#and roll out sheets like cookie dough

[scribefindegil]

made a batch of salt dough for a project (molds for treasure bug crackers) but I only ended up needing a little and now I have so much extra clay that has to be used up in the next couple of days. what should I make.

[starkeysbunny]

buy me presents [rafe cameron]

pairing - boxer!rafe x bambi!reader

summary - christmas has never been much of rafe’s thing. but lucky for him, it’s his hyperfeminine gf’s favorite holiday. this comes with decorating their shared apartment in a pink winter wonderland, and baked goods almost every night.

warnings - quite literally pure fluff

rafe let out a huff, stepping into his apartment with sweat dripping down his forehead. he just got back from the gym, and his face contorted into confusion when he crossed the threshold of the front door and was met with his apartment that felt like a sauna. he sets his bag down by the door and walks further inside, and spots her in the kitchen.

“baby? the hell are you doin’? it’s like a hundred degrees in here.” rafe sighs, sitting at the counter as he watches her.

she looks up, flour dusting her pink cheeks. she smiles and he takes in the mess that has become their kitchen. baking pans, whisks, and bowls litter the counter, along with numerous ingredients that he wasn’t even aware were in their pantry.

“baking!” she responds with that sweet honey-dipped voice, a smile on her lips.

“baking, huh?” he says, resting his chin in his palm. his other hand reaches up and shoves the hood off his head, which was only making the rising temperature of their apartment worse for him.

“yeah, sorry it’s so hot. the oven’s been on sooo…” she shrugs with a smile, continuing what she was doing. he watches as he tongue pokes out of her lips in concentration. she leans all her weight onto the counter as she presses a cookie cutter into the dough she has rolled out on the counter.

“mhm. that’s alright. what’re you baking?” he press his arms into the counter, lifting his body slightly to peek over at her work on the other side of the counter.

“gingerbread cookies! wanna help?” she looks up at him with big doe eyes.

he chuckles, brushing his thumb over his nose. “yeah, i’m good baby. trust me, you don’t want me in there. i’ll burn our apartment down.”

she giggles, shaking her head. “c’mon it’s not that hard.”

he shakes his head. “christmas isn’t really my thing, baby. i’ll leave the baking to you.”

it was the day after thanksgiving and he had woken up this morning to sounds of cluttering in the living room. when he got up to see what it was, he saw his girlfriend sitting criss cross by the coffee table, sorting through boxes. she pulled out pink bows and snowy decor. and now, his apartment was a pink winter wonderland.

it was their first christmas together as a couple, and he was a bit confused. and disoriented with the fact that he had to live in the north pole for the next month. but, anything y/n wanted, she got. rafe made sure of that.

she pouts her lips slightly. “please? just help me make the gingerbread men shapes?”

he sighs, becomes he knows when she gives that pout with her big eyes, he’ll never relent. he does anything she wants.

“alright, alright.” he pulls his zip up off his arms and tosses it onto the couch, leaving him in a black t-shirt. he rounds the counter to stand next to her, looking at the counter covered in flour and dough. “what do i have to do?”

she reaches over to her container of cookie cutters and palms two shapes of gingerbread men into his hands. “use those.” she instructs. “like this.”

she demonstrates, pushing her weight into the counter as she presses the cookie cutter into the dough, making the shape of a gingerbread man. “see!” she peels back the excess dough and carefully picks up the gingerbread shape and lays it on the baking sheet with the others she made.

he nods firmly, his tongue pressing out of his lips in concentration, the same way hers does. he presses the cookie cutter into the dough, his bicep muscles flexing under the material of his shirt.

he hums in content as he lifts the cutter, revealing the shape he made. she smiles, clapping her hands together. “see! you did it!” she wraps her arms around him and nudges herself into his side with a sequal.

he rolls his eyes playfully and chuckles. “baby, i’m barely doing anything—“

“shut up.” she nudges his side playfully, picking up the gingerbread he made and gingerly placing it on the baking sheet. once they made a few more, all the dough shapes lined up, she places the baking sheet in the oven.

she sets the timer, and rafe’s arms snuggly find their home around her waist from behind. she grins, leaning back into him. she presses her lips together, something on her mind.

“do you like all the decorations? i know it’s not your thing, and it’s really girly and all.. but i just like christmas a lot. and i’m excited to spend it with you.” her words come out in a sporadic burst, shaken nervousness bubbling past her lips.

he grins, pressing a kiss to her temple from behind, his hands splaying across her stomach as he holds her close. “baby, i love anything you love, okay? yeah, i’ve never really done anything for christmas before, but if it makes you happy, you can make the apartment a pink winter wonderland and bake all you want. whatever makes my girl happy, yeah?”

she grins, turning in his arms to face him, a blush creeping up her neck to her cheeks. she buries her face in his chest, a giggle falling past her lips as she does.

rafe did anything for his girl.

[stevesgother]

From Now On (Our Troubles Will Be Miles Away) I S.H

Pairing - Dad!Steve Harrington x Fem!Mom!Reader

WC - 1.5k

Summary - enjoy some christmas stevie with your toddler, and a special announcement… <3

AN - oops! It appears i can’t stop writing steve as a father. y’all can thank mady @skeltn for that one. 

With love- Emma

The soft, staticky sounds of Frank Sinatra’s ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’ emanate from the thrifted record player in the living room; drifting into the kitchen where you’re rolling cookie dough and wincing as your toddler tries to ‘help’ by adding way too much food coloring into the bowls of frosting.

Over the sounds of nostalgic Christmas tunes, you hear a small crash and the cursing of your husband as he attempts to wrap your eight foot tree in garland.

“You okay, honey?” You shout from where you stand at the counter.

A pause, “Yeah, I’m just–ugh these fuc–”

“Steve!--”

“Fudging lights–” he corrects, “they’re all tangled. I’ve been working at them for, like, twenty minutes,”

“Let me get these cookies in the oven, Ellie and I will come help,” you call back.

More grumbling can be heard echoing from the other room as your daughter, Eleanor, is rummaging through your small container of cookie cutters, eventually giving up and deciding that it would simply be easier to dump all of them out onto the floor.

Her pudgy little hands grab one that's shaped like santa in a sleigh as she declares,

 “I do this one,”

“Do you want mommy’s help or do you got it by yourself?”

She doesn’t respond but clumsily presses the stencil into the floured dough. It comes out a little wonky, but you don’t mind, you aren’t going for perfection. Steve will have eaten them all within the next few hours, anyway.

Speak of the devil, “How are my girls doin’?” he saunters over to you, slightly sweaty from the exertion of decorating the tree and presses a kiss to both yours and Ellie’s cheeks.

When he sees Eleanor’s handiwork, he gasps, “Ellie, baby, these are beautiful!” He fawns over the barely recognizable shapes on the baking sheet like they’re the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen in his whole life.

Ellie can tell he’s pleased with her and starts to giggle with her sticky hands over her mouth. You wisely chose a recipe that didn’t call for eggs, knowing your three-year-old was bound to ingest the raw dough at some point during the process.

Now that Steve’s in the room though, she conveniently decides she’s done helping and motions with her arms for her dad to pick her up. He does so without hesitation, even though she’s covered in frosting and flour, easily lifting her from where she stands in just an oversized tee on a step ladder against the cabinets.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up, huh? Give mommy a break,” he looks pleadingly to you, “Can you please try to untangle the lights while I’m gone?” And how could you say no when he looks so pretty and asks so nicely?

◞◟·̩͙  ͜  ˳꣑୧ ͜  ◞◟·̩͙◟

By the time you’re finally done unraveling and applying a mess of sparkly bulbs and shiny tinsel to your Christmas tree, Ellie comes barreling out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel wrapped around her and Steve hot on her tail. Miniature wet footprints mark a path from the bathroom door all the way to the couch, and it doesn’t take a scientist to figure out who the culprit is.

“Eleanor Rose!” He yells through gritted teeth, solely because he’s fighting a smile.

You laugh boisterously as you watch your grown husband chase after a toddler in an uncomfortable crouched position that looks ridiculous displayed on someone his size. It’s a sight for sore eyes.

“Hey! It’s not funny!” Now his feigned frustration is directed towards you, “Are you just gonna stand there and laugh or are you gonna help me catch this gremlin?!”

As it turns out, he doesn’t need help after all. When Ellie reaches the couch, she realizes she has nowhere left to turn and succumbs to a fit of giggles on the fluffy cushions. She’s red in the face and certainly not dry, but you can’t find it in yourself to be annoyed. Your couch might be a little soggy, your floor might be a little slippery, and Steve might be absolutely exhausted, but you don’t dare dream of your life looking any differently than this.

Steve’s playing Tickle Monster with Ellie when you realize she still needs her pajamas on.

“You wanna get her dressed or shall I?” You ask him over your daughter’s squealing.

“Oh, take her, please,” you can tell he’s teasing though. If you really wanted, Steve would let you lounge in your bathrobe all day– reading Cosmos and drinking iced tea while he took care of Ellie. He’s in his element when he’s spending time with her. Even when you were just silly teenagers in love, you’d never seen him so fulfilled as he is now.

That sentiment is the only reason why you don’t feel wracked with nerves over the news you’re about to deliver him.

◞◟·̩͙  ͜  ˳꣑୧ ͜  ◞◟·̩͙◟

Steve’s putting the last of the ornaments on the tree when Ellie reappears from her bedroom with a huge smile plastered to her face. She careens into his shins and he stumbles a little with the unexpected force.

“Hi, peanut!” He grunts a little when he picks her up. You follow suit, wearing the matching pajamas Steve had picked out at Sears for everyone last weekend.

“Did you get your jammies–?” His eyebrows knit together, puzzled, as he realizes he doesn’t recognize the top she has on as the one he bought for you all to wear tonight.

“Babe, why didn’t you put her in the–”

It's then that he catches the words printed on shirt in bold, pink letters,

‘Big Sister.’

Once the initial confusion passes, his eyes immediately well with tears and his features soften like butter.

“What? He asks in that quiet, wobbly voice you’d only ever heard him use a handful of times.

“Surprise,” you respond timidly with your hands out in an almost-shrug.

He sets Eleanor down as gently as he can while also rushing to your side. He embraces you so tight it nearly knocks the wind out of you. When he lets up, he still doesn’t let you go far as he cups your face in both of his warm hands.

“How long have you known?”

“A week or so,” you shrug.

“Baby, I can’t believe this!” his quiet, shocked demeanor quickly morphs into something more like excited giddiness and he’s practically jumping up and down now.

“Oh my God!” He picks Ellie up and swings her around by her armpits before smacking kisses all over her tiny face. You know she’s still a bit too young to properly comprehend the gravity of the announcement, but she’s just so happy because her dad’s so happy.

“Ellie Bear! Mommy’s having a baby!” He holds her by her torso and gives her a light shake, she just throws her head back and laughs, not a clue what’s got him so worked up. With her belly exposed, he blows a raspberry on the exposed skin.

You make your way back to his side and engulf them both in a hug. Your perfect little family of three, soon to be four, and you couldn’t be more content than you are in this moment.

◞◟·̩͙  ͜  ˳꣑୧ ͜  ◞◟·̩͙◟

Two hours and one Christmas TV special later, Ellie is snuggled tight to Steve’s chest, lost to slumber. It appears Steve’s not too far behind her as his head is rested against the back of the couch– mouth open and slightly snoring– comforted by his own personal weighted blanket.

“Stevie,” you whisper, giving him a gentle shake, “don’t fall asleep,”

“Jus’ resting my eyes, darlin’,”

You scoff, teasing, “Right,”

He looks down at the sleeping child nuzzled into him, and plants a barely there kiss to the crown of her head. He rises slowly, so as not to wake her, and you follow him to her room.

He sets her down atop the frilly pink comforter with a practised ease, she stirs only slightly, and covers her up with a Disney Princess blanket that was previously splayed at the end of the mattress. You take turns giving her featherlight kisses and wishing her ‘sweet dreams’ even though you know she can’t hear you.

You and Steve are hand in hand as you tiptoe out of her room and close the door with a soft click, giggling like children.

Outside her door, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. Then to each cheek. Then to your mouth.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you,” he whispers back, “more than anything,”

“Wanna call it a night?”

“Can we make out first?”

You gasp in faux disapprovement as you smack a loving hand against his chest and he fakes a wince for dramatic effect. Always the drama queen, your Steve.

“Keep it in your pants, Big Boy,”

“Don’t call me that,” he tries to sound stern and fails.

“You love it,” you smirk.

You squeal when he grabs you behind your knees and hoists you up and over his shoulders.

“Quiet, baby. You’re gonna wake up our baby,” he scolds through a giggle. You pinch his butt in retaliation.

