#can’t we all just get along and bake cakes together

[bootyfullsoull]

I have an odd relationship with my co-worker.

When we came back to the office I kept to myself and never thought about talking to anyone. Until she started talking to me and those who are stuck here all began to get along (myself and two male peers along with her) anyways. . .

I feel like she only became “friends” with me because she has no friends. I mean she does but idk it’s a weird vibe. I’m outspoken and so is she but when I disagree with somthing it’s like she gives me the silent treatment. I know this is her projecting or maybe I’m tripping but idk it’s a little upsetting cos my vibe is peaceful and humorous but this ruins the whole atmosphere.

Let me explain a little more.

The other night myself, her, and my male co-worker got in a heated disagreement over the Will Smith incident where he slapped the hell outta Chris Rock. Her defense was that Chris spoke bad on Jada when we all know she did Will wrong so my male co-worker and I were in agreement that he shouldn’t have slapped Chris over something so foolish not to mention JADA DID WILL WRONG. Don’t embarrass yourself over someone who clearly has no respect for you.

Because of this disagreement she has hardly spoken to me even tho we’ve been alone in the office the past two days and it’s awkward af like I understand you don’t like conflict neither do I but I don’t take things like that personal. Their lives have nothing to do with us. It was a silly thing to even discuss. I usually don’t partake in my peers convos about celebrities but Idgaf but I’m shook that something like this was taken so serious.

I know what I will do, a peace offering of her favorite tea 😪😬🙏🏼🥴

[steddielations]

Steve walks into utter chaos.

He was stopping by just to see Max, but all the increasingly concerning noise coming from the Munson’s trailer drew him over there instead. Worried that all the cursing and clattering would drown out any chance of a knock being heard, Steve lets himself in. 

Eddie doesn’t even notice him come inside, too busy scrambling around the complete wreck of a kitchen.

“Dude, are you cooking or just banging pots and pans together? I thought you were dying in here.”

Eddie squawks and jumps about a foot in the air. His hair is even more disheveled than usual, barely tied down with a bandana. He’s got flour splotches on his face and all over the frilly grandma apron he’s wearing (which Steve is definitely getting a photo of and showing Dustin later) along with a suspiciously sticky goo on his fingers.

“Stop laughing at me,” Eddie groans. 

“I’m not laughing,” Steve laughs, going to join him in the kitchen, “What are you doing, man?” 

“Well, I’m trying to bake Wayne a cake, but at this point, I might as well give him a frosting covered rock for his birthday,” Eddie sighs, frustrated hands scrubbing the flour off his apron, “I don’t know, man, usually I just get him another mug and a pack of smokes, and he’s never asked me for anything, but I’ve put him through hell this year I just wanted— I don’t know like, to do something special but I can’t even—”

“Alright, take it off.”

Steve folds his arms and waits while Eddie just gawks at him for a moment, cheeks reddening under the patches of flour.

“What?”

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

Eddie scoffs, starts muttering like he does when he’s nervous and Steve cracks a smile when he realizes why.

“The apron, Eddie,” he gestures, “Hand it over.” 

Another moment of confused staring and Eddie slowly gives it to him.

Steve wastes no time shaking out the flour and tying it around himself. He moves past Eddie, gets right to work clearing the mess and salvaging what ingredients he can.

“You…” Eddie peeks over Steve’s shoulder, “You know how to bake?”

“I can make a cake,” Steve shrugs, “Robin obsesses over shit sometimes, calls them her “little brain worms” or whatever. She couldn’t stop thinking about this cake she swore she had for her 5th birthday but couldn’t remember the flavor. So we made every cake recipe in her mom’s cookbook until we found the right one.”

“So Harrington’s got a secret Betty Crocker power-up, impressive.”

“Nah, just small stuff. I help Claudia with Dustin’s birthday cakes. Little shit is very particular about his red velvet.” 

Eddie snorts and Steve waves him over to start washing the dishes. He does so with a small salute that smears more flour on his forehead. The word cute comes to Steve’s mind but he just rolls his eyes. 

“So you dusted off your oven mitts for little old me, hm? I’m flattered.”

“Only because I like Wayne and I’d prefer if you didn’t give him food poisoning,” Steve teases, dumping out Eddie’s abomination of batter into the trash. Though he softens when he sees the way Eddie winces at it. “And I think it’s nice, you know, you doing this for him. I wanna help.”

Eddie clearly holds back a smile, looking down at the bubbles in the sink, and the cute word comes back to Steve’s mind.

“Okay well, take it easy on me. Not everyone has a bunch of mom friends teaching them to bake.” 

“Oh yeah, then where’d you get this grandma apron? You just had this little number in the closet with your leather and chains?”

“No, it’s Mrs. Bennet’s and she’s not my friend,” Eddie bristles and Steve senses a hell of a backstory there, “I stole it off her clothesline.” 

Steve laughs and makes Eddie tell him the whole story, all the inner workings of Forest Hills feuds. It’s nice, Steve’s been spending more time here since everything, listening to Eddie’s stories and sharing his own. It’s easy to be around Eddie, even though that pesky word won’t get out of Steve’s head.

Once the batter is finished, Steve dips a finger in to test.

“How does it taste?” Eddie asks, “Better than mine I hope.”

Steve hums around his finger, “So good, here taste,” he meant to slide Eddie the bowl, but the wires must’ve gotten crossed somewhere, because now he’s holding out a dollop of cake batter on the tip of his finger to Eddie’s mouth. 

They both look down at it, then at each other again. Steve knows he should apologize, drop his hand and say it was a mistake but there’s something about the way Eddie’s looking at him, the way he subtly licks his lips is almost like— He wants this. 

So Steve lets him have it.

Eddie leans in, keeps his hands at his sides and slowly guides himself down on Steve’s finger. His eyes fall shut as his mouth closes around it, like it’s too much, watching Steve watching him. It’s a lot for Steve too, the wet warmth of Eddie’s mouth, one swirl of his tongue almost makes Steve’s knees buckle. 

Something comes over him, he presses his finger down just slightly, feeling Eddie’s tongue curl around the tip. It elicits a soft noise from Eddie that sends heat thrumming all through Steve. Eddie’s eyes flutter open, brows turned upwards and mouth in a plush little O around Steve’s finger, looking up at him through dark lashes, a dot of flour on his nose. The sight makes Steve’s breath catch in his throat. It’s fucking cute and hot.

Steve has to swallow his own noise when Eddie pulls off. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, a slight grin on his lips, “Really good.” 

Steve’s about to do something crazy, put his finger back in Eddie’s mouth, maybe more than one this time, or just his lips on Eddie's, maybe even slip his tongue inside instead of his fingers, lick all that sweetness away until he just tastes Eddie, something— but a sudden loud knock on the door has him dropping his hand like it’s made of cement.

It’s Max, wanting to know why Steve ditched her for Eddie. She comes inside to ‘help’ which means she leans against the counter, talks about her day, complains, teases Steve and makes fun of Eddie for being demoted to dish duty. 

Steve puts the cake in the oven and focuses on cleaning and composing himself. He can feel Eddie trying to meet his gaze, trying to see if Steve's going to freak out on him after that. Once Steve can look at him without feeling like he’s going to burst into flames, he gives Eddie a small reassuring smile, even throws him a wink when Max isn’t looking. Eddie gives him a smile back.

And later, after Wayne comes home and they sing happy birthday and eat the cake that Steve insists Eddie helped him with— Just the tasting part, Steve says and revels in how Eddie covers a blush with his hair— and after they walk Max home, Steve pulls Eddie behind the trailer and kisses him until he doesn’t taste like cake anymore.

for the prompts "You heard me. Take. It. Off." and "Stop laughing at me" for @highkingpenny and anon, thank you and I hope you enjoy this!!

[2knightt]

IM SORRY, I KNOW U GOT A REQUEST ON THIS SO MUCH ALREADY BUT…

Your motherly!reader fics are so good 😭! can you pleasee do another? platonic with the gang!! no romance 🥰 thank youu ❤️❤️❤️ your work is amazing btw!

the gang x motherly!reader

!warnings!

1.i did headcanons i hope thats okay😭

2.fem!reader

3.swearing and a small mention of violence.

Johnny Cade ;

like i’ve said before in other fics, he loves you so much.

honestly, you might be one of his favourite people!

when he walks down the street and he just so happens to see a cute flower, he picks it and gives it to you!

when he first met you, he refused to see you when he was injured in anyway. he thought you’d think he was weak and never see him again.

but as time went on, and you showed that you genuinely cared for him, he showed more of his vulnerable side.

johnny likes it when you patch him up now!

he thinks it’s calming, relaxing, and a, ‘nice change of things rather than lettin’ mother nature cure it.’

when he unknowingly/accidentally vents to you about his home life, he does get embarrassed.

he didn’t want you knowing, but when you hugged him real tight and told him sweet nothings?? he teared up ngl.

johnny wishes you could’ve been his mom.

when or if you have kids, johnny wishes they don’t take the, ‘how was your day?’ and the, ‘how’s school going?’ for granted.

because to johnny cade, that would be his perfect fairytale.

having someone as sweet as you to turn his life around, makes him excited to see tomorrow.

Dallas Winston ;

another bitch with mommy issues who is glad to have you.

mrs.curtis was definitely the mother he never had but always wanted and when she died, he was devastated.

but when you came along and started being that mother he missed??? he was both annoyed and over the moon.

he didn’t like that every time you bailed him out of jail, he got an ear full. however, he did like to know verbally that someone cared about him

he doesn’t show you any sort of affection, but he will tell you how he feels when drunk.

“thank you, so much y/n. i-i don’t know where i’d be without you.”

for mothers day, he doesn’t do anything special.

BUT—you didn’t hear this from me, before the clock hits 12, expect to hear like a cute little knock at your door, and open it to see a single flower on the ground with a pack of cigarettes.

dally ran off before you or anyone else could see him.

even though he didn’t sign his name, you knew it was from him. so, next time you see him, say thank you.

Ponyboy Curtis ;

he’s like a toddler around you???

ponyboy definitely pretends to be like, your own bodyguard.

but really, who’s scared of ponyboy?

he tries though!

when he watches a movie and some character reminds him of you, expect that to be the first thing he tells you.

“ya know, when i went to the drive in, you really reminded of this one character.”

“oh? why’s that?”

“well because-“

and now you have to sit there and listen to him.

he’ll draw for you so much :(.

if you tell him your favourite flower, he WILL give you a drawing of it the next day. he’ll stay up all night if he has too!

Sodapop Curtis ;

he’s literally your #2 fan. first place goes to johnny.

he’s your biggest hypeman??? omg???

“gee, y/n! you’re lookin’ real fancy!! gonna get all the guys, eh?”

when ponyboy and darry argue and he just can’t take it anymore, he calls you and asks to come over.

and of course, you say yes everytime.

so please, PLEASE, just let him cry into your arms!!!!

when he’s done, he’ll try to go home but i’m begging you to tell him he’s welcomed to stay the night.

and if he does stay? ponyboy will be at your doorstep too.

he’ll share his famous chocolate cake with you!! he’ll make sure steve doesn’t touch it.

“STEVE THAT WAS FOR Y/N! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”

“OH SHIT SHIT SHIT! WE MAKE MAKE ONE TOGETHER! THE MORE PEOPLE THE FASTER THE CAKE WILL BAKE RIGHT?!”

“DO I LOOK LIKE A SCIENTIST??”

Darry Curtis ;

he is so thankful for you i legit can’t stress that enough.

you keep the gang in check, you keep ponyboy happy, and you help him around the house. what more could he ask for?

you legit force darry to relax while you look after the gang to make sure nothing bad happens.

“we’ll be fine, darry. go to bed, your dark circles are gettin’ darker by the minute.”

“yeah super-man! we’ll be fine with y/n!”

“yeah!!”

“fine, but if she wakes me up to tell me about any of you, so god help me.”

if you welcome him home with a newspaper and his favourite cup of coffee after a long day at work, he might ask you to move in.

Steve Randle ;

steve pretends that he doesn’t like you that much.

but he really does. like, the second he hears some soc threaten or insult you? he’s after them.

shit, he might be chasin’ after them in two-bits car while two-bit yells at the person.

he will legit go to war for you if you asked him nicely.

he will rant to you about cars if you let him😭.

he’ll rant to you about anything, honestly.

“and then the old bastard asked for a refund! the ‘no refunds’ sign was right on the door! how could that old bat not see it?!”

“steve! don’t call people that, but yes, it was very rude of that man to do that too you.”

“RIGHT?!”

Two-bit Matthews ;

he forces you to relax and watch mickey mouse with him.

he says it’s for your own good but when really, he just wants to spend time with you without the gang interrupting.

“guys! you’re stressing her out with all your STUPID questions! c’mon, y/n, mickey mouse is calling our names. can’t you hear it?”

“or maybe its the booze you had at 10AM.”

“i will sock you in your fucking throat steve.”

he plays with your hair…he finds it fun!

please tell him how to do some styles so he can go home and impress his little sister :(.

he offers you beer every once and awhile just so he can say he got you to loosen up.

“so y/n…you want some?”

“oh! no thank you, two. you know i don’t drink.”

he calls you mom in a joking way, ya dig?

“momm! steve called me a dumbass!”

“steve, be nice! apologize.”

“what the fuck?!”

author notes ;

1. i like totally rushed near the end LMFAO.

2. i never thought you bitches would eat motherly!reader up like this??

3.are you guys okay??

4.THANK U SWEETHEART OMFG??

5.i think theres no romance??

may 15th, 2023. 6:39PM

[alienaiver]

Hello Love, I would love to request a reader with IBS with Bakugo crushing on them

hi my love !!! i hope you'll enjoy this, thank you for sending in a request! <3

warnings: none, fluff + sfw wordcount: 1.3k notes: kept the specific IBS triggers as vague as possible. we all know bakugous a big fan of organizing and planning. impressing you is no less meticulous than his entire career plan. timeskip, semi-early prohero bakugou under best jeanist's agency!

Bakugou prides himself in his cooking, always has. So when Best Jeanist gave him his own department in the agency with various heroes, sidekicks and support under him, he decided he’d build up trust in various ways.

One of them was to cook for his colleagues weekly, gathering them for lunch in the open office at the center of his department floor, only asking them all to provide their own drinks.

It’s popular immediately, everyone gushing over the homemade food by a rising hero like Dynamight. He takes the praise in stride and it motivates him to surpass his own dishes every week. There’s only one issue.

You don’t eat any of it.

It’s not like you choose to be anti-social when this particular lunch break rolls around. You just always bring your own bento box, even if he keeps insisting it’s all free and that he always makes more than needed so that no one needs to hold back.

