#I only made a few cookies and put the rest of the dough in the freezer (in the cool whip container so it works out perfectly 🤣)

[stonersweetiexx]

I decided to make some cookies!

I used boxed spice cake mixed with 1 container of cool whip. Then I rolled them in cinnamon powdered sugar.

I modified this recipe for Strawberry fluffies ☺️

https://youtu.be/s4DvnyIcxP8

[stormgardenscurse]

Local sleep deprived mess here, i was wondering if your amazing writer self would grace us with what vil,rook,leona,jamil and floyd would do if they woke up late one night and there s/o is just gone, so when they look for them they find them in the dorm kitchen baking because they had a bad dream? I adore your writing author-chan, keep up the great work! ♡♡♡

Summary: Baking late at night, after a bad dream...

Characters: Vil, Rook, Leona, Jamil, Floyd

Vil

At first, Vil wonders if he should start placing a curse on your slippers, so that if you tried to get out of bed at night, you'd only be dragged back to his side and let him know if something's wrong. But considering how you're always conscious about how busy he is and as such, try to keep your worries to yourself, Vil can't help feeling his resolve soften at the sight of you humming quietly, pouring ingredients into a bowl with practiced ease.

Baking was like chemistry or potion making, you'd once told him. It's honestly a horrible hour to have something sweet, but what kind of person would he be to leave you alone?

"I didn't think you'd find the energy to make something in the dead of the night." Vil says as a way of greeting. As he approaches you, it's easy to spot the flaws in your actions - shakier than usual, absentminded. It's easy to accidentally topple or drop items when you're like this. That's what Vil tells himself, anyways, as he takes the mixing bowl from you.

Rather than 'wasting' a few minutes of his time, it's worse if Vil ends up worrying about you the entire day if you don't speak up, you know? 

He tells you as much; "You could have just called for me. Now be a dear and tell me what to do - I'd like to get back to bed before dawn."

Despite how he tries not to prod too much about what had shaken you, Vil finds himself glancing over at your expression to make sure you're okay. 

The smile playing on your lips is a good sign, at least - he's glad you found some humor in how you managed to have the Vil Schoenheit baking for you. (For the record, he'd like to think he's quite good at it too compared to the average beginner.)

Rook

Suffice to say, you'd almost jumped out of your skin when Rook finally made his presence known at the entrance of the kitchen, eyes glimmering like a cat's. 

While you tried to put on your usual smile and pretend everything was fine, it's hard to get your expression from earlier out of the hunter's mind. Beautiful as you are no matter what state you're in, he'd like to chase away any monsters that may be haunting you. And what was Rook Hunt if not tenacious in what he set his mind to?

Rook plays along at first by monologing about how he'd awoken to the loss of starlight in the sky… a hearth that held his heart… and when he'd followed the traces of where it had gone, he'd been led to you!

At his last words, Rook places his hands gently over yours, pausing your movements. Despite yourself, you can't tear your gaze away from him when he asks you what's wrong, almost folding on the spot.

Belatedly, you realize that allowing Rook to help also meant that he was starting to add unusual ingredients into the batter. You were surprised that the cookie dough actually tastes pretty good, despite its color from the many toppings he's put in.

God, does he love the sound of your laugh. When you pause and ask Rook what's wrong (he's staring), he simply gives you a radiant smile.

"It seems like my heart had just been returned to me." With the sly hunter resting his chin on his palm, elbow propped against the counter, you start to realize how disarming he looks with dishevelled hair.

Leona

Leona's normally grumpy when awoken from his sleep, but the feeling of an empty space next to him where you were just moments before was unsettling, to say the least. You were always a presence that barged in on his life even when he'd rather curl under the covers and sleep the day away, so to have you sneak out during the night was an odd feeling indeed.

Nevermind the fact he'd been sleeping so well that he didn't notice your absence until a while later (more delayed than he'd like to admit, ever since he got used to napping with you) - Leona was less than amused when he realized you got up to do work out of all things.

But of course, the first thing he does is say he'll steal your food once it's done baking. Rests his chin on your shoulder while he watches you mix and pour ingredients, lazily draping himself over you like a weighted blanket.

While these sweets won't really get rid of your nightmares, Leona decides that he can do that much himself. (With his presence or a a simple spell? Who knows.) When he tells you the food is an advance payment for his labour, you'd played into the topic by questioning what said labour was. 

"To make sure you're well rested, of course." A lilt of confidence in his voice, Leona muses about his kindness for gracing you with his services. (In reality, he's just getting his partner back in his arms so that he can get back to sleep, but he won't linger on the specifics.)

Jamil

Perhaps it was just out of habitual behavior, but in the first seconds of processing you were gone, Jamil’s brain went from ‘they probably went to get water’ to ‘what if something happened to them’ (worst case scenario)

It’s a good thing you thought to leave a note for him though (it’s not often Jamil seems to sleep so peacefully, so you didn’t want to interrupt his much-needed rest), saying you went to the kitchen. After mulling it over Jamil finds himself unable to fall back asleep, and ventures to find you out of curiosity of what you’re doing.

He’d guessed you were making a late night snack or something along those lines - so color Jamil surprised when he sees you frosting the cakes you’d baked together earlier in the afternoon (someone’s birthday was tomorrow). You said something along the lines of saving him some work, since you were now awake anyways.

Rather than chiding you, Jamil instead takes out the box of extra vanilla sponge that was leftover after trimming the cake. Perhaps it was because he knew how doing something while plagued with unwanted thoughts had a calming effect, but he didn’t stop you, instead asking you what drink you wanted.

With two mugs on the table and Jamil scrolling through his phone as you work, you’re surprised when he uses a spoon to take some frosting out of your mixing bowl to dollop on the cake, haphazardly pairing them together.

At your questioning look, Jamil only shrugs with the hint of a smile. “Not everything has to be done to perfection, right?” 

A comfort hidden beneath a subtle jab from your past words. You let Jamil feed you a bite, hands still occupied by the piping bag and frosting on your fingers.

Floyd

Doesn’t really ask what you’re doing in the kitchen, but offers to help you bake! Floyd turns your otherwise solitary session into a fun conversation. It’s a type of comfort that lets you know you don’t have to divulge what’s bothering you, but his presence will be there anyways by your side.

You’re not sure if Floyd is doing this consciously, but you do know that he’s quite in tune with your emotions, even if he might not magically know the reason behind your mood.

Floyd mentions you sound happier now. The topic ranges from random things that distract you to mundane questions classes. While you’re waiting for the pastries to bake in the oven, Floyd walks you around the dorm to stretch your legs.

…The underwater view from Octavinelle’s dorm really is something. How can your surroundings feel so vast when it’s technically just a part of the college? One day you might be curious enough to figure out how far the water goes, but for now you have to reject Floyd’s suggestion of going for a swim. The last thing either of you needed is for Azul to track you down for flooding the hallways with water, even if it sounded like a funny way to start the morning.

Thankfully, you remembered to set a timer on the oven so that it’d stop baking after twenty minutes! Some things taste best when they’re freshly made, and this was no exception; before you realized, between snacking on the pastries while talking to Floyd and waiting for them to cool down enough to put in the fridge… half of it was gone.

You just hope that you’re not too sleep deprived the next day, to the point where you can’t get up in the morning because Floyd is hugging you to himself like a human plush.

[allywthsr]

BAKING COOKIES | (l.norris)

summary: you and Lando bake some cookies

wordcount: 1.4k words

pairing: landonorris x fem!reader

warnings: none!

notes: this is my favorite cookie recipe, try it out!! And the picture on the right is my pictures, look at how stunning it is🥹. Like always, comment your thoughts!!

advent calendar

”Okay Lando, are you ready?“

”They’re gonna burn.“

”No, they’re not!“

”I‘m in the kitchen, of course, they’ll burn.“

”I‘m watching them, and they won’t.“

You tied your apron before you helped Lando with his. It became a tradition to bake cookies together, and this year was no different.

”Let’s get the ingredients out on the kitchen island, two hundred and fifty grams of butter, five hundred grams of flour, two-hundred and fifty grams of sugar, six egg yolks, and a pinch of salt.“

With every ingredient you listed, Lando opened different cupboards and the fridge to get all the things on the counter, placing various containers with different contents. You recently got more Pinterest-looking like containers and you loved them, the square-shaped boxes had big white stickers on them with different foods, that were written in cursive. Thankfully, due to your spacious kitchen, you had enough space to both move around and do your thing.

”As always, baby, can you sift the flour on the surface?“

He nodded and got the sieve out of the cupboard, weighed five-hundred grams of flour in a bowl, and let the flour fall through the tiny holes, creating a hill of fine flour. Next, he added the two-hundred and fifty grams of sugar on top of it, and because you two made this recipe every year, he automatically squeezed a dent in the middle of the hill with his long and slick fingers. While he was doing that, you got the six eggs out of the carton and separated the egg yolk from the egg white into a bowl, a few drops of egg were spilled on the surface, but you could clean that later. The egg yolks were poured into the dent of the flour and Lando got the two-hundred and fifty grams of butter out of its package and cut it into small pieces which he placed around and on the rest of the flour. Last but not least, you added a pinch of salt and now began the more or less fun part.

Kneading.

It was always messy, took way too much time, and both of you wanted the other one to do it. Every year you played a round of rock-paper-scissors and mostly Lando won, so you had to do the work.

”Who‘s going to knead this year?“

”Rock-paper-scissors, but only one round?“

You nodded and held your hand out. With three swinging movements and both of you saying Rock-paper-scissors out loud, Lando and you held out a scissor, so you had to play another round. Repeating what you just did, you went for the rock but Lando chose paper, which made you the loser of the game.

That meant, kneading.

So you got to work and removed everything that could catch flour on it, from your arm.

With skilled movements, you pushed all the ingredients together and started to knead, as always the texture felt weird and funny. Lando was laughing at the weird faces you pulled, the egg was cold, the butter soft and the little grains from the sugar were not mixing with the flour, it was a mess. You tried to knead as fast as you could to get over with it, but it felt like a lifetime, now Lando was filming you with his phone, recording a video to send to the Norris and Y/L/N family group chat. Almost everyone laughed at your expressions that clearly showed your discomfort with the mixture that was in between your fingers, only the mothers were giving you advice on how to get the perfect consistency of the dough. You had to have warm hands, so the ingredients would mix faster, but now it was too late, your hands were sticky with the egg and flour and you couldn’t warm them up.

Eventually, Lando put his phone down and hugged you from behind, watching your hands from over your shoulder, leaving slight kisses on your shoulder and neck.

”I love you, baby.“

”I love you too, Lan.“

He was a clingy boy when it came to Christmas. Always hugging you, always kissing you, and he loved to watch Christmas movies and cuddle. Maybe the Christmas spirit always gets to him.

When the dough slowly started to form, you were happy. At least you were beginning to see some progress, within ten minutes it became a hard dough, you rolled it into a ball and wrapped it in cling foil, now it had to rest in the fridge for one hour. During the hour you cleaned the mess that you two created and got out the cookie cutters, the rolling pin, and more flour as well as preparing the baking trays, pre-heating the oven to two hundred degrees Celsius. Recently you bought some new cookie cutters and you were in love, little reindeers, Santa’s, elf’s, and the list goes on and on.

Lando was singing Christmas songs and running around the kitchen while you tried to set everything up, every now and then he would hug you and spin you around the kitchen, trying to get you to dance with him.

Before you knew it, your phone was beeping, signaling the hour was over and the dough was ready. You divided the dough into multiple sections and began to roll the first piece into a small layer, about two centimeters thick, now Lando took a cookie cutter, and put it in the flour to cover the edges with it, so the dough wouldn’t stick to it and pressed the Santa into the yellow mixture. He put the Santa on a baking tray that you covered with baking paper, with a proud grin.

”Look, Y/N! It’s our first cookie this year.“

You stroked his cheek and looked for the next cutter to create a cookie. A snowman caught your eye, you covered it in flour and pressed it in the dough, and carefully you took the cookie on the baking paper. Both of you repeated that step multiple times until the first tray was filled with little shapes. You put it in the oven for about ten minutes and slowly the kitchen started to smell like a Christmas bakery. Lando was being the funny one he is and tried to get flour in your face, eventually, your nose was white, your left cheek had traces of white and your forehead had a white thumb on it after Lando said ’Simba‘ while crackling. He is the most unserious twenty-four-year-old there is.

Little Christmas trees, reindeers, stars, bells, etc. made their way on the baking trays that you put into the oven. Every ten minutes freshly baked cookies made their way on a cooling grid, or in someone’s mouth, until the last batch was done and now it was time to wait for them to cool down. In the meantime, you cleaned up again and this time you prepared for the decorating progress, melted white and dark chocolates were placed on the kitchen table, next to sprinkles and colorful royal icing you found in the store. Lando wasn’t a big help at all, he was clinging onto you and hugging you from behind, you would give him something to put on the table and he’d be back in no time, cuddling. It was cute tho, you loved that he showed how he truly is, a cuddling teddy bear who loves to eat sweets and cookies, especially Christmas cookies.

After a Christmas sing-off, the cookies were cold enough to be decorated. Lando immediately got to work and so did you, snowmen were painted white with brown chocolate spots to recreate the face, Christmas trees got green royal icing all over them, and other cookies just got a dip in the chocolate and sprinkles. It was a mess but it was a lot of fun, every now and then Lando would giggle and show you what he did, a lot of cookies got fours all over them, claiming it was enough decoration.

When both of you were finished and the place was cleaned up, Lando sat on the couch, munching on the cookies and you were sure you had to bake new ones next week.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗦 - part three charles leclerc  x  fem! driver! reader (angst+ smut) “… forgetting is troublesome especially when you used to be enemies.”

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"What's that?" You pulled back Charles' arm to see what he was holding. He put a finger over his mouth signalling for you to stay quiet. Cookies. He stole cookies from the hospitality. "Try one." He whispered, offering one to your lips. You glanced between him and the dough unimpressed. "I thought we were dieting." "Just try it!" He urged and you could help but roll your eyes.

Holding his wrist, you held his hand still as you took a bite. A frown curled on your face as you chewed. "They wouldn't know if we took the whole box right?" You whispered looking around, before pulling his wrist closer and eating the rest.

Charles found himself smiling softly, feeling your lips brush against his fingers. "Come on." You took his other wrist, pulling him back to the hospitality.

You two ended up sharing the entire box in your driver's room, with you laying on the couch discovering tiktok while Charles sat on the floor beside you petting your ashera cat, kiki ( who was purring on your stomach ) while feeding you. "Won't Andrea be mad?" "Not if he doesn't know." Charles chuckled, brushing a few strands of hair out of your mouth.

You looked at him from the side of your eye, opening your mouth for him to put another one. "He'll kill you for being a bad influence." You leaned up taking a bite. "Me? A bad influence?" He teased, receiving a pillow hard on his head.

He watched as the cat leaned into your head scratches and belly rubs. Kiki was a way to get familiar or a taste of parenthood, he'd gotten her to decrease your baby fever while he tried make one with you. 

