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gainercontent · 5 months ago

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The Naughty List - Part 1

It was Christmas Eve, and 20-year-old Jason Price was in his usual rebellious mood. As the snow fell gently outside, blanketing the small suburban neighborhood in a layer of white, Jason lounged on his couch in a dark hoodie, earbuds securely in place, blasting music that was anything but festive. The rest of his family had gathered in the kitchen, baking cookies and humming carols, but Jason wasn’t having any of it.

For years now, he'd grown cynical about Christmas. The magic he once believed in had been replaced with indifference and apathy. He hadn't cared about Santa Claus in ages, and to him, the holiday was just another marketing ploy to make people buy things they didn’t need. He never cared for the usual Christmas cheer—family gatherings, gift exchanges, the whole “being together” thing. In his mind, the whole season was just one big commercialized joke.

To make matters worse, Jason had learned that he was on Santa’s naughty list this year. Not that he cared; he’d long stopped worrying about whether or not he got presents. His rebellious nature had only grown over the years, and he wore it like a badge of honor. Sure, he’d gotten a few reminders from his parents, and even a half-hearted lecture about “the Christmas spirit,” but he had rolled his eyes and shrugged them off. If Santa didn’t like it, well, that was his problem.

The house was quiet, except for the sound of Christmas music drifting from the kitchen. Jason scrolled through his phone, avoiding the festivities and ignoring his family’s attempts to engage him. His mom had baked a fresh batch of gingerbread cookies, filling the house with the sweet, warm smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, and molasses. But Jason wasn’t in the mood for any of it. He wasn’t interested in the cookies, the hot cocoa, or even the Christmas tree standing tall in the corner of the living room, its lights twinkling with innocent holiday joy.

He tossed a glance toward the window. The world outside was still, save for the occasional flurry of snowflakes that danced in the light from the streetlamps. Everything felt like it was frozen in time, caught between the present and the past, and Jason couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t belong in this world of traditions anymore.

Suddenly, a strange noise broke his focus.

**Thud.**

It wasn’t the sound of a car driving by, or even the wind against the windows. It was too heavy, too deliberate. Jason sat up, pulling out his earbuds and staring at the ceiling as the sound came again.

**Thud.**

A faint rustle, like something—or someone—was shifting on the roof.

Jason furrowed his brow, rubbing his eyes. What the hell was that? He’d heard noises on the roof before—possibly squirrels or the occasional raccoon—but this was different. The thuds were slow, steady. Almost rhythmic.

**Thud. Thud.**

He shot a glance at the clock. It was well past midnight. His parents had long gone to bed, and there was no one else in the house. It was just him and the sound of whatever was walking—or stomping—on the roof.

Jason got to his feet and cautiously moved toward the window, pulling back the heavy curtains just enough to peer outside. The yard was still—no one was out there. The sky was dark and clouded, and the only light was from the moon reflecting off the snow. He listened again, straining his ears for any sign of movement, but the thudding had stopped.

Confused and a bit unnerved, Jason shook his head. "Stupid raccoons," he muttered under his breath. He was about to turn away when a faint, sweet scent reached his nose.

The smell of freshly baked cookies.

It was the same warm, spicy smell of his mom’s gingerbread cookies. But it wasn’t coming from the kitchen. Jason’s eyes widened as he looked toward the staircase. He could smell it more strongly now, wafting down the hall.

“Mom?” he called, but his voice was hoarse from sleep, barely a whisper.

No answer. His parents were definitely asleep—he would have heard them if they were up. Still, Jason’s feet moved almost on their own, pulling him into the hallway, the smell growing stronger as he passed the kitchen and toward the living room. But the cookies... weren’t coming from the kitchen. They were coming from the fireplace.

His breath caught in his throat. The fireplace.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he was paying attention, it was almost as if the whole room seemed... different. The Christmas tree lights were flickering in a way that made him feel dizzy. A low hum seemed to fill the air, almost like a song playing beneath everything else.

Jason took a hesitant step toward the fireplace. The hearth was cold, empty—nothing unusual. The chimney was clear, but that strange scent—those gingerbread cookies—lingered in the air like an invitation.

He was about to turn away when, out of nowhere, there was a loud **CRASH** from the roof.

This time, it wasn’t a thud or a rustle. It was a full-on slam, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps—big, heavy boots thumping down onto the chimney.

Jason froze. This wasn’t a raccoon. Or a squirrel.

Suddenly, the air in the living room grew thick with a strange energy, and the lights flickered once more before going completely out. For a moment, the house was plunged into darkness. Jason’s heart raced as he stood there, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Then, from the other side of the room, there was a noise—a deep, heavy breath, like someone exhaling after a long day of hard work.

Jason’s stomach dropped as he realized: something—or *someone*—was in his house.

He didn’t have time to react before the sound of boots against wood echoed down the stairs. A heavy, jolly laugh filled the space, reverberating in the room.

“Ho, ho, ho!”

Jason’s mind went blank. He couldn’t believe his ears. Standing in the doorway, just beyond the shadows of the hallway, was a large figure dressed in red. A thick, snowy white beard covered his face, and his eyes twinkled in a way that made Jason feel as though he was staring at something from a dream.

There was no mistaking it. It was Santa Claus.

The old man looked at him with a knowing smile. “Well, well, well, Jason Price. You’re still awake?”

Jason could only stand there, his mouth hanging open. His head spun, trying to make sense of what was happening. “Santa...?” he managed to stammer.

Santa chuckled, adjusting the massive sack over his shoulder. “I see you’re on my naughty list this year, young man. But don’t worry, I’ve got something special for you.”

Before Jason could say another word, Santa reached into his sack and pulled out a plate of warm, freshly baked cookies. The same ones that filled the house with their intoxicating scent. He held them out to Jason, his eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and understanding.

"You’ve been a little too rebellious, haven’t you? Maybe it’s time to find some balance."

Jason stood there, speechless. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t the Christmas he’d been expecting.

With a deep breath, Jason took the plate of cookies. As he did, he realized something—the world outside, the cold, snowy night, and the strange magic filling his house, felt like a new beginning. Maybe being on the naughty list wasn’t the end of it all. Maybe, just maybe, there was something to be learned about Christmas after all.

Jason stood in the middle of the living room, still in disbelief at what was happening. Santa Claus, the jolly old man in red, had just handed him a plate of fresh gingerbread cookies, their spicy scent filling the room and tantalizing his senses. It didn’t seem real—none of it did. But there was Santa, smiling knowingly at him as if he’d been expecting Jason all along.

“Go on,” Santa said with a twinkle in his eye. “Try one. It’s part of the magic, you know.”

Jason hesitated. His stomach, still a little uneasy from all the holiday food he’d already eaten, growled at the prospect of another treat. But despite himself, the cookies looked too delicious to pass up. He picked up one of the small, perfectly shaped gingerbread men, still warm from the oven.

Santa leaned back slightly, his large belly shaking as he chuckled. “Ah, don’t worry, they’re not just cookies. They’ve got a little bit of magic in them. And trust me, they’ll change things for you.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, looking down at the cookie. The idea of magic seemed ludicrous—he wasn’t a little kid anymore, after all. But the cookie smelled so good, and for some reason, he couldn’t resist. He took a bite, letting the sweetness wash over his tongue. The spices, the warmth, the soft crumble of the cookie—it was like nothing he’d ever tasted before.

At first, there was just a sense of satisfaction. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he chewed, feeling the holiday warmth spread through him. But then, something strange happened.

A **tingling sensation** spread from his stomach outward, radiating through his limbs like a wave of warmth. Jason froze, feeling a strange tightness around his waist. His jeans, which were already snug after a day of indulgence, suddenly felt even tighter. His stomach rumbled—not from hunger, but from something else, something *different*.

He looked down in disbelief, his hand instinctively reaching for his midsection.

Jason blinked, his breath catching in his throat. He could feel it—his clothes were tighter, the waistband of his jeans digging into his belly, and his shirt was now stretching across his chest and stomach. He hadn’t imagined it. It was real. He’d just gained weight. Right there, in the span of a few seconds.

Santa, who had been watching him closely, broke into a warm grin.

“Magic cookies,” Santa explained, his voice as jolly as ever. “Each one makes you gain 10 pounds. I can see you’re starting to understand the magic now.”

Jason’s mouth went dry. “Wait... what?” He stepped back, his mind racing. “You mean... this is real? I just gained 10 pounds in like... a minute?”

Santa chuckled heartily, his belly shaking. “Indeed. Those cookies are no ordinary sweets, my boy. They come from the North Pole, crafted in the heart of the workshop, and they’re a part of my gift for those on the naughty list.”

Jason’s mind was spinning. "But why? Is this your way of punishing me?"

Santa waved his hand dismissively, his eyes gleaming. “No, no, it’s not about punishment. It’s about balance. You’ve been living with too much stubbornness, too much defiance. These cookies are a way to teach you a little lesson about... well, about how good things can come from unexpected places.”

Jason stared at him, still not fully comprehending what was happening. His belly was already feeling heavier, the pressure of the extra weight making him uncomfortably aware of his body. He could feel it in his limbs, in his posture—the slight shift in his center of gravity, the tightness of his clothes.

“So... every cookie I eat—what, I get fatter?” Jason asked, incredulous.

Santa gave him a knowing look. “Not just fatter, my boy. You gain weight in a way that mirrors the choices you make. Each bite reflects the way you approach life, and how much you’re willing to let go of your pride, your ego, and embrace something a little more... *sweet*.”

Jason looked at the plate in his hands. The other cookies were so tempting, so warm, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to keep going down this strange, magical rabbit hole. He’d already felt the effects of the first bite. His jeans were visibly tighter, the waistband straining against the added weight. He could feel his stomach protruding a little more, his face flushed as he glanced at Santa in confusion.

“Don’t worry,” Santa said softly, as if reading Jason’s mind. “You don’t have to eat them all at once. But you should know—you *will* feel the effects. If you keep eating, your body will change. But it’s your choice, Jason. You’re not forced to indulge in the magic if you don’t want to.”

Jason swallowed hard, looking down at the cookie in his hand, then back up at Santa. There was something undeniably *inviting* about it. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt like the right thing to do in the moment. Maybe he could let go of his defiance, even if just for a while. Maybe he could try something new, something he’d never considered before.

“Just one more,” he muttered to himself, almost against his better judgment.

Santa gave him an approving nod. “Ah, good choice. A small step toward a new understanding. Go ahead.”

Jason, a mix of curiosity and temptation swirling in his chest, picked up another cookie. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He bit into it, feeling the warmth and the magic all over again.

Almost immediately, the tingling sensation returned, this time more intense. His stomach seemed to expand as if it were a balloon being inflated. His pants, which were already tight, seemed to fit even more snugly around his hips. His chest felt fuller, as though his body were adjusting to the new weight with an almost *unnatural* rapidity.

He wasn’t sure if it was the magic or his own choices catching up with him, but as the pressure in his belly increased, Jason could only stare at Santa with wide eyes.

“Okay, that’s... that’s enough,” Jason said, trying to steady himself as his balance shifted. But even as he spoke, the strange sense of satisfaction grew stronger. He felt fuller, heavier, but oddly more *content* than he’d ever felt in his rebellious, defiant existence.

Jason looked down at himself. He didn’t know how much weight he’d gained this time, but the sensation was undeniable. He couldn’t ignore the tightness in his shirt or the weight of his stomach. It was clear that he was becoming a different version of himself with every bite, both physically and, in some strange way, emotionally.

“You’ve learned a lot tonight,” Santa said, his voice kind but firm. “But remember—there’s always room for change. Christmas can be magic, but only if you let it.”

Jason stared at the remaining cookies on the plate, still warm and tempting. His stomach was already uncomfortably full, and he could feel the pressure in his waistband increasing with every passing second. He was getting heavier, and each bite seemed to make the weight more apparent, pushing against his clothes, straining his chest, and making him feel like his body was no longer his own.

He looked up at Santa, who was watching him with that infuriatingly knowing grin, as though he’d anticipated Jason’s every move.

“I think I’m done,” Jason muttered, trying to push the plate away. The first two cookies had been enough—too much, in fact. He was starting to regret even eating the first one, feeling the weight settle around his stomach and chest. But the strange part was... he didn’t *hate* it.

His belly groaned beneath his shirt, a reminder of the two cookies already devoured. It was so full now that the idea of eating any more seemed impossible. Yet, there was something about the air in the room that made him hesitate. It was as if there was an invisible pull toward the cookies, a magnetic force he couldn’t quite explain.

“No more cookies for me, Santa,” Jason said firmly, setting the plate on the coffee table, but even as he spoke, his stomach rumbled loudly, almost as if protesting his decision.

Santa chuckled softly, stepping forward with a gleam in his eye. “Oh, Jason. I think you *might* be mistaken.”

Jason's brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Santa placed a finger on his chin thoughtfully. Then, in a flash, he poked Jason’s belly—just a light tap, right on the soft, bloated area just below his ribs.

**Poke!**

Jason gasped. The instant Santa’s finger made contact with his stomach, a strange sensation flooded his body. His belly seemed to *deflate* for a second. It wasn’t just that the pressure lessened—it was like the food had disappeared. The bloating, the fullness, it all seemed to vanish in an instant, leaving him feeling... strangely empty.

And then, the hunger hit.

A powerful wave of gnawing emptiness swept over him. His stomach growled, louder than before, a deep, almost painful rumble that seemed to echo in the quiet room. Jason’s eyes widened in shock as the hunger intensified, his gut aching with the need for more food. The pangs were so loud, so insistent, that they drowned out everything else around him.