“Okay, that’s it. Off to bed with you,”

The next hour is spent in bed with your best friend– hushed laughs and languid kisses and skin caressing skin before you both drift off into a peaceful sleep; holding each other close like you always have.

divider credit to @/strangergraphics

[jaysng]

sassy — park jongseong

pairing: husband!jay x wife!reader

genre: fluff, crack

synopsis: jay trying to re-gain his dramaqueen daughter’s attention after she got mad at him.

the kitchen was filled with the sweet scent of vanilla and sugar, mixing perfectly with the soft hum of the oven. you glanced over at your daughter, who stood on a small stool next to you, her tiny hands busy rolling cookie dough into little balls. her brows were furrowed in concentration, but there was no hiding the little pout that had settled on her lips ever since jay had told her she couldn’t help him earlier.

jay stood a few steps behind, nervously rubbing the back of his neck as he watched the two of you. “princess,” he started softly, trying to catch her attention, “i’m sorry, okay? daddy just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

she ignored him, huffing dramatically as she placed another cookie on the baking sheet. “mommy says i can help her,” she said, her voice holding that unmistakable sass she’d developed lately.

you stifled a laugh, not wanting to encourage her but also finding the whole situation too adorable. “she’s right, you know,” you said, glancing over at jay with a small smile. “i’m keeping her away from the hot stuff.”

jay sighed, knowing he was going to have to work harder to win back his little girl’s favor. “i know, i know,” he mumbled, stepping closer. “but can daddy at least help now? i miss baking with my favorite girls.”

his daughter finally looked up at him, her big eyes narrowing as if she was considering his request. after a moment, she sighed, crossing her little arms over her chest. “only if you say sorry again,” she demanded, her tiny voice serious.

“i’m really, really sorry,” jay said, kneeling down to her level. “i promise next time i’ll let you help more. deal?”

she seemed to think about it for a moment before a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “deal,” she agreed, reaching out to pat his cheek like she’d seen you do countless times.

jay couldn’t help but grin, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the forehead before standing up. “thank you, princess,” he said, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.

the three of you continued baking, your daughter’s earlier grumpiness completely forgotten as she giggled and chatted with both of you, her mood lifting with each cookie she helped make. jay couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the clock every now and then, knowing that 8 pm was just around the corner. it was their special time, and he needed it more than anything.

as the last batch of cookies went into the oven, you caught jay looking at the clock again. “don’t worry,” you said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “you’ll get your cuddle time.”

he smiled sheepishly, feeling a little silly for being so anxious about it. “i just… i don’t want to miss it,” he admitted.

you reached out, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “you won’t,” you promised, your eyes warm and understanding. “and i’m sure she’s looking forward to it just as much as you are.”

sure enough, as the clock struck 8, your daughter was already climbing onto the couch, her small frame getting comfortable among the pillows. jay quickly followed, scooping her up into his arms and settling down beside her. she snuggled up against him, her earlier sass completely replaced by the soft, sleepy demeanor that always appeared around this time.

you watched them with a smile, feeling your heart swell at the sight of the two most important people in your life. jay met your gaze, his eyes full of love and contentment as he wrapped his arm around his little girl. “come join us,” he whispered, patting the spot next to him.

you didn’t need any more convincing, slipping onto the couch and nestling in beside them. your daughter yawned, her eyelids already drooping as she mumbled something about cartoons. jay reached for the remote, putting on her favorite show, but it didn’t take long before her breathing evened out, the steady rise and fall of her chest signaling that she was fast asleep.

jay sighed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “thanks for letting me make it up to her,” he whispered to you, his voice filled with gratitude.

“you’re a great dad,” you whispered back, leaning your head against his shoulder. “she just likes to remind you who’s really in charge sometimes.”

he chuckled softly, knowing you were right. “yeah, she’s definitely got your spirit.”

“i’ll take that as a compliment,” you teased, closing your eyes as the warmth of the moment wrapped around you like a blanket.

the three of you stayed like that, cuddled up on the couch, the soft glow of the television casting a gentle light over the room. and in that quiet, peaceful moment, jay couldn’t imagine anything better.

do not copy or reblog my work — @/jaysng

[keerysfreckles]

cookies — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x hephaestus fem!reader

summary: in which luke finds y/n, in order to tell her something he's been meaning to for the past two years

warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns, i think thats it ??? making out/kissing

a/n: I FINISHED TLT TODAY- idc if luke is evil (if evil why pookie)

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

y/n l/n thought her life at camp half-blood would've felt like a fairy tale. two years later, she was deeply misguided.

the camp experience itself wasn't bad. she loved meeting the new campers, and bonding with her cabin mates, and seeing luke from time to time.

but even when she got claimed by her father, hephaestus, y/n still felt like a square trying to fit in a triangle hole. hephaestus was the god of forge. fire. craft. creation.

when y/n first arrived to camp, she met luke. he didn't know why, but out of all the campers in hermes cabin, he felt as though he needed to protect y/n the most.

two and a half weeks after meeting luke, y/n had been claimed by her father. the boy was sad to see her leave, but glad as well, due to her being claimed to a new cabin.

as soon as y/n and chiron entered the doors of hephaestus cabin, the duo was met with seven boys. five of them were around the same age as the girl, and the other two looked no older than ten.

this made y/n feel even more out of place. yes, they all made her feel at home, and they still do. y/n just can't help but feel isolated.

less than a week after y/n was claimed, she unfortunately found out forging wasn't the exact type of creation she was skilled at. she tried pottery, metalwork, jewelry making, and even knitting. the girl was crushed when none of the activies suited her.

until one afternoon, she was in the kitchen after helping bring in dirty dishes from lunch. a few ingredients caught her eye, and she instantly started bringing them together and made something delicious. chiron soon came inside, and was both surprised and pleased y/n had found her activity. cooking.

this leads y/n to where she is right now. the camp kitchen. ever since the fateful day she discovered her gift, she rarely ever left the kitchen. y/n was considered the new cook of camp, and she enjoyed everything about it.

recently, the girl has taken baking into her small circle of talents. which explains why all day y/n has been baking cookies for tomorrow. it was percy's birthday, and annabeth asked her to make blue chocolate chip cookies for him, one of percy's favorite foods. she had to make enough for the whole camp. almost one hundred cookies were already baked and cooled, and she had one hundred more to go.

annabeth kept checking on y/n every so often, to see her progress (and to make sure she took breaks and to not overwork herself). two times the younger girl came in the kitchen, her and y/n talked for a bit. y/n kept teasing annabeth at all the staring she'd been doing towards percy lately. to be fair, it was annabeth's idea to have the cookies for percy's birthday, so y/n knew something had to be going on between the two tweens.

y/n doesn't notice the person who had entered the kitchen. she heard footsteps, so she guessed it was annabeth.

luke stood in the doorway of the kitchen. he took a moment to admire the girl in front of him. y/n stood behind the kitchen island, with a metal bowl, a baking sheet, and other multiple baking utensils layed out over the countertop. luke could smell a batch of cookies in the oven at the right of the kitchen, along with the fresh ones all placed on the counters behind y/n.

luke finally knocks on the door, making y/n look up from rolling balls of cookie dough. a smile was quick to fill her features, "hi luke."

luke walked over towards her, leaning on the island, standing across from her.

"how are percy's birthday cookies coming along?" he asks, seeing the girl still at work.

y/n nods, "they're going," she laughs, "that's for sure."

"i was looking for you earlier," luke admits, as he continues to watch y/n at work.

looking up from her blue stained hands, y/n sees a small blush covering luke's cheeks. "oh yeah?"

it's luke's turn to nod, "yeah, but the hephaestus boys said you'd be in here."

y/n chuckles, before the two sit in a comfortable silence for no less than a minute.

"did you need me for something?" y/n asks, as she takes two baking sheets to the oven. luke only laughs while watching y/n open the oven with her foot, as her hands were full.

"i just wanted to come check on you," luke moves to side of the kitchen island y/n was previously on. "you have made quite the mess in here."

both luke and y/n look at the batches of cookies, the reminants of cookie dough on the counters, empty bowls in both of the sinks, and flour on the kitchen island and floor.

"what's the real reason you wanted to see me luke?" y/n asks the boy, knowing that he had a tell when he was nervous. he always licked his lips before speaking.

"what? i can't just want to see a dear friend of mine?" he jokes.

"oh you can," y/n responds, "except, whenever you visited me you always wanted seconds, or an extra dessert."

luke doesn't repsond right away, knowing y/n had a point.

the boy licks his lips, nervous from what he's about to tell y/n.

"do you ever wonder why i might've been more protective of you over the other campers? when you first joined hermes cabin?" luke asks, catching y/n off guard.

y/n shakes her head, "no, i never really thought about it before."

luke takes a deep breath, "you seemed more special to me."

y/n's eyebrows furrowed, only making luke continue.

"you just seemed so different from the other campers i've met. special. i just had to protect you. i still feel like i have to."

"luke, i don't get what you're trying to say," y/n admits. luke's confession is only making her confused.

"then i don't have to say it," luke's voice is soft.

y/n's confusion returns, but only for mere seconds before she feels luke's lips on hers. she pulls away from the him, out of shock at what he had just done.

his eyes instantly met hers. his filled with worry as if he messed everything up the two had between them.

before luke could start to overthink everything, y/n leaned up to kiss him. his eyes closed, and his hand went to both sides of her face.

y/n's lips tasted like sugar, with a hint of salt. luke guessed it was from tasting her cookies to get them as perfect as she can for percy's birthday.

luke's lips tasted like a campfire. y/n could only assume it was from the smores hermes cabin had after winning capture the flag that day.

y/n's hands were still blue, and in order to not stain luke or his clothing, she opted to wrap her arms around his shoulders. she felt luke's hands on her waist, only pulling her closer to him.

soon enough luke's tongue pushed through y/n's lips, which caused her to giggle. luke loved her reaction.

before anything could get more heated, a timer goes off in the small kitchen. the loud shrill made luke and y/n stop their movements. y/n only looked at luke sheepishly. the girl leaned in once more and pecked the boy's lips, before retrieving the cookies out of the oven.

"do you want any help?" luke asks, watching y/n again as she started rolling out more balls of cookie dough.

she nods, "if you don't mind your hands getting blue."

luke laughs, "i'm willing to take that chance."

[rustedhearts]

frosty (boxer!steve harrington x fem!(pregnant)librarian reader)

⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆

summary: it's a turn of events for the harringtons this christmas! due any minute and ready for it to be over, you're grumpy and mean—and steve is a perfect doting husband.

⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

❆ the king of the ring (1996) ❆ the most wonderful time of the year

⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆

tags: pregnancy, fluff, this took forever to finish purely because I didn’t have time and it’s still shit, sorryyyyyy. not edited.

°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ the harrington residence. christmas eve, 1996. °⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆

"Smells good in here."

A ball of sticky, cinnamon-scented dough rolls quickly between your palms. With your back to him, Steve can see nothing but the messy strays of your hair flouncing with every work of your hands. You have his largest sweater on, made to fit over the belly you're aching to get rid of.

Literally.

"Don't eat them yet," you command over your shoulder as Steve shuffles toward the counter of cookies.

He pulls his hand back from its destination toward a cookie tin, eyes rolling. "Don't you think—"

"—Steven," you interrupt, dropping the ball of dough into the plate of cinnamon and sugar. Steve watches granules fly across the marble. "If you tell me I'm 'going overboard' with anything today, I'm going to lose my mind."

The stiffness to your voice is like a high-pitched squeal to a dog—it kicks Steve into gear immediately. He pulls off the counter and hurries across the kitchen, hands soft against your rigid shoulders.

"Alright, alright," he coos. "'m sorry."

He tips his head and squishes a kiss against your cheek. You sigh into it, and, fortunately, the love you have for your husband is stronger than your tendency for irritation these days.

The circular motions of your hands around the next ball of dough come slower this time, coaxed to stillness by Steve's hands massaging your shoulders. His thumbs work into your shoulder blades and you tip your head back with another sigh.

From a radio on the clean counter, tuned to the Christmas station, Joni Mitchell's "River" begins to play. Steve lets his chin rest on your shoulder, hands slipping lower to the center of your spine where he uses both of them to brace you.

"Can you do the thing?" you murmur, letting your head rest against his.

Steve slides his hands without word, letting them smooth over the front of your belly and toward the bottom where, gently, he places a delicate pressure, and lifts. You're immediately freed of a fraction of the weight of your child directly on your bladder, and the groan you release is guttural and relieved. It makes Steve chuckle, lips pressing another kiss to your cheek with a mind of their own.

"That what you wanted?"

"Uh-huhhhh."

He holds you like this for some time, the pair of you lulled to relaxation together. Joni Mitchell fades into the radio announcer by the time you’re interrupted—by the trill of your egg timer on the counter and the stench of burnt butter.

“Shit.” Your eyes fly open, jolting toward the oven mitts beside you.

Steve gently releases you and watches the oven door fall open, releasing a plume of grey smoke.

“Noooo! No, how did they burn?” you whine, sliding the sheet of blackened snickerdoodle cookies on the stovetop.

