#With love I want to bite his head off like a gingerbread man

[t00s1lly]

uhh i see u tagged my art, i appreciate it sm i like people going crazy abt what they think <33

also mentioned u draw nottemcop SHOW ME NOW 👀 /hj /nf

I WISH I drew NottemCop, but alas, I cannot draw. I write a fuckton of it tho, it's on my ao3 <3

And, hell yeas... As soon as I saw your art in the tag, I went insane & deranged, I had to let it be shown

[finelinevogue]

gingerbread men

summary - christmassy vibes fic where you’re baking gingerbread and harry is being his usual self

word count : ~1k

pairing : husband!harry x reader

The front door closed, signalling that Harry’s home.

“Hello, my gorgeous girl.” Harry didn’t say to you, but your black and white cat Circe.

You smiled to yourself as you heard Harry talk to Circe. As Harry greeted your cat, you took out the gingerbread men from the oven and placed them on the side.

The kitchen smelt amazing, full of Christmassy scents like cinnamon and ginger. It was sweet and comforting.

And soon as Harry walked into the kitchen, there was another level of comfort.

He stood in the doorway, holding his car keys and his water bottle, smiling at you. He had this soft smile that he only reserves for you. One that could melt away a thousand problems and make your world feel safe.

“Something smells good.” Harry said, watching the kitchen floor as Circe passed him by.

“I got bored. Decided to bake and voilà… Gingerbread men.”

“You’ve had a productive day then.”

“I actually did. I did the washing and—”

“Well you didn’t wash everything baby.” Harry gave a knowing smirk at the t-shirt you were wearing.

It was the t-shirt Harry’s been wearing to bed for the past week. You were going to add it to the wash, but it smelt of Harry and you missed him today, so wearing a piece of him sounded like a good idea.

“Oh yeah. I’m wearing your t-shirt if that’s okay.”

“More than okay.” He glazed his eyes over you, like he often does when he’s having an ‘i-love-y/n’ moment.

“Stop simping for me, you simp, and come and give me a proper hello.” You rolled your eyes at him.

Harry immediately walked over to you, chucking his keys and water bottle on the side. You patiently waited for him to walk over, arms crossed over your chest as you watched him.

He was slow with his movements, but the space wasn’t too far between you. He met you with a kiss on the forehead, wrapping his arms low around your waist so his hands could rest nicely at the bottom of your spine.

“That’s not a proper hello, mister.” You tutted, tilting your head up to look at his looming figure.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he leant down to kiss your cheek once.

“Try again.” You said.

So he kissed your other cheek.

“Harry. I swear to God, if you don’t ki—”

Harry’s lips pressed onto yours before you could finish telling him off. Your lips moved knowingly over each others, pressing yourselves into one another with ease.

Before it could get too heated, Harry pulled away slowly.

“That was better.” You hummed in delight.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, kissing you lightly once again.

“I missed you today.”

“Not as much as I missed you.” He kissed you again, like he couldn’t stop. Like he didn’t want to stop.

“Did you write about me?” You teased.

“I can’t disclose that information yet.”

You groaned in frustration, since that’s all he ever told you about his new album he was working on. You knew it was a gift from himself to the fans, as always, but you often wondered what his inspiration for the day was and how that was channelled into a song.

“You’re so annoying.” You pushed his chest so he stumbled away from you.

“I know, and yet you still love me.” Harry shrugged.

You turned back to your tray of gingerbread men. “Think he could love me better.” You turned around to Harry holding up a gingerbread man to him.

Harry instantly leaned forward and took a great, big, bite out of the gingerbread man’s head. You stood there in shock over his territorial move.

“H-harry!” You laughed his name. “Babe, what the hell?”

“Damn, that’s a good gingerbread man.” Harry wiped his lips with a cheeky grin.

“He’s not a man anymore, you dickhead. He’s a headless body...” You giggled in shock still.

“Would you still love me if I was a headless body?” Harry asked you, finishing off his mouthful.

This would seem like a really random and weird question to anyone else, but these were actually the types of conversations that you two had with each other.

“Yes, ‘cause I wouldn’t have to see your stupid face anymore.”

You threw the headless gingerbread man down on the tray in disbelief.

“Heyy.” Harry pouted.

“No. You’ve done the damage now, babe.” You pretended to be mad.

“This is unbelievable…” Harry mumbled, before stepping to cup your cheeks and pull your lips to his. You instantly responded by moving your lips in sync with his, getting a taste for the remanence of your gingerbread men.

Harry pulled away once he was satisfied that he had been forgiven.

“They are pretty good.” You said with a smile, referring to the gingerbread men.

“Told you.”

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  LINES OF YOUR HANDS

SUMMARY : dean tries being seductive in a Santa suit… and it works, surprisingly. 

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff, on the kitchen table, Santa suit kink, nude photography, breeding kink, jerking off, cum play

WORD COUNT : 2.3k

A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — (Santa) suit kink and nude photography. this was cute to me, idk ‘bout y’all, like yeah, the sex, but Dean’s so cute in my imagination (and in the show). had clara oswald and danny pink in mind for this one, lmao XXX

“Merry Christmas, my love!” Dean exclaimed from the doorway of the kitchen. His girlfriend turned around, distractedly biting off the arm of a gingerbread man. 

“You could’ve at least picked something sexy,” she snorted, turning away from him to bite the other arm of her gingerbread man. Dean pouted and made his way to her unenthusiastically. 

“Well, guess what I’m wearing underneath,” he proposed excitedly with his hands on his hips. She didn’t turn around to look at him this time. 

“Uh… your Scooby-Doo boxers?” She asked, grinning at the space in front of her before taking a bite of a gingerbread cookie’s leg. She knew that would make Dean whine more. “One of the hundred of black t-shirts you own, and uh… those ‘send noods’ socks, my fave,” she continued with a dreamy laugh. Dean sputtered. 

“No,” he pouted adorably. She shrugged, mouth full, drinking warm coconut milk to help the cookie go down. Defeated, Dean’s frown deepened. “Nothing,” he whined, then stomped over to her, hoping she’d look at him. “Come on, admit it’s sexy,” he smiled cheekily, sitting on the table next to the small plate with crumbs and a gingerbread man that no longer had arms and legs. 

She sighed playfully and then leaned back, eyes trailing from the top of his cute head to the bottom of his hot legs. She checked him out once more, contemplating his appearance: she stared at his thighs, the tent in the red, fluffy trousers, the tightness of the suit on him, the little bit of skin showing at his neck, the floppy red and white hat on top of his head.

She tried to give him what he wanted, to see the sexiness in his costume. But… she couldn’t help it, she smiled brightly at him. He was too damn adorable. 

“Oh, come on!” He whined, then hastily undid the black belt around his waist, letting the coat fall open. She held her breath as she watched him, her eyes glued to his taut, hot body, and his warm, freckled skin. He bit his lip, and pulled his pants down to release his cock, and slowly started to jerk himself off. 

That did it for her. Her stomach flipped and her pussy clenched, warmth spread over her face, her stomach, her cunt. She released a shaky breath as a wave of dampness ruined her underwear almost instantly. 

Squeezing her thighs, she fumbled and checked her pockets for her phone to take a picture. Maybe a lot more than one. This was so hot and definitely worth being kept in the hidden photo album of explicit photos and videos of her and Dean. 

When he saw it in her hands, he stopped touching himself and reached for the phone, but she snatched it away before he could snatch it away.

“Hey!” He complained. He thought she was going to ignore him and scroll through her phone instead.

“Shut up,” she grunted, which made his mouth shut instantly, “I’m trying to eat my gingerbread man and you want to seduce me… now deal with the fact that it worked.”

“You’re torturing the little man,” he stared down at the gingerbread man with an exaggerated frown. “But, hey, I ain’t complainin’ if you wanna take a few videos of me right now,” he grinned, going right back at it. “Did ya name him?” He asked, running his thumb over the tip of his leaking cock. 

“Patrick,” she laughed softly, then stood up to find the perfect angle. It didn’t matter though, he looked good from all angles. She snapped a photo, kept tapping and tapping the red button to get as many as she could. Data storage be damned. 

“Want some more frosting on Patrick?” He jested, but she was actually contemplating his offer. He cursed softly and watched her with hooded eyes. 

She leaned down to collect the beads of precum at his tip with her tongue which made his body tense up, a loud moan erupting from his throat. She reached over and took a bite of her cookie, mixing the sweet and tangy flavour of her two favourite things. “Yummy,” she snickered, staring straight at Dean. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, licking his lips. 

“Maybe when you’ve got another load, you’re cumming inside me first.” She pushed her cup and the headless cookie to the far end of the table, close to the wall. “Fuck, actually… should I take a picture of you cumming on your hand first?” She stopped in the middle of lifting her shirt up, staring at him as he slowed the pace of his movements to stop his orgasm. 

“No, later,” he decided for her, “please, get up here and ride me.” He begged, then shifted on the table to lie on his back, aware of the plate and cup she pushed against the wall when he placed the Santa hat with them. She snickered and lifted the top over her head. She wore no bra this morning and the sight of her  breasts made him moan softly. 

“Comfortable?” She asked, kicking her slippers off and then slid her leggings and underwear down in one swift pull. 

“Just get up here,” he told her impatiently, reaching down to tug at his balls instead of jerking himself off. She laughed again and did as he asked. She climbed up the chair, made her way onto the table, and then sat on his lap, taking his hard cock in her hand. 

“How are you making this work?” She teased, biting her lip, slowly stroking from base to tip. He instantly grabbed her hips, his red lips parted to release quick breaths as he brought her forward over his erect cock.

He shrugged, biting his lip and smiling cutely. “Please,” he begged again, urging her to take him. She playfully, teased her entrance with the tip of his cock, and stared down at him mischievously.

“Sam’s gonna get mad that we fucked on the table.” He knew she was stalling on purpose, getting him riled up. Her intentions were clearer when she reached for her phone again, and took a couple photos of his cock in her hand. 

She stopped stroking his cock to focus on taking more photos. It frustrated him and he groaned, reaching between her legs. While she treated him like a sex model, leaning back in his lap to capture him at the best angle with her phone, he separated her folds and brushed his thumb against her clit. 

His cock twitched when he brought two of his fingers to her entrance and an insane amount of slick met his fingertips. “Wow, it’s really workin’,” he chuckled, smiling up at her smugly. She rolled her eyes, lips parting when he pushed two fingers into her, meeting no resistance. “Please tell me you’re done, I wanna be inside you and feel all of this… wrapped around my dick,” he mumbled, pushing a third finger into her, then spread them apart inside her. 

“Oh… fuck, Dean!” She moaned in surprise. Her phone tumbled out of her hand and rattled on the floor, but it didn’t break. She slammed both hands on his chest as her thighs shook on either side of his body as his fingers curled against the front of her walls. 

“It’s Santa now,” he teased, pulling his soaked fingers out of her fluttering pussy to wrap it around his cock. She barely composed herself when he bucked his hips upwards, thrusting his cock into her swiftly. 

She cried out again and buried her face into his neck, making a tight fist with both hands clenching around the red and white Santa jacket he wore. She moaned softly when he rolled his hips gently, soothing the amazing stretch of her cunt around him. 

“Shit.. that was way too easy, babe,” he gasped, giving her ass a gentle swat. “You okay?” He murmured, kissing her temple. She nodded, her pussy fluttering needily around his cock. “Well…” he paused for a moment, reaching up to move her hair to one side, then lifted her mouth up to his. “What do you want for Christmas, sweetheart?” He mumbled against her lips, giving her a few loving pecks. 

She kissed him lewdly, licking across his sugary lips and into his minty mouth with a hum. With a smirk, she replied, “a baby.” 

His grip on her hair tightened and his cock twitched inside her. He pulled her off him with a sharp tug of her hair and stared at her face, stunned and aroused. “Don’t ask for something if you’re not serious about it…” he murmured, planting his black-leather-boot clad feet on the table.

“Who said I wasn’t serious?” She asked, placing her arm beside his head and laying her palm flat over his toned stomach. 

“That shit-eating grin on your fuckable face.” Before she could get out a reply, Dean began to piston his hips up into her, clasping both hands on her hips roughly to keep her from moving. 

With a surprised moan she pressed her forehead into her arm and wrapped her hand around one of Dean’s wrists, above his watch. 

She panted heavily into his ear, occasionally moaning encouragements that made him fuck her harder. Her clit slapped delightfully against his pelvis with each thrust and upward grind. He focused on chasing her pleasure more than his own, angling her hips so he could press his cock into the front of her pussy, brushing repeatedly over her sweet spots. 

“You want a baby?” He asked breathlessly, cock throbbing inside her velvety walls. He could feel her getting as close to her orgasm as he was, and continued to grind up against her after every thrust to stimulate her clit. “I’ll give you a baby,” he growled, latching his lips to her pulse. 

With a sharp thrust and a hard bite, he came inside her with a grunt of her name against her neck. Hot cum pooled inside her and triggered her own orgasm. With a shuddering moan of Dean’s name, she took Dean's face lovingly into her hands and kissed him as he helped her ride out her orgasm. 

Her kiss-swollen lips moved across his jaw, down his flushed neck and chest as they attempted to catch their breaths. Dean pulled her closer, his warm hands squeezing his favourite parts of her body that he could reach. Barely having caught their breaths, he mumbled, “I believe you need to let me eat your cookie now that I’ve delivered your gift. Santa’s gotta get a reward,” against her flushed cheek.

She moved away from his mouth and lifted a brow at the playful grin he gave her. “Do not call my vagina a cookie ever again,” she giggled, pushing up off his chest. Except he pulled her back down with his fingers around the back of her neck to peck her lips, once, then twice.

“Babe, please, I’m trying to be in the Christmas spirit,” he reasoned playfully with a nod, dimples on display with his puckered lips. He slid his hands down the curve of her back and stopped just shy of her ass, calloused hands caressing her soft skin.

She eyed him suspiciously and then dropped a lingering kiss on his forehead for cuteness. “Okay, I’ll let it slide… this time,” she smiled, then dropped doting kisses over his cheeks and nose. 

“Right, but you have no problem with me referring to myself as Santa, hmm?” He muttered, feigning disappointment. Mischievously, she stopped her kisses before she could get to his mouth, hovering over his lips after kissing the corner of his mouth. 

She pulled away as he waited for her kiss with a very subtle pucker of his lips and then, he had the audacity to pout again. “Be happy that I fucked you in this ridiculous costume at all,” she frowned, but her bright and amused eyes betrayed her serious face. 

“This costume is not ridiculous, okay? You’re ridiculous…” he scoffed, moving his hands away from her hips to cross them over his chest defensively.

She bit back a smile and slid off his soft dick, which made him reach out for her to return with his lips parted to ask her to come back. Instead, she took his hands to balance herself as she climbed off the table and took her phone off the floor, his cum already starting to dribble out of her pussy.

She squeezed her legs together as she unlocked her cellphone to study the photos she took of Dean. “I’m gonna get these framed… or.. I’m making my own porn magazine with photos of you naked.. yeah, that’s a great idea,” she spoke to herself thoughtfully. 

Dean blindly grabbed for the Santa hat, lifted his pants up, and slid off the table to wrap his arms around his naked girlfriend. He put the hat back on and dropped his chin on her shoulder to gaze at her phone.  

“Only if you do the same for me,” he proposed bashfully, then slowly started moving his hands down between her legs. She smiled and parted her legs for him, but she didn’t expect him to send a slap over her sensitive clit.

He must have expected her reaction because he released her immediately and backed away when she jumped with a shout and turned to face him swiftly. She glared at him and walked towards him until the metal counter hit his back. 

He licked his lip, trying to lean casually against the counter with his green eyes shining bright like shiny ornaments on a Christmas tree. He swallowed excitedly and smiled at her flirtatiously—that stupid smile he gave women when he tried picking them up or to get information out of them. 

“I’m tying you up with the Christmas lights for that,” she threatened seductively, pressing herself up against his taut body. He bit his lip and carefully moved his hands to her ass to keep her close, then squeezed. 

“Really?” 

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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Prompt{ Nice } :2:Baking holiday cookies.

Character: Ebenezer Scrooge

Fandom: A Christmas Carol

Warnings: None

A/n:I can’t help, I love him.

Ebenezer wasn’t used to this, being in a relationship again. Though you seemed to be a bright light in his life. Always showing up on his doorstep with a bright smile on your face with a basket of sweets. He never understood why you seemed so attached to him, why you would ever have feelings for him, even when he was so cruel to you.

He hated it, he wished he could take back the things he said in the past. You may have laughed it off, told him it did not matter but to him it did. He had to make it up somehow, with Christmas right around the corner the man knew he could at least help you with all the baking, with everything you would be doing for the poor it was the least he could do to take some weighs off your shoulders.

