#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.

[dulcescorderitas]

03

parings: married!deanwinchester x married!reader

synopsis: hunting w your husband and his brother

warnings: no smut

the smell of melted butter and sugar hung heavy in the air, the oven kicking out waves of heat that made the kitchen toasty in the early morning chill. you stood at the counter, hair messy and still slightly damp from your shower, rolling dough between your hands into perfect little spheres. chocolate chips poked out here and there, their glossy, dark surfaces promising a burst of sweetness when they finally hit the road.

behind you, the sound of boots scuffing against hardwood meant sam was up, his towering shadow cutting across the warm light spilling from the kitchen window.

“you’re baking… cookies?” sam asked, his voice tinged with that distinct tone of incredulous disbelief he always got when you and dean did something domestic. “at six in the morning? before a hunt?”

you didn’t even turn around, biting back a grin as you placed another dough ball on the baking sheet. “good morning to you too, sam.”

dean’s voice cut through before sam could respond, a low, gravelly drawl that somehow managed to sound teasing even when he was half-asleep. “yeah, sammy. cookies. you got a problem with cookies?”

dean strolled into the kitchen behind his brother, barefoot and shirtless, his jeans slung low on his hips and his hair sticking up in every direction. he scratched lazily at his chest as he made his way toward you, leaning down to press a kiss to the curve of your neck. the warm scrape of his stubble sent a little shiver dancing down your spine, and you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched into a smile.

“morning, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin.

“morning,” you replied softly, nudging him with your elbow as he reached for the raw dough on the baking sheet. “don’t even think about it.”

dean groaned dramatically, his hand retreating but not before he snagged a stray chocolate chip from the counter and popped it into his mouth. “what? you’re gonna bake cookies and not let me taste test?”

“you can taste test when they’re done,” you said firmly, wagging the wooden spoon in your hand at him like a teacher scolding a naughty student. “now go get dressed. we’ve got a long drive ahead.”

dean didn’t move, though. instead, he leaned against the counter beside you, arms crossed over his bare chest, and gave you a look—a look that said he had no intention of going anywhere anytime soon. his green eyes sparkled with that signature winchester mischief, his smirk cocky and playful as he nodded toward the cookies.

“you’re making cookies for the hunt?” he asked, clearly amused but not the least bit judgmental.

“and packing lunch,” you added, tilting your head toward the cooler on the floor by the fridge. “peanut butter sandwiches, chips, apples, the works.”

sam’s eyebrows shot up, his gaze bouncing between you and the cooler like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “you’re… packing lunch? for a hunt? like we’re going on a field trip or something?”

dean’s laugh was a low rumble in his chest, and he clapped a hand on sam’s shoulder. “that’s my wife,” he said, his voice full of pride as he gave you a wink. “she keeps us fed so we don’t have to live off gas station burritos and crappy diner coffee.”

sam rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about how he was perfectly fine with diner coffee, but he didn’t argue further. he knew better than to question your methods when it came to taking care of dean—and by extension, him.

the impala hummed beneath you as dean drove, one hand on the wheel and the other casually resting on your thigh. the cooler sat snugly in the backseat beside sam, who had already polished off one of the peanut butter sandwiches you’d packed despite his earlier skepticism.

“i still can’t believe you brought cookies,” sam muttered, his mouth full of crumbs as he reached for another one.

“yeah, and look who’s eating them,” you shot back, twisting in your seat to give him a pointed look. “you’re welcome, by the way.”

dean chuckled, squeezing your thigh gently as he glanced over at you. “see, this is why i married you. cookies and sandwiches. you’re a damn saint, sweetheart.”

“is that the only reason?” you teased, arching a brow at him.

“oh, there’s plenty of reasons,” he said, flashing you that cocky grin that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. “but the cookies definitely sealed the deal.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you said, laughing as you leaned into his shoulder, the familiar scent of leather and aftershave wrapping around you like a second skin.

