering the kitchen, Shouto’s heterochromatic eyes were immediately drawn to the marbled white-and-pink sweets sprawled across the parchment paper. His interest piqued, he walked straight to the chocolates with you trailing behind. You could feel the heat in your cheeks slowly rise from the embarrassment at seeing Shouto inspect your sorry excuse of chocolates.

“Hm, no soba noodles, but I may have found something even better,” he said, and you wondered if you heard correctly or that maybe he saw something you didn’t. You rapidly blinked about four times, letting your vision adjust, and yet your chocolates remained.

“You’re kidding… right?”

Shouto lifted a brow at your hesitance. “No, why would I be kidding?” he replied thoughtfully. He took one of the chocolates off the parchment paper, raising it in the air between his thumb and index finger. “You made these for me, didn’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, they were supposed to be a Valentine’s Day gift, but…”

“But..?” A frown settled on his lips, watching you nervously twiddle your thumbs while you held your hands against your apron. “Y/n, you can tell me.” Not liking how you weren’t meeting his eyes, his finger drew your chin up so he could get a better glimpse of your face.

“But they don’t look the part. They’re hideous,” you quietly admitted, your words mellowing into a whisper the more they departed your lips. The way he treated your creations as if they belonged on a pedestal didn’t sit right in your eyes. “So I... didn’t want you to see them, or any of this actually. I thought if you saw what I was doing, you’d get your hopes up for something special, only to be disappointed.” You tried avoiding his gaze again, but Shouto wouldn’t allow it, following your eyes as his hand pried yours apart to take one in his own.

His focus shifted from the pink and white chocolate held in front of him to the uncertainty clouding your expression. “I’m not sure what you mean. They look fine to me.”

“Sho, you don’t have to lie to me just so you don’t end up hurting my feelings. Anyone can see how uneven they look,” you said, pointing at the rest of the batch still sitting on the counter behind him. There was a low chuckle coming from the male’s lips, one that you guessed was out of amusement, but you were too caught in your troubled feelings to be sure.

“Well, I have to admit, they don’t exactly resemble the perfect, visual representation of the chocolates you’d find at the store or anything,” he acknowledged with you mumbling an ‘I told you so’ in response before he continued, “but that’s the reason why I like them. That means you made them for me and there isn’t any chocolate like it. They’re one of a kind.”

His genuine words took you aback, eyes glimmering and cheeks flushed. You were too wrapped up in your need for perfection that you didn’t realize you could consider your efforts that way.

“Besides,” he threw the little bonbon in his mouth, “they taste great,” he said as the strawberry and white cream melted on his tongue with its rich sweetness.

Despite his praise, you thought he had only said that because you knew for a fact that the chocolates did at least pass in the taste department. “But what if they had tasted bad too? What would you have said then?” You were bold enough to question, though half-worried about his answer in the back of your head—worried that he would have to take back those sweet words of his.

“I still would have eaten them, regardless. I’d never waste anything you’ve made for me, you should know that. To me, these chocolates are the sweetest delight not because they’re the best looking or tasting, but because they came from you,” he answered earnestly, bending down to tuck a hair away from your stunned yet grateful appearance which looked as if you were nearly about to sigh out loud in relief. You brought your body into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin, and he wrapped his arms around you, lips pressed against your hair.

Shouto didn’t grant you much time to bask in your solace however, before beckoning you over to the kitchen counter. He wasn’t done teasing you just yet.

“Normally couples give each other milk chocolates on Valentine’s day. Any reason you decided on white and strawberry then?” Shouto noted, a grin on his lips as you seemed reluctant to reveal your reasoning—lips pursed and fingers playing with the hem of your apron.

“Well, they’re supposed to be your…” You finished by motioning at the crown of your head before pointing to his red and white locks.

Heh... Cute. The grin that was persistent on his features widened, and your response earned you a kiss on the cheek. “Thinking about me, huh?” he teased. You were more than aware of your intentions throughout your chocolate-making process, but it didn’t make the whole situation any less embarrassing when your motives came to light out of Shouto’s own mouth.

You pouted profusely, turning your face in the other direction as you nudged his arm. “Aren’t you going to eat the rest then?” you asked despite your demure demeanor. You couldn’t see it, but you were positive he was aiming that amused expression in your direction, leaning his head on his palm while his elbow was leveled on the counter.

“You made a lot of chocolates today, love. You don’t expect me to finish them all by myself, do you?” You heard the rustle of the parchment liner unsticking to something behind you. Then a finger poked your cheek, and out of curiosity, you followed where the disturbance came from, only to have a swirl of pink and white pushed past your lips.

“Mm..” you hummed surprisingly in delight at the harmonious strawberry and cream flavors coating your tastebuds.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah, I got to taste them before you arrived home.” You rubbed the back of your head. “And um, I didn’t exactly make these from scratch...” You went about divulging your methods to him, explaining your usage of chocolate melts, which all in all saved you a lot of time, considering your earlier mishaps with the brownies—a misfortune you also confessed to as you side-eyed the trash bin.

The dual-haired male laughed with mirth at the disasters you tangled yourself into today. “Seemed like you had an eventful Valentine’s Day at home without me.”

He scanned over your outfit, consisting of a simple buttoned blouse and a pair of jeans. What caught his eye the most was the frilly, laced brown and pink apron tied around your body. You must have bought this specifically to get in the spirit of Valentine’s Day because this was the first he’s seen you in this. Normally you’d wear those plain cotton aprons while you were cooking. Not something so charming and—dare he say—refreshing.

As you were continuing the conversation—going on about how vanquishing criminal organizations was more productive than whatever you were concocting at home—your words faded into the background. Shouto found it hard to focus on what you were saying, while your animated gestures seemed to enhance the shape of the apron against your body, emphasizing your physique.

Recalling the story you just mentioned, he imagined what the scene of you frantically dashing around the kitchen would look like as you wore this cute thing. Was it weird of him to hold fantasies of arriving home, being greeted by your endearing self donning this garment, dolled in its intricacies with a smile gracing the lips he oh so wanted to kiss every day?

Shouto would think so. He’s never heard of any anecdotes of this kind of behavior before. Perhaps it was how dainty and frilly the material appeared against your figure that stemmed such a risqué thought from him. If that was the case, then this apron was no different than lingerie. Or more specifically, those delicate lace babydolls you’d wear for him on those special occasions, in which you displayed the zenith of lust and vulnerability that rendered him a man ensnared by his need to utterly ravage you–

Fuck. Letting those imaginations cross his mind was a dangerous move. He felt himself getting hard, body exercising the willpower not to pounce and concede to his fantasies. Then again, no one could really blame him for thinking of his girlfriend this way on Valentine’s Day. Especially when you looked so damn cute right now that he could just eat you up.

“Shouto?” Your voice diverted his attention from the growing problem in his pants, though only for a moment. When his focus returned to you, all those lascivious thoughts buried in the back of his head made their way to the forefront again. Damn, did he have it bad.

“Is something wrong? You were zoning out for a bit.”

He shook his head, dispelling your concern. However, it was going to take more than that to sweep away the lust consuming his mind. “It’s nothing. More importantly, why don’t we continue tasting these chocolates?” Pulling up a stool, he took a seat next to the kitchen counter.

Just as you were going to mention that you needed to start on dinner soon, Shouto suddenly drew your body in between his parted legs. Thrown slightly off-balance, you instinctively held onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady.

You couldn’t help but notice the hand traveling up your legs as it situated itself on the back of your thigh, but the detail was abandoned as soon as it was manifested. The proximity between you two was too much not to overlook now. Shouto peered up at you with what you made out to be smoldering intensity, and the sight reduced you to shying away from his eyes again.

Of course, Shouto didn’t take a liking to that. With you so close, he didn’t want anything hindering his front seat viewing of your candid reactions. “Baby, look here,” he called to you. You followed his command, turning back to face the grin reaching his lips. “There’s my pretty girl.”

You attempted to open your mouth to reply but found another ball of marbled chocolate placed where words should’ve been.

Soft lips wrapped around him, Shouto had to fight back the urge to groan, feeling your tongue graze the pad of his thumb as he fed you the candy. His other hand, formerly occupied with rubbing subtle circles on your clothed flesh, wandered to the satin ribbon of your apron fashioned behind you.

It wasn’t long until you discerned the game he was playing through the fiery looks and frisky touching.

Well, enter player two.

You brought a hand to his wrist, keeping him there as your tongue made work at licking away the residual chocolate melted on his finger. You moved from his thumb to his index finger, noting not to miss anything with every flick as you confidently returned the heady expression with batted eyelashes.

Shouto breathed in silently through his nose, gritting his teeth, your sultry actions having an innate effect on him, to which you smirked at. There was a slight tug on the ribbon wrapped behind you. It wasn’t firm enough to where the knot came undone, but enough that you noticed his fixation on the material. If he was making an effort to exert some self-control, it was futile at this point. No doubt, he was going to take you before Valentine’s Day was over.

“Hmm, you’re right, these chocolates are pretty tasty. But it’s probably because you’re the one feeding them to me that they taste just soooo good,” you mused, adding a sensual tonality to your voice as you concluded your words with one last kitten lick.

The man before you bit the inside of his cheek, your voice alone making blood rush south. You little minx. He was going to make doubly sure you understood just what you were doing to him.

Finally releasing his hand, you reached over beside you to grab a chocolate off the parchment paper. “For you~” You giggled as you led the confection to Shouto’s mouth. He readily accepted your gift, lips wrapping around the tips of your fingers as the mellow flavors soothed his taste buds. He made a point of re-enacting your little show, tongue languidly lapping your fingers while he maintained steady eye contact. You shuddered at the wet warmth abiding your skin, the suffocating sexual tension in the air causing you to press your thighs together. The action was not overlooked by Shouto, who smiled amidst cleaning your fingers with every brush of his tongue.