Steve feels it coming, can see it brewing in the furrow of your brow and pout of your lip. He slides backwards just as the oven mitts slap against the floor, accompanied by your agonized groan.

“Ugh!”

“Honey,” Steve coos, hands stretched out as if to catch you. “It’s ok—“

You turn sharply to point an accusing finger at your husband. “Don’t touch me, Steven.”

He holds his outstretched hands up in surrender, taking another step back. “Okay, okay. It’s alright, angel.”

“No, it’s not.” Despite yourself, you stomp your socked foot against the tiled floor. “They’re burnt. And it’s hot!”

You tug at the collar of Steve’s sweater around your neck, scowling with every pull.

“I-it’s snowin’, baby. I can turn the heat off if you want—“

“Ugh, whatever! Just…I gotta make more to replace the burnt ones now.”

With your back to him, you return to feverishly rolling dough balls into shape, blackened cookies abandoned and glared at on the stovetop. Steve huffs under his breath as he heads toward the thermostat, turning the heat as low as it can go without forming icicles on the windows.

In the living room, the tree twinkles before the view of a white front yard. Mounds of fluff pile over every inch of the world beyond the house, powdered over rooftops and the Mustang’s windshield.

Steve knows how much you love the snow, and how uncomfortable you’ve been in your own stretched, aching body. Which is why he’s learned to gather all the patience he can muster and lend it to you. You’re forming life within your body, and all Steve can do is make you comfortable.

The radio in the kitchen crackles into a Nat King Cole song. Under the violin slow tune, Steve can hear you huff alone to yourself. He glances at the fluffed tree before the window, lined with boxes and bags perfectly wrapped by either yourself or the store Steve paid extra to jazz up.

He tiptoes back into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway. “Uhhh, angel?”

Your sigh is lengthy and dramatic. “What, Steve?”

“D’ you want t’ open some presents early?”

You falter a moment, fingers slowing once more. You plop the dough ball into the cinnamon and sugar and the granules crackle with the pressure. He waits against the doorframe, fingers tapping rhythmically on wood.

“I don’t know,” you reply, but it’s so quiet and mumbled that he knows you’ll give in.

He hurries and grabs one for show: a shiny red bag with pink tissue paper, fluffed by the woman at the store who promised his wife would adore its contents. In the doorway, he rocks it around like a treat, paper and bag crinkling over the radio.

“Come onnn. This one’s all for you, angel.”

You place the sugared dough on the cookie sheet and turn an inch. Eyes over your shoulder, they meet the brightness of the bag in his hand and the sheepish grin on his face. Oh, that damn wedding band on his finger. The sight of it under the kitchen lights immediately wipes your anger like a hand over fog.

“All for me? Not baby presents?”

Steve takes your hand from its hovered place above the cookie dough, using it to steer you completely around. You waddle a few steps his way, frustration fizzled to a pout that creases your brows.

“All for you,” he promises, dipping down to kiss your knuckles.

Your sigh is short and weary this time. “Fine, I guess.”

Placing your other hand on your back, you let him pull you out of the kitchen and into the living room. He gently guides you onto the couch, placed on the edge of the cushion and then hoisted a bit backwards until you’re resting back. He knows you’d usually opt for the floor, directly in front of the tree where you can watch the lights shine.

But being on the floor hasn’t been an option for a few months now, and he wouldn’t dare to try.

So, he brings your gifts to the cushion you’re uncomfortably slouched on, placing an array of bags and boxes in your lap and around your legs. Your cheeks grow warm, as they always do, when you take in the sheer amount.

“Steve—“

Yet he interrupts your sigh. “Libby. If you tell me I spent too much, I’m going to lose it.”

A small smile hems your mouth. Standing before you, hands tucked behind his back, Steve shows no humor but has a familiar twinkle in his eye. You thank him in his favorite way: by reaching for the first red bow with excitement.

Ribbon after ribbon, bow after bow, you unravel thousands of dollars worth of affections from Steve. Bracelets, books, candles, glasses, and, of course, shoes.

He plucks a pair of pink Manolos from their box and bends at the knee, sliding it over your foot. Fastening the buckle around your ankle, he places a gentle kiss on your ankle bone and rubs his thumb into your calf.

“I wish I could see them,” you huff, leaning back into the couch with a pitiful pout.

“Aw, you’ll see ‘em again soon, angel,” Steve coos, finding a patch of cushion between piles of paper and tissue to sit beside you.

You tuck into his side with ease, concealing your pout in his neck. His hand is warm and heavy on your arm, rubbing and squeezing gently. He feels like a cozy, sturdy pillow around your body, and suddenly all your hormonal irritations are slowly, but surely, dissipating. Like sugar in the sun or snow on a warm windshield, it all begins to melt away.

Steve’s lips press against your temple. His voice hums through your bones. “Feelin’ better?”

You nuzzle against him a little more. He smells like laundry detergent and pine soap from this morning’s shower.

“Mhm. ‘M sorry for being so crazy—“

“Shhh.” His hand comes up to pinch your lips together. “You’re not, baby. Right, Janey? Mama’s not crazy.”

Steve rubs his hand over your belly and you giggle, shifting a little. “She always kicks when you do that.”

Steve cocks his head, waiting for the thump against his palm. “Think that means she likes me?”

You pull your face from his neck and blink up at him. “Of course she does. We love daddy, don’t we, Janey?”

Steve smiles when he feels the thump. “Yeah…yeah, I guess she does.”

It was Steve’s favorite Christmas present yet. The family of two that was soon to be three.

[octopiys]

what happens if honey (reader) is home alone and theres a break in? or she's in any danger and Simon's not there haha hypothetically what happens 👁👁

ohhhh anon I love what you're thinking here

Lost and Found

Cw: panic attack, violence, blood, death (but its deserved) [not proofread]

Simon goes out of town for his job. He was lucky, he said, too have as much time off for that long while as he did.

He'd only be gone a few days.

Yeah, a few days, you can do that, right? Easy.

You had a ton of leftovers and still more food in the fridge. You should have enough dog food to keep the bowls full outside, and you can still go out in the yard.

You're not on house arrest while he's gone. You can still do whatever you want.

So for the first hour, you sat on the couch, staring at nothing while the duck slept in the box, and Scraggle settles right in your lap, yapping.

What could you do while he was gone? You were overwhelmed with possibility. What couldn't you do?

You missed him. Tears pricked your eyes, stung the waterline, you missed him.

So you do what you're good at, and cook about it.

Kinder to bury your sorrows in the stove than in the ground. What can you make?

There's fish in the freezer. You're not sure what kind it is, but it's only labeled with "price."

What the price is, you're not sure. But Simon would've told you if there was something you couldn't use, right? Maybe it's an expensive fish. Bagged in vacuum seal plastic..... yeah, it probably won't be missed.

You're frying tonight. You've got bread crumbs and oil, and a spare lemon from the fruit bowl. The sun is setting, and the first piece comes off as a test.

You try some of it, hissing at how hot it was, before making direct eye contact with Scraggle, who suddenly seems like it's never been fed in its life. You roll your eyes and slide some to the cat with a quiet warning of "It's hot!"

The cat paws at the piece of fish, before launching in a perfect vertical off the counter, yowling it's head off. It leaps off the counter, does a lap around the room, knocks a few sheets off the printer, launches back onto the counter– you can't help but watch, there was no way to stop it– takes the fish in it's mouth, and darts outside.

You stand in the kitchen, alone and in disbelief.

You look around, as if Simon could've seen that whole fiasco, before laughing softly to yourself.

(Those cameras prove interesting videos when there's a lull in the mission, or there's quiet time in the safehouse. He'll wait for you to tell him about it first. The cameras won't be mentioned.)

The fish and potatoes come off the stove, and you make yourself a plate. You set it at the table, before going to put a record on.

Simon had forgotten he had those. They were stowed away in the garage, with a bunch of old boxes that he still couldn't bare to look through yet.

He hears some old tunes playing from inside of the house, and freezes, memories jolting back to stun him.

He's stumbled into the house, using the walls to push him along, feeling weak in the legs and soft in the head, spinning out of control, until he sees you humming along in the kitchen, the soft sway of your hips to the tunes of an old song he can't remember the name of. You're tasting cookie dough from a spoon, lost in the bliss of it all. At peace. Safe.

He swallows roughly, a sting at his eyes unfamiliar, the tightness in his chest suffocating.

For the first time in years, he thinks the words: I miss my mom.

You hadn't noticed him enter then, those weeks ago, nor had you heard him leave. You sway your hips, moving rhythmically to the instrumental soundtrack as you made your way over to the table.

You were sure Barrow was asleep somewhere, and the smaller mutt with her (inseparable, they were), and Scraggle was off somewhere, recovering from its zoomies. Just you and the music to dinner, then.

By the time your dinner had finished, the dogs were out for the night. The bowls were full, and new blankets were layed out.

You decide to take a bath tonight. Simon said you could use his bathroom, and you wanted to maybe try and take full advantage of it.

When was the last time you had a proper bath? You didn't have any salts, but that's okay. There were a few candles in the cabinet in the kitchen, and your bodywash would bubble up the hot water enough.

You hum softly to yourself as you slip out of your clothes and into the warm water with a sigh. Relaxation slips into your being as the water spills over every inch of you, your hair not touching the water. Your book, the old copy of the Hobbit, finds it's way into your hands as you pick up where you left off. The music is still playing down the hall.

The pony is in the river– something breaks outside. Scraggle must've gotten on your plate, silly you for leaving it out.

The brothers go after the pony, ladden with supplies, but Kili-

The music ends abruptly.

You freeze, hairs on your arms standing straight up. Your stomach flips with sudden anxiety, despite virtually nothing happening.

Obviously, Scraggle must've unplugged the cord after hopping off the table where your plate was. Yeah, that was it.

–pony, ladden with sup–

Ice floods your veins at the realization. You were supposed to be alone in the house. Scraggle hadn't come back inside before you locked the back door.

You cover your mouth to stifle a gasp, scrambling out of the tub as quiet, and urgently, as you could. You slip back into whatever you were wearing before, it didn't matter if it had been dirty or not.

Did Simon keep weapons in the house? There were steak knives in the kitchen. The main phone line was in there, too.

Simon had an emergency phone in his night stand.

Something smashes and you jolt, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you move to peek around the lower corner of the bathroom door.

Shadows dance along the wall and your heart skips a few beats, dancing in your throat.

Had he come to find you?

N- no, you were safe here. Simon told you, he promised you were- what was the emergency dial for this region? You didn't know, could it change? You had to find the phone, and something to defend yourself with.

You held your breath, skin damp, still practically half naked, before darting across the room to the nightstand, and pulling it open soundlessly.

Inside were a few cords, a notepad, moisturizer, and a flip phone.

Of course it was a flip phone.

You open up the contacts tab, cringing at each small beep made by the keypad, tucked in the gap between Simon's large bed and the wall.

>JP

>JM

>KG

>Work

What do you choose? Who were these contacts?

You hear someone laugh, and tears spill down your cheeks. You can't go back, you can't, he couldn't find you this soon.

The phone is dialing. You don't remember which one you picked.

It answers on the second ring. No one speaks.

"...s- simon-" Your voice wobbles out, just below a whisper. Something else breaks, and a quiet sob leaves your mouth.

"Honey? Why're you-"

Relief breaks across you at the familiar gruffness of Simon's voice. Thank God he picked up.

"Someone- someone's in the house- two people- I d- don't know what-" You stumble over your words quickly, trying to tell him everything all at once. You can't breathe. "Need- your help, please-"

"Someone's in the house?" You can hear him stand. There's a bite in his voice, like the edge of a dagger, or the cold of a glacier, immobile. "Where are you?"

"Y- Yes, Simon, please-" You hiccup, stifling another sob with a hand over your mouth. You tell him you're in between his bed and the wall.

"There's a lockbox under the bed. Can you see it?" He asks you.

You scoot a bit, and peer under the bed. It's practically spotless, the gap between the bed and the floor just large enough to squeeze in if someone needed to get under there. You locate the box.

It's on the other side, closest to the door.

"I- I see it-" You whisper.

"Get in there. There's a code-"

You'd have to put yourself between the box and the door in order to open it. They were just down the hall, how they hadn't made their way back here yet, you didn't know. Then they'd catch you, they'd catch you for sure if you left your spot right here, and drag you all the way back- they'd push you through the fields, and the miles of woods, oh god, they'd make you go back to him. They'd make you go back to-

"Honey-"

You're hyperventilating, thinking yourself into a hole. There's no way that you could see yourself getting out of here in the way you want.

"Honey!"

You snap back into it. Lockbox.

"S- Sorry- I can reach it, let me just-" You take a deep breath to steady yourself, and push yourself under the bed. You reach, and can't touch it, so you dig harder, push yourself a little more until your fingertips graze the cold metal of the box, and you tug it towards your, curling in on yourself to open the box.