Rolling his shoulders he made his way down the street towards your shop, still not used to the kindness the people were giving him he did his best to return the smile as he slipped into your bakery.

“Ah Ebenezer! I was wondering when you would get here.”

Smiling, Scrooge could already feel the tension leave his.With just a smile you could easily make him feel at home. Stepping close he grasped your fingers giving them a kiss. “Hello love.”

Beaming at the man you then wove his fingers through your own as your tugged him towards your little kitchen. “We’re making cookies today! Have you ever made them before?”

Licking his lips the man looked at all the utensils. “ I don’t believe I have.”

“Well now you will.” Beaming you placed your hands on your hips.

Slumping his shoulders, he was hoping to spend some alone time with you. “Yes….let’s.”

+•+

Never once in his life did he thinking baking could be this hard. First the dough was wrong, then the shapes were wrong. He honestly wanted to toss the damn things out a window though at least they were done and you two could leave.

Wrinkling his nose, Ebenezer stared down at the misshaped gingerbread men. They didn’t look that bad, at least it was edible….he hoped.

Stepping behind him, you peered over his shoulders giving him a weak smile.

“They’re….cute.” Pausing for a moment you placed your hand on his shoulder, the whole table was a mess but at least he had fun doing it. “They can not be that bad…they still look like people…if you tilt your head.” Reaching over you grabbed one of the cookies taking a bite. “They’re delicious though….let’s bring these home.”

Still sweet, that was the reason why he loved you. “Well I think I will just leave the baking to you”

Giving him a wink you placed the cookies Ebenezer made in a little basket, glancing up at him you stifled your laughter seeing flour on his face. Instead you grasped his hand with your free one. “And since you’ve been such a good boy, I’ll give you my treat.”

Blinking, Ebenezer let his mind process what you told him though once it finally hit him a slow smile formed on his face. “I can not wait.”

[ladamedusoif]

Mulled Wine (Jack Daniels/Agent Whiskey x F!Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 12

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist, and follow @ladameecrit for my writing updates.

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/18+ MDNI

Warnings: Alcohol consumption; established relationship; light smut (heavy making out and fingering; implied smut; no use of Y/N; no physical descriptions of reader; language

Word Count: 1050

Summary: He might be a whiskey man by name, but he’s willing to try anything if you offer it.

I imagined this as part of the “Sleigh Ride” universe, though of course both fics can be read separately.

For @agentjackdaniels, as ever.

Jack takes off his boots on the porch, shaking off the snow, and quietly lets himself into the ranch house. He can hear you humming and clattering pans and bottles in the kitchen, presumably rustling up another of the little treats you love to make when you’re down here, just the two of you.

He tiptoes in his warm, thermal boot socks across the floorboards and peeks around the kitchen door. You’re absorbed in whatever it is you’re making, bobbing your head to music and wiggling your hips. The ties of your apron only serve to accentuate the curve of your waist, your hips, that generous ass that drives him insane, and Jack has to take a moment before he loses the run of himself.

You don’t hear a thing as he approaches, a wicked grin spreading across his handsome face. He gets up nice and close - and then he strikes, wrapping his arms around you and smooshing the frozen, pink skin of his cheek against your warm face.

“JACK! Fucking hell, babe!”

He chuckles as you squeal at the cold and playfully slap his arms away, spinning you round and holding you all the closer.

“Sure is a pity when a woman doesn’t want to help warm up her man.” He does that half-smile you love so much. It’s all you can do not to haul him to bed and really warm him up.

“You’re damned lucky you’re cute, Mr Daniels.” You reach for a cheap but cheerful bottle of red wine and uncork it before pouring it into a large pan.

“And your problem is you’re just too cute, Mrs Daniels,” Jack replies, taking off his navy-blue padded coat and scarf to reveal the green plaid flannel and simple grey sweater beneath.

He wanders over to watch what you’re doing. “Hold up, darlin’. Did you just pour a whole bottle into that pan?”

You nod and giggle at his confused expression. “Sure did.”

He spots the spices and oranges lined up and ready to join the steaming purple-red liquid in due course.

“Aw, no. This isn’t that hot wine thing, surely.”

“Hot wine? It’s mulled wine, Jack. Or Glühwein, in German. It’s delicious!”

Your husband looks sceptical. He’s a man who doesn’t much believe in adding extra flavours to alcoholic beverages. If it doesn’t stand up on its own, it’s probably not worth drinking.

But he’s curious, watching you add cinnamon sticks and star anise and cardamom pods and cloves and orange slices to the wine as it starts to bubble away on the stove. And damned if it doesn’t smell divine.

You catch his nose twitching as the aroma develops. “What’s it smell like, baby?”

Jack closes his eyes and thinks. “Christmas.”

***

He’s left you to finish fixing the wine and has set a roaring fire in the stone hearth, lighting a couple of candles here and there, just the way you like it.

“Okay, love. I’ve got the mulled wine and some cookies, too.”

He takes a glass mug of the steaming beverage, wrapping an arm around you as you settle beside him on the sofa. You offer him a cookie - small, domed, coated in a thin white icing.

“Never seen these before, darlin’.” He picks up a cookie and looks at it, sniffing it cautiously.

“Lebkuchen.”

“Leb-what now?”

“Lebkuchen. Like a soft gingerbread cookie. They used to sell these with the glühwein at the German Christmas market back in the city, when I was a kid.”

Jack takes a bite and savours the honey-sweet spices as they send his tastebuds tingling. “Goddamn. That’s delicious, sugar.”

“Try the wine.”

He still looks sceptical, but the look in your big eyes would convince anyone. So he raises the mug to his perfect mouth and takes a sip.

“Well.” He turns to you. “Well, I’ll be. That’s perfect. Feel like it’s warmin’ me up all the way down to my toes.”

You beam and drink from your own mug, wriggling your toes contentedly. The light from the candles and the fire highlights the beautiful contours and hollows of Jack’s face, picking out golden accents in his coffee-brown eyes.

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, you know that?”

He pulls a bashful expression and flutters his eyelashes. “Gee, shucks.”

“I mean it! And you married me. Me!”

Jack’s eyebrows furrow, confused. “Because you’re the most beautiful and best woman I’ve ever met, darlin’.”

He takes another bite of the cookie. “And you make delicious lobcookins.”

You chuckle awkwardly and bury your face in his chest. “Uh…I may have bought some when I was in the city, before we came down here. So… not homemade.”

Jack feigns horror. “Not homemade?! Well, that’s just not good enough, sugar.”

He takes your mug and puts both of them down on the little side table, before leaning over and caging you with his arms.

“Now what am I supposed to do with you, huh?”

You giggle. “What would you like to do with me, baby?”

Jack’s eyes fall to your body, one hand sliding up and under the fabric of your plaid shirt and long-sleeved undervest. “Oh, I can think of a few things.”

“Tell me.”

He leans in and starts to nibble at your neck as his big hand finds the soft flesh of your breasts, caressing and groping as he hums happily against your throat. “I would like to play with your tits while I kiss your neck and slip a couple of fingers into your panties, darlin’.”

Right on cue, he brings his hand down to unbutton your jeans, and your hips buck upwards against him.

“I’d like to get you off a couple of times with my fingers, feel you all warmed up and ready for me.”

He slips his fingers into your jeans, pulling aside the soft cotton of your panties and finding your pussy as you whine with pleasure.

“Then what? Then what, Jack?”

He slips his fingers away and sits back up, gazing down at you, already halfway to wrecked and still (mostly) clothed.

“Why don’t I get some blankets on that nice hearth rug and I’ll show you, sugar?”

[lewmagoo]

I don't celebrate Christmas, but how about a cozy + wintery thought? My brain can't stop thinking about cuddling in front of the fire with Rhett, mugs of hot cocoa and fresh cookies in hand. Your free hand combs through Rhett's hair, nails scratching against his scalp, and he can't remember the last time he's ever felt so warm or so loved by another person. 🥹 ❄️

a blizzard had rolled in from the mountains. with harsh winds that rattled your windowpanes and sent the barn doors shuddering open. this sent rhett right out into the cold to fasten the doors so that the animals would stay safe. he’d had a scare the year prior with his mare getting out during a blizzard. he wasn’t about to have that happen again. because he had to venture out into the arctic tundra, you decided to prepare a small pot of hot chocolate. over the years, you’d perfected your recipe, and it was rhett’s favorite. you had also baked some cookies together earlier that day. or rather, rhett had sneaked bites of raw dough until you’d finally shooed him away and tasked him with setting out all the cooking racks on the kitchen table.

the cookies had since cooled, and while the hot chocolate was coming to a low simmer, you set about filling a plate with cookies. gingerbread men and sugar cookies. the sugar cookies were a recipe his mama had given you, and they were a hit with your cowboy. he’d devour all of them at once if you let him. you knew he’d be overjoyed when he returned inside to find a plate of cookies and a mug of cocoa waiting for him. and sure enough, when he came stumbling back inside, covered in snow and grumbling about the damn wind, you were waiting in the living room, by the roaring fire. “c’mon, get in here and get warm,” you called, as he undid his coat and kicked off his boots. the scowl darkening his brow immediately softened. “what’s all this?” he asked, as his sock covered feet carried him toward you. you smiled as you leaned in to kiss his nose, reddened from the cold. “thought you might want some cocoa and cookies, handsome.”

at that, he beamed. “y’ sure know the way to a man’s heart, pun’kin.” you couldn’t help but hum at the sweet term of endearment. his pronunciation of pumpkin. it was his turn to kiss you, and he pressed one to the top of your head before he settled down onto the couch, with you following. you spread a big, soft blanket over the both of you before you handed him his mug of cocoa and a gingerbread man and a sugar cookie. he thanked you with another kiss. he couldn’t get enough of kissing you. as he happily ate his cookies, you enjoyed your own, while simultaneously bringing your hand up to come through his curls. he’d let his hair grow out a little longer than usual, much to your delight. it was freshly washed, too, and soft, thanks to the conditioner you’d convinced him to start using. (“hey! there ain’t any knots in my hair this time around!” he’d exclaimed to you after he first used the product. he’d continued using it ever since).

as your fingers gently scratched at his scalp, he found himself relaxing against you. he loved when you massaged his scalp. oftentimes, you’d do it when he couldn’t sleep, and it would send him straight to dreamland. it was comforting, and it also fed his need for physical contact. being surrounded by you, by your scent and your touch, was everything to him. it made his heart sing. and right now, he felt like it would burst right out of his chest. you knew how to make him feel special. making his favorite hot chocolate and cookies? he was so touched by such a simple gesture. it reminded him of how much you truly loved him. you didn’t just say you loved him and then didn’t show it. no, your love for him was evident in the way you took care of him, the way you prioritized him. he didn’t have to work hard to earn your love. you gave it to him freely.

“gosh, i love you,” he murmured, his head drooping to rest on your shoulder, his eyes fixated on the warm glow of the fire before you. you smiled, moving to nuzzle against his head. “i love you too, cowboy. more than anything.”

[linasofia]

(I hope you don't mind me sending this to you. Please use it however you'd like; a fic, head canon post, or even just a talk about how you think things would go)

It's Christmas Eve and Father Quart is running the Midnight Mass service. What happens when he finally gets home to you?

Thanks @fizzyxcustard for dropping this in my ask box. I hope you’ll like it. Merry Christmas! ❤️

The snow crunches under his weight as he walks the short distance to your little cottage. Father Quart left church in a haste after Midnight Mass and forgot to change into his heavier winter boots. The well-polished shoes he wears for church are not the best choice for slippery winter roads, but he manages to get to your front door without any misadventures. When he knocks on the door, the sound is muffled by his thick gloves but he knows you will hear it anyway. He’s expected. Longed for, even.

You open the door with a warm smile. Seeing the man who earned the key to your heart always brings joy and gratefulness to your chest. He’s your guardian light, your evening star and your heart’s compass. You, in return, are his safe haven when he doubts, his small piece of heaven, and the woman who made him realize that he has room for more than the Lord in his heart. Your secret relationship is not easy for either of you, but you have both agreed that what you share is worth the effort.

You allow Lorenzo to take off his winter coat before you throw your arms around his neck. He hugs you tightly back, and you lose yourself in his smell. The cologne he put on this morning still lingers on his skin, and you rest your nose against his neck while you give him a gentle kiss on his stubbled jaw. He cups your cheek and returns the affection, his kiss deep and sensual.

”Are you tired? I made tea if you want some.” You ask when he releases you from his embrace.

”Not really tired and I’d love to have tea with you.” Your thoughtfulness is one of the first things he noticed about you, and he appreciates your attempts to make your life together as normal as it can be. ”How are you feeling now?”

For the last couple of days your sore throat has been bothering you, but this morning you finally felt better. You chose to not attend Midnight Mass, even if you have looked forward to it for a long time, since you don’t want to risk ruining the holidays for other people by giving them a cold. Lorenzo, however, refused to stay away from you.

”I feel much better, I think it’s finally over.”

He gives you a kiss on your forehead. ”That’s the best Christmas present.” Then he looks down at your tights and oversized knitted sweater and smiles warmly. With a swift move, he pulls off his jacket. ”I’ll go and put on something else.”

You head for the kettle in the kitchen, and Lorenzo goes to your bedroom. He has his own drawer where he keeps some clothes and underwear. As you fill the mugs, you hear him pull out the drawer and go through his choices. While you’re seated on your sofa, he finally joins you, wearing grey sweatpants and a navy t-shirt. If you didn’t know, he would never be taken for a priest in this outfit. The t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders in a very flattering way and his sweatpants, well, you could probably write a poem about how well they fit him.

The tea with Christmas spices smells lovely but the steam rising from the mugs is a silent warning to be careful. You hand Lorenzo a gingerbread, and he takes it with a smirk. ”Are you feeding me cookies so I will be good to you tonight?”

You let out a short laugh. He looks playful, but you know what he means, and just the thought of him teasing every part of your sensitive body until you almost lose your senses, is enough to make your skin heat up.

”Maybe,” you wink at him as he takes a bite. You have already had a few—the baker needs to approve, right? But you take one more. It’s Christmas after all.

The open fire spreads its warm light over your living room, and you look around, pleased with how your decorations turned out. The tree with its baubles and the beautiful star at the top, the white mittens you use instead of socks and fill with green twigs. Your eyes fall on your newest addition, the small but very cute Yule goat you bought a week ago at the local market. He stands guard next to the little pile of carefully wrapped Christmas gifts. Lorenzo gently puts his arm around your shoulder and holds you close. He snuggles your hair and hums when you place your hand on his chest. Your living room breathes calmness; the only sounds are the ones coming from the open fire.

When you reach for your tea, Lorenzo lovingly strokes your back. The tea has cooled enough to be drinkable, and after you taste the first sip, you make a mental note to buy more of the wonderful blend. It’s flavored with oranges and cinnamon, and together with the gingerbread, it can’t taste more like Christmas. You wish time would stop so the two of you could stay like this forever. But all the preparations finally claim your energy, and you yawn.

”It’s getting late.” Lorenzo murmurs against your hair. ”I better eat one more cookie before I take you to bed, so I can be really good to you.” His voice holds the most delicious promise, and you know you will not fall asleep unsatisfied tonight.

❤️ If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.❤️

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @jaskierthelover @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly @lilith15000 @clumsy-wonderland @theawkwardbutterfly

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed.

[josiebelladonna]

black moon | kinkmas | day six

chapter title: “burning bright”

pairing: alex skolnick x fem!oc

tags: waxplay, temperature play

ao3 link | kinktober/sister piece “eclipse”

minors dni... especially here ❄️💋❄️💋

“Alex, I’m cold,” Christine decreed.

“Yeah, I am, too—I think it’s going to snow again.”

He put his arm around her all so he could lead her to the back room of the bistro. It had been some time since they had been at the cabin and all Christine wanted was to curl up before the fireplace with him on the couch and fall asleep in that warm cozy bed before the next round of snow entered their mysterious area. She shivered and she tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear: Alex, meanwhile, huddled closer to her so his body protected her from the bitter cold wind, which flooded in from the mountainsides off in the distance on the backs of wispy gray clouds. There was a small part of her that remained curious about those mountainsides, and especially the cavernous glaciers in between the finest crevices up there as well.

So much to do in that area and yet, she felt the clock ticking. The fantasy would be done before she knew it, and thus, she knew that she had to seize every moment she had with Alex.

“Let’s get out of the wind!” he exclaimed over the next big gust of cold alpine wind. Indeed, she could feel the snow in the air as he led her over to what looked like a narrow alleyway off to the left side of the street. Christine moved a lock of hair out of her eyes for a better look at the narrow spot before them and she realized it was like a closet, a safe space away from the world with a little Christmas tree in one corner and a lush shag rug that was the color of red wine.