“What’s wrong, love? You were so bold and talkative earlier. Cat got your tongue or something?” he teased. A smirk ran across the curl of his lips as his licks turned to kisses he planted on the back of your hand.

After finishing his task of lapping up every essence of sweetness off your skin, he lifted himself from the stool. Doing so made him stand tall over you, and he easily cornered you to where your back met the edge of the counter. Your wrist captured in one of his hands, he wove an arm around you, pulling your body into him.

“You know, there’s something I want to eat right now other than chocolates,” he confessed, forehead pressed to yours and glinted heterochromatic eyes latent with an insatiable hunger. The baritone of his voice sent shivers through your body and a throb aching in your core.

You innocently tilted your head at him. “Oh, is that so? And what would that be?”

He chuckled darkly at your redundant question.

“Why you of course, my love.”

The moment the words reached your ears, he lunged forward to seize your lips. You quickly followed in the sensual movements of his soft lips against yours like it was a practiced routine, not resisting his tongue prying its way into your mouth and submitting to the dance that made pleasure course through your veins.

A single tap on your thigh was your cue to hop into Shouto’s waiting grasp and wrap your arms around his neck. You pulled your bodies closer to where the few layers of clothing you both possessed did nothing to hide your enthusiasm for each other. You could feel your nipples under your bra stiffen at your arousal, growing more sensitive as you pressed your chest to him. Meanwhile, his hard erection shamelessly poked the inside of your thigh to which his grip was poised on remaining firm, grinding your lower half against him.

You expected this was where he intended to have you—right then and there in the middle of the kitchen—but to your surprise, Shouto had other plans. He navigated you two to the dining table as you continued feverishly making out with your legs wrapped around his waist. Never breaking the hot mingle of your lips, he carefully placed you on the edge. His hands were free to roam the expanse of your body, palming at places that elicited airy moans from you as he inscribed the niceties of your bonny apron into his memory. Though he cursed the unnecessary layers that obscured your beautiful flesh from him.

Finding the clothes still on you equally unbearable in the heat of your movements, you were on the same wavelength as him. You sought out the satin ribbon tied behind your back that kept the apron on your form, but before your fingertips could even reach the material to tug the knot loose, Shouto seized your wrists and led your hands away. Your face was scrunched with bewilderment by how sudden his actions were.

Shouto didn’t think he could have a fetish over something as ordinary and domestic as a decorative garment tied around your waist, but this Valentine’s Day was proving him otherwise. He was not about to pass an opportunity to absolutely ruin you in this pretty thing.

“Keep it on,” he ordered, voice deep and commanding.

“H-Huh? What about my clothes?” you stuttered, confused at first. You wanted to ask what spurred him to give such a demand, but you were too caught in the moment to think of objecting to his request (not that you had much choice anyway).

“Let me.” That was all he said before his hands sought after the waistband of your jeans and the buttons of your top. He pulled and undid the apparel until you were left in only your panties and that lovely apron. Your bra was quickly disposed of to the pile next to his feet thanks to the clip being located at the front this time, and he was eternally grateful for the convenience. You didn’t even have to mention anything for his own clothes to float above yours on the floor, sitting back on the table to admire his toned physique, now free for you to ogle in just his briefs.

His hooded, icy eyes concentrated on every aspect of your appearance. He didn’t dare miss a single detail in front of him—from your bare, flushed skin glowing beneath the light fixture to your aroused nipples shaped through the thin fabric. You were a sight Shouto would gladly worship for the rest of his life.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, my love, and I’m going to enjoy ravaging you until all you know is my name.”

His words alone were enough to send a tingle of anticipation to your cunt. You did not shrink at his assertiveness, instead embracing both yours and Shouto’s desires with open arms.

“You have me, Sho. I’m all yours.”

The man released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding before inhaling and diving in. Your lips reencountered each other, continuing from where you left off with his tongue chasing after you. You laced your fingers in his soft hair to press him deeper to you as Shouto navigated down your neck. He sucked and licked at your skin; every tug he felt on his scalp compelled him to lay marks as he inched closer and closer to your breasts.

“Ahh.. Sho…” you mewled, feeling his hands grope one of your mounds and tease your slit through your panties. With no intention of letting this apron off your body, Shouto pushed the fabric concealing your chest inward to reveal a perky nipple, seeming excited to be covered by his mouth. Well, who was he to deny such exuberance, especially when he himself was hungry to taste?

Lips enclosing the stiffened nub, Shouto sucked and prodded with fervor. As you squirmed and squealed beneath him, your fingers pulled harder at his strands which he hummed in content at. The tip of his tongue circled your areola, making the slick clinging to your panties damper at the stimulation. The hand occupied between your thighs stroked you against the fabric before pulling it to the side to touch you directly.

“Oh fuck!” you cursed at the contact as Shouto did not hesitate to start pumping a finger into your pussy.

“Damn, you’re so wet down here. Did my kisses and teasing do all this?”

You were too distracted by the precise movements of his fingers working through you to answer, words superseded by your wanton moans. “Keep making those pretty sounds, love. I want you to cry out as I’m ruining you.”

Your noises hit a crescendo when his fingers began curling inside you, stretching into places that lit stars behind your eyes. His thumb rubbed your clit to intensify the fire building in your abdomen. Your back arched on the table as you grabbed onto Shouto’s free hand for dear life, already feeling that flame ready to ignite.

“Sho– Wait, I’m gonna–”

“Don’t hesitate, sweetheart. Coat my fingers with your cum,” he told you, increasing the speed of his thumb against your bundle of nerves as he continually hit that euphoric soft spot.

At his words, your pussy clenched hard around him, practically sucking him in. You threw your head back against the table, releasing a loud cry of his name as your orgasm engulfed your whole body with electrifying pleasure. Chest heaving up and down, your breaths sounded ragged as your vision went white before slowly adjusting to the light.

Shouto slid his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, licking at the layer of gloss. He observed your fucked-out state from above and admired his handiwork—your lips swollen, eyes glassy, and sweaty skin adorned with his marks.

“You taste absolutely delicious, you know,” he said almost too sweetly, like he had immediately gotten drunk off drinking the remnants of your orgasm. And, of course, he had to let you know how delectable you were. Shouto provided you a sample by pressing his fingers to your lips. You obediently parted them, welcoming your essence on your tongue.

“Don’t you think so?”

You hummed and nodded in agreement. Shouto grinned, bending down to mix your flavor in each other’s mouths. He finally removed your ruined panties and slid them down your legs. But to no one’s surprise, the apron stayed on your person.

When you parted, Shouto gestured for you to get up from the table. In doing so, you had anticipated this would be the time to head straight to the bedroom, but the night continued to prove you wrong. Shouto was still famished.

“Stand up for a second, baby. I want to lay down as I have my meal.” You didn’t need to guess to know just what he wanted to satiate his appetite tonight.

Shouto laid himself flat across the table, the majority of his legs dangling off the edge. You, on the other hand, were apprehensive at his approach, cautiously wondering if your modest dining table could handle the rampant motions of two adult bodies on top of it at once. Should the legs give way and the table collapses, the gravity of your descent would put all your weight onto him. What if you hurt him as a result?

“Love, what’s the holdup?” your boyfriend called, breaking your train of thought, “Come, your throne awaits.” He patted his chest—a rather peculiar place to sit but your cunt pulsed at the image of you riding that gorgeous face of his.

“O-Okay, I’m just afraid of hurting you, is all,” you said, pulling at the hem of your apron for security.

He raised his upper body halfway to see the hesitance painted on your features. “Y/n, there’s no need to worry, I wouldn’t have thought of doing this if I couldn’t handle it,” he assured, his hand reaching out for you. “Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to us.”

You stared at the hand hovering in front of you and then at Shouto’s eyes glimmering with faith, and you knew you could trust his word. So you take his hand, climbing onto the table and over his body where you straddled his chest.

“Dining tables are meant to be eaten on, right? Well, I intend to devour you until your legs are shaking beside me, sweetheart,” he promised. He stroked up and down your thighs tauntingly. Your breaths hitched as he maneuvered you above his face, moving the flap of your apron so you could feel his cold breath against your lower lips.

“As much as I appreciate all those confections you made for me, they all pale in comparison to the sweetest delight here–” He uttered praises to your core while rubbing the soft flesh of your thighs. “This pretty, soft, and dripping pussy.”

Warmth spread across your cheeks at his lewd words and how close in proximity he was to your twitching center. The one thing you detested about this apron at this moment was the fact it blocked you from what Shouto was doing, the bottom half lying right above his face. To him, however, it made everything all the more entertaining.

Despite being the one trapped under you, it must have felt like you were more in the dark than he was. After all, he was the one asserting dominance in this situation, and with a layer of fabric hiding his face, you had no idea how or when he was going to eat you out. His deafening silence was not offering you one bit of reassurance either. If he truly intended to devour you atop this table, he should just do it already.

“...Sho? Are you—Ah!” Upon questioning him, your words were choked by your surprised squeal, feeling him delicately kiss your folds with chilly lips attached to your warm pussy. You opened your mouth to speak again, yet you struggled to search for words as Shouto’s tongue flattened against you, licking a long strip before latching onto your sensitive pearl. The more he relentlessly sucked and teased, the more you sang out with waves of pleasure quivering through your body.

Hearing your beautiful noises, he chuckled, tongue vibrating on your clit. Every sound you produced made his cock stutter, still leaking and begging for attention beneath his briefs.

Not liking how inactive you were—simply sitting on his face and waiting for yourself to come undone on his tongue—you reached behind yourself to trail your hand down his abdomen. His body tensed, abs immediately flexing at your soft touch. You noticed his ministrations falter in their rhythm.

“B-Baby, what are you doing?” he questioned, pulling himself off of you to concentrate on your hand running along the waistband of his briefs. His fingers dug into your flesh as you found his length, tentatively giving it a pump that gave birth to a strained noise below the flap of your apron.