You punch in the code, open the box, and–

A hand wraps around your ankle and yanks with a sick pop, pulling you out from under the bed. You scream, your phone clattering into the box. You see it close, watching in horror as the bed disappears from above you, your shoulder catching on the underside of the bed on the way out.

You immediately turn, fight or flight kicking in, and lash out, screaming. Your fingers dig into the man's throat, you can't see, before his arm rears back and strikes you across the face.

You don't remember hitting the floor.

You come to, the coarseness of the carpet scratching your back, rugburn. You twitch, blinking the bleariness out of your eyes before writhing, you're being dragged by your legs. You kick out, screaming, turning to grab the walls, or nearest piece of furniture. A book on the ground, you launch it at the head of the man, covered in a ski mask.

He yelps out, dropping you, and you scramble to your feet, head spinning, before you launch yourself back down the hallway.

There's a man in your house.

You find another man in Simon's room. He's got the box open at his feet.

You lunge at him, screaming, your mind blank with fear, or rage or- well, there are men in your house. They want to hurt you.

Who would care for your animals if you were gone?

You don't know how, but the gun is in your hands.

There's blood, and there's a lot of it, and you can't tell how much of it is yours.

There is a man, in your house.

You rise shakily to your feet, heart thudding in your ears. You turn to the doorway of Simon's room.

You make your way out of the room, a heavy limp to your step, your hips ache in the curve of your legs, a dull pain muted by adrenaline.

No one. No one will hurt your animals. No one will hurt your house.

Lucky for you, the man meets you halfway. His nose is bleeding, and you raise your gun at him.

He stops, leaning against the wall as he smiles, the blood from his nose staining his teeth.

"Cmon, Baby, you don' know what yer doin'... Jus' drop the gun. I'll help you out, Baby, cmon Baby, jus-" He coos at you, like you're helpless.

There's a yowl, and a flash of cat, and Scraggle appears from almost nowhere, sinking it's toothy mouth into the man's ankle. He shouts out, hopping up onto one foot, flinging his other wildly. Scraggle shoots up into the air, before landing on its feet, hissing erratically.

The man starts forward towards your cat.

"Why you little-"

There's another flash.

You sink to the ground, your head in a pounding agony. You can't hear anything past the ringing in your ears, the loud screech leftover by a fired gunshot in close quarters. You can't hear, can't breathe.

You're bleeding, somewhere, you don't know if you can find out the source.

Scraggle curled up in your lap, purring and licking at your hand.

Did you see, mother. Did you see how good Scraggle has done. Defended the home front, all alone, no help at all, did you see how good Scraggle has done? Praise it, praise it mother, feed it extra tonight, Scraggle deserves it, bested the beasts by itself, it did-

Your eyes drag over to the body of the man in the hall, and you do nothing about it. A kind of satisfaction fills you, like sweet rot, mossy mildew in your chest. Your hand rests on Scraggle, who was completely unharmed.

There's a slight smile on your face as the medicine kicks in, and you nestle in closer to Simon. The questions will come later, sleep is now. No one hurts your animals.

You blink, and someone's crouching in front of you, cradling your head in his hands. You hum, tired enough to not bother opening your eyes. He opens them for you, shining a bright light, and you flinch back with a whine.

He's pressing his forehead to yours the second the light disappears, mumbling something you still can't hear.

You mouth his name, or say it, you can't tell, and lean into the warmth that is Simon. Your face is wet with fresh tears, and everything hurts, fix it Simon, please-

He pulls you into his arms, Scraggle brushing up against you, purring. You can't hear it, but you can feel the vibrations of your favorite little critter, trying to do it's best to help heal you.

You're carried to your room and sat in your bed, Simon wrapping your shoulder in bandages– when did he get those?– and looking at your ankle. You're sleepy, you lean against him, seeking warmth body heat and comfort. He wraps his arms around you, and you fall under, your eyes drifting shut as you start to snooze against him.

You didn't seem to make the connection that there was more than one person helping him out, no matter how they got there so quickly.

John sticks his head into the room as you fall asleep, spotting Gaz on the floor trying to set your ankle, and Simon behind you, holding your sleeping form.

"She alright?"

"Yeah, sir. Just a bit roughed up. Where's Soap?" Simon rumbles, voice noticeably quieter.

Scraggle jumps up on the bed, nesting between you both. Blessings and healing to mother, blessing to father-

"Takin' out the trash." John responds. "Mind if we crash here for the night, once we get it all cleaned up?"

"Not in the least. There's pasta in the fridge, Cap'n."

And no one calls you Baby.

masterlist

[ms-demeanor]

Oh hey speaking of how corn is in fucking everything i made cookies yesterday and some of them were for a person with many food allergies who IS NOT allergic to peanuts or eggs so I found the two-ingredient (salt, peanuts) peanut butter at trader joes and then I made 3-ingredient peanut butter cookies and they rule.

You need:

1 cup of peanut butter

1 cup of sugar

1 large egg

I did use my stand mixer for this and it was my first time using my stand mixer for cookie dough and NOW i understand why people who hardly ever bake but who DO bake cookies three times a year love these things holy shit. That was much, much, much easier than stirring by hand for such a stiff dough, which is my usual go-to for cookies.

Anyway, however you're mixing them, beat ingredients together until smooth, roll into 1-inch balls and place on parchment paper on a cookie sheet, press down in a criss-cross pattern with a fork and bake at 350 for about 9-11 minutes, depending on how crispy you like your cookies.

Since I've got food allergies I find it really frustrating when recipes are like "Three ingredients!" and then call for, like, Nutella. Because Nutella is many ingredients. But this is a for-real 3-ingredient recipe, you can even use unsalted peanut butter but I think it's better with salt, making it technically a 4-ingredient recipe but that is NOT BAD for a baked good.

There are peanut butter cookie recipes out there that have flour and vanilla extract and stuff like that, and those recipes can be really good! But this is the easiest cookie recipe.

[raspberrybesitos]

frosted cookies | husband!frankie morales x wife!reader

Main masterlist

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~4.4k

Summary: You pack away an extra treat in your husband’s lunch. What happens when Frankie sees you’ve packed more than just some cookies? Cookies won’t be the only thing that’s frosted when he has his way with you.

Warnings: unprotected PIV (wrap it up y’all!!), oral (f receiving), fingering, doggy style, missionary, praise kink, three (3) spanks, cum eating, teeniest bit of soft dom!Frankie, sickening fluff, after care, pet names (querida, hermosa, baby, etc), husband!Frankie being so in love and down bad for his wife, reader speaks some Spanish, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N, some Spanish translations throughout.

A/N: can be read as part of the “just married” universe or a stand alone. did y’all think i forgot about a 500 follower treat?! hehehe i would never!! i’m back with a lil slice of domestic holiday bliss and smut with our guy, our husband! i’m just so down bad for Frankie, like there’s really no explaining myself. he’s everything. i want him so bad.🧎‍♀️anyway, happy Frankie friday everybody! hope y’all enjoy ��🏼 not beta’d, all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @saradika

“Jesus, querida. How many cookies are you gonna bake?” Frankie asks before popping one into his mouth. “Francisco! Ya basta! (Enough) Those are for tomorrow!” You yell, smacking your husband’s hand away from getting anymore cookies.

After tomorrow, you and Frankie are off for 10 days. The stress and anticipation of the festivities and just spending uninterrupted time together energizes you to work rapidly. You’ve been baking all day for your office’s Christmas party, whipping up an array of cookies and packaging them up to give out to your coworkers.

 Flour, powdered sugar, and icing bags are scattered throughout the counter. A bowl of icing sitting in the middle of the island and cookie cutters next to 3 trays of cookies. Powdered sugar coats your hands and icing splattered across your apron.

“Lo siento, bebita, (I'm sorry, baby girl)” he says through a muffled mouthful of cookie, rubbing circles on your lower back while he peppers kisses to your shoulder.

“I have to make sure there’s enough for everyone. 50 is good right? The whole office will be there, and I don’t want anyone to feel left out,” you ramble as you roll out the last batch of dough in between parchment paper. Frankie rubs up and down your arms as you cut them into shapes.

“50 is plenty, baby. You work too hard, mi amor. Is this the last batch?”

“Yeah, I’ll finally be done after this one comes out the oven,” you say as you place them onto the cookie sheet.

“Good. You need to rest, and I wanna have my wife to myself.” You turn around in his embrace and wrap your arms around his neck. “You sure no one will feel left out?”

A small gentle smile splays on his lips as he readjusts his grip on your hips. “No one will feel left out, baby. I promise. And if they do, then fuck ‘em. They don’t know how hard you work, or how kind you truly are,” he softly says. A relieved smile creeps onto your face as a toothy grin appears on his. He places a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips, you getting lost in him as the taste of him mixes with the sugary cookie he’d just eaten. Both of you sighing into one another, never getting enough of each other.

The oven timer dings, startling the both of you and breaking the kiss as you jump back a bit. The two of you giggling like a pair of children, Frankie places one last chaste kiss to your lips as you head to the oven. Feeling a playful swat to your ass, you turn around and playfully scold your husband as you remove the cookies out of the oven - the aroma of sugar and spice filling the air.

“How long’s this last batch gonna take, mi vida?” Frankie asks as you place the final batch of cookies in the oven. “Only 15 minutes, mi amor. Tener paciencia (have patience),” you say through a fit of giggles, laughing at your husband’s impatience. He scoffs, rolling his eyes as you stride towards him. Pulling him in for another kiss, his hands freely roam down to your ass, giving it a playful squeeze. Laughing into him, you pull away as you bark out a belly laugh, your husband mirroring you.

“Could you help me clean up, please baby? The faster we clean, the faster I’m all yours,” you taunt. “Of course, mi vida, you don’t even have to ask. Although, the incentive is nice,” he says with a smirk. The two of you swiftly maneuver throughout the kitchen while the cookies bake. Frankie clearing the counter as you wipe it down, and washing and drying dishes together - working in tandem to tidy up your kitchen. The oven timer dings once more, Frankie washing and drying the remaining dishes as you remove the last batch and set them on the cooling rack. As you remove your oven mitts, Frankie tosses the dish rag onto the counter and swoops behind you, engulfing you in his broad, taut arms while he litters kisses along your neck.

“All done, mi amor?” He asks against your skin, his mustache tickling you along with his eagerness, eliciting a laugh from you. “All done, mi amor,” you laugh, wrapping your arm around his neck to twirl the curls at the nape of his neck. “Vamos, mi esposa,” he says, whisking you away and up the stairs.

Laughter bubbling over the two of you as you rush up the stairs.

After tomorrow, it’s 10 days of this - uninterrupted bliss with each other.

Frankie plops down on the chair, groaning as time ticks by agonizingly slow. He runs a hand over his face, his wedding ring making contact with his cheek reminds him of you - just 4 more hours until he’s home with you.

Cracking open his lunchbox, he smiles as he spots the usual yellow sticky note that you pack in his lunch which lay atop some of the freshly baked cookies that you made last night. Picking it up, he reads the note:

“Enjoy your lunch, mi esposo hermoso. Can’t wait for you to frost my cookie when you get home ;)

-Con amor, su esposa”

Beneath it, a polaroid of you dressed in a crimson red babydoll with white fur lining the bust. It leaves little to the imagination as you display your breasts to the camera, a coy smile on your lips as white frosting runs down your lips and onto your chin, teasingly biting into one of the cookies you baked.

His breath hitches in his throat, eyes widening as he takes in your form. He’s hard as a fucking rock, his lunch now completely forgotten.

“‘S matter, boss? Wife forget to pack your juice or something?” A stupid rookie asks, laughing too hard at his own joke as he creeps up behind Frankie to catch a glimpse inside his lunchbox. Frankie immediately drops the polaroid back inside and flips the lid closed before the rookie can see it.

“Shut the hell up, Daniel,” Frankie grumbles as he rises to his feet, stomping out of the break room and into his tiny, cluttered office. He typically eats lunch here, wanting to get away from the fumes that permeate the shop, but the anticipation of your time off together made him antsy - seeking out a place without constant reminders of you as the day drags on.

That did absolutely nothing. Your boudoir polaroid having made his day better and worse simultaneously. You looked nothing short of a dream, but now his impatience is getting the better of him as his mind wanders to all the things he plans to do to you tonight. He groans, his cock still half hard as he unravels his lunch. He huffs sticking the polaroid in his wallet, aggressively nibbling at his lunch.

Could this day go by any slower?

He opens the door, tossing his keys into the bowl as he shuts and locks it. Trudging inside, he toes off his boots, pushing them to the side as he takes in your fully decorated home. His heart swells at the sight, knowing you were off work early today after your office party. Meaning you probably spent the entire afternoon decorating.