“Ooh, this is lovely,” she remarked: a door behind them closed and they were cozy and warm in this small room.

“A nice little nook for us to spend some time in until the weather clears up,” he declared: he strode past her to a small white bone china plate on a stand up against the wall.

“What you got there, baby?” she asked him.

“Cookies!” He picked one up and showed her the shape of the gingerbread man, complete with gum drops for the buttons and royal icing for the eyes and the mouth. He handed her the cookie and she nibbled on the top of the head.

“Of course you eat his head first,” he teased her as he picked up a cookie for himself, to which he bit off the arm from the shoulder.

“Yeah, but you’re eating his arm, though!” she insisted, and he flashed her a wink.

“Mmm, gingerbread,” he said in a low voice. “Delicious.” He picked up a piece of paper from the edge of the platter and nodded his head. “These are from Chuck and Tiffany, Chris.”

“Far too kind,” she said as she took a larger bite out of the head, and he snickered at that.

Alex ran his fingers through his jet-black hair and he turned towards the big lush red recliner chair up against the right wall.

“There should be another chair in here,” she quipped, and she opened the coat a little bit more. She then spotted something out of the corner of her eye: when she turned her head for a look, there stood a series of milky white candles on the shelf next to the top of the recliner. A little something intimate for the two of them in there.

“Some gingerbread and a bit of relaxation, too—mmm.” He leaned back in the recliner, as far back as it could go so the tip of his nose pointed up towards the ceiling. Christine showed him a smile even though he had closed his eyes and rolled his head away from her. He nibbled on the cookie and he tucked one hand underneath his head: meanwhile, the bottom hem of the camisole and the edges of the jacket all raised up and he showed her that big patch of skin that was his belly.

But Christine had her attention fixated on the long matches on the floor next to the leg of the table next to her, nestled in the canister that looked to be a part of the table itself. She picked out one of the matches, long and pale with the light balsa wood and with a large pink head capped on top.

“What else we got here?” he wondered aloud.

She turned to see him with a small tin box decorated with snowflakes and a couple of Christmas trees. He set the box down upon his stomach all so he could take off the lid: he lifted his head for a look into the box, and then he took one thing out of there.

“Looks like some sugar cookies,” he said as he took a bite of cookie. He closed his eyes as he relished in the flavor.

“Tasty?” she asked him.

“Quite,” he replied with his mouth full. Christine struck the match head against the abrasive side of the can and a low flame flickered as a result. Alex raised his eyebrows at the sight of it.

“What, you want to light me on fire or something?” he teased her with his mouth full.

“Nah…” She strode over to the candles on the shelf and she lit one wick after the other, until they had a full line of fire right over Alex’s head. She blew out the flame on the match head and she showed him another sweet smile, especially as he swallowed down another bite of sugar cookie.

“Fill your tummy with all the cookies,” she declared with a smile on her face.

“Can’t eat too many of them, though,” he pointed out once he swallowed the rest down and then rubbed his hands together. “Too many cookies and I’ll gain weight.”

“You would look really cute with some extra pounds, though,” she told him, and she cracked him a playful little smile. She pulsated her fingers and lunged for his waist. “Just a little round full tummy—” He brought his arms up to his waist to protect himself from her tickling him: she instead put her hands upon his waist and pressed her lips to the side of his neck.

“Let’s turn the lights off, shall we?” she suggested, and she doubled back to the door frame for the light switch rested upon the wall there: she spotted a dimmer switch, which she took upon herself to push down upon. Darkness swept over the tiny room and the lights from the tree flickered on in response.

“Look at that,” Alex remarked as he tucked the tin in between him and the arm of the couch. The little lights twinkled with crystal white light, especially when she brought the overhead lights to a level of near complete darkness.

She let the candles glide with the low flames and then she switched off the overhead light all the way. The golden glow from the wicks spread over the walls and the ceiling, and she closed the edges of the coat around her to keep in the warmth.

Alex remained reclined back in the chair but he lifted his head for a better look at Christine through the soft light from the tree and the candles. The way the light caressed over his skin and the edges of his hipbones and blanketed him as if he was meant to do just that: she never realized as to how beautiful of a body he had before, that is until she examined him from his feet all the way up to his bare waist and his entire upper body.

“You look so cute, baby,” she told him in a near whisper.

“So cute?” he echoed her, baffled.

“So very—cute.” She pressed her lips onto his, and she lay a hand on his bare belly for a caress of the soft smooth skin. He then brought a finger to her lips to hold her steady.

“I have an idea,” he quipped right then.

“What’s that?”

He nibbled on his bottom lip.

“It’s crazy, though,” he said. “Crazy but risky as holy fuck.”

“What is it?”

“You see that candle closest to us?”

She gasped.

“Alex—where are you going with this?”

“A little bit of hot wax and fire to warm us up?” he suggested.

Christine pursed her lips at that. She had never thought of playing with hot wax or the temperature or anything of that nature but through the darkness, she noticed this look in his eyes as if she could trust him on it.

“As long as it gets the both of us out of these ill-fitting clothes,” she remarked.

“I guarantee you that it will.” He flashed her a wink, and then she reached for the candle closest to him. The base of the outside glass was warm, but not warm enough to ache the palm of her hand.

“So my gut has been out in the open this whole entire time,” he started with a running of his fingers through his jet-black hair: through the dim intimate light of the Christmas tree and the candles on the shelf, the gray sliver poked out like a bunny rabbit poking its head out of the safety of the hole. “Because I’ve been so exposed this whole entire time, my skin feels like porcelain left out in the cold.”

Christine held the candle in one hand so she could run her fingers over his bare skin again.

“Yeah, it is cool to the touch,” she noted. Her fingertips caressed over the rim of his belly button. She almost didn’t want to do it given he was so soft and gentle there but it would give him what he wanted.

She rested the base of the candle on his skin.

“Ooh, that’s nice and warm,” he told her. “Tip it over.”

Gingerly, she tipped the candle onto the edge of the base so the side inclined closer to his bare skin. He let out a low whistle as the warmer part of the glass loomed closer to him.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asked him.

“Never better.” The tip of the flame kissed the rim of the candle and the hot melted wax puddled against the inside glass.

“Lift it off of me,” he encouraged her. She lifted the candle off his skin but she let the wax drip out of there and onto his skin. He gasped at the feeling and he let out a low euphoric moan in response to her.

“Is that good?”

“Utterly perfect,” he assured her in between grunts and soft moans from the back of his throat. The wax pooled around his hipbone, a long thin puddle with a slight streak on one side as if it resembled a broomstick. “More.”

“More?”

“Gimme more. I'm begging you, my dear. Give me more of that hot wax. I need it. I need the feeling against my skin.”

Another drizzle of wax on his bare skin and he gasped again from the sensation. That piece of wax took the shape of a Christmas tree that time. Alex brought his hands to his face all to obscure her view into his eyes.

More wax on his bare skin and that time, Christine was sure that it took the shape of a menorah. A little bit of tattooing on her part, all for him.

“Give yourself some of that fire, too,” he whimpered out to her in a broken voice.

“You wanna do it for me or should I do it myself?”

“Whatever you want, my dear little snow bunny.”

She held the candle underneath her hand and Alex raised his head for a better look at her. The tip of the flame licked the base of her skin: she nibbled on her bottom lip as she relished in the pain.

“Put it to your thigh,” he groaned out.

“That means I would have to take off your jeans,” she pointed out.

Without a second thought, he sat up and he reached out for the waistband of the jeans. He then tugged them down as if they were made of latex rather than snug denim.

“To my thigh?” she echoed him, and he nodded at her, excited.

With a low whistle, she brought the flame to the inside of her thigh. The heat lapped at her: she locked eyes with him, those deep eyes that seemed to stare into infinity from the bottom of the ocean. The tip of her tongue slithered out from her mouth and along her bottom lip.

The dance of fire and ice. The meeting of fire and water. The caress of the deep ocean with the kiss of deep space. She waded through the depths of the ocean where he emerged from the darkest corner of outer space: there was in fact something alien about Alex after all, as if he had emerged from another world at some point. So infinite and so infinitesimal at the same time.

She closed her eyes to better take in the heat as well as his spatial depths. As if he had taken her by the hand and kissed her with the sin of the apple and the coziness of the snow.

The hot touch of wax dripped down the inside of her thigh: she opened her eyes and she realized that she not only had let some of the wax go down her skin but he had slipped his fingers in between her lips. The pain of the hot wax fused with the euphoria of his fingers under her hood.

She had reached orgasm without even knowing it, that is until she dripped more wax down the inside of her leg and it reached her knee, and Alex brought his middle finger to her clit, and she watched all the while.

She treated him to a low moan, and she bowed her head forth. Alex then clasped his free hand up to her face and pressed his lips onto hers.

He then reached behind her for something, and he handed her a big bright red apple, as full and round as the apples down in the orchard at the base of the hill.

“What’s this for?” she asked him, and he brought his lips to her forehead, followed by a soft swipe at the side of her neck, which in turn made her toes curl into the soft shag carpet. A second kiss on the neck and then he planted one on her lips, which in turn straightened out her spine as well as her knees.

He kept his eyes closed and she kept both hands on the apple.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered into her ear, “and let the music guide you.”

She closed her eyes, and the warm intimacy of the room fell away as he brought her to another avenue of her mind.

[hybridalrhue]

Christmas, what are you?

I always loved Christmas that comes once a year.

But, a question had been buzzing around in my head.

Christmas, what are you?

So, I dashed downstairs to the kitchen to ask mama.

She was just pulling out the gingerbread cookies from the oven.

"Mama, what is Christmas?" I asked.

She placed cookies on the counter to cool.

"Christmas is delicious cookies that smell hot and fresh." She answered.

She handed me a gingerbread cookie shaped like a bell.

As I took a bite of the cookie; I thought for a minute noticing that it did not answer my question.

Christmas, what are you?

So, I went off to the living room to daddy after finishing the cookie.

He was sitting in his favorite chair drinking hot cocoa and watching Christmas movies on the TV set.

"Daddy, what is Christmas?"

He took a sip of his cocoa and sighed. "Well, my boy. Christmas is watching Christmas movies next to the fireplace and drinking nice hot cocoa."

My little sister was sitting next to the Christmas Tree shaking all of the gifts under it.

"No, no, no… Christmas is when Santa comes every Christmas Eve night and gives all the little boys and girls presents when they are on the nice list."

I smiled then started to think.

Those answers were not the answers to my question.

Christmas, what are you?

So, my Nona entered the living room with some decorations in a box.

"Nona, what is Christmas?"

She gave me a smile. "My, aren't you a curious one. Well, Christmas are decorations that you put on the tree and around the house."

She handed my little sister and I our stockings to hang on the fireplace.

I thought for a minute about her answer.

But, that still didn't answer my question.

Christmas, what are you?

I then sighed and went to the stairs and sat down with my hands underneath my chin.

My granny walked in through the door with my grandpa carrying presents in the house.

They noticed I was a little upset.

"My sweet grandson, what's the matter?"

"Hi, granny. Hi, grandpa. I want to know what Christmas is?" Granny a seat next to me on the stairs. "You see, I asked Mama. She answered Christmas were fresh baked gingerbread cookies.”

“Then I went to daddy. He answered that Christmas was a cup of hot cocoa while watching Christmas movies next to the fireplace. Sissy answered that Christmas was when Santa comes to every house to give presents to every little boy and girl who are on the nice list. Then Nona walked in the living room with some decorations. When I asked her, She answered that there were decorations to put around the house. But, none of them answered my curious question."

Granny thought for a minute and had a brilliant idea.

She stood up and went to the kitchen to talk to mama then came back.

"Come with me. I will show you what

Christmas is."

I nodded and got on my winter coat with my hat and gloves.

Then slipped on my snow boots.

I took my granny's hand to follow her down the street to our local church.

We walked in the church and took a seat near the front.

I noticed that there was a man and a woman.

The woman was holding a baby and was surrounded by angels and shepherds.

Not just them but three kings known as the wise men.

My granny leaned over towards my ear.

"You see that baby in the mother's arms. That baby is named Jesus, he is Christmas. You see he was born unto this day. He was born to be our savior."

My eyes glittered with joy on the site.

So, Christmas wasn't freshly baked gingerbread cookies, hot cocoa while watching Christmas movies next to the fireplace, Santa coming to bring presents to everyone on the nice list or decorations to put around the house.

Christmas is not what, it's a who.

Christmas, what are you?

You are the one we call savior.

You are the one who is the king of kings and the lord of lords.

You were born on this day of all days. The holiest of nights.

You are the light of the world.

You are Emmanuel. You are Messiah.

You are Jesus Christ, the king of all.

[bluejaem]

⌗ what christmas with them is like ( ver. dreamies )

not requested , cw. mentions of food (mk, jm, js)

(✿) —; MARK LEE. “why do you always bite the heads off the gingerbread man cookies first?” you lightly chuckled when you saw mark suddenly pause chewing on the cookies as he looked up at you with doe-like eyes, evidently confused. “wait, do i?” he asked, mouth still half-full with the cookies. “well, the headless gingerbread man cannot say anything for himself so as his representative i’d say, yeah, you do.” and a broken laugh left your lips as you watched mark stare at the cookie in horror.

(✿) —; HUANG RENJUN. “you know,” you started, trying to grab renjun’s attention. “you shine brighter than the star on top of this tree?” you said, completing the sentence with a satisfied smile on your face. yes, you were impressed by your own flirting skills. his eyes left the christmas tree in question and found yours, “yeah, i know,” this statement accompanied by a prideful (but also somehow still very adorable) grin adorning his lips. you scoffed in disbelief as renjun then hugged you from the side to comfort you. and laughing his heart out, he said, “i love you too!”

(✿) —; LEE JENO. after eyeing the christmas tree ornaments section for a while, you point at a candy cane set on the shelf and ask, “this will do, don’t you think?” your head instinctively turns towards jeno but you are greeted with his figure holding a mistletoe in his hands. “but mistletoe doesn’t sound so bad either. i mean, that’s one more great excuse for me to earn a kiss from you.” his eyes morph into crescents and his lips perk up. hearing this, you playfully hit his arm, to which he feigned a pained hiss— which was then followed by shared laughter.

(✿) —; LEE HAECHAN. you find yourself in a devastated state after having laughed so much because of haechan belting out consistent fancy notes while singing his favorite christmas classics. “88! ha, beat that!” he exclaimed into the microphone after checking his score on the karaoke app. you get up on your feet and pick up one of the mics to answer him. “gladly.” a smile played on your faces as you both then went on to sing your heart out to ‘all i want for christmas is you,’ while occassionally laughing in between because of something silly the other would do.

(✿) —; NA JAEMIN. you squirmed while inside the blanket that currently embraced your figure, rubbing your hands together to provide some kind of warmth. and jaemin walked in just in time, handing you a cup of hot chocolate and settling down in front of you with his own. he held the cup with both hands as he watched you take a sip of the hot drink. “so, you were saying?” he asked. and without even realising it, a small smile took over his lips as he listened to you continue with your stories about your childhood memories associated with christmas.

(✿) —; ZHONG CHENLE. when you realised that chenle was holding an old photo album of yours, you immediately tried to snatch it from him. “oh, no. we don’t need to see this.” “yes, yes, we do,” he snickered as he teasingly tried to open the album. he plopped onto the bed and opened the first page. “you were so much cuter back then!” *gasp* “are you implying that i’m not cute now?” “maybe?” and your plans of cleaning your room for the holidays were soon irrelevant as you both spent the rest of the day laughing along while talking about your childhood days.

(✿) —; PARK JISUNG. “i just hope santa does not get sick after eating these cookies,” jisung commented as he was setting his cookies on a plate. after you put the last batch of cookies into the oven, you started helping him with the transfer, “santa is not real, sung.” hearing this, jisung let out a scandalized gasp, making you snicker in turn. “take that back!” finding his reaction amusing, you decided to tease him a little more, “and what if i tell you that all these years, it was just your pare—” jisung covered his ear as you continued, “i’m sorry i can’t hear you lalala—”

© BLUEJAEM

[oonajaeadira]

The Sentimental Defacement of Homemade Cookies

(CHRISTMAS COOKIES - Sweets Series)

Rating: T. Fluffy AF.

Fandom: The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez and f!reader (not truly “paired” in this fic, but “potential,” definitely real care between them)

Warnings: soft!Javi G. He just…ruins me. Stupid amounts of fluff and joy.

Summary: Javi is your boss, and you’re making some cookies. 

A/N: I wasn’t gonna write for Javi G until the movie came out. But then the Writer Wednesday prompt appeared and I COULDN’T HELP MYSELF BECAUSE I LOVE HIM ALREADY.