Jason's hand went instinctively to his stomach, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if he could somehow keep the sensation at bay. But the hunger didn’t stop. It was as if his body was screaming for food, his insides hollow, desperate for more.

“What the hell—?” Jason breathed, his voice shaking.

Santa just watched him, still grinning, his arms crossed over his chest. “I warned you, Jason. Every bite of these magic cookies does more than just fill your stomach. It changes how you feel. It alters your desires. And now... you can’t stop. You *need* another bite.”

Jason’s hands trembled as he looked at the plate, the third cookie sitting there innocently, just waiting for him to take it. His mind screamed at him not to do it. He didn’t want to eat another cookie. Not now, not after what had already happened.

But the hunger... the gnawing, relentless hunger in his gut... It wouldn’t stop. His body wanted it. Desperately.

“No...” Jason muttered, shaking his head. “I don’t need another cookie. I *don’t*.”

But the moment he said it, the hunger seemed to intensify. His stomach growled so loudly it nearly rattled his ribcage. The pressure returned in full force, and before he knew it, Jason was hunched over, clutching his stomach as if he could somehow stop it.

Santa watched him for a moment longer, his eyes full of knowing mischief. “I think it’s time for the third one, Jason. The hunger can’t be ignored, no matter how much you try.”

Jason’s resistance was faltering. He didn’t want to eat, didn’t want to give in to this strange magic. But his body was betraying him. He was too hungry, too empty, and the cookies were too close.

In a moment of weakness, Jason reached for the third cookie. It felt like an almost automatic response, his hand moving before his mind could even catch up. He didn’t want to, but his body needed it. Desperately.

Santa’s grin widened as Jason took the cookie and, without a second thought, bit into it.

As soon as the warm cookie hit his tongue, Jason could feel it—more than just the sweet flavor. His body reacted instantly. The warmth spread through him like a shock, and that empty sensation he’d felt only moments ago vanished, replaced with an overwhelming fullness. But this time, the fullness was different. It felt deeper. He could feel his stomach stretching, his pants tightening around his waist, and yet... it wasn’t painful. It was almost *comfortable*, in a strange, indulgent way.

Jason’s shirt grew tighter as he chewed, his chest expanding slightly with every bite. He could feel the extra weight settling on his body, his stomach swelling visibly beneath his shirt. With each bite, it was like he was ballooning outward, the weight accumulating rapidly.

He didn’t even notice how much he’d eaten, how much his body had changed until he looked down. His stomach, already soft and heavy, was now noticeably larger, pushing against the waistband of his jeans. His shirt strained to cover the growing mound of flesh beneath it, and the tightness in his pants was unmistakable.

Santa observed the transformation, his eyes gleaming with approval. “There it is, Jason. Just let go. Embrace it.”

Jason’s hands gripped his belly as if to hold the weight in place, but it was no use. He had given in. The hunger had won.

But something else was happening now. Jason felt a strange, euphoric warmth spreading through his body. It wasn’t just the cookies that were filling him; it was the feeling of *acceptance*. He could almost hear the soft hum of magic surrounding him, as though the cookies had done more than just make him fat. They had somehow made him *feel* full—complete.

Jason swallowed, feeling the heaviness in his stomach, and for the first time, he felt something that wasn’t just hunger or defiance. He felt... *satisfied*.

Jason had barely finished the third magic cookie when he felt an overwhelming shift in his body. At first, it was subtle—just a slight tightness in his stomach, like it had been stretched to its limits. But it didn’t stop there.

The first thing Jason noticed was the pressure around his midsection. His jeans, which had already been snug before, felt almost painfully tight now, digging into his waist. His stomach, once slightly bloated from the previous cookies, had ballooned out significantly, pushing against the fabric of his shirt, the soft fabric straining to contain his expanding form.

His chest had broadened too, his ribcage seeming to expand with every breath. As he looked down, his belly had swollen outward, a soft but firm mound of flesh that jutted noticeably past his waistline. The buttons of his shirt were pulling at the seams, and the waistband of his jeans was digging into his lower belly, the skin a little pink from the pressure. He could almost feel the weight accumulating beneath his hands as they hovered over the growing mass.

Each intake of breath made him acutely aware of how much he had consumed, and the feeling of fullness washed over him in waves. His belly had become an undeniable presence now, a heavy, rounded expanse that clung tightly to his body. It was as if every inch of his skin was occupied by this new weight, the feeling of it seeping into his legs, his arms, his chest. He wasn’t sure how much he had gained in total, but it was clear that his body had changed significantly with each magical bite.

But as he sat there, dazed from the strange magic, he realized that the hunger still hadn’t fully left him. His stomach rumbled again—louder, deeper than before. It was like a growl that reverberated through his entire body, leaving him feeling *empty* despite the vast amount of food he’d just consumed.

And then, before he could even process what was happening, Santa raised his hand with a knowing smile. The plate of cookies seemed to levitate, the two remaining gingerbread men sliding across the table toward Jason.

Jason blinked. “Wait, what?” he said, still reeling from the effects of the last three cookies. But it was too late—the cookies were already in his hands, as if they’d been beckoned by some invisible force.

Santa's voice was calm, his tone warm. “You didn’t think it would stop at three, did you, Jason? The magic works in ways you can't predict, but now that you're here, it's almost a part of you. Go ahead... just one more bite.”

Jason’s hands trembled as he held the cookie in front of him. The pressure in his stomach was intense, a reminder of the weight he was already carrying. The thought of eating another one should have made him want to stop, but that gnawing emptiness still lingered in his gut, an insatiable, magnetic pull. His eyes traced the cookie’s edges, the sugary glaze gleaming in the soft glow of the Christmas lights. It was impossible to ignore.

Without fully realizing what he was doing, Jason took the first bite of the fourth cookie. His body immediately reacted, that same sensation flooding through him—the warmth, the magic, the sense of immediate satisfaction, and yet, at the same time, a deepening hunger.

His stomach seemed to lurch, pushing outward with the added weight. The softness of his belly was now undeniable, the expanse of flesh that had once been confined beneath his shirt now visible as it pressed outward, expanding beneath his hands.

Santa watched him, still smiling. "The magic doesn’t just fill you—it *changes* you, Jason. Every bite is a step toward something new. Something different.”

Jason couldn’t speak as the second cookie was placed into his hands. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He bit into it almost greedily, as if his body needed it. The flavor hit him all at once—spicy, sweet, with a warmth that spread from his mouth to his belly.

And as soon as the cookie entered his system, he felt the unmistakable weight of it.

His belly, already massive from the previous cookies, grew further—his stomach expanding with a slow but undeniable pressure. The tightness around his waist was almost unbearable, the waistband of his jeans digging in, as if threatening to burst. His shirt stretched across his chest, pulling tight over the soft, swollen mound of his stomach. The feeling of fullness had become almost overwhelming, as though his body had reached its absolute limit.

And yet, it wasn’t over.

Jason felt a deep, parched thirst suddenly wash over him. His throat felt dry, his mouth cottony. The hunger had finally receded, replaced by an almost desperate need for something to drink.

Without thinking, Jason reached for the glass of whole milk Santa had left on the table. The cool, white liquid seemed like the only thing that could quench the fire in his throat.

He brought the glass to his lips and began drinking, each gulp feeling like it was soothing something inside him. The cold milk seemed to settle in his stomach, cooling the heat from the cookies, and for a brief moment, he felt a little relief. But as he drank, his stomach continued to react to the magic in his body.

The pressure inside him was no longer just physical. His body was growing heavier with each swallow, his stomach expanding and stretching with the milk, the cookies, and the magic working its way through him. The fullness in his body wasn’t just in his belly anymore—it was in his arms, his legs, his chest. Jason could feel the weight of it spreading through him, sinking into his bones, his skin. He was *growing* with every bite, every gulp.

The milk, thick and rich, slid down his throat easily, but with every swallow, he could feel the weight of the magic pushing him further, making him feel more bloated, more *filled*. His body felt like it was expanding not just with food, but with *everything*. The magic was seeping into every part of him.

Finally, after Jason finished the milk, he let the glass slip from his hand. His stomach was so full now that it felt like it might burst. He leaned back into the couch, the weight of his belly pressing against his legs. He was *huge*—his shirt now clung to his swollen stomach, unable to cover the full expanse. His pants, once comfortably snug, now felt like they were cutting into his flesh. The waistband dug painfully into his soft belly, the fabric stretching in ways it wasn’t meant to. He couldn’t even move without feeling the tightness, the heaviness in every part of him.

Santa watched all of this unfold, a satisfied look on his face. “You’re learning, Jason. The magic isn’t about controlling you; it’s about showing you how to embrace what’s already inside of you.”

Jason could barely focus on Santa’s words, his mind fogged by the overwhelming sensation of his body. His stomach was so distended, so *full*, that all he could do was sit there, helpless against the pull of the magic. The once rebellious, defiant Jason had surrendered to it, his body irrevocably changed, his appetite insatiable.

Jason let out a loud, unintentional burp as he leaned back into the couch, the pressure in his overstuffed stomach making the sound escape from him. It was so loud, so sudden, that it echoed in the quiet room, a perfect, embarrassing punctuation to the magical meal he had just consumed.

"Excuse me," he muttered sheepishly, though a part of him was too full and too dazed to really care about the manners he normally would’ve worried about. His stomach was so large now that the idea of sitting up or moving was almost laughable. Every inch of his body felt stretched, as though he was on the verge of bursting from the sheer volume of food he had taken in.

Santa chuckled at the sound, an amused glint in his eyes as he looked at Jason’s swollen form. The old man’s gaze shifted down to Jason’s belly, now a soft, round mound pressing against his shirt. It was clear that Jason had eaten well—too well—and now, he was feeling the full force of that magic.

Jason sighed deeply, rubbing his hands over his belly as it grumbled, still not fully content despite the massive intake. It wasn’t just a growl anymore, it was an ache—one that he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he tried to distract himself.

"I’m... I’m going to go back upstairs to bed," Jason muttered, his voice thick from the fullness in his stomach. He could feel the weight of the cookies pressing down on him, and though he had no desire to move, he knew he had to. His body felt like it had been stretched to its limits, and sleep seemed like the only reprieve from the intense pressure he felt within.

Santa grinned, watching Jason shift uncomfortably on the couch. "You’re going to need a little more than just bed to recover from all this magic, Jason."

Before Jason could protest, Santa’s gloved hand reached out and poked Jason’s bloated stomach lightly. The action was playful, but the effect was instant. Jason gasped, his belly jumping at the poke, a shudder of sensation running through him. The pressure that had been building seemed to momentarily *shift* as his belly responded, like a balloon inflating and deflating under his shirt.

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Jason said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll try to be better next year. But… can I just go to bed now? I feel like I’m going to explode.”

Santa stood up, his merry eyes twinkling as he patted Jason gently on the belly, a soft tap that felt like the final nudge to keep him in place. “You’ve done enough, Jason. Just remember—next year, you’d better be on the nice list if you want to avoid more *magic cookies*. The world can only handle so much Christmas spirit, you know.”

Jason gave a tired but sincere nod, rubbing his now-aching belly. “Yeah, yeah… I’ll be good, I promise.”

With that, he pushed himself slowly to his feet, feeling the weight of his stomach shift as he stood, and made his way toward the stairs. Every step was a little slower than usual, his body heavy, swollen, and full. But it was Christmas, after all. He had indulged in the magic, and now, all he wanted was to sleep it off.

Before he disappeared up the stairs, he turned to glance back at Santa, who was still standing by the tree, watching him with that playful smile.

“Merry Christmas, Jason,” Santa said, his voice full of warmth.

Jason nodded, a smile tugging at his lips despite the discomfort. “Merry Christmas, Santa. And… thanks for the cookies.”

Santa’s eyes twinkled, his voice low and full of mirth. “Don’t mention it, kid. Just remember, no more naughty behavior next year.”

Jason was already regretting every bite as he made his way up the stairs. It wasn’t just the slow, lumbering pace of his steps, but the deep, weighted feeling of his body. Every movement felt heavier, every step more sluggish than the last. He had never felt so *slow* before. His legs seemed to protest with each step, the weight of the magic cookies settling into his body like a dense, unshakable fog.

Fifty extra pounds felt like a mountain on his frame—his stomach, still swollen from the five cookies and glass of milk, jutted out in front of him like a balloon. It was soft, round, and *massive*, and with every step he took, it seemed to pull down on him, making his movements even more labored. His shirt stretched uncomfortably across his chest, and his waistband was cutting into his belly, the fabric straining against the sheer size of him.

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, Jason was panting, exhausted from the simple effort of going up. He stopped in front of the bathroom mirror, his reflection hitting him like a slap.

The sight of himself was almost foreign—his once lean frame had been completely transformed. His belly now looked like it was carrying a small beach ball in it. His shirt clung tightly to his swollen gut, the fabric stretched to its limits. Jason’s chest had widened as well, and his arms, once muscular but lean, now seemed thick and heavy, filled with the extra weight that had accumulated over the course of the night. His pants, which used to fit comfortably, were now pinching at the waist, the fabric pulling tight against his thickened thighs and hips.

Jason stared at himself for a moment, taking it all in. His face looked rounder too, a soft flush of color on his cheeks, as if the weight had even settled there. His lips parted, a silent exhale escaping as he looked down at his bloated belly once more, still feeling the pressure build, almost as if he had more room to grow. The fullness inside him was so intense that he could hear his own stomach growling softly, even though he knew he couldn’t possibly eat another thing.

“God, this is insane,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. The discomfort was real, but so was the strange sensation of satisfaction—like he’d just indulged in something he couldn't control. Magic had a way of making everything *feel* so much more intense. And now, he had no choice but to live with the results.