He makes a variety of dishes; Asian, European, even American styled foods, and whenever he goes directly to your seat to personally present the dishes, you just give him this wide smile that turns his knees into jelly before you say, “that’s so kind of you, Bakugou! Thank you.” before you stab your chopsticks into your own lunch.

It ticks him off, but mostly, it makes him deflate. Of course Bakugou’s not cooking for eight people once a week only to impress you, but it had been part of his 12-step plan to make you fall in love with him. Though he won’t ever admit that he has specific steps set in motion.

First was to get noticed by you in the agency as a whole. Then, to be promoted by Best Jeanist from newly hired sidekick to established hero, and third's to get his own secretary – which you became, because you got along so well by the water cooler. After that was to get this department. A minor step in the right direction was also to get you a new desk that had more space for your trinkets.

His current step, the food, seems to be his Achilles heel. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that you’d have the audacity to be uninterested. You’ve gotten along so well for years now, it’s strange that you don’t even want to taste. He can’t find it in himself to see it as rude, because as earlier established, you dutifully show up and socialize.

He’s in his office, boots on the desk as he contemplates his next move. His food was supposed to have given him an in into your life outside of work, inviting you home to teach you a few cooking tricks, have a nice wine and fluid conversations that’d make you laugh and weak in the knees.

And yet, here he is, dateless.

For a few weeks now he’s been taken peeks at your lunches whenever he passes your desk, but it’s not like anything specific glares at him, like a heavy gluten allergy or lactose intolerance. There’s dairy some days, he’s seen peanuts in your bento, too – and meat. Your diet really doesn’t exude vegetarianism or like you have any other food restrictions. Before weekends, he’s seen you taste the cakes that Himiko, the support secretary, brings with her. But you declined the baked goods he was given once from a rescue mission on a Tuesday. They were both the same type of cake.

Are you just incredibly picky?

He shakes his head and hides his pout in the collar of his suit; he needs to go on patrol soon. He doesn’t have time to think about this all day.

//

A few more grueling weeks of grumbling and groaning over how to make you eat his food, he notices a pattern in your lunches that’s taken him a while to put together. Certain items are never in the bento, like eggs or pineapples.

The other night he ate out with his parents, and his mother loudly talked about her colleague’s stomach issues, not caring that everyone in the restaurant was turning their heads to the conversation; Masaru kept trying to douse her noise level. Not only was the topic sort of awkward when everyone around you is eating (though husband and son were no strangers to such subjects during dinner at the Bakugou household), it’d be a bother if a patron recognized Bakugou.

Of course, Mitsuki paid no heed to anyone else but her family at their table, and explained about the condition she’d just learned about. About certain food triggering reactions even if no official allergy was involved; luckily, the healthcare provided by Mitsuki and Masaru’s company covered some very expensive allergy tests, and she’d then told Mitsuki that she had been diagnosed with IBS.

After being dropped off at his own apartment, he’d sat by his computer and googled IBS, which he learned stands for irritable bowel syndrome. He sucked up all knowledge available on the internet, scientific papers and healthcare provider’s talk about certain diets, testimonials from affected people and watched tons of videos from influencers creating awareness on TikTok. If the bags under his eyes were visible at work the day after, no one commented on it.

//

Now his heartbeat’s through the roof as he puts out the food like usual on the center table, everyone gathering and complimenting him on the smell. His hands are sweaty; more so than normal. He keeps wiping them off on his pants, swallowing excess saliva. In the thermal bag, at the bottom, is a dish specifically made with you in mind. He wonders if you’ll hate it.

You walk in next to Himiko, laughing about a joke she made. You part when you go directly for a seat and Himiko comes up to the make-shift buffet, patting his back in praise.

While everyone is busy filling their plates, Bakugou grabs the last bento box and goes straight to you. He puts it on top of the bento you’re just about to open, “here.”

You freeze for a second, eyes locked on the box. Then you smile up at Bakugou, “that’s so sweet Bakugou, but I brought my own food.”

He almost rolls his eyes before he squats down to lean his arms and head on the table and look up at your eyes. Gently, he says, “it should be safe.”

He hopes his voice doesn't sound as raw as it feels.

The comment takes you back as your eyes are locked onto his. He searches them, drowning in the richness of the color. It’s like he’s at the deep-end of the pool, entranced by a spell, only able to keep himself floating. You raise your brow, “safe?”

He turns away from you with a pout, “I often put pineapple in my curry. And eggs in my bibimbap. This is curry without all the things I’ve noticed you avoid.”

Your eyes travel between the lunch and him, comically back and forth like a cartoon character. “That you’ve noticed I avoid?”

Bakugou blushes; shit. He’d really hoped you wouldn’t catch on to that part. He hides his face in the arms that’s resting on the table edge. “Yeah,” he mutters out, muffled by his hidden face. The silence stretches out, and he’s holding his breath.

After what feels like entirely too long, you let out a small laugh and he hears the lid clicking open. You inhale deeply, and let out a satisfied sigh, “this looks delicious, Bakugou. Did you make it all for me?”

He lifts his head, his eyes still locked to the side. His ears are burning, “mhm,” he nods. You almost coo at him, as you pick up your chopsticks, “this is very kind of you.”

Neither of you notices your colleagues standing around you, various expressions of awe and admiration. You’ve both been the office gossip for some months now.

Bakugou looks at you as soon as you’ve taken the first bite, determined to see your reaction through his embarrassment. Through your chewing you can’t help but smile, stars emerging glittering and shimmering in your eyes as you reach a hand to your cheek, “Bakugou, this is amazing!” you say, taking another mouthful as fast as possible. He loves the way his name sounds when it comes out from your lips; you use it so often it makes him dizzy.

“Can you teach me how to make this? Please?”

Step six completed.

He smirks, “sure. It’s a date.”

check out if my requests are open here ✨

[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: Here’s Part 2! This fic is an entry for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event. 🩵❄️

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 5,700 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut central, tiny bit of angst, fluff and feels. ❤️💚

Part 2: Christmas Eve

Before you start on the Christmas cookies, you pull Castiel aside.

“Here’s the mission,” you tell the angel. “I know the guys don’t do Christmas all that often, so I want to surprise them with a nice dinner tomorrow. Think you can get this list of stuff for me? I think my addled brain forgot we needed real food too.”

Castiel looks over the scrap of notebook paper you give him with a critical eye.

“Uh, yes. This seems straightforward enough…what about pie?” he asks.

You raise a brow at him. “What about pie?”

“Dean likes pie.”

“I understand, but Christmas is for cookies. Not pies.”

“I think Dean would beg to differ,” Cas points out.

“Fine, get the man his pie,” you relent with a sigh. “Get pecan. He likes pecan, and that’s still somewhat Christmasy.”

“He likes apple better,” Cas mutters, but he still takes up your list and heads out to do your bidding.

Now with most of the bunker, namely the kitchen, all to yourself, you put on some festive music on your phone before you start to lay out all your ingredients on the counter.

Not many people know about your hobby, but you think you’ve seen enough baking shows to be proficient with some flour and egg.

You decide to begin with good old-fashioned sugar cookies that you’ll try your best to decorate later. But first, you start measuring out ingredients.

You sing along with Eartha Kitt’s “Santa Baby,” not knowing that you have an audience.

Dean spots you on his way back in from the garage. He was aiming to grab a drink of water from the fridge. He finds you instead, bopping around the kitchen. He hears you humming breathily to the music, watches you swaying your hips to her sultry notes. And he smirks. 

He steps up behind you and leans in close to your ear to ask, “What’cha making?”

You jump with a loud yelp, flinging up flour with your wooden spoon. Hearing Dean’s laughter, you whip around and give him a playful glare before swatting at him with the spoon.

“Hey!” he protests when you mark his shirt (more than once) with flour. You smirk and continue your task of mixing the dough.

Serves you right, troublemaker, you think. He comes up behind you to inspect your work.

“Cake?” he asks.

“Cookies, remember?” you tell him. “Want to help me?”

“You seem to be doing just fine.” He raises a brow as you take chunks of dough, roll them evenly in your hands, and place them on the tray. You’re making quick work of it too.

“Matter of fact, you look like a pro,” he adds.

You flash him a smile tinged with nostalgia.

“Yeah, well, my mom and I used to do this together every year when I was a kid. Snickerdoodles, oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, oatmeal chocolate chip—”

“I think I get the picture,” Dean says with a growing smile. You return it, but your expression starts to fade the longer you think of her. 

Dean catches the shift; he knows your mom passed just a few years ago, losing her battle with lung cancer. He and Sam attended the funeral.

Dean understands. He just lost his own mother a few months ago—again. Another reason he can’t quite be Mr. Nice Guy with Jack. At least, not how they used to be. He knows it wasn’t the kid’s fault. Logically, Dean knows this. The nephilim didn’t have his soul.

In Dean’s heart though, his mom is still gone from this world. She got cheated out of her second chance at life. And deep down, selfishly, Dean feels cheated too.

It’s a reminder that gets stuck in his throat. But it dislodges another memory, one he feels comfortable enough with you to share, in the privacy of a quiet kitchen.

“I think I remember helping my mom bake something once, when I was a kid,” Dean admits. Though he clears his throat when your gaze turns to him in interest.

“Think it was chocolate chip cookies…well, whatever, they were hard as a rock,” he says, smiling at the memory. “So we went to the store and bought some from the bakery instead.”

You watch how his face softens, in the way it does whenever he talks about his mother. You smile just as softly.

“Aw, little Dean,” you say, because you can imagine it so clearly. Maybe he’s four or five, working dough between his small hands. And beautiful Mary, smiling beside him, encouraging him.

Dean’s eyes meet yours, uncomfortable with the gentle way you’re looking at him. So he clears his throat and goes into the fridge. He pulls out the eggnog and finds the rum you bought last night, specifically for what he’s about to do.

“Ooh, good idea,” you say as he fixes both of you a glass. Though you balk at his heavy pour of rum. “Geez, trying to get me drunk before noon?”

He grins at you. “Morning, night, and day are the only times to be drunk.”

You snort in response.

“Is that all?” you remark, and you wipe your hands of the wet dough (and most of the flour) before you take the glass he offers. You clink your glass with his and take a sip, even though you choke on it soon after.

“Jesus Christ, Dean,” you cough. He had to have poured half the bottle of Bacardi Superior in there.

Dean sucks between his teeth. “Yep, that is bracing.”

He glances over at you and smiles, raising a finger at the corner of your mouth.

“You’ve got some there,” he points out. You touch your chin, trying to feel for anything on your face.

“Where?”

“On your mustache, there.”

“I don’t have a mustache!” you say indignantly. You know this for a fact, as you spent a fair amount of time waxing and shaving yourself last night.

…Not that you had any particular reason to (or anyone to wax for), you just noticed that you needed some grooming. That’s all.   

Dean’s grin edges into a teasing smirk. “Don’t worry, it’s cute. Less Duck Dynasty and more Steve Harvey, Family Feud guy.”

You splutter laughing and hit his chest with the back of your hand.

“You’re such an ass.”

He chuckles and wipes the bit of eggnog from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. It makes your cheeks flare with a warm blush.

“Well, I uh, should get these into the fridge to chill,” you say. You grab the tray of rolled up cookie dough and head for the fridge, but maybe you’re more frazzled than you realize.

You accidentally knock into Dean’s elbow, making him spill half his drink down the front of his shirt.

You gasp, eyes flying wide, while he looks down at the mess now dripping from his shirt onto the floor. When he eventually looks up at you in deadpan exasperation, you have to bite your lip against a smile.

“Good job,” he cracks.

“I’m so sorry,” you say with a bubble of nervous laughter. “Hold on.”

You finish putting the tray in the fridge and immediately turn to grab a few paper towels. You go to Dean and start helping him blot out the sticky, frothy mess staining through his green flannel and black undershirt, from chest to sternum.

The problem is, the paper towel is thin and breaking off on his shirt, making your task damn near impossible. White, wet pieces of paper are coming off on his black shirt.

“Well, you’re doing great,” Dean wryly remarks.

You can’t help but giggle. “It’s not all my damn fault here. Who the hell buys one-ply paper towels?”

“Sam. Evidently, he’s cheap as hell,” he replies, eliciting another laugh from you.

Soon enough you give up on the paper towel with a huff, and you go to grab an actual hand towel. Dean follows you, which assures that you bump into him again when you turn back around.

You yelp as your foot starts to slip on the sticky drops on the floor, but Dean grabs your arms, steadying you. You can’t help but giggle again, looking up at him. He quirks an amused smile down at you.

But then your face slackens as you gaze up above his head. He curiously follows suit.

And you both realize that you’ve fallen into a trap.

Jack’s sprig of mistletoe once again lies above your head. Your heart trips up a bit faster as Dean looks down at you, this time with a growing smirk.

“My turn,” he says. His eyes are flirtatious, but they hold a hint of something deeper. Something you can’t name.

“Are you gonna go for my cheek like I’m your cousin?” he asks.

His raised brow is a challenge, and it makes you bite the inside of your lip. He can be so annoying, but you suppose he wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t make things more difficult for you.

Well, I didn’t put on lipstick for nothing, you muse. And though anticipation and nerves trill down your spine, you lean up on your toes, take his face between your flour-stained hands, and press your lips to his.

It’s a sweet kiss, and his hands come to rest along the curve of your waist, holding you close.

When you pull away, you suddenly realize just what you’ve done as you let your hands fall away from his face. You’re not quite sure what to do with them afterwards, so they clench awkwardly in the air between you two.

Dean looks down at you with a softer, yet playful smirk. He reluctantly drops his hands from your waist.

But he makes a show of licking his lips. You taste sweeter than boozy eggnog…actually, you taste more like chocolate. He glances behind you, and sure enough, he spies the Nestle bag in the corner.   

“Chocolate chips?” he notes, eyeing you suspiciously. “Maybe those weren’t originally meant to be sugar cookies, huh?”

His gaze is drawn to the way you bite your lip again, trying to hold back an embarrassed smile. You raise a hand to wipe the imprint of MAC’s “Russian Red” lipstick from his mouth, and he smirks under the pad of your thumb.

“You saw nothing,” you warn him. You attempt to stifle another nervous giggle. “You’re officially sworn to secrecy.”

He hums at that. “I don’t know. What’s in it for me?”

“You’re asking for a bribe?” You raise a brow.

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Maybe. What’cha got for me?”

He rests a hand on the counter by your arm, subtly leaning in and looming over you with his broad frame. A hot blush heats your cheeks, then down your neck. And then excitement bubbles inside you.

Because the one thing you never thought would happen seems to be happening: Dean is actually, honest to God flirting with you. 

Your mouth twitches at a smile as you pretend to think. 