“you love me,” he replied without missing a beat, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your leg.

and he was right. you did.

the hunt itself was nothing special—a small town, a restless spirit, a salt-and-burn. but the memory of that morning, of dean stealing cookie dough when he thought you weren’t looking and sam begrudgingly admitting that the sandwiches were “actually pretty good,” stayed with you long after the ghost was gone.

because for all the danger, all the chaos, and all the nights spent wondering if you’d make it back in one piece, it was mornings like that—messy, loud, and full of warmth—that made it all worth it. it was about the little moments, the stolen smiles, the way dean’s hand never left yours when the job was done.

and yeah, maybe it was also about the cookies.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis

[sillymommy6969]

.𖥔 ݁ ݁ ˖ 𝕺LD & LOVING YOU ᝰ! M.B.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ synopsis: manon is the eldest member of katseye and an old soul at heart, she appreciates a lot of the smaller things in life. she can be very chaotic, especially around her roommate--but eyekons have noticed she seems to soften when she’s around you, almost like she can already picture the rocking chairs and dusty photo albums

warnings: none, fluffy moments, yt video format (ver. 2.0)

MANZN/N BEING AN OLD MARRIED COUPLE HITTING THEIR 50th ANNIVERSARY (tw: WUHLUHWUHS)

103.2k likes | 910k views | 18th Jan, 25

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip one: [ VLOG ] Yoonchae’s Graduation (0:36)

Much to Sophia and Lara’s dismay, you and Manon—the two most tone deaf members when it came to the kitchen—were tasked with preparing the food. Neither of you knew a thing about anything related to food, so you were sure this was going to be entertaining for the fans.

“Manz, can you help me tighten this?” you asked, spinning around to peek at her over your shoulder. You flashed her the cutest look you could, your eyes wide and lips pursed.

“Not the puppy dog eyes, I’m not a monster, a ‘please’ would’ve worked.” She rolled her eyes with a cheeky smile, but took a step closer anyway. She wrapped the straps around your waist snugly, tying the end into a neat bow before patting you on the ass briefly. “There we go.”

[ getting some real old married couple energy from this ngl ]

The two of you read the instructions aloud, Manon’s sharp eyebrows furrowing as she hovered over your shoulder. The two of you stood oddly close together, despite the kitchen being rather spacious and aerodynamic.

[ these wuhluhwuhs can’t stand two seconds apart ^^ ]

“Wait, Manzanita, we need to oil the seaweed before we roll it up,” you called, watching as she halted her actions of rolling the gimbap up. She shot you a look, wordlessly pleading for help as you chuckled at her expression. You cleaned your hand of the teriyaki sauce you were coating spam masubis in, bumping her with your hip gently to nudge her away.

She watched your hand work the rice and seaweed swiftly, your fingers a line of oil across the sheet before rolling it up. The camera angle switched, to one closer to your faces.

Manon’s eyes could be seen darting between your fingers and your focused gaze, then down to your lip, tucked between your teeth as you carefully cut the gimbap into slices. The subtle gesture didn’t slip past the fans’ sharp eyes, the moment being famously known on tiktok as the moment she earned herself the nickname, “Meret ‘Marry Me Eyes’ Manon”.

You organized them neatly. “Okay, how does this look?”

She smiled, her cat eyes softening as she nodded. “They look amazing. I can already imagine Yoonchae’s precious little face beaming at us, she loves this stuff.”

[ need domestic manzn/n injected into my veins right neow ]

Eventually, Sophia, Daniela and Lara would pop in after finishing up with the rest of the decoration. As Daniela pestered you for the cookie dough you were spreading them across a baking sheet, Manon, in a chef hat Lara sets on her head, came to help usher Daniela away with a long wooden spoon. Sophia sneaked a gimbap into her mouth, urging for Lara to come join her as the Ghanaian woman did her best to clear the room for you to finish up.

[ it’s like watching parents trying to cook with their kids :,( ]

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip two: [ WEVERSE LIVE ] n/nzini Kickback (50:17)

“What! I’m not the loudest—member,” Daniela yelled, catching her own voice level before burying her face into your shoulder as you laughed. You stroked her hair, “Aw, poor Dani. Hey, the good thing is, I always get a heads up before you come into my room ‘cuz I can hear you down the hall.”

She slapped you in the arm, letting out a dragged whine. “That’s so mean! I’m not even that loud.”