“You’ve been doing all the work so far, Sho. I just want you to enjoy yourself,” you said. His eyebrows were scrunched, hissing through his teeth at your thumb grazing his slit, mixing his precum around the tip.

“I am enjoying myself—this is all I could ever ask for,” he replied honestly. He lifted the frilly material off his face so you could discover your slick running down his lips and neck, the blush spread across his fair cheeks an more than sufficient indication that he derived nothing but delight from being in this position. He looked like an absolute mess, yet the debauched sight made both your heart and pussy flutter.

“But if you want to join in, I won’t stop you.”

At that, Shouto detached himself from your sweetness for just a second to quickly reposition you above him. You were adjusted to where you were practically on all fours on the table now, facing the prominent bulge raised on his briefs while your fluttering cunt was somehow even more obscenely split in front of him. You were thankful the piece of furniture stayed intact throughout the motions, pleasantly astounded by its strength. However, you couldn’t pause to be impressed by this detail for long. Not when Shouto’s aching erection pleaded for you to continue touching it.

Your hand returned to its original place—wrapped around his heavy length that wept with precum coating the surface of its mushroom top. As you stroked it up and down in a consistent rhythm, you altered your grip to tighten more around him.

“Ooh yeah, that’s it, baby. Just like that… Ahhhh, fuckkkk—” You were rewarded by his praises and groans at the splendid pressure surrounding his dick. It encouraged you to keep up your pace and add another hand to the fray to increase the tension.

“You’re doing so well, making me feel so fucking good, love. Can you add your mouth for me now?” he requested, and you happily complied. Your tongue flattened against his cock, noting every vein and twitch running across your wet muscle that reduced Shouto to muttering obscenities behind you. Reaching the top, you swirled your tongue along the tip before taking the entire head into your warm cavern. Shouto’s thighs flexed, body almost trembling at how heavenly you made him feel. He couldn’t be outdone.

You let out a whine on his cock, feeling his mouth working against you again. This time you felt the effects stronger than before as Shouto spread your pussy lips to grant him better access to tongue fuck you. He stimulated every sensitive area with practiced ease, making sure to flick your clit with extra vigor to achieve the best results. You delivered in your reactions—legs shaking and knees slowly and deliberately being reduced to jelly.

Even ensnared in ecstasy, you did your best to adapt to his intensity, engulfing him more into your mouth. Your hands worked together to maximize the most pleasure you could give him, fondling his balls and gripping the base of his cock.

The lewdest of sounds filled the room in an unrelenting symphony. From your muffled whimpers to your pussy squelching in the presence of Shouto’s mouth purring against you, there was no shortage of bliss evident in the atmosphere. Hearing yourselves in the throes of rapture as you devoured each other’s whole beings like starved animals, you two were simultaneously climbing toward your highs.

“Shit, keep doing just that baby, and I’m going to paint that pretty mouth of yours white,” he warned half-heartedly. You purred, the enthusiasm laced your tone informing Shouto you wanted him to do just that. He was pleased by your response.

“You want it, don’t you, you slutty girl? Well, I expect you to drown me in your honey while I cover your throat with my cum then.” Those were the last words he spared you before proceeding to manifest them into reality. His hands dug themselves in the flesh below your ass cheeks, exposing your pussy to his appendage that swiped away at your clit until shockwaves made you tremble above him.

You were the first to come undone, juices running down your thighs and boyfriend’s chin. Your cries were muffled amidst Shouto’s dick caught down your throat, tightening around his length, which surged with spurts of white all over your mouth. You swallowed every single drop of his seed, wiping at the excess on your lips as you released the hero’s cock with a loud pop.

After taking a moment to catch your breaths, you carefully moved off of each other. Shouto steadied you on his lap, letting you straddle him as he sat on the edge of the table. He intertwined your fingers through his and brought them to his lips to place a tender kiss on the back of your hand.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Shouto. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

[lovee-infected]

Husband!Leona x Housewife!Reader: Birthday surprise

As you have your birthday today, Leona has a plan to prepare a party for his one and only beloved wife; however, uncle Ruggie and your babies almost burn the house down to ashes when you're out...

Happy birthday @jessamine-rose !♡ Now suffer-

Warning(s): None, just a review on Leona's chaotic father experiment trying to babysit his neko babies.

Note: This work is the continuation of a personal au I wrote for @jessamine-rose s/o and Leona have 3 adorable kittens (babies) in this au; The elder two are twins , a girl named Kaede and a son named Haruki while the baby gremlin is a sweet but chaotic cinnamon roll girl named Lucy (Lulu).

At last, it's here: The big day. Not only Leona seems have been expecting this day to arrive for months, or perhaps, he's been waiting ever since you had your previous birthday last year.

Not that you thought previous birthday celebrations with them lacked anything specific or was incomplete in a recognizable way; but it didn't change the fact that you didn't seem to have enjoyed them either.

Leona is the prince of the afterglow Savannah, after all. As her wife your birthday was nothing less than a national holdiday and he always tented to prepare royal celebrations ever since you married him.

But for some reason, that formal and majestic aura seemed to bother you in a way; perhaps because you preferred to be actually spending time with Leona and your family instead of having to stay in the same spot for hours with your back straightened as you greet thousands of strangers and the rest of the royal family.

Not that you ever spoke of how uncomfortabe and annoying all of those birthday ceremonies were, but you almost let out a relived sigh when Leona tells he isn't going to put out another of those extravagant celebrations.

The night before your birthday, Leona comes to you and mentions hoe it's been a while since the last time you had some time for your own, and he's right: From the day you gave birth to lulu you've been awfully busy with housework and caressing your babies; not that your life could be any sweeter than it is now but you had to admit- You somehow missed the old days when you had more time to spend on your own...

Leona recommends you take a day off, as a birthday treat! You're free to go shopping, take a short vacation to the beach or simply go to your favorite cafe and enjoy your favorite drinks and beverages in peace, meanwhile Leona would take care of the house and kittens so you can have today for your own and all~

Of course you accept his offer, you give him a small kiss on cheek and thank him, the two of you head to your bedroom and you are given the opportunity to sleep on Leona's warm chest for the rest of the night.

Thus you leave the house the next morning after, and now it's time for Leona's secret plan. He's already prepared anything, your favorite flowers, your favorite desserts and food, a very expensive perfume you had liked before, color-matching costumes for both him and the kittens, tiny cute accessories to decorate the house with and at last, tens of gifts from different things he sure knows that you'll love.

Ruggie is charge of cooking, so he gets to preparing muffins and cupcakes while Leona takes care of decorations: Designing the entire house with flower petals, baloons and colorful ribbons would've taken him hours if he were to do that by hand, but using his extraordinary magic skills, the whole house is perfectly decorated and prepared in a second *Chef's kiss.*

Just as Leona is about to let out a proud smirk and return to kitchen to see how Ruggie is doing with he cooking, he hears a sound. He turns his head to find no one but baby Lulu, chewing the decorations.

He runs to her and takes the ribbons out of her mouth, opening her mouth a second time and carefully look through it to see if she's eaten any of them or not. Oh God, he promised that he'd take care of everything when you're out, he just can't let you return home and find out that your baby has swallowed paper, what will you even think of him? Irresponsible partner? Unworthy father? No, he must make sure that baby lulu would be all same and sound until you return home.

He hugs Lulu and puts her on a corner with several baloons to play with, far from anything dangerous she could chew but then baby Lulu discovers a new hobby: popping balloons.

Her tiny fangs have just popped out and her gums often hurt, so she just wants to get her fangies on anything she could chew or bite and wow, this baby is not only totally unaffected by the loud sound of balloons popping right into her face but also finds it quite amusing. Baby begins to laugh loudly and chase after more balloons to chew as she has discovered a new hobby, and before Leona could've stopped her, she pops 5 more balloons with just one bite-

Leona picks her up immediately because if Lulu continued to chew balloons like this nothing of them would be left until you get home-

- But all of a sudden, he smells something rotten, followed by a trail of smoke coming from kitchen. He immediately puts Lulu down and runs back to the kitchen to see what in the great seven's name is happening there-

Leona jumps into the kitchen- just to find Kaede and Haruki screaming and crying as Ruggie's trying to take the black-rotten cupcakes out of the oven. Leona asks what the hell has happened and Ruggie explains he was too busy separating the twins because they couldn't stop arguing whether their mama would like caramel syrup as the topping or sprinkles, so Ruggie totally forgets about the overcooked muffins and cupcakes in the middle of their arguments.

Leona tells him to pull himself and start over- But Ruggie aruges that he won't be able to concentrate on both babysitting and cooking if that's how it's going to be. Leona growls and tell Ruggie to stop being such a wacky hyena and just get back to work without messing up again- And Ruggie explodes.

He starts shouting, Ruggie legit starts shouting in a rare, angry tune which terrified everyone even Leona. He roars that he won't be doing shit until Leona actually pays him for once, and the two start arguing. Just as the chaos is burning the kitchen down, Lulu decides uncle Ruggie's leg looks quite delicious to bite, and in a matter of second Ruggie is screaming as the baby lion's fangs literally pierced into his flesh.

The whole house is filled with smoke, Lulu has taken the entire decorations down and Leona's trying to seprate baby Lulu's fangs from Ruggie's leg. Twins are terrified, so the silently sneak out of the kitchen to call the right person to come for help...

It's past 10 pm when you're done with your day off. You've been giggling over how a day off was just what you needed after a long time, you had told Leona to call if anything went wrong, and thankfully, you didn't receive any calls from him while you were out. Leona really seems to have toughed it out as a father, huh?

You knock at the door, waiting for someone to open it. After a 3 minute delay you take a small look through the house and realize the lights are off. You just get in using your keys and suddenly, a loud "SURPRISE!" makes you jump back and the lights are back on, revealing Farena, Cheka, your kittens and very, very very tired-looking Leona and Ruggie standing in front of you. Leona gives you a weak smile as your confused gaze meets him, at last, they managed to clean the mess up before you got home.