Garlands adorn every wall, the tree now fully decorated and the Christmas village sits atop the mantle. Twinkling lights warmly illuminate the room. The sprig of mistletoe hangs above the entryway to the kitchen, the smell of dinner and more baked goods permeating through the air mingling with the fresh pine scent of the tree.

You’ve gone full Christmas-mode and he can’t get enough of your domesticity - your ability to make every single thing you touch feel like home.

“Frankie?!” You yell faintly from the kitchen.

“Hermosa, I’m home!” He shouts as he shrugs off his brown utility jacket. Footsteps bound from the kitchen and into the hall. There you stand, in all your domestic glory with your apron around your front and a bit of flour on your cheek. 

You beam at him, happy your husband is finally home for the week. Your office is closed and so is the shop for the following week and then some for the holiday, now you have him all to yourself for the next 10 days. Practically flinging yourself into his arms, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a searing kiss. He laughs at your eagerness, his cock twitching in his pants as you tug him closer by his soft curls, deepening the kiss. His tongue slips into your mouth, a soft moan escaping you and into Frankie.

It’s unclear who breaks the kiss first, but the both of you are heaving, panting for air. The smile returning to your face, a smug look appearing on your husband’s face. 

“Hi, baby. I missed you.” Your hands snake up his chest and you remove his cap from his head, setting it on the table by the door, carding your fingers through his hair. His smile softens, eyes gleaming with love. “Hi, mi amor. I missed you too. I see you got up to some stuff while I was gone,” he says, swirling circles on your lower back. You giggle, knowing you can be a bit elaborate when it comes to decorating.

“‘S not too much?” You ask. He quickly shakes his head. “Never, mi amor,” he nearly whispers, reassuring you before capturing your lips in another kiss. Walking you backwards into the kitchen, he presses you up against the kitchen counter, catching a whiff of something baking in the oven again.

He pulls back, forehead resting against yours as he swipes away the flour that’s smudged on your cheek. “You’re still baking, mi vida? I thought you were finished,” he asks. “I am, but I wanted to make you something, a treat to celebrate our vacation,” you ramble. A chuckle rumbles in his sturdy chest.

“Got the most delicious treat right here,” he tsks, you chuckle rolling your eyes at his cheesiness as butterflies erupt in your belly. His hardening length presses against your core as he dives in to litter your neck with kisses. “Even got a picture to prove it,” he rasps against you. A small gasp escapes you.

So he did see the picture.

“Oh really? Can I see this picture, amor?” Your voice breathy and titillating, feigning oblivion as a smirk plastered on your face while he sucks on your neck.

“I’m sure you know what it looks like. In fact, you’re gonna let me recreate it with the real thing, baby.” His voice low and husky now as his clothed, hard cock ruts into you.

A wave of arousal pools in your panties. “I am?” You breathlessly ask, still keeping up the innocent act.

“Mhmm. Gonna be covered in me. Isn’t that what you wanted, princesa? Huh? You couldn’t wait for me to get home and frost your cookie, hermosa?” He asks as his lips ghost over yours now, emphasizing the reference to the note you’d put in his lunchbox this morning. You snort, eyes shutting as heat courses through your veins as he quotes the note, and warmth blooming in your belly.

A light smack to your thigh reels you back in, eyes flying open. His eyes filled with lust, pupils darkening. Your eyes glossy and hazy, feeling tipsy just off his embrace, his words.

“Y-yes, Frankie. ‘S what I wanted - want. Want you s-so bad, mi amor,” you mumble against his ear as he resumes peppering kisses along your chest. Humming against you, your words going straight to his cock, which you feel as he presses into your core a bit harder.

“Want you so bad, too, princesa. Been wanting you all day. Y’know how hard it was to keep it together seeing that picture of you? Look so fucking sexy, fuck. Had to stop myself from cumming in my jeans like a fucking teenager,” he mutters into your ear. You giggle, taking great joy in knowing your husband wants you just as bad as you do, maybe even more.

He bites down on your earlobe, your giggles quickly dissipating into a moan. “But what you did today was so bad, mi vida. Distracted me all fucking day from work, could barely concentrate. I think you just made it on the naughty list. What do you think, baby? Are you naughty or nice?”

“N-nice. Nice, baby,” you whimper as Frankie unties your apron and smoothly tosses it on the counter. 

“Mmmm, you sure about that? You gonna be a nice, good girl for me and let me have my way with you?” You furiously nod, your neediness growing into an impatient monster. 

He laughs at your eagerness, relishing in how needy you are for him. “Come on, princesa. Show me how good you are,” he rasps before releasing you from his grasp, grabbing your hand as you two stumble out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Excitement stirring within you as he leads you to your room.

Frankie flings the door open, eagerly bringing you into his embrace again. He cups your cheeks, leaning in as his lips engulf yours in a messy, heated kiss. It’s all tongue as teeth gnash together, moans flying out from both of you while you strip each other down. Frankie groans as he discards your bra onto the floor. You can’t help the moan that escapes you as you shuck off your husband’s briefs, his hard cock springing free, weeping and red.

“On the bed, hermosa,” he demands, his timbre husky and low. You scramble onto the bed, laying on your back, displaying yourself for your husband. “Spread your legs.”

Your brain on autopilot, operating as if Frankie has a remote to control your actions.

Legs spread, the cool air of the room hits your sopping core, a shiver running down your spine. Frankie licks his lips, pupils blown black and wide swirling with lust. He stalks towards you, laying down and settling himself in front of your aching pussy. He grabs your thighs, placing them on either side of his head. The frigidity of his wedding band burning into your skin, contrasting the blaze that burns from within you as you anticipate your husband’s next move.

You pant as the excitement transforms into a forest fire within your core, Frankie so close to where you desperately need him. He presses firm kisses to your thighs, your breath catching in your throat again. Kissing and nipping at your thighs, your neediness causes your hips to involuntarily buck into Frankie - his nose catching on your clit for a split second. A shocking loud moan escapes you as Frankie pushes you back down on the bed.

“Just like you told me last night, mi vida. And like how I had to tell myself after what you pulled this afternoon: tener paciencia,” he practically growls against your thighs. You whine as his teasing resumes. You know this is payback for the polaroid, making him wait all day for some relief. Your husband is the most patient man you know, even when he wants nothing more than to take you any chance he can get.

His desire for you though, constantly burning, so you know this must be killing him too. However, the sweet revenge of seeing you fall apart and writhe under him, begging him to do something is the most delicious reward.

“Frankie,” you desperately sigh, eyes closing as he presses kisses to your mound. “When have I ever not given you what you wanted? Hmm, baby?” He asks against your core, your eyes opening and to lock with his gaze. “Never, mi amor,” you nearly whisper, it comes out much more rushed than intended.

“Tranquila, mi vida. I’m gonna take care of you and this pretty pussy. I got you, baby,” he says with one last kiss to your thigh. Without preamble, he licks a long, languid stripe up your folds. A relieved moan tumbling from your lips as you bury your head further into the pillow. He repetitiously licks up your glistening core, your clit throbbing for some attention. Your husband knows your body like the back of his hand, as if he can read your mind.

He flicks your precious pearl with a steady rhythm, wrapping his lips around it. You twitch underneath him, eyes heavy and glazed.

“Oh fuck, Frankie!” You keen as your hands fly to tug on his hair, his rhythmic, skilled tongue bringing you closer to the edge. Your weeping cunt clenches around nothing as a wave of slick seeps from your hole. He snakes a hand up to cup your breast, flicking and suckling your clit as he rolls your nipple in between his thick, calloused fingers, alternating breasts. Your breathing is ragged as you moan, Frankie groaning and humming into you. The vibrations rumbling from within him launching you higher into your climax, teetering on lift off.

“Feels s-so f-fucking good, Frankie. Always s-so fucking g-good,” you babble. He pulls away for a second, his chin coated in your slick. “Come on, baby. Know you’re close. Let go, hermosa,” he rasps right above your swollen cunt. He dives back in, moving his hand from your breast to your entrance, two fingers sliding home with the amount of slick pouring from you.

A sharp gasp escapes you, eyes rolling back at the welcomed intrusion as Frankie rapidly and steadily alternates between sucking and flicking your clit. His fingers hitting that spongy spot only his fingers and cock can reach. The coil in your belly snaps as you’re launched into your orgasm, stars appearing behind your eyes as your vision blurs white hot.

Frankie helps you ride out your high as you scream and writhe beneath him, lapping up every last drop of slick gushing from your throbbing pussy. Desperately trying not to rut his hips into the mattress, he groans at the sweet, tangy taste of you that he can never get enough of. Your thighs tremble as you slowly return back to Earth, whimpering as Frankie presses soft kisses to your thighs.

“Did so good for me, baby. Always so fucking good for me,” he hushes you, peppering kisses up your body.

You fight to keep your eyes open, catching sight of your husband soaked in your release as his mustache and patchy beard gleams in the warm glow of the bedroom.

Pulling him down, you connect your lips with his, both of you moaning into one another. Wrapping your arms around his broad, strong shoulders as you tug on his curls. His mouth licking into yours, letting you taste your sweet slick on your tongue. Sweet and heady, the kiss melds into something sinful as you feel Frankie’s hard, leaking cock rubs right above your core. Precum smearing on your belly, Frankie pulls back and moans at the friction.

“Not done with you yet, querida,” he says gruffly as he lifts himself off you. “Turn around,” he demands. You recognize that tone: he’s gonna have his way with you tonight. A shiver runs down your spine as a new rush of arousal burns brightly in your core. You swiftly lay on your stomach.

“On your knees, baby.” His voice husky and firm. You readjust yourself and settle on your knees, balancing yourself on your forearms. Feeling the mattress dip behind you, another spark of arousal jolts in your pussy, your belly warm and full of anticipation. You can hear Frankie pumping himself in his fist as he lines his hips up with yours.

“See, you can be a good girl. Knew you could do it, mi vida.” You moan at his praise. His large hands caress your ass, engulfing your cheeks in each hand, admiring the view. You teasingly wiggle your ass, Frankie-drunk giggles bubbling over your lips and spilling into the pillow. A smack comes down on your ass, the sting of it making your pussy throb. Moaning as you turn your head to the side, locking eyes with Frankie.

His chocolate irises invisible, eyes completely darkened and filled to the brim with lust.

“Don’t start.” You nod, drool pooling under your mouth, your patience wearing thin. “Be good, baby,” he rasps as he lines his cock up with your entrance. His tip prodding your aching hole, as one of his hands rests on your ass. He slowly slides in, taking his time bottoming out. Both of you moaning in tandem as his cock splits you open, the sting blurring the lines of pain and pleasure. You squeeze around him as he fully sheathes himself inside you, never fully getting used to his size despite being married to him now.

“Alright, baby. Alright, baby,” He hisses, roughly kneading your ass. “Come on now. Relax, baby. I got you,” he calmly whispers. You feel yourself relax, unclenching and releasing him from your vice grip. “There we go. Good girl,” he says as he leans down to press a kiss behind the shell of your ear.

He slowly slides out from you, nearly pulling out all the way until he slams his hips back into yours. His cock punching your cervix.

“Frankie!” You gasp, moaning as you grip the sheets. He repeats the motion, grunting as he cants his hips. “Tightest, sweetest fucking pussy ever. Fuck, always feel so fucking good, baby. You were made for me, made to take my cock. Huh, querida?” He asks, breathing ragged as he fucks in and out of you. You nod and moan in agreement, words escaping you as he brings you close to your second orgasm. It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to slowly creep up on you, still reeling from the sensitivity of your previous one.

Another smack hits your ass, clenching around him in your tight heat. You love when Frankie gets a bit rough with you.

“Words, querida. Come on, you were doing so good,” he taunts. You swallow through your moans, unaware of the desperate tears of pleasure that were pooling in your eyes.

“Y-yes, baby. Made for you, made for your cock. S-so fucking good to me, Frankie. L-luckiest girl in the w-world,” you babble. You feel him twitch inside you before he pulls out.

Whining at the loss of your husband’s cock, you’re suddenly being flipped on your back. Before you can give what’s happening a second thought, Frankie slides back into you. Your calves pressed against his strong chest, your ankles resting atop his taut shoulders as he bends you in half. His pace rapidly picking up, his thrusts growing sloppy.

“‘S right, baby. Made for me. I’m the luckiest man in the world, querida. Won the wife lottery,” he rasps lowly, pressing a kiss to your calf.

The love you have for this man is overwhelming. His existence constantly gracing your mind, his unwavering support, his unconditional love, never feeling like you’re not enough for him, his kindness, his patience, how gentle he is with you even when he’s roughing you up.

“Eres la esposa más hermosa y perfecta del mundo. (You're the most beautiful and perfect wife in the world) So lucky to call you my wife, baby,” he grunts, punctuating each word with his thrusts. His sweet words toss you over the edge, fat tears of euphoria and love cascade down your cheeks as you scream his name.