“Lying’s a bad habit, kids, don’t learn from megaphone over here.” you pointed at her, chuckling at the harsh thrashing of her raised feet against your back. The two of you were sat sprawled on the floor of your practice room, the two of you came in to learn some tiktok moves for PR day tomorrow. You decided to stream the last couple dances to your fans for fun, now, the two of you decided sit and take a break.

user01 y/n’s so sassy she always serves cunt and insults you

user02 she’s turning into a mini manon w the comebacks

user03 damn she won’t let my girl dani breathe

“I’m not even the loudest one in the house, Manon always fucking screams your name for no reason.” Daniela whined, but the judgemental look you shot her immediately made her realize the words that came out of her mouth.

She squealed, leaning off frame as you eyed the camera with a dropped jaw. “No, not like that! Oh my—I meant, she’ll call for you like a million times even if you just leave for the bathroom.”

“Okay, I’ll give it to you. She does do that.” you teased.

“I’m telling you guys, she’s like one of those parrots that repeat singular words, but it’s just Manon chirping y/n’s name every couple seconds,” Daniela giggled, “She’s such a drama queen, like she acts like she’s dying when y/n leaves the room.”

user04 she’s so real for that though like

user05 manon is me. i am manon.

user06 no cuz i would also want to be around y/n all the time

“Oh my God, the first time we went to the Philippines to visit Sophia’s family, we had to double up to share rooms,” Daniela began, “So we were going with our roommates, like, the ones we already have in the dorm, so Manon and I were together, it was Sophia and Yoonchae, and then Megan and y/n bunking together with Lara on the floor, but then Manon threw this huge hissy fit and like got on her knees and begged me and Megan to let me and y/n switch.”

“It was actually really dramatic ‘cuz I was in the room right next door,” you added, “Don’t worry, guys, I made it up to Dani with a big tub of Ben ‘n Jerry’s ice cream.”

“Totally worth the ten nights of Megan snoring, ‘cuz it was cookie dough flavoured.” Daniela sighed, looking up, as if imagining the tub in her hands again. “Anyway, we got home and she would have a clothing rack in between our beds and y/n would be forced to sleepover for the next five nights before she was allowed back to her own room.”

You groaned, “Oh my God, I twisted my spine permanently.”

“Yeah, well, at least Ms. Drama Queen was happy. She’s quiet and not Sophia’s problem when she’s happy, so Sophia always uses y/n as a scapegoat when she doesn’t feel like dealing with Manz’s theatrics.” Daniela snorted.

“Yeah, well, whatever makes my queen happy.”

user07 MY QUEEN?? Y/N YOU’RE DRIVING ME INSANE???

user08 it’s pulsing her name in morse code

user09 This made my hole weak-I mean my whole week

user10 manon trained her girl well

[ SHES SO UGH I NEED HER I NEED HER I- *gunshots* ]

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip three: [ iHEARTRADIO ] Katseye’s Feature

“So y/n, your motorcycle photo shoot with Teen Vogue last week. I saw you did a shoot with Yeonjun from TXT, and the internet has been going insane for you lately!” The host said in a teasing manner, the other girls joined in, letting out ‘oohs’ and muffled whistles at the mention of your shoot.

There was a particular photo from the shoot that went viral:

You were both posed around a motorcycle, you stood in front, leant against the bike. You were told to pretend you were putting on the fingerless leather gloves, toned torso exposed with a belly chain across your waist. In a sheer black top that just hugged your chest and saggy silver track pants that had a mercury textured look to it on. You had a motorcycle helmet on, your alluring eyes seen through the flipped visor. Yeonjun was in the back, dressed in his own outfit, leaning over the seat was shooting the camera his signature cat-eyed glare.

“That photo shoot was really good, but I had my dad sending me screenshots of it on Teen Vogue’s magazine,” you joked, “He saw us on the cover, he got every copy at that store.”

“It was so cute though! You showed me the selfie he sent you, he was holding the magazine up and he had the biggest, most innocent, smile I have ever seen but next to him were you and Yeonjun half naked posing. It was adorable.” Sophia added.

“Yeah, he’s very proud. I’m pretty sure that picture’s on my family fridge right now,” you hid your face behind your hands, “My parents just have a photo of me and Yeonjun on our fridge, my cousins tell me they always see it when they come over for holidays. It’s super funny.”