Twins welcome you with a warm hug as they lock their tiny arms around your waist, digging their faces into soft fabrics of your clothes as if they hadn't met you in days, and of course, 12 hours of chaos without mama at home is enough to make them want to never be left alone in the house with uncle Ruggie and dad again-

Ruggie is trying his best not to be rude but he quickly approaches you, wishes you a very happy birthday and excuses himself saying he really needs to be home by this hour. You question the bandages wrapped around his leg, asking if he's alright? Ruggie just- Gulps nervously before turning his head back and stare at Leona who is holding Lulu... Ruggie nods quickly and leaves your house asap, poor boy... maybe you should call him sometime later and asking if he's doing fine?

Back to the party, Farena chuckles as he tells you how his younger brother has been DESPERATELY making plans for his beloved wife's birthday for nearly two months-! Farena explains that Leona even refused to accept Farena's help when he was firstly coming up with the plans, but Leona insisted that he wanted to manage everything on his own.

Aaaaaw Leona's face is a must-see now, his ears dropped down in mild embarrassment and frustration, feeling like a silly child in front of you. Damn- If it was on him he wouldn't have asked for Farena's help once in a thousand years even if if Ruggie and him had ended up burning the entire house; but he must admit, he's glad that twins asked for his help because- It would've been impossible to manange to do all the work on time without his help.

Aaah at least your birthday party didn't turn out to be a horrible mess, but at what cost? Great seven, he was supposed to be your one and only man tonight but right now he's nothing but a fuzzy cat wanting to pass put on his bed.

Yet he still manages to keep his eyes open, at least until you're done with the birthday party and Farena and Cheka are finally out; leaving him alone with you. Gosh, he looks so- you can't even find tje right adjective to describe this but all you can say for now is that you've never seen him this tired before.

You gently take Lulu, who has already fallen asleep in his arms and take her to her bed, asking Leona if babysitting her was difficult by any means. Leona tiredly shakes his head in a no, saying how much of a wonderful girl she was when you were away, and you can tell how much of an awful liar he is.

When the kids are asleep, you come to sit next to a lifeless Leona on couch, damn, just what happened to this household when you weren't around?

Leona's too tired to explain, he just sighs and apologizes for your birthday not being even *close to the best it could be, just to meet your laughter.

Oh lord, he is being quite desperate at the moment ha? Leona was always the dominative and demanding one, to have him serve ypu on your birthday... Oh dear, isn't that already the best birthday gift possible?

You excitedly start to tell him how this birthday was just the best you could've ever asked for: Freedom, A golden time to be spent for your own desires and not anyone else, and aside all of these, you return home just to face a secret party waiting for you!

But most importantly: He had gone through all of these... for you, to make you happy.

You tightly hug him, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing his face closer to yours. Aaaa he looks so cute like this, just like a tired pouty can wanting you to spoil him and to be honest, he's going to need you spoil him for a week at least for him to recovers from that 12 hours of chaos.

It's been a long day, for both you and him. So he just kisses your forehead and bridal carries you to your bedroom afterwards; wrapping his strong arms and thighs around you and jailing you in his embrace. You gasp at the warmth, truth be told having your face burried in Leona's firm chest like this was something you never got used to even after being married to him for years. Damn lion knew how to leave a flushed mess out of you, huh? You chuckle as you struggle to release yourself but hell, the jerk simply pretends that he's already fallen asleep.

Just as Leona's arms are jailing you into his embrace he wonders, today probably didn't turn out to be as good as he'd planmed but well... at least you're happy. That's what he wanted when he whet out of his way planning for today, after all. But he can tell the experiment made him come to appreciate you even more, thinking that you've been caressing all three of your babies for years all on your own while Leona wouldn't have even made it for half a day if Farena hadn't saved him...

[yandere-bastard]

Coraline AU(Self?You?Y/N?) insert

//blood gore slight body horror? (button eyes you know coraline)

You're parents kinda suck ass they aren't the worst people but they've only gotten more distant since you came out, all you wanted was them to call you their son but they don't even call you their 'daughter' anymore. You have to move with them again it's not like you move a lot but you still didn't want to so here you were being decidedly angsty as you drive up to this ugly almost Victorian looking house, you hope there's asbestos in the walls so you'll just get poisoned and die that'd be nice.

You take your stuff to your room noticing a funny looking door beside your room so after unpacking (more or less) you decided to look into it, I mean it was getting late and your parents already seemed to be going to bed. so you found your way back quickly, you managed to open the smaller door and looked in, inside wasn't a closet like you thought but a tube like hallway.

against you better judgment you decide to climb through and you come out the other side and really you've got no clue what you had expected when you went through but it wasn't to come out in a new house the same size as yours,

"Y/N!~" you jumped at your name the voice sounded like your mom (ish?) but she never called you your name, never said a name in general at this point like if she ignored you the 'problem' would go away "Y/N! I made some cinnamon rolls come try one!" Okay not your mom, you kinda wanted to turn back but you stepped forward looking over the railing to see the kitchen light,

You decided to go down lured by the siren song of any sort of love, as you walk into the kitchen you a see a tall black haired woman standing beside the oven, she was bony and absolutely not your mom, "W-who are you?" you managed to ask, she turned smiling at you unlike how your mom actually did

well hello dear, you're so silly, who am I? It's your mother you dork, now you need to sit down and try these cupcakes?" You paused cupcakes? She said cinnamon rolls right? you look up and shes somehow standing right in front of you, smiling, "Do you not want any? that's alright why don't we go to your room and I'll sing a bit for you," of course you get scared and start to leave the room, if you ran you could totally make it back to that door right? but the moment you were past the doorway she noticed,

"yes let's go!" she quickly walked over lifting you up effortlessly

"If yo-you're my mom wh-where's dad?" you managed to stutter through your questions

"You don't need a dad, in fact you don't need anyone just me!" she set you down outside of a different room then what your actual mom had said was your room, "Silly little boy! you must need some sleep, but before you sleep I have a surprise just sit on bed and I'll get it!" you wanted to except the love but at the same time she was just wrong

"I just wanna go to bed I think," you stated looking away as she pulled you into the room, she laughed awkwardly moving you to a desk chair,

"No,no,no,no, I've got to get your present first just wait!" as she walked away you realized you hadn't actually looked at her face, you wanted to leave the room but before you could make an escape she walked back in with a box in her hands, "Now I've been waiting so long to give this to you!"

"We've never met before," you said determined, she was so damn tall you looked up and realized her eyes weren't eyes they were buttons, she was shaking her head and brushed long thin fingers through your short hair,

"Not yet we hadn't but it's fine, I've just been waiting too long my boy," the box felt more menacing then before as she set it in your lap, "Now open the box,"

"What's in it," you asked glaring up at her feeling trapped, not yet physically but it wouldn't take much on her side to change that,

"Just open it, trust me dear," she traced a sharp nail over the engraving on the lid it said your name, you slowly opened it inside was a pair of buttons, "Ah!" she cheered a little, "We match now love, I'll put it on for you!" she pushed you back taking the buttons out of the box and you frantically began fighting against her, you let out a yell of pain as the needle stabs through part of your skin,

"Stop it!" with a scream you managed to throw her arms back tearing the thread out of your cheek, she gasped a bit and you take the moment to try and run away, as you try and make it to the door you see her right behind you, before you can reach it it's slammed shut and three little kids are standing in front of it "Motherfucker!" You shouted but before you could try and get them to move the woman claiming to be your mother has pinned you to the floor,

"What's wrong? Do you not want me to be your mother? I can be your father?" her face shifts terrifyingly into a warm looking man, "Or a different looking mother?" she shifts to a similar face of her own yet kinder less sharp, "Your sibling? do you want two parents?" she contorts her body terrifying you more and more,

"Please!" You sob out, "What do you want from me?!" more arms split from her back as she begins to sew the buttons over your eye, you scream in pure agony as blood drips from the torn skin, you kick and struggle sobbing and screaming as your eyes are replaced,

"Don't worry my dear, I just want to take care of you, I swear, I lied to those children but you my son, will be different," she finishes sewing soon enough, blood covered your cheeks as it mixed with your tears, "I know it hurts, when I force it it hurts very much, but you'll heal my boy," you sobbed as your sight was robbed from you falling weakly to the floor.

"Why?" you groan sadly, you flinch when her cold hand touches your face,

"I love you don't worry, you'll be able to see when you heal more," you stay limp even when she gets off of you, "Y/N please I'm gonna protect you, you don't like your family anyways and now you have me, I'll never ignore you like them or misgender you, or hurt you, you are mine"

And you are. For good

[plaidbooks]

Witness Protection - part 2

A/N: And here’s the conclusion (for now)! I didn’t do the reunion with the squad, but if anyone wants that, I could. Again, I split the story in two, so this takes place right after last part. Hope you enjoy!

Part 1

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Words: 2716

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy  @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867  @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @redlipstickandblacktea @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas  @qvid-pro-qvo @averyhotchner

There weren’t a whole lot of applicants—most people worked at the grocery store or in one of the other little shops in town. But Mike’s eyes lit up when one day, you came in, resumé in your hand.

“Hello! I hope you’re still looking for help? I’d like to apply,” you said, a bright smile on your face.

Mike grinned back, holding his hand out for your resumé. He scanned it quickly, noticing your name, the fact that you were close in age, and seeing that you’ve worked in customer service before.

“I am, yes. Tell me; do you know the difference between a mystery novel and a thriller?” he asked. He wasn’t going to throw you—or anyone—into that position like Gerry had to him. He’d vet you at least a little bit first.