With a sigh, Jason turned away from the mirror, giving his stomach a gentle rub as if comforting the weight inside him. He felt his body shift, a slight jiggle in his belly as he moved toward his bedroom. It was impossible to ignore the strain on his clothes, or the constant pressure on his stomach, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

He collapsed onto his bed, the soft mattress groaning under his new weight. The cool sheets felt nice against his warm skin, but his stomach was too tight, too swollen to allow him to get comfortable. He shifted a bit, but his belly was so large now that it wouldn’t let him relax fully.

Just as he was about to close his eyes and try to forget about the strange night he’d had, a familiar scent wafted through the room. It was faint at first, but unmistakable—the sweet, warm smell of freshly baked cookies. Jason’s eyes popped open, his heart skipping a beat.

“No way…” he murmured, lifting his head from the pillow to sniff the air more intently. The scent was drifting in from somewhere. The familiar, inviting aroma of gingerbread, sugar, and spice. It wasn’t just in his mind, he could *smell* it.

Jason groaned, his stomach grumbling again, this time from something more than just fullness. It was that same deep, empty hunger he had felt earlier—magically induced, of course—but it was so overwhelming that he almost couldn’t fight it. His body *wanted* more.

His eyes darted toward the door, half-expecting Santa to appear, carrying another plate of magic cookies. He could already picture them—those warm, sugary treats, the kind that filled him with a sense of indulgence and the promise of more weight, more fullness.

The thought alone was enough to make him sit up, but the pressure in his belly made him stop. He didn’t know if he could take more, but the smell—*oh, the smell*—was so tempting, so irresistible.

He groaned and turned over onto his side, clutching at his belly, trying to settle himself down. *Not again,* he told himself. *I’ve had enough for one night.*

But the scent was still there. Faint, but lingering. And Jason realized, with a sinking feeling, that no matter how much he tried to ignore it, that magic had already sunk deep into his bones. It wasn’t just in his body—it was in his mind too.

With a frustrated sigh, Jason closed his eyes again, trying to push away the hunger, the pull of that magic.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that the next time he smelled those cookies, he might not be able to resist. The thought made him shudder, even as he drifted off to sleep, his body still heavy and full, his stomach aching from the weight of what he had already consumed.

Part 2 will be posted on December 25th

#belly gainer #male gaining #gaining kink #christmasgains

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espace--positif · 5 months ago

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A Taste of Home

A Zayne x Reader Shortfic [Love and Deepspace]

Summary: Perhaps all things did eventually have to end. This dreamlike holiday season certainly would. But for now, you could allow yourself to savor each moment, one cookie at a time. Pairing: Zayne x Reader WC: ~1.7k Content tags: holiday fluff, domestic fluff, baking, humor, implied sex

Read on AO3 // Masterlist

A sweet, spicy, and warm aroma wafted through the apartment, coaxing you away from the article plastered on your computer screen. It was an unmistakable scent — Zayne was baking again. Your stomach rumbled in response to the call of the delicious scent. Your eyes lingered on line after line of text as you tried to wrangle yourself back into focus, your feet already swinging away from the desk towards his bedroom’s doorframe. It had become your bedroom too, over the last few days.

It was meant to be a single movie night at his apartment to commemorate the holidays and the first evening you’d been able to spend together in weeks. You’d been missing him terribly, and you didn’t need to guess whether he’d felt the same — he’d paused the movie mere minutes after the title screen, and you’d made up for the lost time by getting lost in each other, moments of bliss punctuated by heated kisses full of longing and fervor as snow piled softly outside. And you’d stayed the next morning, and the next, until the days blurred into one, like an unending dream.

You knew that this blissful time would come to an end, of course, as all things did, when the haze of the holiday season would inevitably dissipate and you’d be thrown back into your usual routine. That arduous routine that would find you facing wanderers and him performing tedious surgeries, away from each other. But for the moment, you’d let yourself grow comfortable in the constancy of his presence, let yourself grow accustomed to the somewhat cold and austere decor of these halls that betrayed none of the warmth they made you feel.

You’d injected some of that warmth in yourself, in the form of bright, neatly weaved garlands of LED lights you’d hung up on any wall that could accommodate them, and pillowy soft fake snow you’d set underneath the tiny — and also fake — tree you’d been surprised to find Zayne had already put up near the decorative fireplace. You’d lightly goaded him on his unexpected display of a festive spirit as you laid out the cotton candy-like snow, an observation he’d dodged by rebutting that he could have made more believable fake snow using his Evol. You’d quipped that actually decorating was half the fun. And besides, you enjoyed leaving small marks of yourself in his apartment in the form of decorations and trinkets. He didn’t seem to mind, as you’d always find them exactly where you left them, even months later. Small, yet indelible.

Another whiff of the enticing aroma, full of cinnamon and spice and vanilla, pulled you from soft reminiscence, and you were decidedly drawn away from your computer. Your slippers softly tapped beneath your feet as you sauntered down the stairs and slid into the kitchen, where the oven’s warmth emanated from. As you’d expected, you found Zayne pulling a tray of golden brown cookies from the oven. He was dressed in a dark grey wool sweater, one of the many you’d gifted him, and his sharp features basked in the soft glow of the warm overhead lights. A small smile adorned his lips as he beheld his cookies, and he looked gentler than a soft winter’s breeze. You stood in the doorframe for a moment, savoring the picture in front of you, before another rumble of your stomach urged you to savor some of the tasty treats now laid out on a cooling rack on the counter. The sound drew Zayne’s attention to you, and he let out a soft chuckle.

“Hungry, are we?” he said as he discarded his oven mitts.

“How could I not be?” you replied. “This entire place smells like a bakery.”

You stepped past Zayne as casually as you could, your hand softly grazing his back as you closed the distance between you and the object of your stomach’s desires. You stole a glance at him as you approached the rack; he was tidying mixing bowls and measuring cups from the countertop, and so you figured this was your opportunity to strike.

“Wait,” came his voice, soft yet firm. “They’re hot. Let them cool.”

“You don’t even know what I’m doing. I’m just looking at them!” you protested.

You heard Zayne hum over the slight clatter of metal bowls. “I know what you’re doing. You’re going to try and eat them when my back is turned, then you’re going to burn your tongue.”

Guilty. That had been your exact plan, tongue burning and all. It was a price you were always ready to pay when it came to freshly baked goods, and Zayne unfortunately knew you well enough to stop you in your tracks.

“I’m just admiring the artistry, honest,” you lied, a playful smile coloring your words.

“Is that so?” Zayne moved closer to you, towards the sink, dishes in tow. “And what grade does my artistry earn me this time?”

For the first time, you actually stopped to look at the cookies. You’d noticed their... peculiar shape earlier, but you’d been too enamored with their enticing smell to really pay attention to anything else. Now, you could see that each cookie was meticulously hand-crafted into some sort of animal, with chocolate chunk dotted eyes, a globular head, rounded ears (or extremely curly hair?), and a questionable large appendage at their side. They were all almost carbon copies of each other, and you admired how he’d managed to make them so faithful to each other. Other than that, you had no idea what to make of the bizarre yet endearing cookies.

Zayne must have noticed your silence, as he swiftly shut off the sink and turned to face you and the countertop that housed his creation. You realized you were squinting at the display and immediately straightened. “Uh, it’s a high score. The highest!”

Zayne narrowed his eyes as he moved towards you after drying his hands on a towel. His arm settled comfortably around your waist as he stared at his cookies from behind you, gaze seemingly second-guessing. Oh, you were laying it on far too thick.

“They’re cute. They’re, uh…”

You trailed off, hoping he would finish your sentence and enlighten you on exactly what you were looking at.

Zayne’s sharp gaze turned back to you. “Yes, what are they?”

Good lord, you had no idea. ‘Alien’ was frankly your first guess, but you refrained from verbalizing it.

“Animals…” you chanced.

“Yes.”

“B-bears?”

Zayne let out a dramatic sigh, and pinched his temples with his free hand. “No.”

It was all you could do not to let out an exasperated sigh of your own. The not-bears stared at you, chocolate eyes silently chastising you.

“Look at the tails,” said Zayne.

Baffled and wondering where you were meant to be seeing said tails, you failed to suppress a giggle. And at that, Zayne’s lips pursed into a small pout. “You have no idea what they are, do you?”

The genuine incredulity in his voice combined with the army of identical yet nondescript blobby cookie-creatures staring at you turned suppressed giggles into a fit of laughter. You tried to stop yourself from laughing, but the floodgates were already open. It wasn’t long before you felt Zayne’s own rumbling laughter at your back, and the sound warmed you more than the sweltering heat of the oven ever could. You laughed together for a while, fits occasionally quieting down until you dared to look at the cookies again and they’d start back up.

After a while, the spell finally broke, and you sighed contentedly in between small chuckles. Zayne’s hand traced light circles into the soft fabric of your hoodie as you leaned into the warmth of his body. It had been so easy to fall into this blissful domesticity, so natural, so comfortable, that you wondered how you’d ever let it go.

“They are cute. I never lied about that,” you said gently, voice barely above a whisper. Then, suddenly reminded of your original mission, you quickly swiped one of the cookies and bit at the appendage. It almost melted in your mouth, a delicious swirl of cinnamon, chocolate, and perfectly crisped brown sugar lighting up your taste buds. “Mm, and they’re delicious! That’s all that matters, Zayne.”

You raised the cookie to his mouth and he bit into what was meant to be its head. An approving hum left his lips as he savored his creation. You almost inhaled the rest of the cookie, and as you reached for another one, Zayne broke the comfortable silence with a single word. “Clopidogrel.”

The gears in your head ground to life, your eyes widening with recognition.

“Squirrels!” you exclaimed far too late.

It all made sense now: the appendage was meant to be a large tail, and the little niblets of dough at the cookies’ heads were small ears. Granted, the shapes and proportions were all wrong, a detail you attributed to dough expanding when baking, or perhaps Zayne’s memory of the actual anatomy of a squirrel being less than reliable. Regardless, you knew for sure you never could have guessed that the cookies were meant to represent your mutual, nut-loving, questionably named friend from Akso Hospital.

“Next time, I’ll just make them into circles.”

“Mm. No, I think you just need more experimentation,” you mumbled between mouthfuls of cookie. “The shape language could use some work, you know.”

“You just want me to make more cookies,” Zayne frowned in mock annoyance.

“Is that really so bad? You get to eat them too, you know,” you smiled, reaching for your third, or fourth, or perhaps sixth cookie. You’d lost count.

“Then next time, you get to make them with me,” he mumbled warmly into your ear. “Maybe they’ll turn out better with your expert artistry.”

“Deal,” you replied, turning your head to face him. You couldn’t help but bring your hand up to trace the contour of his jaw, suddenly enamored with this moment, this warmth that you weren’t willing to let go of. He leaned down and planted an unhurried kiss on your lips, and it tasted of cinnamon and chocolate and perfectly crisped brown sugar.

Yes, perhaps all things did eventually have to end. This dreamlike holiday season certainly would. But for now, you could allow yourself to savor each moment, one cookie at a time.

Note: This is inspired by the very first time we get to meet Zayne in LADS, and MC mentions how he made her little “snowballs” when they were younger. But they were actually seals! I remember thinking Zayne looked offended, so I can imagine he gets quite sensitive about his little creations lol. Thanks for reading, and happy holidays <3

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #dr zayne #zayne x reader #zayne x y/n #zayne x mc #love and deepspace zayne #zayne x you #lads zayne #l&ds zayne #l&ds zayne x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds #li shen #zayne fluff #lads fluff #espace--positif

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palescat · 1 year ago

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Flavours assigned to Life Series members by ZombieCleo

Skizz -> Banana Gem -> Cherry Grian -> Strawberry InTheLittleWood -> Lemon(/Lime) ZombieCleo -> Kiwi (/Sour green apple) Etho -> blackcurrant Tango -> (blue) Raspberry Pearl -> Mango Mumbo -> Spicy cinnamon LDshadowlady -> Pumpkin spice Bdubs -> Sourpatch kids Scott -> Peppermint hot chocolate Rendog -> Hot Cheeto Smallishbeans -> Cola Scar -> Cotton candy BigB -> Cookie (/smooth Peanut butter) Impulse -> Chocolate Solidarity -> Peach (5am pearl -> redbull) Will update it once we add more! :D

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amethystarachnid · 3 months ago

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hey! i JUST saw your love is in the air game (and im so happy im online right now)

could i request trope 1. baker with logan howlett and fem!reader? thanks! surprise me with the plot, i love reading your ideas and writing 🤍 (like seriously, you’re a magician) my only plot-wise detail is fluff fluff and more fluff 🥹

thank you so much!!!

SUGAR & FLOUR

⤷ JAMES LOGAN HOWLETT

ᯓ★ Pairing: James Logan Howlett x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance

ᯓ★ Story type: short story

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.4k

ᯓ★ Summary: Logan keeps telling himself that the reason he keeps coming back at your bakery is because your food is good, defitnely not because you're the most beautiful woman he has ever seen

ᯓ★ TW(s): some spicy scenes, nothing too explicit

ᯓ★ Timeline: modern days

ᯓ★ omg your words are so sweet, I'm so happy that you like my works <3

ᯓ★ From: MARVEL Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier lover click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn't my first language and this isn’t proof read

It starts with a craving. Not for violence, for once. Not for a beer, though that's a close second. Just a simple, nagging, stubborn craving for something sweet. Something good.