“Hmm…okay! I got it,” you say.

You grip the front of his shirt, and once again lean up on your toes so you can kiss him. This time, Dean holds you there by your cheek. His large hand presses against your warm skin, and his fingers soon delve into your hair. You hum against his lips and deepen the angle of your kiss, your palms lying flat against his chest.

So fucking firm, you think. A solid wall of a man.

Dean’s free hand falls warmly on your hip, bringing you ever closer. He makes a pleased sound when you suck and nip at his lower lip. And with each new kiss, you’re falling deeper and deeper into the intoxication of him. 

Before you realize it, he’s walked you back to press you into the little table in the kitchen, where you all shared breakfast this morning. But you surprise him by breaking the kiss. You pull away just enough to see his confused, handsome face.

“There you go. That’s your payment,” you tease. “Good enough?”

“Hell fucking no,” Dean rasps. 

He dives back in to claim your lips, and you smile, letting him do it. Your whole body is buzzing with warmth of feeling and happiness, especially when his arms slip around you firmly and pull you flush against him. Your hands travel up his flannel-clad arms to wind around his neck.

A moan catches in your throat when his lips veer away from yours, beginning a path along the curve of your jaw, down the side of your neck, stopping just under your ear. His stubble prickles against your skin in the most delicious of ways. Your eyes close at the feeling. 

You sigh and card your fingers up the back of his neck, through his hair. “Dean…”

He surprises you with a nipping kiss on your earlobe, making you jump a little with a yelp.

You utter a laugh and playfully tighten your hand in his hair. “Hey!”

The sound of his deep, muffled chuckle in your ear sends tingles along your skin and heat, down between your legs. You let out a shaking sigh and press kisses of your own to his neck.

You tug at the collar of his shirt to reveal more skin, so you can latch onto his shoulder next. It’s a playful bite, one that elicits a groan from Dean as his thigh slips between both of yours.

His hands find your waist, and with a quiet grunt, he hefts you up onto the kitchen table. You squeal at the sudden move, clinging to his shoulders when the table shakes a bit.

But it prompts you to look up at Dean’s face. You see the desire darkening his eyes to hunter green. And his hands part your knees to let him stand between them.

You blush hotly when his palms smooth up your bare thighs, over the skirt of your dress. He drags the thin fabric with him and rucks it up well above your knees. Your mouth parts on a shaky breath when those sinful hands stop at your hips, bunching up the fabric there.

“I like this dress,” he mentions. Your mouth curves with a grin.

“I think it likes you back,” you reply. Your gaze falls to his chest as you pick at the collar of his flannel. “This should go, though.”

With an amused huff, Dean shrugs out of the green plaid first. You help him with the black undershirt next, giggling a little when it gets caught on his wrist and spikes up his short hair. That’s all right, you think, because you’re about to mess it up even more.

Your hands run over his bare chest first though, as you drink him in with your eyes. Dean notices with a smirk, and he lets you pull him in again by his hair as you meet him with a passionate kiss.

He likes the way you try to devour him with lips and tongue and teeth. In turn, he slips underneath the skirt of your dress and squeezes your thighs.

You gasp into his mouth, allowing him to devour you back. It makes you realize that this is seriously heading somewhere. It’s hot and heady and his touch is making your head swim. But your heart shoots you a firm reminder…

One that makes you slower to respond to Dean’s increasingly demanding kiss.

Sensing your hesitation though, Dean slows his roll.

“You okay?” his deep voice rumbles.

When you don’t have a ready answer for him, he pulls back enough to see your face. He finds your uncertainty.

You look down in embarrassment.  

Even though his heart is still pounding (and his dick straining in his jeans), Dean moves his hands from under your skirt, back to your waist. And he raises his brows, ducking to find your eyes. Once you meet his gaze, he gives you a smile. 

“Hey, talk to me,” he prompts. His thumbs brush against your sides, earning your weak smile back. Your hands slide down his neck to rest on his shoulders.

“Sorry. I just, um…” you stumble on your words. You’re not sure how you want to say this, but Dean’s brows are knitting together. His face is more serious now as he watches you with singular focus. It gives you enough courage to put your heart in his hands.

“This, us, right now…is this a one-time deal?” you ask.

Out of all the things he thought you might say, maybe Dean should’ve prepared for that one a bit better. He frowns, considering how to answer you—and what would put the least amount of pressure on you. Even though his gut is telling him (kicking him), on what he should really tell you.

But those words get stuck in his mouth. So all he can bring himself to say is…

“If you want it to be,” he says.

You bite your lip at that. Though not in a good way, his instincts also tell him. Your gaze falls.

“That’s just it,” you say. After a moment, you manage to look up at him again. 

“I don’t think I can do that,” you say in measured tones, even though you’re scared. “I like you, Dean.” 

The “like” feels like something a lot deeper, even to your own ears.

But you don’t expect the way Dean’s guarded face softens.

He breaks into a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, brushing your cheek with his thumb. You close your eyes at the tender touch. 

“Well, that’s good,” he says. “Because here I was, trying to wrap my head around how I was supposed to let you go after havin’ you…right where I want you.”

Your eyes flash open at that. Then he leans down and kisses you again. Your shock is a powerful thing, but it all but melts at his touch. You relax into him with a sigh of relief, kissing him back and closing your eyes against the sweet sting of tears.

You don’t have time to let them fall though. Dean doesn’t give that to you. He pulls you by your thighs until you’re at the edge of the table. You feel his hands travel up and curl around the waistband of your underwear. You raise up for him so he can tug them down, over your ass and thighs, and you kick the black, lacy panties off your foot with a giggle.

Dean grins, especially when you go for his belt. Your eyes briefly meet with his while you make quick work of the buckle, then the button and zipper on his jeans. You hook two fingers in the waistband of his boxer briefs and tug him closer.

“Come ‘ere,” you whisper.

Smirking, Dean obliges you, stepping closer into your orbit. And he has to grip your thighs for support when you slide a hand down the front of his underwear, feeling down the length of his hard cock with a gentle, sensuous hand. He moans, pressing his forehead into your shoulder.

“Ooh, finders keepers,” you tease. Dean snorts against your neck and presses a biting kiss there, satisfied by the way you gasp and shiver.

You feel the shape of his smile on your skin. But he grabs your arms tight when your hand squeezes experimentally around his cock.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You gonna keep teasing me, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you reply cheekily. All the while, you continue to caress him within the confines of his pants, especially brushing your thumb around the sensitive head.

If you keep this up, he’s not going to last long enough to do everything he wants to do to you. Everything he’s dreamed about for years with a hand wrapped around himself…but he’s been too much of a fucking coward to make that leap with you.

He told himself he was protecting you. That you were better off with someone less damaged. That he’d just drag you down into his hellish life.

But he just can’t fucking take it anymore. 

So Dean grasps your wrist, prompting you to release him. You look down at his face and catch the way his playfulness fades into a more concentrated desire. The heat in his eyes makes your mouth part in soft surprise.

Dean picks up from where he left off before, pressing a hand to your cheek and ravaging your lips. His hand then slides into your hair and gets a firm grip. All the while, his free one slips beneath your dress and between your legs. First he just teases the seam of your pussy with the calloused pads of his fingertips.

Your breath catches in your throat as you squeeze his shoulders and lean back, giving him a better angle. And you utter a moan when those thick digits slip between your folds and sink deeply into your wet heat.

“Dean,” you gasp his name into his mouth. The hand in your hair tightens as he works you over, exploring your inner channel with two fingers while this thumb presses and circles around your clit. Your tremulous hips begin to move in time with his rhythm, meeting his thrusts as you pulse deep inside with pleasure.

His lips drift away from your mouth, pressing against your cheek, then into your neck.

“I got you, baby. Let go for me,” he says hotly in your ear. His thumb rubs more insistently against your clit in time with his pulsing fingers.

Your inner walls squeeze around his hand, tighter and tighter. And you utter a gasping moan into his ear as you cling to him. Dean strokes inside you through your shuddering release. It’s almost too much, but it prolongs the feeling of your pleasure and makes your arms tremble around his neck.

Afterwards, he rubs your lower back until you catch your breath. You manage to press a grateful kiss into his neck, then his cheek.

“Holy shit,” you utter. It earns a genuine laugh from Dean as he cups the back of your head.

“Oh, we’re not done,” he promises, leaning back to look into your eyes. “I think you’re gonna be more comfortable in my room.”

You tilt your head at him. “Or…”

You shuffle even closer to him on the table and pull off your dress, slipping it over your head. You feel a little self-conscious in exposing your full self to him, but Dean watches you undress with hungry eyes and a tight jaw.

After your black dress falls to the floor, he takes in the sight of your body, his gaze landing on the black lace bra still covering your breasts. His hands slip up the curve of your waist, up your sides, and slide behind to unhook your bra.

His mouth burns a trail down your chest, between the valley of your breasts when he drags the bra down your arms and to the floor. You grab onto his arms for support; you feel like you’re riding the hurricane that is Dean Winchester, and you don’t expect to come out intact.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, making you shudder. You suck in a breath as his hands cup your breasts, roughly kneading and rolling his thumbs over pert nipples.

“Smooth talker,” you manage to quip with a smile.

“Ain’t nothin’ but the truth,” he tells you. “Feels like I’ve been waiting a goddamn lifetime for this.”

His eyes are dark with desire, but they’re also serious. Your voice gets stuck in your throat for a moment. He’d been waiting for you?

But you realize that sometimes, words are overrated. You slide your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, licking into his mouth and taking satisfaction from the way he groans into yours.

He holds you flush against his chest, skin to blushing skin. He runs his warm hands down your naked back, familiarizes himself with each and every one of your curves.

Dean’s waited so long for this, he doesn’t know whether to take his time, or just take you right now before someone walks into the open kitchen.

But you make the decision for him.

You break away from his lips to drag his belt and jeans down, just enough to shuffle them past his hips. Dean’s lips curve into a smirk. It would be easier to turn you around and bend you over on the table (and the thought is pretty fucking appealing right now).

…But he wants to see your face. He wants to know, looking in your eyes, what you want from him and how his touch makes you feel. 

So he helps you free his straining cock from his boxers to line himself up to your entrance.

With his arm wrapped around your waist to support you, and a hand on the table, Dean sheathes himself inside you. You both release shaking breaths as he bottoms out, stretching your inner walls and wrapping firmly around him.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

You nod at that, wiping the dewy sweat forming above his brow. He flashes you a grin, one you recognize from his younger, more boyish days. It’s a welcome sight, and you smile back and wrap your legs around his hips. If possible, it buries him deeper inside you. He groans.

“Damn, baby,” he says, panting for breath. “Haven’t even started yet, but you might just kill me.”

“There are worse ways to go,” you tease.

He snorts at that. In their line of work, isn’t that the fucking truth.

When he begins to slide out of you for the first time, you brace yourself with a hand at the back of his neck and another on the table. Dean begins a steady rhythm, one that serves you well as you get used to the size of him.

But eventually you urge him on faster, your nails scraping through his hair and against his scalp. He groans and drives into you at a clip that makes your toes curl and a keen high in your throat.

He spills hotly inside you when he comes.

You know you shouldn’t have let him, but you wanted to feel him, wanted to hold him the way he held you. And you do so, stroking his cheek and drawing a thumb across his full lower lip as he shudders.

But Dean isn’t satisfied, not until his fingers further part your folds and find your still sensitive clit. He rubs and circles insistently, until you can’t help but give him your second release, shuddering a moan as you cling to him. He holds you with an arm wrapped tight around your lower back, pressing your breasts against his chest.

You both pant for breath. His cheek rests alongside yours, and both of your eyes close for a moment. You brush your fingers more gently through his hair.

“Dean,” you start to say, but the sound of the bunker’s door unlocking makes you both freeze.

“Shit,” Dean mutters.

You can’t see them from the kitchen, but you hear Sam and Jack come in. Oh fuck.

Dean reluctantly detangles himself from you and wrestles up his underwear and jeans. Meanwhile, you hop off the kitchen table to grab your dress, pulling it on as you look for your bra and panties.

Sam calls your name, then Dean’s. But the two of you ignore him as you try to silently scramble around.

You manage to find your bra, but you don’t have time to put it on. You shove it behind the toaster. Then you find a napkin to wipe off the rest of your lipstick.

Meanwhile, Dean finds his black shirt. He hesitates when he sees it’s stained all over with flour and dried eggnog, but he puts it on anyway. (He won’t realize until later that his hair and shoulders are flecked with the stuff, just as his lips and chin are still smudged with your lipstick.)

He grabs the green flannel you throw at him, and he finds your panties tossed in the corner. He raises up the black lace in his hand and smirks at you with waggling brows.

“Give me that!” you whisper-hiss. The slick between your thighs is already becoming uncomfortable, along with the chill on your bare ass under the dress.

But instead of obeying, Dean winks at you and pockets them instead. You gape in disbelief as he flees the kitchen, presumably to disappear into his room. It leaves you in a…sticky situation, so to speak.

Sam calls your name questioningly when he comes around the corner. He pops into the kitchen with a few Walmart bags in hand. Sticking out of one of them are some stockings, you notice.

“Hey, how’s the baking going?” he asks.

“Good!” you say, though your voice is far too high and chipper. “Good. Just about to get them into the…oven.”

You turn and realize you haven’t even pre-heated the oven. You do so after pressing a few buttons, and you go to the fridge to grab the tray of chilling dough.

Sam raises a brow at you, especially when he sees your frizzy hair, and the flour stained across your bottom.

But he wisely doesn’t comment.

Later that night, Dean lays on his bed. He’s long since showered, fully clothed, arms crossed while his music plays from his laptop. But he can’t make himself focus on anything else but you.

How it was to finally have you; not just the give of your soft curves under his hands, but the sound of your voice coming apart in his ear, the way you’d begged him, at times teased him, and then gave him a run for his money with your wily hands and tongue.

Dean’s had all of that running through his head for the rest of the damn day.    

And there were stolen looks at dinner that evening. Furtive smiles. Brief, innocent touches. Moments where you blushed down to your neck, and he had to hide his amusement. (Even if his brother had noted his apparent good mood at dinner.)

But between Sam and the two angels hanging around, Dean hasn’t had a chance to talk to you after what happened in the kitchen. He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea.

If you want it to be, he’d said, when you asked if this was going to be a one-time thing.

He hopes he made himself clear—that this is not that kind of deal. Not for him.

Now that he’s gotten a taste of what he couldn’t have, and worse, now that he knows you want more from him…he just can force himself to let go this time.

There’s a thought that he doesn’t want to face. It’s been buried so deep, for so long, that he can’t even commit it to the forefront of his mind.

But it’s there.