"What's with sll the shirtless pics? Makes you look like a whore." "It does not." He defended, leaning his head beside yours to watch what you were looking at. Yep, someone had a collection of shirtless Charles Leclercs, and you were looking through each one.

"Your ugly." "You wouldn't have married me if I way ugly." He reminded you and you turned to him unimpressed. Charles gave a knowing smirk before he went back to giving attention and affection to your cat.

Were you lying to yourself? Sure he wasn't ugly with that haircut . . . and those back muscles . . . and that torse . . . and that smile— no! Not his smile! Charles Leclerc had the worst smile. He still doesn't know how to wink!

"How did we meet anyways?" "What? We met in France at . . . 10—" "That's not what I asked. What made me like you?" Charles felt his breath hitch at the memory as he turned to face you slowly. "W—well its a long story, and we don't have enough time before the race." You turned on your side narrowing your eyes at him.

What are you hiding, Charles?

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

GASP! "Is that?— No way!" You fangirled, ready to take off only to be pulled back from Charles. He wrapped his arms tight around your stomach, lifting you up to make sure you didn't run off and tackle Andrew Garfield ( seventeen you's crush ). "Leclerc, let me go." You fussed and wriggled only for him to run away with you.

Yeah, if he loosens his grip for a second, he's going to left in the dust for spiderman. He won't lose the prettiest woman on earth for an actor. "I wanna see spider man!" "I— Hey you hear that? Andrea is calling." "BUT SPIDERMAN!!"

You grumbled and huffed angrily as you juggled the tennis balls next to Charles who was putting on his fireproof and zipping up his suit. "I hate you." You reminded Charles throwing one successfully at his head. "You have any idea how much meeting him would've meant to me?" He really didn't.

He took your scolding, feeling his heart clench and sob with each mean insult you threw at him. "Are you really that scared if I met a celebrity? Are you really that fragile and jealous?" You huffed tugging your gloves on and pushing him out of your way to retreive your driving shoes.

"Y/N— I'm sorry." He pulled you back from your hand gently, turning you to face him. He only saw your face fuming and angry, ready to punch his stomach up his throat. "I'll make it up to you, I promise." You You tried to pull your hand out of his grip but he was stronger than you for sure.

"Please. I'll get the whole cast. And the cast of the notebook." He tried to take your other hand put you pulled it out of his reach. "I'm an asshole. The biggest asshole. I don't deserve a woman like you. And yes, I am scared of losing a woman like you. You are the only good thing in my life, Y/N, and you don't even remember me . . . Don't you know how much that hurts?"

"I do and that makes it more bearable." Charles sighed, dropping his head, gently running his thumb across your knuckles. ". . . We had . . . a night in Australia . . . and we kept doing it. I asked you out later and we got married in december." He quickly explained clenching his jaw.

"We started of as an affair." You concluded, snatching your hand out of his, absolutely disgusted. "No! No." Charles denied quickly, backing you up in the wall trapping you, holding both your hands. "We had . . . talks and moments. You— you trusted me with your feelings and I thought, I still do think that you are a blessing, heaven on this earth. Sure we kissed and things escalated, but I'd never use your body Y/N."

You sighed as Charles searched for your eyes, trying to get you to look at him. You snickered once you finally looked into his fear stricken ones. "Please believe me when I tell you that I love you and you alone were meant for me.." He shook your hands gently, feeling himself hyperventilate.

"Please believe me when I tell you I love you, you're the best thing That's ever happened to me." The faceless man held your hands close to his chest, leaning close to you. "You're amazing and funny. You can be mean or nice when you need to and you've trusted me with yourself Y/N." "I love you, I really do." He chocked on his sobs, tears streaming down his blurred eyes. "I've you given you my heart. And you alone were meant for me."

"I know it's not like you can gain your memories on command or with a snap of your fingers, and I'm not asking you to do that. Just please . . . work with me—mhh" He moaned against your lips when you pulled him down roughly.

You tugged your hands free. Charles felt his hands twitch missing yours. That feeling was quickly forgotten once he felt your hands pull apart his race suit and zip down the top to pull up his fireproofs. "H—here?" He stuttered between kisses, feeling himself gasp with your hands trailing down his skin, past his waist line and underwear.

"Here." You asserted, pushing him to the couch, climbing on top of him pulling your own red suit off, an accidental hum leaving your lips against Charles. "Then we'll do it right—" He flipped you over, pinning your hands over your head.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You sadly didn't get to get as far as you would've liked. Charles held your hand as he jogged through the paddock, pulling your dishevelled self along to the garage. The race was starting in a few minutes and you couldn't miss it. YOU WERE THE DRIVER.

You huffed as Charles quickly fixed your hair and suit, helping you strap your helmet and put your gloves on. "I'm not three." "I know that." Charles whined before kissing your cheek from atop your helmet, scurrying off to get himself ready as well.

Sitting in your car, you watched as Charles ran up the grid to you. "Don't crash out, please." He crouched beside you, kissing your cheek. "Mother fucker— just go." You pushed him away, sighing.

You could see the relieved smile that's been plastered on his face since he got to taste you again. You on the other hand felt agitated because he pulled away thousands of a second before you reached your peak. You were going to have to take revenge for that, you thought as you watched him climb the car in front of you.

"Well, David, it's a scorching day here in the heart of Monte Carlo, and the engines are roaring as we prepare for the start of the Grand Prix!" "Absolutely, Martin! And it's not just the weather heating things up. The Leclercs' presence is making waves. Y/N, dealing with amnesia, is a 17-year-old spirit in a 25-year-old body. A unique twist in today's race."

"Indeed, David. It's lights out, and the cars surge forward. Charles Leclerc, starting from the front row, quickly slots into P2 behind Verstappen who's got an amazing start."

Lap 20. — "As we cross the 20-lap mark, disaster strikes for Charles Leclerc! In a bid to block out Perez, he clips the front of the Red Bull, sending both into the barriers." "A heart-stopping moment, Martin. Charles is out of the race, a DNF, and that's a tough blow for the Ferrari driver on his home turf."

"Oh no." You mumbled passing the red and blue cars. You stayed silent once you pressed the radio button. "Yes, Y/N?" The radio was on but you were quiet. "Is he . . . is Charles . . ." "Charles is okay Y/N. He's coming back to the garage right now. Don't worry." "Alright . . ."

Lap 25. — "Meanwhile, Y/N Leclerc's facing her own challenges. After some intense battles, she's fallen to P7. The young racer is under pressure, but she's fighting hard." "She's showing real tenacity out there, Martin. And we've got some team radio messages coming in from Y/N's crew."

"Y/N, keep your focus. We know it's tough, but you've got this. Picking them off one by one." "I know, I know. I'm trying!— Lando stop fucking—" "Stay calm, Y/N. Stay calm." "Yeah yeah."

final Lap. — "And here we are, the final lap of this exhilarating Grand Prix. Verstappen has dominated the race, but behind him, the real battles have raged."

"Absolutely, Martin. And Y/N Leclerc, after a stunning performance, crosses the finish line in P4! What an incredible comeback from the young driver after taking the last 4 rounds off."

"You did it, Y/N! An incredible drive. We're so proud of you!" You Felt yourself screaming in exitment, throwing your fists up in joy. "How many points is that?" "These are 12—" "TWELEVE! OH MY GOD, NO WAY. NO. WAY."

"Verstappen takes the win, David, followed by a sensational Lando Norris in P2 and the seasoned Fernando Alonso in P3." "Monaco has truly delivered, Martin. Drama, determination, and unforgettable moments. That's what the Monte Carlo Grand Prix is all about."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Okay, it was a bad race." "It was the shittiest race." Charles corrected you, huffing as he pulled your leg up to undo your shoe laces ( one of the few things you forgot how to do ). And although Charles was fuming, filled with fury and anger, he felt more at ease with your shitty attempts of comfort.

You sighed for the thirtieth time, watching him set your sneakers on the rack and rub his face in his hands. "You're annoying." You reached a hand under your shirt undoing the straps. "I— I know I'm being a hassle and—" Charles looked up to face you only to come face to face with your bra that you were holding up.

You dropped them. Charles was quick to react and catch them, watching your retreating figure pull your shirt off as you walked to the bedroom. "Wait— wait for me." Clothes were quickly abandoned on the floor as charles practically tackled you onto the bed. He couldn't keep his hands or mouth of your breasts that he's missed so much. You could feel your body twitch and tense feeling his warm tongue on your skin.

It was unfamiliar to you, but it felt . . . satisfying, with the way charles was doing it. He kissed and licked and nibbled on every inch of your skin, practically ripping your panties off so he could reach what he needed.

"No teasing this time." You pushed his head away when he tried to lick up your arousal. "Condoms." You pointed at the drawer. And he obeyed, quickly sliding one on. With his gentle touch, Charles pulled you to stand on your knees, your back to his chest with your arms holding his biceps that wrapped tightly around your stomach.

"Haa! Fuck!" You tried to jump out of hold at the weird sensation, the stretch felt . . . Foreign. But you didn't not like it. "Hey- hey. Relax. Breath." Charles pulled you further into his chest, kissing the spot behind your ear. "I got you. We can stop whenever you wan- ow!"Your body jolted feeling him push you down to take him further, head involtarily snapping vacation and hitting his nose. "Shit- I'm sorry." You tried to turn and check on him but Charles only laughed quietly.

'She apologized?'

"I'm okay." "I swear if you're lying—" "—I'm not. I'm not." He assured you quickly making you slimb your body in relief. "Let's take things . . . Slower?" He offered slowly, gently setting you dowm on your chest.

"How did we do it the first time?" "Oh wow, that tales me back . . ." ". . . You don't remember?" "—I do! It was my first." He defended, pulling you to straddle his lap. "I rode you? What kind of sex was that?"

"Well you took lead." That idea wasn't so bad. You watched as he intertwined your fingers with his, bending his knees so he could keep a steady pace. With a deep breath, you sank down slowly. The pain was almost non-existent from all the times you did it before. You felt on fire, leaning your hands on his to keep yourself up.

"Ready?" "Just go already." Almost immediately when his hips thrusted upward a moan left your mouth feeling him push deeper than you had settled with. "Charles— Fuck!" The monogasque held you up from your hips before you face planted in his chest.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, gripping his pecks while he kept a steady pace. Charles felt complete finally, he felt at home with you. You weren't usually this loud but he wasn't going deny the extra treats.

You switched position a few times, but you stuck with prone; with Charles pinning your hands above your head, he littered your chest neck and collar with small bites and licks.

He knew you were close from your mannerisms, having been married to you for 4 years and with you for almost 6. Charles fucked you through your orgasm while you engraved ten red lines down his shoulder and back.

"E—enough." You hiccuped, trying to push him away. "Almost there, Amour. Please just a little bit more." He begged in your ear, picking up just pace. Your body twitched and flinched every few thrusts and you grew tired and limp in his arm. "Wait wait." His voice was thinner and lower as he chased his high.

How more was a little bit? How more could this man go? Charles must've been making up for the few months you missed. You were tired yes, but watching him so desperately beg and whine and moan on top of you felt . . . It felt satisfying.

His body was sweaty with hair sticking to his forehead as he rocked back and forth repeatedly. "Mon Amour, mon Amour." He begged and he begged and he begged, squeezing his eyes shut so he could only feel and hear you.

He only opened his eyes again when he felt your finger tips ( that had thrown tennis balls at him this morning ) brush his hair from his eyes and wipe the desperate and needy tears that trailed down his eyes.

You were so gentle with him. How could you not? He was giving all of himself to you. Why were you being so mean and cruel to him? You watched your heart skip a beat as he nuzzles his cheek in your hand, taking your wrists and pressing soft kisses to your palm. He was practically worshipping you. And he was.

"Je t'aime— fuck fuck! Y/N!" He finished with a final few thrusts, finally stopping to catch his breath. You watched him pull out and flop on your chest, back rising up and down as he nuzzles in your neck. "Amour." He wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing kisses to your jaw .

You've never seen him in such a state before. So vulnerable and open and weak. You could hurt him, you could win the game. But you didn't, instead resting your head on his back, patting him gently as you two fell asleep tangled I each other. Charles might've been not so bad after all.

[kayrrhin]

hello!

i saw your commissions were opened after a fic i read, idk if you write for multiple characters but i’d like to request for robin, law, cora, yamato, and ace, with no peculiar pronouns for the reader, it can be fluff or nsfw, as you feel more comfortable with!

feel free to add more or not write for some ofc, no pressure it’s totally understandable, don’t overdo yourself, please and thanks!

I'm going to be honest, you made a commission which literally features all of my all time favorite babies so let's goooo, i also assumed it was all separated since there were no specification, good reading!

3am baking

characters: Robin, Law, Corazon, Yamato, Ace

fluff, use of pet names, ft. teenager law in Cora's part

Reader's gender is not referred so it can be any gender

Warnings: use of swear words, a bit suggestive at Law's part, french

Robin:

"wow, so far it looks good!"

You looked at the cupcakes you and your girlfriend were making, so far there was only the dough but wow it looked good.

"I'm amazed that we're able to make such good cupcakes at this time of day, at least so far the dough is good!"

You grin at the archeologist and wipe some of the flour off her nose.

"Thanks, love."

You smiled and began to put the dough into the moulds, putting them in the oven.

"Now all we have to do is wait!"

Robin put her arms around you from behind and kissed your temple,

"I just hope Sanji doesn't take this the wrong way"

You chuckled a little

"The only thing Sanji might do is cry because we made it ourselves and he didn't cook it for us, or be amazed because it's going to be super good!"

You kissed her cheek and smiled proudly.

"haha, I guess you're right, I have to say though, what a strange urge to want to cook at such an hour, darling"

"Yes, I know, but at least we'll have snacks to read"

She smiles sweetly and kisses you, her soft lips resting on yours.

"Actually, I just hope they're still good tomorrow"

You looked up in a thinking manner for a bit,

"aaah you're right...it's probably going to be a little drier depending on how it goes..."

Your lover chuckled and kissed you.

"Don't worry too much, with a bit of tea it's going to be great, love"

After a little while you finished the cupcakes and boy were they good, as was the sleep you got afterwards.

Law

"You're messing up your sleep schedule right now."

Your boyfriend said, watching you make cookie dough,

"Oh, you're one to talk! At least it's not to overwork myself but to make cookies!"

You smile and continue to work on your work of art, but you feel someone approaching you.

"Let me help you at least, it might be fun... I guess."

He seemed a little embarrassed but helped you with the cookies anyway,

"Aaaw, thanks, love!"

You smiled at him and continued to bake, when the dough was separated, the surgeon put them in the oven, setting the temperature correctly.

"Can you put a timer on please?"

"Yep, I got it!"

You set the timer and start waiting, Law lifts you up to sit on the counter and kisses you on the forehead.

"I'll never understand how you can cook for ten people in the middle of the night"

He then kisses your jaw and puts his hands on your waist,

"I'll say it's my will to eat that gives me this strength, or a mental breakdown"

He chuckled and kissed your lips, slowly moving down to your neck, kissing it and leaving a few marks here and there, he started to get a little more impatient only for the timer to remind you both that the cookies were still in the oven,

"Yes! My cookies!"