Thank you to @autumnleaves1991-blog​​​ and @clydesducktape​ for their amazing work prompting, organizing, and compiling Writer Wednesday!

You’re piping an eyebrow onto a gingerbread man and he goes from surprised to pissed off in an instant when you jump at Javi’s entrance behind you–

“Oh! Sunday! You are here! What are you doing in the kitchen? We have a cook if you need something made…where is…the cook…”

You can hear him spinning wildly in the huge villa kitchen as if he can’t just be satisfied with turning his head.

“It’s his day off, Mr. Gutierrez, remember? He’s going to be cooking all day tomorrow to prepare for your Christmas party so it’s better for him to take today than–”

“Are these for the party!?” He swoops in and grabs a cookie off your sheet, a snowflake, the prettiest one, the one you piped the heaviest detail on before deciding it was too much effort to do the whole batch like that and decided to save it especially for…

…the absolute look of glee on his face as he bites into it…you can’t be mad at that.

He stands there in a light colored button up, sleeves rolled up, looking very casual and comfortable, (even though you know exactly how expensive that shirt was), breezy, beautiful curls moving in the cross current between the windows of the open space.

“Mmm! This is wonderful–what is this?” He takes another bite, studying the cookie top and bottom as if it has a designer label on it, and you barely hold back a laugh as you turn back to the piping.

“It’s just a soft ginger cookie with almond icing. They’re my grandmother’s recipe. I was missing home so I thought I’d make some. And no. They’re not for the party.”

You can feel him hovering over your shoulder, no sense of personal space. It’s something you’ve gotten used to in the months of being his personal assistant, come to realize he isn’t threatening, just…earnest?

Genuine. Javi is genuine. Without pretense. Sure, he may treat you more like a friend than an assistant and you may sometimes have to be the one to remind him that you do have to get work done for him from time to time. You’ve learned that he prefers your shoulder to a tissue when he weeps (often), and that he expresses his happiest emotions by squeezing anything near him…which is frequently you (more often). But. He treats you kindly and gives you run of the house, actually listens to you when you have advice or schedules to heap on him, gives you everything you ask for without question, seemingly frustrated that you use that advantage sparingly. He wants your opinion constantly, refusing to buy an article of clothing unless you say the words “yes for God’s sake buy it if you want it, it would look good on you,” assigns you movie scripts to read so he can have somebody to discuss them with at ungodly hours of the night, and trusts you so much that he insists you be the one to pick out the selection for Sunday movie night (courtyard viewing, mandatory attendance by the entire house and staff).

At first, you thought this last detail was why he called you Sunday. But he had blinked at that assumption and explained “Like the movie. His Girl Friday. You are my Girl Friday. But Sunday is more special than Friday. It is a holy day and you are sweet like an angel. And there’s sun in it. Sunday fits better. My Girl Sunday.”

That had set you staring out over the water from the balcony, with probably the stupidest look on your gob, not sure if you felt more amused or touched. It was the first of many genuine moments when Javi would make you understand without warning or filter just how absurdly highly he valued you, and you’ve since gotten better at schooling your face.

In the warm, sunlit kitchen, he dips his own face low around your shoulder into your periphery, blatantly worried. “You are missing home? Let me send you home for Christmas.You can use my jet, my pilot. I could call him–”

You laugh, piping a perfect grin on a gingerbread man. “Thank you, Mr. Gutierrez. I am completely capable of calling on Mateo myself. I’ve arranged many flights for you, remember?”

“Do you want to go?”

The sincere concern in his voice tears your attention away from the sheet of cookies and into his pained, puppy-dog eyes.

“No, sir. Truly. I’m happy to be here. I wouldn’t miss your Christmas party for the world.” Judging by that smile, you’ve just made his entire week. He loves a good party and you know nothing would make him happier than if you were there for it. You help him turn it up a notch with a quiet smile of your own…and by taking his hand and curling it around the piping bag. “You wanna help me with these?”

Ever willing and eager, he steps up to the counter, surveying the wintery shapes in front of him, none of them native to the south of Spain, but welcome and delightful to him all the same. “What do I do?” The question is warranted, but of course he doesn’t wait for an answer and just squeezes the bag hard, giving one gingerbread man a very large, very pornographic appendage–

–and getting red icing all over his very expensive shirt in the process.

Your shriek causes him to jump. “Shit! Oh no! No! Shiiiiiit….” Immediately grabbing for a towel, you try to mitigate the damage of the red dye on the pastel silk, your hands shaking, all a fluster. 

But he collects your hands, calmly--so calmly--closing them in completely with his own, immediately doing whatever he can to put an end to your dismay. “Shhh. Shhh, Sunday, it is alright. Don’t worry about this.”

“Aw shit, I’m sorry. It’s such a nice shirt… I just…I really like it…”

“Shh. It is alright. I have two more! Do you want one?”

The unannounced laugh this pulls out of you yanks all of the panic away with it and you relax into it, closing your eyes and shaking your head. “No, sir. Thank you. I should have given you an apron. That’s on me.”

“Well, no,” he says, smiling brightly, anticipating his own joke, “It is on my shirt.” As you continue to press your lips into a straight line and shake your head through a suppressed giggle, he jostles your shoulder lightly and grins widely into your face. “You get it, huh? It is on me? Because the red is on my shirt?”

“Yes, yes okay! Stop trying to cheer me up. I’m cheered. Mercy!”

Once you’ve both exploded in laughter again and calmed down with a sigh, he looks over the carnage on the counter. It’s not too bad.

“I’m sorry that I have ruined your beautiful work. I hope these are not for anything special.”

Your sigh arrives heavily with the knowledge of what comes next, ready to surrender to a truly Christmasy moment. “They are, Mr. Gutierrez. They’re for you.”

He gasps, wide, slowly. Genuinely. Just like he does everything else. “Really??”

“Yes, sir,” you smile. “Dig in. I’d tell you to wait until the icing’s set, but it doesn’t really matter now.” You indicate the stain on his–again–very cringingly expensive shirt.

But he doesn’t notice. Doesn’t care. He’s just looking at the cookies like they’re worth ten silk shirts. A thousand shirts.

Or–you can almost hear him saying it–just one of you.

It causes your cheeks to flood with warmth.

“Can I have the one with the dick?” he whispers.

You school your face. 

“Yes, sir. You can have the one with the dick. You can have them all. Merry Christmas.”

________________

NEXT

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

[judeswhore]

wren’s goodies - mason mount

in which you get sick and mason helps wren make you her favourite gingerbread biscuits to make you feel better

"Can't we make it into a house? Mummy would like a house." Wren peered up at Mason from where she was standing on her stool, watching the way he searched the cupboards for some cookie cutters. He threw a glance over his shoulder at his daughter, his brows drawing together.

"Wren, baby, do you really think I'd be able to make a gingerbread house?" He finally found the little tub of different shapes and dropped it down on to the counter, popping the lid so they could both look inside. He watched Wren's shoulders rise and fall in a shrug.

"You can do anything." This made him smile softly and he bent to kiss her head, wiping away the little bit of sugar she'd somehow managed to get stuck to her cheek. She was leant forward so she could rifle through the tub of cutters, searching for the actual gingerbread man shape.

"As much as I love you and your faith in me, I can't make a gingerbread house. Mummy will be happy with a normal gingerbread man." Wren dropped the man shaped cutter down on to the counter and then Mason pulled out a heart shaped one. "We can make her some love heart ones as well, yeah? Any other shapes you want?" He watched her have another look in the tub before pulling a cutter out.

"Can we do a snowman?"

"A gingerbread man, a snowman and a heart. She'll love it." Mason had taken you and Wren sledging a few days ago and you unfortunately had come down with a severe winter cold and had been wrapped up in bed for the past two days. Wren hated that you were ill and wanted to do something to make you feel better and her first suggestion to her father had been that they made gingerbread biscuits. They were Wren's favourite to eat and she claimed that they'd make you feel better so while you'd been sleeping the two of them had spent the afternoon baking. The kitchen was a mess and Mason was dreading cleaning it up but if it meant Wren would stop worrying about you then he'd make the mess ten times over.

"Do I just squash it in?" Wren's brows were drawn together as she stared at Mason with a slightly puzzled expression and he nodded, stepping behind her so he could wrap his arms around her body and cover her hands with his. He settled his cheek against hers and started showing her the way to do it, mumbling in her ear that she needed to make sure she pressed down hard enough.

They made a total of three love hearts before Wren's concentration faltered and she turned to glance up at Mason, her lips turned down ever so slightly. "Is mummy gonna be okay?" Mason's own lips pouted at her words and the soft way she'd spoken them, clear worry etched into her tone.

"She's gonna be fine, baby, she just has a little cold from all the snow but your biscuits will make her feel loads better." He gently kissed her cheek, nuzzling into her skin until she gave a little giggle and lifted her shoulders up to her ears to tuck herself away from him. "One bite of Wren's famous biscuits and she'll be back to normal. So why don't we hurry up and finish them off? Then you can surprise her with them?"

Wren got straight back to cutting the shapes of the biscuits, Mason stepping back slightly so she could finish it herself and then when she'd made an array of different shapes she grinned triumphantly. "Do we put them in the oven now?"

"Have to put them on a tray first, Munchkin." He reached over for the black baking tray and a roll of baking paper to lay over the top. "We need to put them on here, okay? Can you do it or do you want me to?"

"I can do it." If there was one thing Mason had learnt about his daughter this afternoon it was that she liked to control everything in the kitchen. She refused to let Mason do all of the work, clambering up onto her little stool so she could see over the counter and could help him make the mixture.

"Be careful they don't break, yeah? You have to be really gentle with them and make sure you leave a little bit of space between each one so they don't stick together." Wren nodded and then with extra careful hands started moving the uncooked biscuits from the counter and on to the tray.

While she was doing that, her concentration face making Mason smile softly, he made sure the oven was on the right setting and that the rack was in the right place before starting to run the tap to wash up the pots. Wren was humming softly from the other side of the kitchen, an off key version of Let It Go that had him stifling his laughter with a cough.

“I’m finished, daddy.” When he peered over her shoulder he was proud to see she’d managed to put all but one successfully on to the try and had spaced them out a good amount. She looked up at him. “I broke this one’s leg.”

“It’s okay, we’ll eat that one.” He lightly ruffled her hair and took the tray from the counter to slide it into the oven, clicking the door into place as Wren jumped down from her stool and tilted her head back to peak through the glass door.

“Can we decorate them with sprinkles? Those ones that mummy always gets on her ice creams?”

“Yeah, I think we’ve got some in the cupboard. Why don’t you go wash your hands and then put some cartoons on while I clean up in here? I’ll be in when I’m done.” Wren gave a little nod of her head before heading for the kitchen door. “Quiet when you go upstairs, mummy might still be sleeping.”

It was over two hours later when you finally made your way downstairs and when he glanced over the back of the sofa at you, Mason noticed that you looked a lot brighter than you had done the past few days. Him and Wren were sitting on the floor playing Connect 4, Mason deliberately letting her win each time because he knew how much of a sore loser she could be.

“Hi, baby, feeling any better?” At the sound of his voice Wren looked up from where she’d been counting her little red pieces and grinned brightly. She scrambled up from the floor and made her way over to you, her arms wrapping around your leg as she smushed her face into your leg.

“Mummy, I’m beating daddy.”

“Are you now?” You brushed your fingers through her hair and met Mason’s gaze as he pushed himself up and made his way over.

“I was going easy on you.” He brushed the backs of his fingers over your cheek and then felt your forehead, his eyes searching your face. “Okay?”

“Better than I was, just have a bit of a stuffy nose.” You smiled softly when he leant in and kissed your head, Wren reaching up to tug on your shirt.

“I made you some biscuits to make you better again and I made them look nice for you, come and see.” She took ahold of your hand and pulled you through to the kitchen, leading you to the island that held a plate full of the biscuits she’d made. Her and Mason had spent ages decorating them, covering them with icing and then sprinkles and other treats on top. “You can choose which ones you want. We made gingerbread men and hearts and snowmen.”

Your hands settled under Wren’s armpits and then you lifted her up, holding her against your chest as you rubbed your nose gently over hers until she laughed. “You made them to make me feel better?”

“I always like them when I’m sick so daddy said we could make them. We already had one and it was really nice.” She gave your cheek a little kiss and Mason just leant against the counter, watching you both with a little smile loose on his lips.

“My thoughtful little girl.” You returned her kiss and then reached for a heart shaped biscuit covered in sprinkles and you had to give it to your husband and daughter for actually doing a good job. You took a bite and let out a soft little hum at the taste, surprised at how nice it actually was. You grinned and tapped the end of Wren’s nose as she grabbed her own biscuit, snapping the arm straight off the gingerbread man. Your gaze slid to Mason.

“If football doesn’t work out you two could open a family bakery together.” Mason hummed and moved in closer to you, his fingers skimming over your side.

“We can call it Wren’s Goodies.”

[y0itsbri]

Milk(ovich) & Cookies

Summary: A Gallagher family vacation AU with baker!Mickey

Prompt: a canon divergent first meeting of Ian and Mickey, where Mickey is the one pursuing Ian (basically gimme ALL the flirty Mickey you can muster)

For @abundanceofnots for the Gallavich Gift Exchange 2021 (@gallavichthings) 🎁

A thousand 'thank you's to my love @grumpymickmilk for the wonderful banner and all the support 💗

Words: 3.3k

"Gallaghers, line up! Everyone have their hats, coats, gloves, scarves, boots?"

The Gallagher kids stood in line in front of Fiona, frantically fumbling with each of their outfits to make sure they were appropriately bundled for the snow. Debbie held Liam's small hand while Fiona secured his hat's velcro strap under his chin. Carl kept trying to take off running towards the lodge, but Ian held a firm grip on his shoulder.

Fiona stepped back a couple paces, hands on her waist. "Alright, kids. Meet back at the room for dinner. You better come back in one piece or I will break you myself." She knelt down in front of Carl, taking his face in her hands, "And no creating weapons of mass destruction this winter vacation, got it?"

"No promises." Lip mumbled.

"Sounds good, Fi." Ian smiled, squeezing a half-promising smile out of Carl too.

"Great. Call me or Jimmy-Steve if you need anyone, but try not to need anything." She lifted Liam off the floor and settled him on her hip.

-

Debbie and Carl fucked off to god knows where to terrorize the locals. Lip was already well on his way to being plastered in the all-expenses-included lodge bar, whining to some chick about being in the off stage of his on-again-off-again relationship with Karen Jackson.

Ian, sober as ever, decided to make the most of his trip and take a stroll down Main Street. Rainbow Christmas lights were wrapped around the trunks of each tree, wreaths and metal snowflakes hung from streetlights, and each store took on their own festive identity.

He made note of an antique shop and a gift shop he wanted to visit before they left, but his heart (and stomach) was drawn to a bakery. 'Sweet Cheeks' was lit up in some retro font, an image of a chipmunk with full cheeks seemingly the mascot of the small business. Ian smiled.

Scents of cinnamon and ginger and other spices that Ian's nose wasn't able to distinguish swirled together in a delicious coziness. The warm lights from the store flooded out onto the pavement, daring him to escape the cold. He caved.

Inside the bakery, some indie music played over the speakers, a comfortable volume amongst the chatter and laughter coming from nearby tables.

"Can I help you?" A voice called from behind the counter, more amused than annoyed, as the seemingly permanent grumpy face would otherwise indicate. The guy raised an eyebrow at Ian, who was standing in the entrance like an oaf. Fuck, he was being embarrassing.

"Uh, yeah. Something smelled good when I was walking by. I want whatever that was."

As soon as it left his mouth, Ian knew that it wasn't the right thing to say.

"I mean, uh," he skimmed the menu as quickly as he could but it may have well been in a different language for all he knew. French maybe? Debbie had an 'all-things-Paris' phase a few years back, but he didn't know enough to get by.

"Cookies are on the house, man." The guy sniffed, cheeks pink from the warm lighting of the café.

Ian sighed in relief. "Yeah, that sounds great."

Ian threw a couple dollars in the tip jar and then headed out. It wasn't until he was a few stores down that he actually took a bite into the gingerbread cookie.

And fuck.

He was pretty sure it was the best damn cookie he's ever had.

-

Ian was no glutton, but he couldn't get that cookie out of his head all night. Before he went to bed, he googled 'Sweet Cheeks - Chicago' and hoped they posted their menu online.

They didn't.

-

"One iced coffee please." Ian leaned against the counter, already throwing a couple bucks into the tip jar as the same guy as before rang up his order. He was wearing a name tag upside. He tilted his head a bit to read it.

Mickey.

"You're back soon." Mickey smiled. It was a beautiful smile if Ian had ever seen one. Slightly crooked and his eyes crinkling with it, as if he was genuinely happy to see Ian.