Despite the hell he attracts like flies to shit, he wants you. Not for one night. Not just for kicks. He wants you to stay arguing with him about stupid shit, taking his teasing and dishing it right back—like making fun of his slippers and how much he secretly likes country music.

He wants you with him and Sam on hunts, even though it also makes him worry. (But he worries much more when he knows you’re out there, hunting alone.)

Dean thinks about you when you’re not around, more often than he’d like to admit. So today, he finally had to face the truth.

He wants you. More than he’s wanted anything in a long time. And he wants to find out what it’ll be like to try this for real, with you.

The thought that you still could be thinking otherwise, wondering, doubting him, has Dean going mildly insane.

It’s not right, and he takes pride in righting wrongs.

So he decides to break out of the confines of his room to find yours. It lies down the hall and to the left; he knows because you take the same room every time you stay at the bunker, which admittedly, isn’t as often as he likes. Maybe they can change that…

“Oh. Hello, Dean,” says Castiel.

Dean inwardly curses as the angel comes from the opposite direction. Already he’s tilting his head in curiosity.

“It’s late. Feeling peckish?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean replies. He moves past the angel and continues down the hall.

“Dean,” the angel calls to him.

Dean pauses, looking over his shoulder.

“What?”

“The kitchen is the other way,” Castiel points in the direction in which he’s going.

“Uh…well, yeah,” Dean says. “I just, uh…”

Cas’s head tilts just so, confusion soon replacing his curiosity.

“Never mind,” Dean waves a dismissive hand. He’s forced to follow his friend down the hall, away from your bedroom door which lies just inches away.

He doesn’t know that you can hear the entire conversation from the safety of your bed, comfortable in your pajamas. You have to stifle a giggle as you listen to Dean fumbling. You have a feeling you know where he’d really been headed.

So you take your phone out and text him.

Foiled by Columbo once again, you tease.

Moments later, Dean texts you back.

More like cock-blocked.

You snicker at that. You still haven’t given back my panties.

And you ain’t getting them back. They’re spoils of war.

You roll your eyes. But then Dean starts typing again.

Just to recap. Today: not a one-time thing.

Your smile grows and warms, like melted butter.

Good…can we talk tomorrow?

It’s a date, he says. And a beat later. Merry Christmas, beautiful.

You realize it’s officially 12:00 a.m. Christmas morning. You have a feeling it’s going to be a good one.

Merry Christmas, Dean.

AN: 😏 Well then. Merry Christmas, indeed. Let me know what you thought of Part 2!

Next Time:

Dean takes your hand and leads you downstairs to the garage.

There you find the remains of your car, which has rusted out parts strewn haphazardly all over the ground. You raise a brow. This is how he fixes your car? 

“You are so not winning the bet.”

Or will he? 😉

Find out in PART 3.

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[1800classiccherries]

Cake! ♡‧₊˚

⚘ Earth42!Miles Morales x black!fem!reader

⚘ Fluff! use of knives for baking, kissing

⚘ summary: Miles and reader bake a cake together.

⚘ wc: 763

⚘ this is my first time writing 42!miles so bare with me 😁☝🏾 (also sorry for the lack of picture, I'm on the fence about changing the way I format these.)

"How hard can it be?" you shrug feeling confident, as Miles reads the strawberry shortcake recipe you handed him.

“mm.. Ion know, this looks kinda difficult, ma…” he flips the paper and reads the rest of the instructions with a squint, “But, hey, if you got experience in this sorta thing…”

“I’m basically a pro, I’ve baked plenty of cakes.” As in plenty, you’ve bakes two and they both turned out less than great, but you chose to leave that part out.

“If you say so…”, he squints at you, “Are these all the ingredients we need?” he asks referring all the stuff on the counter you had set before he arrived.

“Mhm! That should be all of it…” you open a drawer that has a few aprons inside, “Want an apron?”

“you got one of them kiss the chef aprons?” you nod, “then I’ll take that one."

You hand him the apron and then grab one for yourself, yours just being a simple green with faint floral patterns. Once the two of you have tied them on Miles looks at you with an expecting look ok his face.

“What?” you ask already knowing what he wanted.

“Read the apron. I think the chef needs a kiss, don’t you?”

You tilt your head at him with an eyebrow raised, “I think the chef needs to focus on this cake we’re boutta attempt.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, y/n” He pleads, taking a hold of your waist.

With the way he was looking at you, you gave in giving him a short kiss knowing that if you kept going the cake would be forgotten. 

Turning your attention back to the cake it was time to begin, you pick up the paper with the instructions on it and begin reading aloud the first few steps. Whipping the eggs, sifting the flower then combining the two. Miles took care of the eggs and you happily sifted the flour having found it very satisfying.

“Y/n, could you pre-heat the oven? I’m almost done with this part,” Miles requests as he adds the milk and butter into the mixture. 

Once the oven was heated to the right temperature, you place the cake pan inside and set a timer for 30 minutes.

“What should we do for the next 30 minutes?” you ask staring the the cake in the oven.

~

Pulling away from Miles as you sit straddled on his lap, breathing slightly heavy, “Do you hear that?”

“Ion hear anything,” he brushes off pulling you back in by your hips.

You give up on trying to make out the sound and go to back making out with Miles, but you hear the sound again.

“Don’t tell me you can’t hear that?” the sound was driving you crazy and you had a nagging feeling that it was important but you  couldn’t place it.

“Y/n-“ he starts before you cut him off putting a finger to his lips.

“Shh, it sounds like it’s in the kitchen… Did we- Oh! The cake!” you promptly climb off of him and dash to the kitchen.

You grab the oven mitts on the counter and carefully take the cake out dumping it onto the drying rack.

“This actually looks good!” you cheer hopping a bit.

Miles finally makes it into the kitchen, “Of course it does, we made it.”

“I’ll cut this into three, and while it cools we can make the icing. Get the cream and sugar out.” Miles follows your instructions grabbing the necessary ingredients.

You pull a knife out of the drawer and cut the cake horizontally into three shorter cakes. Miles whips together the cream and sugar being sure to not make a mess. 

After the icing is made and the cake is cooled, it’s now time to assemble. You got the strawberries out of the fridge, washing and cutting them in half. Miles spreads and even layer of icing between each layer, pausing each time so you can add the strawberries.

Coating the cake with a layer of icing along the outside and adorning the cake with the last finishing touches, the two of you take a step back to admire your work.

“I won’t lie, it looks great.” Miles admits surprised at how well it turned out.

You grin hearing the compliment “See? And to think that you doubted us.”

“Not too much, for all we know it could be nasty.”

It was very much the opposite and y’all couldn’t help but eat most of it. Being sure to save a piece for your families to try.

Thanks for reading!

I didnt edit much and wrote pretty quick this so if sumn doesnt makes sense, oopsie 😋

[blues824]

Can I have Ciel, Sebastian, and Claude with a fem! baker s/o who's also a vampire 🦇?

Silly, I know

It’s not silly at all! I’ve been looking forward to this one!

Ciel Phantomhive

He absolutely loves the treats you bake, but it does cause him a tinge of sadness because you weren’t able to enjoy them with him. After all, you could only consume blood and water. However, he can’t help but think about the times you could have, like feeding each other a bite of the cake you had made.

He is glad to know that you are a vampire that is on an animal-blood diet, since it would put him in a difficult position if the Queen asked him to track down and kill the vampire that had killed her subjects. This is all hypothetical, since you had not yet consumed human blood.

He finds himself getting a bit queasy when he sees you drinking the animal blood from the animal he had just eaten for dinner. Sebastian really knows how to not let an ounce of the poor creature go to waste.

You are most likely working along Bard (more Sebastian, but anyways) as the Phantomhive baker. You never cease to amaze the guests that came to visit the Manor with your creative desserts (that saved countless amounts of dinners because of the accidents that Bard, Mey-Rin, and Finny caused). You were a hero, essentially.

Not just that, but you were a protector of the household, just like Sebastian was. You just didn’t require a contract for your services. You were strong as well, along with fast. Your lack of a shadow often aided you in battle. The vampire and the demon join forces to protect the young master.

Ciel notices how your fangs are retracted most of the time, and you say it’s to make yourself seem more normal. It’s rather unfortunate that you often have to hide what you are because it wasn’t even your fault in the first place. You had told him that you were sick from smallpox in 1721 and you agreed to become a vampire when your doctor asked you if you wanted to become one just so you could survive.

Vampires were typically beautiful creatures, right? Consider Ciel entranced by you, not only by your looks but by the grace you carry yourself with. You were confident in everything, no matter what it was and that’s what the young Phantomhive master considers beautiful.

Sebastian Michaelis

He also enjoys the treats you bake, especially with a nice cup of tea to accompany them. Unfortunately, you don’t get many of these special moments with each other because he’s busy tending to the master and you’re busy baking for the house.

He understands how tempting human flesh can be… well, he’s often tempted by their souls, but same difference here. However, he will keep you on track by making sure you only consume the blood of an animal.

He doesn’t get disturbed by you drinking blood. Demons devour human souls all the time, so it’s nothing truly new. Sometimes you had to get blood on your hands before consuming the soul of the newly departed.

He does get a tad jealous whenever he sees you getting close to Bard in the kitchen. However, it is to be expected since you both worked close with each other as the baker and the cook of the Manor. He might send a bit of a glare in Baldroy’s way before checking up on you.

You both protected the Manor and the Master as best as you could. None of you really needed sleep, so you would listen for any danger. You both made quite a graceful pair in battle, and anyone who has seen the both of you in action would agree.

He doesn’t mind if your fangs are retracted or protracted. If he sees that you had forgotten about them, then he will gently remind you. Neither of you want any of the other staff members to panic about possibly being killed by you, so it’s better if you keep them away.

Also, you both are gorgeous. We all know that Sebastian is pretty, but the two of you together are on a whole other level. He had to admit to himself that you had gotten his attention by the seductive look you gave him during your interview. He already knew you were a vampire, so you let your fangs hang out as he went down the list of questions. The whole thing ended with you and him shooting flirtatious innuendos at each other.

Claude Faustus

I see him as someone who enjoys more savory foods, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like what you make. He found it quite adorable whenever you approached him with a basket of treats that you had made him. 

He’s another one who understands how tempting humans can be, especially when you want to devour them. However, you are the one who needs to consume something, so he prepares cups of animal blood for you to drink.

He also doesn’t get disturbed by you drinking blood. It’s like seeing Master Alois drink orange juice: normal. You don’t need to worry about getting shy about drinking it around him because he doesn’t mind it at all.

He most definitely gets jealous whenever you start getting close to the Triplets, especially Timber because he is the Trancy Manor Chef. He always tries to lead you away from the cook just so he could have you to himself.

He tries to get you to not fight and stay inside the Manor. You are the one person/vampire that has made him actually experience emotions like love and happiness, so he would not like that to be taken away. Sure, you were immortal, but there was always the possibility of someone shoving a stake through your heart.

Every member of the staff at the Trancy Manor was a demon, so they didn’t care if you chose to let your fangs hang out. Alois didn’t mind either, considering he recruited so many demons. Claude always finds himself staring at you, especially as you run your tongue over your teeth in concentration while preparing ingredients for a recipe.

Now, this demon butler is known as ‘handsome’ rather than ‘pretty’. You were known for your preternatural beauty as a vampire. You both make a very good-looking couple. You both move with grace well beyond your years as well.

[lizzy019]

𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝐸𝒶𝓉, 𝒮𝑜 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉?

Dom!Darrel Curtis x Sub!Two-Bit Mathews x Plus-size Fem!Reader

cw-> insecurities, polyamorous relationship, double penetration, booty slapping, overstimulation

Word Count -> 1.6K

I love Darbit so much :DDD Did you know that $10 back in the 60s is the equivalent to about $105 nowadays? Cool asf

The timer ticked as you three waited for the cake to finish its baking process, Darry was whipping some icing to put on top of it as a small treat.

“Should I go get beer? We have beer, right? I think I should go get beer-”

“Two-Bit, we have beer. Sitcher ass down and wait, it’s only a few more minutes.” Darry scolded lightly, annoyed by Two-Bit’s disheartening energy.

Two-Bit sighed dramatically, hobbling his way over to you and pulling you into a hug so time could pass by faster. You smelled so nice, so fresh and clean. He felt rather dirty almost instantly.

“Mmh.. my little Minnie mouse, d’ya wanna come with me to get beer?” He asked as he hugged you close, relishing in your lovely soft flesh squishing against his. It felt so heavenly and warm.

You could only smile at the nickname and chuckle at his request, your own expression becoming warm as you shrugged.

“Darry said we have beer, but if you’re so determined, I can give you money.” You smiled, giving his back a soft rub as his smile widened and his head nodded with vigor to your offer.

You pulled away to go find your wallet, taking out a simple 10 dollar bill and hurrying back to him. You knew it’d either be just enough, or maybe a little less, but it’d work out for him.

“Buy the beer we ALL like, not just the ones you like, Two.” You chided, shooing him out and laughing as he jogged out of the house.

The door slammed shut behind him, and Darry was prepping the icing in the fridge, waiting for it to cool.

“You’re one of the few who can tolerate his obnoxious behaviour. Maybe that’s why you’re so hot.” He hummed, walking to you and gently rubbing your hip with his rough palm.

“Or maybe it’s these lovely thick hips, with a pretty, big butt behind ‘em. Maybe it’s how gorgeous you look all bare and exposed to me whenever Two-Bit gets needy. I dunno, maybe it’s just you.” Darry murmured, his hand now digging gently into the soft flesh of your hip, traveling to scoop an asscheek of yours into his hand before smirking.

“Look atchu, I can’t get this from any ol’ girl. I don’t want ‘em skinny anyway, that’s not my style. I want a girl who can take a big hug, who has little belly rolls, love handles and thick thighs. Plus, the bigger, the wealthier, hm?”

Your cheeks were hot with a pink hue, hands at his waist as you fought so hard to not giggle out of appreciation. While half the things he said didn’t make much sense to you, the only thing that stuck was that he liked it and so did Two-Bit.

With a soft hum, Darry’s hands gently smoothed over under your shirt to caress the soft pudge you had, that little piece of fat in which you hated so much about yourself. It was warm, and so very cute.

“Yeah but.. don’t I look gluttonous? I look like I practically inhale food.” You murmured, watching his hands lovingly squeeze your rolls.

“Yeah. You eat, so what? Doesn’t every person need food to live heathily? You’re worrying, I don’t like it.” Darry groaned out in disbelief.

With some effort but with a big smile, he lifted you up without a second thought to carry you and sit you atop the table. Luckily today, Steve and Soda were at work and Ponyboy was at school, Johnny and Dally were together who knows where, so it was just you and Darry now.