You got off the counter, took out the cookies and turned off the oven.

"wooow, these look dashing!"

"Yes. They are."

You laugh, seeing your boyfriend a little frustrated by the sudden stop,

"Come on, sweetheart, we can continue where we left off for a few minutes, the cookies still need to cool."

"I don't know if I love you or hate you, [Name]-ya"

Corazon

"I'm surprised we made it this far without burning the kitchen down!"

You've finished putting your mixture on the plate to put what will soon be brownies in the oven,

"Me too, you've really taken the easiest thing to do"

Your lover wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to his giant body.

"Yeah, I figured at 3am, burning the house down wasn't the best way to make something"

You laugh, nuzzling your face into his chest, him, resting his head on top of yours.

"You're right, I'm not sure Law would like us to set the house on fire."

He pulled his face closer to yours and kissed the tip of your nose, then your temple, and lips.

"He'd probably kick our asses if we did, I wonder who the real adults are"

You both laughed and stayed like that for a little while, to be fair the reason he hadn't set the kitchen on fire was because you were making sure he wasn't near anything that could catch fire, mainly his coat which was left in the living room for that specific reason.

"I think the brownies are good, let me turn off the stove"

You did so and smelled the brownies,

"wow, that smells really good, mi vida, we did a great job!"

He kissed you on the cheek and stumbled, causing you to lose your balance.

"OH FUCK—"

You looked at the brownies that were about to fall out, but they were replaced by a pillow.

"hah?"

"Can you be careful??? First I wake up because you can't keep it down, when I get up you're immediately about to injure yourself, and you're the adults here?"

"Right! Sorry we woke you up..."

"and thanks for saving us from a third degree burn!"

The teenager looked at you both and sighed.

" It's okay, plus it smells good, it would be sad to let it go to waste"

You look at your partner and both laughed

"Well, I guess it couldn't have gone without at least one little mistake"

Yamato

"Woooh! [Name], look, it's growing!"

You giggled at your golden retriever boyfriend who was looking at the gateau au yaourt in the stove.

"Yeah, that's the baking powder, baby"

Your boyfriend looked at you in awe, it was the first time in a long time he'd cooked in a real kitchen, so when you said you wanted to make a cake at 2:56am, he looked at you and instantly got up, already jumping towards the kitchen.

"This is so cool! And it smells so good too! My love, you are so good at baking! You are a god/goddess!"

Your boyfriend lifted you up in his arms, you laughed at his gesture.

" Pretty boy, I think you're over-reacting, I only have basic cooking skill"

He laughed and peppered your face with kisses, which made you giggle.

"Love, can you put me down? I need to turn off the oven"

"Oh yes, sorry!"

He puts you down and lets you reach the oven, you turn it off and take out the chocolate cake, the smell of the cake reaches your nostrils, but you smell something else, like vanilla.

"Wow, that smells good, you know why it smells like va...ni...la?", Finishing your sentence, you turn your head to notice the empty bottle of vanilla extract on the counter.

"Um... it smelled good, and like vanilla so..."

"Please tell me the bottle wasn't full."

You prayed for a second, imagining that the strong taste of vanilla was too much for your taste buds and mentally cried, but your boyfriend assured you that the bottle was almost empty when he did so.

"Ok, time to try it then, I really hope you're not lying because it smells like vanilla hell right now".

You took a bite and ate it, it was indeed very good and the vanilla taste wasn't overwhelming, which reassured your taste buds, you kissed your lover and took the cake to bring it in your room.

"Ah! I told you I didn't put it all in!"

Your boyfriend exclaimed, proud that he had not made a dumb mistake (for once).

"Yes, you did! I think it's time to eat it while reading about Oden, don't you think, big guy?"

"YES!"

Ace

"oui, oui, baguette ! Quoisan !"

Your boyfriend laughed as he helped you prepare the croissants.

"Ace, shut the fuck up, it's 3am if Tatch hears us, we're dead"

The last time Tatch caught you, you were punished by cleaning the bathroom for 3 months, but you both had a sudden urge to cook after a long make out session.

"Come on, this time we're doing a good job and the ingredients were paid by us, this time if he catches us he won't have anything to blame us for"

He smiles as he rolls the dough into a croissant shape.

"You're right but still, I'm not sure having two dumbasses in your kitchen at 3am is the best way to wake up, even if you just want a glass of water."

the freckled boy finished making the shape and placed a napkin on the plate to let it sit and walked over to you and threw his arms around your waist.

"But I like to cook at night with my dumbass and my dumber self"

He chuckled and kissed your cheek.

"Pff, you're so cheesy, what's happening to you so suddenly, love? A second ago you were speaking broken French if I remember correctly."

You look at him, amused by his sudden display of affection.

"Hey, it's not my fault that my heart races when I see you."

"Oh, you're in your flirty state again, finish the croissant, idiot, and kiss me afterwards."

You both chuckled and he put his lips to yours, he was so goofy, my Lord.

"You two again???"

"Fuck, Tatch, wait, we can explain!"

[yeollie-plz]

A Very Miller Christmas

A post for @joelscurls for the PedroStories Secret Santa event!!

Preoutbreak! Joel Miller x F! Reader (ft. platonic Sarah Miller)

Synopsis: Joel doesn't love Christmas, but since you moved in you've been determined to change that.

Genre: fluff, so fluffy you could die

Warnings: mentions of Christmas, kissing, pet names,

Gif credits to owners!

December 1st:

As you made your way very unceremoniously through the front door, you dropped a few ornaments out of the open box in your hands. The sound of them crashing to the floor drew the attention of your boyfriend.

He walked into the living room only to be met with the sight of you almost entirely Christmas-ified. Tinsel hung around your neck. A branch of mistletoe was stuck in your hair. Two boxes were in your hands, stuffed with Christmas decorations. The boxes were stacked high covering your face and your view. Which became evident to Joel, who as you almost fell, ran up to catch you and the boxes.

"What are you doing?" He asked with a slight laugh as he grabbed the boxes from your hands and set them down.

"Decorating." You said simply as you brushed away a random strand of hair that had fallen in your face.

"Decorating?" Joel's brow quirked in question. Now reaching for the branch of mistletoe in your hair, holding it up for you to see.

Your eyes focused on it, "For Christmas, obviously! And you just found some Mistletoe." You kissed him quick before getting to work decorating the house.

December 5th:

For days you had been begging Joel to hang up the string lights for you and for days he had denied. As you followed him through the house, he wouldn't even look at you.

"Please! Please! Please!" You said into his back. He was looking for his jacket that he had of course put down in a different place than usual, now losing it.

"Baby, how many times do I have to tell you, we don't need lights." Sighing, as his jacket was not on any of the dining room chairs.

"And how many times do I have to tell you, we do." Placing your hand on the back of one of the chairs and leaning on it, you tried to catch his attention by blocking his view.

He ignored you and continued to move through the house, "You already decorated the inside. Why do we need to do the inside too?"

You sighed, tapping your foot behind him as he moved the couch cushions, still searching. You put your hand on your hip, trying to show your annoyance. He finally turned to meet your eyes, matching your pose to show his own.

Not amused, your face stoned, "Please, for me. I just want the house to look festive. Come on, Sarah will love it!" Now on the verge of whining, he finally gave you a face of defeat.

"Fine, but if I fall off the ladder, you're paying the medical bills." He starts to move towards the door, grabbing your box of string lights as he opens the door.

Glancing at the arm chair, you notice his jacket blending into the fabric. Picking it up quickly, you race after him. You stop Joel before he fully makes his way outside.

You hand him his jacket and lean up to peck his lips. He looks at you with a mixture of soft, yet annoyed eyes. He tips his head towards the box of decorations, before turning to do his duty.

"Thank you!" You call after him, only receiving a brush off, making you giggle.

December 11th:

Christmas music drifted through the house from the radio in the kitchen. As Joel followed it, and the smell of cookies, he found you swaying your hips to the music, while mixing a bowl of cookie dough. Sarah happily stood next to you, singing the lyrics a bit off key.

He watched you from the entryway for a minute, leaning against the doorframe. Smiling at how happy you looked while humming to the festive songs. Pushing off of the doorframe, he made his way quietly behind you. Joel snaked his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder. The sudden touch made you jump slightly, but once you smelled the all too familiar scent of your boyfriend, you instantly relaxed.

Joel used your hips to turn you around, causing you to drop the whisk. You lose your balance a bit, so to regain it you string your arms around his neck. He places a chaste kiss to your lips, before swaying his hips in time with the music. Using his hands on yours to urge you to do that same.

You are giggling while Joel parades you through the kitchen. Sarah laughing at the two of you dancing. He glances over at his daughter and as the two of you pass her, sweeps her up into the swaying as well.

The house is now filled with laughter.

December 19th:

Today when Joel gets home, he isn't greeted with any music. He isn't greeted with anything actually. A bit confused, but he realizes why when he sees both you and Sarah sound asleep on the couch.

A mixture of Christmas movies are laid out on the coffee table, as well as, a variety of treats. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is playing on the television, while the two of you dream away.

Shaking his head, neither of you could ever make it through a movie, especially not a marathon. He grabs the blanket from the chair and covers you and Sarah with it. Making sure you are both nice and tucked in.

December 24th:

You had invited Tommy over for a Miller family Christmas Eve. Dinner, hot chocolate, some alcohol for the adults, and maybe an early present.

Sarah was running around the house, yelling Christmas carols, stringing tinsel around behind her like it was a cape. You were putting the final touches on dinner. While Joel and Tommy sat in the living room discussing work. Even on the holidays they were workaholics.

You didn't hear Joel come into the kitchen, until he sat a fresh glass of scotch onto the counter next to you. Smiling gratefully at him, you took a sip.

"Thank you, I needed this." You said.

"I know." He pecks your forehead, before beginning to set the table for you.

"I was gonna have Sarah do that." You mused at him.

"Eh, let her have fun. I am also capable of helping, you know?" It was more of a joke than a real question, so you just shook your head at him and continued what you were doing.

You all sat down to dinner, everyone complimenting you on the meal. You had gone all out and were a bit proud of yourself. Looking over a Joel, you saw him looking down at his plate, gleaming with pride. This brought a smile to your own face.

Later on, after dinner, everyone had retreated to the living room for a movie. You thought it was going to be an easy decision but of course with three stubborn, big-headed Millers it was a debate and a half. But finally you are settled on Frosty the Snowman. Much to Sarah's excitement and the boy's disappointment.

Sarah, of course, fell asleep during the movie, the excitement of the night catching up with her. As Joel went to lift her to carry her to her bed, she stirred awake. In her half-asleep state, she managed to remember that Joel promised that she could open on present tonight.

You handed her one of the medium sized ones and she ripped it open excitedly. The excitement didn't fade when she saw what we inside, a pair of nice and warm fleece pajamas. She stroked them thoughtfully, obviously loving their soft texture.

"For you to wear tonight." You explained, gesturing to the bundle of fabric in her hands.

Her eyes went wide, as she quickly rushed off to try them on. Coming back out a little over a minute later, sporting her new jammies. She strutted into the living room, imitating a high fashion model. Gaining laughs from all of the adults.

"Alright, babygirl, off to bed now." Joel said, pushing her lightly towards the stairs. Following her up to tuck her in. You smiled watching the two loves of your life. Tommy just chuckled at the look on your face, to which you shoved him.

December 25th:

Sarah woke up bright and early, rushing into yours and Joel's room. The sound of the door hitting the wall woke you up, but Joel didn't even react. So you sat back and watched as the girl jumped onto your bed trying to wake up her father. He groaned at her as it finally began to work.

"So early, baby..." He complained at her.

"But its Christmassssssss." She drew out her words to show her dad how important it all was.

"Fine...lets go." Joel gave in, pushing himself up off the bed with another groan.

"Ask mom to make some coffee for you old man!" Sarah yelled to Joel as she was already halfway to the Christmas tree. Your head snapped to Joel, he was already looking at you.

"Did she just?" You questioned.

"She called you mom." He said at the same time.

"She called me mom." Tears grew in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

"Hey, hey no tears on Christmas." He said with a bit of a laugh, wiping away the one tear that actually fell. You nodded.

He smiled softly at you, before grabbing your hand. Pulling you down the stairs to follow after his daughter.

After Sarah ripped open all of her presents, and began to play with some of them, Joel looked over at you.

"Aren't you gonna open up yours?" Joel gestures to the empty tree skirt.

"Mine?" He nods and points to the tree. Eyebrows furrowing, you decide to amuse his little game and go over to the tree. Looking under it, you don't see anything, until you do.

A small box, sits under the tree, wrapped terribly. You giggle at his poor wrapping job, but not loud enough for him to hear. Grabbing it, you go back over to the couch. He watches you intently.

You slowly unwrap the box. You realize quickly that its a jewelry box, you also realize quickly that there was only a few jewelry items that could fit in this size box...

And as you lift the box open, you guess is proved true when a shiny silver ring sits there. Tears form in your eyes again.

"Joel..." You whisper out in shock.

"Will you marry-y" He words are cut off by you throwing your arms around him and knocking the breath out of him.

"Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes." As you say this, you place about a billion kisses onto his smiling face.

"I love you." He says when you finally stop kissing him.

"I love you too." You say, leaning your forehead on his, your eyes closed.

"And you are both gross." Sarah says from the floor, watching the two of you.

"Hey!" You exclaim, throwing a rolled up ball of wrapping paper across the room at her.

This was a very Miller Christmas, a very perfect Christmas.

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! And a very special Merry Christmas and happy holidays to @joelscurls my amazing giftee! I was so excited to write this for you and I hope you enjoy and have the best holiday season! ❤️ A special thank you to @pedrostories for putting this lovely event together and bringing all of us Pedro writers together for the holidays! Happy holidays to all the admins of pedrostories! ❤️❤️

[devilfic]

❝small favor❞

V. the christmas special.

parts: previously / next plot: it's the most beautiful time of the year. pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: christmas shenanigans, alcohol mentions, harry gets drunk for norman osborn related reasons, peter is a little ball of anxiety because he likes you, can I share with you what jobs I think ned and mj got after graduation. words: 8.4k.

a/n: this was gonna be a two-parter but I thought. no. so instead it's just super long :D

Peter has started visiting more.

There were the surprise visits on weekends. Something was just too important to wait a week, and too important to give you a call, and you liked that he made a note of bringing you food for the trouble. Then he was popping in on Wednesday nights—sometimes Friday mornings—because he'd forgotten to tell you this or he just couldn't wait to tell you that.

And he has texting you more, too. Not super serious things either, and after a few days of it, you had worked the fight or flight reaction to his ringtone out of your system. At some point, you had started feeling like this was becoming... a genuine friendship.

"I mean... I... yeah. We talked about it, didn't we?" Peter stops pouring, brownie batter dribbling off the lip of the bowl, "Friends. I- I think of you as a friend. If you think of me... as a friend."