You scrunched up your face as you thought about it, and Mike thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. “Well, I don’t have a dictionary definition for you, but in my opinion, mystery novels are more of a…whodunit. It’s the puzzles, the twists and turns until the villain is revealed at the end. Thriller is more…the game between the protagonist and villain. It focuses more on the tension, rather than figuring out who the killer is.”

Mike blinked in surprise. “That’s actually…you’re dead on. And seeing as you’re the only one who gave me a straight answer, I think you’re perfect for the job.”

“Wait, really?” you asked, your hopes soaring.

Mike nodded. “It’ll be working every day, but I’ll let you choose if you want morning or afternoon shift. Either way, I can only pay $15 an hour. If business keeps steady, though, I may be able to give you a raise down the line.”

“What’re the hours?” you queried. The pay would be fine for your little house. Plus, the owner was waaay too cute.

Mike blushed. “Right, that would be useful information, wouldn’t it?” You laughed and he chuckled. “Morning shift is 8am until 1pm. Afternoons are noon until 5pm. I don’t mind working either shift, so it’s entirely up to you and what you can do.”

“Mornings work perfectly fine for me,” you replied, smiling. You were an early bird, anyways.

Mike gave you another bright grin. “Excellent. Come back at 8am tomorrow morning, and I’ll show you the jobs the morning shift does. And welcome aboard.”

 ***********************

Hiring you turned out to be the best choice Mike could’ve made. You caught on quickly; by the second day, Mike didn’t even need to be there training you anymore. You were great with customers, quick with a joke, and were incredibly well-read. Like him, you often filled the empty time with reading. Though, it was less time than Mike had when working for Gerry; you had to make the coffee and tend to the bakery goods, rearranging them when things sold. And with the higher volume of people, books were left on shelves randomly, making you put them in their correct place.

But the best contribution you made was your own pastries. You told Mike you enjoyed baking, and you brought him in a cupcake one day. It was probably the best thing Mike had ever tasted in his life.

“…would you be willing to sell your confections here? I can’t give you extra time off, not unless I hire someone else. But we can have a limited amount, and once they sell out for the day, they’re out—”

“I’d love to,” you replied, smiling. “Maybe not every day, but I usually make a batch of a dozen in my free time. I could always do two dozen, or a dozen of one thing, a dozen of something else.”

Mike nodded. “How about we start off slow, only selling things on Sunday? And if it turns out to be too much work for you, we can stop.”

“Sounds like a deal, boss man.”

 ************************

Your Sunday Special Treats became so popular, that it was obvious one day wasn’t going to cut it. You’d open the store at 8am with two dozen cookies, and they’d be gone within an hour. It got to the point where you’d show up at your normal 7:30am, and there would be a crowd by the doors, eagerly asking which treats you brought in that day. After discussing with Mike, you agreed to bake for both Sunday and Wednesday, for a mid-week treat.

Mike even offered to come by your place after he closed the shop to help you bake, if you wanted another pair of hands.

“Just so you know, though, I’ve never baked a day in my life,” he said, chuckling.

But he was so damn cute, and you were kind of hoping for more than a work relationship with him. Which is why you replied, “I’d appreciate all the help I can get. I can teach you.”

 ************************

It became a biweekly routine. Tuesday and Saturday nights, Mike would come to your place, around 6pm. You would be just starting baking, and he’d wash his hands before jumping in with you. At first, it was a struggle for him to figure out what to do with all the ingredients in front of you. You handwrote all your recipes—recipes passed down through generations of your family—and Mike followed them to the letter.

“The thing with baking, like cooking, you can add a little bit of this or that if it needs it, whether it’s in the recipe or not,” you told him one night.

He gave you a smirk. “But I don’t know when something needs a little this or that.”

“You’ll get it; you’re incredibly smart, Mike.”

He ducked his head, but you saw his cheeks turn a bright pink, a grin on his face.

Working so close together, not just baking, but in the bookstore as well, it was no shock that you fell head over heels for the sweet man. And it was no surprise when he fell just as hard for you. Both of you were afraid of the implications and the power play of Mike being your boss. But it never felt like a boss/employee relationship. It was always just…a partnership.

Eventually, you stopped eating dinner before he showed up, instead offering to make dinner for him. He stopped picking things up to eat on the way to your place, opting to have dinner with you, whether homemade or takeout, it didn’t matter.

One night, you were feeling playful, and you flicked flour into Mike’s face. He gave you a look of disbelief before breaking into a grin. He threw a pinch back into your face, and you let out a laugh so pure, it had Mike’s heart melting. He was leaning against the counter next to you, close enough that your clothes were touching. Your laughter came to an end, and you glanced into his face, smiling at the white powder on his nose and cheeks.

You couldn’t say who leaned in first, but soon enough, your lips were brushing against his before he pushed his more forcefully against yours. One of Mike’s hands went to cup the back of your head, and you grabbed his shirt, holding him to you.

Suddenly, the timer dinged loudly, and you gently pulled away from him, giving him a small smile before going to pull the brownies from the oven. You didn’t mind being interrupted, though; it was the first kiss of many that you would share with Mike Jones.

 ***********************

It was like you were both on the fast track in your relationship. You dated for only a few months before you found a house together. You both ran the shop, Mike raising your pay—while cutting his—until you were equal. And you never thought you could be more in love with someone in your life.

One day, Mike told you that he wanted the shop closed on the next Saturday. When you asked why, he said that he needed to have an important talk with you on Friday night, and that he wanted a free day afterwards; so that you didn’t have to be in bed early, and you had time to process things. He had seemed nervous, and it wasn’t the first time it felt like there was something on his mind while he was with you.

You were slightly worried, but also excited; was he going to propose? You didn’t want to get your hopes up, but you had no other explanation to what this talk could be.

Mike came home after closing the shop on Friday evening, carrying takeout in a plastic bag. You greeted him with a kiss, and he gave you a smile. But you could see the nerves and concern in his eyes. After scooping food into a bowl, you both sat at the dining table in the kitchen.

“What I have to say isn’t…easy. And I must stress that it doesn’t leave this house, ever,” he started.

You nodded. “Whatever it is, I’m sure nothing will change, Mike.”

He sighed, closing his eyes. “My last name isn’t Jones. It’s Dodds.”

“What? All this is about a name change—”

“It’s more than that. I—I’m in witness protection.”

You sat there, stunned into silence as Mike gave you his entire life story. He gave you every little detail about himself, about growing up in New York City, about his overbearing father and his career in the Army, boxing, and the NYPD. He told you about his parent’s divorce, about his brother’s drug problems. He told you about his fiancée, about how the hit out on him was probably one of the best things that ever happened to him.

“I miss my family and squad, will always miss them. But until the Western Italian Mafia is dealt with, I can’t go home. And that syndicate is huge; I doubt I ever could go home.” He let out a small chuckle. “After meeting you, though, I don’t know if I want to go home, either.”

You looked up at him with wide eyes. “Why did you tell me all this?” you muttered, conscious of how loud you were talking. “Aren’t you supposed to keep it secret?”

“Technically, yes. Only the FBI and that doctor who pronounced me dead knows. But I…I couldn’t give you all of myself until I gave you, well, all of myself,” he explained, his expression pleading.

You felt goosebumps on your arms. “You really trust me that much?”

“Darling,” he said, shaking his head. He took your hands in his. “I trust you with my life. You’re it, the end game for me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Tears sprung up in your eyes. “I don’t care if your name is Mike Jones, or Dodds, or anything! I love you, and only you. I want to grow old with you, too.”

The widest grin stretched across his face before he got up from his chair. He came around the table and kneeled in front of you, releasing your hands to cup your face. He used his thumbs to brush the tears from your face before pulling you to him in a kiss full of love and passion.

You leaned back slightly. “You’re safe here in California, right?”

“I should be, yes.”

You nodded. “Good, because I don’t want to lose you. And I’d fight a mafia for you.”

Mike huffed out a laugh, and you tugged him back in for another kiss.

 *****************

Something that Mike learned a few months later was that his driver’s license and birth certificate were enough of an ID to get married. It was a small ceremony, just you, Mike, and your parents. You both agreed that Mike’s parents had both already passed, and he was an only child. Mike got to wear a tuxedo once more, and he dimly thought about what it would’ve been like to marry Alice back in Manhattan. But then he saw you in your simple dress, and those thoughts faded away. He had never been happier as he stood next to you, signing the marriage license, then bringing you in for a tender kiss. For legal reasons, you decided to keep your last name, but that didn’t stop him from calling you Mrs. Jones, or wifey.

 *****************

It took only a month after your wedding for you to wind up pregnant. Both you and Mike were over the moon with excitement and joy. He built the nursery in your home while you made a list of baby names. You were set to have a little boy, and Mike’s only contribution was to veto William and Matthew.

“I don’t want to think about my old family—” he started, but you held up a hand.

“I understand. But what about as a middle name?”

He thought about it. “I guess that’s okay…. Have you chosen a first name yet?”

You smiled softly. “I’m thinking about my father’s name, Phillip. What do you think?”

“I like it. Which do you like more; Phillip William, or Phillip Matthew?” For the same legal reasons, Phillip would have your last name, rather than Mike’s fake one.

You gave him a look. “I chose the first name; this one is on you. Besides, I like them both.”

“You’re a lot of help,” Mike teased, chuckling.

 ******************

Eight months later, Phillip Matthew was born, happy and healthy. He was absolutely perfect, and neither you nor Mike could be prouder or more in love with him. Of course, you both had closed the bookstore for a week while you were in labor and afterwards, both of you doting on your newborn. And when Mike went back to work, it was for limited hours. The town was understanding, almost overtly so.

In fact, you never had to buy diapers—at least for the first few months. Your neighbors gifted you diapers, clothes, food, anything you could happen to need. The bookstore’s hours change to 8am until noon. Then it closed for an hour and reopened until 5pm. Mike worked mornings now; you were busy with Phillip and pumping milk for the afternoon. Then he’d come home, and you’d eat lunch together before you went to the bookstore, leaving Mike to watch and play with Phillip. It was a perfect arrangement, and you were both happy and in love.