An endless stream of slick seeps from your cunt, coating Frankie in your release. The squelching sound filling the air mixed with pants and moans is sinful, obscene.

“Fuck yes, baby. Give it to me, all of it. Soak my cock, querida. So fucking good - you, this pussy, our life, fuck yes,” he babbles. You mindlessly move your legs from his hold to wrap around his middle, bringing him in closer as you ride out your high.

“Love you so much, Frankie. Best husband in the world, come on, mi amor. Cum for me, need your cum,” you whine, giving him one last good squeeze. Frankie fills you up with half his load before pulling out and coating your mound in his cum. Endless moans streaming from you both. Frankie cums for a long time. 

The picture really did a number on him.

Ropes of his spend coats your sex and your belly. Unable to control yourself, you reach down and swipe two fingers through his cum and lick them clean. Relishing the delicious, salty taste of your husband. Frankie groans as he sees you suck your fingers clean, gathering cum on his fingers and stuffing it back into your cunt. You moan around your fingers at the feeling of his thick, long fingers stuffing you full of his cum.

Releasing your fingers with a pop, Frankie pounces on you - his fingers brushing against your lips, prying your mouth open. You suck them into your mouth, an animalistic groan rumbling from within you as you taste the combination of you two. He removes his fingers, adjusting himself to pin you down, caging you in between his large biceps.

He dives in for a kiss, it’s slower - savoring the taste of you and him on your tongue as he soaks in the love which radiates off your body and into his soul. “Love you so much, mi vida. Para siempre (Always),” he whispers against your lips. You cup his cheeks, a soft smile on your lips as your eyes glimmer with contentment and love.

“Para siempre,” you repeat. Another firm, lingering kiss is pressed to your lips before he rises to his feet, padding to your shared bathroom. The faucet turns on, your usual routine of aftercare beginning. Frankie returns with the warm rag, gently cleaning you up.

“Frosted your cookie pretty good, huh?” He asks with a smirk on his lips, curls in disarray.

You bark out a belly laugh, unable to control your laughter at your husband’s stupid joke.

“Francisco!” You squeal. Frankie tsks and rolls his eyes. “Oh after all the shit we just did, that’s where you draw the line?!” He playfully asks, a toothy grin on his face.

“No, I just thought you forgot about that stupid note!” You say through your laughter, Frankie bursting into a fit of giggles with you. “Wasn’t stupid, and how could I ever forget that and that picture?” He asks as he continues to clean you up.

“Speaking of, I’m not even gonna question when and how you took that picture, but next time, I’m helping you,” he says as he rises up and walks back into the bathroom to discard the rag into the laundry basket. “Whatever you say, mi amor,” you tease from the bed.

He returns, playfully pouncing on the bed beside you. Another fit of giggles erupts from you.

“That’s right, baby. Whatever I say,” he says with a wink and a smile, interlacing your fingers with his - toying with your wedding ring as he places a chaste kiss to your lips before saddling up beside you.

i love husband!Frankie sm 😫😔

wrote this on a bit of a whim, i had no idea what i wanted to do, i just knew i wanted to write a lil christmasy somethin-somethin for y'all 🩷

i hope y'all enjoyed!!! thank you for reading 🫶🏼

tag list: @nostalxgic @sweetercalypso @undrthelights @gracieheartspedro @jenispunk @joelsgreys @bastardmandennis @party-hearses @tinygarbage @mandoisapunk @javierpena-inatacvest @pedgito @tupelomiss @pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[whore4abby]

cookies; dbf!abby anderson

part one part two

warnings; almost smut?? - older!abby (refers to herself as mama once), ass + tit grabbing, tiny mention of nipple play, mdni

wc; 1.2k

a soft knock at the front door startles you out of you thoughts. you glances at the time on your phone, realising it was a little too early for your dad to be home. you set down the bowl you were mixing cookie dough in and walk towards the front door, your curiosity piqued. you instantly recognise the tall figure on the opposite side of the frosted glass and your eyes widen slightly, you freeze for a second before gaining the confidence to actually open the door.

you open the door and abby stands there leaning against the doorway, her broad shoulders almost touching each side of the frame. “hey kid….your dad home…?” she asks, looking past you into the rest of the house, as if looking for movement in the house.

“not yet….” you shake your head, feeling a little awkward as you fidget with your hands, pressing your glossy lips together. you stare at her in awe and after what feels like an eternity, you regain your composure and find the courage to speak. “oh…uhm, you wanna come in…?” you step aside a little and swing the door open further to invite her in.

abby steps over the threshold and into the house, wiping her boots off on the doormat. you practically gawk at her, her huge biceps straining against her t-shirt and making your mouth water and you quickly look away once she makes eye contact. abby smirks to herself, following you into the kitchen.

“you’re making cookies….?” she laughs softly as she notices the mess of a kitchen, utensils strews across the counters and dirty dishes filling the sink. you laugh awkwardly and nod as you pick up the wooden spoon again and finish mixing the cookie dough up. “mhm….baking calms me down i guess….”

she smiles and reaches over to take the spoon from your hand, her calloused fingertips brushing against yours. she maintains eye contact as she lifts it up to your mouth. struggling to keep a straight face as she watches your eyes widen, finding your nervousness a little endearing. “cmon….open up sweetheart~“

abby’s playful teasing seems to have an effect on you as you become hyper-aware of every little movement you make, slowly parting your lips and eating the sweet cookie dough from the spoon, trying hard to stay focused as you watch her gaze drop to your lips.

abby looks down at you in amusement, enjoying this little moment of intimacy that you both seem to be sharing. she lets the spoon fall out of her hand and back onto the countertop, landing with a subtle thud. “you just gonna stand there? those cookies won’t bake themselves…” she looks at you seductively as she speaks in a tone that is both sweet but suggestive. it’s clear that she has something else on her mind.

you snap out of your your momentary trance, your eyes refocus on the glass bowl placed before you, filled with the golden, saccharine mixture. having trouble focusing on the task of shaping the dough, abby notices the look of cluelessness on your face and chuckles lightly before leaning closer to you. “here… let mama do it~”

abby takes the bowl of cookie dough from you. she starts to roll up balls of the cookie dough and places them onto the tray. the contrast between her rough hands and the delicate dough is almost mesmerising. as her wrists flex, you find yourself distracted by the thick, pronounced veins that run up the back of her hands all the way to her elbows. they’re thick and bulging, a sight that almost has you drooling. you can’t help but be in awe of her as your eyes are glued onto her the entire time - it makes you curious as to what else she may be able to do with those hands…

once the whole tray is filled up with the even shaped cookies, abby passes you the baking sheet and stands behind you, placing her hands on your elbows and guiding you to slide the sheet of cookies into the awaiting oven, knowing that soon the sweet smell of homemade goodness will fill the kitchen. “atta girl…~”

once its been placed inside, she shuts the door and reaches over to set the timer for you. abby decides to stop teasing you and she walks over to the table and takes a seat in one of the white wooden chairs, keeping her eye on you the whole time as you start to clean the dirty dishes. her eyes begin to wander down to the curve of your ass as you stretch across the sink to grab the dish soap. the clinking sound of dishes being washed echoes in the room, with the occasional splash of soapy water.

you finish up cleaning the dishes and dry off your hands, feeling a sense of accomplishment as you see the sparkling dishes sat on the drying rack. turning away, you jump slightly as abby had somehow snuck up on you without you realising. “oh…! abs, you scared me….” you giggle breathlessly.

abby chuckles playfully as she spins you around and brings you closer to her by placing her arms around your waist. her strong muscular arms completely encircle you, providing you with a sense of complete infatuation as you look up at her dreamily.

“m’sorry sweet girl…~” abby mutters as she gently brushes your hair back from your face, caressing your soft cheek with her thumb. you freeze as you suddenly realize what's about happen and before you can even react, her hands move to cup your face tenderly as she gives you deep and long kisses, your tongues mixing and exploring each others mouths hungrily. her teeth sink into your bottom lip faintly, causing an involuntary whimper to bubble up from your throat.

abby softly and passionately continues to kiss your lips, her rough hands roaming down to your ass and gripping it firmly. she hoists you up effortlessly and places you on the counter, you shiver as your shorts ride up and the backs of your bare thighs make contact with the cold marble.

“abby….mmm fuck….~” you voice comes out as an airy whisper, tilting your head back as she begins to plant wet kisses across your delicate neck. her muscles flexing as she roughly squeezes at your bra-less tits through your shirt. her thumbs expertly caressing your nipples, the friction from the thin cotton causing them to harden even more as you arch your back and whimper in desperation.

abby softly runs her tongue across your neck. her strong tongue continues to explore every part of your neck and her warm breath against your skin causes you to shiver. “good girl….” abby purrs in your ear, her rough voice making you gasp. her hands slowly start to slide down to your ass and start to rub against the juicy flesh.

just then, the oven timer goes off. abby pulls away, a wicked grin on her face. she straightens back up and moves towards the oven, but not before giving you a rough kiss on the lips, her fingers squishing into your cheeks almost painfully.

and so she leaves you there on the counter, your hair dishevelled and your lips still wet from her passionate kisses. you take a moment to gather yourself, panting and feeling a mixture of confusion, desire, and disbelief….and wondering what the fuck just happened.

[mydarlingclaudia]

christmas party hop

note : SECRET SANTA FIC FOR @candlekiss !!! MERYY CHRISTMAS THIS IS EXTREMELY RUSHED BUT I WISH YOU THE MERRIEST CHRISTMAS I HOPE YOU GET EVERYTHING YOU WANTED!!!! the quality inst that good because I didn’t write this in like an hour im so so sorry erm

wc : 1.5k

tags : @withonly-sweetheart @leonsecretsanta

desc : roommates and mistletoe don’t mix well. roommates to lovers, fluff (??), no outbreak au, re4r!Leon, fem!reader, not proofread

It feels like you have to force Leon to do anything that involves socializing. He can manage the dishes and laundry by any other chores himself, but when it comes to having people over, he always shuts himself away in his room. You really shouldn’t care, it’s none of your business and not everyone likes having company over, but you can’t help but wish he’d come out for at least an hour or two and have some fun.

He's always been nice to you, civil, at least. He's appreciative of any dinner you cook for him or taking time out of your day to take care of him while he's sick, he does the same for you, if he's able. It's typical roommate behavior, you think. Maybe Leon's just more comfortable around you than others, though it could also be that it's your friends that come over more than his.

But he's never really had any of his friends or coworkers come over. You've met Chris and Jill a few times, same with Claire and Marvin, but you've never come home to see any of the four sitting on the couch talking with Leon. The times that you've met them you seemed to get along, they had mentioned Leon talking about you and that you seem as sweet as he says, so that's a good thing, right?

So you get the idea of throwing a Christmas party for yours and Leon’s friends, no big deal. It's not like it's a huge thing, just a few more people in your apartment than normal, you're doing this for Leon's sake, anyway.

Only Chris and Claire had shown up thirty minutes early to help set up (which they hadn’t really mentioned to you) along with Sherry, Jill brought Carlos and they both brought more than enough booze, Marvin’s arrival was fine, your own friends came in a little loud, but they brought pies so it was ok.

But now you’re jammed in the kitchen with Sherry whose trying to scoop cookie dough onto the cookie sheet, Claire whose pulling turkey out of the oven, Carlos whose coming back into the kitchen for more beer, and yourself who has been trying and failing to make eggnog. People are still running in and out of the kitchen, squeezing behind everyone cooking, yelling over the Christmas music that was playing.

“I put up mistletoe,”Claire nudges you as she walks past, carrying the pot full of stuffing. “Keep an eye out.”

“You decorated?” You turn to face her, licking some of the eggnog off your finger.

“Sherrys idea,”

“Pssh, sure.”

“Honest! Come on,” Claire laughs, “Is there a problem?”

“I’m not kissing you,” Claire rolls her eyes, setting the pot of stuffing down onto the table and starting to scoop it out into a big bowl. Two of your friends squeeze behind you to get first pickings of the food being set out, Chris and Jill follow after.

“You gotta kick Leon off the tv, the only thing he’s watching is that stupid Christmas baking show.” One of your friends giggles trying to get your attention as you help Sherry slide the cookie sheets into the oven.

“Yeah? What do you wanna watch?”

“Well, we were supposed to turn on Home Alone ten minutes ago…” She mumbled, already shoving turkey into her mouth. You flinch away from the heat of the oven and shake your hands as you pull away, standing upright.

”Alright, alright, I’ll talk to him.” You shove by Carlos and Sherry, through the doorway into the living room and walking towards Leon who is still hogging the remote. Leon can hear you walking towards him, he looks to you, his resting face changing into a smile.

“Got no holiday cheer?” You tease, sitting next to him on the couch.

“I’m filled to the brim with it,” He mutters rolling his eyes slightly.

“Oh my God, let’s just watch some Christmas movies. I spent hours in the kitchen for this, y’know.” You lean on his shoulder and pry the remote from his grip, he sighs.