Logan doesn't know why. Maybe it's because dinner at the mansion sucked tonight—something suspiciously green that even Hank avoided. Maybe it’s because it’s been a long week filled with headaches, Charles’s lectures, and Scott being Scott. Or maybe it’s just the damn cold creeping into his bones, the way winter in Westchester always does, no matter how many years he’s been here.

Either way, he’s out, walking through the quieter part of town, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, when the scent hits him. Warm sugar, butter, cinnamon. Vanilla, maybe. It curls in the air, thick and golden, like something out of an old memory he can’t quite place. His stomach tightens in response, and his feet follow before his brain fully catches up.

The bakery is small, tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop, the kind of place you don’t notice unless you’re looking for it. A little bell jingles when he pushes the door open, and the warmth inside immediately wraps around him, chasing away the winter chill. Soft light, wooden shelves lined with pastries, and a glass display case filled with enough sugar to put someone in a coma. But none of that is what makes him pause.

It’s you.

You stand behind the counter, apron dusted with flour, a smudge of chocolate on your cheek, completely oblivious to the way you just knocked the air out of his lungs. You’re talking to an older woman, smiling as you tuck a small box into a bag, laughing at something she says. It’s a good laugh. A real one. Logan tells himself that’s not why he lingers.

He clears his throat.

You look over, and damn if it doesn’t hit him again, something warm and strange settling in his chest. You blink, surprised—maybe because he looks like he just walked in from the woods (which, to be fair, he kind of did). But then your expression softens into something friendly, open.

“Hey there,” you greet, wiping your hands on your apron as you step closer. “Welcome in. What can I get you?”

Logan glances at the display case, like he didn’t just come in here because his gut told him to. There are cookies, muffins, little cakes. Delicate pastries that look too pretty to eat. A basket of croissants that reminds him of—

He shakes his head, clearing that thought before it forms.

“What’s good?” he asks gruffly.

Your lips twitch, like you’re holding back a smile. “Everything,” you answer easily. “But if you want my personal recommendation… the cinnamon rolls just came out of the oven.”

Logan considers. He likes cinnamon rolls well enough. But mostly, he likes the way your eyes brighten when you talk about them.

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Gimme one of those.”

“One?” you tease, already reaching for a paper bag. “You sure?”

His lips twitch before he catches himself. “Fine. Two.”

You flash him a smile as you bag them up, and Logan tells himself the warmth in his chest is just from the damn oven.

That should be the end of it.

Logan has his cinnamon rolls. They’re good—better than good, actually—but he’s not the kind of guy who goes out of his way for pastries. He eats, he leaves, he doesn’t think about it again.

Except… he does.

Because two days later, he’s back.

This time, it’s for the muffins. Blueberry, fresh out of the oven. The way you light up when you see him walk in? That’s not why he comes back.

And then it’s three days later, for the croissants. Then again for something called a bear claw (which he orders just to make a joke, but you smile and say, “Good choice,” like you mean it, and he forgets whatever smartass comment he was about to make).

And, well. He’s not a complete idiot. He knows exactly what’s happening.

So does everyone else.

Because when he shows up at the mansion carrying a box filled with sweets for the third time in a week, he barely makes it two steps inside before—

“Well, well,” Scott drawls from the staircase. “Look who’s got a sweet tooth.”

Logan grunts. “Back off, One-Eye.”

Scott smirks. “I’m just saying, you’re bringing home a lot of pastries lately. Like… a lot.”

Jean walks by, peeking into the box in his hands before glancing up with knowing amusement. “Oh, those are from Sugar & Flour downtown, right?”

Logan frowns. “You been there?”

“Of course. It’s amazing. Their cinnamon rolls are the best thing ever.” Then she pauses, raising a brow. “Wait. How did you find that place?”

“Luck,” Logan mutters.

At that moment, Charles wheels into the hallway, glancing between Logan and the box like he’s already reading way too much into this. “Ah,” he says, amused. “I see we have another delivery from Logan’s bakery of choice.”

“I don’t have a bakery of choice,” Logan grumbles.

“Strange, considering how often you return.”

Logan scowls. “You want a damn pastry or not?”

Charles chuckles. “I wouldn’t mind a croissant.”

With a sigh, Logan drops the box onto the nearest table and stalks off before they can get any more ideas.

You’re wiping down the counter when the bell chimes again, and there he is. The gruff, broad-shouldered, flannel-wearing mystery man who keeps coming back.

Not that you’re complaining.

He’s got that same look—like he’s not quite sure why he’s here, like his feet brought him inside before his brain caught up. You like that look. It makes you want to smile.

“Back again?” you tease, setting down your rag.

He huffs, like he wants to be annoyed but can’t quite manage it. “Yeah, well. That last batch of muffins was pretty good.”

“Uh-huh.” You prop your elbows on the counter. “And what’s the excuse this time?”

He hesitates, like he’s debating how much to say. Then, finally:

“Needed to clear my head.”

Your expression softens. “Long day?”

Something flickers in his eyes. He doesn’t say much, just nods.

You nod back, understanding. “Then you’re in the right place. Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that good food makes everything better.”

That earns a quiet huff of laughter. “That so?”

“Absolutely.” You grin. “So, what’ll it be?”

He hesitates again, glancing at the case like he’s searching for something. Then, finally, he looks back at you.

“What do you recommend?”

The words are simple. Casual. But there’s something else in his expression—something warm, something fond. Like he’s not really asking about the pastries at all.

Your stomach does a little flip, and you smile.

“Well,” you say. “I just pulled a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls out of the oven.”

Logan’s mouth twitches, like he’s fighting a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And when he says, “Alright. Gimme two,” you swear you hear something unspoken in the words.

Something you really, really hope is real.

Logan becomes a regular before he even realizes it.

At first, it’s just every couple of days. Then it’s every other day. And then, somehow, it’s every damn morning.

Not that he’s counting.

And sure, maybe at first he convinced himself it was just the food. Because the food is good—ridiculously so. But if that were the only reason, he wouldn’t take the extra five minutes just to make sure his flannel doesn’t smell like cigars before stepping inside. He wouldn’t always wait an extra second after ordering just to hear you talk. He wouldn’t leave the bakery feeling a little lighter, like the weight of the world isn’t quite so heavy.

The fact that you always smile when you see him? Yeah, that’s got nothing to do with it.

Of course, the X-Men don’t let him live it down.

“Tell me, Logan,” Charles says one evening as Logan walks in with yet another bakery box. “Are you purchasing shares in this establishment? Or is there another reason for your continued patronage?”

Logan glares. “I hate you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Jean, seated at the table, hides a smile behind her hand. “So, what’s today’s selection?”

“Apple turnovers,” Logan grumbles, dropping the box down. “They looked good.”

Scott snickers. “Or someone looked good.”

Logan grabs a pastry and shoves it into Scott’s hand—maybe a little harder than necessary. “Eat your damn turnover, Summers.”

But despite the teasing, Logan doesn’t stop going.

And the more he shows up, the more you two start talking.

At first, it’s just light chatter. You ask him about his day, and he shrugs it off. He asks how business is going, and you smile and tell him about the customers, the new recipes you’re testing, the early mornings that come with the job. Sometimes he just listens, watching the way your hands move as you talk, the way your eyes brighten when you describe the perfect rise on a loaf of bread.

And then, somewhere along the way, the conversations change.

One morning, after he complains about the cold, you tell him how you grew up in a place where it never snowed, and winter still feels like a novelty. Another time, after you mention being up before dawn, he tells you about the long nights on the road, the places he’s been, the years that blur together.

It’s easy.

Easier than it should be.

And Logan? He’s not used to that.

Then February rolls around.

The first time he walks in and sees pink and red creeping into the bakery—heart-shaped cookie cutters on the counter, little pastel sprinkles in glass jars—he almost turns around.

But then you spot him and smile, and, well. There’s no walking away from that.

“Morning, Logan.” You set down a tray of what looks like strawberry muffins. “What do you think?”

He blinks. “About what?”

You gesture around the bakery. “The decorations! I’m getting everything ready for Valentine’s Day.”

Logan eyes the little paper hearts now pinned to the walls. “Huh.”

You tilt your head. “That’s it? Huh?”

Logan shrugs. “Never been my thing.”

You gasp, clutching your apron dramatically. “How dare you. Valentine’s Day is great.”

“Yeah?” He raises a brow. “What’s so great about it?”

“Oh, come on.” You lean against the counter. “It’s a whole day dedicated to love and affection and just… happiness. Even if you’re not in a relationship, it’s nice seeing people make an effort for each other.”

Logan watches you for a moment. You’re serious. You really believe that.

“Huh,” he says again, but this time, it’s thoughtful.

Then you grin. “And also, it’s an amazing day for bakeries.”

That makes him chuckle. “Yeah, I bet.”

You nod, excited. “I’m thinking of doing a special menu for the holiday. Heart-shaped cookies, pink velvet cupcakes, maybe even some fancy chocolates. What do you think?”

Logan exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Dunno if I’m the guy to ask about that.”

“Come on,” you tease. “You’ve basically tried half my menu by now. You’ve got opinions.”

Logan smirks. “That so?”

“Absolutely.”

And, well. He figures there are worse things than helping you brainstorm ideas for heart-shaped baked goods.

So he does.

He listens while you bounce ideas off him, tells you which pastries sound best, even reaches up to help pin some of the paper hearts a little higher when you struggle to reach. He doesn’t let himself think about how domestic it feels—just you and him, alone in the quiet morning, talking about something as simple as sugar cookies.

He definitely doesn’t think about how good it feels.

Then February 14th arrives.

Logan wakes up that morning already annoyed with himself.

Because for the past week, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. The way you lit up when you talked about Valentine’s Day. The way you stood on your tiptoes to hang decorations, laughing when he grabbed the tape out of your hands and did it for you.

The way he almost—almost—let himself imagine what it would be like if he had someone like you.

Which is stupid.

He’s never been the flowers-and-romance kind of guy. He doesn’t do relationships, doesn’t do soft, doesn’t do happy endings.

Except.

When he walks into town that morning, his feet don’t take him straight to the bakery.

They take him to the flower shop next door.

The bell jingles as he steps inside, and an older woman behind the counter looks up with a bright smile. “Good morning! What can I—”

Then she pauses, eyes flicking over his flannel, his scowl, the whole him of it all.

“Let me guess,” she says knowingly. “Valentine’s Day surprise?”

Logan grunts. “Somethin’ like that.”

She hums, eyeing him thoughtfully. “Roses? Or maybe something softer… tulips? Peonies?”

Logan hesitates, then exhales sharply. “I dunno. Just… something nice.”

Her smile turns warm. “I’ve got just the thing.”

By the time Logan walks into the bakery, there’s a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand. Nothing over-the-top. Just a mix of soft colors, something simple. Something nice.

You’re at the counter, already busy with the morning rush, but when the bell chimes, you glance up—and freeze.

Logan shifts awkwardly, clearing his throat. “Uh. Hey.”

Your eyes flick from him to the flowers.

Then back to him.

Then back to the flowers.

And when you look back up, your expression is—

Oh.

Something in Logan’s chest tightens.

Because you’re looking at him like he just handed you the world.

“Are those…?” Your voice is softer than usual, like you’re afraid to break whatever this moment is.

Logan grunts. “Yeah. They’re for you.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, lips parting like you’re about to say something. Then, suddenly, a customer calls your name, and you blink, snapping back to reality.

“One sec!” you tell them before turning back to Logan, flustered. “I—um. Let me just—”

You reach for the flowers, hands brushing his, and damn it, why is his heart beating faster?

“They’re beautiful,” you say softly.

Logan swallows. “Yeah, well.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Seemed like the kinda day for it.”

Your smile turns shy, and Logan tells himself he’s not melting.

Then he exhales, shifting his weight. “Listen. You, uh… got plans tonight?”

Your breath catches. “Tonight?”

He nods, trying not to look as damn awkward as he feels. “Yeah. Figured… maybe I could take you to dinner. If you want.”

For a second, you just stare. Then—

“Yes.”

It’s immediate. No hesitation.

Logan blinks. “Yeah?”

You laugh, still holding the flowers close. “Yeah. Of course.”

And, well.

Logan might not be the flowers-and-romance kind of guy.

But as you smile at him—bright and happy, like he just gave you the best gift in the world—he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he could be.

For you.

You don’t consider yourself a nervous person.

You run a business. You wake up before the sun, manage suppliers, handle customers with difficult requests. You can face a crowd and talk about your pastries with confidence, even when the pressure is on.

But as you stand in front of your mirror, smoothing down your dress for the fourth time, you feel nervous in a way that’s completely unfamiliar.

Because this isn’t just a date. It’s a date with Logan.

The gruff, flannel-wearing, cinnamon roll-loving man who somehow wormed his way into your daily routine—and, if you’re being honest, your thoughts, too.

You take a slow breath, stepping back to look at yourself.

The dress isn’t anything over-the-top—simple, flattering, something soft and flowy in a color that makes your skin glow just right. You’d debated going more casual, but… something told you Logan deserved the effort. And judging by how he showed up earlier with flowers, he might be making an effort too.

That thought alone makes your stomach flip.

Then the sound of an engine outside draws your attention.

Not the deep, familiar rumble of a motorcycle.

A car.

You peek through the window, and sure enough, there’s a sleek black car parked outside.

And standing next to it, looking more put-together than you’ve ever seen him, is Logan.

You blink.

Because—okay. He still looks like Logan. But the usual flannel has been swapped for a dark button-up, the sleeves rolled to his forearms, and his hair looks… good. Like he actually ran a hand through it with intention. And he’s standing there, leaning against the car like he’s trying so hard to look casual but can’t quite pull it off.

You grab your coat and step outside, feeling the winter air nip at your bare skin.