Time seemed to fly by; soon enough, Phillip was crawling, then standing, then walking. He was a Daddy’s boy through and through, always following him around the house. His first word was “dada,” and Mike started taking Phillip with him on his evening jogs—he didn’t take morning jogs anymore, instead wanting to spend his mornings with you and Phillip. And when Phillip saw Mike working out, he would attempt to copy him, much to your amusement and worry.

One day, Mike was doing pushups in the living room, and Phillip couldn’t look away. He was still just under two-years-old, and he got down on his knees. You came into the room just in time to watch Phillip, on hands and knees, slam his face into the ground in an attempt at a pushup. You gasped and went to make sure he was alright, but Mike held up a hand, watching his son intently. Instead of crying, Phillip looked up at his father, waiting for praise.

“That was great, Phil. But try not to hit your head on the ground,” Mike said slowly, as if Phillip would understand what he was saying.

Mike got back in a pushup position, and Phillip followed. “Watch me, big guy,” he muttered, slowly going down to the ground. Phillip mimicked, eyes wide and locked on his dad’s grinning face. And when he pushed back up to his knees, Mike’s smile grew.

“Honey, did you see that?! Our little man did a pushup!” Mike announced, moving to sit and pulling Phillip into his lap, hugging him and murmuring encouragement.

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “I can’t believe you’re having him do pushups with you. You’re going to make him a bodybuilder by five!”

Mike guffawed, picturing it. “Nah—I can get him there by age three.”

You grinned, gazing at your happy family while Mike rolled onto his back, holding Phillip at arm’s length above him.

[enjennie]

Sweeter than Sugar | Na Jaemin

summary: wherein Jaemin goes through hell and back to bake a cake for you on your 3rd anniversary.

genre: fluff / boyfriend au

warnings: none

word count: 1.3k

[3:48 pm]

It looked as if a hurricane had swept over the kitchen as condiments, various baking tools along with spilled ingredients that managed to miss the massive bowl Na Jaemin was baking in cluttered the usually spotless counter that you and your boyfriend obsessively kept at its cleanest. Today, Jaemin couldn’t give a damn about being tidy, as he whisked the eggs vigorously with one hand, and tried to simultaneously sift the flour into a bowl with the other.

“Mom, mom! Please repeat what you said after beating the eggs,” Jaemin called over to his mom, who he’d speed dialed and put on loud speaker once the idea of baking came to him.

“Pour it into the dry ingredients then mix! Ah, why didn’t you get boxed cake mix instead?” His mother nagged. It did cross his mind, but Jaemin didn’t want to take the easy route. He never does. Not for his girlfriend, never. He’d go the extra mile for you.

“Did you preheat the oven?” His mother asked through the phone. Jaemin looked behind him to check. He’d randomly turned the knob when his mom told him to 15 minutes ago. “Yeah? It’s heated,”

“Okay, well after this you can put it into the cake tin then pop it into the oven for up to 30 minutes,” his mother instructed. “You could’ve just bought something special. Girls like that,”

Jaemin couldn’t help but smile. “You know Y/N isn’t like other girls,” He tells his mom. He knew for a fact you’re a sucker for handmade gifts, freshly baked goods and handwritten letters.

“Anyway, mom. Thanks for the help, I’ll send you a photo once I finish,” he reaches for his phone to end the call.

“Alright, goodluck! I love you!”

 With that, Jaemin gets to work on his own. He places the cake into the oven and starts coloring the icing he had prepared to decorate the cake with. Originally, you both had agreed to spend the whole day together as a celebration. But, due to your busy schedule and requirements that seemed to have chosen this day specifically, you’d apologized to Jaemin and promised a date night instead. A date night was all you prepared yourself for, but Na Jaemin had some tricks up his sleeve.

He quickly shot you a text, asking how you were. This wasn’t unusual, as he regularly liked to check up on you and asked if you needed anything. So, you replied without any suspicion.

@ the campus library, getting some articles for our thesis

Sigh. I’m sorry, honey. Will make it up to you l8r! xo

Jaemin chuckled, finding it cute how guilty you were even if he didn’t mind. He always wanted you to focus on your studies.

 [Aug 2019]

“I can wait, your future won’t so focus on it for now,”  Jaemin caressed your cheek lightly, brushing the hair out of your face and watching as the sunset hues reflected in your eyes as you both stood by the terrace of your shared apartment, watching the sun die down.

“You’re my future,” you mutter stubbornly to him. You watch as the corners of his mouth stretch into the gorgeous smile you’ve fallen in love with.

“I’m serious, Y/N. Do well or I’ll have to tickle you,” Jaemin poked at your side and you jolt as a reaction. A laugh escaped his pretty lips as he pulls you in closer and began to tickle you everywhere. “Na Jaemin!” You screamed his name, trying to free yourself from his hold but the man was strong with the softest touch, making him seem like a buff teddy bear. Or a bubble wrap for that matter.

Jaemin turned you to face him, pressing his head against yours.

“Put yourself first, and I swear I’ll always be right beside you,”

And that’s how it’s always been between you and him. You focusing on your studies, knowing you had a supportive boyfriend to go home to who’d recharge you and understand your struggles. Someone who’d wipe your tears away, motivate you and refill your coffee mug at 3 in the morning when the 5000 worded essay just wouldn’t write itself.

Nothing was sweeter than Jaemin, not even the most decedent of cakes, or the most sugary cupcake.

 [4:21 pm]

Ding!

The oven had sounded, letting the boy know the cake was done. He rushes to see and to his delight, it looked normal. He pulls it out with oven mitts and places it on the counter to cool.

Jaemin popped a candy into his mouth, getting excited as things were turning out perfectly.

 [6:08 pm]

“Jaemin?” You called into the dark hallway of your apartment as you come in through the front door. The house was usually lit when you came home at this hour, so you wondered if maybe Jaemin had fallen asleep, or left to go somewhere. So, you walk in and switch the lights on yourself to reveal an empty house.

At the end of the hall where you stood, you noticed a little card stuck to the entrance which led to the living room. You flip it open and it read, ‘Welcome home! Meet me at the terrace?’ A smile instantly shows up in your face as you excitedly pocket the card. Of course it wouldn’t just be an ordinary date night, you’re dating Na Jaemin. You’d be a fool to expect anything less.

You make a quick stop to your shared bedroom, throw your bag to the floor and quickly pick something to wear. The pink dress you’d reserved for special occasions catches your eye and you take it off the rack, knowing your boyfriend was a sucker for the color.

After a little while, you finally make your way to the terrace, which he’d drawn the curtain over so you wouldn’t see. You push it out of the way, and find a panicked Na Jaemin huddled over a cake with its candles nearly touching the surface of the cake, almost ruining the design.

“Quickly, quickly!” he calls for you and lifts the cake. Without even being able to register and appreciate the perfectly set up dinner, or the sunset that stretched in the horizon, you ran to Jaemin, which was always the most beautiful in your eyes anyway. “On three, make a wish and blow,” he lifts the cake between you two and smiles.

With closed eyes, you sent your wishes to the sky and blew. You didn’t even notice he had kept his eyes open, and let you do it alone, with nothing but a smile on his face. Once you opened your eyes once again, you see the writings on the cake.

Always beside you.

 Jaemin sets the cake aside and wraps his arms around you. “What took you so long? The candles almost burnt out,”

“Sorry,” you couldn’t help but laugh. “I wanted to look good for you at least,”

He chuckles, “You’re something else, Y/N,”

“Hmm, what am I then?”

“Everything I’ve ever asked for and more,”

Jaemin didn’t waste a second more, and pressed his lips against yours, as each second that passed without your lips on his was a second wasted. He tasted sweet, both in a non literal and literal sense. Your boyfriend loved sweets, after all. Each kiss was enough to give you a sugar rush.

 As you both pulled away from the exhilarating kiss, you found yourself licking your lips, craving for the sweet taste he’d left.

“Happy anniversary,” he gives you another peck. Your eyes land on the table he’d set up for the two of you and the sight almost brought you to tears. The sun had died down while you were busy with each other, which left you under the dim lighting that the string lights Jaemin had hung up provided. You realize it looked extremely similar to your first date. Like Jaemin had tried to replicate the one at the restaurant he’d taken you to, three years ago. “You didn’t-,” your voice came out unstable as you were getting emotional and extremely nostalgic.

He grinned and pulls a seat out for you, “C’mon, the roasted chicken is getting cold,”

“Na Jaemin, I’m gonna marry you one day,” you walk over to him and pinched his cheeks before sitting.

You hear him chuckle, and nothing in your life could have ever prepared you for the next thing Jaemin does.

“Why not now?” He asked, getting down on one knee and opening up a red box, revealing the prettiest ring you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

Hot Cakes

Pairing: Midoriya (Deku) x reader

Warnings: Slight suggestive content; groping; slight language

Author’s Note:

So for the next two weeks or so, all regular oneshots (aside from DBF) are going to have Izuku in them. This wasn’t really intentional, it just kind of happened, but here you go. This one was my least favorite, so I’m posting it first. It’s short, goofy, kinda nasty, and just really stupid, and I promise I have better stuff for later.

And for safety, I’ll say you’re both in your . . . second year. Yeah. But for reals, this is less suggestive than some of my other stuff soo . . . ?

Whatever, I’m going to stop thinking about it.

Enjoy, I guess?

-Sugar

|     )    )ԅ(‾⌣‾ԅ)

The two of you were goofing around at your house, attempting to bake cupcakes. Somehow you managed to get everything covered in a fine layer of flour, only broken up by flecks of batter splattered haphazardly on both of your arms and shirts.

You finally slid the last pan into the oven, setting your timer for when to take them out.

