#I used a left handed potato peeler to pull towards me instead of pushing away from me

[tempest-loupnoir]

I guess this is why my teacher took my pencil out of my hand and made me use my right hand when I was first learning to write. I was ambidextrous but since I had to spend eight hours or more every day, using mostly my right hand for everything, I lost a lot of my strength and coordination in my left hand. Then I got arthritis in my right. It hurts all the time and writing with a pen is torture. Two of my fingers are stiffening, even with stretches.

I wish I had continued to use my left for writing and drawing. I did switch hands when legibility wasn’t super important because I Can write and eat and color with my left hand. Now that I use a tablet for art, I use my left hand for filling in colors, or selecting and erasing.

Practice using all of your body. Learn to get up off the ground without your hands. Learn to cook and eat with your non dominant hand. Stretch and wiggle frequently and take breaks to rest your eyes and brain. You never know when your strength will be needed.

and my personal favorite:

i love getting validation as a lefty but also learning about new fun ways it continues to suck

[clumsyclifford]

I'll drive you to the hospital. with my boys lashton maybe? love you!! -fiancee

you know i think it says a lot about me that i could have easily made this very angsty but instead i made the active decision not to. this is growth

(tw for a bit of blood)

read on ao3

-

Things that are a good idea: universal healthcare, holding hands on cold days, turning off lights when leaving a room.

Things that are not a good idea: Luke Hemmings attempting to cook dinner on his own with no supervision.

The lack of supervision is his own insistence. When he’d first offered to make dinner, Ashton had very unsubtly indicated that he didn’t think Luke should take that on alone.

(“I’m not sure you should take that on alone,” he’d said. Luke doesn’t care for paraphrasing.)

Luke, however, had persisted. Now, standing in the kitchen with a Very Large Knife in one hand and a cutting board on the counter in front of him, he’s starting to regret this somewhat.

Most of the dinner had been fairly simple. Luke had successful boiled water — the right amount of water — and now the spaghetti is happily cooking away in the pot. Phase one of the meal is smoothly underway. It’s just phase two that’s a problem.

Luke is not good with knives.

He knows this about himself. Ashton knows this about him. His entire family knows it about him. Luke has a bad history with knives. Namely, he tends to injure himself whenever one ends up in his possession. Never intentionally. He’s just clumsy, okay? And clumsy plus knives has never equalled safety. 

However. There comes a time in every man’s life in which he must learn to master a knife. Luke is not going to die unable to use a knife. He is going to cut this cucumber, god damn it, and then he will peel and cut the carrots, and in short he will be unstoppable. He and Ashton will have a delicious, healthy salad tonight. If it kills Luke.

Which. Like. Hopefully it won’t. Ideally it will not even lightly maim Luke. But with this overdose of optimism must come a healthy shot of realism.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Luke says, pushing up his sleeves. On second thought, he pulls off the flannel entirely, tossing it across the room so it lands on the tabletop. “You and me, cucumber. I’m not scared of you. I’m talking to you like you can hear me, which makes me sound insane, but that doesn’t scare me either.”

“Luke?” Ashton pokes his head into the kitchen. “Doing okay?”

“If you check on me one more time, I will commit violent acts with this large knife,” Luke says, pointing the knife threateningly in Ashton’s direction.

Ashton frowns deeply. “Can you blame me?”

“Have some trust,” Luke says.

“ Have some trust,’ he says.” Ashton snorts. “Show me you can use a standard kitchen knife without damaging yourself and I will.”

“I’m not going to die. It’s just a cucumber.”

“Mhm.” Ashton crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Go on, then.”

Luke glares at Ashton. “Get out! I’m working here.”

Ashton sighs heavily. “Fine. But if you need—”

“Out!”

Ashton stalks away, probably to go eavesdrop or read cooking blogs and think about how much better he is in the kitchen than Luke. 

“Okay,” Luke mutters, lining up the knife. “Here we go. Control. Precision. Focus. Olympic fucking figure skater levels.”

He probably sets a record for slowest, most painstaking process of cutting a cucumber ever. But somehow, miraculously, all body parts come out intact on the other side.

Luke whoops. “Fuck yeah! That’s how it’s done!” He points the knife at the cucumber, now in pieces on the cutting board. “I am the captain now!”

This is good. No, this is great. Luke is confident as he slides the cucumbers to the side to make space for the carrots. For the first time in Luke’s memory, he’s bested the knife. He is no longer at the mercy of a culinary tool slash impromptu weapon. 

He never saw the peeler coming.

Nobody warns you about the peeler. There are no cautionary tales about children with peelers. No movies where the bad guy improvises a weapon with a peeler found in a drawer. So, really, Luke thinks this is an honest mistake.

This, unfortunately, does not help his current situation.

“Fuck! Motherfucker, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Luke?” Ashton rushes in like he’s got a fucking radar for Luke Fucking Up. Luke drops the peeler to the counter and gathers the fingers of his left hand with his right. The blade of the peeler had nicked him right over the knuckle of his thumb, and the blood is running down his finger thanks to the juice from the carrot. It stings like a bitch, although it definitely looks worse than it is. This is the only reason Luke can find for Ashton’s eyes going wide and his next words being, “Oh my fucking god, Luke. Are you okay? What happened?”

“I just cut myself—”

“I’ll drive you to the hospital, you can worry about dinner another night, I fucking told you—”

“Relax, Ashton, it’s not that bad,” Luke says, sidestepping him to get to the sink. He hisses as the cold water runs over the injury, but once the blood rinses away it’s obvious this is not more than a shallow cut. “Just a flesh wound.”

“This is not funny.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Luke promises, bending his thumb and extending it under the faucet. “The fucking peeler got me, that’s all.”

“Did you peel towards you?”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Towards,” Ashton says, holding up the peeler and miming a peeling action towards his body. “Rather than away.” He flips the peeler around and does the reverse action.

“Ah,” Luke says. “Yeah, then.” He smiles sheepishly. “Oops? Lesson learned.”

“You don’t have to be so, like…prideful, or whatever, you know,” Ashton says, bringing the peeler over to the sink. Luke takes it from his hands and runs it under the water, rinsing the blade. “Nobody expects you to be able to make a whole meal with as little experience as you have, least of all me. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.”

“I think it’s fucking ridiculous that I can’t cook a simple dinner,” Luke counters. “And I can. I’ve just hit a snag.”

“Please let me help you,” Ashton begs. “I won’t be condescending or anything.”

“I know you won’t.”

“So then what’s the problem? Dignity or something?”

“I just— I don’t know.” Luke chews his lip and reaches to turn off the faucet. His finger still hurts, so he tears a paper towel and wraps it around his knuckle. “You’d be judging me for everything I don’t know.”

“I am not judging you, Luke, I promise,” Ashton says gently. “I get it. It’s not a skill you’re born with, it’s something you have to learn. But I don’t think hurting yourself is the way to learn.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Luke grumbles.