“You’re so lucky I like you,”

“No shit, come on.” You grab his hand and pull him to stand up with you, dragging him towards the doorway and into the kitchen, getting plates for the both of you while the others continue to rush around the two of you.

You’re sure that if you and Leon had a driveway, Leon would find some reason to be outside shoveling, or if you had decorated outside, he’d find another reason to fiddle with the lights. He does come out of his shell a bit and chimes in to talk to Chris and Claire, he jokes with Sherry, pokes at Carlos and plays up being offended.

He’s not paying attention to the movie, but he taps his foot along to the Christmas music that’s still playing, he follows you around, though.

Leon normally does this if the two of you are ever out together, he trails after you, trying to hold k to your sleeve so he doesn’t lose you in a crowd. You know it’s not typical roommate behavior, but you find it cute, plus it’s not hurting anyone, right?

Even when you and Leon get knocked around by everyone else in your small apartment and end up bumping into each other, he holds your gaze and almost reaches out to grab you so you can stay for another moment and ignore the party.

There are kisses under the mistletoe— all between Carlos and Jill, though.

Leon and you do get held under the doorframe for a moment. It’s when Chris is talking to Sherry in the living room while she was trying to make her way into the kitchen and when one of your friends was trying to come into the living room, both you and Leon were standing and chatting.

Leon didn’t kiss you, unfortunately.

Claire didn’t take down her decorations when the party was over, everyone helped pick up the mess they made, but your apartment looked more holly-jolly than it did before the party.

You’ve already brushed your teeth and changed into your pajamas, Leon’s done the same, but he’s been looking up for the past few minutes.

“What’re you looking at?” You question, setting your cup of water down on the counter and stepping closer as he waves you over. You stand beneath the doorframe with him, looking up at the mistletoe hanging from it.

There’s a kiss pressed to your cheek within the next second, you look back to Leon to see the grin on his face.

“Just on the cheek?” You tease, crossing your arms.

“You want it on the lips?”

“Well, that’s the tradition, isn’t it?” You giggle, bringing your hand up and cupping his cheek, he pulls you in at the same time for the kiss you both expected, only he’s a bit more passionate than you.

[butlervibesonly]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 | Austin Butler

• Summary : Austin and Y/n make gingerbread cookies, and have the absolutely amazing time together!

• Pairing : Austin Butler x female reader

• Warnings: just fluff, probably like Austin flirting

Last Christmas by Wham! soundly fills the kitchen as you're preparing the dough for gingerbread cookies you decided to do this Christmas. The sweet scent of gingerbread flows through the air, and you sway, vibing to the music.

All of sudden you feel a strong arms wrapping around your waist. It was Austin of course, who is too bored because his girl is busy, baking. You feel Austin's chest on your back, as he kisses you on the neck.

"That smells really sweet," he says, pressing another kiss on your neck. "Just like you," Another kiss. "And looks even better," Another kiss, on the other side of your neck. "Just like y-"

"How about you just stop and help me, bubba?" You turn to face him, and he nods, still presses another kiss now on your lips. You have rolled out the dough into a flat sheet from which you will cut out shapes.

Austin takes the gingerbread man one, and starts cutting it. As you watch him with one eye, inconspicuously, you can see he still needs some practice cutting it out. "Babe, that’s not a gingerbread man. That’s a…gingerbread blob.”

"Excuse me? He’s an abstract art.” Austin points at the gingerbread man proudly. "Fine, Picasso. But his leg just fell off."

"He’s a war hero! I'll fix it." you can't help but laugh. Austin tries to connect the dough to the rest, but eventually makes it even worse. "You're sure you don't need help?" you ask.

"Don't underestimate me, Y/l/n!" The two of you spend few minutes cutting out the cookies, baking them and especially having the best time together. From time to time you catch Austin eating the dough.

"Austin, baby, don't eat the dough! It has raw eggs in it!" you playfuly slap his hand, making him stop. "But it's so good tho," Austin makes puppy eyes at you. "If you'll get sick, I won't take care of you —"

"Yes, you will," he pulls you closer to him, after you put the baking sheet with the last gingerbread cookies in the oven. "You love me."

"Yeah, yeah. I do love you, Butler." you kiss him, as he holds you close. You feel so much of love and warmth fill the kitchen, as you do what you've always dreamed of. Spending Christmas with someone you love so much.

"We should clean it a little bit here, doll. We kind of made a mess—"

"Kind of? Babe, the kitchen looks like a blizzard hit it.”

"Worth it though. This is my new favorite Christmas tradition.”

"Even more than decorating the tree?"

"Definitely. You can’t eat ornaments." You laugh, and start to clean the kitchen with Austin. The both of you spend rest of the day watching movies, drinking some hot chocolate and enjoying the Christmas time together.

"I love you, Y/n." Austin says, cuddling you in the blanket. "I love you even more, babe."

[winchesterwild78]

On the Fifth Day of Christmas

Master List

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Language, a little Angst, Fluff

A/N: Day 5 of my holiday fics. I hope you enjoy this short series. I’m really excited about it. All work is my own, please don’t take it. Reblogs and likes are welcomed. 

I do not own the rights to the characters I use, these will not follow the story lines of the series the character appeared in. This is a work of fiction.

Written fast and edited fast, please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

Dean was stringing the lights on the tree I had him and Sam pick up at the local store. It took some convincing to get the boys excited for the upcoming holiday, but I finally won them both over. 

Deep down Dean really wanted to celebrate Christmas. Since we started dating I had brought new traditions to the boys and the bunker. I had a normal childhood that included holidays, and of course the boys did not. 

“Sweetheart, we don’t have to celebrate anything. I wouldn’t even know where to begin with decorating or anything.” I placed my hand on Dean’s chest, “You just let me handle everything. I’ll give you and Sammy a list and you guys will be in charge of the shopping.” I chuckled and placed a kiss on his lips. 

He smirked and nodded. Sam and Dean drove to three different stores getting the things on my list. Bounding down the bunker’s metal stairs their arms were full of bags and holiday decorations. The smile on their faces was priceless.

“Looks like you boys had a great time.” I smiled as I grabbed a few bags. Placing a kiss on Dean’s lips, I smiled up at him. “Thank you, Dean.” He smiled, “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” 

A few hours later the bunker was decorated as holiday music filled the air. I was in the kitchen rolling out cookie dough as Sam and Dean got the cookie sheets and cookie cutters ready. 

“I forgot the frosting.” Sam said with a sigh. “We don’t need frosting from a can, Sam. I make the cookie frosting. His and Dean’s eyes went wide, “Is there nothing you can’t do, Y/N?” Sam asked with a chuckle. 

“Um, I can’t play chess.” Sam and Dean both whipped their heads towards me. I shrugged, “What? I never learned how.” 

Dean came up behind me, put his arms around my waist pulling me into his chest, “Guess I’ll have to teach you”. I smiled and nodded. 

Laughter filled the kitchen as Sam, Dean and I made cookies. Some of them looked liked blobs, and others were perfect. 

Dean and Sam kept stealing cookies. “Boys if you keep eating them there won’t be any left for Santa. I chuckled. 

“Oh come on, Y/N. Santa’s not real.” Dean said with a laugh. “What?! You mean to tell me you don’t believe in Santa? You know Dean, in order to receive you have to believe.” 

He playfully rolled his eyes as Sam laughed. 

A few hours later the cookies were done, Dean and Sam had spoiled their dinner and I was shopping online for the perfect Christmas gift for both of them. 

Sam was easy to shop for, he needed a new computer but would never spend money on himself, so I bought him one. Dean on the other hand was harder to shop for. Sure I could get him car stuff, but I wanted his gift to have meaning. 

So I decided something both meaningful and special for him. I wanted him to know how much I loved him and how much I knew him. 

Christmas morning came and I woke up early. Dean was still asleep, soft snores leaving his slightly opened mouth. His arms wrapped around me. 

I tried to move and I felt him pull me close. “Mmm, where are you going, sweetheart?” I smiled, “Dean, it’s Christmas. It’s time to get up.” 

He buried his face in the pillow, “No, it’s too early for this. Stay.” He pulled me closer. I giggled and kissed his head. “Come on Dean, you’ve got presents to open.” 

His green eyes opened and he grinned. “I figured that’d get you up.” I pulled myself out of bed and got ready, kissed him and made my way to the kitchen.

 I made coffee and started making breakfast. The smell of coffee and breakfast filled the bunker. Dean and Sam both walked into the kitchen, grins on their faces. “Breakfast is almost ready guys.” I said as I flipped the bacon. 

Both of them grabbed a cup of coffee and sat at the table. I smiled looking over at them. Both of them yawing, hair a mess and sipping coffee the exact same way. 

“Oh guys, Santa came.” I giggled. Sam and Dean looked at each other and then me. Dean chuckled, “Really, sweetheart. You’re still going through with that?” 

“With what?” I feigned innocence. “Santa? Come on, we’re a little old for that.” “You’re never too old for Santa, besides if you don’t believe in him, you don’t get to open presents.” I laughed. 

Sam chuckled, “Okay, Y/N, I’ll bite.” I touched his shoulder, “That’s the spirit Sammy.” 

Once we finished breakfast it was time to open gifts. Each of us had a stocking and I made sure Dean and Sam both had several gifts. 

They wouldn’t admit it, but the look on their faces told me they were excited about Christmas and the presents. 

Sam passed out the gifts. I carefully wrapped and labeled all the presents. All of them are from “Santa”. Sam and Dean chuckled when they saw who they were from. 

Sam and Dean had bought each other gifts too. Sam gave me a new bakeware set I had my eye on, and Dean bought me a beautiful charm bracelet that had several charms significant to us. One being an Impala. 

Sam opened his new laptop and was over the moon. “Y/N, this is perfect. I can’t believe you got this for me. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome Sam, but it was all Santa.” We laughed. Dean opened his first gift from me, well, Santa. It was stuff for the car. He loved it. “Thanks sweetheart. Something for my baby, from my baby.” 

“Dean, I have one more gift for you.” I smiled as I handed him an envelope. He looked a little confused. “So this is something for both of us. I know it’s something you’ve never done, and I want to experience your first time.” 

His confusion was more evident on his face as he opened the envelope. He pulled out the paper and read it. His eyes went wide when he realized what it was. 

“Are you serious, Y/N?” I smirked, “Yes, Dean. I’m serious. We leave the day after tomorrow.” Dean stood, pulled me up and flush to his chest. “I love you so much. I can’t believe you remembered.” 

I placed my hands on his chest, “Dean, I remember everything you tell me about yourself. I love you.” 

“Sammy, look! Y/N and I are going to the beach for two weeks. She booked us a vacation to the beach. Can you believe it?!” Sam smiled, “That’s awesome Dean. I know you’ve always wanted to go to the beach. Drink a fruity drink for me.” 

Dean nodded. “I need to get a swimsuit. I don’t have one.” Dean said almost in a panic. 

“Dean, I’ve already gotten you one. I have everything we’re going to need.”

He placed a soft kiss against my lips, “How did I get so lucky? Thank you sweetheart, I love you and Merry Christmas.”

“I love you too, Dean Winchester, and Merry Christmas to you too.” 

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.  

Tags: 

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573 

@k-slla @jackles010378 

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx 

@roseblue373 @cheynovak 

@jassackles  @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa 

@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78 

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27 

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2 

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi 

@shadowqueen1318 @shanimallina87

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@cheekygirl2309 @oceean

@kindollss @foxyjwls007

@lmg14 @cevansbaby-dove

@spxideyver @reignsboy19

@deans-baby-momma @deansimpalababy

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@depressionbarbie2023 @livingdeadblondequeen

@mandee7 @barnes70stark

@spnaquakindgdom

[jadeshifting]

— INTRO 2 THE SLYTHERINS

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

MATTHEO THOMAS MARVOLO RIDDLE . magic that incinerates its target. fireworks. messy hair. dice and card games. push-ups. charcoal drawings. stack of unreturned library books. steak so rare it’s bloody. insane right hook. late night swims. tall stacks of pancakes. sleeping facedown on homework parchments. perfectly split orange slices.

PANSY PANEGYRIA PARKINSON . freezing cold hands. hair clippings in the sink. espresso martinis. cartwheels. reading by the window while it storms. pears. scribbles of the moon phases. running cannonballs off the dock. sun-bleached bones. jeweled silver earrings. spinning and jumping rather than dancing. plant clippings tucked in pockets.

MILLICENT AUDREY BULSTRODE . pressed flowers in textbook pages. gentle hands. lemon loaf with poppy seeds. light pinky lip gloss. snails. doodling on notes in class. lacy bed canopy. emotional support water bottle. preserved butterfly wings. lotuses floating on the lake. jam-filled cookies. wearing wired earbuds. stockings constantly torn.