"Couldn't stop thinking about that gingerbread cookie if we're being honest. Do you guys put crack in it or something?"

A couple patrons turned their head in shock, but Mickey laughed outright. Ian didn't think it was that funny, but he smiled anyways.

"Nah, man. Not this time."

This had Ian wondering -- Did they put crack in cookies? Was it like the same ballfield as pot in brownies? He bet Mickey would know more about it.

"What's your name, Red?"

"Uh, Ian."

"Sick, thanks, man. Coffee will be out soon."

A few moments later, Mickey had Ian's coffee out, complete with a cookie in a paper bag.

"It ain't a gingerbread, but I figured you'd still think this is cute as fuck."

Ian couldn't imagine calling a cookie cute, but when he saw what Mickey was referring to, yeah, it was cute as fuck. A sugar cookie with a penguin drawn onto it with that fancy icing.

"Thanks, Mickey." Ian shoved the cookie into his mouth in one bite as he nodded and headed towards the door.

"See ya, Red."

Ian couldn't help but wonder if Mickey's customer service was as amicable to everyone else or if he was just special. He didn't dare bring it up to Lip when he was in proper 'will-embarrass-little-brother-in-public' mode. Ian didn't need some baker thinking he was an arrogant piece of shit, even if he could be. But he still didn't need Mickey to know that. Or worse, get offended at the idea.

Yeah, it was better to stay quiet and enjoy his sweet treats.

-

Ian walked into Sweet Cheeks the next morning expecting Mickey behind the counter again, but was greeted with a dark-haired woman instead. Ian smiled when they locked eyes, but she immediately ducked into the back.

Weird.

By the time Ian made it to the counter, Mickey seemed to be arguing with the girl, but when he caught sight of Ian, his grumpy eyebrows softened and the tips of his ears almost seemed to flush.

"Uh, hey Mickey."

"Hi Ian."

The shop was pretty much empty this early in the morning. Ian had made sure to sneak out of the lodge before any of his siblings woke up. There was some drama going down and he did not want any part of that to ruin his good vibe streak.

"I'm starving. What's good to eat?"

"What? You not liking my cookies anymore?" Mickey teased. He knew damn well Ian was whipped to those sweet, sweet mounds of sugar.

Ian rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. I don't think a cookie shaped like a penguin is gonna sustain me throughout the day."

"What about a polar bear?"

Ian raised an eyebrow and Mickey cocked his head to the latest cookie display. Sure enough, bears with earmuffs lined the glass.

"Cute." Ian said, and he meant it.

"I'll get you some real food too, man, don't worry."

This had to be the least professional transaction that has ever occurred, but Ian trusted Mickey's judgement at this point, the man clearly a confectionary god. He turned to start up the little stove.

"How long're ya here for?"

"Chicago? I've lived here forever. But like we're just visiting this part because my sister's boyfriend's family is apparently rich as fuck and she has some dirt on him so we're here for free for winter break."

Mickey continued staring, the corner of his lips quipping up. Ian was rambling. The classic Gallagher-overshare.

"We're here until the end of December."

"Good to know."

"Why's that?" Ian played along.

"Like seeing your face around here." Mickey shrugged as if it wasn't the nicest thing anyone has said to Ian in... awhile. God, that's sad.

"Ditto." Ian smiled.

-

Family dinners were always chaotic, but somehow, the Gallaghers managed to up the ante when they were anywhere but home. Voices overlapped until Fiona had enough. One at a time, they were to share one thing they were thankful for. A special Gallagher rendition of a late Thanksgiving, since they don't really celebrate the real thing anymore.

"I'm thankful for you guys and my new laptop." Debbie grinned.

"I'm thankful for Debbie's laptop so I can look up-- ouch! What the fuck?!"

"Carl!"

When it came to Ian's turn, he only had one thought, which admittedly had been swarming his head ever since he stepped foot into the place to begin with.

"I'm thankful for the free cookies at Sweet Cheeks down on Main."

He expected everyone to nod and move on, so he was very much not prepared for the looks of confusion from about half his party.

"Uhhhh, am I missing something?" He finally wondered aloud.

Fiona spoke up. "That the Milkovich's bakery?"

Ian shrugged. Mickey seemed vaguely eastern European so he didn't deny the possibility.

"They never have free samples. Never have, never will. Not even Liam's cute pouty face did the trick."

Weird. Oh. Oh.

Ian's head was buzzing a million miles a minute. He didn't hear Lip's speech about how all women were manipulative monsters or the following argument that ensued.

-

Ian had a plan. He stormed into Sweet Cheeks, cash in hand.

"How much do I owe you?"

Mickey was startled out of a conversation with that same girl Ian had seen before. "Huh?"

"For the cookies?"

"Really, Red? Thought we went over this. On the house?"

"Yeah, but then why just me?"

Mickey's eyes softened a bit. "Wanted you to have 'em. I like the way your face lights up. Like giving a dog a bone or some shit."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Did you want to order something or did you just come here to shove money down my pants?"

Ian wasn't thinking about shoving his money there, but now that Mickey mentioned it, he couldn't imagine anything else.

"'Ey, eyes up here." Mickey smirked. Ian gulped.

"Coffee."

"Okay, great. What's your favorite candy, Ian?"

"Reece's?"

"Sweet."

Ian pondered that a bit. He settled on, "Yeah."

-

Carl was involved in some scam gone wrong. The Gallaghers got that shit under control, they always do, but it did result in Ian being late to the bakery. Like... a lot late. The front door was locked.

"Shit."

Ian slid against the glass door until his ass hit the pavement. He liked the feeling of being a regular somewhere. Especially somewhere where he felt like he actually had a friend.

Despite the cool lodge they got to stay in, Ian felt gross about the whole situation that led them here with Jimmy-Steve's dad. And staying in the man's lodge felt even ickier. Seeing Mickey at least reminded him that there was sweetness under all of this.

But tonight he let himself get a little tipsy, and in Ian Gallagher world, tipsy meant plastered. It was a thin line to balance that he still hadn't perfected. Probably never would.

"You freezin' your ass off?"

Mickey.

Ian felt his ass. Yeah, pretty cold.

"C'mon, let's get you inside."

Ian tried to lift himself up, but somehow ended up sliding even further down the door.

Ian heard a "fuck" coming from Mickey's direction and then small but sturdy hands lifting him to his feet and leaning him against Mickey's shorter frame to keep him upright.

He hadn't remembered getting this drunk.

Mickey unlocked the front door and ordered Ian to sit in one of the corner chairs while he flicked on a couple lamps and hooked up his phone to the surround speakers, a chill song playing, making Ian feel like he was floating.

Mickey sat across from Ian. "Wanna talk about it?"

Ian was coherent enough to be embarrassed about his current state, but he didn't know what else to do.

"Not tonight."

Mickey placed a palm on Ian's thigh, and gave it a comforting squeeze once, twice. He sighed.

"Wanna help me with this new recipe? Some chump I know likes Reece's peanut butter cups and I gotta make some cookies for tomorrow."

It took a moment to process.

"I'm the chump?"

Mickey looked at him with too much fondness in his eyes. "Yeah, man. Sure are. Legs up."

"Huh?" Ian mumbled, but complied.

Mickey pushed his rolling chair to the back of the bakery and through the doors to the main kitchen.

"Woah."

Mickey smirked. "What's the matter, chump? Never seen a kitchen before?"

Ian had seen a kitchen before. But something about this being The Kitchen that created the delicious cookies he consumed everyday, The Kitchen where Mickey apparently was in charge and in his element, thinking about what Ian of all people would enjoy. It was enough to make his heart beat out of his chest.

Mickey shoved a glass of water in his hand. "Drink this and look pretty."

Ian nodded lazily.

They chatted about mindless drama, high school horror stories, their favorite types of mac and cheese, the dog that Carl once brought home, the chronicles of Lip Gallagher and Karen Jackson.

Somewhere in the night, Ian's eyes began to linger on the way that Mickey's long-sleeve shirt clung to his waist and arms, the smudge of flour along the side of Mickey's nose and eyebrow where he had mindlessly scratched them. He was kinda really pretty.

"Staring pretty hard over there, bud. Don't wanna pull a muscle."

Ian shrugged. He was way past being embarrassed now. "Like what I see."

Mickey's cheeks grew pinker at that. "Is that so?"

"Mhm. Have for a while." Ian couldn't even blame the alcohol even if he wanted to at this point. He'd been sobering up nicely, his feelings only intensifying under the kitchen lights.

"Here," Mickey walked over, footsteps heavy against the floor. "Try this." Ian lost track of the batch number, but he couldn't wait to try. He opened his mouth for Mickey to feed him.

"Gross." Mickey grumbled.

But sure enough, Mickey placed a piece of cookie on his tongue, his thumb accidentally brushing Ian's bottom lip.

Ian chewed slowly, not breaking eye contact with Mickey the whole time.

-

Ian laid in bed that night... morning? whatever, thinking about Mickey. Mickey's kind eyes, Mickey's wit, Mickey's hands.

-

Ian smiled the whole way to the bakery, a grin playing on his face the whole time Mickey got his order ready.

Ian pulled out a cookie from the paper bag and shoved it whole in his mouth.

Huh. The ones they made last night didn't have icing. Shit, maybe he should have looked at it. Judging by the horrified expression on Mickey's face, yeah, he definitely should have looked at it.

"Was there icing on that one?" Ian asked dumbly.

Mickey paused, steadying his breath, "... Yeah."

Ian pawed around the rest of his bag. No more icing.

"Why don't the others have icing?"

Fuck.

"I was trying to be cute, but I forgot that you eat like a fucking stray dog."

Ian pouted.

"Stray dogs can be cute, man, I'm not denying that. But you just scarfed down my beautiful creation without a second thought. Nah, you don't deserve to know what it said."

"Oh c'mon Mickey," Ian whined. He had the puppy face down. He knew he did. It would only take Mickey a few seconds to cave.

He didn't.

-

"Lip, there's something seriously wrong with this guy!"

Lip took a drag on the cigarette they were sharing outside of the lodge. "Remind me again why you like him?"

Ian kicked Lip's shin. "It's serious, dude. The puppy eyes didn't work!"

Lip gasped in mock-horror. "Oh no! Someone alert the authorities! Maybe Ian Gallagher isn't as cute as he thought he was!"

"Oh, fuck you too, asshole." Ian made grabby fingers for the cigarette and Lip complied.

Ian leaned his head against the wall.

"Down bad, huh?"

"You could say that again."

"Have you like, I dunno, made a move yet?"

Ian considered. "What if he doesn't feel that way about me?"

Lip took the cigarette back and brought it to his lips. "Then we drink, brother."

-

Ian had gotten closer with the other baker at Sweet Cheeks over the last few weeks. He'd learned that her name was Mandy and that she was Mickey's little sister. If he couldn't guess it from the way that they looked nearly identical, then he could by the banter between them that could only be acceptable between siblings.

One afternoon, Ian was on babysitting duty, so he brought Liam and Debbie into Sweet Cheeks, planning to order them both a slice of pie. Mickey wasn't working, so Ian knew not to expect free cookies. Instead, Mandy greeted them at the counter, a beaming smile across her face.

"Hi Ian and friends!"

Debbie's eyes widened in awe. Unbeknownst to Ian, his little sister was having her queer awakening all thanks to the magnificent Mandy Milkovich.

"Hey Mandy! I have a favor."

Ian ushered his siblings to his favorite booth in the corner while he conspired with Mandy.

-

It was almost closing time at the bakery, which meant that Mickey would be in soon to prep the next day's batch of special cookies.

But Ian had a surprise of his own.

"'ey Gallagher, what're you doing here?" Mickey smirked, pleased with the way that he apparently had Ian wrapped around his fingers.

"Got something for ya."

Mickey frowned. "It ain't Christmas yet, right? Because I don't do that shit."

Ian rolled his eyes. "Nope, something better." Ian immediately regretted his choice in words, hoping he wasn't about to make a giant fool out of himself. He didn't know what he would do if he could never show his face in Sweet Cheeks again for the rest of his vacation. The cookies had a goddamn grip on him. And Mickey, too, of course. He was a close second.

Ian dragged Mickey through the bakery back to the kitchen, ignoring Mandy's knowing gaze and the blood that rushed to his cheeks and neck in response. Focus, Gallagher.

"I, uh, made you something."

Mickey's eyebrow did the cute quirk thing that Ian had grown to love and appreciate over the last few weeks.

"You did, huh?" Mickey sneakily peeked around behind Ian's shoulder, trying to see what all the fuss was about.

"Mhm." Ian's nerves were building. "Here." He handed Mickey a piece of paper and stepped aside to reveal two basic chocolate chip cookies with icing messily scribbling out 'yes' on one and 'no' on the other.

Mickey unfolded the paper, a smile growing on his face. He stood in front of the cookies, staring back at Ian like the goddamn tease he knew he was before picking up the cookie that said 'yes' and taking a bite.

His face scrunched up adorably but he managed to swallow.

Ian snuck up into his space. "For real?"

"Yes, Ian, of course I fuckin' like you."

"Oh."

"Oh." Mickey teased back. He placed a hand on Ian's hip. "Ya know, if anyone else was messing around in my kitchen behind my back, they'd be a smear on the pavement by now."

Ian could admire Mickey's ability to really paint a picture with words.

"Why do I get a pass?"

Mickey took a step closer, breath warm against Ian's neck before he felt soft lips pressing into his skin along with a stuttered breath coming from his throat.

"Does that answer your question, chump?"

Ian smiled, "Message a little unclear. Might wanna try again?"

"Mmm, dork." Mickey smiled into the kiss.

-

Bonus headcanon!

Once they're dating, Ian will post pictures of Mickey's sweet treats on his Instagram stories with dumbass captions like "Mmm the cookies aren't the only things I'm tasting tonight," and then Mickey makes him delete that shit and repost with a more acceptable comment. He's a businessman, Ian, put some respect on the name 😤🙄

-

Note: The name 'Sweet Cheeks' was an ode to how Mickey looks like a chipmunk when he drinks mixed with Fiona's nickname for Ian (sweet face) <3

Oh! Also important to note! The cookie that Ian ate without reading had Mickey's phone number on it written in icing </3 Poor boy was trying to make a move himself and it just did. not. land. sdhfkdsfsfsj Mandy gave him a hard time over that one.

[crybabykiko]

Szn’s Creamings

Miya Osamu x Fem!Reader

Warnings: oof a lot sorry- eggnog(its delicious and you’re all just mean), corruption if you squint, clandestine sex I guess? Choking, fingering, oral (m & f receiving), nipple play, the Miya accent, improper use of Christmas decorations, bondage, unprotected sex(you should know to expect this from my writing by now), vaginal penetration, squirting, creampies/breeding, use of the word daddy like ONCE, cum eating, a dash of overstim for optimal flavor, ahegao (😌) aaaaand snowballing (aka spitting cum in someone’s mouth) swearing obviously ummmmm shit man idk anymore I’m 999% sure that’s it- good shit below da cut

Wc: 2.5k

A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and a VERY Happy Holiday no matter your culture’s festivities! This is part of my collab with my lovely friends in The Sewer Server- @rat-suki ty anu for organizing it all! I’m love u. This fic was written in an eggnog & fireball induced  blackout, and is singlehandedly fueled by lust for Osamu’s Dorito body and my love for Steak n’ Shake.

Cheese-on’s Greetings Collab mlist here 🎄🎁🐁

“This... is it?” He cocked an eyebrow at the concoction, the red and green sprinkles bleeding dye into the whipped cream, the sad cherry on top sunken into it. 

“This is what you’ve been goin’ on about fer the last 3 weeks?” 

This- was an eggnog milkshake. A wintertime classic, and a staple at the local diner in your hometown. Simple enough. It didn’t look like much- in fact, it honestly wasn't. But to you, this shitty, artificially-flavored diner milkshake encompassed all the joys of holiday magic into one tall, frosted glass. You could count the years you spent in this diner, knocking them back. You’ve grown of course, but the nostalgia always stays the same. Having Osamu come to your hometown for the holidays was a pretty big step in your relationship, sure, but including him in the milkshake tradition usually reserved for your best friend? That was even bigger. 

“You haven’t even taken a sip, you ass,” you giggled, putting your own straw to your lips, reveling in the cool flavor that was coating your tongue. Pure sugar, just a hint of nutmeg and cinnamon- perfect as always. You pushed the glass over to him, urging him to try for himself. He took in a large drink, letting it rest before clicking his tongue a few times and looking over at your eyes- eyes that were aglow with anticipation and gingerbread men? No, that was just the reflection of the gaudy tinsel that adorned the booth you sat in. 

“Soooo?” 