Ashton takes another paper towel and hands it to Luke, and Luke stares at it for a moment before sighing and accepting it. “That’s my point,” Ashton says. “It was just a mistake because you didn’t know better. You don’t have to make the mistake to learn from it, you know. Other people have made the mistake. People like me. You think I didn’t cut myself the first time I tried to peel a potato? You’re supposed to learn from other people’s mistakes, too.”

Luke takes a deep breath. “It’s just cooking,” he says. “Not that deep.” 

“If it’s not that deep, then please let me help you,” Ashton says. “Teamwork. It’ll go faster this way.”

The paper towel in Luke’s hand is damp now, and the one around his thumb is stained red. A timer goes off. 

“That’s the pasta,” Luke says. He sighs. “Fine, you can help. Deal with the pasta. It has to have sauce on it. I think. I’m sure you’ll know what to do.” He lifts his hand. “I’m going to get a plaster.”

“You didn’t bleed on any of the food, did you?”

Luke shakes his head. “Be right back.”

Ashton nods and smiles. “Sorry for being pushy,” he says. “But I really just don’t want you to make the dumb kitchen mistakes I made.”

“I know,” Luke says, and even smiles back. “Sorry for being stupid and stubborn.”

“Ah, we all have flaws,” Ashton says, ruffling Luke’s hair. “I wouldn’t love you if you weren’t stupid and stubborn.”

“Personally, I wouldn’t mind if you weren’t so pushy,” Luke says, laughing over Ashton’s loud mock-offended gasp and scurrying out of the kitchen to Ashton calling rude things to his back.

[britishassistant]

But I Like One Piece (14)

Of course, it’s hardly as simple as that.

“He’s so annoying.” Uchiha says, leaning on the kitchen counter.

It’s a beautiful summer’s day. The birds are singing, the flowers are blooming.

And for some reason only Robin knows, Uchiha’s in her kitchen.

“I tried to keep training last night, and do you know what he said?” Uchiha’s face twists into a sneer. “He said I had to go to bed. At eight-thirty.”

Naruto nods sympathetically as Uchiha waves his arms about in indignation. “I wasn’t even tired! I haven’t gone to bed that early since I was seven!”

“That’s nice.” She says, conscious of the fact that she goes to bed at eight. “Why are you in my house.”

Uchiha flaps an arm at her. “Not important.”

“Get out of my house then.” She tells him.

He shoots her a poisonous look, then sighs.

Uchiha heaves a large bag onto the counter and pushes it towards her. Or tries to anyway. The bag only budges an inch or so.

She steps forward tentatively and looks inside.

And promptly chokes on air.

“Uchiha.” She says seriously. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

Naruto perks up at her tone, craning his head to try and see inside as well.

He shrugs, as though the contents are somehow uninteresting to him. “The label says it’s lamb.”

“I see that.” She says. “But do you know how much a single lamb chop costs at the market? And not even the ones that’ve been freshly imported from Kusagakure.”

Naruto’s brow furrows. “Is it as much as the beef steak?”

She shoots him a wide-eyed look, remembering the cheap, thin cuts that had ended up costing almost a month’s worth of Otou-sama and Okaa-sama’s combined salary. “More.”

Naruto’s mouth drops open, and he stares at the bag with a newfound sense of reverence.

Uchiha shrugs again, with the self-assured air of a child who’s never had to deal with being told that something he wants is too expensive. “I don’t know. It was just outside the compound this morning. I don’t know any recipes for it yet, so I figured you’d get more use out of it.”

She takes another moment to goggle at the huge leg of lamb sitting in the bag, cellophane wrapped and surrounded by ice.

She hasn’t eaten this meat since the Sunday before she died.

She covers her face with her hands and inhales deeply to regain her composure. “Right. Okay.”

She wonders if it would be easier to roast it all before carving, or if she can get away with cutting it up raw and freeze some of it for later use.

Sasuke looks up from griping when she pulls out one of their sharper knives, running a whetstone over it to make sure it’s as sharp as it possibly can be.

She’s decided to chance it on doing the cuts raw—roasting it all in one marinade would limit the types of dishes whose flavors it could be combined with, and Sanji would never stand for that.

She places the meat onto a chopping board, with multiple plates for different cuts and gristle.

Sanji, she prays silently. Please don’t let me make a mess of this.

She carefully begins trimming off the excess fat and gristle off the piece of meat, trying to keep her cuts as neat as possible. She keeps the fat separate from the rest of the refuse for potential use as lard or flavoring.

It’s only once she begins following the sinews to carve a bit of meat away from a bone that’s shaped a bit like the letter “h”.

She deposits one of the filets onto a plate and sets about trying to carve the h-shaped bone out of the joint so she has more room to work.

She ends up with a bit more bone than she’d anticipated, by which she means all of them. The meat that had formerly been attached to them now sits in various unattractive gristle-and-artery-filled lumps.

She sighs, puts the bones to one side for stock or to roast their marrow, and begins her attack on the gristle and arteries.

“How did you do that?” Uchiha asks, leaning away from the counter.

“Do what?” She frowns, looking up.

He waves at the bones. They’re vaguely pinkish from the fluids of the meat, but have been scraped clean of every last scrap of flesh, she’s proud to say.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ll be honest, I barely have any idea what I’m doing.”

Uchiha purses his lips, calculating. “So...could you do it to an opponent?”

She shoots him an unimpressed look. “Sure, because a squirming person is gonna lie as still as this and let me carve them up. All that’d happen is my knife would get nicked, and I’d have to get it repaired.”

She adopts the same reprimanding tone the teacher uses to tell her off. “Kitchen tools are for the kitchen, Uchiha. We don’t play around with them.”

Naruto snickers at Uchiha’s put-out expression as he groans. “Don’t. You sound just like him.”

“Is living with him really that bad?” Naruto asks, as the gristle begins piling up on the plate.

Uchiha’s face does something complicated. “...He’s better than Anko.”

“So is a goldfish.” She replies. “That’s not really a high bar to clear.”

“He’s better than the others too.” Uchiha allows, grudgingly. “At least he pays attention to me and asks me what I want. And doesn’t talk to me like I’m three.”

Naruto nods encouragingly while the lumps turn into neatish little cubes and filets.

“But he keeps telling me to do stuff.” Uchiha whines, before he tries to drop his voice to imitate the teacher’s. “Sasuke-kun, take a break. Sasuke-kun, cook something without tomatoes. Sasuke-kun, put your clothes in the laundry instead of the garbage. Sasuke-kun, take a bath this week. Sasuke-kun, stop training so hard. Sasuke-kun, be careful with that kunai. Sasuke-kun, go to bed.”

“Do you do all the cooking?” She asks, curious.

Uchiha shoots her a flat look. “Iruka can boil rice and grill mackerel. He said it was an achievement, because he used to make it blow up when he was younger.”