And Two-Bit soon enough.

Soft, slow kisses were pressed along the muscle of your neck, your hands clutching his triceps as little sighs of pleasure coursed through your every vein.

It was only once Darry began to get too touchy did Two-Bit burst through the door with beer and a bright smile.

“I’m baaack! Where are you tw- oh..” Two-Bit interrupted himself when he saw the situation.

A wide smile cracked on the Mickey fan’s face, and instantly the beer was forgotten and placed to the side as he chucked his leather jacket off to hurry over to the two of you.

“You started without me? No fair!” Two-Bit cried, gently tugging Darry and you to Darry’s bedroom.

“Come on, come on! Let’s go!” His genuine excitement for this had both you and Darry smiling, and without reticence, you both followed.

Soon, you all were huddled together in Darry’s bed, naked and bare to each other as Two-Bit smiled softly at your wettened panties.

“You kept her last pair, can I keep this pair? Please, Darry?” Two-Bit asked so politely, how could Darry say no?

The undergarment of yours was exchanged as if it were simple money, something to use for personal gain whether it be for dirty pleasure or lust-filled admiration. Whatever it was, Two-Bit certainly wanted it.

Once they were in his hand, he whiffed it happily and your face scrunched up in disgust, a light chuckle resonating from your throat.

“Ew, you weirdo.” You teased, chucking the fabric away and laying down on your side to face Two-Bit.

Darry set himself up behind you, offering you a condom as a yes-no type question. If Darry was going anal, why did the condom matter? Ohh, for Two-Bit! You shook your head and smiled, you’d taken the pill early in the morning.

So with a nod, the condom was put aside and he gently applied some lube to your pretty puckered hole. Your pussy didn’t need it from how much it was freely spewing out.

“Alright Darry, same time, yeah?” Two-Bit asked with a soft smile.

Darry nodded, lining himself up properly and waiting for Two-Bit to start up as well. Soon enough, the two men’s dicks were ramming into your holes like relentless drills to concrete. Pounding away until there was nothing.

“Oh baby! Oh, my little Minnie mouse, you got me feelin’ it! Fuck!” Two-Bit cried out in pleasure, hands seizing your pretty protruding stomach and squeezing it lovingly.

The sounds were bouncing off the walls, the sounds of wet slapping, moaning, bed creaking, all of it mixed into one harmonious sound that you all didn’t wish to forget. The moment was forming a bond stronger than before now that its base was solidified with love.

Being Two-Bit’s “little Minnie mouse” and Darry’s “sweetie”, the whole moment was enough to have you going cross-eyed in pleasure, but not just lustful pleasure either.

Darry’s hand came to slap your rear in a light motion, to get you to clench on the both of them. You moaned out, arm lazily draped over Two-Bit’s body while he hid away in your half hug.

“Yeah sweetie, tighten real good for us. Look at Two-Bit, he’s seein’ stars. I’ma make you see stars too, sweetie. Just wait for it, be a good girl.” Darry commanded with less force than he could give, too enraptured in the pleasure to even be coherent enough to speak his thoughts.

“Ohh baby, you got us feelin’ so good. How does it feel bein’ worshiped by us two? Havin’ us tell ya how pretty you are?” Two-Bit sighed out in ecstasy, relishing in your pussy’s tight walls.

“Fu-uck! Feels so good! I love it.. I love you! Both of you!” You whined out into the room’s already obscene mess of sounds.

Once everyone found a rhythm that suited all their needs, you three were climbing up the stairs of pure passionate pleasure. It was smooth and effortless, the only occasional slip-up was, literally, Two-Bit accidentally slipping out.

Fingers clawing at Two-Bit’s fabric shirt, you could only begin to get louder with your sounds as you approached a finale. A climax with the two of them penetrating you, it excited you like no other.

“Close! Fuck, so close! Faster, faster.. fuck!” You moaned out into the room, finding yourself being swooped away by your climax to cloud nine.

You swore you couldn’t see anything for a good minute before everything settled back down, but the sensitivity of your walls and their constant thrusting was getting you a bit too overstimulated.

“S-stop, stop! ‘M sensitive!” You whimpered, hot tears spilling from your cheeks at the lack of mercy they provided.

Yet luckily enough, Two-Bit tapped out to let his load ooze into your welcoming womb, and shortly after, Darry had let his release flow too as his cum filled your arse.

With huffs and puffs, desperate attempts to clutch back air, you all were now happily adjusting to get some quality cuddles in. Until a voice boomed from the front door, alerting you all.

“That’s swell! Who bought more beer?” The voice called, sounding like Steve was back.

Now everyone was huddled together into the living room, talking amongst themselves and eating the chocolate cake previously made while you and Two-Bit watched some Mickey Mouse.

You two shared the same beer bottle, and he’d give an expression of disgust whenever he took a sip.

“How ever you all like this type of beer is nasty. ‘S too dry.” He hummed out, watching with saddened eyes as the show he loved so dearly cut to commercials.

You could only laugh, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before standing upright to go fetch another slice of cake.

[reanbowful]

pocky game with them (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)???

Hi anon! Gahhh this is too cute!!! Thank you sm for requesting this I love you so much!!!

“pocky kiss”

if you play a pocky game with them

(ben, alex, jake, donald, wolf)

ben park / park humin

(you guys have to know that I was punching air while writing this knowing I won’t ever be able to have something like this with him)

The corniest, cutest, most beloved, disgustingly sweet couple ever.

You were on a date together with Ben-

Well, you were on a date with Ben. Alex and Gerard came to tag along.

The initial plan was for the three of them to go play pool as usual. But Ben being Ben, fucked up the timeline and you are already in Eunjang to go on your date with him.

Which was today.

So then Ben came up with the most Ben Park idea ever.

He decided that you two can get your date while him and his friends can still hang out. Two birds with one stone!

Obviously Alex and Gerard thought it was a horrible horrible idea.

But you shrugged and invited the two of them along, making them reluctant to reject your offer.

So that brings you all here.

Let me begin by saying how HEAVY you guys are on pda. And it’s even worse for both Alex and Gerard that you two are so unfazed with what’s going on around you. Namely how uncomfortable you two have made them feel.

Ben has his arm around you, looking like an overgrown puppy. Completely oblivious to the way Alex has been averting his gaze and Gerard slurping his water awkwardly.

“Babe.”

“Hm?”

You held out a pocky stick from your parfait in front of Ben’s face.

He took the sugary end into his mouth as you nibbled on the plain side. Biting quickly through the dessert and kissing you after he finished it all.

Gerard and Alex blushed when they see the interaction. It’s even worse that you and Ben merely wiped the edge of your mouth from the whipped cream and continued conversing like normal.

Finally after one torturous hour, your guys each bid your goodbyes as you have to leave for your cram school.

“I’m never going through that again.”

“Same..”

alex go / go hyuntak

It was a truth or dare game.

You were at his house for a sleepover, or as Ben calls it, an ‘Eunjang fun night’. You visibly cringed when you heard him say that.

But anyways.

You guys did what most high schoolers would do at sleepovers.

That’s right, reveal embarrassing stuff, and do embarrassing stuff for you guys to reveal later on at uni.

“Alright, y/n. Truth or dare.”

“Dare.”

“Call your ex and tell him you miss him.”

Alex snapped at the dare that was rolled on Gerard’s phone.

“She’s not going to do that..!”

Oh, did I forget to mention that if you bail there will be a penalty?

You sighed at your boyfriend’s dramatic reaction and went to pick up a pocky stick.

“Alex, come here.”

Putting them in your mouth, you grab Alex by the back of his neck.

He yelped, but recovered quickly. Taking the other end and began to bite his way through the stick. His hands on your waist as you move to straddle him for a better angle.

When you’re done, Alex was still pouting. But with a light blush across his face.

You flicked his forehead, chuckling at his dramatic antics.

“Why so jealous, dummy. You know I’m yours.”

“Still. You can’t.”

“Yes, yes. What do you want me to do? Send a video of us playing the pocky game to him?”

“I DIDN’T SAY THAT!”

jake ji / ji hakho

This scenario with Jake is just sooo fitting.

You guys are having a cooking date together at your house. Wanting to bake a cake for your mother’s birthday.

“Jake, we have all the ingredients, right?”

“Yep, I checked it already.”

“Alright, let’s start.”

(okay, you two are also arguably in nomination for cutest couple on this list right after Ben)

Tying each other’s apron, you rolled your sleeves. Grabbing the mixing bowl to start making the batter.

The whole afternoon consisted of you spilling flour all over the place, Jake accidentally cracking an eggshell into the batter, flour fight, hand mixing since the mixer mysteriously malfunctioned, getting tired hand mixing, double checking the recipe, another flour fight, switching with each other every ten seconds to mix the batter.

And finally, it’s done and in the oven. All ready to bake.

You smiled as you watch the batter rise in the oven, content that you could actually get it done. (neither of you have any baking experience)

“Mm.”

You felt a pat on your shoulder and turned your head to the side, only to be met with Jake holding a pocky stick in his mouth at you. Pointing at it while gesturing for you to come closer.

You shake your head, complying to him for once. He did helped you with the cake and cleaning up after all.

Biting through the pocky stick steadily, he held you by the side of your face as he inches closer.

A ding broke the two of you apart.

You were turning to check on the cake when Jake brought you back to his lips. Making you smile, but still try to pull away.

“Whyyy?”

“Jake, I need to check on the cake.”

donald na / na baekjin

“Stop smoking, it makes you ugly.”

“You say that and you have a cigarette in your mouth right now.”

You both have been trying to quit smoking for a while now (y/n has a tough life too, go easy on them), really feeling like you should start caring for your health these days.

So, it became your new year’s resolution.

But still, old habits die hard.

The two of you still find yourselves buying packs of cigarettes mindlessly and only remembering that you’re quitting after.

“Damn it.”

Naturally, you had to come up with some ground rules.

Opening the jar you guys keep in his office, you take a pocky stick out.

“Donald. Aaa~”

You handed him the end that’s covered in chocolate, putting the plain end into your mouth.

Donald pulled you onto arms as he took the stick into his mouth. Biting away since he knew you disliked chocolate.

You moved your body, sitting him down on his chair once the treat has disappeared into your mouths.

You pressed your lips onto him, tasting the residual chocolate on his tongue.

“Baby, what’s the point of this if you won’t even eat the damn chocolate?”

“Shh. I just need to develop a new addiction.”

wolf keum / keum seongje

It was during Ganghak’s school festival.

His class decided that they can use Wolf’s fame and good looks to rile girls into their booth.

The game: You have two minutes to try and make Wolf’s heart rate go higher than yours. Touching is prohibited, from both the player and from Wolf. If Wolf touches you, then the game stops and you win instantly.

Wolf sighed, the heart rate monitor beside him showing a constant 80-84.

So far, they were securing a great profit.

The guys were too damn scared to even approach the booth, and the girls don’t stand a chance with their stammering and stuttering every time Wolf merely look at them.

“Woah. Look at this booth!”

His eyes darted lazily towards you and your friend.

Damn girls again.

“Welcome to our booth. Entrance fee is 2000 Won. Remember, no touching is allowed.”

Hwangmo explained with a friendly tone.

“Y/N, you can do it, can’t you? I reallyyy want that camera, y/n, pleasee.”

You looked at the camera, it was surely a pretty nice prize for a school event.

“What happens if he touches me?”

“Then you automatically win the grand prize.”

“I’ll do it.”

Wolf is still eyeing you from his seat throughout the time Hwangmo sets the heart rate monitor onto you.

“You ready?”

Putting a pocky stick over your mouth, you leaned over towards him.

Wolf raised one of his eyebrows, but complied anyway. Taking the pocky stick into his mouth as you did the same.

With each bite, both of your faces grew closer to each other. And Wolf was doing fine, until he wasn’t.

As the room between both ends of the pocky stick decreases, his heart rate slowly increases.

It was probably around the three centimetres mark that his heart rate began to jump up like crazy.

102.. 117.. 125..

Can’t take it anymore, he held his hands up to your shoulders to stop you from advancing.

“Oh? He touched me.”

Hwangmo watched in disbelief as you walk away with the digital camera in your hand.

In his seat, Wolf can be seen covering his face with the palm of his hand. A shortness of breath and pink was adorned across his cheeks.

“I guess we’re closing in early..? I mean, the grand prize has already been taken-”

“Whatever, I’m out of here.”

[dimepdf]

𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒. + 𝐘𝐔𝐆𝐈 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈

m.list / support me. / taglist. synopsis. like most people during their first relationship, Itadori is a little clueless about what he should get you for your one-year anniversary. all he knows is that since you mean a lot to him it has to mean a lot to you.

pairing. itadori yuji x reader

genre and warnings. sfw, established relationship, tooth rotting fluff, literally all just domestic type vibes, pet names, Itadori and Megumi being clueless men, reader being appreciated. | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

When you had told Itadori about your one-year anniversary being tomorrow, his heart might have dropped in the middle of the mall right then and there. 

The sound of sneakers against the floor tiles. He even dropped the bags of clothes you bought in his hands. He’s a huge fucking amateur at the whole dating scene. 

Being his first actual girlfriend, you had to be the one to teach him a lot of this. You had to remind him every now and then that you didn't like it when he referred to you as "bro" or "homie."

Instead of making him get used to cuter names like "angel" and "princess", but Itadori being the person that he was settled with calling you "stinky" after the embarrassing effects of a late night taco bell run, learning that your stomach couldn’t really handle Mexican foods all that well.

No matter how much you begged him to not call you that in public, you were never spared whenever he wanted to tease you.

Along with the many times you had to remind him that giving you his leftovers from a fast food place that he just happened to have staled in his backseat while hanging out did not count as him taking you on a dinner date.

Those moments alone should have been enough to tell you that dating Itadori was bound to be a very entertaining and charming ride, but that didn't mean that he never tried.

The night that he had driven you home, waiting for you to swing open the front door and you to step inside safely before pulling out of your driveway, Itadori rounded up the two people that he knew he could trust enough to help him out; Kugisaki and Megumi.

The two, along with anyone else that would listen, fell victim to being his personal relationship therapist.

"How the hell am I supposed to know, bake her a cake or something?" Megumi groaned, slouching behind the pair as the trio shuffled down the store's aisle in search of the perfect gift for you.

"Absolutely not, you can’t give ___ some easy gift. She’s your lovely girlfriend who deserves something beautiful that signifies your love together." Kugisaki was quick to interrupt in a stern tone. Itadori nodded at her advice.

"So like a wedding ring?" Taking her words into consideration, glancing at the jewelry shop and all the rhinestones and jewels that sparkled even from a few feet away, Megumi was quick to shrug in acceptance, not knowing much nor caring about the rules of a basic relationship.