“Not bad,” he sighed, pushing the glass back your way. Always anticlimactic. 

“But I could definitely make one that’s better.”

“I’d like to see you try,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him. 

One thing you knew he could never resist was a challenge. Grabbing his wallet, he slammed some bills on the table, whisking you away from the diner in 2 minutes flat, the milkshake an ever present memory, like that of the favorite Christmas gift from childhoods passed. You didn’t think he’d take it that seriously, but you also knew that Osamu took everything- especially food- seriously.

Even still, the drive back to your parents’ was a calm one, like every night adventure. The only difference was the bitter cold in the air, and the soft crooning of songs about Santa Claus on the radio. The only thing was- you just couldn’t stop pressing your thighs together….

“Put it away, sir.” you said jokingly, shifting your current position on the couch. Miracle on 34th Street shown on the small screen of the television as you flicked through what seemed like every Christmas movie ever made with the remote.  The feeling of his cock starting to stiffen at your back told you everything you needed to know; that Osamu wasn’t interested in whether or not Santa Claus was real, or  whatever the ‘true’ meaning of Christmas was- he was solely interested in the meaning of that which currently resided between your legs. 

A sneaky had drifted under your shirt, breath hitching in your throat as his thick fingers rolled one of your nipples, the soft tugging leaving you mewling as the sensation traveled down to your now throbbing clit. You leaned into it for a split second, but you were bought back to reality by the sight of your family’s Christmas photos on the fireplace mantle. There was no way in hell you could get fucked in front of a photo of your grandmother. You swatted Osamu’s hand away.

“We can NOT do this right now-” your words fell on deaf ears as  his hand snaked up your thigh, leaving a trail of warmth in  its wake as he settled them right above your stomach, fiddling with the drawstrings of your shorts. 

“My mom and dad are literally upstairs….” The words left your mouth faintly your body lurching toward him.

Again, you tried. A valiant attempt. It wasn’t a lie- they most certainly were upstairs, presumably fast asleep, as they had been up there for almost two hours now, leaving you and Osamu to watch a few corny Christmas movies- or so they thought. But he saw through your objections. Hearing the way your voice softened, seeing how your chest wavered as he got closer and closer to your face, he simply couldn’t contain himself. 

“It’s not my fault ‘ya wanted to stay here,” he huffed, large hands seizing your own, pushing away their protests as he passed his thumb up and down your clothed slit. You bit your lip in an effort to silence the moan that was bubbling its way up and out of your mouth. You had started to become feverish, your own state of vulnerability apparent as Osamu used one arm to pin your wrists above your head, sending your lower half flailing and bucking up into his free hand as you whimpered desperately for his touch.

���You want it, don’t ya, little love?” Little love. The one pet name you could never resist. Almost like a switch, you moaned a particularly needy, not-so-hushed “hmmhm- yes, daddy,” that definitely would have blown your cover. Luckily, Osamu’s thick fingers worked their way into your mouth to silence you, your lips immediately wrapping around them and obediently sucking to heed his words.

“Just be s’quiet as possible,” his hushed tone came out in a low baritone. He pressed a finger to his lips, pointing another up toward the ceiling from the couch of your parents living room. 

Keeping your arms restrained, your boyfriend’s free hand pushed past your layers of clothes, your saliva coated his fingers, providing just enough slickness to enter your hole with ease, gently curling against that soft spot right inside. You were so warm, so needy, easily molding into his touch as he watched your eyes widen within his. You fixed your mouth to open, but it hung there as his fingers worked, your cunt sucking  them in manically. 

“F-fuck,” you could barely manage that. “Please I-hmph- please…”

“Use yer words, little love,” he cooed, the tone of his voice was sickeningly slow as he teased you, slowing his fingers down. You bucked your hips in protest, pouting and wiggling underneath him to feel some form of friction.

“Stop Squirmin’.” His demeanor shifted immediately, darkening at your perceived disobedience. The hands that held your wrists met your throat, a half gasp escaping you as he gently squeezed, your face softening into a pout. 

“I said- use yer words.”

“Please, please fuck me,” you squeaked. “F-fill me up.”

“Then we gotta find a way t’keep ya nice n’ still. Will you be good fer me?”

You nodded. You always were. Osamu’s ability to render you a compliant, malleable toy for him to fuck was astounding. You could spend the rest of your life being his obedient little thing without a care in the world or a complaint.

“I know ya will,” he pressed a kiss to your lips. “My little love’s always s’good…” 

You knew you were in for it- but you didn’t expect this. It was a little different from your normal setup, but at the same time, the rush of excitement built in the pit of your stomach just as it did the first time ‘Samu ever bound you. It just so happened that there were some discarded lights nearby the Christmas tree. You could see the glimmer of an idea in his eyes as he plugged them in, smiling as the glow lit up his face. He looked at you on the couch and wiggled his eyebrows- as much as you wanted to laugh out loud, you weren’t in the position to be picky about your rigging tonight. You had to make do. 

“It’s…. festive?” You could tell that even he was amused. But amusement aside, the desire that built between you, the stored tension of having not touched each other for almost two days now was clearly screaming to be addressed. His large hands made a bite in the wiring of the lights and they quickly found themselves around your wrists, the illumination beautiful, but also kind of blinding this close to your face. With a kiss to your lips, he moved from your wrists and down toward your torso, trailing an interesting track of holiday cheer into a harness around your chest and tying in your back. Your arms were bent forward at the elbow, snugly enough so that you could wiggle your fists, but your wrists were of no use.

 Pushing you onto your knees, you felt the press of your boyfriend’s hand against your back as he repositioned your arms and elbows to place you on all fours. Cool air immediately hit the skin of your lower half as you felt him pull your bottoms off. You wriggled your hips in an effort to help, but instead your flesh was met with an aggressive strike. Managing to catch your discomfort in your throat, a lowered hiss bared through your gritted teeth, soon followed by a sharpened inhale as you felt the presence of him towering over you. 

“Been thinking about the way those cute lips were wrapped around that straw all night,” he panted, palming his cock through his sweats. You could see how uncomfortably hard he was- it lit a fire in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t wait to serve him, you couldn’t wait to feel the weight of his thick cock against your tongue- and stretching your pussy past it’s limits.

“I bet’cher sweet mouth wrapped around my cock would look even prettier, don’t ya think?” 

His words hit at your core. Your mouth began to water in anticipation as he pulled himself out of his sweats, gently pumping before lining up at your mouth. 

Delicately, your tongue swirled down the slit of the head, plush lips wrapping around the pink bulb. Osamu’s hands guided your head down the length, drool sliding out of your mouth and down your  chin, where it dripped onto your chest, riddled with bright multicolored light. Slowly, he fucked himself with your throat, allowing you to adjust to his girth. 

“Yep,” he exhaled deeply, hissing at how warm your mouth felt around him.

 “Ev’n prettier.”

 His motions sped up as he bobbed your head up and down, the slight saltiness of his precum going down easily, leaving you practically begging for a full load.  You always craved him on your tongue- he tasted much better than any diner milkshake could. The soft gargling of his assault on your throat slowed to a stop as he pulled you off, leaving you gasping for air. Licking the drool from the corners of your lips, Osamu kissed you passionately before throwing your bound body onto the couch.

You clenched haphazardly around his cock as soon as he entered you, head flying forward with the force of his thrusts. His arm held you upright, parallel to his chest as his cock pistoned in and out of your hole. 

“‘S-sa-ah!~ ‘Samu- ffuck!” Your eyes snapped shut as he fucked into you. His breathy grunts resounded deep in your ears, sending jolts of molten lust down your spine, chest heaving as you tried keeping your voices down. Your hot, wet cunt sucked him in deeper and deeper each time he entered you- your urge to milk him for everything he had was only made more apparent by it. 

“I can feel you baby,” He purred into your ear. “So fucking wet.” 

Osamu released you from his hold, letting you fall forward into the couch, one hand pushing your head into the cushions, the other roughly kneading at the flesh where your ass and hip met, digging his nails into the flesh as he began to carnally pound into your pussy. Each stroke hit your sweet spot with a ridiculously precise skill. Your muffled sobs echoed into the cushions of the couch as he drilled you, never once slowing the rate in which his hips snapped into yours. You wouldn’t be surprised if the smacking of his skin against yours woke your parents at this rate- you couldn’t be bothered to care with your orgasm this close to the horizon. 

Somehow you managed to free a hand from your twinkling ties, immediately pushing it to your clit to rub it feverishly. The squelching started up shortly after, your ears beginning to ring as your throat squealed itself raw into the deep void beneath you. Osamu pulled you back by your hair, pressing his lips to your ear and clasping a hand to your mouth.

“Keep rubbing that pretty pussy, sweet girl, so fucking close to cumming fer me, aren’t ya?”

You could only whine in response. He softened the hand on your mouth, muffled words spilling out.

“I’m gonna cu-ah-cum! Please let me cum!” 

“Hmmm? Gonna cum? Did I hear ya right, little love?” He knew what he was doing, egging you on like this.

You were mere milliseconds away from losing it, the edge pulling up to you so close that you could barely collect yourself as you began to feel yourself slip over it- eyes whiting out as Osamu gave you the go-ahead. 

“Just let me c-” he finished your sentence for you.

“Cum.” It was a simple word, a simple command. But the way it hit your ears: the way the low growl tore through your body- you didn't stand a chance. The warm wetness of your release sprayed against his abs, trickling down your thighs and pooling into the upholstery. Your eyes crossed, face contorting further into lewd bliss as a scream tried to escape your mouth- but only silence hiccuped its way out. 

“Good fucking girl- now take this, baby. Take it all…” God, he was the devil. 

Fucking you through it- your boyfriend chased his own high, cock twitching inside as the vision of you wrapped in lights blurring into colorful stars as he spilled into you, his load coating your insides with a mass of sticky, soothing heat. You both collapsed into each other, bodies writhing as you caught your heavy breaths. 

As he slipped out of you, Osamu lifted your hips to his mouth, sucking in the mixture of his and your own release, savoring it on his tongue. Your puffy, fucked-out cunt spasmed at the contact, the sensation overwhelming as you tugged at his steely grey locks, snapping his head back. 

“Hmmph-  s’too much ‘Samu!” Your thighs clamped together as soon as he released you.

Humming a soft apology, he moved up from your lower lips to the upper ones, pushing his tongue past them, spitting arousal across your tongue. You swallowed the mixture greedily, smiling against his lips. You could still feel ropes of cum pouring from your spamming hole and leaking onto your thighs.

“Whaddaya think?” The words were slurred against the skin at the crook of your neck while he peppered your skin with kisses.

“Delicious.” You looked at him with a smirk, mind still hazy as your body shook its way through a few more aftershocks. 

“Told ya I could make a better milkshake.”

 As he said it, laughter broke out between the two of you. Your chest struggled against the harness, as it was still pretty tight. Osamu unplugged the decorations, gently untying you as snow fell outside your living room window, the faint jingling of bells filling the room again as the tv light illuminated you both. 

 Taglist Starseeds (check ur privacy settings if your url is in bold): @honey-makki @crushzone @yumekosgamblingroom @boujiesav @onesingleravioli @ushijimasfarmhat @trouvelle @nekoma-hoe @right-shoe-jpg @atsumusc0ck @ukeis @nivky0-0 @animoozies @charmarsmith

[theonewiththefanfics]

Thick And Thin (one-shot)

Synopsis: He never thought his wife would ever even think about divorce. They had problems, which is why they were at marriage counselling. But he never knew her heart had broken a long time ago. And he’d been the one to break it before they even got together.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: aaaaaaannnnggggssssttt baby, just wanted to write something that’d rip your heart out :)

Warnings: swearing, pain, kinda depressive (??), can’t think of anything else really, but please let me know if there is, also not my best work lol :D

Word count: 7102 (let’s start off the New Year with loads of pain :) )

Italics are flashbacks

“I want a divorce.” 

           Never in Harry’s life did he think he’d have to hear those words. Not after everything they’d been through, not after all of the effort he’d been putting in to save their relationship.

           Those words had not only stunned him but their marriage councillor, the woman’s mouth open mid-word, as she tried to comprehend what was happening. Harry was fairing even worse. It was like his brain was short-circuiting, synapses broken and no longer sending any signals. 

           “Mrs Styles, I know it’s difficult,” the therapist tried to diffuse the situation. “But the reason you’re here is to avoid this specifically.”

           “I don’t remember how you smell anymore,” Y/N continued not listening to the woman, voice like a black void, but her Y/E/C eyes rimmed with tears. “Or taste. I don’t remember how it feels to have you pressed up against me or what it’s like to hear your voice. I… I don’t have anything to cling onto anymore.”

           “It’s why we're here!” he cried through clenched teeth, slipping on his knees before her, hands grasping Y/N’s in a vice-like grip. “It’s why we’re trying.”

           The laugh she let out was detached and without any love. “We tried it your way, Harry.” She’d never called him Harry before. It was always Lover. “And it’s not working for me. It hasn’t from the start. We’re… we’re so unhappy. And I don’t want that for you or for me. We deserve happiness. But I don’t think we can give that to one another anymore.” She took in a shaky breath, looking down at Harry’s hands in her lap. “When I thought of it, at first I felt horrible. I wanted to throw myself off somewhere, but the more I sat on that thought, the more relieved I felt.”

           He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, didn’t want to believe it. “Relieved?” The word felt like acid in his mouth.

           “Yes,” she nodded. “Relieved. Because this choice won’t make us hurt one another anymore. This gives us a chance to have a fresh start.”

           “I don’t want a fresh start! We said – we said through thick and thin.” He was grasping onto the last straw he could find. “This is the thin, but we’ll get through it.”

           “Harry, I already broke through the thin. And now I’m drowning. And when the thick comes, I’ll either be frozen under it and watch you walk further, or I’ll surface somewhere, and I don’t know on which side of the shore I’m gonna be on and where you’ll be. And if you try to get me, you’ll start drowning too. I don’t want that.”

           “But that’s what marriage is! Going through the tough shit together!”

“Harry… I already asked Lionel to draw up the papers. The first draft is done.”

           His blood froze in his veins.

           “When you said to sit down and write one thing that makes me happy about the relationship,” Y/N was looking at the therapist now, “about the person, I – I couldn’t. Because I kept thinking back to the start, to the beginning. That’s what made me happy. But now…” She glanced at Harry. “If there was one thing, I couldn’t do to you, not in a moment like this, is lie. I just… I don’t remember how to be happy with you.”

***

They’d started out as the cliché of best-friends-lose-contact-only-to-be-reunited-and-not-let-their-chance-pass-by-and-fall-in-love. She was ten when she’d moved in next door to him and he was twelve when he’d seen the three vans full up to the house, a little girl hopping out from one of them. Harry watched as she rushed up the doorstep and put in a key, unlocking it and a new chapter of her life with it. Little did he know she’d unlocked a new chapter of his life as well.

She was the new kid at school, and despite the fact that he was a year above, he sat down next to her at lunch.

“ ’M ‘arry,” he said through a mouthful of a sandwich. “Saw you move in yesterday.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m Y/N.”

And that was the start of a blooming friendship.

On her eleventh birthday, he gave her a handmade bracelet. She gave him a kiss on the cheek as a thank you, making Harry blush all shades of pink and red.

He was thirteen when he had his first real kiss on his birthday. Y/N had simply tried to peck him on the cheek, but he’d turned his head, and her mouth had ended up on his. She’d walked away with a shy smile and ears on fire.

She was thirteen when a boy first asked her out. Harry was the first person she told him about it. That was the first time his heart broke.

When he was fifteen, he got his first girlfriend. Y/N was fourteen when her heart broke for the first time.

           And then he'd gone on X-factor and with that forgotten about her. She called him, texted him, messaged him on social media, but usually, she’d maybe get only one picture or a small ‘miss you too’ as a response. So, after a whole year apart, she gave up. What was the point of trying to save anything when he didn’t want to?

           He moved on and became an international superstar. Y/N moved on and graduated top of her class, got into her first-choice university, and graduated with a first as well. He had some relationships here and there, while Y/N had had a steady relationship since the second year of uni, but when she decided to go to a different one for her masters they amicably broke up.

           Eight years later she was sitting at a café in London, laughing with her ex-boyfriend and catching up, as he explained how what Criminal Minds showed wasn’t really what was taught in his criminology degree classes.

           “I’m still saying I dated real-life Spencer Reid,” Y/N chuckled, sipping on her gingerbread latte. “Don’t give a shit, I need something to flex with.”

           Harry had then walked inside the café, shaking off the snow from his boots when a familiar laugh he hadn’t heard in ages invaded his senses. It was almost like he’d stepped into a dream. 