Naruto squints in confusion as most of the food goes into plastic containers and into the fridge while the waste goes into the bin. “The rice or the fish?”

Uchiha pulls a face as sweet potatoes, a red pepper, and several tomatoes appear on the counter. “I didn’t ask.”

She finds herself pulling out a large wok and filling the bottom with olive oil, less cumin than she would’ve liked, plenty of rosemary, and salt and pepper.

She heats up the oil and herb mixture, then drops in the cubed lamb that was left out. “Well, he’s probably just trying to keep you strong.” She says diplomatically, tossing the sweet potatoes and a peeler to Naruto.

He dutifully begins peeling.

“How is me going to bed at eight-thirty making me stronger?” Uchiha stresses, nose wrinkling.

She catches the potato that Naruto tosses back, cubing it and dropping it in the wok before turning to catch the second. “Well, sleep helps your brain develop. If you don’t get enough now, then you’ll be dumb later in life.”

Uchiha gives her a glare that’s truly withering. “You’ll be dumb too if you keep shying away from chakra.”

She frowns, flicking some juice from the pepper at him and snickering as he recoils. “Good meals and good rest make your body stronger. It helps with growth, muscle and brain development.”

Uchiha still looks disbelieving so she adds, “It’s why you’ll be stronger than that man when you get to his age.”

There’s no sounds other than the hiss of diced tomatoes hitting the pan.

“How.” Uchiha hisses, eyes alight with obsession.

She briefly contemplates that that may have been the wrong thing to say as she places a lid on the wok to let the ingredients simmer and puts the rice on.

“Well, he’s a war criminal now, right?” She says.

“Missing nin.” He replies.

“Whatever.” She says. “Point is, nobody wants to work with somebody who’s done what he’s done, not even criminals. So he probably can’t get work, and doesn’t have a steady income. And Konoha has a bounty on his head, so he’s got to evade bounty hunters looking to collect on the reward constantly.”

“And?” Uchiha interrupts, eyeing her disdainfully.

Naruto tilts his head as the meal is stirred and tasted. “Wait.” He says. “How’s that guy gonna get food then?”

“Ex-actly.” She says proudly, nodding to him. “He can’t. He can hardly sleep either, because, y’know, bounty hunters. And I don’t care how good a ninja someone is, no one functions well on continuous food and sleep deprivation. Especially not compared to someone who’s been getting plenty of rest and three square meals a day.”

“That man doesn’t need any of that.” Uchiha’s voice is coated in scorn. “He’s too strong!”

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “No matter how strong he is, he’s still mortal. He needs to eat like everyone else, Uchiha.”

“No he doesn't!” Uchiha’s voice cracks on the last word.

Her mouth snaps shut, a reassurance about his brother potentially lying dead in a ditch somewhere suddenly seeming very unwise.

Uchiha stares at his clenched fists, minute tremors shaking his form.

Naruto reaches out slowly and grips his shoulder until the trembling stops.

Wordlessly, the rice and the lamb dish is plated up.

She places one plate in front of Naruto and one in front of Uchiha, putting a lid on the rest for Otou-san and Okaa-san, and Gai and Lee if they end up dropping by for lunch.

She rummages around for chopsticks, tossing two sets to the boys and grabbing one for herself.

There’s a quiet murmur of “itadakimasu” before they all begin eating while standing up.

Naruto’s eyes light up. “This is really good Mayu-chan, believe it!”

She smiles bashfully as she chews. The lamb goes nicely with the spicier flavors, unsurprisingly, but she hadn’t known that it would work this well with the tomato.

Uchiha doesn’t look at her when he asks, “What’s the recipe?”

She’s about to rib that he just watched her make this in front of him, he should pay more attention to what’s happening under his nose—

But she’s suddenly drawing a blank.

What did she put in this?

There’s tomato and lamb and sweet potato and pepper, yes, but there are also some other browned pieces of meat that taste spicy-sweet when she bites into them. It compliments the lamb very well, and she’d be proud of that if she could remember cooking it.

The sauce is far too liquid for the ingredients she recalls putting in the wok to have produced it, and the flavors are too complex for the few spices she added—she’s heard of foods working well together, but not to the point of carrying hints of things that weren’t in the dish in the first place.

Her chewing slows and she wonders if it would count as wasting food if she stops Naruto and Uchiha from eating any more of it.

“I’m back!” Okaa-san calls.

Naruto burbles a “welcome back!” through his stuffed cheeks, while Uchiha just ducks his head and grunts quietly.

She shoves her moral dilemma to the back of her mind to avoid worrying her mother.

Okaa-san goes to hug Naruto, but pauses in the middle of the action.

She sniffs the air, inhaling deeply and wrinkling her nose. “Mayu-chan, are the windows open?”

She shakes her head. “No, Okaa-san.”

Okaa-san goes and tries the windows and the door to the back garden, and then leaves to do the same in the living room, and then upstairs.

She comes back into the kitchen frowning hard.

“None of you let anyone enter or leave while me and Otou-san and Gai-sensei were out, did you?” She asks, looking deeply troubled. “Naruto-kun, Uchiha-san?”

The two boys shake their heads in tandem.

“What’s wrong, Okaa-san?” She asks, absent-mindedly chewing another bit of lamb.

“It’s just—” Her mother shakes her head. “It stinks of cigarette smoke in here.”

It’s probably a good thing she’s swallowed her mouthful.

Otherwise her sudden coughing fit would’ve ended up wasting the mystery food and she’s suddenly pretty certain she does not want to do that, even on accident.

The smell’s faded a bit by the time Gai-sensei and Otou-san get home, but not enough to be unnoticeable.

Because apparently there’s an undercurrent of brine to the scent that has her sweating nervously, wondering about the power of faith and its effects on reality and whether or not she’s finally snapped and is hallucinating the whole thing.

Thankfully, no one aside from Naruto seems to notice her silent panic, because they’re all too busy discussing the possibility of ninja from Kiri infiltrating their house for reasons unknown.

Okaa-san is especially worried, because she apparently hasn’t heard from her family since they moved to Konoha.

This is strange, considering that her mother’s family is a merchant group that does business on nearly every shore of the continent, and one of them was bound to have figured out where they were by now.

Okaa-san and Otou-san debate softly over whether they should try contacting their maternal relatives to see if something’s happened as they all wait outside.

Meanwhile a ninja in a green jacket like Gai-sensei’s and one dressed in black that steers clear of Uchiha go through their house, looking for an intruder that seemingly appeared from and vanished into thin air.

Iruka-sensei quickly arrives to take Uchiha home, with some of the lamb in plastic containers and instructions on what herbs it would be good to roast the meat with.

She would’ve demonstrated, but she doesn’t quite trust herself not to break down crying at the scent yet. Plus, you know, home investigation. Sort of puts a dampner on that kind of thing.

Even Kiba’s mum and her dog come along to join the fun.