You gnaw on your pen as you study him. It's another weekend surprise visit, and this time he's brought you boxed brookie batter as an olive branch. You'd actually been busy this time, and so you'd put him to work baking it while you made your vacation list, "It's just... crazy. I mean, we went from being strangers to only seeing each other once a week—purely professionally—and now you bake me things. And we hang out."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing! It's just weird," he continues to pour as you talk, "I used to see you as this unattainable hero. I couldn't believe you trusted me, felt comfortable enough to tell me your name, to care enough that even EDITH knows who I am. And now we're friends."

Peter's nose scrunches at that, and you've never wished more than now that you could see the rest of his face. He starts placing balls of cookie dough in the batter, "You talk about me like I'm Beyoncé or something."

"You're the Beyoncé of superheroes."

"Hey, that is not true. That title goes to Captain Marvel."

"Not to me."

"Well, of course not to you. You're my biggest fan."

"Wow, demoted to a fan already."

Peter slides the pan into the oven, "You know what I mean. You're biased."

"You're starting to sound like Jameson now."

He kicks the oven door closed and hops up onto the kitchen counter next to you, nudging your knee with his knee, "Oh, you haven't heard my Jameson impression. Watch this." Peter clears his throat, clenches his fist, and shakes it in the air, "Spider-Man is a menace and should be charged with domestic terrorism!"

You giggle, "Do more."

"5G isn't giving your kids cancer, it's Spider-Man leaving his webs all over the city!"

"More!"

"Spider-Man is laying eggs in our city's sewers so that one day, all his freaky spider children will rise up and take over New York!"

"Please, keep going."

Peter groans. You see his head tilt toward the notepad in your lap, "How's the vacation going? Or vacation planning, I guess."

You sigh. Your list to pack kept getting longer, and yet, anytime you tried to focus on what to bring, you would just remember something else you needed to do before leaving New York. "How do you think, based on my utter lack of excitement?"

Peter raises a brow, "Whaaat? You're not excited for Miami?"

"I was, but... everything in the world is happening at the same time. Jameson wants me to get two more articles out before I leave and my family wanted me in Florida three days ago. At this rate, I'm just barely going to make it there before Christmas. Not to mention..." You trail off as you look to Peter, whose mask eyes have gone comically wide in interest, "I don't want to leave you all alone."

"You know I've been Spider-Manning since I was like, 14, right?"

"Well, yeah, but- wait, 14?" Peter grimaces. You gloss over it before he can worry himself about it, "Anyway, I just worry. I mean, with Fisk turning the PR tide and God knows what he's planning, I don't wanna just fly to the other side of the country. It feels wrong."

Peter smirks, "Nah, nah. It's fine. I can take care of myself."

"Don't make me remind you about how all of this," you gesture between Peter and the oven, "started." He looks away from you, sheepish. "You know what I mean, right? Maybe I'm overestimating my worth to you, but-"

"You're definitely not. You have no idea how much you mean to me." That stuns you. It stuns both of you, clearly, if Peter's frantic peek at your face was anything to go by. His mouth gapes like a fish out of water for a moment, "I just mean that... you've made being Spidey... easier on me. It's nice knowing someone's actually on my side in this city. So yeah, it will feel really weird without you being just a swing away."

"You can still call, Peter. I won't mind."

"And when your family asks who's bothering you while you're sunbathing on the beach?"

"I mean, my little cousins will be impressed if I name drop Spider-Man."

He smiles. He kicks his feet out, heels bumping the cabinet doors beneath you while silence settles. You take this chance to examine a slight fraying on the fabric of his suit, a hole beginning to form on his upper thigh that you could just fit your pinky through. You remembered a time when his suit was made out of sweatpants and a dream.

He was 14 when he first started all of this. When you were 14, you were stressing over high school essays and alien invasions. You couldn't help but think that maybe he'd lost his youth to this thing. This thing that brought you together.

Spider-Man who, back then, was really a kid. He'd had to grow into it. You couldn't imagine having to grow into that. "Well, that's enough about my holiday plans. What about you?" Peter prepares to answer, then deflates. "What's up?"

He bites his bottom lip, "I don't... have any."

Your heart sinks, "What? Why not?"

"No, no, it's fine. I'll probably be out on patrol making sure everybody else is having a safe, criminal-free winter break."

Sliding off the counter, you come to stand in front of Peter with your arms folded, "Absolutely not."

"Okay, before you say anything-"

"It's Christmas, Peter! You're supposed to take time off! Be with friends and family. If you never take a break, you'll wear yourself out."

"Just hear me out-"

"No! I won't have it. You're not the only hero in New York. You're taking Christmas off. I don't care if I have to stuff you in a carry-on and take you with me but you will not be working-"

One hand clamps around the back of your head and the other silences you, turning your complaints into mush, "If you would let me finish..." you huff indignantly against his hand, "you'd know that a friend of mine is throwing a Christmas party and I was invited. There. I have plans."

Your face softens. "Really?" You ask, but the sound is muffled and it comes out more like, "Will-ee?"

Peter laughs, hand slipping from your mouth, "Really. I'll at least take a few hours off. Maybe more if I fall into a food coma."

Peter's other hand is still cradling your head, but you don't bring it to his attention. "You promise? I won't have to fly back early and check up on you, will I? 'Cause I'll do it."

"I wouldn't stop you." You glower, making Peter's mask eyes squint with amusement, "I promise."

"Sometimes I think you like making me worry over you."

"Would you believe me if I said that I'm just this awful all the time?"

"Yes, but that would make me worry even more."

The hand at your neck gently curls around the side of your throat, Peter's thumb angling your chin up to his own. The brush of it makes you tremble just slightly.

Was he trying to make you dissolve into a puddle?

"I'll be okay. Just... come back to the city, will ya? Don't fall in love with Miami."

You place one of your hands over the hand on your throat. The other hovers somewhere near his knee on the countertop, unsure of yourself. When you admire his exposed mouth, you think of Peter. Parker.

You remember you hadn't actually talked about that since it happened. It was Peter's intention to skirt around Parker, regardless of how certain you were that they were the same person. It was all in jest, sure, but some small part of you (some incredibly small, minuscule, microscopic part of you) wondered if your reporter brain just fit the two pieces together because it wanted them to fit.

Perhaps he wasn't Peter Parker. Perhaps this really was all a coincidence, and perhaps aliens didn't fall from the sky and gods didn't save the world.

You wouldn't push him on it. You wouldn't look into it either, because reporter brain be damned. You cared more about the Peter you knew than the Peter you didn't.

You smile up at him, "How could I? Miami doesn't have you."

"Nice to see you could finally make it, kiddo." Jillian is grinning at you when you arrive, her baby tucked at her hip and her wife entertaining the little monster over her shoulder. She sees the winded look on your face and immediately motions you over, pressing a hand to your cheek, "Did you crawl out of a snowdrift? You're freezing!"

You lean into it, chasing the warmth in hopes that it would restore some feeling to your skin, "The storm's getting awful out there."

"Came outta nowhere, didn't it?" Jillian's wife snorts, booping the baby's nose. "We almost didn't risk coming with the little one, it was so bad."

Said little one looks perfectly warm wrapped up in her blanket, an envious sight as you shiver and shuck off your coat to hang. You would offer the kid a boop on the nose yourself, but with your fingers frozen solid around your offering—a plate of sugar cookies—you don't want to make her cry. You give her a smile instead.

"Oh, and would you believe it?" Jillian whispers, sidling up to you, primed for gossip, "We've got a real treat here tonight. Take a wild guess who decided to show up."

"Jonah's wife?"

Jillian cackles, "God no. The stalker."

As soon as she says the name, your eyes zero in on him.

He's wearing that plaid shirt again, but the collar and cuffs are all that peek out from underneath a wrinkly blue sweater. His hair is free and gelled back, revealing his nervous expression more clearly. Nursing a cup of apple cider, he just barely looks like he wants to be here. But then he catches your eye across the room.

And he waves.

"Oh my," Jillian teases, "you must've left quite the impression if he came all this way just to see you."

"He did not come just to see me." You reply in a hushed tone, but she laughs at you all the same.

"Sure. And that's not him heading over right now, even though he's been hugging the wall all night."

You jerk your head to where Parker was standing, and, sure enough, he's pursuing you.

You part from Jillian before she can get the chance to embarrass you (she accepts your cookies as payment), and so you all but jog to meet him halfway.

He doesn't get the chance to be polite before you're interrogating him, "Where did you go?"

"Uh... What?"

"At the gala. When I ran back inside the ballroom, I couldn't find you anywhere."

Peter's eyes slowly widen, "You went back inside?"

"Answer the question, please."

"Wh- I... I was there. You didn't see me?"

"No, I didn't."

"It got crazy after Fisk rushed the stage. I got swept up in the crowd. You must've missed me."

"Really? 'Cause I was with the crowd, you know. In front of the building? Where Fisk was giving his big speech about how he saved the day? I didn't see you anywhere."

Peter blinks, then gasps as if he'd just remembered something important, "You know what? That's right. I went to go find Harry. I wanted to make sure he was alright, and then I couldn't find you in the crowd so I just assumed... I'm sorry for leaving you back there all alone." You watch as he fumbles for something convincing, "I texted Spider-Man about it, though. He said you were safe."

You fold your arms, "...Is that all he said about me?"

"Well, that. And something about your conspiracy theory?"

"Conspiracy theory."

The topic change gets some of the tension in Peter's shoulders melting away, replaced with a smile faint enough to not pass as overtly smug. He waits for one of your co-workers to move out of earshot before continuing, "You think... I'm Spider-Man."

Your jaw tightens. You know that anyone would draw the same conclusions you did after that night. You also know that no matter how logical your reasoning is, you sound highly illogical when you admit to it out loud. If you brought up the same accusation to Jillian or Jameson, they'd both laugh you out of the office.

You have to stand your ground, though. If there was one thing you were learning about Peter, it was that he was easy to fluster, "And if I do?"

"I'm flattered, really, but I don't really have the hand-eye coordination."

You know it's bullshit. He should know you know it's bullshit. If it hadn't been for his quick thinking, you and Harry would've been trampled under the masses at the gala. It's bullshit and he's waiting for his checkmate that will never come.

You do not give it a second thought. You toss your phone at Peter's head.

And he catches it. Of course he does. He stops it mere inches from his face.

If anyone saw you try to give him a concussion, they don't come over to question you on it. "Can you..." Peter starts after a breath, a bit dazed, "...can you stop trying to hit me?"

You go to defend yourself because, at the very least, you hadn't meant to try to punch Peter—which meant it didn't count—when someone barrels right into you.

And, to prove you right twice in a row, Peter is quick to catch you. He scoops you up into his arms before you end up a reporter pancake on the floor. One of your co-workers, already blitzed off spiked eggnog, had bumped you on their way to the drinks table for what looked like the umpteenth time tonight, and didn't have enough marbles to apologize before bumping someone else.

Peter is careful in how he holds you. There's that unmistakable strength behind his grip, but also... he was gentle. He felt safe.

You don't make to escape just yet, all your bravado knocked right out of you. "Jesus, you okay?" His eyes dart over to your co-worker and a scowl turns his expression sour, "Jonah should put a cap on the drinks."

You feel more than embarrassed stumbling to your feet, even more so when Peter still coddles you after you're standing upright. "I'm fine. Thanks." Peter's looking at you, brows drawn together, with so much concern it makes that second thought from earlier come in hot with a sizable topping of shame, "Talk about instant karma."

Then it's gone. Peter laughs and... it sounds just like your Peter. Undeniably. You can't help but give in. For a fleeting moment, the question of secret identities has melted away and it's just the two of you, giggling about something silly.

You're ashamed enough to apologize for throwing your phone at his head when the laughter dies down. You succeed in stealing it back and lead him over to the windows, far away from any more drunken disasters, "It's alright. I've had worse thrown at me before."

You raise an eyebrow, "Oh? Like what?"

His voice catches in his throat at first, "A... carton of expired milk. High school bully, Flash Thompson. We were both on the same academic decathlon team but he never gave up on his dream of professional baseball."

"Flash Thompson? You mean, Silicon Valley, MIT grad, tech startup millionaire Flash Thompson?"

Peter winces, "The one and only."

You frown at the distant look on Peter's face, aware of some regret there at the mention of Flash. "You and Harry went to ESU together, right? Is that where you always wanted to go?"

Peter shakes his head, but a smile comes to his face regardless, "MIT was my first choice, actually. But... even with a scholarship, I just couldn't imagine leaving New York behind. So I stayed. Went to ESU. Helped my Aunt May with the mortgage on her first house since my... my uncle passed. And now I'm selling pictures of Spider-Man to pay my rent."

You can't help the way you soften. "I'm so sorry about your uncle, Peter. Your Aunt May is lucky to have you around."

His eyelids flutter closed for a breath, and his smile grows wider. If it were even possible. "I'm lucky to have her."

You stand there together in silence after that, but it feels more comfortable than before. All the scrutiny and speculation you'd come in with had faded away, and now you were left wondering more about Peter. His hopes, his dreams, his life before all of this. What would it have been like if he'd gone to MIT? Where would you be? Or Spider-Man?

Peter's eyes peel open, "So, what about you?"

"Oh. Well, I took a shine to my school newspaper. After... everything in 2012, I knew the world would never be the same. So I had dreams of becoming a journalist, covering the street, being the first on the scene. Took my ass to college on part-time jobs and a dream, and interned at nearly every newspaper in the city before Jameson gave me a shot here. As much as I can't stand the way he talks about Spidey... he's not that bad of a guy. All things considered."

Peter agrees, "He did hire you, so..."

"Yeah, well," you lean your cheek against the window, glass cooling your blush, "At least Spidey doesn't hold it against me... but, I have to ask: why the Bugle? I mean, with photos like yours, you should be fighting off every publication in the city. Instead you turn in these... absolute masterpieces, freelancing, for a guy who can't even give you due credit, and you only stop by for a paycheck."

Peter looks to the window, the wind howling over a crooner's cover of Santa Baby. The storm was still raging on outside, and you dreaded the thought of having to walk through it to get back home. The taxis wouldn't have much luck either from the looks of it. "I... like my job, but it's not what I wanna do forever. I don't care about fame or Pulitzer prizes. It's always been about taking care of me and my Aunt May, and Jameson is a lot of things but he's always understood that. He pays me enough that I can have a place of my own and a little leftover for my aunt, and he doesn't ask questions.

"I don't need to be seen. And that's the whole point, isn't it?" His expression gradually warms as he recalls something, "It's not who's behind the lens that matters, but who's in front of it."

Your expression warms too, "I can see why Spidey likes you."

A notification disturbs the moment. Raising a finger at Peter, you check the latest notification... and your stomach drops.

Peter takes a step forward, sensing the change in atmosphere, "What? What is it?"

"My flight's been cancelled. I was leaving tomorrow for Miami but the storm..."

"Oh. Man, I'm sorry."

"I should've left sooner, I should've left when my family..." You lose the motivation to even finish your sentence, feeling exhausted all at once, "It doesn't matter anymore. I'm stuck here for Christmas."