           When his green eyes befell on the owner of the voice, he had to take a double-take. Somehow in his brain, he’d expected the fifteen-year-old teenager, a t-shirt of his face on her body, as she’d cheered him on when he’d gone onto his first concert as part of One Direction to be sitting in the chair, not the grown-up woman.

           He’d still checked in with Y/N through what she posted on her social media, but as much as he’d promised not to have the celebrity life sweep him away, it had. Harry sometimes had two concerts a day, and he barely had a moment to take a bite of food. And he hated to admit it, but Y/N simply slipped from his life. And he didn’t bother to put in the effort to pull her back.

           A huge wave of guilt and longing rushed through his body as he glanced at the woman, her face lit up by joy as she and the man before her continued on with their conversation.

           Someone tapped on his shoulder, making him turn around and face another customer. “You gonna order anything?”

           For a moment Harry stuttered. He could walk away without inserting himself back into Y/N’s life, but he didn’t want that. He’d missed her. Harry didn’t even realise how much he’d missed her.

           “You go ahead.” He motioned with his hand. “I’m still thinking.”

           Harry took in a deep breath and then walked towards where the pair was sitting. 

           The man’s eyes flitted up to see who was towering over Y/N, only for them to widen, and his mouth hang open. 

A sense of pride filled Harry's chest at the reaction and maybe quenched a little bit of the jealousy invading his body. He used to be the one who made Y/N laugh until she had to tell him to stop or she’d pee herself. He was back to take up the role.

           “You okay there, Dan?” she chuckled. “Don’t tell me there’s a ghost behind my back. I told him not to walk out of the flat wit –“ Y/N had turned around and almost choked on her drink. “Oh my god, Harry! Oh – hi!” She jumped up hugging him, feeling how his body shook with laughter at her reaction, strong arms weaving around her middle. “Holy shit, it’s really you!”

           “Yeah, ‘s me. Who else?”

           “I didn’t know you were back in the UK.”

           A warmth spread through his chest, as he reluctantly pulled away from the hug. “Been checking in on me?”

           Y/N rolled her eyes, sitting back down, but pulling up a third chair for Harry to sit upon. “Dan’s a huge fan.” She motioned with her head to the man. “When we first started dating, I thought he was only doing it because we used to be friends, and he hoped I’d set you up or something.”

           Harry masked the choke of envy by clearing his throat and letting out an awkward chuckle. “Hope I’m not interrupting a date or something.”

           “A catch-up date, but not a date date.” Dan lifted his brows at Y/N, who gave him a ‘don’t start this’ look to which he threw up his hands in surrender. “I’m just making conversation.”

           “You’re being annoying, that’s what you are.” Y/N flicked a crumb from the table towards him. 

           It was in that moment that it truly hit how much he’d missed, and it hit him hard he no longer knew the person who once was his best friend.

           “You’re different,” Harry said, looking over at her trying to keep the lump in his throat from making his voice break. 

           Y/N shrugged, eyes twinkling. “I mean it has been almost a decade. I do hope I don’t look the same as I did then. Otherwise, the pain of braces was of no use.”

           “No,” he chuckled shaking his head. “’S not that… It’s like you’re a different person.”

           “I grew up,” she said, sipping on the last bits of her drink. “ ’M not the same fifteen-year-old you saw last.”

           He nodded and bit his lip. But the thing was, Harry wasn’t the stupid sixteen-year-old that left the fifteen-year-old her either. This time, he wouldn’t let the chance at happiness pass him by when he could’ve had it all along. 

***

           He sat across from Y/N at the large marble table and watched, heart bleeding out in his chest as she put her signature on the papers, her attorney fishing out something from his briefcase and handing it to her under the table. He saw her shoulders shudder before she placed a maroon rectangle with a golden inscription on it in her own purse. Harry wanted to vomit. It was her new passport, where her surname no longer matched his, where he no longer existed, inscribed into the document as her spouse. 

           “Mr Styles?” Y/N’s lawyer pushed the papers his way, the pen laying atop them. “’S your turn.”

           ‘Your turn’, as if it was a game of spin the bottle or UNO. 

           “Don’t make me,” he choked out, pleading with Y/N one last time. “Please don’t make me do this. Don’t make me give up on us.”

           Her words were worse than a knife to his soul. “You can’t give up on something that’s no longer there.”

           When they’d been at the stage of negotiation, he’d kept pushing for giving her at least half of his income, to give her one of the houses they owned together, but she’d turned everything down.

           “I didn’t marry you for your money, Harry.” He’d expected her voice to be full of venom, but it wasn’t. It was sad, resigned. “I don’t want what you’ve earned.”

           “Let me give you at least something.”

           “I don’t want anything from you. If it makes you feel any better, you can donate whatever amount you wanted to give me. I don’t care. All I want from this is for you to sign the papers.”

           “And if I can’t?”

           Y/N sighed, looking down at the table. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

           That’s when her attorney had cleared his throat. “Mrs Sty – Y/L/N. Legally, according to the prenup, you are entitled to half of Mr Styles estate as well as twenty percent of all his earnings.”

           But Y/N just shook her head. “I only signed those documents because that’s what he and his agent wanted. I never asked for it or anything or the sort. Donate it, for all I care. Buy a new house, Harry I literally don’t want to know what you do with your money.” Y/N took in a sharp breath and calmed herself down. It’d been the first time Harry had heard any sort of emotion from her since she'd spoken those horrible words. “I just want this over with.”

           And now, he was at the moment of the end. He just never thought their story would end with broken hearts and ripped up futures.

His handwriting was barely legible at best of times, but right now it seemed as if a toddler had tried to forge it with how much his hand shook. When the pen dropped, so did his shoulders, and he saw Y/N’s drop as well.

           Harry’s with weight from the love lost, Y/N’s with relief, for now their broken hearts wouldn’t hurt one another no longer.

           His lawyer handed him over a new passport as well, where Y/N was no longer written as his spouse. The urge to rip it to shreds was almost uncontainable. He hated it more than the divorce papers.

***

           They’d been dating for a little over two years when he decided to propose, only every plan he had was miserably ruined by some outside force.

           The first time he’d decided he’d do it at a romantic dinner. Harry had found out Y/N wasn’t a fan of huge romantic gestures, so he wouldn’t get on one knee and draw everyone’s attention. He’d simply take her hand in his, kiss her fingers and ask. 

           But as they’d sat at the table enjoying their meal and talking, he noticed Y/N become quieter and quieter. A frown morphed on his face.

           “You alright, Lovie?”

           “Umm,” Y/N’s brow creased even more, and she dropped her fork. “I umm I don’t know. ‘M feeling kind of funky?”

           “What’dya mean?”

           “I – “ Y/N opened her mouth but didn’t manage to get anything else out as she jumped up and rushed towards the ladies room.

           Harry quickly dropped his own utensils and rushed after her, not bothering with the yells of the woman who was looking at herself in the mirror, while his girlfriend threw up her guts inside one of the toilets.

           A member of the staff had run to see what all the commotion was about, but when he saw Y/N half inside a stall, half outside, Harry’s hands keeping her hair away from her face, he went back out and immediately grabbed the first aid kit they had in the kitchen, handing it to Harry along with a cold wet towel.

           Y/N shuddered, leaning against the stall wall sweat glistening on her face, as he pressed the damp cloth against her skin. She gave him half a smile. “Told you not to get the shrimp.”

           “I’ll get the cab, Lovie.” He smoothed away the once meticulously styled hair, which was now stuck to her damp skin. 

           But she shook her head. “Not yet.”

           “Why?”

           “Because I’m about to puke again.”

           In the end, she threw up two more times, her stomach really not agreeing with the entrée. The waiters kept apologising the whole time, and the chef had stopped cooking, the restaurant immediately taking action and refunding everyone who’d ordered anything with shrimps in them.

           When they’d gotten back home, Y/N was so tired and felt so sick, Harry could only help her get out of the dress, clean her up with a warm towel and wrap her up in her favourite pyjamas before curling up together on his bed and falling asleep, making sure if there was a moment, she felt nauseous again, he was by her side. She needed his help more than he needed to propose.

***

           He threw himself into his work like a madman. Day and night, he was either at a studio, on a filming lot, in between meetings or interviews. The media buzzed about how his marriage had fallen apart, even though Y/N hadn’t made a statement or spoken a word to anyone, and neither had Harry. But he guessed the emptiness of his ring finger gave everything away.

           He refused, however, to speak on it. As painful as it was, he was still in love with Y/N. She hadn’t chosen to be in the spotlight, it was Harry’s world, not hers, so he respected her decision to be quiet and remained so himself, save for one single post his management had asked for him to put up. It'd also been the last time he'd spoken to her.

All he received was a simple text message 'do what you have to do'.

           A couple of months down the line though, something came up, and Harry couldn’t keep his tongue behind his teeth.

           It was an article in The Sun, a photograph of Y/N plastered all over the front page with the words ‘Gold-digger Y/L/N finally seen out after divorce with Harry Styles.” He’d snatched the paper right off the stand and flipped it open, frantic green eyes scanning the words.

           ‘Despite it only being two months since the two childhood ex-best friends broke up, Y/N Y/L/N was already seen in the company of a man, sharing a drink, and giving one another flirtatious smiles. An inside source tells us, how she hadn’t even been that upset about the divorce and has been going out and having fun with many male companions, one of them being her ex-boyfriend from university times.’ 

           ‘Harry Styles, known for his time in the pop boyband One Direction and for his solo endeavours in music as well as dabbling in acting, broke everyone’s belief in true love after being seen in public without a ring. This prompted an announcement that the four-year relationship and two-year marriage to who was once his best friend had ended and the two had decided to get a divorce. Although the post showed a picture of their silhouettes holding one another with their foreheads together, and his statement showed nothing but love and respect for his then-wife, sources say Y/N had been controlling and obsessive over her then-husband and hadn’t wanted him to leave to pursue his career, stifling his growth.’

           He didn’t bother to read any further, as he pulled out his phone, calling Jeff immediately to figure out how to make all of it go away, how to do at least one thing right.

           “They’re dragging her name through the mud!” he sneered, not even caring he was bumping shoulders with people, and if the paparazzi would dare spin a story of the state he was in at that moment, he’d sue each and every one of them personally. “I have to do something. Fuck, Jeff, I love her! I can’t let them paint her like this. Y/N – “ he choked back a lump. “She never asked for this. Didn’t ask for anything. And that man – that was Dan, okay. I know him. Yes, he’s her ex, but they don’t know anything!”

           “Harry I’ve sent them cease-and-desist letters already.” Jeff tried to ease him. “But… she’s no longer your concern Har.”

           The words hit him like a bullet and ripped a hole in his chest just like one of them would. “You might still love her,” Jeff’s voice was solemn. “But Y/N is no longer yours to protect.”

           “I can’t just let them talk shit about her,” Harry whispered back.

           His friend sighed on the other side of the line. “I know. Which is why we’ll deal with it. But you have to start letting her go.”

***

The second time Harry wanted to propose was about a month later, and Christmas was right around the corner. They’d decided that Christmas Eve would be spent with his sister, her boyfriend and Anne, while Christmas Day they’d go to Y/N’s side of the family. 

Although they’d settled on one gift each, Harry had been carrying around that small box for what felt like an eternity. And it wouldn’t really be a gift, given how he’d wrap it and hang it in the tree.

“It’s an ornament,” he’d say to her, a smug smile on his lips, as Y/N would roll her eyes at him. “Just because it has your name on it, doesn’t mean it’s immediately a present.”

And then she’d open it, and would gasp, and Harry would slide down on his knee, press a kiss to her ring-free finger before asking that fateful question. 

But just like before, his plan didn’t come to fruition. 

           He’d asked his mother to hang up the little box, so there was no chance of Y/N seeing it in his hands, but what he hadn’t thought of was Gemma’s boyfriend had decided on the exact same plan of action.

           When Michal had dropped down on his knee, Harry’s sister’s trembling hand in his, he couldn’t do that to them. As much as he wanted to marry Y/N, he couldn’t take away Gemma’s moment. So while Y/N was preoccupied with looking at the gleaming diamond on Gemma’s finger, Harry plucked down the box from where it’d hung and placed it on the side no one could see, before he could put it in his bag.

           “ ’M sorry, honey,” Anne had said to him over coffee the next morning. “I didn’t know Michal would do that.”

           He’d just shaken his head, no hurt in his heart. “Great minds think alike. Our moment will come. ‘M happy for Gem. Besides, if he hadn’t done that anytime soon, I would’ve needed to have a stern talking.” 

***

           What his sister said to him made him think he had to be living in a simulation, because it couldn’t be true. Y/N couldn’t be getting married. Not this soon. Not ever. Not to someone who wasn’t him. It had been barely a year since he’d signed the death sentence to his own happiness.

           Harry shook his head. “You’re lying. Tell me you’re lying, Gem.”

           “I’m not.” Her voice broke as she said it. “I saw her at a café. Saw the ring… the man who gave it to her. Harry, I’m so sorry.”

           His mind reeled with questions he wasn’t sure he wanted answers to. Was that why she’d really divorced him? Had she been cheating on him and just needed an excuse out of their relationship to jump into the new one? He was away so much on their relationship, he wouldn’t have been surprised if someone else had swooped in and tried to win her heart.

Harry’s mind was one of the greatest things he’d been blessed him, but also one of the worst curses bestowed upon him, as it weaved a story of Y/N and the man who’d now put a gleaming ring on her finger.

           He was away, like always, doing something he could do another time. She was on her own, keeping their bed warm with just her body, fighting for their relationship on her own, while he made plans once more to go to a different part of the world and leave her behind again.

           Y/N pulled herself out of the bed, sighing and rubbing her face. She opened their closet only to be greeted with Harry’s half empty. Maybe that was the moment she decided to find someone who’d fill it and wouldn’t leave it permanently empty, Harry conjured up.

           She’d dress in a soft jumper and some jeans, a large cardigan hanging over her body and would go to a café for her morning drink. And that’s where she’d meet him. The stranger that would take her out of the lonely life she’d been living. The stranger that would make a smile bloom on her face and her heart stutter once more. The stranger who would show her the love Y/N deserved to have.

           Harry had to shake his head to get rid of the thoughts before they ventured into a worse territory.

           No. Y/N wasn’t like that. No matter what, she would never cheat on him. She had enough dignity for herself and respect for him, even though in his own mind, Harry didn’t think he deserved it. 

           Although he didn’t have a right to, nor was it the sanest move (and if someone saw him doing it, there would probably be a slew of articles), Harry got into his car and drove to where Y/N’s apartment was, and when she opened the door after hearing seven loud knocks, he stepped inside without even waiting for her to invite him. 

           “You’re getting married?”

           She crossed her arms. “It’s none of your concern.”

           “It’s been barely a year! I refuse to believe you’ve moved on so fast.”

           Maybe he was kidding himself, and Y/N truly had, but as much as their marriage had fallen apart, he did have the honour of having known her and having figured some things out deeper than others would.

           Y//N scoffed. “I was proposed to. And I said yes.” The words were like venom entering his veins. “If I wasn’t, then I wouldn’t have agreed to it. And as I already said – it is none of your concern.”

           Harry stood there, watching as she dragged a hand down her face, eyes flitting everywhere he wasn’t. It told him everything he needed to know.

           “You’re not happy,” he whispered stepping forward and reaching for her hand. “I know how you shine when you’re truly happy. This isn’t it. Why are you doing this?”

           “That doesn’t matter.”          

           Harry was so confused, at a complete loss at what Y/N was saying. “So, you’ll what? Get married to him and be miserable? Why the hell did you divorce me then?”

Y/N sighed. “Being unhappy with him isn’t as unbearable as being unhappy with you. Because with you, I know what it feels like to truly fully loved. Which is why it broke me when you stopped.”

           “I never stopped!” Harry whisper yelled, anger coursing through his veins at her words, because they were lies. “Why do you think I dragged us to marriage counselling? Why do you think I kept fighting for us? For you?! You were the one that gave up!” 

           “You weren’t there when I needed you.” 

           Harry blinked rapidly, not understanding what she meant.

           “You left me for ten years. You forgot all about me until that day at the café. Not once did you message me or call me or even send fucking snail mail. I was the one putting in all the effort, I was the one who was trying to keep you in my life, but you didn’t want it. Just like it was when we were married.”

           Rage bubbled under the surface, but he kept it at bay. That was not how he’d get Y/N back. “How?” he asked calmly. “How did I not want it?”

She scoffed shaking her head. “It was the same as it was ten years ago. With the movie, the new album... You were always at the studio or hanging out with your castmates. When I asked for you to free up one night, one single night, you didn’t come back until three AM, drunk off your ass, and I had to take care of you. I asked for one night. And you didn’t even give me that. So forgive me for not feeling like you still loved me.”

           “Why didn’t you talk to me then?!”