The dog ducks his head to her and Naruto in greeting while Kiba’s mum flashes a toothy grin that’s a lot like her son’s.

That grin doesn’t last long.

A lot of growls begin coming from the house, and she thinks she might hear the sound of something breaking, before the dog slips out the front door and over to them.

Gai-sensei seems to know what’s happening, because he leans down a little so he’s on the dog’s level, holding his hands out, palm-up.

The dog sniffs his hands, his arms, and his chest, then moves on to Otou-san, who’s a little befuddled, but mimics Gai-sensei.

The dog is very careful around his bandage-less hands.

Then the dog moves onto Okaa-san, then Naruto, where he pauses and sniffs her best friend a little closer. Naruto giggles a little at the press of the dog’s wet nose.

She presents her own palms next.

The dog leans in and sniffs.

Then he whuffs and tells her, “Inhale through your nose and out through your mouth.”

She blinks in confusion, glancing at Gai-sensei, who nods encouragingly.

So she does as the dog asks, watching as he sniffs the air again.

His doggy brows draw down over his doggy eyes, and he lopes back towards the house.

She shifts nervously, feeling several pairs of eyes boring into her.

Kiba’s mum storms out after her dog within a few minutes. The woman inhales in front of her, nose twitching in a manner not dissimilar to her ninken’s.

“Welp.” She says. “Kid, you reek of that shitty scent. But you haven’t been smoking, or near any bodies of saltwater recently. Kuromaru can easily tell that.”

“That’s right.” Otou-san says, glancing warily between her and Kiba’s mum.

Kiba’s mum sighs. “Well, until Aburame gets here to do his shit, best we can tell is that this fucker somehow infiltrated and stuck to your daughter like creepy, perverted glue before vanishing like a fucking spirit.”

Okaa-san reaches out to grab her shoulder, face twisted at more than just Kiba’s mom’s profanity. “Should we consider alternate lodging for the night? Just in case the—the intruder comes back?”

Kiba’s mum shrugs. “Got anywhere that you can stay?”

Okaa-san bites her lip. Otou-san rubs the back of his neck as he thinks.

“I would gladly lend my living quarters to you should you need it, Chie-san, Jirou-san!” Gai-sensei exclaims.

Both of her parents go dark pink and begin stuttering about how they couldn’t possibly intrude on his living space like that, they wouldn’t want to cause any trouble—

“Gai, you live in the Jounin Quarters.” Kiba’s mum says, one eyebrow raised. “You can’t even keep a dog in those apartments.”

Gai-sensei pouts at that, so she volunteers, “I could always sleep over with Naruto so there’s more space, or we could see if Sakura and her parents could have us?”

Okaa-san looks considering, but Otou-san purses his lips. “Would they be able to defend themselves and escape unharmed if the intruder followed us?”

“But what if it wasn’t an intruder?” Naruto pipes up. “What if it was Sanji?”

A cold sweat breaks out on the back of her neck.

Kiba’s mum looks over to her so fast she’s surprised the woman doesn’t get whiplash.

“That name mean anything to you, kid?” She says, far too casually to really be casual.

She shifts under the sensation of eyes again. “‘S a character from a comic I like. One Piece. He’s a pirate chef.”

She hears the smack of a hand meeting a face, and her mother muttering, “of course he is”.

Kiba’s mum raises an eyebrow. “Never heard of that comic before. And I coulda sworn that Kiba has copies of damn near every series in Fire Country. Know where he could get a copy of this one?”

“No.” She says, trying to make her voice smooth and confident like Robin’s would be, and stop it from quivering like Usopp’s. “It’s been a long time since I last read it. I haven’t been able to find any copies in recent years.”

Kiba’s mum nods, like this is perfectly reasonable. “Shame. And this Sanji character—you like him?”

“He’s my favorite.” She mumbles, cheeks flaming.

“Yeah! He’s really strong, but he only fights with his feet because he needs to protect his hands, believe it!” Naruto enthuses. “And he smokes cigarettes all the time, and he can cook a ten course meal with barely any ingredients, and he’s super smart and sneaky. He’s kinda useless about girls though, believe it.”

She grimaces, commiserating. “Yeah, he falls in love with every pretty girl he sees and refuses to hurt them, even if one’s his opponent. It’s kinda annoying, but he’d be too cool if he wasn’t dumb in some way, so, eh.” She shrugs her shoulders.

Then she makes the mistake of looking up at Otou-san and Okaa-san and Gai-sensei.

The expression on their faces can only be called knowing, and it makes her want to run inside and curl up in her bed and never come out again, ever.

She almost doesn’t hear it when Kiba’s mum asks, “You’ve never met anyone who matches this description in real life?”

She shakes her head. “Of course not. He doesn’t exist here, after all.”

Then the adults stiffen, and she gets the vague impression that she’s said something she shouldn’t have.

She and Naruto are sent back into the house with Kuromaru-san.

She turns back and sees Kiba’s mum discussing something very seriously with her parents and Gai-sensei before Kuromaru-san whuffs and shepherds her into the house with his wet nose.

It feels very ticklish, and she has to stifle slightly hysterical giggles.

“Hey Mayu-chan.” Naruto mutters as they climb the stairs. “How come you said Sanji doesn’t exist here?”

She blinks.

Ah.

Um.

“Be-because he doesn’t. He exists in the world of One Piece, but that world and this world are two separate things. That’s all.” She’s momentarily thankful to all those essays she had to write for her major which allowed her to BS on her feet like this.

There’s a snort from the dog behind her. “It’s not a question of existence if he’s a comic book character. He’s fictional, he’s not alive.”

She does not point out that technically Kuromaru-san and Naruto are also fictional comic book characters and therefore should not be alive by the dog’s logic.

They end up sitting in her room, safely out of the way of the investigation, waving at the ninja who walk past the door and occasionally pulling faces at them when Kuromaru-san isn’t looking.

The ninja in green with something in his mouth pulls faces right back, and it becomes a sort of challenge to see who can go the longest without getting caught.

Kuromaru-san bares the whole ordeal with remarkably good grace, all things considered.

They soon grow tired of this game and of waiting with nothing to do, and end up curled up on her bed to doze in the late afternoon sun.

Nothing is found.

Even Shino’s dad is stumped, his insects buzzing aimlessly around the house in search of something that’s not there.

It’s decided that they may as well stay in the house for the moment, because there’s nothing to suggest that whoever-it-was is limited by geographic location.

For some reason, everyone keeps looking at her when they say that.

Gai-sensei takes the time to set up lots of traps around every window and doorway to ensure the house is well protected before he walks Naruto home.

Otou-san and Okaa-san insist on her sleeping with them in the big bed that night.

She waits until she can hear them breathing softly in sleep.

Sanji, she prays silently. If that was you helping me out earlier, then thank you very, very much for your assistance. The meal was really, really delicious and I’m honored I got to cook with you. But, maybe, if it’s not too much trouble, could you maybe be a little bit sneakier if you honor me with your help out again? Like when you were Mister Prince, because Otou-san and Okaa-san and Gai-sensei got really freaked out when they thought someone broke in. Thank you for everything again. I think you’re amazing, no matter what Zoro says.