Peter stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet as he searches for something to say. You're about to tell him not to worry about it when he speaks up, "You know," he starts, the uncertainty in his voice giving you pause, "it's no... Miami, but my aunt throws this Christmas party every year? For Christmas Eve. We invite a few friends over for dinner. She'd love it if you came."

"Oh, Peter, that's sweet but... I don't really want to intrude on a friend thing-"

"No, no, it's okay! Anyone can come. It'll just be my aunt, some of her co-workers from F.E.A.S.T., a few of my friends, my ex-girlfriend-"

"Your- what?"

"Oh. Well, I mean, we were friends before we dated. Well... technically? She sort of just... hung around me and Ned in high school and then we started dating for a while but then we broke up in university. But we stayed friends. Became better friends, actually. So, she's my ex but also a really good friend. I promise it's not weird or anything. She's super cool about it. And I am too! Her name's MJ. I think you'll like her."

You stare at Peter. You think you see a bead of sweat twinkle on his forehead underneath the Christmas lights above.

He insists that you're welcome to come, and staying home alone for Christmas would be pretty hypocritical after your argument with Spider-Man.

Spider-Man.

"...and Spider-Man will be there."

Spider-Man?

You abruptly lock eyes with Peter. "Spider-Man?"

Peter's smile is tight-lipped, "Yeah." His voice cracks. "I mean, he's just stopping by real quick, but I invited him. He might not come. But... he also might."

Was this the friend of his throwing a Christmas party? Why in the world would Peter (Parker) invite you to the same party Spider-Man would be at, unless he could stand in the same room as him at the exact same time? There'd be no other way to convince you otherwise, and you'd be forced to accept that they really were two completely different people.

Yeah, right.

You'd go to this party and suss it out for yourself.

And it wouldn't hurt, would it? Peter was nice, if not the most awkward person you've ever met. To offer you a place at his aunt's Christmas dinner not long after hurling an object at his head was a sign of true Christmas spirit. You could learn a thing or two from him, "Okay. You've convinced me. What's your number? You can text me the address."

Peter blanks for a moment, "Um... yeah, um..." You watch him flounder, growing increasingly suspicious, "Can I see your phone?"

You drop your phone in his hand. His fingers move quickly across the keyboard before returning it to you. Peter Parker is now in your contacts. You check the number against Spidey's but there isn't a match. "Thanks," you glance at his wobbly smile, "I sent you a text."

Peter gestures behind him, "Oh, cool, awesome. Will you excuse me for a sec? I gotta use the restroom." And he doesn't wait for you to affirm before he's rushing down the hall and out of sight.

A full minute passes before you receive a text back from Peter.

15 Amfan Ave Forest Hills, NY 11375 7pm :) Hope you can make it! He never shuts up about you *I *shut

Hm.

So... I hear you're throwing things at people now Who told you that? You lose one phone, then you try to bludgeon an innocent man with another. I should lock you up and throw away the key I wasn't trying to bludgeon him, because I knew he'd be perfectly *fine*. And he helped me prove a point Which was... That the chances of him being you are more likely than either of you would have me to believe Could it be that you just have a thing for attractive, masked men? That is That is irrelevant to the conversation HA you so do Literally nothing to do with anything I just said It's okay. The mask makes it really easy to project one's ideal man onto me. Or so I've learned through Twitter I'm not projecting *anything* onto you Do you picture Ryan Reynolds when you talk to me? It's okay if you do Peter, shut up Maybe someone more boyish like Timothy chalet Timothee Chalet Timothee Chalamett I'd say you just like hearing yourself talk but this is a textual conversation I like that we can talk like this :) I like it too :) What about Tom Holland? We've got the same jaw If you think me accusing you of being Parker is me projecting a handsome man onto you, I can only assume you think he's hot. Which means I can assume you have a thing for him. Because I can also make things up Like Batman and Clark Kent? Are you saying Parker is the Clark Kent in our fictional relationship? More like Superman and Jimmy Olsen And you're my Lois Lane? ... Goodnight, Peter

Aunt May's home is beautiful. There's a lovingly sculpted garden out front that has since given into the snow, but you can tell it's a sight in the spring. For now, the Christmas garland lining the doorframe—wrapped in a rope of rainbow lights—brightens up the porch. As does the collection of little striped sweater-wearing gnomes gathered around the front door.

There's a commotion of voices behind it as you approach. You shift your plate into one hand, pressing the doorbell with the other, and the voices get louder. You swallow down your nerves when the door is ripped open by a stranger.

The stranger in question is staring out into the dark at you like they weren't expecting you. Your eyes quickly dart to the plaque beside the door and see a bold "15" emblazoned there. Nope. This is the house.

Their eyes zero in on the plate in your hand. Smiling, they open the door wide and step back, "Sweet! Peter said you'd bring dessert."

You kick the snow off your boots before stepping inside. The stranger shuts the door behind you before any more of the cold could get in. "It's peppermint bark," you explain, returning a smile of your own, "but I hear May's making a cake."

"May and Peter. May's great with everything but the oven- don't tell her I said that. I'm Ned, by the way." Ned holds his hand out for a shake.

Ned is really talkative, you find out. He holds your peppermint bark as you undo your boots and coat at the door, rattling off about how Peter and he had been friends at Midtown. He tells you about his job as a cybersecurity specialist, a job he'd naturally floated toward after graduating from MIT, and how he'd stayed with the Parkers for a few months after moving back to New York. It's how he knows that the downstairs bathroom door won't close unless you lift up when you shut it. You only remember about half of what he says by the time you get to the living room.

There are considerably fewer people than you expected, one of which makes his way over the minute you catch his eye.

"Hey," Harry grins. Unlike the nice suit he'd worn to the gala, he's dressed down in jeans and an ugly sweater with "I've been naughty" printed in big letters across the front, looking a lot less tense than when you'd first seen him, "Fancy seeing you here."

"I could say the same." You can't help but ask, "Don't the Osborns host Christmas Eve at Oscorp tower every year?"

Harry's good mood fizzles out right before your eyes. You feel pretty awful about it. "Uh, yeah. Norman does. But it's more business than anything, so I dipped. I'd rather be here watching Pete fuck up a perfectly good cake."

"I heard that!" Peter's voice calls from a room away.

Harry's good mood returns, "Well, it's good to see you at the annual Parker holiday celebration. And I'll forgive you for poking into my family business if you hand over those treats."

Bashful, you let Ned pass the plate into your hands before passing it to Harry, "Sorry. Reporter brain."

Harry's nose scrunches up, "Don't apologize. Unless these taste like ass."

"I promise they taste better than ass."

"Good enough," he backs away, turning his head to shout down the hall, "Peter! Get in here already!"

When the redhead is immersed in a game of UNO, you turn to Ned, "And that doesn't... feel weird? Having Harry Osborn at family dinner?"

"There are weirder things about Peter. Speak of the devil."

The ugly sweater is the first thing you notice. A companion to Harry's, it is nearly the exact same design, except for the "I've been nice" where the "I've been naughty" had been. He's dusting his hands of something when he comes around the corner. His eyes soften when he sees you with Ned, "Hey, you came." He says in a much too gentle voice. Harry and his opponents nearly drown him out with their cheers and boos.

Unlike at the office party, you notice, Peter's hair isn't tamed by hat nor hair gel. Instead, it curls incessantly around his flushed cheeks. He looked like a damn Keebler elf. It was frustratingly adorable. "Of course. I heard there'd be cake."

"How is that cake, Peter?" Ned pulls on a piece of the ugly sweater as he walks by, and you realize that some of the red had been singed. You follow Peter's frantic gaze from the hole to you.

"This was unrelated to the cake."

"You burned something else?"

"No! One of the stockings fell into the fireplace and I-" Peter trails off as you begin to smile, "you don't get to laugh at me if you didn't bring sweets."

"I did! Harry stole them." You nod over to the coffee table where the group is devouring your peppermint bark with reckless abandon. At least you knew they didn't taste like ass. Peter rushes over to steal the plate before they could polish off the last handful, much to their protest.

"Dinner's almost ready, I swear. You've met Ned, uh, Harry..." Peter scans the group, using his free hand to point out people, "...that's Yolanda, Katie, Lexie, Eduardo: all May's friends. May's in the kitchen but I'd stay out of her way until the ham comes out unharmed."

You notice that out of everyone gathered in the house, he does not mention his ex-girlfriend. "And MJ?"

You wait for an answer. Instead, something heavy shakes the house from above. It doesn't sound like it came from outside, but rather somewhere in the house. Not quite above your head. Weirdly enough, only you seem to be concerned about it.

Peter just glances at the ceiling, "And MJ."

MJ is tossing an empty storage bin to the side when you crawl up through the floor behind Peter. She's crouched on the balls of her feet, shoulders slouched, the sharp bones of her back poking through her tight graphic tee. Her head snaps toward you both when she hears you grunt up the last rung of the ladder. Her eyes narrow on you, then Peter, "I can't find it."

Peter offers you a hand to hoist you further into the attic, "Did you check the-"

"Yes. And I checked the one next to it. And the one next to that."

You look at Peter for an explanation, but he doesn't provide you with one. He walks over to where MJ has now fallen back on her ass, rifling through one of the bins. His mouth twists to the side. "Maybe she meant the box next to her old CDs?"

"There's like 15 boxes in here, Peter."

Off to the side of the room, where MJ was currently facing the mysterious dilemma, were about nine—not 15—storage bins in disarray. Two were off to the side, emptied of their contents: there were piles of men's clothes, women's clothes, baby blankets, and more. The third box that MJ was poring over had Halloween decorations in it.

"Well, you're getting close." Peter encourages.

The way MJ grumbles resentfully has you squirming. As time ticked on, your presence unannounced, you were starting to feel like an intruder. You clear your throat and MJ looks over at you for the second time, "Maybe I could help?" You offer.

At this, MJ brightens. "Finally! Someone cares about my plight. I don't know you, do I?"

You crawl over to where MJ is sitting and Peter gestures to you, "MJ, I told you about the reporter from the Bugle, right?" You give your name for good measure, and MJ's eyebrows raise. She gives a quick, indecipherable look to Peter. He returns it. Then she examines you.

After a moment, she dusts her hand off on her khakis and holds it out for you to shake, "Michelle Jones. Call me MJ." You repeat her nickname warmly. "Peter never shuts up about you."

Peter chokes on his spit.

"He... he does?"

MJ continues shaking your hand for longer than necessary, smiling secretively now, "Oh, yeah. He's got your blog bookmarked too. Post notifs for your Twitter, the works." You cut your eyes to Peter, appalled that he'd ratted you out to someone else, but MJ is quick, "I figured it out on my own ages ago."

"Is it really that obvious it's me?"

"No." And she smiles wider.

Peter is about to cut in with something when a woman's voice rings out, shrill and clear despite two layers of flooring in between you. He's needed with the ham. He looks between you and MJ, reluctant, "Look, if you can't find it-"

"We will." MJ's reply is confident, leaving no room for failure. You feel a little pressure applied to "we".

Peter nods. He mouths an apology at you and skitters out of the attic.

Left alone with MJ, you notice that she is staring at you now. You feel like you've been left alone with an oracle, prepared for your innermost being to be laid bare before you: past, present, and future. She looks like the type to know what makes people tick.

"What are you looking for?" You try to break the silence, though your voice comes out meeker than you'd have liked.

She doesn't look away from you as her fingers grip the container in between her legs, "Uncle Ben's favorite Christmas sweater. All I know is it has a reindeer holding a beer on the front."

Reinbeer. You almost laugh at it. You imagine it would tickle an uncle pink too. "Then I'll get to looking."

You've only just crawled over to a bin of your own when MJ asks you outright, "You like Peter, right?"

Your hand stills as it pries the top off. You feel her eyes burning into your back. "He's... nice, yeah."

You can hear how unimpressed she is with that, "I don't know if it's obvious, but Peter isn't exactly popular." You think that's kind of a cruel thing to say about someone you consider a friend, but MJ keeps going, "All he had was Ned back at Midtown. And me, eventually. I've known him since high school and he's made maybe a handful of friends, maybe less. The last time he invited someone new to Christmas dinner was Harry."

And that had been at least a few years, judging by how long Harry had been away at Oxford.

But why was she telling you this?

"He likes you." You yelp when you realize MJ's voice has gotten close. You turn, and she's kneeling behind you with no interest in your fear. "But do you like him?"

In her hands is a faded, toy Iron Man mask. "I... I think he's nice. I mean kind," you correct yourself when MJ frowns, "but I... I don't really know him. I mean, I don't think I do. I've only actually spoken to him twice and one of those times, there was a gun involved. Everything I know about him is through his pictures and Spidey, and I trust Spidey. So, I trust Peter."

"And Spider-Man?"

"What?"

"Do you like Spider-Man?"

You swallow. Like didn't really sum up how you felt about him. He was a hero, an inspiration, a friend, and also... yeah, you felt something more there too.

You think about why she would ask. Why it would have anything to do with you liking Peter or not. You look at her and it feels like she hasn't really asked you that different of a question at all. Your answer is much more definitive this time, "I do. I like him more than I know what to do with."

MJ leans back on her haunches. She appraises you, "He's pretty great, isn't he?" Her tone is considerably softer.

"Yeah. He really is." You smile.

MJ hands the mask to you and you take it, admiring the chips in its paint and the lovingly worn edges. She scoots between you and the bin you'd been looking into and pops the lid off. Almost immediately, she swears in relief. Sitting folded on top is the most gaudy sweater you've ever seen. A deformed reindeer is embroidered on the front, and sure enough, holds a can of beer in its hoof. When MJ shakes it out, little specks of dust fly everywhere.

This, too, she hands to you. You look at her in bewilderment. "You'll wanna make a good first impression with May," she advises, "just be prepared for the water works."

And there are water works.

May throws her arms around your neck and just about sobs her thanks to you, squishing the sweater between your chests. You note that she smells like candy canes. When she draws back, her glasses are all askew, "And I'm so glad you could make it! Peter wouldn't shut up about you. Isn't that right, Petey?"

Peter's eye twitches. "I'm gonna set the table. Ned, you wanna set the table?" And he scoots past you and May without waiting for a response.

"Don't mind him, he gets testy when he's cooking. Did Petey give you the tour?" You shake your head and May kisses her teeth in Peter's direction, "Okay, this is the kitchen, around the corner here is the dining room. You've seen the living room and the attic. The bathroom is by the front door, and the bedrooms are upstairs. If someone's in the bathroom down here, do not use the bathroom by the stairs. That's Ned's favorite when he gets bubbly guts, and he will get bubbly guts."

Ned complains under his breath as he walks by.

"If you need somewhere to get away from the festivities for a bit, backyard's that way and my room's upstairs, first door to the left. All good?" She pets your shoulder. Then, she looks down at the sweater still in your hands and takes it from you, tenderly. "I'm gonna go change into this and then dinner is served. Help yourself to anything, okay?"