           “I did!” This was the first time he’d ever heard Y/N yell, before kneading her lips tightly together and then continuing more quietly. “But you never heard me. Not really. You heard what I asked, and promised to be there, but when the time came… something more important always came up. Something that always deserved to have the promise you gave me to be broken.” Y/N gave him a sad smile. “Do you remember when you first asked me out? And I said no?”

           Harry nodded. “You said that we just got one another back and didn’t want to have anything rip us apart again. Didn’t even want to chance it.”

           “And you said it was exactly why I should give us a chance. That we’d finally found one another again and shouldn’t let the opportunity go…” She tilted her head. “Guess we should’ve listened to me. I included.”

           He couldn’t believe her. “Is that really your takeaway here? You were right?”

           “But I was.” Y/N shrugged. “Look at where we are now. You forgot me for basically ten years.” She shrugged, stepping away. “Give it some time, and you’ll forget me for the rest of your life. Besides, we’ve not known one another longer than we have. So, it shouldn’t be that hard.”

           “Why did you then? Go out with me?” Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. “Get married to me?”

           For a moment Y/N just looked at him, Y/E/C eyes boring into his green ones. “Because I’d once again convinced myself I was important to you, just like I did when we were teens. And in my head, I had dreamt up that maybe I’d be important enough for you not to forget me.”

***

The third time did the charm though.

           They were both sleepy, under the covers of Harry’s bed, eyes barely keeping open as they were determined to finish Elf.

           Y/N had her cheek pressed against his chest, bare body next to his naked one. She hated sleeping in pyjamas (unless they were staying over at one of their parent’s places,) because she said it made her feel like the clothes were suffocating her. Harry didn’t like sleeping with pyjamas because all he wanted was to fully feel the skin of his lover next to his. 

           Snow fell behind the large windows of his London penthouse apartment, covering the city in a white blanket. It rarely snowed there, so he watched with warmth in his heart as the flakes fluttered to the ground.

           It was all so calm, so serene, that Harry realised that’d been the moment he’d been waiting for. No need for fancy dinners or present it as a loud gift. Being together was a gift enough.

           “Lovie?” he asked, nose hidden in her hair. “You awake?”

           All he received in answer was a small hum. She was on the verge of passing out, but this was the moment, so, he whispered the question, voice so low as if he was asking the dark to marry him not Y/N.

           He couldn’t look at her, afraid of what she might say, afraid she might say no, think back to the times he wasn’t there for her, think of all the reasons why he wasn’t good enough for her, and would only bring her sorrow. 

           “Lover.” Her voice was as soft as a summer’s morning. “Look at me. Please.”

           It was one of the most frightening things in his life, as he did so. 

           Y/E/C eyes met green. What he saw on her face allowed his heart to calm down a little.

           “Is the Sun the closest star to us?”

           That he hadn’t expected. “What?”

           “Does it rise in the East and set in the West?”

           “Y-yes?”

           Her hand cupped his cheek, and he melted against her. “Then why are you asking me a question you know the answer will be the same as to those?”

           “Can I put the ring on your finger then?” He was more excited than about anything in his life.

           Y/N shook her head, bringing his lips to brush against hers. “Don’t need a ring. Just need you to kiss me.”

***

           The wedding was far away from the city so that no one from the press could even think about following her or her entourage. The guest list was small, compared to the three hundred people Harry’s and her wedding had had.

           Anne had told him not to go. He wasn’t invited, and neither was she or Gemma, for obvious reasons. As much as Y/N loved them, she knew it’d hurt the two women, but it would hurt Harry more. So seeing her stepping out of the car, dressed in a cream wedding gown, a veil covering her face, made flashbacks appear behind Harry’s eyelids.

           She’d worn an off-white gown before as well, dusty rose to be exact. And Harry’s bow tie had matched it. Y/N had never liked the thought of wearing white at her wedding. 

           “Listen, if it’s white, I’ll most definitely spill something on it,” she’d told him as both of them had been flipping through some wedding magazines. “You know me. But if it’s some other colour, there’s a bigger chance no one will notice when that happens.”

           It didn’t seem right to him. It was like a bad fever-dream like he’d had that one time, and Y/N had had to listen to him babble about the hallucinations dancing in front of him because of the high temperature.

           Her gaze remained on the ground, or maybe on the bucket of white roses in her hands. She hated white roses.

           A woman in a pale blue dress straightened out the back of Y/N’s dress and the train of it, and he watched as her mother came to stand beside her daughter, giving her an elbow to grasp onto.

           All he wanted was for Y/N to be happy, and it hurt to think it wasn’t with him because Harry believed it was supposed to be him. 

           He took in a shaky breath and got out of the car just as Y/N had walked up the steps and disappeared behind the double doors.

           It was going to be him.

***

Harry knew he wasn’t the best husband in the world. He was away for a lot of time, and as conceited of an excuse it was, his job did entail going out to parties, mingling with other people living the high life, and being seen with certain celebs.

           Y/N was never one for it. She always supported Harry, but she didn’t like going out and spending time with people who didn’t care for her existence. Well, maybe they did, but only in a sense that she’d been the lucky bitch who’d snagged up the Harry Styles.

           But if there was something Harry did was love, and he loved wholeheartedly, which is why it absolutely destroyed him when he’d gotten back home one evening and heard Y/N crying in their bathroom.

           She’d never tell him, but it was because no longer did his pillow smell like him. Harry had been away for so long, that the essence of him that’d soaked into their sheets was no longer there. And it broke her to pieces.

           When he’d get home, he’d be so tired, he’d crash on the couch, only tiptoeing his way into their shared room to go to his closet and get some clean clothes in the morning. He’d look over at his sleeping wife and allow a blissful smile to bloom on his face at the sight.

           He was so lucky to have Y/N back in his life. He was so lucky she’d accepted him and fallen for him as he’d fallen for her. He’d silently move over and press a kiss to her temple, before going back down and off to work once more. Only he wouldn’t see the dried tears on her cheeks.

           So, when he’d found her curled up in the tub, hands in her hair, face hidden by her knees, frame trembling like leaves in a storm, he instantly dropped to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain shooting through his bones, as he pulled Y/N into him.

           “I can’t, Harry,” she choked out, shaking her head. He knew it was bad. She never called him by his name. “I can’t do this. I’m so alone. Even when you’re here, I’m alone.”

           Harry had had his heart broken before, and always he wondered afterwards if someone took it out of his chest at that moment, what kind of a sound would it make. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe it’d be as silent as the tears running down his face at Y/N’s confession.      

           “Maybe,” he swallowed harshly trying to keep his whole body from shaking, from showing the fear her statement instilled in him. “Maybe we need couple’s therapy.”

           “What?” her eyebrows had shot up to the middle of the forehead.

           “Y/N, we’re clearly having problems. I – I know I need to work on things, but you’re also not telling me how you’re feeling. Maybe we just need some help.”

           She didn’t really know what to respond. In her mind, Y/N had somehow conjured up an image that if she ever got married, they’d be happy. Sure, they’d fight and have rows, but they’d always be able to work things out on their own. Not once in her life, did she ever think she’d need to go and see a marriage counsellor to help her save her marriage.

           Her own parents much like Harry’s had gotten divorced. Hers had tried therapy. It’d been their last resort. It didn't work. So, when he’d mentioned it to her, that’s what made her decide it was truly over. 

           Y/N nodded, bringing him in for a hug, and felt his body melt into hers with relief.

She’d try, for Harry, but her mind was already made up.

***

           So he stood outside the doors, listening for the line of ‘if there is anyone who opposes this union speak up now, or forever hold your peace’. His hand grasped the handle, ready to push, but… he couldn’t. He’d ruined her happy ever after once before. He couldn’t do that again to her.

           Tears streamed down his face as he pocketed his hands and ventured away from the ceremony. The ceremony where the love of his life was promising to cherish someone else, to fight through thick and thin with someone else, to make someone else happy, while her own happiness suffered.

           Harry sat in his car, waiting for her to exit, a smile on her face as she’d hold the hand of who now was her husband. That'd be the moment he'd let go of her. But when the doors sprung open, she was alone, hands clutching onto the front of her dress, as she rushed down the steps and back inside the car she’d arrived in.

           For a second he sat in his vehicle, stunned beyond belief at what had happened, at what, as horrible as it sounded, he hoped had happened. When a man, hand in his hair ran outside as well, the same woman in the pale blue dress rushing out with him, Harry knew.

           He was basically a madman on the road, breaking almost every possible law as he tried to catch up to the car Y/N had jumped in. 

           His mind raced with the possibilities of where she could’ve gone. The airport, her family’s summer house in Winchester, honestly anywhere in the world, but Harry shut up his mind, and allowed his heart to make the decision.

           It didn’t seem like Y/N had premeditated fleeing from her wedding, which meant she’d need her stuff. And that meant going to her apartment as quickly as possible before someone came to look for her.

           The way he parked was probably illegal leaving the car basically in the middle of the road, but Harry didn’t care much as he frantically rushed up the steps of her apartment complex. He was scared that if he knocked, she wouldn’t open, thinking it might be someone from the wedding, but he didn’t need to be afraid of it, as he saw Y/N, her hair still styled as it had been for the ceremony, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, a suitcase in hand exiting from the flat.

           “Why didn’t you do it?” he breathlessly asked, startling her and making her drop the keys.

           Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? What are you doing here?”

           Harry stepped closer, hand cupping her cheek, insides trembling from all of the emotions coursing through his body. “Why didn’t you do it? Marry him? Why didn’t you say yes?”

           “I – “ Y/N choked on her words. “I couldn’t say yes. It didn’t feel right.”

           “Why?”

           “Because it wasn’t you, I was saying yes to.”

           That was all Harry needed to kiss her like he'd done once before. And this time, he wasn’t going to let her go. He’d made that mistake twice. He would never repeat it again.

           “I love you,” he cried through a laugh. “I love you. I love you. I love you. And I’m never letting you slip through my fingers ever again.”

           “How can you even think about loving me again after what I did to us?” she asked, pulling away from his lips.

           Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re talking like I ever stopped. Through thick and thin. It’s what we promised. Think and thin, my Lovie."

***

           A sixteen-year-old Harry and a fifteen-year-old Y/N laid outside in the grass of Harry’s garden; eyes trained onto the dark night starlit sky above. It was the day before his life changed forever as did hers.

           “Do you believe in soulmates?” Harry asked, trying to catch a glimpse of a shooting star.

           Y/N scrunched up her nose. “No. I don’t think I do. And I don’t think I want one.”

           “Why not?”

           “What if they’re old and in their thirties? Or dead?”

           Harry snorted at her response.

           “And you?” Y/N turned her head to look at him. “Do you believe in soulmates?

           He bit his lip and nodded. “I think I do. I think it’s two people who’ve been brought together, and no matter what happens will find their way to one another. Through thick and thin.”

"And what if one of them breaks the other's heart?"

"That's the thin." He looked at her. "And you don't give up then. It's when you need to love them even more."

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A/N: Happy 2021 everyone! Hopefully things are better this year, and everyone stays safe and sound.

P.S. my tags are always open :)

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[detectivehannibal]

Baking Pleasures

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Hannibal Lecter x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Implications of sexual content.

Word Count: 1,207

“Baking isn’t so bad. Is it, Dr. Lecter?”

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You didn’t have the beg Hannibal for much. More often than not, all you had to do was ask and he was all over it. Over the years, you had stretched and experimented to see just how far you could go to get what you wanted (within reason, of course). As far as your current request was concerned, it should’ve been no problem at all. That’s why you were so surprised at how adamant he was being about NOT doing it. 

Hannibal was a culinary master...depending on who you asked. He put careful thought, time, and precision into his cooking. If it wasn’t picture perfect, then he didn’t serve it. Every element of his dishes were intentional and methodical. His courses were planned to delicate perfection. Cooking was likely his biggest passion. Which is why you were just so confused that he wouldn’t do this for you.

“Come on, please? I don’t understand what the problem is.” You asked for the thousandth time.

“There simply isn’t a problem. I just don’t have the desire to do it.” He replied, not looking up from the book in his hand. 

You huffed at that. The man had done so much for you in your time together and this is where he drew the line? It was a little pathetic if you were being honest. 

“I thought you’d love the idea of it! It’s almost Christmas, you know. I think it’s only fitting to get into the spirit.” You argued back. 

He looked at you briefly with one of you most unamused expressions you had ever seen, before silently returning his attention to his selected reading. Who would’ve thought that getting Hannibal Lecter to bake gingerbread cookies would be like pulling teeth? It wasn’t like you were asking him to give you a kidney or anything. You stared at him for the next following moments, his sigh was heavy as he closed the book. 

“I don’t bake.” He stated plainly.

“Yes, you do. I’ve seen you do it!” You screeched.

He shook his head;

“I bake exquisite dishes. That is well beyond my wheelhouse.” He bantered.

Your eyes squinted and you shook your head in disbelief. Surely he wasn’t denying this because he didn’t know how to. You knew he had to have a recipe somewhere in his array of culinary directions. He wasn’t lying when he said that this wasn’t something that he would normally do. The thought of it just seemed menial and rather pointless. Hannibal didn’t even really do much for Christmas. He never even decorated until you moved in. Even then he didn’t really get that involved with it. So gingerbread cookies weren’t in his best interest. Honestly, you just thought that this would’ve been something fun for the two of you to do. 

“Hanni, this isn’t going to diminish your reputation as a chef or anything,” You explained; “I wasn’t trying to invalidate your skills.” 

He felt a little twinge in his chest. He was a prideful man, even if he didn’t show it most of the time. He didn’t cherish the thought of doing anything that would be considered out of character. Something as commercial and something so childish (in his opinion) just wasn’t him. However, doing things for your benefit and your entertainment was definitely not out of character for him. He genuinely loved doing things for you. Perhaps his love language was acts of service. If nothing else, maybe he could score some extra boyfriend points if he did this. After all, he found it hard to say no to you. 

“Of course not, darling. I never thought you were,” He said, turning to face you; “If you will, go set up the kitchen. I’ll be there shortly.”

Giddy with excitement, you leapt from the sofa and made a mad dash for his culinary wonderland. He only smiled and offered the lightest laugh at your behavior. Just what had he gotten himself into?

Sure enough, Hannibal had a recipe stashed away in his cabinet. It was fairly simple as far as ingredients go. All-purpose flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, sugar. It was pretty straightforward. You sat across from him, watching intently as his hands worked their magic. You were rather talkative in the kitchen, which he didn’t mind. He liked when you asked questions or displayed your curiosity. He loved hearing the sound of your voice.

“Baking isn’t so bad. Is it, Dr. Lecter?” You asked with a charmed smirk.

He had to admit. He was having the time of his life. He never thought that doing something so basic and commercialized would bring him such joy. Maybe he wasn’t such a stranger to common life after all. 

“I must admit that it is rather pleasurable. Especially when it’s for my wife.” He said, flashing a smile.

He rolled out the chestnut colored dough onto his vast countertop, noting to himself that he didn’t really have any way to shape them. Nonetheless, he was very steady with his hands and he could carve them out on his own. He pulled a slender knife from one of his drawers, leaning down closely to accurately trace gingerbread men-like shapes. You leaned forward on your elbows watching the way his focus zeroed in on the current task at hand. Eventually, he was able to sculpt out 12 cookies, which were just about as flawless as he could’ve gotten them.

20 minutes in the oven (and a love making quickie on the counter) later, Hannibal presented to you the most gorgeous cookies you had ever seen. They were seriously like something out of a holiday card. You were over the moon with how they turned out, but even then they were still missing the best part. You had always loved decorating cookies ever since you were a little kid. You felt as if you didn’t need to pain Hannibal further, so you took it upon yourself. Now with the roles reversed, he watched as you filled the whipped up icing into a piping bag, ready to go. He observed the way your fingers gently guided the correct amount of icing onto each cookie, your arm steadily moving the direction of how the icing flowed around the edges of each individual cookie. 

“I think they’re finished!” You exclaimed after a few moments later.

Hannibal approached next to you, looking down at your work. It was pretty nifty, he had to admit. He selected one and held to your lips. You took a generous bite, the flavor like a sweet wave over your taste buds.

“So, what’s the verdict?” He questioned jokingly.

Your eyelashes fluttered as a satisfied grin appeared on your face;

“Amazing as always.” You complimented.

He took a bite himself from the same one, he was also content with your conjoined work. 

“That makes two of you.” He spoke.

You felt your cheeks get hot, but fired off at him;

“Forward today, aren’t we? You make gingerbread cookies once and now you’re suddenly bold.” 

He hummed, gripping your hips and pulling you to him. His voice was like silk in your ear, and it was enough to make you forget all about the cookies at hand.

“You just don’t know how bold I can get.”