She could swear she hears a gentle chuckle as she falls asleep.

[leswansong]

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Adrinette April - Notes for You

Day 29 - Bein Joue

Read it on A03? –> [ Click Here ] 

Marinette rolled over, her back was stiff and she couldn’t ignore the bright light that was shining in her eyes. She rubbed her eyes opening them to the early morning sun, she blinked and looked around, the rooftop. She looked over, she was still in Adrien’s arms.

“Hey…”

“You’re awake, I expected you to sleep for a few more hours.”

“Thank you… For letting me sleep.”

“I- There hasn’t been any movement all night.”

“Didn’t think so,” she replied, sitting up.

She looked over at the mansion across the street, the two would have to change their position soon so they wouldn’t be detected. She pulled on the brown paper bag to look inside to find that it was almost empty, a few croissants and danishes were left. Marinette pulled the blanket further over herself, Adrien shot her a strange look, the warm morning sun was hot enough that she wouldn’t need it. Marinette released her transformation under the safety of the blanket, Tikki shot out of the earrings and straight into the brown paper bag, Marinette couldn’t help but giggle.

“I’m guessing we need more sweets then huh?” Adrien asked looking at the brown bag.

“Yeah, I don’t think Papa put any cheese ones in.”

“I’ll go get us some more, we need coffee too, I’m not sitting around all day watching the house without coffee.”

“Okay… Hurry back.”

“Hm… maybe I should head home, that king size bed we have is starting to seem really inviting.”

“Adrien…” she whined, “go get food.”

“Fine, anything special?”

“Surprise me.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “okay,” he stood up and stretched, “and don’t move,” he warned walking away across the rooftops.

“I know!” she shouted back.

She watched his black suit disappear from the Paris skyline, she looked back over at the mansion only to see a silver car pull up. She had to do a double take, she tried to flatten herself even further on the rooftop as she watched Gabriel and Natalie get out of the back seat. She waited until their backs were turned before she called for her transformation, the light of it caught in one of the windows and her heart dropped as Gabriel turned around searching for the source but he never looked up onto the rooftops.

She caught glimpses through the windows of the conversation the two were having. Seconds felt like hours, the two looked like they had just returned and the large number of suitcases Adrien’s old bodyguard was handing to newly hired staff confirmed it. She wondered where Adrien had gotten to and how long it would be before he returned, the leather bag she had bought with her sat beside her, she quickly reached for it, she needed her binoculars. With them she was able to see more clearly what was going on, Natalie looked like she was having an intense argument with Gabriel, her lip reading was a little rusty but she was able to make a few words here and there, ‘no I won’t let you.’ and ‘you promised,’ Were the main ones.

Marinette couldn’t wait any longer, she needed to know what was going on. She headed closer to the house but a hand reached out to grab her, she spun around to face the person.

“Marinette, what-“

Adrien, of course, it was Adrien, this was going to be a hard one to explain.

“He’s there right now Adrien we-“ she hoped he understood what she was trying to say.

He cut her off, “no, you are-“

That was a no, “Adrien we don’t have time right now.”

She grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him across the street into a tree next to the mansion, he fought to stay on the rooftop they were on but her strength won out. Marinette slowly navigated her way out of the tree down to the ground below. Her footsteps were loud and sloppy where’s Adrien’s were silent as the night, she hated the fact that his was a natural ability and not one the suit gave him. She snuck closer to the windows of the mansion's office, she tried to look in but her short stature made that impossible.

“Marinette. We. Have. To. Leave.”

“We need to know what’s going on-“ she argued back but Adrien cut her off.

“I’m not letting you inside, nor am I lifting you up onto my shoulders.”

Marinette pulled her best kitten eyes, Adrien was always better at doing so but from the look in his eyes it had worked, she watched him roll his eyes fully aware that he would regret this but agreed and lifted her up onto his shoulders.

Marinette peered into the office, Adrien held her in place as she balanced carefully on his shoulders. The thick bulletproof glass muffled any sound from within, she couldn’t make any of the words out. She tried reading lips but with Gabriel’s back turned that wasn’t going to happen. Gabriel was throwing papers around the office as Natalie tried her best to collect them all, he turned and Marinette was able to recognise ‘Adrien’s’ name on his lips. She leant forward to try and press her ear to the glass, Adrien let out a grunt trying to compensate for the sudden weight shift. The words were muffled but they were just clear enough for her to understand.

“I’m not releasing my first line back in Paris without my son, Natalie!”

“Sir, I’ve tried to-“

“Natalie I don’t pay you to try, I pay you to get results.”

Of course, they were arguing about fashion and not the thing Marinette wanted to hear about. Marinette ducked her head when Gabriel turned to one of the many windows, even though he wouldn’t be able to hear them she covered her mouth. Her heart raced as seconds ticked into minutes and Gabriel finally moved away from the windows, she looked back in to see that the two had left the room. She sighed and patted Adrien’s hand signalling him to put her down. He opened her mouth to ask her something but she shook her head, the only way they were going to find out what as happening inside that house was to go inside and Adrien had already made himself clear that that was not an option.

Marinette allowed herself to be dragged back to their rooftop. Adrien tossed all the items they had left on the roof back into the bags they had. Marinette looked back at the house, she scanned the windows of the office, a white flash shined through them.

“Adrien slow down,” she told him, pointing over at the windows.

He ignored her and continued what he was doing all the while his ring and her earring beeped there warning cries, they had been transformed longer than Marinette thought.

She snatched up her binoculars from the roof, she scanned the windows but found nothing. She sighed in defeat.

She didn’t protest when Adrien picked her up, although it had been years she maneuvered herself so that she wasn’t thrown over his shoulder but instead piggybacking him. it was a move they had done often when she was unfortunately struck by an Akuma and couldn’t in some way shape or form fight anymore. She adjusted her grip so that it was tighter around him. Marinette closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder. She had pushed Adrien way too far today, her mind wallowed in regret as he ran across the rooftops towards their apartment, she needed to apologise immediately.

“Adrien…”

“What?” he replied bitterly.

“I’m sorry… I- I shouldn’t have-“

“No you shouldn’t have, but-“ he slowed to a stop, he took a deep breath, “But I’m glad you did, I- I’ve grown too comfortable ignoring… Ignoring that house, ignoring my father and everything he has done but-“ he sighed and adjusted the way he was carrying Marinette, she waited for him to continue, “But next time- Next time don’t- don’t just rush in like that,” he explained.

“Like what?”

“You rushed in without a plan just think it through next time and don’t- never mind.”

“What?”

“It-“

“Say it,” she pressed.

He sighed in defeat, “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Okay… I promise.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He shifted her weight again before starting to move again.