Logan straightens the second he sees you.

His eyes sweep over you—down, then up again, slower this time. And for a moment, he just looks.

Then he clears his throat. “You look… good.”

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest. “Thanks.”

Then you glance at the car. “So, what’s this?”

Logan exhales through his nose, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Charles’ idea.”

Your brows lift. “Charles told you to get a car?”

“He suggested it.” Logan scowls slightly. “Said if you were gonna wear a dress, showin’ up with the bike was a dumbass move.”

Your lips twitch. “I mean, he’s got a point.”

Logan sighs. “Yeah, yeah.” Then, hesitantly, he gestures toward the car. “You ready?”

You nod, and he opens the door for you.

It’s a small thing, but something about it makes your heart do another little flip.

Dinner is, unsurprisingly, very Valentine’s Day-themed.

Which means that when you walk in, you’re immediately hit with dim candlelight, soft music, and an overwhelming number of couples sharing desserts with tiny forks.

Logan pauses just inside the door, scanning the restaurant like he’s sizing up a fight.

You bite back a laugh. “Regretting this already?”

He grunts. “Didn’t think it’d be this… pink.”

You grin. “What, no love for the holiday spirit?”

Logan just gives you a look, and you laugh as the host leads you to a table.

Despite the overly romantic setting, the dinner itself is nice.

Logan is awkward at first—not in a bad way, just in a Logan way. He doesn’t do small talk, and you can tell he’s still getting used to this whole… thing.

But then, as the evening goes on, the tension in his shoulders eases.

You start talking—really talking—and he starts listening.

You tell him about how you fell in love with baking. How, as a kid, you’d sit in your grandmother’s kitchen, watching her mix ingredients with practiced hands. How you saved every penny to open your own shop, how you still wake up every morning excited to do what you love.

And to your surprise, Logan opens up, too.

It’s not much—not at first. Just little pieces of himself, scattered through the conversation. How he’s been all over, seen more than most. How he likes Westchester more than he lets on. How, lately, he’s been feeling a little less like a drifter and a little more like he belongs.

The words are simple. But they settle warm in your chest.

Then dessert arrives—because, obviously, you can’t not have dessert.

It’s a shared plate of something rich and chocolatey, and Logan looks at it like it’s some kind of challenge.

“You don’t have to share,” you tease.

He raises a brow. “Oh, I know.”

But despite his gruffness, you do share—just passing bites back and forth, talking between mouthfuls, laughing when Logan grumbles about the tiny forks.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, you realize—

You’re having fun.

Not just the surface-level kind, but the real, deep kind. The kind that makes your heart feel full.

Then, after you both finish off the last bite of chocolate, Logan shifts in his seat.

He looks like he’s debating something.

Then, finally, he exhales.

“So… this was good.” His voice is rough, but his eyes are softer than usual. “The whole thing. You and me.”

Your heart does a little flip. “Yeah,” you say. “It was.”

Logan nods once, like he’s locking that truth into place. Then he clears his throat. “So, uh… maybe we do this again sometime?”

You smile.

Because of course you do.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I’d like that.”

And the look Logan gives you in return?

It’s the kind that makes you think this is the start of something good.

Dating Logan is easier than you expect.

Not in the sense that he suddenly turns into some smooth, lovesick romantic—God, no. He’s still gruff, still stubborn, still awkward as hell when it comes to some things.

But there’s something honest about him.

He doesn’t play games, doesn’t beat around the bush. If he wants to see you, he shows up. If he likes something you made, he tells you. If he’s had a rough day, he lets you see the tiredness in his eyes instead of covering it up with grumbles and sarcasm.

And as the weeks pass, “seeing Logan” becomes less about dates at fancy restaurants and more about something real.

Some nights, it’s dinner at a cozy little place in town, where he glares at overly complicated menus before ordering the simplest thing available.

Other nights, it’s takeout at your apartment above the bakery, curled up on the couch while you argue over what movie to watch.

Sometimes, he even helps you close up the bakery—wiping down tables (grumbling the whole time), locking up after your last customer, staying with you until the lights are off and the doors are locked.

And then, one evening, after he walks you upstairs, it happens.

The first kiss.

It’s not some grand, dramatic moment.

It’s just the two of you standing in your doorway, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. The night is quiet, the street below nearly empty. And when he looks at you—his expression just a little softer than usual—you realize you’re standing on the edge of something big.

Logan hesitates for half a second. Then—

He kisses you.

Slow, warm, deliberate.

And just like everything about him, it’s honest.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, pressed close, trading soft, lingering kisses between unspoken words. But eventually, when you pull back, Logan looks at you like he’s never letting this go.

And the best part?

Neither are you.

From that moment on, Logan starts spending more and more nights at your place.

It’s not planned—it just happens.

Some nights, he falls asleep on your couch, arms crossed, head tipped back, snoring softly. Other nights, you fall asleep on him, curled up against his side while the TV hums in the background.

And then, eventually, it stops being falling asleep by accident and starts being something else entirely.

You wake up together.

In the mornings, you find yourself wrapped in Logan’s warmth, tangled in soft sheets, your face pressed into the crook of his neck.

And Logan? For all his gruffness, he’s a cuddler.

You’d never say it to his face (not unless you want a grumbled response and an exaggerated eye roll), but once he’s asleep, he melts into you. A heavy arm slung around your waist, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns on your back.

And when you wake up and start moving, trying to slip away for the early bakery shift?

He grumbles, tightens his grip, and refuses to let you go.

Which is how, one morning, you end up exactly where you are now—trapped under Logan’s arm, pressed against his solid chest, while he pretends to still be asleep.

“Logan,” you murmur, shifting slightly. “I have to get up.”

He makes a low, half-asleep noise. “Mm. No, you don’t.”

You laugh softly. “Yes, I do. My customers want breakfast.”

“They can wait,” he grumbles.

You roll your eyes. “You are one of my customers.”

“Exactly. Tell ‘em all you’re busy with your best one.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “You are so dramatic.”

Logan smirks slightly but keeps his eyes closed.

You sigh, relaxing back into the warmth of him for just a few more moments.

Then, out of nowhere—

“Y’know,” you say idly, tracing a finger over his chest, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you bake anything.”

Logan snorts. “That’s ‘cause I haven’t.”

You blink. “Wait. Ever?”

He huffs. “Nope.”

“Like, not even as a kid? Not even boxed brownies?”

“Darlin’, I burn toast.”

You gasp dramatically, sitting up. “This is a travesty.”

Logan groans, throwing an arm over his face. “Here we go.”

“I have to fix this,” you declare. “We’re going downstairs right now.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

And before Logan can argue any further, you grab his arm and drag him out of bed.

Ten minutes later, Logan is standing in your bakery kitchen, looking as out of place as a grizzly bear in a flower shop.

“This is a bad idea,” he says as you gather ingredients.

“This is a great idea,” you correct. “We’re keeping it simple. Sugar cookies.”

Logan exhales sharply. “You say simple, but I know how this ends.”

You smirk. “With delicious cookies?”

“With me screwin’ up so bad the oven catches fire.”

You laugh and hand him a mixing bowl. “I’ll make sure the fire extinguisher is close by.”

Logan groans but takes the bowl.

And, well… you were right.

Sort of.

The cookies don’t catch fire. But everything else is a disaster.

Logan somehow manages to spill flour everywhere. The egg doesn’t crack right. The dough is lumpy, and he absolutely refuses to use the heart-shaped cookie cutters.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbles, using a knife to chop the dough into rough squares instead.

“You’re ridiculous,” you tease, nudging flour at him with your fingertip.

He huffs. “Why’s bakin’ so much harder than cookin’?”

“Because baking is a science.” You grab his hand, guiding it as he presses the dough onto a tray. “You have to follow directions.”

Logan raises a brow. “You tryin’ to teach me how to follow orders?”

You grin. “Maybe.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull away.

By the time the cookies are in the oven, you’re both covered in flour. There’s dough on the counter, sugar on the floor, and Logan has somehow managed to get butter on his shirt.

It’s a mess.

But it’s also… fun.

Then, as you’re cleaning up, Logan suddenly reaches over—

And swipes flour across your cheek.

You gasp. “Logan.”

He smirks. “What?”

“You did not just—”

Before you can finish, you grab a handful of flour and smack it onto his chest.

His smirk drops.

You blink.

Silence.

Then—

Logan grabs an entire handful of flour and pats it onto the top of your head.

You shriek, laughing as he dodges your next attack, grabbing your wrists to stop you.

“You play dirty,” you accuse, breathless.

Logan grins. “Always.”

And then—before you can even think—he kisses you.

Flour-covered and laughing, lips brushing yours in a warm, lingering kiss.

You melt into it, into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

By the time you pull away, you’re breathless.

And Logan?

He just smirks. “Guess bakin’ ain’t so bad.”

You shake your head, smiling.

The cookies might be a disaster.

But this?

This is perfect.

Logan’s kiss is slow at first. Lazy. Like he’s savoring the moment.

But then you shift closer—pressing against him, your fingers gripping his shirt, the warmth of his body seeping into yours—

And that’s when things start to change.

Logan makes a low sound, something deep and satisfied, and suddenly his hands are at your waist, fingers flexing, pulling you in like he’s starving for you.

Your heart pounds as you kiss him back, heat curling in your stomach.

It doesn’t matter that you’re covered in flour. It doesn’t matter that the bakery kitchen is an absolute disaster.

All that matters is Logan—warm, solid, real.

You feel his hands slide up your back, fingertips pressing against your spine, and it sends a thrill through you. Your breath hitches as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his lips brushing yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

You don’t even realize you’re moving until your back bumps against the counter.

Logan doesn’t break the kiss. If anything, it just spurs him on—his hands gripping the edge of the counter on either side of you, effectively trapping you between his body and the flour-dusted surface.

And God, you don’t mind.

You gasp softly as his lips trail down to your jaw, then your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

“Logan,” you murmur, tilting your head to give him more room.

He hums against your skin, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

Your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl—a low, rumbling sound that you feelmore than hear.

And you swear, if he keeps kissing you like this, you’re going to—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

You jolt.

Logan stills.

And for a full second, neither of you move—breathless, flushed, frozen in place as the loud, sharp beeping of the kitchen timer cuts through the moment.

Then, reality slams into you like a brick to the face.

“The cookies!”

You shove Logan away—not forcefully, but urgently—and scramble toward the oven.

Logan blinks, still catching up. “Wait—what?”

You don’t have time to answer. You grab an oven mitt, fling open the oven door, and—

A thick puff of smoke billows out.

Your stomach drops.

“Oh no,” you breathe.

Logan steps up behind you, peering over your shoulder. “That ain’t good.”

You groan, reaching in to pull out the tray. The cookies—if you can even call them that—are dark, charred, and completely ruined.

You set the tray down with a defeated sigh.

Logan crosses his arms, inspecting the damage. “Y’know… I don’t think that’s what they’re supposed to look like.”

You turn to him, exasperated. “Really? I never would have guessed.”

His lips twitch like he’s trying so hard not to laugh.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

Logan smirks. “I told you I was bad at this.”

You sigh dramatically. “It wasn’t just you! I got distracted.”

Logan raises a brow. “Did you, now?”

You cross your arms, giving him a look. “You know I did.”

Logan just grins.

And God help you, that grin—all smug and teasing and unfairly attractive—makes your stomach flip again.

You scowl, jabbing a finger at his chest. “This is your fault.”

Logan chuckles. “Oh, mine?”

“Yes.” You poke him again. “You and your stupid, distracting—”

Before you can finish, Logan grabs your wrist, tugs you forward, and kisses you again.

It’s fast, playful, over before you can even react—

But when he pulls back, the smirk on his face is even worse than before.

You huff. “You are impossible.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but you like me anyway.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile.

Then you glance at the ruined cookies and sigh. “Well… at least we tried.”

Logan snorts. “Pretty sure we failed.”

You groan. “What am I supposed to do with these?”

Logan eyes them. Then, slowly, he reaches for one.

You watch in horror as he takes a bite.

There’s a long pause.

Then he chews.

Then he grimaces.

And finally—

He spits it out into the trash.

You burst into laughter.

“I told you they were ruined!” you say between giggles.

Logan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, scowling. “That was awful.”

You’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe. “I cannot believe you actually tried it.”

Logan mutters something under his breath, but his lips are twitching like he’s trying not to laugh, too.

Then, suddenly—before you can react—he dips his fingers into the leftover flour and flicks some at you.

You gasp. “Logan!”

He smirks. “Payback.”

“Oh, you’re dead.”

And just like that, you’re both at it again—flour flying, laughter echoing through the kitchen, ruined cookies forgotten.

Eventually, when you’re both completely covered in flour and thoroughly exhausted, you collapse against the counter, panting.

Logan glances at you, brushing a bit of flour from your cheek with his thumb.

His touch lingers.

Your heart stutters.

Then he tilts his head slightly, voice lower now—soft, warm. “Y’know… I wouldn’t mind tryin’ again.”

You blink. “What? Baking?”

He nods. “If it means spendin’ more time with you? Yeah.”

And God help you, your heart does another stupid little flip.

You smile. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

Logan smirks. “We’ll see.”

And then he kisses you again—flour-covered, cookie-failed, and absolutely perfect.

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frudoo · 24 days ago

Note

Who is neighbour Johnny having for dinner?! Does he poison everyone with his terrible cooking?! Does reader see the contents of his tight shorts?! I must know

Warnings: Suggestive, obviously ;) Mentions of alcohol. Fem!Reader.