May leaves you in the kitchen with that. Around the corner, Peter and Ned are fussing over where to put the ham and sides. Around the other corner, Harry is drunkenly singing Christmas carols with Yolanda. MJ watches on from the corner of the room, recording on her phone. She catches your eye and mouths, "For blackmail."

You peek into the dining room and Peter is worrying over one of the chairs. You can hear Ned scold him, "Sit next to them. You don't wanna talk over the ham. It'll kill the mood."

"But how do I... subtly get them to sit in this chair and not next to MJ or something?"

"Tell MJ not to sit next to them."

"But what if-" You jolt a little when Peter suddenly spots you eavesdropping. He straightens up with a death grip on the chair he'd been messing with, "Hey! Hi. This is your chair by the way." And he tops it all off with a smile.

It's warm in May's home.

You don't even register the cold at first. You do register Harry's frenzy, the way he grabs far more napkins than he needs to, pressing them to your stomach where the majority of his spilled drink had gone. When you finally do comprehend what just happened, you place your hands over his, "How long have you been plotting your revenge?"

Harry is red-faced. He lets you hold the napkins there while May rushes to find a towel, "Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was- sorry."

You don't get to dwell on the déjà vu of it all. May is ushering you up the stairs with a beach towel pressed to your front, muttering about how she'll have to put Harry on ginger ale for the rest of the night. She guides you into what you're certain is Peter's old bedroom.

It's been cleaned out, and most of his personal belongings must be at his own place, but there are still old posters on the wall, and a calendar dated in April, two years ago. His bed is ruffled like he'd slept overnight. It's neat, and looks like it usually is neat, but there are traces of him everywhere, like picture frames with Peter and May and a man you don't recognize.

"Peter probably has something here you can wear. It's all stuff from college." She digs through the top drawer of his dresser, finally stopping on a sweatshirt with Empire State University in college block across the chest. "Here! You think this'll fit?"

She stretches it out and you nod, thankful, "Yeah, thank you so much, May."

She smiles, "Okay. Bathroom's across the hall if you need to wash off. I can run your shirt through a wash while you're here if you'd like. Just let me know, okay?"

May is, perhaps, the sweetest woman on earth. She leaves you with a thumbs up and shuts the door behind you, reminding you to lock it after she leaves.

Your shirt had absorbed most of the drink, and you're relatively unscathed besides some sticky residue. You wipe at your stomach with the towel she'd given you and slip Peter's sweater on. It feels... odd, wearing it. It smells like May's house with little traces of Peter.

Your eyes drift back to the picture frames.

One such frame sits on top of the dresser, a photo of Peter and the man who you assume is Uncle Ben. He holds Peter in a headlock but they're both smiling at the camera. You smile too, tracing a finger around the wooden edges.

Another picture is of Peter and MJ and Ned, standing outside of MIT with their fingers pointing at the school. Another is of Peter and MJ sharing cotton candy at Coney. Another is of Peter as a little boy, with two people flanking his side that you do not know. You realize you'd never asked about Peter's parents.

There are other photos of him around that age with May and Ben, and as you piece together what feels like an undoubtedly tragic story, you catch something outside the window.

A person. Hanging onto the side of the house.

Your heart hammers in your chest as a hand pushes the window up, and then, "Did I scare you?" Spider-Man perches on the sill with what you can imagine is a shit-eating grin.

You stomp over to the window and shove at his shoulder, but he doesn't budge in the slightest, "You almost gave me a heart attack! Were you watching me get dressed?"

The mask's eyes blow open, "What? No! I swear I just got here."

"Do you ever use the front door?"

"Not if I can help it," he crawls in, staying planted by the window, "don't tell me you're snooping through Parker's things."

"I was just... looking. At the pictures. And Harry Osborn spilled his drink all over me so I had to borrow Parker's shirt."

"Hm. ESU looks good on you."

You look up at Peter, who keeps his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall by the window. "Aren't you gonna say hi to the party? Make Parker look cool?"

"Eventually. Maybe. Might just watch from afar."

"No, nuh-uh. You said you had holiday plans and that you were going to a party. That doesn't count if you're watching from afar."

Peter's head sways to the side, "I never said this was the party I was going to."

"Is there another?"

"Well... maybe. Maybe not."

"Peter-" You whine, but he cuts you off.

"I'm not a party guy! Sue me."

"Well, then Parker's got you beat two for two. Unless you're lying, since I haven't given up on my conspiracy theory."

Peter presses himself off the wall, sauntering toward you in a zig-zag. Your eyes follow him, back and forth, back and forth, until he's a step or two away. His hand reaches out to play with one of your sleeves, its seams resewn with mismatched thread, "Leaving a party as Peter Parker to come back as Spider-Man. Give Parker some credit. That's the kind of plan you come up with in high school."

You shrug, trying not to act like Peter playing with your sleeve wasn't giving you goosebumps. "You never know."

Peter nods, "Yeah, you're right. I mean, he was really excited to see you."

"Oh yeah?" You swallow.

"Yeah. Was kind of pathetic, actually."

Peter shoots a web at the ceiling and twists, catching the web between his feet so he could hang upside down. The suddenness makes you stumble back with a breathless laugh, "That's not a very nice thing to say about a friend."

"Weren't you the one who said he'd be shaking and crying if you yelled at him?"

You sigh, "I was... I was teasing you."

"Because I'm Peter Parker."

He says it matter of fact. You stare at him, "Yeah," you whisper, "that's right."

He pulls himself up the web until he's face to face with you, "Then that wouldn't be very nice to say to a friend, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't. If you were Peter Parker, I guess I'd have to apologize to you."

"Yeah? How?"

You breathe deep. Everyone is still laughing downstairs. You become hyper-aware of the fact that you hadn't locked the door. At any moment, someone could walk in and...

Peter waits, curious.

Your fingers trace the lines of his jaw, pressing into the fabric of his mask, feeling over the ridges where black lines broke red. You know what you want to do. And you also know that there is no going back if you do it.

Your fingers reach the place where the mask meets the rest of his suit. Hooking two fingers under the fabric, you pull.

Your fingernails trace over the curve of his Adam's apple as it bobs, over the jut of his chin. Peter's breath is heaving. One of his hands releases its grip on the web and you see it glide toward yours out of the corner of your eye. You just feel the skin of his bottom lip under your finger when you realize how this might look. What he might think you're trying to do.

Mask in hand, questions of his identity hanging in the air, your curiosity and his vulnerability. You release the mask, awash with worry. You want to get it out before there's any misunderstanding, but as your hand drifts back to yourself, his catches it. You would give anything to know what he's thinking right now.

Peter lets your fingers fall. Silently, he drags the mask over the tip of his nose and leaves it resting there. An invitation. "I trust you." He promises. And kisses you.

He has to stretch a little to reach you. You understand this and press closer, taking the back of his head in your hands and holding it steady for you, but you know you're trembling. You curse yourself for how much your body reacts to this, how uncool you must look, how you shake with all the excitement and terror of this. You kiss him and feel silly about how you claimed to know his lips so well before now. That was nothing.

This is everything. So many things. Each time you go back in for more, you lock away some new little detail about him.

Peter places a hand against your neck and tugs you even closer, but the momentum makes him swing a little bit so his nose bumps your chin. You're too stiff to laugh, but he does, "Sorry," his voice is raspy, "this looked cooler in my head."

You lean into him, dizzied, "Was this... did you plan for me to kiss you? When you got up there?"

"I've wanted to kiss you plenty of ways." Peter's admission is followed by a sigh. He presses a hand to your chest and nudges you back a step before he's dropping to his feet and advancing upon you once more, bumping you against the dresser as the picture frames rattle. Your fingers sneak under his mask at the back of his head so they can sink into his silky hair.

He probably kisses you a hundred more times after that. Every kiss you think might be the last, but then you feel a tug in your chest and go in for one more. An itch that no scratch can soothe.

Peter's mask starts to slip and you feel one of his hands leave your waist to fix it, but the warmth your fingers had snuggled into disappears and-

You keep your eyes screwed shut, "Peter." You gasp against his mouth. Your fingers twitch in his hair, finding no resistance.

"It's okay," he nudges your nose with his, still pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth, "it's okay."

"But-"

"Don't you wanna know if you were right?"

You squeak when his lips find the underside of your jaw, "I don't need- you don't need to-"

"You're always right," Peter interrupts you, kissing down your neck, "I was never fooling you. You're so smart, you know that?"

"Peter." You say his name with no real plans for it to do anything, letting your head fall back.

"Please." He says back. Urging.

You lift your head, heart hammering away, and meet the eyes of Peter Parker.

[newtthetranswriter]

Hello! Could I request some fluff for captain Obi please?

I was thinking about something that his crush does that makes him stop working? Like something cute he just exe.stopped working.

Thank you!

Word Count:753

Pairing: Captain Obi x Gn!Reader

A/n: Hello, thank you so much for requesting. Fire force is one of my favorites and there’s not enough content out there so thank you for this. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and as always remember to Hydrate or Diedrate.

   Akitaru Obi is the kind of guy who speaks his mind no matter what, that’s what makes him a great captain. Only problem is there is one member of Company 8 that can render Obi speechless, Y/n. When they joined Company 8 everyone was just glad to have another crew member to help lighten the load on the small unit. No one ever expected that the nerdy 3rd generation would be able to break the great Captain Obi.

   It started out with small things, like Y/n offering to help out with cleaning up Obi’s office so his workout equipment wouldn’t get in the way of meetings, or Y/n offering to make dinner when everyone was exhausted from a hard day of dealing with infernals. Obi admired how much Y/n was willing to do in order to help everyone out, and that’s all he thought it was. What both Obi and Y/n failed to notice, but was quickly picked up by the less dense members of Company 8, was how there was a slight hint of favoritism aimed at the Pyrokinetic from the Captain.

  Obi had unintentionally started to put Y/n above the rest of the Squad. Not in large ways but more so checking in on them repeatedly after they took a hit during a call, or giving them extra breaks from paperwork when they make a comment about being bored. Maki and Hinawa had both noticed and tried to ask him about it, but Obi just brushed them off saying he was like that with everyone.

   This all went on for a few months, Obi being softer on Y/n and the others trying to get him to see it, hell even Arthur picked up on it. Eventually, It was ultimately Y/n who made him realize he had in fact been nicer to them and that he has a crush on them. It had been a quiet day, no calls to deal with Infernals and luckily the crew had managed to complete the mountain of paperwork that usually occupied the office space. After about an hour of Shinra and Arthur pestering the Lieutenant, Hinawa finally agreed to let everyone take the day to relax as long as they stayed alert for any potential calls.

   Taking advantage of the somewhat free day, Y/n decided to bake some cookies for the crew as a treat for all the hard work they had been doing. Y/n spent the first part of the day straightening the kitchen and making sure everything was ready for their day of baking. With everything clean they turned on the small radio, got the ingredients out and started baking. Lost in their own little world dancing around the kitchen while mixing the cookie dough, they failed to notice that the Captain had come into the room. Obi’s original plan was to get a quick snack and glass of water, he was not expecting to see Y/n dancing around the kitchen mixing bowl in hand while a song he recognized as being from before the Great Cataclysm played from the radio. The sight caused Obi to freeze in the doorway, completely entranced. 

    Having finished mixing the dough, Y/n turned to set the bowl on the counter, only to be startled by the sight of their Captain standing frozen in the doorway. Being slightly startled, but also concerned, Y/n spoke up. “Is there anything I can do for you, Captain?” They asked. 

    It took Obi a few seconds to process that Y/n had spoken to him, but as he was about to respond and dash away like nothing happened, the alarm sounded followed by the Lieutenant rushing by saying there was a call. Obi watched as Y/n sighed before quickly placing the bowl of cookie dough in the fridge turning to get ready for the call. Obi was still slightly frozen having realized watching Y/n be carefree was one of his new favorite things, and he only moved to respond to the call when Y/n moved to exit the kitchen and had brushed past him trying to get out.

   Obi shook his head, focusing on the job at hand, but not before deciding he was going to talk to them after this call and admit his feelings. Sure, he just figured them out himself, but with the way the world was any day could be they’re last so why not spend it with the ones you love.

[mcrdvcks]

hey, y'all! college has been hectic, but i hope to have the teacher!reader x old man logan sometime between tomorrow and tuesday.

but, i thought i'd show a sneak peak :)

---

Much to your dismay, you had to go to the store once you were already clad in your loungewear. You wanted to make pasta, only to remember you forgot to get milk after work.

So now, here you were at the small local grocery store grabbing milk and a pint of ice cream for your troubles. The store was quiet at this hour, a few other people milling about but otherwise uneventful. You grabbed a basket and made a beeline for the dairy section, trying to get in and out as quickly as possible. Loungewear was great for a lazy evening at home, but not exactly your first choice for public appearances.

Once you made it to the frozen section, you looked at the pints of ice cream, specifically looking for one of your favorites, Ben and Jerry’s s’mores. “Fuck.” You muttered, seeing a pint of cookie dough in the spot of the s’mores.

You angrily grabbed the cookie dough ice cream to look behind it, only to find a chunky monkey pint. With a huff, you looked at the pint of ice cream, mentally cursing your luck. Just as you were about to put it back onto the shelf, a deep voice spoke from beside you.

"Didn't figure you for a chunky monkey type."

Startled, you looked up and found Logan standing there, one eyebrow raised, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He was holding a six-pack of beer and a carton of eggs in one hand, the other casually resting in the pocket of his jeans.

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden appearance. "What? Oh, no, I was just... I was looking for s'mores," you explained awkwardly, holding up the ice cream like it was evidence.

He nodded, his smirk deepening a little as he glanced at the shelves. "Guess they’re out, huh?"

"Yeah, my luck tonight," you muttered, a little embarrassed to be caught standing here obsessing over ice cream in your loungewear. Not exactly how you wanted to run into the guy you were definitely not crushing on. How could you? He was the Wolverine, around 200 years old, and looked to be the age of your father. Well, if your father was still alive. Or if you ever got to know him.

Logan glanced at the shelf again and shrugged. "S'mores is overrated anyway."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, momentarily forgetting your embarrassment. "Oh really? What’s your go-to then, Mr. Anti-S'mores?"

He smirked, that same low, gravelly voice coming through as he responded. "Not much of an ice cream guy, but if I had to choose… probably plain vanilla. Simple. Not too sweet."

You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped you. "Of course you'd go for the most basic flavor."

His eyebrow twitched slightly at that, and you could see the playful glint in his eyes. "Sometimes simple’s the best option."

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pint of vanilla. "Well, I guess I'll take your advice tonight, then. Not like I have much of a choice."

He gave you a brief nod, and for a moment, it seemed like the conversation would end there, but then Logan shifted slightly, his weight on one leg, clearly trying to mask the limp you'd noticed earlier. You weren’t sure if it was from the adamantium or something else, but it definitely wasn’t healing like it should. You found yourself biting your lip, wanting to ask but knowing better.

Instead, you went for something safer. "Laura’s doing well in class, by the way. She’s sharp. A little stubborn, but sharp."