Marinette started to rack her head for other ways to apologise, just saying it wasn’t enough for her she needed to show it. A plan began to form in her head, Video games and a home cooked meal play a central role. She smiled to herself, a small sketch of a plan became a full-blown painting. The large apartment building they called home slowly came into view over the horizon, she shifted slightly against him the closer they got, she was growing uncomfortable. Adrien’s boots hitting the floor of their small balcony was a welcome sound, he released his grip on her and she awkwardly slid off his back. Her earrings beeped their final warning and then released her from the magical suit and stripped her of her powers. Tikki rushed over to the cookie jar before Adrien could pull the brown paper bag full of fresh sweets he had just bought out of the backpack.

Marinette moved towards the kitchen already setting her plan into motion. She dug through the vegetables pulling out the ones she wanted and dumped them into a bowel.

“Marinette?” Adrien asked, the suit of the black cat was still barely clinging to his form, “what are you doing?”

“Apologising.”

“Marinette, I told you-“

“I know but I still feel like I need to apologise to you.”

“Mari-“

“Please,” she begged, “just let me do this for you.”

“Please.”

“Okay,” he replied defeatedly, “What else are you planning because you always plan more than one thing to apologise even when you don’t need to.”

“Video games,” she replied.

“Anything else?” he queried.

“If we have time.”

Marinette walked over to the sink to wash her hands before pulling over the bowel to peel the vegetables within.

“Anything I can do?” Adrien asked.

She shook her head, “No, I’ve got this covered.”

“I just… feel odd letting you do all the work.”

She shrugged her shoulders, “I really I don’t mind.”

“Here,” Adrien said, “It’ll get done quicker if I help and that way I won’t feel out of place watching you do all the work,” he explained moving into the kitchen.

She moved aside for him so he could wash his hands. He took the peeler and potato from her taking over the chore. Marinette took the opportunity to begin preparing the oven trays before pulling out the leg of lamb.

Marinette pushed the oven trays containing the lamb leg and the freshly cut vegetables into the warm oven. She pulled the old egg timer and twisted it all the way around, the startup sound to her old console echoed through into the kitchen, she smiled to herself as she immediately knew what game he had chosen. Newer versions had been released and they had both mastered them all but something kept drawing them back to the 3rd edition, maybe it was their childhood and how important of a role it played in them.

She removed the oven mitt from her hands placing them on the counter top, she slowly walked into the lounge room, their two Kwami’s sat on the coffee table, they were munching happily on their chosen foods. Marinette wandered over to the hamster cage, she opened it, her fingers brushed against Hamster Tikki’s fur, she chased the hamster around the cage for a little bit trying to pet the soft orange fur. She eventually gave up and placed the extra cut up carrots into the cage.

“So?” she asked sitting down next to him on the sofa, “Mecha III?”

“The one and only,” he replied, “Think you can beat me?”

She chuckled, “Adrien, you’re way too used to the newer controls,” she replied in a teasing tone.

“That's mean, Mari,” he pouted.

“Sorry Minou,” she picked up her custom controller, “You ready.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yep. Ready to win of course.”

“I’ll mourn your ego when you lose,” he teased.

The two went through the usual motions, selecting characters then eventually matching each other in every round. One might become easily bored with the constant struggle but the two relished in it. The constant struggle kept their minds sharp, it kept them aware, showed each other's weaknesses and where they needed to improve. Adrien stood up and cheered when his bot beat hers for the 3rd time in a row, she expertly hid her frustrations behind a smile, she stifled a yawn, sleeping on a rooftop wasn’t the best idea she had ever had. She glanced up at the clock on the wall to her right they had enough time for another round.

“One more round?” she asked.

Adrien nodded his head confidently, they were currently tied and he was on a winning streak there was no way he was going to say no. Adrien sat back down and started a new round, she paid it very little attention, her goal was elsewhere, slowly she lifted her legs up from the floor and up onto the sofa, Adrien didn’t notice, she moved her feet closer to his waist and then just as he was about to win she pushed her feet into his side and wiggled her toes, tickling him. He doubled over laughing and she quickly dealt as much damage as she possibly could while he was distracted. Marinette stopped her attack on him so he could see her prefer a devastating move on his bot crippling it.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Adrien stated barely above a whisper, he shakily raised his fist from his side.

Marinette smirked and raised her fist to his, “Bein Joue…”

“Bien Joue,” he replied, “I still can’t believe you cheated…”

“Dinner is about to be done,” she replied with a shrug.

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[crispychrissy]

The Hunter’s Baker

Summary: You decide to make dinner and dessert for The Winchesters, and your boyfriend Sam makes it even more fun. Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester Word Count: 3430 Warnings: FLUFF, sexual situations (no smut), graphic depictions of delicious food, messy kitchen? A/N: This was for @jayankles Bailey’s 1 Year Everything Challenge​! My prompt was “baking”. I love to cook and bake, and all of these recipes are classics. Congrats on being on here for a year, Bailey! I hope everyone enjoys and it doesn’t make you too hungry. :) Beta’d by the wonderful @queen-of-deans-booty, gif made by me!

Hunting with the Winchesters was always exciting. Facing demons, shapeshifters, and vampires on a daily basis was more than a job; it was a lifestyle. As with any career that begins to take over your life, the mundane tasks of cooking, laundry, and grocery shopping were never fun. Dean tends to enjoy doing laundry, much to yours and Sam’s bewilderment, while you always favored doing the cooking.

Sam and Dean found you after a witch broke into the restaurant you were a chef at to steal ingredients for a spell. You were working late to prepare for a private reception the following afternoon which had some exotic fish as the main dish and did not see the witch enter through the back door.

Thankfully the blow to the back of your head merely knocked you unconscious and didn’t do any permanent damage. Fortunately, the Winchesters found you in the kitchen after they scared the witch away… who knows what she would have done to you?

Once you came to in the Winchester’s motel room, they explained everything. They killed monsters for a living and the witch they scared off needed some ingredients you had stocked in your kitchen. Even though she left, they knew she would be back to continue looting the rest of the fish. You assisted the Winchesters in taking the witch down and in turn, they offered you a place in their family. You became best friends with Dean and began to date Sam.

Now here you were, putting the finishing touches on the shopping list for Sam before he does the grocery shopping. Sam always tried to get the healthiest things possible when he shopped, but with Dean living in the bunker, he could only get away with so many substitutions. Sam walked into the kitchen right as you finished putting the last ingredient on the list.

“You all set with the list, Y/N?” Sam asked, walking over and pulling you into a bone-crushing hug.

“Mhm. Try not to substitute the junk food this time. I don’t think I’ve seen Dean that grumpy before,” you said as you nuzzled into Sam’s chest.

Sam kissed the top of your head and pulled away, snatching the shopping list off the counter. He studied it intensely for a few moments before looking up at you and raising an eyebrow. “What’s all this for?”