“Yeah, fans loved seeing the alternative style on you-”

[ such an understatement that shoot changed lives ]

“-It’s pretty different from Katseye’s aesthetic,” the host then asked, “you say it’s more similar to your personal style, or do you prefer a softer look?”

“I actually really enjoyed the looks we got for that photoshoot. Yeonjun and I were asked to represent HYBE in that magazine edition, it was like some idol catalogue they did for every company.” You hummed, “They had us do like a random draw of which company got which concept and Yeonjun’s lucky hand drew the biker one. I feel like Lara and I have similar taste in fashion, and this was definitely up my alley. I got to borrow some accessories, and I had a lot of fun with Yeonjun.”

The host nodded, chuckling. “Who did you borrow from?”

The girls all collectively glanced over to Manon, who already had a tongue poking on the inside of her cheek. The host raised an eyebrow, “What did you lend her, Manon?”

[ THE ICONIC CHAIN BRO THIS WAS A MONUMENTAL MOMENT FOR EYEKONVILLE WHEN IT DROPPED ]

“My belly chain. I remember her coming and asking me for it, I popped open my collection and gave her my favourite. For luck.” She shrugged, “Never take a bad photo with it on.”

“And y/n delivered, not ‘cuz of the chain,” Daniela teased.

“Thanks to Manon, I got a lot of praise for the shoot, so… I owe it to her for that good luck rubbing off a little on me.”

“Just so ya’ll know, those pictures are also hung up on our fridge in the dorm,” Lara added, “So, yes, I do have a half-naked y/n judging me when I come get food the thousandth time in the same day.”

“I got a personally signed copy right above my bed,” Manon said, “I kiss it goodnight every night before I sleep.”

“Yeah, right before you kidnap the real thing and kiss her goodnight,” Megan scoffed, earning a laugh from the room.

[ wish i had a half-naked y/n hung above my bed :,( ]

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip four: [ VLOG ] Touch - Behind the Scenes (04:16)

“I like the wardrobe we got for this music video. I’ve been in so many fits I wanna just bag up and take home so far,” Manon told the camera, tinkering with her hair in her reflection in the lens. “This one is by far my favourite for sure.”

She was in a denim dress, her goddess braids done up in a high pony, a stellar tiara necklace dangling around her neck.

On came you, in a denim tube top and black leather skirt with buckles around it. You were wearing a white button-up, your outfit underneath, awaiting to be shown. Megan and Yoonchae were guided back to hair and makeup to freshen up from the last scene, and the studio was growing chilly. You grabbed the nearest outerwear you could, landing you a dress shirt.

“Hey, I was looking for you,” you chimed.

Manon tilted her head, “Why, am I supposed to be somewhere? Oh sh—crap, am I in trouble?”

You chuckled, “No, no, you’re not in trouble. Yoonchae brought the instant camera, I wanted to get a picture with you.”

“Well, I’m chilling with the eyekons right now,” she pointed at the camera, looking between you and the lens. “You should come chat, we can take a lot of photos later.”

“But you look so good right now, I want it to last forever,” you pouted, “And a photo lets me remember it forever.”

Manon smirked, “Oh, yeah? What about this outfit you got on, hm?” She tugged at the collar of the dress shirt, fumbling with the buttons. “I mean, I love the outfit you had on before, but woof, this is giving like sexy office siren, y’know?”

She smoothed out the creases in the shirt, wolf-whistling.

[ you walk into a y/n’s number one fangirl competition and you see manon bannerman (you’re cooked) ]

You chuckled, “I got cold, they have the air conditioning cranked on full blast in there, I was gonna turn purple if I didn’t put something else on.”

“Oh my God, you should’ve said that earlier,” Manon sighed dramatically, “They have that rack of really furry pimp jackets somewhere in wardrobe, we could’ve gotten one for you.”

“This does the job, plus I was going for that ‘sexy office siren’ aesthetic.” You pouted, winking at the camera before blowing them a kiss. Manon shot you a faux look of disapproval before hooking an arm around you.

“At least button it up properly, so you’re warm.”