It’s between you and God that you decided to wear a thong beneath your dress. It’s to make yourself feel pretty, give you a boost of confidence around people that you’ve never met, and that’s it. You definitely didn’t wear it in hopes that your egotistical maniac of a neighbor might get a peek. No, that would be crazy. Insane. Desperate, and you are not desperate. Not for that hairy freak.

You’ve been needing an excuse to wear this new perfume, anyway. It’s spicy, like cinnamon and clove with a hint of citrus. You had been planning to save it for a date night if you ever got asked out, but here you are: wearing an aphrodisiac perfume to go have dinner with your neighbor who you most definitely do not have a thing for. If anything, you pity him. You can’t even recall the last time the poor lad had gotten any visitors. You’re just being kind.

Kind enough to pull the neckline of your dress down to show off more cleavage. Hopefully his guests aren’t prudes.

You give your hallway mirror one last passing glance so you’re not tempted to stay and obsess over every little detail about yourself—otherwise you would never actually make it over to Johnny’s house. With a prolonged sigh, you grab the bottle of wine from your kitchen counter and head out the door. It is not a romantic gesture, not in the slightest. You simply don’t want to show up empty-handed and look like a fool in front of his guests. Guests whose vehicles you don’t see in his driveway nor parked on the street.

The friendly neighborhood stray cat greets you at Johnny’s front doorstep, rubbing his body against your leg with a purr. The little dish that the man leaves out for him is empty. You ring the doorbell, then lean down to pet the kitty.

“Reit on time, hen! Color me impressed,” the door swings open not two seconds after you make your presence known, and you yelp in surprise.

“Fu-! Johnny!” You scowl as the frightened feline sprints off down the street. “He was being sweet!”

“Go’ summat sweeter fer ye in ‘ere, lass,” the Scot winks, and you huff in an attempt to hide your flustered state. “Come in, come in. ‘Ave a seat on the settee.”

“Where are the others?” You ask, handing him the bottle of wine which he takes graciously.

“Och, did ah no’ tell ye? They cannae make it. Go’ called intae work,” he frowns shortly, then shrugs. “Well. Plans dinnae stop jus’ because o’a few people.”

Unbelievable.

“All of them?” You ask monotonously, obviously not buying his excuses.

“They’re coworkers. Were mine, tae, ‘fore ah go’ fookin’ blasted in the heid,” Johnny points to the scar on his temple with a sneer.

“I- okay,” you sigh, shutting your eyes briefly and deciding to change the subject. “What did you make for dinner?”

“Hehehe.”

Oh, fucking hell.

“Johnny…”

“Ah figured we’ll order pizza. Ah ken’s yer favorite,” he plops down beside you on the couch. “Also go’ a movie fer us tae watch. Slasher, aye?”

You purse your lips and blink slowly. The little shit had this all planned out. You should have known when you saw that he was wearing just a t-shirt and sweats. You got all dressed up for nothing, just to come over and sit on his couch and pretend you’re interested in the movie he chose. Pretend you won’t get wet just from his thick thigh brushing against your own.

“I’m going home.”

“Nae, ye cannae leave! C’mon, hen, been tryna ge’ ye tae come o’er ‘ere fer weeks,” he pouts. “Ye ne’er lemme intae yer place when ah bring ye cookies, either!”

Those bright blue eyes narrow with desperation and, damn him, you just can’t turn him down. You clench your fists and forcefully throw yourself back against the couch.

“Fine, but we get mushrooms on the pizza,” you huff, kicking off your shoes.

“Aye! Anythin’ fer ye, lassie,” Johnny has to stop himself from shaking with excitement.

While you start the movie, he orders the pizza, then sends out a text to the group.

She’s inside.

#menace!!!!!!!#ask me!#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader

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godhandler · 4 months ago

Text

Ex-boyfriend Gojo who shows up at your house 5 years later. He looks a bit different now.

|Souls are laid to rest after the death of the body. As for Gojo Satoru, his soul rests with you. In other words, your terrible ex-boyfriend is having way too much fun haunting you|

|satoru gojo x reader, fluff, lil bitty angst, gojo being gojo, 700 words, desi-coded reader|

previous series masterlist next

Satoru flashes his 24-carat grin ear to ear when you come to. “All this 'cause you don’t take iron supplements. How many times have I told you again?” He shakes his head. “Your voodoo spicy diarrhoea jar won’t fix everything, you know.”

The human body has two directors of the nervous system. While mostly the wondrous brain lords over man, there come times that the castle of the body comes under attack by such impossibility (like a rampage by demonic forces or worse, the ghost of your terrible ex come alive) that the coward brain hides and the spinal cord, which does not have the complexity to understand emotional duress, takes control.

“Don’t insult Chawanprash.” Satoru might be a translucent mist after his untimely death floating in front of you and breaking all existing laws of physics. But your spinal cord does not care for such trivialities. “I’m not even anaemic anymore.”

“Is that why a silly surprise sent you lying on the floor?”

Ghost boy correct, says your spinal cord. Get up body, cook dinner.

“I have to get up and cook dinner.” Your voice is too hollow for Satoru. It’s the shock sending you to robotic autopilot, he hopes, you’ve been out for a couple hours after all. It’s 2 am now. “Merry Christmas, Satoru.”

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

My love. Satoru called you that. He used to call you that. It’s been 5 years. The floor is cold. It’s Christmas. The sofa you grab to pull yourself up is soft, the walls you lean on your path to the kitchen hard. Satoru is here. Satoru called you his love. The stove is hot. My love. Satoru’s love. 5 years ago he called the wedding off. Oven is steamy inside, a fully baked cinnamon cake sweet. Your mouth is full of cake. Warm and sweet. You created the recipe for Satoru. Satoru is a ghost now. He called you- My love. Satoru is dead.

“Satoru is dead.” Disbelieving words slip through your mouth. You stare straight ahead at the kitchen wall, refusing to look at the ghost floating behind your shoulder.

He doesn’t reply.

“How are you dead? Satoru?”

Nothing.

“Is it that terrorist in Shibuya? I guessed it was something curse related. But I still don’t understand. How could you die?”

Nothing but a slight swish as the ghost moves.

“How could you die?”

Another swish– “I wish I could taste the cake, it looks incredible. Say, we could sprinkle powdered sugar on it too. And honey. Cookie crumbs, red bean paste, chocolate syrup.”

Ah. Infinity is nothing compared to the emotional barrier Satoru surrounds himself with. Even to you. Even after death.

Not a big deal. It’s just that you’ve known him since you were in kindergarten together as babies, grew up playing together, still kept in touch even after he went away to study jujutsu and you to business college, supported him through the pit he fell into after Geto’s defection, officially dated for four years and engaged for one until he called it quits.

But hey, it’s not like your story ended there. It wasn't all so tragic. Break ups happen everyday.

Life goes on. He had his life and you had yours. The work report was due on Saturday. Your elderly neighbour needed help moving their fridge. Satoru blocked you on everything a week later. Your cousin had a baby shower. Taxes have to be filed soon. Your mom broke her hip, needed to be driven to the hospital. Whispers said that he’s found a woman to marry, that she’s the one, some said it’s all idle gossip, they’re just close friends and nothing more. You got a promotion at work. The washing machine had to be fixed. Mom needed help getting around so you moved in with her temporarily. Taxes again. Your cousin had another baby shower, a little girl this time. Life goes on.

It’s fine.

You sit with your mug of mulled wine and cinnamon cake at the dinner table. You’ve kept the same apartment all these years, it’s a familiar memory as Satoru pulls a chair to sit beside you. His hand goes right through the cake to his despair. You laugh. He giggles.

It’s fine.

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darkpetal16 · 9 months ago

Note

Quick question for all the boys: what nickname would they give to their partner?

ALL?? OK BABE I GOT YOU. but like I can't do an "all" post again there's just too many now lol.

Underfell!Sans (Red): Babe (all), sweetheart (for the shy or introverted babes), doll/dollface (for the feisty babes)

Underfell!Papyrus (Edge): Love (but very sparingly, he’s not fond of nicknames):

Underfell!Wingding (Fell): My dear / My love / My other half / My heart (all emphasis on the my)

Underfell!Asriel (Prince): doesn’t use nicknames unless explicitly asked to. Might refer to you as partner / mate / spouse however.

Underfell!Grillby (Fellby): Sweet girl/boy/pup & Little firecracker.

Underswap!Sans (Blue): Not fond of nicknames but will occasionally call you his puzzle piece. If you ask him to call you something specific, he will.

Underswap!Papyrus (Stretch): Honey, honey bear, honey pie, spicy honey, and if he wants to be ornery / annoy others in public. . .honey bunny wunny.

Underswap!Wingding (Thread): My dear, my little patchwork, darling, marshmallow / cinnamon spice / pumpkin pie.

Underswap!Asriel (Buttercup): Dummy (affectionately). He gets embarrassed by nicknames.

Mafiafell!Sans (Hit): for feminine presenting partner: doll face, sweetheart, lil lady, cookie. For masculine presenting partner: pal, buzz, lil gent, dish. For neutral, mixture of both depending on his mood.

Mafiafell!Papyrus (Boss): He doesn’t do nicknames, per se, but instead waxes poetry for you about you in private. He’d also prefer it if you didn’t give him nicknames in public. Reputation is very important to him and his family and he expects you respect that.

Mafiafell!Wingding (Don): Muse, my dear, darling, puppet, marionette, toy

Mafiafell!Asriel (Heir): Meadow, my haven, my sunshine (if early riser) / my nightfall (if late sleeper)

Slumbertale!Sans (Slumber): Buddy, chum, pal, bucko, friend, fella who naps with me, pillow, blanket, kitten (if you nap often) / puppy (if you do not take naps often), the one who makes plans, my worser half (jokingly), my alarm clock, etc. He’ll come up with obscure and odd nicknames depending on your routine together.

Slumbertale!Papyrus (Mayor): MY RIGHT HAND! There is no bigger compliment because this fella HATES to rely on anyone so if you’re his right hand then you’re someone as invaluable to him as his own right hand.

Slumbertale!Wingding (Abyss): Dewdrop.

Slumbertale!Asriel (Unending): My dream come true, dreamer, buttercup, butterscotch, butter biscuit

Slumbertale!Grillby (Sleeby): His nickname will be dependent on your favorite drink. For example if you like pina coladas he’d call you his sweet coconut, and if you like soda he’d call you his pop-heart.

Horrortale!Sans (Axe): No nicknames unless you specifically tell him to. He just doesn’t think about it.

Horrortale!Papyrus (Sugar): My little meatball, Strawberry jam, rhubarb pie, my berry, love, heart, SOUL

Horrortale!Wingding (Ghost): my heart / our hope

Horrortale!Asriel (Yarrow): butterscotch, cinnamon bun, and sun drop

Horrortale!Grillby (Calcifer): no nicknames!

Reapertale!Sans (Reaper): Nothing set in stone. He'll come up with one time nicknames for puns. Like if you were burned alive & died to met him, he'd call you hot stuff. If you drowned he'd call you a mermaid with lungs. Things along those lines.

Sciencetale!Sans (Doc): he tried nicknames. It came out awkward because he kept stuttering and he was deeply embarrassed so he never did it again.

Sciencetale!Wingding (Professor): Treasure

Siren!Sans (Siren): That’s a human concept, so he wouldn’t choose any. You can tell him what you want him to call you and he’ll accommodate.

Siren!Wingding (Apex): Same as above.

Dustttale!Sans (Dust): Idiot, fool, daydreamer, dreamer, (and very rarely when he thinks you aren’t listening) my miracle

MASTERLIST (HCS & REQUESTED SCENARIOS)

#undertale #undertale au #underfell #underswap #mafiafell #slumbertale #siren sans #siren wingdings #horrortale #reapertale #dusttale #dust sans #sciencetale #hc #interactive fiction #jelly donut #iykyk

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thesamoanqueen · 1 year ago

Text

Christmas cookies

Raiting: 18+

Warnings: smut, fluff.

A/N: I wanted to try writing a one-shot for christmas since I did it last year and @mindofasagittaruis request came at the right time. Enjoy and happy holidays yall~

One boxe at a time he had managed to arrange everything, filling the huge tree base that him and Y/N had decorated together a week before. He knew she would complain, scolding him because it was too much, but Roman liked to spoil her and for that occasion he had really wanted everything.

It was their first Christmas together as a couple and he wanted it to be special. Y/N liked Christmas, was her favorite holiday, she got more excited than a little girl every time and he had promised himself and her, to do everything possible to make sure nothing was missing. They had decorated the house inside and out, planned dinners with family, started watching christmas movies, booked a weekend out fitting it between both of their schedules and Roman had tried not to plan something more to finally give voice to that impulse that was now becoming an urgency.

Admiring his work one last time, he went to the kitchen, where Y/N had decided to spend her afternoon with the most classic Christmas songs, wearing yet another hoodie stolen not too discreetly from his closet. When he crossed the door, there was no corner where she hadn't scattered a little bit of sugar, flour and sprinkles. It was a battlefield strewn with bowls, trays, and baking ingredients that smelled of vanilla, cinnamon and chocolate, the kind of chaos that warms heart and tastes like home.

- What's going on here? – he inquired with a smile and she turned to look at him, hands dirty with who knows what raised in the air, while Roman twisted his arms around her hips to swing her playfully.

- I should ask to you, what was all that chaos back there? – she asked suspiciously, giving him one of knowing looks, but he pretended not to notice, giving her a quick kiss on her cheek and peeking what she was backing.

- Don't know, Santa probably.

- I don't remember I have written a letter to him.

- So these ones are for me? – he asked, pointing the Christmas cookies placed on the marble counter.