“It’s the one-year anniversary since you and Dean saved me from that witch, and I want to celebrate. I’m going to be cooking a nice dinner and baking both of your favorite desserts. I may not be a chef anymore, but I know the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” you said.

Sam shot you his panty-melting dimpled smile and pulled you into another hug. “I’m so glad we found you. I’m so glad I found you.”

“Me, too, Sam,” you murmured into his chest.

“Alright, come on. None of that in the kitchen,” Dean’s voice interrupted your hug with Sam as he walked into the kitchen.

“Easy, Dean. Y/N’s cooking us a full course dinner with dessert tonight so you shouldn’t piss her off,” Sam replied to his brother as he released you from his arms.

“Oh, sweet! You’re cooking? Say no more. You guys can make out all you want in the kitchen,” Dean said, smiling.

“We weren’t making out, Dean.” You rolled your eyes at the older Winchester before leaning in towards Sam. “But I will be thanking you separately later on tonight.”

Sam chuckled and pulled you close to him, crashing his lips to yours. You patted him on the chest and broke away from the kiss, playfully shoving him toward the doorway. “Go! I have a lot of stuff to do and I need the ingredients on that list.”

Sam nodded and grabbed his coat off the seat in the kitchen before sprinting through the doorway toward the garage. You had a few ingredients already for Dean’s entrée, but Sam’s was going to have to wait. You decided on a prime rib with mashed potatoes for Dean and a chicken Caesar salad for Sam. You were going to make Dean a triple bacon cheeseburger with extra crispy French fries, but you know he would definitely appreciate the extra effort that comes with a prime rib.

Dean glanced at you as he leaned against the counter. “So what are you cooking?”

“It’s a surprise. I threw enough extra ingredients on that list that Sam won’t know what he’s getting either. Now shoo!” You stepped toward Dean and waved your hands at him.

“Come on, Y/N!” Dean whined like a seven-year-old. “Please?”

“Dean. You won’t want me to ruin the surprise.” He pouted as you spoke. “And don’t forget I have a collection of incredibly sharp knives and know how to quickly fillet meat down to the bone.”

Dean’s eyes went wide and he stepped away from the counter with his hands up. “Okay, okay. I’m gone.” He backed up and left, walking toward the library.

You smiled and preheated the oven before pulling out the bag of potatoes, placing ten of them in the kitchen sink and washing them. Once they were clean, you pulled out your phone. Ever since you were in culinary school, you loved playing music when you cooked. Chopping vegetables to the beat of the music helped you focus and in a way, you were making your own music along with the song.

“Alright, Bobby Darin. Let’s get to chopping,” you said to yourself as you hit play.

Bobby Darin’s song “Mack The Knife” poured from the speaker as you laid out the potatoes and some garlic and grabbed your favorite knife out of the storage roll. You began to chop potatoes and garlic to the beat of the song. You were going to make your famous garlic herb butter spread for the prime rib and you knew Dean would be in heaven.

You had already gotten the prime rib from a local butcher in Lebanon yesterday and hid it in the back of the fridge. The prime rib would take the longest, so you had to start it as soon as possible. You grabbed a bowl and mixed the garlic, rosemary, thyme, butter, salt and pepper together. You pulled out the prime rib and generously coated it in the butter spread. It smelled delicious already and you knew Dean’s mouth would be watering once he could smell it in the oven.

The oven clicked, notifying you that it was done preheating right when you heard the heavy footsteps of Sam’s boots coming from the hallway. You quickly plopped the prime rib on a rack in the pan and slipped it into the oven. You set the timer for thirty-five minutes as Sam walked in, his arms full of grocery bags.

“That was fast!” You turned off your music and rushed over, pulling some of the bags from his hands and setting them on the table.

“I was able to go to the corner market for all the ingredients instead of the grocery store,” Sam smiled at you before sniffing the air. “Mmm, that smells so good.”

“Well, I did have something else planned for you…but if you’re in the mood for some meat, they’ll be plenty to go around.” You winked at Sam who nodded in response before he began to put away the groceries.

“You’ll be getting some meat later on, Y/N,” Sam growled as he grabbed a handful of your ass and squeezed.

You yelped and spun around, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling at him. “I can’t wait. Do you want to help me make dessert?”

Sam captured your lips into a bruising kiss, swiping his tongue against your bottom lip, begging entry. You happily sighed and allowed him to explore your mouth as your tongues danced together. He groaned and grabbed the back of your thighs, hoisting you up so you were sitting on the counter. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer, but Sam unwrapped your legs and disengaged from your lips, causing you to whimper.

“Save it for later. If we keep going, I won’t be able to control myself and I’ll bend you over the counter right here,” Sam whispered as he pulled away from you.

You bit your lip as Sam adjusted the very evident bulge in his jeans and got back to putting away groceries. “So is that a yes on helping me with dessert?”

“You bet. What are we making?” Sam asked.

“A pecan pie for Dean and an apple pie for you,” you said, pushing yourself off the counter and walking toward the grocery bag containing the apples. You were thankful that the bunker had three separate ovens so the prime rib could cook along with the pies.

“Sounds amazing, honey. Let me know what you need me to do,” Sam said.

You handed him the bag of apples and the peeler. “Peel away, Sammy. I’m gonna get started on the pecan pie.”

Sam did a lazy salute and took the apples and peeler from you before walking over to the table. You turned back around and got a saucepan, butter, sugar, corn syrup, and corn starch. You combined them in the saucepan along with some water and mixed. You placed it on the stove and clicked it on. While that got to a boil, you got to work on the pie crust.

You opened the cupboard to grab your food processor when you saw it was moved on the highest shelf, out of your reach. You huffed, causing Sam to look up at you. You turned and pointed at the food processor. He smiled and shook his head before getting up. He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, causing you to squeak, and lifted you up so you could grab the processor.

“What would I do without my lovely giant of a boyfriend?” You smiled as he set you back down.

“You would grab a chair from the war room, but my way is more fun,” he said as he patted your head and sat back down.

“That it is,” you agreed as you plugged in the food processor and opened the top to load the ingredients in. First the flour, then the sugar, then a pinch of salt before you pulsed it a few times to mix it. You quickly cut up the butter into cubes and added some every few seconds, pulsing the machine after each addition. Once it was mixed, you slowly poured some cold water over the mixture and pulsed until it was almost the consistency of dry Play-Doh.

You sprinkled some flour and carefully dumped the dough on the counter, pressing it firmly down. You gathered it and squished it together before pressing it down again. You made a double batch, so you separated the dough into four piles once it was the correct consistency. You wrapped them each in plastic wrap and slid them into the freezer to chill right as the timer went off for the prime rib. You turned off the timer and set it again for an hour and a half and shut the oven off.

“You’re not taking it out?” Sam asked.

“Nope. It’s a roast, so it needs to... err… roast,” you shrugged, grabbing you knife and taking a seat across from Sam.