The two guys were already heading in the direction of the rows of rings before Kugisaki stopped them right in their path."No offense, but you two don't even live together," She frowned, patting his shoulder but considering the ring suggestion. "How about you start with something a bit less extreme, like a promise ring!" 

Itadori was sure that he hadn't seen so many different rings in his life, learning that there were different sizes, bands, and colors from the jeweler who named prices that would make him grimace, but once one had caught his eye, he was reminded that you were entirely worth spending more than his bank account could handle.

The ring wasn’t big and flashy; instead, a small gem that was your favorite color was wrapped in silver. He thought it would seem more personal that way. "So this is it?" He asked, holding the small box in his hands. Even Megumi rolled his eyes at his friend's cluelessness.

"How about we go get her some flowers or maybe some of her favorite snacks as well?" Leading the boys to their next destination, buying a pretty bouquet of assorted flowers and a nice bag full of your favorite snacks, along with some other things Megumi considered enough to pay him back for his time. 

He was all set on the things he needed to buy, his nerves never settling as he hadn't stopped staring at the spread of things across his bedroom.

When the exciting day finally came, Itadori was quick in sending you a good morning message, waiting until the afternoon knowing you’d be more awake and willing to get out of bed around that time to hangout.

When approaching your front with a hand full of flowers and a ring in his pocket, he swore his heart was bound to just pop from his chest and against the pavement. 

Just the sight of you opening the door and welcoming him with that smile that he had fallen in love with was enough to make him feel like melting into a puddle on the ground.

"I got this–well, for our anniversary, or I guess happy anniversary angel." The sound of your laughter made him flush even more as he handed off the flowers into your arms, "oh and this. I hope you like it. If not, I can just get you another one."

Fumbling with the small ring box "It isn't a wedding ring, by the way. I'm not proposing—not saying that I don't want to propose to you because I love you but—" He wasn't able to continue his nervous rambling.

Once slipping the ring on your finger, you were quick to jump into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck and yanking him down to your height to place a kiss on his lips.

And Itadori thinks that maybe he should go buy you that wedding ring.

tap here to be added to taglist.

[skyfall8600]

Day 8: Snowed In

12 Days Of Christmas with Eddie

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Warnings: angst, slightly frustrated reader who is over stressed and stimulated.

[1.0k words]

This time of year meant that the weather was rather unpredictable. And you didn’t like unpredictable. Any slight change of schedule made you frustrated; or in other words, very different to your boyfriend.

“So what if we brought the wrong thing. It’s kinda funny,” Eddie laughed, looking at the deflated cake in front of the two of you.

The task should have been simple. The only thing required of you two to bring together to your first official Christmas as a couple was a cake. A cake that now had baking soda instead of sugar, and more yeast than possible. All because you tried to beat the snow storm on the way to Eddie’s trailer from the store, thus rushing you to pick up the wrong ingredients.

Tension was rising between you. Eddie’s carefree nature was conflicting with your stubborn compulsiveness.

“Jesus Christ, for once can you just pretend like you actually care.” You muttered, throwing the cake straight into the trash.

“Sweetheart, I do care…. I just think it’s funny. And you look so cute when you're mad.” He said, pinching at your cheeks.

But it only infuriated you more.

Shoving his hands off you, you angrily moved towards the front door. Eddie sighed in the distance.

“Babe come on, it’s just a little cake— we’ll head down to the store in the morning and just buy one. You and I both know that we hate it when you walk away angrily.” He said, skipping every second step to catch up to you.

You hated it when anyone would say stuff like that. As if they know your own feelings and emotions better than you did. Eddie was quick to realize his poor choice of words when he saw the evil side eye you were giving him.

“Wait— sweetheart. Love of my life—“

“You wanted this to fail didn’t you?!” You interrupted him, poking at his chest with the force of your finger. “All the commotion at the store, you decided it’ll be funny to see me use the wrong things.”

He tried his hardest to keep a straight face. To not laugh at how adorable you were with your eyes wide open, brows knitted together.

“I do admit— it was a little funny to see the cake deflate like that.”

“Eddie!” You scream, swatting at his chest in frustration. “I can’t believe you! We had one thing to do—“

“And we’ll do it! Look, come here— I’m sure I got a box mix somewhere.”

Tears formed in your eyes, still the only one between the two of you showing emotion.

“I can not bring a box mix cake to dinner. My family would know and think we were too lazy to even try.”

“We tried from scratch, and it’s just not for us.” He smiled, softening the look in his eyes as he took in just how worked up you had become.

He went to rub his hands up and down your arms, for comfort. But you moved out the way. At times like this when you got so emotional, the idea of being touched just pushed you over the edge.

“I just wanna go home, maybe I can make it there.” You said, and it broke his heart.

With sadness in his smile, he nodded. “If that’ll help you relax and feel better, I’ll drive you home. Hell, I’ll even stop by the store so you can have everything you need.”

You shook your head, “I’ll just—“

Your words died out when you saw what was behind the front door. Thick fresh inches of snow covering the ground, practically cementing the tires of your car in place.

“Oh come on!”

Eddie secretly made a silent prayer to Mother Nature for prohibiting you to leave in such a state.

“Well, no way we can get you home in this weather.” Eddie said with a smirk, taking in the opportunity to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Eddie…” you cried, “I still have so much I planned to do when I was home.”

“And you’ll get it done.”

You sighed, “that’s not the point— I planned out hour by hour for every day leading up to Christmas and if I fall behind schedule the whole thing will be ruined.”

He nodded along in agreement, turning to kiss along your neck. “Hmm.”

He always did this. Suppressing your anger with his affection. Although you often found being touched overstimulating in times like this, you couldn’t help but melt into his embrace. Finally letting the last of your tears run down your face, admitting that perhaps this time your tight knit schedule would have to be adjusted.

“How about…” he started to say softly into your ear, “… let’s try to relax for tonight, and we can get back to your little Christmas hour list in the morning. Hm?”

You nodded, “Ye—yeah, okay.”

He led you back into the center of the trailer, lips still making their way along your neck.

“This doesn’t mean I’m still not angry at you.”

You could feel him smile against your skin. “Wouldn’t expect you to.”

“And you’ll be paying for the new batch of ingredients.”

“It’ll be my pleasure.”

Sometimes having Eddie around, who was always more calmer and relaxed than you in times like this, helped you to take a breath.

You turned to face him, seeing the smirk on his face. “It’s not funny.”

The comment only made him smile harder, he leaned his forehead against yours. “You’re so cute when you get all tough.”

It was near impossible for you to stay mad at him. Sure you both got on each other’s nerves from time to time, but the love was unmistakably.

It was you who connected your lips together. A rather difficult task when he was still smiling like a mad man. But nonetheless, he returned the kiss.

“Let’s enjoy being snowed in…” he said, wiggling his eyebrows as he swayed his hips into yours. “Together… all alone….”

A smile formed on your lips. All the frustration you felt before is now gone.

“What did you have in mind?”

Continuing to smirk, Eddie wrapped the underside of your ass into his hands. Hoisting you up into the arm, closing your legs around his waist as your laughter echoed.

It appeared that the snow storm had arrived just in time.

——————————————————————————-

Eddie Taglist

@silky-luxe @fentyreligion @littlelunarfox @coconutchumby @eempxth @superflannel @fluffycookies22 @yearwalker96 @cutiecusp @magicalchocolatecheesecake @grungegrrrl l l​@m1rkw00dpr1ncess @dixontardis @buckyslwt @bratckerman @dani-d0rk @musicmoviestv @tomshelbystits @reddisteddie @santaatemypuppy @cherryrevenger @chipster-21 @azaleaforsure @eddielives1986 @luceneraium @loving-and-dreaming

[roberrtphilip]

we always mention giselle learning new things from robert but what about the flip side? what things has robert learned from giselle? what traits of hers has he picked up?

would she try to teach him to communicate with animals? what about tree climbing? would he ever help with sewing?

i know robert can dance but i can still imagine giselle forcing him to join a ballroom dance class with her.

Oh, her teaching him stuff is my favorite thing to think about !! I mean, many things are my favorite, but I really love thinking about this!!

For traits, I think Robert picks up a lot of her mannerisms, and speech patterns. Giselle huffs a lot, which he starts to catch himself doing, along with crossing his arms. She also talks with her hands, and is generally very animated (heh), and I can see him starting to do that every now and then, as well.

I can absolutely see her trying to teach him how to talk to animals, but sadly, he just never can. And it bums him out because Morgan and Sofia can, but he just, can’t. When Sofia started showing signs of being able to communicate with them, he was like, “*huffs* That’s not fair, why am I the only one who can’t >:(“

And AH okay, tree climbing, I have a fic that’s almost done where they kind of talk about this, so I won’t go into too much detail now, but Giselle absolutely wants to climb trees with him. She learned he had a treehouse as a kid and was fascinated by this because Robert hates being outside, and getting dirty, but he was in a tree !!!! Just a wonderful discovery, and she wants to see him in a tree now immediately. I think when they visit Andalasia she begs, and begs, and begs him to climb with her, and he finally gives in.

Sewing, omg, okay, I was recently thinking about this and I’m so torn because on one hand I love the idea of her teaching him, but, on the other hand, I really love the idea of him secretly learning so he can surprise her with a gift on her first birthday in our world. But I think even if he learned from someone else, his work would still be so messy, and he’d go to her for help later, so she can still technically teach him either way :’)

I know Robert canonically eats nothing but takeout, but I do think he actually knows how to cook, and is pretty good at it, he just sadly never has the time. But with Giselle, she wants to cook and bake more than anything, so she’s very much like, “We’re making time.” And I think them cooking together was a big bonding experience.

Baking, however, Robert is not so great at, and I love the idea of Giselle showing him how to bake cakes, and cupcakes, also how to decorate them. He struggles so bad with drawing on the cakes, like one year he tried to surprise Giselle with a birthday cake, and the “Happy Birthday, Giselle!!!!” handwriting was so bad, as was the sunflower he tried to draw, but, ough, she adored it.

And, ah, pottery, I love the idea of Giselle taking a pottery class, and dragging Robert along after a few lessons, and showing him how to do it. I headcanon he showed her how to play baseball by standing behind her and holding her, so I really love the idea of Giselle doing the same during a pottery session >:)

And them taking dance classes would be so cute, too, omg or just her showing him different dances in the living room, urg !!!!

OH, AND I CAN'T FORGET, gardening !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Giselle loves gardening so much, and Robert, he's hopeless with it. He hates getting dirty, and would probably either over, or under-water them, but, luckily, Giselle is there to teach (and remind) him !! And she loves watching him get all fussy when he gets dirt on his hands, or pants, and probably flicks some at his face 🤧

[sesamestreep]

Sam/Bucky, 29

29. It’s 2am and I’m cursing your name (from this prompt list) more gbbo AU shenanigans, as per usual. with permission from the bake off queen herself! Set pre-all stars season by a few years 🩷

“You know what, Buck? This is all your fault.”

Bucky lifts his gaze from the digital readout on the kitchen scale to look at Sam, who is doing a fairly impressive job of looking stern for someone who also has powdered sugar on the tip of his ear. He assumes Sam doesn’t know that last part, though, and he decides it’s funnier if he doesn’t tell him.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Bucky says, tiredly, “just that you’re going to have to be more specific.”

Natasha makes an soft, amused snorting sound from Sam’s other side but doesn’t look away from the recipe she’s been staring at for the past ten minutes. She’s got her hair piled on her head and secured with an enormous claw clip and she’s making the sort of face she normally reserves for when she encounters one of the few languages she doesn’t speak a word of, but she is also tapping her foot and mumbling along to the B-52s song that is playing softly out of a bluetooth speaker (a concession to the fact that everyone else in the house is asleep and also that Sam regards baking in silence as a weird form of punishment), so she must not be in the worst mood.

“‘It’ll be fine, Sam,’” Sam says, in what Bucky guesses is probably supposed to be an impression of his voice. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t sound like Joe Pesci in real life, but he does try to avoid hearing recordings of himself talking, so it’s hard to be completely certain. “‘We’ll just bake our cakes for the wedding AFTER the rehearsal dinner!’”

“You said it was a good idea!”

“Yeah, that was one-month-ago-Sam! He didn’t have to get to the airport at 5 this morning! He’s not still up at 2 in the morning with your dumb ass, either!”

Natasha mutters something under her breath in Russian that Bucky refuses to acknowledge because he does not want to translate it for Sam.

Instead, he says, “Okay, yes, this is stressful now, but it’s all going to be worth it tomorrow—”

“Today,” Natasha interrupts.

“Not helping,” Bucky replies. “It will all be worth it when we surprise Steve and Peggy with everyone’s cakes at the wedding tomorrow.”

“Today,” both Natasha and Sam correct him, and none too gently either.

“Whatever,” Bucky grumbles. He takes a deep breath in through his nose and then releases it slowly. He tries adopting a sweeter tone with obvious effort. “Is there something I can help you with, Sam? Anything I can do to be of service? To atone for this terrible idea of mine?”

Sam looks suspicious at first—or maybe just aware that he’s being placated—but he also can’t seem to fully fight off the smile that eventually takes over his face. He shakes his head, still smiling, and says, “Just get me some more butter from the fridge, will you?”

“Yep. Absolutely. Wait, how much?” Without waiting for an answer, Bucky steps closer to peer at the recipe over Sam’s shoulder. The same shoulder that, naturally, collides with his own as Sam steps back to show him the recipe. This leaves them in a weird sort of prom picture pose as they look at the iPad together and Bucky doesn’t have to look at Natasha to know she’s smirking at them.

“Damn, is there enough butter in this thing, Sam?” he asks, just because he needs something to do besides think about how broad Sam’s shoulders are or how good he smells (even accounting for the fact that they all smell like sugar and vanilla right now).

“Fuck off, man,” Sam says, shoving him lightly. “I thought we were cool for a second there.”

The absolute last thing Bucky feels right now is cool, which is why it’s good that he’s about to stick his head in a fridge and look around for ingredients. It will give him time to calm down, and also avoid looking at Natasha for even longer.

“I’m just saying, I’d like Steve and Peggy to make it to their honeymoon without, like, any heart attacks or anything like that.”

“You’re back on my shit list now,” Sam replies, not even looking at him. “Natasha, remember this day!”

“Oh, I imagine I’ll have trouble forgetting it, Sam,” she says, coolly, as she moves to rinse some fruit in the sink.

Bucky does as he was told, then, with the attention off of him, and searches for more butter in the fridge, feeling both relieved that he and Sam are back to their usual bickering and oddly disappointed to be out of Sam’s good graces so quickly, even if it is mostly them joking around. One of these days, he vows, he’ll figure out how to feel normal about Sam Wilson. Just maybe not tonight.