"Wow, (Y/N), those smell amazing," Izuku said, leaning back against the counter and inhaling deeply, a dreamy smile crawling over his lips. He turned to a separate batch that was cooling on the counter, leaning over to inspect them. "These cupcakes look perfect!"

Wound up from the last half hour of joking around and flirting, your eyes flicked down to his pants. Damn, he was fine, and you smirked at the idea of letting him know it.

"There are some other perfect cakes I'm thinking about," you said, sidling up next to him with a flirtatious glint in your eyes.

"Huh?" Izuku asked, not catching on.

In a sudden spike of adrenaline, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and landed a good smack over his behind. It was in no way harsh, but you had purposely cupped your hand so it would make the most satisfyingly loud noise possible.

The green-haired boy suddenly straightened in surprise, his eyes growing wide with shock. He finally roved his gaze back toward you, green irises meeting yours. His face went completely red, complimenting his high tops well, as the realization of what you'd done sank over the both of you.

He swallowed, trying to process your advance. "You—y-y-you, um—just—"

Your face heated with a blush of your own, and you had to fight to keep yourself from panicking. "I-I'm sorry!" you finally said, attempting to hide your burning face in your hands. "I went too far—"

"No."

You peeked out at your boyfriend from between your fingers, not sure if you'd heard him correctly. "What?"

His blush deepened even further, averting his eyes from yours. "Would it be weird if I kinda wanted you to . . . do it again?"

You finally lowered your hands from your face, and Deku suddenly snorted with laughter, clapping a hand over his mouth.

"What?" you asked again, still trying to get over your embarrassment from before.

"You've got a little—there's ah,—" he stopped, bursting out into full-on giggles now.

You frowned, bending towards him in hopes to gain his attention. "What is it?" you asked, still oblivious to why Izuku was cracking up.

"Your hands," he finally said. "They had flour on them. And now it's all over your face!"

You reached two fingers up and experimentally dragged them over your cheek, finding that he was, in fact, correct. A slightly grainy film was dusted upon you, and you must have looked like an idiot.

You burst out laughing too, your face still warmed with mirth blended with leftover embarrassment.

A thought made you choke, pausing in your moment of joy. "Hold up," you said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Turn around."

Deku lifted a green brow at you, suspicious, but finally complied.

A completely new wave of laughter crashed over you, your legs almost weak with how much of it you were experiencing.

"What?" Izuku asked, trying to turn his head so he could see you.

A white handprint laid solidly on his posterior, vividly contrasting his dark wash jeans.

"Um," you said, trying to catch your breath, "I think I'm going to have to clean you up before you go home, because there's evidence that my hand was on your ass."

"Oh, crap, really?" Izuku blushed again, but he still kept himself positioned so you had a nice view of it.

You whipped out your phone and took a picture of the offending print, showing your accidental art to Izuku. He laughed and grabbed your phone, going to your messaging app so he could send it to himself.

You bent over and started brushing him off, watching as the flour only lightened and smeared around more. At least now you might be able to say he had just backed up into a flour-covered counter, but it also kinda looked like you'd went crazy on him. Maybe that was just your mind leaping into a gutter at the context of the situation.

You also couldn't help but notice that he'd changed his breathing as you ran your hands over him, even though your motions had no double meaning behind them. You experimentally poked a finger at his cheek, watching as it slightly sunk in before stopping at hard muscle. You glanced up for a response, noticing how his face had stilled and he subtly rocked back towards you.

"Not gonna lie," you murmured just loud enough for him to hear, glancing back down, "you really do have a nice mass up in here."

Izuku locked your phone and set it on the counter beside him, keeping his eyes on you. "You . . . like it?"

You blushed and nodded, giving him a gentle squeeze.

He gulped, unsure of what to say. "I'm . . . glad you do."

Both of you resembled tomatoes while you stood there in silence, him letting you softly grope him in a slight daze. It wasn't as though you'd never wanted to do this before, it was just that it was never at a good time. And besides, the two of you were quite shy when it came to public affection in your relationship, opting for long hugs and brief, sweet kisses in the comfort of being together behind a closed door. But now you finally had the chance to live out your fantasy, your mind focused on his ample hindquarters.

A beeping sound made the both of you jump and you straightened, taking your hands back to your sides. "That would mean the cakes are done!" you said, maybe a little too high pitched. "The cupcakes, that is. You—um . . . hi. Pardon me."

He practically leaped out of the way, letting you get into your kitchen drawer to find your trusty oven mit. You walked back to the oven and pulled out the pan, setting them on a cooling rack on the counter.

"They're done," you ruled after poking them with a toothpick and seeing it come out clean. You moved your hand to hover over the first set, checking their temperature. "These are still too hot to ice yet. We're going to have to wait another five minutes or so."

You suddenly felt a large hand hesitantly press itself against your lower cheek, gently massaging the soft and malleable flesh beneath it. You involuntarily pushed back, savoring the feeling of each finger sink into your plush clothed skin.

"While we wait," Izuku's shaky warm breath tickled the back of your ear as he shuffled closer, "I believe I have a bit of a favor to repay."

|     )   )ԅ(‾⌣‾ԅ)

Author’s Note: 

Oop—

This was really stupid and I don’t love it. Sorry for messing up our pure, innocent green bean.

-Sugar

Taglist: @basicaegyo​ @iiminibattlehero​ @pyrofanatic​​ @sokkasangel​ @xoxopam4​​

[schnitzelbutterfingers]

Baklava

Book/Pairing(s): The Royal Romance || Liam Rhys x F!MC (Jasmine Wilson) LAW STUDENT AU

Category/Warning(s): Teen || none

Word count: 2.7K

Premise: A different take on how Liam and Jasmine could have met. Liam and the gang search for baklava, and Jasmine is a law student and a talented baker, working in her mother’s bakery.

Author’s note: This is for the 200 FOLLOWER GIVEAWAY WINNER #2: @texaskitten30 . Congratulations! Hope you enjoy :)

New York City is known for its culture, fashion, Broadway musicals. Its approximately 8 million people.

Maxwell sighs. “C’mon, Liam. There are so many other desserts. Pie, cake, cupcakes, those drizzled thingies...”

He is right. The deserts here are magnificent. Every one of them is fireworks on someone’s tongue, the rich flavor evading the mouth.

Drake surprises him. “For once in my life, I’m going with Beaumont.”

But there is one thing New York City seems to not have.

“No,” Liam responds.

Baklava.

Maxwell open his mouth, but then closes it, flabbergasted. 

“Who are you, and what have you done to Prince Liam?”

The prince chuckles wryly, a sarcastic leer taking place. In a few months, he won’t be able to do this again. In a few months, he will marry a noble with no love in between. 

In a few months, his freedom will be over.

He has to make those few months worth it.

And he will.

By finding baklava.

However, Liam almost gives up. Every bakery they went to in New York City had everything, including Indian sweets, such as laddu, gulab jamun, jalebi.

But they weren’t selling anything from the Ottoman Empire. They weren’t selling baklava.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees a small building. A bakery. It has a small cupcake on the top of the name. 

The prince clears his throat.

“We’ll stop in this bakery. If they don’t have baklava either, then we can go buy cupcakes and go to a bar.”

Maxwell fist bumping the air and Drake sighing of relief, tells him they are both comfortable with his plan.

One more bakery.

That’s it.

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

Slow Dough.

That’s the name of the bakery. Immensely creative.

The three men step out of their rented car, the sun’s rays showing off its magnificent light, creating shadows as they take each step towards the bakery.

They open the door, the jingling bells on it acknowledging their presence.

It looks beautiful. The inside of the store takes on a more pastel theme, the baby pink with white stripes adorning the walls. There are sky blue tables and chairs, adorned with a vase of pink roses on each table.

The front of the bakery has a glass counter-shelf, filled with delicacies. Cupcakes, cookies, chocolate, ice cream. You name it.

Maxwell seems to have that same idea because he says, “Maybe we can steal some cronuts and-”

“Maxwell!” Drake admonishes.

“Hello? What is the commotion here?”

A woman, probably in her fifties, with natural tanned skin, paces into the room from the silver doors ahead of the counter, which Liam assumes is the kitchen. Rather than taking a chiding tone, her voice is laced with concern.

Liam glares at his two friends, Maxwell sporting a nervous smile. Drake shakes his head at Maxwell’s antics.

What good friends he has.

“Apologies for the loud... conversation ma’am. We were searching for a dessert named baklava in New York City. We searched almost every bakery we could find, but left empty-handed. We were hoping we would find some here?”

The woman grimaces. “I’m so sorry, son, but we don’t sell baklava here.”

The prince sighs. 

He knew it. Of course he did.

After mentally calming himself, he sports a tender smile.

“No worries, ma’am. In that case, would you mind giving us three cupcakes? One vanilla and the other two chocolate, please?”

“Now that, I can give you.”

She smiles as she opens the counter, probably finding the best cupcakes she could find.

The woman is probably the most solicitous person she ever met during his bachelor party.

The men sit down on of the chairs, surprisingly more comfortable than Liam imagined. They fall into an agreeable silence, with Maxwell playing with one of the pink rose petals, and Drake glued to his phone.

And they are interrupted. By a soft voice.

A beautiful voice.

“Excuse me, sir, but... did you say baklava?”

He stands up immediately to turn towards the voice, addicted to the melody.

And hazel eyes meets blue.

The lady looks like an exact copy of the older woman, only more younger. More irresistible.

Striking.

Even with glasses on.

For some reason, his heart starts beating faster.

Silently scolding himself, he straightens up and nods his head affirmative.

“Yes, is there a reason why you ask?”

“I happen to know how to make baklava. Do you want me to make some for you?”

Shock rolls over him as he mulls over her words. An American tries to help him?

He glances back at Drake and Maxwell. In return, they give him an exact sense of a whammy blown on them. They are probably thinking the same thing, too.