You began to chop the apples into slices for the pie, gathering them onto a plate. You slowed down your chopping when you noticed Sam staring at you.

“What?” You asked him.

“You’re amazing. I could watch you do anything for hours. I love you so much,” he said, smiling fondly at you.

“I love you too, Sam,” you smiled back at him. “You like watching me chop apples, huh?”

“Not just the apples. I love the little things you do,” he said, making you tilt your head in confusion before he continued. “I love how you situate each apple into sections so you chop efficiently. I love how your tongue peeks out of the side of your mouth when you chop or when you’re concentrating. I love how you’re organizing each apple slice in groups based on their size.”

You blushed and laughed softly, earning a dimpled smile from Sam.

“I’m serious, Y/N. You’re such an amazing woman and I knew I loved you right after you told us you wanted to help us kick that witch’s ass. Hell, you had Dean’s admiration the second you made him that grilled onion bacon cheeseburger.” Sam laughed at the memory of Dean almost crying of happiness at the taste of your famous burger.

“Joining you guys is the best decision I ever made. Even though you won’t let me actually hunt, I’m more than happy being your chef and researcher. And most importantly, I love being your girlfriend,” you blew a kiss at Sam.

He blew a kiss back at you before stealing an apple slice from the plate and eating it. He pointed at the stove to the saucepan and you quickly got up and moved it to the back of the stove to cool. You filled another pot with water and placed it on the burner. You pulled three of the pie crusts from the freezer and set them on the counter.

“Can you finish chopping the apples while I work on the pie crusts?” You asked Sam as you unwrapped the dough and took out two pie tins. He nodded and began chopping the remaining apples.

You sprinkled more flour on the counter and began to roll them out one by one. You only needed three because the pecan pie didn’t have a top crust, but it was nice to have an extra just in case. Once each crust was rolled out flat, you gently placed one in each tin and set it aside.

You passed Sam a bowl and some salt, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and flour. You slipped him the hand-written recipe from your collection so he could make the filling for the apple pie crust. It was your grandmother’s recipe and never disappointed when you made it.

“Mix it with your hands. It’s the best part.” You said and Sam nodded.

While Sam mixed the filling for the apple pie, you got a bowl and some eggs. You beat the eggs for a few minutes before slowly mixing in the slightly cooled syrup mixture. You grabbed the package of pecans and dumped them in a long with a pinch of salt and pure vanilla extract. You mixed it together before dumping the sticky concoction into one of the pie crusts.

“You ready for the apple filling?” Sam asked.

“Yup, bring it on over,” you said, pushing the empty pie crust toward the end of the counter.

Sam hooked his fingers under the edge of the bowl and brought it to the counter before pouring the mixture into the pie crust. He brought the bowl over to the sink and turned on the water to wash his hands. You smiled and swiped your hand through some of the flour on the counter. You spun around and landed a hard smack to Sam’s ass, leaving a nice white handprint right over the back pocket of his jeans. He jumped a little and looked over his shoulder at you.

You shrugged innocently. “It wasn’t me. It was a ghost. Bunker’s haunted.”

“Mhm. Haunted by a butt-slapping ghost, huh?” Sam dried his hands and turned around.

You recognized the mischievous look in his eyes and immediately made a break for the doorway to the war room. You weren’t fast enough as Sam’s arm quickly wrapped around your waist and pulled you back toward him. He slapped each one of his hands into the flour, keeping you from running by wrapping his legs around yours. Once you stopped squirming, he grabbed both of your breasts in his hands and squeezed, leaving two giant white handprints in flour on your shirt.

“Perfect,” he muttered before bending down and kissing you.

“Yeah you are.” You mumbled against his lips before turning around and getting the top crust ready for the apple pie. You carefully placed the flattened dough over the top of the apple pie and pinched the edges, sealing it. You took one of your knives and sliced uniform cuts along the top of the pie before gathering them both in your hands and walking to the oven.

“Alright, these need to bake and they should be done by the time the main course is ready. I need to work on the potatoes now. Go ahead and help Dean in the library, okay? I’ll let you know when it’s ready,” you said, gently pushing Sam toward the doorway.

“I will. Love you,” Sam said before planting another kiss on your lips and walking out to the library.

You brushed some of the flour off your shirt and then dumped the potatoes into the pot of water. You smiled when you saw Sam got the cream cheese you asked for. It was the secret ingredient in your mashed potatoes. It made them so creamy and delectable.

Once the potatoes were perfectly tender, you drained them and dumped them into a bowl. You added some cream cheese, milk, and some softened butter you had left out from earlier. You began to vigorously mash the mixture using a potato masher until it was smooth and creamy. You set the bowl on the top of the oven to keep it warm and set the table with plates, forks, and knives before joining the boys in the library.

You were several chapters into a book on Roman deities when the timer on your phone rang, letting you know the prime rib and the pies were done. You clapped your hands together and told the boys to wait there, making Dean groan in disapproval.

Once in the kitchen, you removed the pies and prime rib from the oven and clicked them all off. You grabbed the mashed potatoes and three beers before setting them on the table. You began to cut the prime rib when you called out, telling Dean and Sam you were ready. Dean practically sprinted from the library into the kitchen, his eyes going wide when he saw the prime rib.

“Ohhh my Chuck. Is that prime rib?” Dean asked, taking a seat at the table, his eyes not leaving the hunk of meat.

“It is indeed,” you turned to Sam. “Can you take over so I can make the gravy?”

Sam nodded and took over, leaving you to the gravy. You poured the drippings from the pan into a saucepan on the stove. You mixed in some flour and beef stock until it began to boil. You removed it from the heat and brought it over to the table where both boys were waiting patiently for you to return, a generous helping of meat on each plate.

“This looks amazing, thank you so much, Y/N,” Dean said, scooping a large spoonful of mashed potatoes on his plate before drowning it in gravy.

“But wait, there’s more!” You said, getting up and grabbing both pies. You showed Dean, earning a giant smile from him, before setting them both on the corner of the counter and returning to your seat next to Sam.

“You marry her, Sammy. You marry her right now,” Dean said, pointing his fork at you.

You and Sam chuckled and scooped some mashed potatoes onto your plates. You looked up at Dean, who had his mouth full and was making borderline pornographic noises while chewing his prime rib, then looked at Sam, who was shaking his head at his brother while he scooped up a portion of mashed potatoes. You smiled, raising your beer bottle in a toast, causing both brothers to drop their forks and mimic you.

“To one year of a new family, a new love, and hopefully an everlasting friendship,” you said before clinking your bottle with the boys and taking a sip.

You all ate, sharing stories of previous hunts, and laughing at how fast Dean inhaled his meal. You made up some fresh whipped cream for Dean when he was ready for pie. He scarfed down the pie and then pulled you into a hug and whispered that he was so happy you were in his and his brother’s life.

Who knew that waking up in a motel room after being knocked unconscious by a witch would be the start of the best part of your life?