He glanced down at you, a flicker of pride crossing his face. "Yeah, she’s a tough one." His expression softened as he added, "She doesn’t talk about it, but I know she likes you. Keeps her distance with most people."

Your heart fluttered a little at that. Laura was a bit of a mystery, rarely engaging much with the other teachers or students, so hearing that she’d let her guard down even a little with you meant more than you’d expected. "Well, she’s a good kid. I try not to push her too much."

Logan nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than you expected, like he was sizing you up in that quiet, brooding way of his. It made you feel both exposed and… oddly seen.

"Anyway," you said, breaking the silence, "I’ll let you get back to your shopping. I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do than stand around talking about ice cream."

He gave a small grunt that might’ve been a laugh, but it was so subtle you couldn’t be sure. "Yeah. See you around, Ms. Aberra."

"Y/N," you corrected, feeling a little awkward. "You can just call me Y/N."

He hesitated for a split second before nodding. "Y/N, then."

[afyrian]

ch. 6 - december 25 masterlist

    "no, i'm just watching a movie, making some cookies to pass the time. rin left yesterday... so it's just me," you stand in the kitchen with kiyoko on the other side of a video call. 

  you can tell that she's sitting on a couch, tanaka's shoulder resting against hers. their beautifully decorated house sits as the background for the warm environment your screen encompasses. it's hard not to feel jealous of the life that she leads, the loving partner, the amazing home. however, you find yourself remembering your homey apartment, best friend who is better than any life partner. 

  "if we hadn't gone to ryū's family's home today, we would've invited you over, i hope you know that."

  you nod, mixing a few toppings into the dough, giving her a smile, "i know! i'm fine with it, it's finally given me some time to bake something and watch something other than an action movie."

  it's rather obvious that your laugh that follows is forced, hoping that you saying it would make it real. and it’s rather easy for kiyoko to recognize just how intertwined you are with rintarō, even if it's not so obvious to you. 

  "you know, we should go on a double date sometime. since suna is technically your husband," she runs her hand through her hair, lowering her phone some. 

  you hold back a smile at the sound of 'husband', your eyes focused on the ball of cookie dough in your hand. heat rises to your cheeks as grab some saran wrap to store it in the fridge for a couple hours. "well, just technically, so it'd basically just be a hangout. since you know, i don't know if he'd necessarily be up for date- or if i would even-"

  a knock at your apartment door abruptly stops your rambling. your thought process quickly ends and you quickly wipe your hands down on a hand towel. "sorry, i gotta grab this, talk to you later?"

  kiyoko gives you a quick nod and an 'absolutely'. you take in a deep breath and make your way to be front door, your clothes old and covered in ingredients. when you open the door, you don't initially see anyone. for a second, you contemplate if it was someone simply knocking and running; however, a large brown bag sits at your feet.

  it resembles that of a restaurant's bag, a little note written on it saying 'from rin'. you grab it by the handle and shut the door, smelling your favorite food's aroma. all of your worry melts away as you open it to find a small note and an array of a nearby restaurant's food. you simply can't hold back your smile now as you open the little note. 

  'y/n, i know we couldn't be together today, and everyone else is busy, so here's something that may cheer you up! if not, i'll make it up to you by watching some romcom when i get back. from, rin.' 

  below it is something else written in parenthesis, likely from the driver's perspective, '(you have a lovely boyfriend)'. you take in a deep breath and remember the past six months with him, remember the breakfasts he’s made, the memories you’ve made every day. he’s truly the only guy for you and he doesn’t even know it. 

  tears build up, from a little mix of joy and sadness. joy that you have the greatest man in your life. the man who will pick you up when your hours from home. the man that will make you breakfast when you just don’t feel like it. the very same man who will send you something on christmas just so that you don’t feel lonely.

  however, he also happens to be the same man that doesn’t feel the same way as you. that can look so lovingly into your eyes and only feel an ever budding friendship. that can go years without ever saying a word about how the two of them could be more than what they were. it’s a double edged sword and your unsure of where the blade will land. 

a/n: i’ve been wanting to write an angsty chapter and i keep putting it off ://

[fox-bright]

Gen's Soft Browned-Butter Rum Vanilla Chocolate Chip Cookies

This is really for everybody, but I'm putting it up at last 'cause @sounddesignerjeans requested the recipe. I have been making chocolate chip cookies for thirty years, I was making them when I was too young to have been allowed near an oven by sane parents, but it wasn't until fairly recently that I was really happy with the recipe. I want cookies that are soft and stay soft, but that are chewy and not cakey; that have a lot of flavor instead of just being overwhelmingly sweet; that aren't too much trouble to make in terms of tools, and that are entirely made up of stuff that the average American probably has in their kitchen cupboards.

Here's your classic flatlay of ingredients:

2C plus 2TBSP all-purpose flour

2 TBSP corn starch

1/2tsp baking soda

1tsp kosher salt OR 1/2 tsp fine table salt

1C brown sugar (light or dark)

1/2C white sugar

1C butter (two sticks/16 TBSP. Must be butter--I don't know anything about soy or nut spreads, but margarine absolutely will not work for this, unfortunately)

2 eggs, room temperature

Vanilla to taste (anywhere between 1tsp and 1TBSP is usually the sweet spot)

Chocolate chips to taste (Average is 1-2 cups, but live your dreams! I like my cookies a little less chocolatey personally, but this is absolutely up to you, anything under three cups shouldn't overwhelm the dough to the point that it doesn't cook right, though that would be Way Too Many for  me. I'm usually at about a cup or under.)

A couple of notes: this recipe really does work best if the eggs and chocolate chips are room temperature, but the butter can start from frozen if that's what you have. Take a half-cup measure and use that to scoop flour into your cup measure, and then scrape, don't compress, until the flour is level across the top of the cup.  And lastly--ANY vanilla will do, but I am hugely privileged to be able to say that the Bacardi there has been transformed to vanilla extract by a particularly enterprising kendo student of mine, I'm not just pouring straight rum into the cookies (though that might be interesting)

Also, please allow me to introduce you to Fork!

Fork is a stalwart friend. When I moved to be with the Magical Flying Husband, he was somewhat horrified by my Poverty Child, "This table fork and butterknife are all the tools I need for my day-to-day household existence" ways, and got me Fork as a present so that I would leave the silverware alone. Fork can handle a dense boiled potato and a silky buttercream with equal aplomb, not bending or transmitting too much heat up into my hand. I highly recommend Fork. But for this recipe, a hand mixer will also do, as will a table fork if that's what you have.

(The rest of Part 1 of this recipe under the cut:)

If you have two bowls, put the dry ingredients (flour, corn starch, baking soda, salt) into the smaller one, and both sugars into the larger one. If you only have one bowl, put the sugars into it and let the dry ingredients wait their turn.

When I was a kid, I used to imagine that the brown sugar was a castle keep in deep winter, and the white sugar the snow that hemmed it in.

Get a little pan onto the stove, and pop both sticks of butter in it to melt.

The butter will start off bright, but it will pretty quickly separate into liquid and solid; you must not leave it alone at this point, this is the most eyes-on-it portion of the game here. Take Fork, or a fork, or a whisk, and stir, stir, every few seconds.

The milkfats will sink to the bottom of the pan. Stir, stir. The milkfats will get sticky; don't let them cling to the pan, keep them in motion.

Pretty soon the butter will start giving off a lovely chestnutty smell, and the milkfats at the bottom of the pan will turn a darker color. Take the pan off the heat and continue to stir for another thirty seconds or so. If you leave it on the heat and stir now, the fats can easily burn; if they burn, you need to start over, there's no salvaging it. So better safe than sorry.

Carefully pour the butter over your sugars, making sure you get all those delicious browned bits in there, and stir stir stir! Don't burn yourself--but it starts cooling off immediately as the sugars dissolve into cooling liquid. I use Fork for this, but you can use a strong whisk or a hand mixer.

Once the sugars are completely dissolved and mixed, it will look kind of like a grainy caramel. Let it sit until completely cool, somewhere around fifteen minutes. Maybe take this time to go put up a Tumblr post about your delicious cookies.

(Part 2 incoming shortly)

[f1rewr1t3r]

Hi! I was wondering if I can request joyce byers + daughter!reader? Like readers exhausted from school/work and Joyce is exhausted from work and since both the boys are out Joyce and reader decide to have a little mother/daughter bonding time? (Also can it be hc’s also is it ok if readers 1 year younger than Johnathon making reader have the middle child syndrome)

request: YES or NO

Mother Daughter Bonding Time w Joyce HeadCannons

Joyce Byers x Platonic!Daughter!Reader

A/N- sorry its a bit short but i hope y'all like it

@thequeenofcupps

(ik its El but cut me some slack pookies <3) set around season 2-3

Joyce

You

together

Other

~ Joyce tries to make time for all her kids but with everything going on with Will and Jonathan, plus work, it gets very hard to make time for all of them equally

~ Donald has recently had to "let go" another worker leaving Joyce the only one currently working at Melvald's.

~ He has been giving her more hours which she happily took cause she thought they could make use of the extra cash

~ You are a year younger than Jonathan, being in your junior year of high school. SATs were coming up and you had been studying NON-STOP.

~ and when you weren't studying, you were working.

~last summer you had taken up a job at Starcourt Mall to make some extra spending money for the fam as well as to help with bills.

~Plus being the middle child you were already slightly overlooked, even more now since everything with Will happened

~ needless to say, you were both stressed to the max

~ Both of the boys were out. Jonathan was with Nancy, and Will was with the usual group.

~Joyce just got back from closing up the shop and you were in your room studying.

~It had been a while since she checked up on you so she decided to lightly knock on your door before going in

~"Come in"

~"Hey honey"

~"Oh hey mom"

~"Whatcha doin"

~"Just studying"

~ she felt so bad that you were working yourself to the bone. She took note of the boys being away and she had an idea

~ "hey I know its been a bit since we last spent some time together so what d'ya say we both take the rest of the day to just relax and hangout"

~ "I'd love that"

~You both headed to the grocery store and picked up a few things. Your favorite snacks, Joyce's favorite cookie dough, and the stuff to make your favorite dish for dinner.

~you also rented Annie from the video store

~when you got home it was around 5:30 pm so you put the groceries away and you both freshened up and changed into some comfy pj's

~Joyce made your favorite dish for dinner and afterwards you made her favorite cookies

~While the cookies were in the oven, you both sat on the couch and talked about work, school, and pretty much anything.

~When the cookies were finished you watched Annie and continued to gossip and just spend time together as mother and daughter.

~ while watching Annie, Joyce would get you to sit on the floor (on a pillow or a cushion) and brush/Braid your hair depending on the length

~ you both ended up falling asleep on the couch

~ Joyce woke up and realized that y'all had fallen asleep

~ she got you a blanket and let you sleep while she started to pick up the coffee table

~ "mom"

~ "yes honey"

~ "i had a lot of fun today"

~ "me too honey, now go back to sleep and get some rest."

~ Let's just say that after that night, Joyce made a conscious effort to spend mother daughter time together every week or two

[updownlately]

'cause you used to be a part of me (now you're only somebody)