[jacksonroseroth]

~The Price~Chapter 18~

Moodboard by @badwolf-in-the-impala none of the pictures are ours

~

Bolting upright, Taddie screamed and began sobbing, struggling to shove Thatcher away as he tried to hold her down. Finally, Thatcher grabbed her arms and spun her to face the mattress, pinning her down as she sobbed, begging him to let her go.

“Taddie, calm down, it’s me!” Thatcher cried, realizing that she was begging for Jack to let her go. Taddie sobbed until her awareness came back as Thatcher pulled his hands to her hips, rubbing his thumb over them until she’d quieted to soft sniffles then began to push against him. He let her up, quickly moving next to her and sliding his hand over her back, watching her with a worried look. “Taddie…Kitten-Wh-”

“It-I’m-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry--I-I had a-a nightmare…Thatcher-” Taddie breathed with a tearful sigh as she buried her face into his neck with a soft sob.

“Shh, shh. I’m here, I’m here. It’s okay, kitten.” He cooed at her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. He nuzzled her curls and drew his brows together as he whispered, “What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”

“I-I thought--I woke up, you were gone…I-I thought you came back b-but it w-” Taddie gave a shudder and buried herself deeper into his neck with a light whine. “He c-He can-can’t do this to me anymore. He-He can’t. He-He doesn’t control me anymore!”

“Taddie, love, hey, come here…” Thatcher said, sitting up and helping her with him. She sniffled and let out a deep sigh as she curled up against his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. He pressed a few kisses to her forehead and rubbed his hand over her back as he tugged the sheets up and over them. “He doesn’t control you, Taddie. He’s never going to touch you again, I won’t let him. Hey, kitten, look at me.”

Taddie sniffled and lifted her head as he gently wiped her face. She let out a deep sigh as she closed her eyes for a moment before she said, “I d-I don’t want to talk about it, Thatcher. Please. You-You make me forget so-so I want to forget.”

“Ja, of course, kitten.” Thatcher said, kissing her softly. Taddie kissed him back then nuzzled into his cheek as she asked, “What time is it? Please tell me it’s morning.”

Thatcher glanced over his shoulder at the clock, then turned back to her, pressing a kiss to her temple before he said, “It’s 6. Do you want to get up and get ready? We can stay here for another hour or two.”

“Just stay with me for a while…T-Tell me what your family does for Christmas. What should I expect?” Taddie said, her voice tired and exhausted. Thatcher gave her a tight squeeze before his fingers began trailing over her skin as he said, “Friday is a family dinner, causal-Wear something nice, but it doesn’t need to be fancy. Saturday is a free day and Sunday is just traditions-The women baking in the kitchen, the men watching football or rugby, whatever sport we’re feeling that day. Then lunch in the garden greenhouse, sleigh rides through the trails in the forest behind the house. Maybe some ice skating, then dinner.”

“And Christmas Day?

“Presents early in the morning, followed by breakfast. Afterwards, my brothers and their women usually split off for time alone and I was stuck with my parents, usually helping my Mother make some cakes and pies, desserts for after dinner…But now that you’ll be there--”

“We can still do that? It sounds fun? Good way of bonding with your mom? I don’t mind.” Taddie said, shifting to lift her head to him, giving him a sweet smile. She lifted her hand to his cheek, scratching her nails over his cheek. He let out a soft chuckle, nodding along and pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Yeah? We can if you want.”

“So…If all that is going on…When am I supposed to have time to paint? It sounds like you guys are together the entire weekend?” She asked.

“If you want to go up and paint, we’ll go. We’ll be there for meals and such, but if you don’t want to be there at the moment, we don’t have to be. And I’m not going to force you to be, cause there’s gonna be a reason you don’t want to be there and it’ll be my family. I’d never make you stay because they’re family. They should be making you feel comfortable.” Thatcher said, sliding the backs of his fingers over her cheek. She nodded, giving him a sweet smile before she kissed him, softly, then ducked her head under his chin, snuggling closer to him. He let out a deep sigh as he wrapped his arms around her, giving her a squeeze before letting his hand rub over her thigh. After a while, he realized she’d fallen back asleep and he eased her down before he slipped out of bed. He stared at her, sleeping, for a moment, then he grabbed his phone before walking away to make some calls.

~

After Taddie woke up again, they both got up and dressed, quickly packing for the weekend. Taddie had figured they would go straight from Ash’s place to New York on Friday, so Taddie simply packed everything when Thatcher didn’t stop her. She was a little leary about leaving Juniper alone, but Thatcher suggested they bring her along and leave her with Ash, since he was still going to leave some of his men to watch over the house and Ash while they were gone. Once she was packed with her bags by the door, Taddie chased Juniper down as she’d gone a little wild, knowing her mother was leaving and unsure if she was accompanying her or not. Finally, Thatcher wrangled Juniper in his arms, allowing Taddie to strap her into the harness and hook on her leash.

Lucas was at the door when Thatcher opened it and helped bring the bags to the elevator, then once they were all on, hit the button for the parking garage. When the doors opened, four more of Thatcher’s men were waiting and it put Taddie on edge, slightly, worried that they’d found Jack or he’d been lurking around the building, but she didn’t want Thatcher to see how worried she was and pushed the fear away. Thatcher helped Taddie and Juniper into the SUV while he and Lucas loaded the trunk, then he slid in beside her, Lucas and another man getting in the front before they took off toward Ash’s house. Somehow, Oscar had messaged early that morning saying he had Thatcher’s matching pajamas at the house, that he’d had them delivered and they had just arrived. Taddie was already dressed and Thatcher was sufficed to leave in sweats and a hoodie, knowing he’d be forced to change anyway.

They pulled up in front of the house and Thatcher took Juniper as Taddie slid to the door, the new man she didn’t know his name opening the door for her and helping her out. Thatcher slipped out behind her and Juniper squirmed around until Thatcher let her drop and she bounded toward the door, raising on her hind legs and meowing at the door as she pawed at it. Taddie giggled and caught Thatcher’s hand as she went up the path after her, digging into her coat for her house keys.

“Easy, Juni, down. Give Mami a minute.” Taddie cooed at her, shooing her down from the door as she unlocked it and pushed it open. Juniper bounded inside and to Taddie’s room. With a shake of her head, Taddie walked in and closed the door behind Thatcher as she called out, “Ash? We’re here.”

Taddie raised a brow as she heard a series of squeaks and giggles before footsteps ran toward Ash’s bedroom door, then ran back into the room, then back to the door again before it cracked open and her head popped out. “Tad? O-Oh, hey. I, um, I thought you were going to text me?” Ash panted, softly, forcing a sweet, innocent smile. Taddie raised a brow and glanced around, not seeing any sign of Oscar, then looked up at Thatcher, who’d come to the same conclusion she had.

With a soft laugh, Thatcher called out to the man in Swedish and heavier footfalls bounded toward the door and it opened fully, revealing Oscar in just his pants, no shirt. Thatcher raised his brows, stunned and impressed, then snickered as Taddie gave her friend an astonished look and let out a light laugh. “Um, I, uh, I was…But I figured, I have keys and you’re expecting me?--You two get along well last night, then?”

Ash rolled her eyes and made a face at Taddie before she said, “Uh, yeah, you could say we got along real well...” 

Taddie nodded along as she crossed her arms, keeping her brows raised as she said with a smirk, “Uh-huh. Looks like it…Why are you wearing his shirt, Ash?”

Ash glanced down at the shirt she wore, a smirk tugging at the edges of her mouth as she shrugged. “I misplaced mine and Oscar, being the gentleman that he is, kindly loaned me his.”

Thatcher tossed a comment at Oscar in Swedish, a sly, yet confident smirk crossed his face as he nodded and responded in Swedish. Ash gestured between the two men as she said, “Hey! One rule-No Swedish bullshit. English. We’d all like to be part of the conversation, ‘kay?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Oscar said, his hand giving her ass a quick squeeze before he retreated back into the room, closing the door a little more. Ash bit her lip as she struggled with her smirk then turned to Taddie, who blinked a few times and raising her brows at her.

“So…Are we having Christmas or what’s up?” Taddie asked, her and Thatcher snickering to themselves. Thatcher buried his face into Taddie’s curls as his shoulders shook, Taddie’s face beet red as she held back her laughter. Ash mocked laughed at them before she said, “Shove it, Price. Your pajamas are in Tad’s room-Go change.”

“I don’t see you in the pajamas?” Thatcher questioned. After a swift nudge to his ribs from Taddie and a fierce look from Ash, Thatcher snickered and said, “Okay, okay. I’m going, I’m going.”

Thatcher pressed a kiss to Taddie’s temple and left her, crossing the living room to her bedroom, closing the door behind him. Taddie gave Ash a look, giving her a once over, then Ash narrowed her gaze at Taddie before she quickly closed the door, rushing around her room. Taddie giggled and went to the living room, quickly rearranging the couches to make a bigger space in front of the TV, then shrugged off her coat. Ash soon emerged from her room, Oscar behind her, the both of them properly dressed.

“Not. A. Word.” Ash shot at Taddie as she snickered. Oscar gave her a polite nod as the both of them went to the door, Ash unlocking and opening it for him. Taddie noticed he had a piece of notepad paper in his hand as he turned to her and said, “Nothing else, Miss Ashlen?”

“No, just the list, Oscar. Thank you.” Ash said in a honeyed voice that made Taddie raise her brows, surprised. Even more so as Oscar nodded and tugged her hips closer to seal a kiss to her lips. Ash kissed him back, rather eagerly, then gave him a playful push out the door before she shut it.

“Oh, we got along very well with the protection, didn’t we? I hope you used protection at least.” Taddie shot at her, raising her brow at Ash as she turned with an indignant shriek.

“Hey, I’m a lonely woman, I have needs to, okay?!” Ash shot back in a hushed tone, but she was cut short from saying anything else as she heard the door to Taddie’s room open and Thatcher came out, Juniper rushing out now without her harness or leash. Ash arched a brow as she watched him step out, her lips pressed together tightly as she tried to contain the laugh that threatened to escape her she took in the Grinch themed flapjack pajamas he now wore.

“Okay--Why do I have the ass flap? She doesn’t have one…” Thatcher said, turning to show Taddie the back side. Taddie pressed her hands together, holding them to her lips as she suppressed her laugh, then turned to Ash as it slipped out, slightly, and cried, “Ashlen! He was supposed to match us!”

“What are you talking about?” Ash’s lips curved into a smirk as she looked between their outfits, the theme matching for the most part, “He does match–I mean I had to make a few adjustments but–” She shrugged with a wider smirk.

Taddie shook her head at her friend then chuckled as she went to Thatcher, his arm slipping around her waist as he chuckled and said, “It’s fine, kitten. I said I’d wear it…So, what exactly is the agenda today? I was told there were, uhm, adult gummies that were going to be consumed?”

“Thatcher!” Taddie chastised as Ash’s eyes went wide.

“You told him about that?! I wasn’t gonna make it obvious or give him any!” Ash shot, suddenly embarrassed. Thatcher gave a shrug and chuckled as he said, “I’ve been drinking since I was 16. I grew up in Sweden. You think me and my brothers didn’t make that trip to Amsterdam once we were all of age?”

Ash raised her brows, stunned, but only for a moment before she huffed out a sigh and retreated to go find her stash, muttering “Fine…I’ll share.”

Thatcher raised a brow and quickly checked his watch and exclaimed, “Wh-Now? It’s 9 in the morning…”

Ash narrowed her gaze at him, her arms crossing over her chest as her gaze shifted to Taddie before landing back on Thatcher, a sarcastic grin creeping onto her lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize Mr. Big Shot Mafia Man was such a fucking prude.” She barked out a laugh before walking away, muttering in a mocking tone, “It’s 9 in the morning!” 

“Hey, I’ve got some personal standards here!” Thatcher called back with a soft chuckle. Taddie giggled and shook her head as she wrapped her arms around his waist and lifted on her toes to press a kiss to his lips.

“What?-You can’t roll with the big girls?” She teased, nipping at his lower lip.

“Oh, I can roll…I just didn’t know you two were such fucking heathens…” Thatcher said, ducking down to kiss her deeply, sliding his hands down to grab the backs of her knees and hoist her up. Taddie let out a squeal and wrapped her arms around his neck, teasing him with another kiss.

Ash made an audible gagging nose as she rounded the corner. “Get a fucking room before I have to bleach my fucking eyeballs.” She said, tossing her assortment of edibles onto the couch.

“Oh, you’re so dramatic!” Taddie called with a laugh, wiggling around until Thatcher set her down, pressing a kiss to her temple, then said, “And we’re watching movies all day? How many Christmas movies could possibly be your favorites?”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t do that…” Taddie said, biting her lip as she pressed a hand to his chest, then glanced at Ash, who’s eye twitched slightly. Taddie giggled and lifted up to kiss his cheek and said, “At least you didn’t say it about Halloween. This is your mess, I’m gonna go start making waffle batter.”

Taddie hurried across the room with a series of giggles as Ash took a step toward him and said, “You’re on thin fuckin’ ice, pal.” 

Thatcher held up his hands in innocence as she advanced on him, then she stopped, narrowing her gaze at him for a moment before he said, “I just wanna know the plan, Ash. Your way of Christmas is way different than mine.” He chuckled as she took a few steps back and crossed her arms, looking him over.

“That’s fair, I suppose…” Ash sighed. “Have a little faith in the process though. It’s very American, but it’s worth it. At least to us it is.” 

“Is there anything I can do? I’m a decent cook?” Thatcher offered, following Ash to the middle of the room, where she could see Taddie in the kitchen, gathering ingredients on the island before hauling the Kitchen Aid mixer onto the counter.

“We need the mattresses blown and set up? Ash, can you show him, please? And be nice about it? Since he’s offering to help?” Taddie said, giving her friend a look. Ash repeated her words in a mocking tone, resulting in a tongue-out war, then a middle-finger-off before they both giggled at the other.

“Fuck-Fine, I guess. Come on, Swedish Meathead.” Ash said, smirking as Taddie called after her, “Ashlen!”

Thatcher smirked and shook his head as he followed Ash down to the hall closet, pulling out three air mattresses along with three sets of sheets. After digging around a little more, she found the air pump and shooed him back to the living room. Ash showed him how to set up the beds properly, then left him to his devices and went to Taddie in the kitchen as she poured batter into the greased and warmed waffle skillet for the first turn, filling the other side.

“Okay, who is this kid? What kind of Christmas does he have? A boring one?” Ash asked, leaning against the counter for a moment before she pushed off and went to the fridge to grab a carton of eggs, a package of shredded cheese, a package of sausage links, and a pre-packaged container of mixed fruit.