Liam discerns the older woman slapping her hand on her forehead in an almost idiotic sense, walking to stand next to the younger woman.

Twins.

They are practically twins, if people count out the wrinkles.

“Apologies, son. She is my daughter. She knows how to make almost everything.”

Liam softly grins at the mother and turns to look at her daughter. 

A beauty.

As if she came from a painting.

Majestic.

As if reading his thoughts, she takes a glimpse of his face and smiles. He catches a glimpse of a faint blush creeping on her neck, even with the tanned skin.

Liam allows himself a quick smirk and hurriedly straightens his face to a more gentle expression.

“What’s your name?”

She clears her throat and looks at him straight in the eye. “Jasmine.”

Maxwell gives her a wide smile. “Nice name!”

Liam and Drake nod their heads in agreement, looking back at Jasmine. She grins from ear to ear.

Her smile is infectious.

And Liam just met this girl.

“I’ll get started. I can set up a mini cooking show for you guys. This might take over an hour though. So, are you sure?”

Before Liam can respond, Drake interrupts.

“We can wait. This dude, here, was acting like he was waiting for baklava his whole life. If he doesn’t get his hands on one, he’ll probably punch something.”

“Drake!”

Before he can give him a new one, he hears Jasmine’s laughter, music to his ears. He only knew her for about 10 minutes, and something makes him want to get closer to her.

He can see scars sprinkled on her chest.

She’s an air of mystery.

Mystery.

“I can most definitely understand that feeling. I’ll go gather the ingredients!”

She flees like a small human Sonic, and he infers for a second that she did track in school. 

Maybe she did.

Jasmine comes back with nuts, cinnamon, dough, butter, sugar, water, honey, vanilla extract, and a lemon. After buttering up a thick pan, she sprinkles in a bunch of nuts and cinnamon.

Just like those chefs gave him a show and made baklava for him back in Greece.

Maxwell starts speaking, most likely attempting to make small talk during the awkward silence.

“So... where are you originally from?”

She softly smiles.

“Queens, New York. We moved to the city when I was 10.”

“What made you move to the city?”

“Oh, well...”

Jasmine slightly hesitates.

“My father had passed away, and we had to do something for a living. So we started this bakery...”

A tense silence invades the bakery, Jasmine quickly swiping her eyes. Maxwell grimaces, and Drake takes over.

“We’re so sorry. We didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable...”

She shoots him a weak grin. “It’s okay. It still hurts, but we’re trying our best to move on.”

At this point, she places two sheets of dough into the pan, and butters it up. She then layers it with nuts and repeats the process. The prince makes a mental note to remember these steps the next time he attempts in making baklava.

He tried to make baklava once, but failed, even after searching the internet to find the recipe.

It had been proved to his friends how much of a bad cook he is.

Liam attempts successfully in changing the topic, in a way to console her.

“Are you a student or...”

“I am! Final year law student at Yale.”

His eyes widen. “Yale? That’s impressive.”

Her mother comes back from the kitchen. “Wait till you hear how she skipped five grades and will be graduating as a lawyer at the age of 21.”

The gang’s eyes widen.

Wow. 

They’re speaking to mini Albert Einstein.

“Mom!”  The law student covers her cheeks in an attempt to stop the light rose pink that’s flooding her face.

Maxwell smiles wickedly. “That's so COOL! Liam, here, is the same! He managed to even excel better than his tutors. One time, he was making fun of them because they got a calculus problem wrong, and he managed to solve it in less than five minutes! He skipped three grades, but always managed to make tutors mad and made them speak to his parents because of his smart mouth-”

“Maxwell!”

Drake chuckles.

“What? It’s the truth!”

She chortles again. That melodic laugh.

“It’s alright. I did that every time, too.”

Jasmine cuts the baklava into diamond shapes and puts them into the oven. She stretches her arms out, unsubtly displaying off her muscles.

Damn.

“Alright. This’ll take about 50 minutes.”

Comfortable silence flows through all of them, Liam enjoying the clock ticking surrounding the small building.

Drake cuts it off. “We forgot to tell you where we’re from. We live in-”

“Cordonia, I know.”

Liam's breath catches.

A part of him wants to berate himself for being so idiotic. For believing that maybe one person won’t know who he is. But he should have known.

He should have known.

Drake closes his mouth and opens it again, unable to say anything.

“Wait, so you know Liam is a prince?”

“Crown Prince, yeah.”

“Then, why didn’t you let us know and treat us like normal people?”

“Because I know.”

Turning to him, she says, “Liam, all you’ve ever wanted was freedom.”

His eyes widen. He feels like he’s being mind-read by a fortune teller. At that moment he should’ve felt uneasy, but all he wants to do is open more of himself to her.

And that petrifies him.

“How... how do you know?”

Jasmine’s expression turns stoic, indecipherable.

“Your eyes. They express everything. You feel like you’re being locked in a jail cell. I was once like you, you know so I know that look anywhere...”

Her eyes turn misty, but she quickly shakes her head.

“You do want to lead your people, but you want to be free in choosing someone at the same time. You want someone you’ll fall in love with.”

Her educated guess is mind-boggling. Straying his eyes back to his friends, they appear as if they’re seeing Liam in a new light. Shocked.

That they didn’t know anything about this, and they’ve known him for years.

Maxwell shakes his head. “Wait, but... if you knew who we were, why didn’t you address Liam as ‘your highness’? Don’t get me wrong, we liked how you didn’t...”

Jasmine snorts. “Because even through he has royalty flowing through his blood, he is a human, just like us. I don’t mean it to be offensive, I swear. While titles also show respect, they put more benefit for someone than for another ‘commoner’. And I don’t like that.”

Liam becomes curious. Jasmine is not one of those average girls who shrieks over a celebrity. She is one of a kind.

And that makes him want to know everything about her.

“Say if... you became a queen one day. How will you rule?”

The law student takes a deep breath before responding. She unconsciously touches her dark brown hair, and twirls a curl over her finger.

“I... I would never go by the rule book. While rules are good and all, sometimes... it would lead to injustice. As Princess Diana said in her interview with Martin Bashir, I would  want to become a queen of people’s hearts, not just for a country. I would be there to do good, not cause harm or difficulty over another citizen’s life. I’m not a violent person. Quite the opposite, actually. I would want to be treated as a typical person with a typical life. I would want to be treated as an everyday person. And... I would want everyone to reminisce me as a woman who did good works, not as a woman with a prestigious title.”

Everything is confirmed. Drake’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to respond to what Jasmine just said. Maxwell has a goofy grin on his face.

Liam, however, has a cheeky smile that one would actually say is of respect and admiration. He admires her.

Even as she now bites her lip, he wants nothing more press his lips to hers. 

And they’ve only known each other for about an hour.

The oven alarm lowers the mounting tension in the bakery. Jasmine jogs over to the oven and takes it. The delicious smell of baklava invades Liam’s nostrils, and he immediately wants to taste it. Looking at the pastry, the gorgeous crispy brown of the dough stands out, with green nuts garnished.

“Take caution! It’s really hot.”

Maxwell smirks slightly, already reaching for a baklava. “Oh, I don’t think it’s that- HOLY SQUIDS!”

The once smirking Maxwell now has a face of pain etched on his face, holding his right hand after it burned a little. Jasmine, seeing this, snorts.

“Told you so.”

Shaking his head, Liam -carefully- takes  a piece of baklava, blowing it slightly to soothe the heat. Once it is lowered to a considerable heat, he takes a bite out of it and-

My.

God.

It is scrumptious.

And it appears that Drake and Maxwell are thinking the same thing, their friends’ eyes filled with astonishment.

Jasmine bites her lip, most likely unaware of the action. God, if he could just-

“So, did you like it?”

Shaking off his dirty thoughts, he responds, “Like it? This is the best baklava I’ve ever tasted.”

Her wide eyes contain jouissance, Liam can tell.

“Thank you! Glad I didn’t mess it up!”

Jasmine blushes again, something Liam just knows is a rare sight for anyone.

Just then, her mother comes in, sauntering hurriedly up to them. Her eyes are tense and full of worry.

“So... how is the baklava?”

Liam smiles, hopefully soothing her mother with the action.

“I can reassure you, even the most famous chefs in Greece hadn’t made me this tasty baklava before in my life. It tastes like heaven, ma’am. Your daughter has talent.”

She sighs in relief. “Thank you, sons!”

Without hesitance, the mother kisses Jasmine on her cheek, and in return the daughter kisses her on her forehead. The act reminds him of his own mother, before she died.

“How much does this cost?” Drake interrupts.

“This? This is free.”

What?

Liam refuses. “Oh, that’s not possible, we have to give you something-”

Jasmine laughs. “I insist. First of all, this wasn’t even part of the menu, although we do need to add it to ours. Second, you deserve this. For the first time, other than my mother, I felt like someone else got me.”

The words make the prince look at her deeply into her eyes. Jasmine stares back, not one of them blinking. Finally, the law student breaks the contact.

Just then, Drake clears his throat. “I hate to interrupt but we have to leave. Is it alright if we take more of these?”

The mother smiles. “Sure, sweetie! Take as much as you need.”

As Maxwell and Drake grab more of the baklava, Liam goes up to Jasmine.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye,” he says, his tone with a hint of heartache.

She smiles wistfully. “Yeah.”

And they hesitate before hugging one another tightly. Liam closes his eyes, in what could be his last moments of freedom. He makes this time worth it. Jasmine reluctantly pulls back and clears her throat.

“But hey, something tells me we’ll see each other again soon,” she adds, with a hint of a smirk.

And just like that, Liam starts to have second thoughts.

Maybe New York City is not that awful.

Narrator: Jasmine was right in what she said. They will see each other again. And they marry, and they make babies-

Author’s note: First Liam x MC fic lol. I hope I did this some justice HAHA. Anyways, if you’ve made it this far, thank you! ♥️

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