It wasn't the kind of food she usually prepared if she decided to get into the kitchen, she was more into salty and spicy recipes, and yet there they were, lots of gingerbread men, trees and cinnamon houses waiting to be decorated.

- It's just an experiment, I wanted to make something special but then I remembered you already have me in your life so I tried with simple things… guess they're not so simple – she reflected pouting, moving a couple of those who she had already tried to decorate.

The shapes were flawless, but icings had mixed together, dripping around and ruining the designs she'd tried to make. Not the kind of result expected from her being a perfectionist and Roman found himself smiling as he watched her look them one by one with her still dirty fingers, until he reached out to take a snowman. It was supposed to be white with a carrot-nose and a scarf he knew it, but the little one didn't have a very happy expression, a bit like her, at least until he swallowed it.

-They taste good – he approved, feeling the aftertaste of spices warming his mouth and he reached out to take another one.

Amazed, Y/N watched him chew the second too, face lighting up, smile emerging again on her soft lips, as she cleaned him from a crumb ended on his beard.

- Really? I should bake them for Santa so. To thanks him for all those gifts no one asked for I guess, what do you say? – she joked, tilting her head.

-I say he can have them, if I can have the chef – he left a kiss on her lips this time, mixing the flavor of Christmas cookies with her own.

He felt her soften without a single thought into his arms, flattening herself almost completely against his chest, clinging to his neck as best she could while avoiding dirtying him with icing and chocolate.

-You taste like cookies – he heard her soft laughing, between one kiss and another, making him groan.

- Yes?

- … uh-huh

He couldn't resist those whispers, even if they were playing, to see her hopelessly happy if they were together. Stealing kiss after kiss, he pulled her onto his body, forcing her legs to wrap around his hips as he placed her on the only empty corner of the kitchen counter. With her warm laughter in his ears, he slid his hands up her soft thighs, climbing higher, until he felt the full texture of that glorious ass, as he stopped kissing her to taste then her neck. By heart, he sucked that point just beyond her collarbone that caused her to shiver, immediately feeling her cling better, squeeze with her laughter which slowly became moans, forgetting about her hands dirty to hug him.

- I hadn’t finished though – she complained, her body seeming to melt like icing from his attentions and Roman slid his hands past her sweatshirt, touching that soft good smelling skin.

- I want my dessert – he demanded seriously and felt her scratching the back of his neck with red nails, drawing a dangerous growl from him that vibrated through the whole kitchen.

Without taking his lips away from her, savoring the inside of her mouth and the soft skin above her breasts, he stripped her of those extra clothes, her hands doing the same to his pants, leaving traces everywhere and making both of them as dirty as the rest. Slowly, Roman took his time to mark her, enjoy everything of that moment, ignoring his already awake boner demanding attention, to dedicate himself to something better, hidden between those infinite legs that refused to leave him. When his long fingers found her, Roman couldn't resist the temptation, dipping a finger into the heat of her perfectly wet pussy to explore the soft, welcoming walls where he wanted to sink until he completely lost himself. Y/N in front of him tightened his grip on his neck, gasping into his arms, gaze fascinated and full of lust as she watched him bring the hand up to lick clean his fingers.

- This one is just for me – he reminded her, feeling her cling to his wrist to place a kiss on the bottom lip, tasting herself too before sliding down with the back to give him all the room he demanded.

Satisfied, Roman helped her lift her thighs, making his way between them, to finally dip himself in that perfect sweet meal, nose sliding between her folds tracing the path before his fat tongue. He took a taste, slow, just with the tip, feeling Y/N's body tremble for attentions and stopped to suck high on that adorable button that made her tremble. Breaths soon became brazen moans and more volume increased, more insistent, hungry Roman became. It was so sweet down there, a bit like that icing with which she had covered cookies but not cloying, it was a flavor that he could no longer live without and that he always tried to milk away, until it dripped down onto his beard, making his mouth salivating. First her button, then that hot entrance and soft walls, puffy, full skin of the lips he loved to kiss as much as the ones up there, running his tongue flat between her, fucking that cave without mercy. Insistently he kept her pressed against his face, choking himself, maneuvering her for more, slow but commanding until Y/N began to delight him with her adorable cries, her back arched and hands trying to grab him for support.

Something next to them fell due to her jerky movements, one of the trays and Roman saw her turn her with a blank look, ending up stretching out his arm, putting the tray and bowl of icing into their place. Y/N smiled, thanking him with a glance and he placed a kiss with devotion on her pussy, his pussy, Roman’s eyes getting darker as he saw Y/N biting her lip as eager as he was at the sight of him now dirty with icing.

- Did you find something for your dessert? – he heard her ask with lust, legs pulling him closer and he grinned.

- I like it with cream on top – he reflected thoughtfully, letting some of the icing on his hand drip between her folds.

He saw her entrance tighten around nothing at the feeling, bewitching and nasty as only Y/N could be with him, only when they were together. Her, who always tried to leave nothing to chance, who controlled every little detail, perfect, impeccable, became something else with him in those moments, stooping to try anything without complaints. She was a dangerous gift, a challenge he had never found in anyone else and that would have brought him to his knees if only she had asked, a power game in which they both had the same hand but used it with complicity.

He ran his fingers between her folds, listening to her mewl, seeing Y/N hold her breath when one of his long fingers slipped some icing inside, mixing it with her juices and the saliva he had already left.

- Ahn… feels so cold mmh – she begged with those eyes that had bewitched him, pushing him to turn his hand, sink a little more to find that welcoming spot that made her cry in absolute bliss.

-Im gonna fill you up – he announced and Y/N squirmed on the counter, between spilled icing and broken cookies, without stopping being finger fucked, because she knew it wasn't with any of those ingredients that Roman wanted to do keep his promise.

Pumping into her opening, he reached down to taste her again, this time licking away the frosting he had spilled, tongue running slowly and hungrily over every inch of her soft, sensitive caramel skin. He sucked on her swollen button, the taste of her body mixing with vanilla, the sweetness of her honey hitting Roman’s mouth along with icing. A beautiful, soggy mess echoing inside his ears, a primal call that made him hungrier and hungrier as his wide mouth tried to devour her alive, kissing and licking her clean.

He loved the choking noise that came from her throat every time his lips sucked one or both of hers down there, the pop wet flesh, nose that ran through her pussy like a credit card ready to be emptied. It was the kind of pussy that had any man tied around a finger, one he would do anything for and it led to devotion, Roman was obsessed with her and looking back he really didn't know how to managed to live without, but it wasn't just that. It was all of her, it was Y/N. She had dangerously become his world even before sharing a house or Christmas together, and it was in unexpected moments like this one that reminded him of it, waking up in the depths of his stomach, inside his head, an impulse that didn't exist even in a ring, with adrenaline running into his veins, cheered by thousands of people. The need with which he had chased her for an entire year, in hotels, arenas and offices, around the country and even beyond the borders, day and night, that grip on lungs of a drowning man.

He kissed her legs, feeling her hands pulling a few locks, knees trembling as she felt him bury himself between those folds, widening that glistening opening with fingers, inserting his tongue to clean her like a mad man until he elicited a scream. Her walls tried to close, to squeeze him, as they would have done with his hard cock and Roman found himself moving his hips aimlessly, seeking relief and refusing to abandon his meal before having reduced her to tears.

He fucked her with his fat tongue, flat and strong, pounding deep into her softness, feeding on that true addicting sweetness, widening his mouth to take in as much as possible, dirtying his beard.

- Plea-aase! R-Ro, Ro! Ah! - he felt her tremble, body struggling on the marble counter, held in his arms in that unnatural pose which Y/N did not refuse to submit to anyway, just to keep her legs on his shoulders to give him everything he wanted.

He knew she was at her limit, but he refused to slow down, craving more, that impulse in his chest that was growing until he felt like was going to explode and pushed him to be savage. He ran his fingers over her button, squeezing it between his fingers to help her and as he licked her again, his tongue flat against the hot opening, Y/N exploded with a silent cry, eyes closed, breath broken. The taste of her was intoxicating, addictive and Roman stood there, as close as possible, accompanying her as she reached her peak, cleansing with dedication. With his eyes fixed on her face, he held her back until her muscles regained some strength, trailing kisses down her flat belly, up her legs, massaging Y/N with his fingers where she still throbbed and only when her shaking hands found him, along with those beautiful eyes, he stood up again.

- I could spend all my life between your legs, babygirl – he admitted menacingly, getting rid of his track that she had already undone and with her breathing still rapid, Y/N invited him, tightening her legs around his hips at the sight of his erection slapping her already swollen center.

- Do what you want, ain't complainin'ahn!-

Sinking until he lost himself, he pulled her to the edge of the counter, fitting into her and giving a long, deep stroke, savoring her warmth and that feeling of constriction, in which she stuck him every time, without giving her time to think again. Oh, he meant to. He really meant it and the thought of her indulging him went to his head enough to push him to speed up without restraint, the slimy sound of their bodies colliding now audible even among the Christmas songs. Head down, holding her open thighs, he watched her honey stain him a little more each time he thrust in, her caramel-colored mountain swelling as his flesh went deeper.

-Mmh… you're so hard – Y/N cried in a soft moan, one hand clinging to his forearm and the other to the counter edge now sticky from the icing and her pleasure.

- I can feel you squeeze around me babe, grab that dick, thats right, let daddy enjoy his pussy, y-yes – he spoke dirty, feeling and seeing her walls sucking him in, abs tense.

- Ooh shit Ro-

More her moans became louder more his hips accelerated, in Roman mind the full intention of wreck her just for himself, drilling in that spot that made her mouth open wide, taking the breath out of her lungs, making eyes close, her belly full. There was just her begging, that gorgeous luscious body of her tense and sweaty, his breath heavy, that fire running up to his mind clouded by the vision of Y/N suffering with pleasure his assault, the hammering of his hard cock. It was an asphyxiating pleasure, a hot and inexorable vice that pulsated around Roman meat, squeezing his flesh and inviting him to go deeper, until he slammed as far as possible to reach complete collapse.

- F-fu-ah! Ah! – he felt her tremble, writhe in spasms and pinned her down, fingers digging into her hips, anchoring her to that place.

- That's it, ah, beg sweetheart, yes, gimme your mess

- pl-leeah! Please!

Groaning, hyping her and himself, Roman pulled one of her legs up higher, slapping a hand into her thigh and Y/N screamed, her head sprawling from side to side, eyes closed and back arching for that new inclination. From there, he could see her moist pearl, the whitish excitement leaking out, dripping onto the marble and down, that wonderful ring that ignited the worst thoughts in him. He felt her walls tighten with more and more insistence, nails digging into his flesh and his belly on fire, while without any warning, already tormented by his attacks, Y/N once again fell apart with a strangled moan.

And so, Roman began to fuck her without mercy, growling, giving vent to every ounce of need in his body and mind, cock sliding deeper and deeper, his hot head pounding inside that sweet cave, taking advantage of her climax and streached walls. Losing all composure, losing himself in a sensation that only Y/N could give him, Roman felt shivers run down his sweaty neck and pumped until muscles burned from the physical effort, once again exceeding the limit, hitting the kitchen counter with his knees.

- Feels so good babygirl, mmmh, so good… - he moaned, while she was still panting and throbbing under him, holding on where she could, letting him go – I'm 'bout to come, lemme fill you up, I need it, I… need… it-ah!

Everything around him seemed to go silent for long minutes, only Y/N and her whispers were still there, her soft eyes that never lost sight of him, full of what he wished was love, that tired smile that widened into a perfect "o", while Roman pressed her against him, letting the fire that had burned him slide into her canal, making his nuts dry and cock throbbing. In an animalistic growl he froze inside her, emptying himself with mind suddenly white, feeling her hands pull him down, making his head rest against her breast. Silently, he gave two final, drunken thrusts to make sure there was nothing left with Y/N trying to push his hair back and leaving heated kisses on his temples. Clinging to her, he waited in that position to catch breath, music slowly starting to make sense again.

- I guess I'll have to start from the beginning... - Y/N complained with an amused breath after a while and Roman looked up, observing the mess they had created and then her, who was distractedly tasting some of the icing that had fallen on the counter.

- Need help? – he asked seriously, very seriously and Y/N stopped with a finger still on her lips, a smile growing like something else in him, once again.

A year earlier he had done everything possible to convince her to stay during holidays. Now that she was finally here, now that they were together and with no one and nothing chasing them, he was going to make the most of every second. Santa had his North Pole and later he would have his cookies, but on the Island of Relevancy was him who dictated times.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyyaanna @reignsangel444 @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @claymorexpunisher @keybladeofsteel @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @love-islike-abomb @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @reignsx @reigns-central-blog @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @thedonsfactory @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @tribalchiefdaily @2baddies2furious @vebner37 @gomussy @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @usosthetics @jxtina-86 @harmshake @southerngirl41 @spritelucozade

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x y/n #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns one shot #roman reigns oneshot #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x female reader #roman reigns x you #roman reigns fanfic #wwe fanfiction #wwe smut #roman reigns fic #wwe fic

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wandanatskitten · 3 months ago

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WandaNat Scent Headcanons

I feel like everyone uses the same scents for female characters. At least in the fandoms I’m in. For some reason everyone smells like vanilla and I don’t like vanilla perfumes irl or cinnamon so here are other scents I think Wanda and Natasha smell like. Enjoy!!!