“A traditional one? By the way he makes it sound, they do the same thing every year.” Taddie said, glancing at Ash as she pulled out a few pans and skillets, setting them on the stove, opposite her at the counter.

“Sounds boring.” Ash scrunched up her nose. “I much prefer our chaotic Christmas traditions that are always evolving into something new, but that’s just me…So I suppose I can let it slide. Just this once.”  

“Well, it’s a good thing he’s down for a chaotic Christmas. Don’t forget-You’re the one that told me he’s in a metal band. How can he not like a little chaos and bucking tradition? I think it’ll be fun and you two will bond.” Taddie said with a soft snicker as Ash gave a shudder and shot her a look.

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves now with the whole bonding thing, okay? I’m tolerating him at best. And even that’s pushing it.” Ash rolled her eyes. Taddie shot her a look and said with a soft snicker, “Tolerating, huh? Ash, you slept with his bodyguard.”

“Exactly–His bodyguard, not him. That’s entirely different.” Ash scoffed.

“What happened to not wanting anything to do with the mob?--So, are you gonna see Oscar again?” Taddie asked with a teasing lilt to her voice that made Ash shoot her a look as she broke several eggs into a bowl, whisking furiously. Taddie snickered and carefully picked out each waffle, pouring in more batter and continuing the process. The women cooked as Thatcher set up the beds in the living room, making his way to the kitchen when he was done.

Taddie had a bowl of blueberries, a bowl of blackberries, and a bowl of chocolate chips, each time she poured in more batter after making a batch of plain, she sprinkled in a bit of one, giving them some kind of variety. Thatcher snagged a few chips and popped them into his mouth as he slid a hand over Taddie’s hip and said, “All set up…So, what’s next? Breakfast then movies? Breakfast then presents?”

“We usually do breakfast then presents.” Ash stated. “That way we can get stoned off our asses and binge movies the rest of the day. You know. Tradition.” 

Taddie gave her a look then smirked before glancing up at Thatcher as she said, “We open presents to the Grinch, then fight over what to watch next, but usually end up settling on choosing every other.”

As Thatcher reached for the blackberries, Taddie smacked his hand away as he said, “When me and--Ah-That hurt, kitten--When me and Tommy were younger, Mother made sure we had all the old Donald Duck movies lined up for us as we opened our gifts. Then we ate before trying out our bikes first, Father insisted on exercise. Then we played with our toys.” Thatcher snuck a few blackberries when she didn’t have the time to respond fast enough, then pinched as his side as she shooed him away.

Thatcher snickered and moved to the middle stool of the counter, leaning his arms on it as he said, “Can I do anything else? I don’t want to be intrusive, but I’m still a guest, I’d like to contribute?”

Taddie glanced at Thatcher with a sweet smile, then looked at Ash, who stole several glances at him as she poured the egg mixture into a large cast iron skillet, then popped the sausage links into another pan before she let out a sigh and said, “You can get things set, I guess. Plates are in the cabinet behind me and silverware is there.” She gestured to one of the drawers. Thatcher nodded and stood, moving around the island to investigate, quickly grabbing 3 plates, 3 forks and 3 napkins before he turned and asked, “Table, the counter?”

“Just lay it out on the counter. We do buffet style then pig out on the mattresses. Like the heathens we are, we open presents after we get our second helping, and eat while we open presents.” Taddie said, looking at Ash as they both laughed and smirked at each other. Thatcher chuckled and nodded, setting out each place setting in a row before looking through all the cupboards for bowls and things to put the food in or on. When he was done, Ash directed him to where the presents were in her room, giving him specific and detailed instructions on what to and not to touch in her room, then Taddie told him where hers were and he set off.

~

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[thethreebroomsticksficfest]

Just Not Home

By: @heartstopping-waves

Prompt: Eggnog

Summary: Heartstopping-waves brings us some fantastic Romione today. Be ready to fall in love with this fic, where Hermione teaches Ron one of her cherished family traditions!

Read on AO3 here or continue below:

Hermione suppressed a laugh as she watched Ron survey the countertop warily. After a trip to the grocery store for eggs, milk, and heavy cream, and then to the off-licence shop for rum and whisky, she had lined up all the ingredients on her parents’ counter, along with the two electric mixers, several large mixing bowls, and the sugar, vanilla extract, and salt out of the pantry. Ron had put up a brave face in the car, although he had clutched his seatbelt for dear life at every turn (as if she wasn’t a perfectly safe driver! A little rusty, maybe, but she had passed her test with flying colors when she was sixteen), but faced with the actual prospect of preparing the recipe he seemed a little overwhelmed, and she couldn’t help but say, “I know your mother makes eggnog every Christmas, I don’t see what you have to be looking so nervous about!” 

“Well I’ve never helped with the eggnog, have I? And she certainly doesn’t use those horrible contraptions––” he gestured helplessly at the KitchenAids, and at the look on his face Hermione actually burst out laughing. “Don’t laugh! They look like they could be used for torture!” 

“I know you know what a whisk is! You can’t be scared of an innocent kitchen utensil just because it’s attached to a machine!” 

“They look exactly like the type of machine Dad would bring home and make explode in his shed,” Ron stated firmly, crossing his arms. He was used to avoiding magic use at her parents’ house, since they were still nervous around the simplest charm, and he had seen firsthand how terrified they had been while undergoing memory-spell therapy in Australia. However, Hermione thought to herself, he normally didn’t have to engage with any appliance more complicated than a lightswitch. She took mercy on him. 

“When your mum makes a cake or something, she sets the whisks going of their own accord, right?” A nod. “Okay, so a KitchenAid is the muggle version of that. The machine just operates the whisks so you don’t have to, the same way your mum’s spell works. And we don’t have to use them right away anyway! Look––” she pulled down her mum’s massive recipe book off the shelf, and turned it to the tab marked “NOG,” holding it out to Ron so he could look over the instructions––“we need to separate the egg yolks from the whites first, I’ll show you how, it’s kind of fun.” 

Ron ran his finger down the edge of the book as he read her mother’s careful handwriting. “Did you do this a lot with your mum when you were little? Baking and stuff?”

Hermione blushed sheepishly. “Not really. Honestly, I was never that interested. I wanted to be upstairs in my room with a book.” She moved as she talked, wanting to keep busy, washing her hands and pulling two of the mixing bowls and the eggs over to the breakfast bar. “I think she would have liked it––cooking was something she and Dad always did together, he would make dinner and she would bake a dessert, and they were always trying to get me in there, wanting it to be a family activity.” Instead of finishing the thought in her head (just another way she let them down, broke their family instead of bonding), she slapped Ron’s hand away from the eggs and changed the topic: “Wash your hands first, Ronald!” 

He smirked at her, the way he always did when she called him Ronald, raising his eyebrows as he said, “Sorry, Chef Granger,” and kissed her on the top of her head as he rounded the counter to get to the sink. Hands washed, he turned back to her. “Okay, show me how to do the eggs.” 

Hermione began carefully cracking eggs, switching the yolks back and forth between the two pieces of shell, letting the whites fall into the bowl beneath and then dumping the yolk in the second one, explaining to Ron as she went. When they were about halfway through––separating a dozen yolks takes a bit of time––he brought her mom back up. “So, if you didn’t ever bake with your mom, why do you know this recipe so well?”

“This one I did with her every year.” Hermione bit her lip, keeping her eyes on the egg in her hands. “Every Christmas we would throw a big party––all their patients would come with their families, and all their neighborhood friends, and we would make the eggnog for the party together. Even the first few years I was at Hogwarts, even though they’d stopped throwing the parties, we would do it the first day I came home, and catch up about everything.” Another wave of guilt washed through her as her voice caught––she’d never considered why her parents had stopped having neighborhood Christmas parties, and for the first time she wondered if it was because of her leaving for Hogwarts, another thing they felt magic had taken away from them. Ron grabbed a dish towel off the back of her chair and wiped the egg off his hands before nudging her chin so that she looked up at him.

“Hey. Mione. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said, defiantly, but it was a weak lie. 

“Are you sure? Because your voice is getting all small and your shoulders are hunching over.” He ran his hand up her back to illustrate his point and she automatically straightened up, knocking her nose into his chin where he’d been leaning over her, and Ron chuckled and held her face and kissed her nose and looked at her seriously, and she looked back into his blue eyes and remembered that this was Ron and she could tell him anything. 

“It’s just so hard to be here,” she whispered, “and I can’t stop thinking about all the ways I disappointed them and let our family grow apart,” and her eyes felt wet, and Ron’s gentle fingers wiped away the tears that spilled out––“and I almost lost them forever and it would have been my fault, and I just––I’m trying to be here but I’m so scared that they’ll never forgive me.” This last bit was mumbled into Ron’s sweater, where she was attempting to hide her face, but he pulled her away gently and looked into her eyes.

“But you are here now, Mione. You’re here, and they’re here and safe because of you, and they love you and you love them, and we’re surprising your mom with eggnog, and according to you she will be absolutely delighted, and––” he kissed her briefly–– “you’re always right.”

She laughed wetly, wiping her eyes. At school, without Ron, she felt like she was always holding back tears, waiting until she got to the privacy of her curtained bed to cry. Ginny sometimes heard her, if she forgot a silencing charm, and she would climb into Hermione’s bed and they would fall asleep holding each other and reminding each other that things would be okay now, but it was no substitute for having Ron by her side again. She clung to him for a minute, muttering I-love-yous, before pulling back, sniffing, and pointing a wooden spoon at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Ronald. The next step is the mixers.” 

He put his hands up in surrender. “Whatever you say, my love. Instruct me in the use of the torture devices.” 

They split up the next steps––Ron was in charge of watching the yolks in the mixer, slowly adding salt, sugar, milk, vanilla, rum, and whisky, while Hermione watched the egg whites in their mixer, very carefully adding in sugar, until they were stiff. Ron was still watching his mixer. She found herself overwhelmed with fondness at the intensity on his face, knowing how worried he was about everything being perfect, because she was so worried about it. And yet, she thought to herself, making eggnog had always been a fun activity, and Ron ought to be having a good time. 

Moving slowly, Hermione carefully removed the bowl with the egg whites from her KitchenAid; and then jumped at Ron, as if she was about to dump the bowl on his head. He made a strangled sort of shriek and grabbed her wrists just as she reached him. “What are you doing, you nutter? You just spent fifteen minutes watching those eggs!” and Hermione folded herself into his arms, unable to stop laughing to get out an explanation. “Why is this funny? I thought eggnog was serious business!” Ron confiscated the bowl of whites from her and set it on the counter. 

“No––wait, Ron, give it back! Look, look, I’ll show you,” and she took the bowl and turned it upside down over her own head. The perfectly stiff whites did not move. 

“Oh my god, it’s magic! I thought we weren’t using magic!” 

“It is not magic––” Hermione broke off when she saw the smirk playing at the edge of Ron’s lips. “You’re teasing me!” 

He grabbed her around the waist and said in a very serious voice “I would never. Now kiss me under the magical eggs!” and Hermione realized suddenly that she was still holding the eggs above her head, and quickly flipped the bowl back right-side up, giggling into Ron’s lips.

The back door opened suddenly, and they jumped apart as her mother and father stepped into the foyer, stomping snow onto the doormat, arms full of shopping bags. “You’re back from the shops early!” Hermione squeaked, looking frantically around at the messy kitchen and the unfinished eggnog.

Stepping into the kitchen, her father laughed at her tone, the sound rich and deep, as he surveyed the kitchen in front of him. “Jean, look! Hermione’s giving her lovely boyfriend the family secrets!” Hermione’s mother looked up from the boots she was untying and peered past her husband into the next room. 

“Oh my goodness, darling, are you teaching Ronald the eggnog recipe? That’s wonderful!” She pulled her shoe off and placed it neatly beside its partner before coming over to Hermione and hugging her tightly. “I can’t believe you thought to make it! It’s been years!” Hermione hugged her mom back, feeling warm all the way down to her toes. She caught Ron’s eye over her mother’s shoulder and saw him beaming (although he had a hint of an I-told-you-so in the glint of his eyes). 

Her father clapped Ron on the shoulder. “Looks like you two haven’t quite finished––mind if we help out?”

“We’d like nothing more, Mr. Granger,” Ron responded earnestly.

“Ron, how many times must I ask you to call me Richard?” 

Her parents bustled around the kitchen, washing their hands and looking over what was left to be done, and the four of them finished the recipe, her father showing Ron how to fold the egg whites into the yolks as her mother made the whipped cream to be folded in next. For the first time in a very long time, Hermione felt at home in her own house again.

[flowersandbirdsflyingfree]

For your cutesy self ship thingy...

🎠💌🍭

For either ship!! 😊

AAAAAAAAA OK OK I’M GOING TO SPLIT UP HALF AND HALF!

🍭- who has the sweet tooth? (Metallic Roses)

Crow for sure! I love sweet stuff too, but he’s the one who goes crazy anytime I decide to bake something. Whether it be cookies, brownies, confetti cake, just about anything! I appreciate having him help out when I bake some sweets (even if it’s just a taste tester) He’s also the type to sneak into the kitchen late at night to attack pints of ice cream.

🎠- what do you do for leisure/entertainment? do you go places, play games together, or simply watch a movie nd cuddle?

Crow!

Aside from being forced to watch bad movies and poking fun at them, we have tons of things to do together! Sometimes we just lay down together and listen to my CDs/records or we play games together ranging from Mario Kart to board games. I’ll indulge in his scriptwriting ideas for plays/theatre production. I believe in his dreams!!! I also tag along in whatever he and Servo are up to, but I don’t encourage any moment they decide to disturb the peace (doesn’t mean I have the power to stop them either)

Dempsey!

During our time stuck with Richtofen, we played a lot of card games (War is my favorite). Sadly, I can’t play poker with him because I keep smiling and getting too chipper to take it seriously. Tank also helps me improve with my aim and educates me about different guns.

Away from it all, one of our favorite things to do is go hiking. The fresh air is so nice and it’s a peaceful escape for both us. Sometimes they’re relaxing nature trails and other times they’re walking up a huge mountain. Oh! And we love going camping. We just can’t get enough of the great outdoors (or each other💖)

💌- how do you communicate while your apart? do you give eachother notes/letters? or do can you text eachother?

I think Tank and I would probably try to text or write letters. If he was ever deployed again, I’d do my darn best to be the best military wife in the world. I’d miss him so badly but I also know he needs the support for the sacrifices he’s making every day. Granted, I may not hear from him much at all, but he at least tries his best to make sure we are still in strong communication even if it’s waiting for a certain day. The moment he comes home though, we’re glued for the rest of the day