LORENZO MASSIMO BERKSHIRE . best tree climber. polished loafers. insanely loud laughing. massive record collection. slow mornings in the greenhouse. poetry books. board games. high fiving everyone. clinking potion bottles. marshmallows. loud snoring. cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven. making paper airplanes. half-melted cookie dough ice cream.

BLAISE ORION ZABINI . a hankerchief for other people to use. caramel coffee. murder mystery books. comforting hugs. freshly pressed shirts. bumblebees. unconditionally punctual. long games of chess. pumpkin pasties. sheet music. seems to know something others don’t. impeccable manners. fresh, clean cologne. unfurling the newspaper every morning.

ASTORIA ACANTHYLLIS GREENGRASS . notes in French. seashell collection. the perfect nude lipstick. effortless elegance. going for therapeutic swims. bird baths. silent if she doesn’t have anything to say. yellow roses. mother-of-pearl. sipping matcha. wandering by the lake like a ghost. perfect posture. blackberry jam on croissants. silk pillowcases.

THEODORE TIBERIUS DONATO NOTT . coffee that’s way too strong. the worst chainsmoker. napping everywhere. silver flask. dark chocolate. bowls of blueberries. throwing huge logs in the fire. insane plays during quidditch games. refusing to put shoes on. tall glasses of butterbeer. tattered book spines. wrinkled sweaters. flittering sparrow wings. chocolate muffins.

DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY . silver rings and bracelets. pine candles. forehead creases. deft piano playing hands. perfectly slanted handwriting. the overpowering smell of wand polish. crunchy apples. terribly boring magical theory books. crisply tied parcels. freshly brewed peppermint tea. searching for constellations. crystal decanters of water. tucked bedsheet corners.

DAPHNE CLEOMEDE GREENGRASS . the most poisonous judgemental glare. shiny gold jewelry. too many throw pillows. olive juice. 20-step hair routine. sparkling champagne. cheesecake. unbelievably long bubble baths. crème filled doughnuts for breakfast. jewelry box with a lock and key. powdered sugar. loose silk tops. gold-dusted nails.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[ ib @wishicouldkeepconcentration !! ]

[osmanthusoolong]

I made these yesterday with @baeddlam , and they were really, really good. Pleasantly aromatic, nice chewy texture. My melancholy is not exactly fully cured, but baking with someone I adore, and enjoying the results, certainly helps.

“Ingredients

12 tablespoons butter

3/4 cup brown sugar

1/3 cup raw honey

4 egg yolks

2 1/2 cups spelt flour (you can usually find it in the baking aisle)

1 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon nutmeg

1 tablespoon cinnamon

1 teaspoon cloves

Instructions

Melt the butter, then add it to a medium bowl with the sugar, honey, and egg yolks. Beat gently, then fold in the rest of the ingredients. Refrigerate the dough for an hour.

Flour a surface and then roll out the cookie dough until about a 1/4 inch thick. Cut the dough into small circles using a cookie cutter or an upturned glass.

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper, then bake at 375 degrees Fahrenheit for 10 minutes, or until a golden-brown. Let cool, then enjoy.”

[chelseaknoo]

25 days with Eminem

Eminem x reader

Day 2

The next morning, snow was falling gently outside, coating the world in a soft, white blanket. You stood by the kitchen counter, humming along to the Christmas music softly playing in the background as you set out the ingredients for cookies. The kitchen smelled like sugar and butter, the perfect atmosphere for baking.

Hailie was already busy, measuring flour and sugar with practiced ease, while Jackie moved around in his baby walker, happily sucking on his pacifier. Every so often, he would giggle and grab at the dangling toys attached to his walker, his little face lighting up with excitement.

“Look at him,” Hailie said with a smile, watching her baby brother as he clumsily spun in a circle. “He’s getting so big already.”

You glanced down at Jackie, who was trying to reach for the nearby counter. “I know. It’s crazy. He’s moving so fast, I can hardly keep up.” You chuckled softly as Jackie made a happy squeal and spun around again. “He’s going to be running around before we know it.”

Hailie nodded. “We should probably lock the kitchen door then, huh?”

You laughed. “I’ll just put the baby gate up. That’ll slow him down for now.”

As you started to get the butter and sugar ready to mix, Hailie grabbed the bowl of flour and handed it over to you. “You know, I love this. I’m so glad we’re all together this Christmas. I don’t think we’ve had this much family time in years.”

“I feel the same,” you said, smiling as you turned on the mixer and started to beat the butter and sugar together. “It’s been perfect. And I know Jackie’s going to remember this Christmas for the rest of his life.”

“He’s definitely going to remember the cookies,” Hailie said with a laugh. “These are going to be epic.”

“I hope so,” you replied. “I’m counting on you to make sure I don’t mess up the recipe.”

Hailie grinned. “You’ve got it. I’m practically a pro at this point.”

As you mixed the dough, the sound of footsteps came from the hallway, followed by the familiar voices of Marshall, Stevie, and Alaina.

“Smells like someone’s baking cookies,” Marshall called out as he entered the kitchen, a smile on his face.

“Cookies!” Stevie added, coming in right behind him, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the mixing bowls and cookie sheets.

“Looks like we’re getting in on the action,” Alaina chimed in, her tone playful.

You glanced over at them with a grin. “Well, I guess if you guys want cookies, you’ll have to help.”

“Help?” Marshall said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought this was a *family* effort. You don’t need help, right?”

“Well, if you want the cookies done before midnight, we could use some extra hands,” you teased, turning your attention back to the dough.

Hailie looked at the three of them, clearly amused. “You guys better get to work. Mom’s been running this show by herself so far.”

“Don’t worry, Hailie,” Stevie said, walking over to the counter and pulling up a chair. “I’ve got this. I’ll roll the dough into perfect balls.”

Marshall moved toward the cabinet, opening it to grab the cookie cutters. “What kind of cookies are we making, anyway?”

“Sugar cookies,” you replied. “The classic ones—soft, sweet, and perfect for decorating.”

“Good choice,” Marshall said with a wink. “Nothing like a classic to bring the family together.”

“Exactly,” you agreed. “Now, who’s on frosting duty?”

Alaina raised her hand dramatically. “Me! I’m in charge of the frosting. I call dibs on the sprinkles too.”

“You got it, Alaina,” you said, passing her the mixing bowl with powdered sugar and a spoon.

As everyone got into their respective tasks, the kitchen became a whirlwind of laughter, conversation, and cookie dough. Jackie continued to explore in his walker, occasionally making his way to the counter to get a closer look at what was going on. You had to keep an eye on him as he made his way across the kitchen, a little too eager to grab at anything within reach.

“You better stay out of the flour, little man,” Marshall said, laughing as he saw Jackie’s curious eyes fixed on the counter. “You don’t want to be part of the baking process just yet.”

Jackie giggled and banged his pacifier against the side of the walker, as if he were trying to get everyone’s attention.

“He’s already got a lot of personality, doesn’t he?” Stevie said, pausing from her work to watch Jackie. “Definitely keeping you on your toes, huh?”

You nodded, keeping a hand on Jackie’s walker as he spun again. “Definitely. But it’s all worth it. Look at how happy he is.”

-

The kitchen, once tidy and pristine, was quickly devolving into utter chaos. The first batch of cookies had barely cooled before the battle of frosting began. You could feel the competitive energy building as everyone started to get a little more creative—and a lot more reckless.

“Alright, people,” Marshall said with a grin, holding up a cookie with what could only be described as a very questionable snowman design. “Behold my masterpiece. It’s the best snowman anyone’s ever seen.”

“Um, that snowman looks like it’s melting in the heat,” Stevie said with a teasing laugh, pointing at his lopsided cookie.

Marshall shot her a playful glare. “Oh, it’s art, Stevie. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Art?” Hailie scoffed, turning to face him with a smirk. “It looks more like something that got caught in a snowstorm. How about I show you how it’s done?”

Before you could warn them, Hailie grabbed a spoonful of frosting and flung it across the counter, aiming for Marshall’s cookie.

“Hey!” Marshall shouted, ducking just in time. “What’s your problem, huh? You want a frosting fight?”

“You started it!” Hailie shot back, taking another scoop of frosting, this time tossing it directly at his chest.

Marshall barely had time to react before his shirt was covered in frosting. “Oh, it’s on now.”

The next few moments passed in a blur of action. The kitchen erupted into chaos as frosting was flung through the air, some landing on the walls, the floor, and—of course—each other.

“Take that, you snowman-creating maniac!” Stevie yelled as she lobbed a glob of frosting at Marshall.

“Really?” Marshall grinned, wiping frosting off his face. “You’re just going to sit there and let Hailie and I have all the fun?”

Alaina, who had been quietly decorating her cookies, looked over at the scene, raised an eyebrow, and sighed. “You guys are unbelievable.”

“I think you should join us,” Hailie said, grinning wickedly as she eyed her sister. “It’s more fun than sitting there being all perfect with your little cookie designs.”

Alaina shook her head, but a mischievous grin slowly spread across her face. “Alright, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And just like that, Alaina took a spoonful of frosting, aimed, and let it fly—straight at Stevie. The frosting hit her square on the cheek, causing everyone to burst into laughter.

“Oh, it’s on now!” Stevie shouted, wiping the frosting off her face and grabbing a handful of sprinkles. She threw the sprinkles into the air like confetti, only to have them land in her hair. “Seriously?” she groaned. “What is wrong with you guys?”

Meanwhile, Jackie, still in his baby walker, had been watching the madness unfold with wide eyes. His pacifier had long since fallen out, and his little hands were grabbing at everything within reach. He’d somehow managed to roll his walker right into the middle of the chaos, and with one swipe of his chubby hand, he knocked a whole bowl of sprinkles off the counter, sending them scattering across the floor.

“No, Jackie!” you gasped, reaching for him just as he knocked over a container of flour.

“Uh-oh,” Hailie said, her eyes wide as she watched the flour begin to spill out onto the floor.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you said, trying to calm down the situation while trying to scoop up Jackie before he could get any messier. “We’ll clean it up, just… please don’t make it worse.”

But it was already too late. In the middle of trying to grab Jackie, he managed to knock over a bowl of cookie dough, and it splattered all over the counter. The kitchen was now a war zone of frosting, flour, sprinkles, and cookie dough.

“Alright, alright! Time to call it quits,” Marshall said, holding up his hands in mock surrender as he surveyed the wreckage. “This kitchen looks like a disaster zone.”

“You’re just mad because my cookies are better than yours,” Hailie teased, still laughing as she wiped frosting from her face.

“Better?” Marshall shot back, wiping his hands on his shirt. “I think you’ve lost track of what ‘better’ means if you’re calling *that* a cookie.”

“Who’s laughing now?” Alaina grinned, flicking frosting at both of them.

Stevie was laughing so hard that she could barely breathe. “We’re supposed to be baking cookies, not declaring war on each other!”

“I think the cookies have been sacrificed in the name of fun,” you said, looking around at the scene in disbelief. “This is a *mess*. A total disaster.”

Jackie, who had been watching everything unfold, let out a joyful giggle and grabbed a handful of sprinkles from the floor, shoving them straight into his mouth.

“Jackie!” you exclaimed in a mix of horror and amusement, leaning down to take the sprinkles away from him. “What did you do?”

Hailie, still laughing, bent down to help you. “At least he’s having a good time, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to stop yourself from giggling. “But I think we need to stop before we end up with sprinkles in the oven.”

The sound of Marshall and Stevie snickering behind you made you look up to find Marshall holding a cookie covered in flour, frosting, and sprinkles like a weapon.

“No more, Marshall,” you warned, holding your hands up as if to shield yourself. “I’m serious.”

But before you could react, Marshall tossed the cookie directly at you. It hit your shoulder with a soft plop, sending frosting splattering everywhere.

“Marshall!” you exclaimed, laughing as you wiped the frosting off your shoulder. “That’s it. You’re so done.”

“Oh, come on,” Marshall said, still grinning. “It’s Christmas. We’re just having fun.”

“Well, I’m going to have fun cleaning this up,” you said, looking around at the chaotic mess that had once been a clean kitchen. “And you’re all going to help. Now. Before I start throwing cookies at you all.”

The rest of the family groaned dramatically, but it was clear they were all just as excited as you were to get the kitchen cleaned up. Everyone started grabbing napkins and wiping down counters, laughing and continuing to make playful comments about who started the “cookie disaster” in the first place.

“Next time,” Hailie said, picking up sprinkles from the floor, “we’re just sticking to decorating. No more cookie fights.”

“You say that now,” Stevie teased. “But I bet in five minutes, you’ll be throwing frosting again.”

As you all worked together to clean up the chaos, you couldn’t help but smile. Yes, the kitchen was a mess. Yes, you’d probably be finding sprinkles in strange places for days to come. But this was exactly the kind of Christmas you’d hoped for—a day full of laughter, love, and family. Even if it meant the cookies had a few extra sprinkles than planned.