| alessia russo x reader | angst | 1.0k | a/n: it's the angst i so desperately wanted to write. i don't know what it is about spotify but it kept playing sad songs this morning and then it played 'worse for me' by tyler shaw and i had no other option but to write this throughout my class. enjoy! also i wrote this as the backstory to this blurb

~~~

“It’s done.” 

“Oh great! Okay, so the instructions say to take the dough out of the fridge and-” You begin, as you wipe your hands on the towel near you.

“No, not the timer for the cookies…the negotiations.” Out of the corner of your eye you see Alessia round the corner of the island, her phone making the distinct locking noise before it’s gently sliding on the countertop, coming to rest between you two, almost mocking you.

“The nego- oh…”

Taking a deep sigh, you mentally prepared yourself. Putting the towel down, you turned to face her. Letting yourself lean against the counter, you tried to look nonchalant even though you were everything but.

“So what’s the verdict? I’m going to assume that United matched?”

Alessia nodded, closing the gap between you two. Stopping a few feet away, she timidly reached out her hands, a wince on her face, nervousness clear with the way she was bouncing from foot to foot. 

The silent question in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you. You reached your own hand out, intertwining your fingers, pulling her ever so slightly closer, the space between you two noticeably smaller.

“I love you.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence.”

When the blonde took a deep sigh in response, you knew you were right.

“London right?” You could feel your own heartbreak at your words, well aware that this was how it was going to end, and yet it didn’t make the sting hurt any less. 

“We both know I can’t stay at United.” 

“City?” “I might leave my childhood club, but I won’t do them like that.” Her words had you shrugging in acceptance.

“So….Arsenal?”

“Yeah.”

You thought you had held it together pretty well up until this point. You had at least, until this moment. You don’t know what it was, but the final confirmation, the singular word being uttered just made it more real. It made your nightmares a reality.

Alessia could see you physically breaking in front of her, the first few tears falling down your face. The way you leant your head back, the wordless prayer falling from your lips, straight onto the ground where it shattered into pieces.

“Please say something.” Alessia knew she sounded desperate. Your opinion technically wouldn’t make a difference at this point- it hadn’t before, what good would it do now that everything else in the way was sorted and official.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” the defeat in your voice clear from the way it broke in the midst of the sentence.

“Something? Anything? What do you think?” By now, Alessia had matching tears rolling down her face. 

“I’m happy for you.” The statement contradicted your quiet sniffles and tears, them only getting worse.

“Are you though?” This wasn’t what happy looked like, Alessia knew that much. 

“I am. This is going to be good for you.”

Voicing her concerns, Alessia took a chance. “You don’t look happy for me.”

“Alessia…” You trailed off, wiping your tears and pinching the bridge of your nose.

The striker couldn’t tell what hurt more, the fact that you couldn’t even look her in the eyes anymore or that you used her full name, something you haven’t used since the pair of you made things official.

“You need to realize that what’s the best for you is probably- no scratch that, it is the worst for me.”

Take a deep breath in to calm yourself, you continued. “I’m happy for you. I really am, I swear. But you leaving? That too a three hour drive away? That’s going to break me. Not being able to see you ever day? It’s like my worst nightmare come true.”

As your voice trailed off, echoing through the apartment that was already feeling a little less like home, you looked up at your girlfriend.

The way Alessia didn’t meet your eyes this time, spoke volumes. 

“Alessia, no…”

This time, it was Alessia’s turn to raise her gaze through the roof, unshed tears threatening to fall at the slightest interaction.

“Don’t you dare Alessia. Please. Genuinely, I’m begging you, don’t do what I think you’re about to.”

“I’m sorry…” This time, the tears fell, the pair of you openly crying. “Know that I don’t want to do this bu”-

“Then don’t” you interrupted, naively hoping that even though she didn’t listen to you before, maybe she just might this time. 

“I need to. With you still here, I-”. Her own shaky inhale cutting her off this time, hands coming up to furiously wipe at her face. “I can’t do it. I need you there, and I can’t have that. I just can’t. I can’t do it.”

“Please,” you pleaded. “We can at least give it a shot? You won’t even have to drive down, you know I love driving, I can always make the trip…”

The next two words had your shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m sorry.” 

Swallowing hard, a deep sigh leaving your lips, you let your heart break into smithereens on the ground between you. 

“When do you leave?” your voice a whisper, too afraid of being loud, lest something else besides your heart cracks too.

“Just before I head to camp.”

“A little over two weeks from now?” you double-checked, not wanting to believe it could be so soon. 

Nodding, Alessia timidly met your eyes, aware that she was the cause of your pain right now. 

It’s why your next words took her by surprise, cueing another round of tears.

“Let’s make the most of it yeah?”

Tears streaming down your faces, you let out a pained smile. “These cookies better turn out great…after all that we just went through. I don’t think I could handle it if they don’t.”

Pushing yourself off the counter that you were using for support, you closed the distance between yourself and Alessia. Pulling her in for a hug, the taller girl practically smothered your body with her own, small tremors wracking her frame.

You knew that heartbreak was inevitable, the both of you needing to leave for world cup prep soon. Regardless, you couldn’t find it in yourself to let her go just yet, wanting to savour as many last bittersweet days that you could. So you let yourself hold her for as long as you could, aware that the clock was ticking, that she wasn't yours for much longer. You couldn't even be upset at her. This was, after all, the best thing for her future, for her.

It just so happened that it was also the worst for you.

[sleephyuns]

“Tired?” A voice rumbled up from her shoulder, whisking her away from the gates of dreamland.

“Nope, not at a…” she cut herself off with a betraying yawn, giving one last goodbye to the sleep she wouldn’t get quite yet.

There was still cleaning up to do, especially now. So, in hindsight, it might not have been the best time to have taken a mid-decorating sex break.

Besides the mess of their own bodies stuck together with sweat, Nayeon’s clothes were strewn about (how her cheap antler headband had stayed on after all that was beyond her), some forgotten ornaments were still scattered near the tree (including ones knocked off by their antics), and the dough that Nayeon had been planning to shape into little trees and bows was still sitting out on the counter.

There was a lot to deal with. Preferably before they were a sticky mess, but what was done was done.

Momo just looked so damn cute in her tacky little Christmas sweater. Even cuter fanning herself off from the warmth of the fire and her decorating efforts. Even cuter when Nayeon had simply suggested she take said tacky sweater off. And irresistible when she was shirtless and still decorating the tree in earnest.

How could she not jump her wife’s bones like that?

“Do you want to wash up and nap? I can try to handle the rest if you need me to.”

She finally looked down at Momo, seeing the way her wide, eager eyes sparkled in the glow of the room, prettier than any light she could ever hang on their tree. Absolutely breathtaking. “No, no, I couldn’t do that to you,” she pressed a kiss against Momo’s sweaty forehead, “I just need a minute.”

Her words were followed by an attempt to shift off of Momo’s lap, but her mind was much farther ahead than her body was. Almost immediately she was met with tired legs and an ache in her pussy. Deeper than any pilates session had ever made her feel.

Yeah, she wasn’t getting off Momo any time soon.

“Wow, you really tired me out,” she laughed, letting Momo press her slick bangs against her shoulder again.

“You tired yourself out. We could’ve picked a different position… ah- not that I didn’t enjoy it. I loved it-“

“I know, Momo, I know.”

Momo gave a sheepish smile, embarrassed at her overexplaination. Even then she looked beautiful in her shyness, fingers tapping against Nayeon’s thighs. The marks across her neck (from the makeout session that had even led to this) have bloomed darker, and part of Nayeon wished she could bend down to give her a few more.

But alas…

She shifted her hips again, testing the feel of Momo deep and still snug inside her, and was pleased with the little grunt she got in return.

She hadn’t felt that way in quite some time before this vacation. She’d missed it bad, and she could only hope Momo knew that. And even better, hoped that she wanted her just as much.

She had to let Momo know just how great she’d made her feel.

“What can I say?” Nayeon swiveled her hips again, “Sometimes that stocking stuffer of yours is just too much for me”

Perfect.

“I… Unnie. God, ew, never say that again.”

Momo moved to push Nayeon off, then thought better of it, settling for giving Nayeon what was probably the most disgusted look she could muster.

“What? As if you weren’t begging to come down my chimney a few minutes ago.”

“Unnie. I don’t know if you can feel that, but I’m actively getting soft right now.”

“Oh please, you just came like… 5 minutes ago. Of course you are.”

“Ok, but it’s faster this time.”

"Hmmm whatever,” Nayeon pouted.

A hush fell on them again, the crackling of the fire the loudest in the room. Despite being so put off but Nayeon’s jokes, Momo still held her close. For seconds, for minutes, however long it was. Even though they needed to clean up, and decorate some more and bake those cookies. Momo still held her. And…

That little liar.

“Getting soft, my ass.”

“Your ass is soft. That’s part of why I’m hard again.” Her hand slipped back from her thigh to palm at the a cheek. “It’s nice having you on my lap.”

Now Nayeon rolled her eyes, even though she had no right. “Aww but I thought my shitty puns were too annoying for you.”

“Maybe. But you’re sexy so it doesn’t matter.”

Momo usually liked to be bossed around a tad, but she had her selfish streaks. Like churning her hips up to test the waters of another round with Nayeon, barely moving yet still sending that delicious tingle up Nayeon’s spine.

She was cute, but Nayeon loved to tease.

“I should make those cookies,” she sighed, pressing a firm hand to Momo’s chest.

“Noooo, one more please. I promise I’ll laugh at all your puns.”

“…Deal.”

[jenniferjareauwife]

Ice Cream

pairing: jennifer jareau x fem reader

category: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: slight innuendo

word count: 709

summary: your girlfriend finds you crying in bed and calms you down with kisses and cuddles and ice cream!

I let out soft sobs and sniffles, hoping JJ couldn't hear me from our living room. anything was really wrong, I was just really sad today. I didn't want JJ to worry about something she couldn't fix so I just didn't tell her.

A few minutes later I heard soft footsteps outside our bedroom door, assuming it was JJ since she was the only other person that lived here I quickly wiped away all my tears. "Hey babe." She walked in and stood in front of our body length mirror, taking off her earrings and rings. I didn't answer, not wanting to give away the tears running down my face. "You ok?" She turned around while putting her hair up in a ponytail. I gave her a quick nod and lied down on our bed, cuddling up with a pillow.

A few minutes passed and she plopped herself down right next to me. "Hey." She reached out to touch my face and the softness in her voice made me realize she knew something was wrong. "What's with the dried tears babe?"

"It's nothing." I shook my head but she furrowed her brows with a frown.

"Don't 'it's nothing' me." Her voice lowered a bit. "Come on hon. You can talk to me." I sighed and played with the hem of her shirt.

"Just...I just feel sad for no reason." I whispered while trying to pull off her shirt. She did it for me, leaving herself in a bra and sweatpants. I rested my head on her bare chest and wrapped my arms around her waist. "Didn't want to bother you, you know?"

"Oh honey. You can always talk to me." She put her arm over my shoulders and rubbed my arm softly and gently. "I'm sorry you're having a bad day my love." She kissed my forehead. "But you know what will make it better?" I shrugged.

"It honestly feels like nothing is going to make it feel better."

"Ice cream." My eyes lit up when she mentioned ice cream. "When I went out earlier I got chocolate chip cookie dough."

"My favorite!" I exclaimed, hugging her even tighter. She knew me so well. I bet she already knew I was having a bad day before which is why she went to go get ice cream.

"I know it's your favorite baby." I relaxed against her, enjoying the skin to skin contact. "But I have to go get it if you want some."

"No." I stubbornly held on tight to her, not wanting to let go for a single second. "We will stay here and cuddle and let the ice cream come to us."

"Baby the ice cream isn't going to come to us." She giggled, sitting up and wrapping my legs around her waist so I could come with her to get some ice cream. "I'm going to bring the whole carton, ok? You deserve it." I smiled into her neck and smiled once she placed me back on the bed.

"Cuddles." I demanded. "Now." She giggled and leaned back against the headboard, pulling me into her lap so my back could rest against her front. I took a big scoop of ice cream and stuffed it in my mouth.

"Slow down baby. I don't want you to choke."

"Not what you said last night."

"You are such a child." She playfully smacked my thigh.

"But you love me." I fed her a spoonful and leaned my head back against her shoulder. She nodded, pressing a few kisses to my shoulder.

"That's true." She mumbled against my skin. "I love you so much, you know that right?" I nodded. "I wanna hear you say it baby." She kissed my cheek softly before tightening her grip on me.

"I know you love me." I whispered. "To the moon and back, more than anyone else combined-" She cut me off with a passionate kiss. "I love you too." I leaned my head against hers and let out a soft sigh, relaxing my whole body before handing her the rest of the ice cream.

"Don't ever forget that, ok?" She left soft tickly kisses all over my neck, waiting for me to respond through my laughs.

"I promise, I won't forget."

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

9 Days of Solomon: Snow

Solomon x GN! reader

Summary: You and Solomon make cookies when the first snowfall hits.

AN: Ironically, it's been cold and snowing on and off all day today. So, pretty fitting if you ask me! :)

Warnings: None

It was a cold night in the Devildom, too cold to go out and do anything, so you and Solomon settled on making some cookies to keep yourselves busy. The kitchen was warm from the preheating oven, while the rest of Cocytus Hall held fires within some of its hearths to battle the cold from creeping in. 

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Solomon starts again as you hear him tossing another handful of chocolate chips into his open mouth. “Because from over here, it looks like you’re struggling.” 

You’re not. You are not struggling at all, actually. He knew you weren’t struggling either, but it seemed he was determined to get you to let him help you in some manner. 

Taking a glance over your shoulder, you note Solomon behind you, still leaning against the counters that line the wall right where you had directed him to stand until told otherwise. He seems to be behaving himself, minus getting into the chip bag prematurely, but you figured it’s a small price to pay as long as he doesn’t assist with the actual making of the dough. 

You chuckle while shaking your head, returning your attention back to the bowl. “I don’t need any help, thank you.” You crack an egg against the island top and plop the yolk into the dry ingredients. “Though you are doing a solid job at eating our chocolate chips. Our only bag, mind you.” 

The sorcerer chuckles with you. “It’s better than just standing here, isn’t it?” You can tell by how his last few words sound that he’d put another handful into his mouth. 

“Solomon, no more. You’re going to eat them all at this rate.” 

A little sigh comes from behind you, and the bag rattles slightly as he sets it down on the counter. 

“You’re no fun.” 

A grin lifts the corners of your lips as you roll your eyes. A second egg is cracked and dropped into the bowl, along with a splash of vanilla extract. Your eyes peer down into the bowl, seeing all the ingredients but the chocolate chips present. With careful hands, you grab the bowl and a wooden spoon, and turn around to Solomon. 

“If you want to do something so badly, you can stir. But DON’T do anything else. Okay?” You offer him a sweet smile as you hand him the bowl and spoon, which he happily takes. 

“Of course. You don’t need to worry about me.” He gives you a little wink in return as he sets on stirring the mixture together. Nothing should happen… as long as you keep your eyes on him. 

He’s a bit sloppy with the stirring – his dominant hand seemingly uncoordinated with the spoon as he holds the bowl awkwardly in the crook of his arm. You cringe a little at the sight of the flour being kicked up to the edge of the bowl while small hints float to the ground next to his feet, adorned in the fuzzy socks you picked out for him. But he’s trying. 

Your eyes slowly trail up his form from the flour on the floor, admiring how cute he looks in his socks and pajamas. You were dressed similarly, the two of you opting to match in warm pjs to fight the cold and to look “stylish as you baked.” …His words. 

Solomon flicks his concentrated eyes up to you, feeling your gaze lingering on him. “You’re staring.” 

“Like you weren’t doing the same as I put the ingredients together?” You chuckle softly with a shrug. “You just look cute like this.” 

Solomon’s cheeks light up in a soft pink and he makes sure to keep his eyes locked on the bowl he’s stirring in, not wanting to meet yours while he’s blushing. “Oh… well, thank you. I think you look cute all the time.” 

You give a soft chuckle, feeling your own blush creep on your cheeks. It’s quiet for a few moments as Solomon’s stirring slows once the batter begins to thicken. This is mostly why you gave him this job. Thickened dough is like stirring cement and puts a beating on the arm. Plus, it made him feel like he was contributing, so win-win. 

The sound of the wind catches your attention, and you feel glad to be inside where it’s warm and cozy. You glance to the window in the kitchen, seeing flurries of something flying by. Your eyes widen as you realize what it is. 

You gasp softly, “Solomon, it’s snowing!” 

“Hm?” Solomon looks away from his work and towards the window you’re staring at. “Oh, look at that. The first snow of the year- Hey! Wait!” 

You’re already rushing out of the kitchen, wanting a personal view of the first snowfall. Your quickened steps are silent from the fuzzy socks that hold your feet snuggly as you run to the front door. The sound of Solomon hurrying to set the bowl down is heard, his own muffled feet racing to catch up to you as he calls out your name. With a yank, the door swings open allowing you to hurry under the little awning over the entrance. 

Instantly, you’re met with a biting cold that invades the warmth of your pajamas and sends a shiver down your spine and goosebumps to rise. You should go inside, but the vision of white flecks pouring from the sky is too pretty to take your eyes off of, especially in the natural darkness of the Devildom. Something about it is magical. Perhaps it’s the light from the large moon glistening along the skiff that lays on the ground or the deafening silence that engulfs the scene and challenges the mind into wondering if it is truly snowing. 

The door creaks further behind you, the soft pad of footsteps can hardly be heard shuffling closer to you until you feel something touch your shoulders. You tear your eyes away from the falling snow to the black fabric that hangs from your body. It’s Solomon’s coat, running its black to blue gradient towards your legs like it does when he wears it. You can even smell his familiar cologne enveloping your nostrils. 

“What were you thinking? It’s too cold to go out like this.” Solomon gently scolds, reminding you slightly of a concerned mother. 

“I’m sorry. I wanted to see the snow for myself.” 

You smile sheepishly as he comes to stand beside you under the awning, his gaze moving from you to the snow that appears to be falling harder by the minute. It seems that he, too, is entranced by the beauty of this moment. The both of you stand silently together, enjoying the tranquility of the night.

“It is a beautiful sight. And I’m glad it’s one I can share with you.” A warm hand brushes against your cold one, and he takes it, interlocking his fingers with yours. At the feel of your frigid skin, Solomon pulls you closer to him, grabbing your other hand as he eyes you with worry. “Your hands are cold.” 

He lifts your hands up to his mouth, his own cradling yours to blow warm air on them. He does this another time before placing a soft kiss on your knuckles. “Let’s go inside. We can finish making our cookies and we can eat them as we watch the snow fall safely from the window.” A small grin plays on his lips. “What do you think?”

You nod. “Sounds good. As long as I can spend time with you.” 

Leaning forward, you place a soft kiss on his lips before pulling away after a few moments. Both of you have goofy smiles and reddened cheeks, from both the cold and the kiss, as Solomon guides you back inside to finish your evening with warmth and love.