🍃Wanda smells fresh like…

• fresh cut grass on Sunday morning

• the impedance of rain coming in the afternoon

• the saltwater in the air as waves crash onto shore

• faint cucumber and mint that’s used in her body wash

• soft lavender from the epson salt that was used to soothe her muscles during her bath

🍬Wanda smells sweet like…

• the coconut that compliments her dark waves

• the apple that blooms behind citrus as her perfume spreads to the next note

• the burst of fresh waffle cones when you open the door to the ice cream shop

• amber that solidifies from sap

• maple dripping fresh from the trees

• peaches that compliment frozen margaritas in the summer

🥰Wanda smells warm and spicy like…

• ginger and cinnamon from homemade Christmas cookies

• toasted peppercorn preparing to be ground

• dark leather in a brand new car

• toasted anise and cloves that deepen the scent of dinner wafting through your home

🌲Natasha smells earthy like…

• fresh ground coffee in the mornings

• warm cardamom and sage

• the wood burning fire the counteracts your powder covered driveways; complimenting your living room

• sweet juniper that compliments the faint scent of soft vetiver

• toasted hazelnuts and ground nutmeg

• the blanketing scent of frankincense and citrusy bergamot

✨Natasha smells expensive like…

• faint hints of champagne that compliments a dark musk

• the intensity of saffron that fades into the softness of rose water

• the rich sweetness of honey to balance the spicy and nutty notes of tonka beans

• the deep smoke of whiskey with the light freshness of ripe blood oranges

• a garden of jasmine and patchouli

🫧Natasha smells clean like…

• eucalyptus that can brighten every room

• warm bedsheets fresh out the dryer

• lemon zest that coats the senses after grading its peel

• soft powders and soothing peppermint

• smooth camomile and cedar wood from her lingering body wash

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 5 months ago

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All Wrapped Up

Pairing: Poly Marauders x reader

Warnings: fluffy

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy Christmas with the boys

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The Potter family home was a masterpiece of holiday charm. The large stone manor stood proudly atop a hill, its many windows glowing with golden light as snowflakes spiraled lazily through the air. A grand wreath adorned the front door, and you swore you heard faint laughter echoing from within before you even knocked.

Before you could raise your hand, the door swung open, revealing Euphemia Potter, her kind face alight with warmth. “Oh, you must be freezing! Come in, come in!” she exclaimed, ushering you inside with motherly enthusiasm. The warmth of the house enveloped you immediately, and your boots clicked softly against the polished wooden floor as you stepped into the entryway.

“Don’t let these boys drive you mad,” Euphemia teased, taking your coat and giving you a conspiratorial smile. “But if they do, come to me. I’ve been managing them for years.”

James appeared in the hallway, his messy hair sticking up in every direction as usual. “Mum, you’re ruining my reputation,” he said with an exaggerated groan, though the grin on his face betrayed his amusement.

“She’s only telling the truth,” Sirius called from the sitting room, his voice rich and playful.

James rolled his eyes but looped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you deeper into the house. “C’mon, let’s show you the decorations. Mum’s gone all out this year.”

---

The sitting room was a wonderland of festive cheer. A roaring fire crackled in the stone hearth, sending flickering shadows dancing across the walls. Garlands of holly and ivy hung from the mantel, their leaves sparkling with enchanted frost. The Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner, its branches laden with baubles that hummed soft, magical carols. At the base of the tree were dozens of wrapped gifts, their ribbons curling perfectly as if enchanted to never fray.

Sirius was lounging on the couch, one arm draped casually over the backrest. He looked up as you entered, a mischievous glint in his gray eyes. “Ah, just in time,” he said, standing and pulling a sprig of mistletoe from his pocket. He held it above his head with a grin that could only be described as roguish.

“Sirius, that’s cheating,” you said, laughing as you shook your head.

“Call it what you want, love,” he replied, stepping closer. His free hand settled on your waist as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was warm and slow, leaving you momentarily breathless.

“You’ve done this three times already,” Remus said, entering the room with a plate of cookies balanced in one hand.

“And I’ll do it thirty more if I can get away with it,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. He dropped the mistletoe onto the table and smirked at Remus.

“Here,” Remus said, offering you a cookie. The warm, spicy scent of ginger and cinnamon hit you immediately, and you took one eagerly, marveling at the delicate swirls of white and gold icing.

“You made these?” you asked, touched by the effort.

Remus shrugged, though a faint blush dusted his cheeks. “It’s just a recipe.”

“It’s perfect,” you said softly, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek.

---

A few minutes later, James burst into the room, carrying an armful of scarves and an oversized wool hat that looked like it had been knit by someone who’d only just learned how. “Alright, team! Time for the ultimate snowball fight!” he declared, dropping the pile of winter gear onto the table.

“Teams are as follows: me and my lovely partner here,” he said, pointing to you dramatically, “versus those two hooligans.”

“Unfair advantage!” Sirius protested immediately, though he was already pulling on a scarf. “You can’t just claim her because you know we’ll lose without her!”

James grinned smugly, tossing you a scarf. “I don’t make the rules—oh wait, I do.”

---

The snowball fight was nothing short of legendary. Outside, the world was a pristine white, the snow crunching underfoot as you and James worked quickly to build a fort. Sirius and Remus, meanwhile, bickered about strategy on the other side of the yard.

“You’re terrible at this,” Sirius said, shaking snow off his gloves.

“You’re the one who suggested we ambush them,” Remus replied, packing a snowball with clinical precision.

The truce ended when Sirius launched the first snowball with a triumphant shout of “No mercy!” You barely had time to duck before a flurry of snowballs came your way, and James retaliated with a barrage of his own.

The chaos that followed was filled with laughter and playful shouts. At one point, Sirius tackled you into a snowdrift, his laughter loud and carefree. “Traitor!” he gasped, lying flat on his back in the snow.

“You started it,” you said, grinning as you helped him up.

---

By the time you all trudged back inside, your cheeks were flushed from the cold, and your hair was damp with melted snow. Euphemia met you at the door with mugs of steaming hot cocoa, each topped with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon.

“Warm up by the fire, dears,” she said, her voice gentle.

The four of you settled in the sitting room, basking in the warmth of the fire as you sipped your cocoa. Sirius sprawled out beside you, his head resting on your shoulder, while James and Remus sat on the rug, their legs stretched toward the hearth.

---

Later that evening, the four of you gathered to exchange gifts. Sirius handed you a large, silver-wrapped box, his excitement practically radiating from him.

“Go on, open it,” he urged, leaning forward.

Inside was a leather jacket, buttery soft and perfectly tailored. You ran your fingers over the material, speechless.

“You’ll look devastating in this,” Sirius said, winking as he leaned back with a satisfied grin.

Remus’s gift came next, a carefully wrapped package that revealed a handmade book. Each page was filled with his neat handwriting, little sketches, and pressed flowers.

“I thought you might like something to remember us by,” he said softly, watching your reaction with a hint of nervousness.

You placed a hand on his cheek, brushing a kiss to his lips. “I’ll treasure it.”

James’s gift was last, a small box containing a charm bracelet. Each charm was intricately crafted—a stag, a wolf, a dog, and a heart.

“So you’ll always have us with you,” James said, his voice uncharacteristically tender.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes as you looked around at them. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” you whispered.

Sirius pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you. “You didn’t. We’re just lucky you keep us around.”

As the fire crackled and snow fell softly outside, you felt completely and utterly at home.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! –Midnight 💜

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almellow-crk · 26 days ago

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Fankids for my Scrambled Lovers AU! (The one with BitterSpice, WingedLesbians, FrenchJester, PureSalt and MysticLily). Ask me more about them please. I want to ramble more

Spicy Bombon Cookie: Magic/Middle Row/Darkness+Fire. Daughter of Burning Spice and Dark Cacao, next queen of the Dark Cacao Kingdom. She doesn't get along with her bigger brother because of his betrayal and alliance to Dark Enchantress Cookie (Dark Cacao has already forgiven him, this is just Spicy Bombon being vindictive). Training with her father since day one to become a reliable queen and warrior. Always smiling, only family and close friends can identify a true or false smile. She has a very good relationship with her other dad, too, he's the only one that understands her more "chaotic" side. Engaged to Kanafeh Cookie.

Soulstone: This stone holds a piece of Spicy Bombon Cookie's soul. Feels a bit heavy, but there's a fire inside waiting to be unraveled.

Korintje Cinnamon Cookie: Defense/Front Row/Fire. Adopted daughter of Burning Spice and Dark Cacao. She has a slow mind and learning things is difficult for her. Trained mostly by Burning Spice Cookie. If she is capable of stopping his blow then nothing can beat her. She has a very sturdy body that blocks and parries attacks without a shield. She doesn't smile or laugh often, Dark Cacao Cookie is maybe the one who can read them better. Coddled by everyone in the family, even her big brother, with whom she get's very well. In fact, there's no single cookie that dislikes her. How can they when her confused expression is so cute?

Soulstone: This stone holds a piece of Korintje Cinnamon Cookie's soul. It's warm and cozy, perfect to hug in a cold night.

Kanafeh Cookie: Ranged/Last Row/Wind. Son of two ladies that spoiled him roten. If someone look past from his absurd entirlement and materialistic needs, they'll see how caring and attentive he can be. Prince and future King of the Golden Cheese Kingdom, someday, when he's able to differentiate between desire and need. Golden Cheese Cookie is working on that matter. Coached by Eternal Sugar Cookie, his singing is so good he can use it to attack enemies (Besides his double wielding swords). He already has fans fawning over him, and might soon release an album. Who could deny him of such thing?Engaged to Spicy Bombon Cookie.

Soulstone: This stone holds a piece of Kanafeh Cookie's soul. It reflects a beautiful and strong light of hope.

Soy Milk Cookie: Bomber/Front Row/ No-Element. The first born of Hollyberry Cookie and Shadow Milk Cookie. All the family fawned over him when he was born. And yet, he grew up to be relatively normal. That is, if one doesn't count how manipulative and hipnotic he is, taking a lot of lessons from Black Sapphire Cookie. Likes to face challenges head on, kicking everything out of his way just like his mother does (Though he uses his brain and not his muscles to do it). If life is a circus, he is the master of ceremonies, the Marshal, making the show go on without a hitch. And also throws magic tricks and whole shows to his family, even if Shadow Milk Cookie it's a little dissapointed that his kid didn't took in more his traits.

Soulstone: This stone holds a piece of Soy Milk Cookie's soul. It won't let you look away until the everything finishes. No matter what, the show must go on!

Gooseberry Cookie: Support/Middle Row/Poison. Twin son of Shadow Milk and Hollyberry. Very easygoing, carefree and happy most of the time. Has a half-happy masc covering the left side of his face to match with his twin brother. He only cried two times in all his short life: because he was hungry, and because of his twin brother. Get's along greatly with his mom and two big brothers and sister, and with a certain cookie that protects the kingdom in the jungle. His acting skills makes his father proud. One time he managed to steal a whole can of cookies and managed to not look culprit.

Soulstone: This stone holds a piece of Gooseberry Cookie's soul. These bright colors doesn't make you want to smile? Like it wants to share it's happiness with you?

Acai Berry Cookie: Support/Middle Row/Poison. Twin son of Hollyberry and Shadow Milk. A scaredy cat, a poor wet dog, all the negativity supressed from his parents manifested into him. Feels like the black sheep in the lousy family, is scared to make friends because he thinks he has nothing to offer. Has a half-sad masc covering his right side of his face due to an accident when he was little. Always behind his twin or father, only getting along with the quietest part of his family and his twin. So quiet he is, that you wouldn't notice if he walked towards you in a library.

Soulstone: This stone holds a piece of Acai Berry Cookie's soul. These gloomy colors doesn't make you want to cry? Like it wants to take away all the sad things in the world?

Biscuit Crusader Cookie: Charge/Front Row/Light. Son of Pure Vanilla Cookie and Silent Salt Cookie. Nobody knows how he was trained, he follows a strict justice system that is suspected he learned from his quiet guardian. He is direct, short-worded and stubborn. He has no interest in ruling the Vanilla Kingdom, he considers he can do more for Crispia as a knight than as a king. And if a relative takes the throne, his main duty will be to protect them.

Soulstone: This stone holds a piece of Biscuit Crusader Cookie's soul. Albeit still distant, it radiates safety and protection from within.

Chrysanthemum Cookie: Ambush/Last Row/No-Element. Daughter of White Lily Cookie and Mystic Flour Cookie. She is soon to be the leader of the Faerie Kingdom, and once her mother is gone, she will also take the role of the Tree's Guardian. Many doubt she comes straight from her mothers, since she was born a faerie. But there's a very logical counter argument for that. She got both the beast's eyes and her mother's thirst for knowledge. But this time, her life investigation is not about the purpose of cookiekind... Very quiet girl, but elegant and seemingly delicate. Someone gave her a scythe as a gift and it became her favorite weapon.

Soulstone: This stone holds a piece of Chrysanthemum Cookie's soul. While holding it, your own soul feels a pang of dread.

Some general facts about this new generation of heroes.

•Spicy Bombon absolutely dislikes Kanafeh's flirty self, part of it because he is the son of his mother.

•Biscuit Crusader and Soy Milk have a 👎Friendly👍 rivalry for Korintje Cinnamon. She doesn't even notices, and neither of them are ready to face her parents

•Gooseberry and Acai Berry are grounded innthe Hollyberry Kingdom until they reach adulthood (In 3 years) after a certain incident that left their parents worried and protective.

•Chrysanthemum Cookie spends most of her time researching. The only one with whom she keeps a steady friendship is with Biscuit Crusader.

•Every time the ancients have a meeting, they try to bring their kids too to let them know eachother and play, hoping they form a strong bond. Sometimes Soy Milk and Kanafeh manage to make the meeting a battle ground.

•Acai Berry only considers Korintje Cinnamon his friend. She is the only one that doesn't look at him with pity and actually believes him when he tells her about the eyes on his hair.

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