She began doing the buttons up on your shirt, you went to protest, but she was quick to silenced your complaints.

“That’s much better now, isn’t it?” She chuckled, watching you shoo the camera a pout at the shirt buttoned straight up to your neck. “Honestly I prefer you like this.”

[ okay ms. over-protective gatekeep her then… ]

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip five: [ WEVERSE LIVE ] n/nfiz Cooking (23:18)

“No, please step away from the pot, y/n.” Sophia scolded sternly. You pressed your lips together, taking a step back with your hands held up. “You almost set that on fire.”

“It’s liquid, how would I set that on fire?” you bit back.

user01 sophia going into mom mode is so real

user02 sophia’s getting flashbacks from that time y/n and kara tried baking on live at 3am and set the fire alarm off

user03 aww baby’s first fire <33

The door could be heard slamming faintly in the back of the live, both of your heads shot up to glance over at the doorway leading to the living room in hopes of catching a glimpse of who walked onto the foyer.

When neither of you could see, Sophia turned to you.

“Dani’s not gonna be home till tomorrow, right? She’s staying with Lara and Rhea tonight?” she asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, I think it might be Manz.”

Sophia looked back over to the doorway, her hand still stirring the pot. “Manon?” she called out, “Is that you, Manon?”

Both of you paused to listen in, when there was no response, you called out, “Manza?”

“Yeah?” Manon’s figure suddenly popped through the doorway. Sophia groaned, flashing her the stink eye. “Really? You’re not gonna answer my two calls, but y/n says your name once and you’ll immediately get summoned?”

user04 only answering to her wife come on now

user05 i just know manon keeps that girl on a leash

user06 MANON YOURE NOT SLICK BRO

“Yeah, you’ll probably yell at me for something, y/n’s so sweet and nice, she’d never yell at me.” Manon came onscreen, noticing the livestream setup. She waved to the camera, her arms hooking around your neck as your hand finds her waist. She pressed her cheek against yours, grabbing a piece of your dinner and putting it in her mouth.

“Do you guys see what I deal with everyday?”

[ those are my parents fr--happy 1 year of manzn/n content! ]

[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.

[romanreignsbae]

cookie monster - R.R

a/n: sorry guys..i did not end up proofreading this, but i’ve had it in my drafts for a while…hope you enjoy!!!

It was 4:45 AM when you woke up, blinking groggily into the darkness. The house was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that only comes in the dead of night. You shifted in bed, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. Roman would normally be up by now, preparing for his early start, but tonight it seemed like the quiet had settled deeper than usual.

You couldn't shake the craving. The idea had crept in just before you drifted off, and now, it was all you could think about…fresh, warm cookies. You tossed the covers aside and slipped out of bed, the cool air of the house instantly hitting your skin, as the massive t-shirt you had stolen from your husband would only suffice. You padded down the hallway, your feet covered in your pink cozy socks barely made a sound on the hardwood floor. The kitchen light flicked on with a softly as you entered, the gleam of the counters reflecting off the light.

A mix of excitement and guilt stirred in your chest. You knew you shouldn’t be making cookies at this hour, it wasn’t exactly the healthiest choice, and Roman would definitely question your late-night baking habit. But you were already at the counter, gathering ingredients. Flour, sugar, butter. You went through the motions, finding comfort in the familiar process. The rhythm of mixing flour into butter and sugar, cracking eggs, and watching it all come together in perfect, into creamy dough, soothed you in a way nothing else did.

The scent of vanilla filled the air as you preheated the oven, the dough now ready to be scooped and placed on the baking sheet. It was all so easy, so relaxing, yet the weight of knowing Roman would probably wake up soon pressed on your chest. He had always been an early riser, up by 6 AM without fail.

You were just about to put the first batch into the oven when you heard it—the soft creak of the stairs, followed by the shuffle of footsteps. Your heart jumped, and you spun around, almost knocking over the flour jar. There, standing in the doorway, was Roman. His hair was messy, his shirt rumpled, his eyes barely open.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep. His gaze flicked to the counter, where the half-baked cookies lay, and then back to you. You froze, suddenly feeling a lump in your throat. “I- yeah, I just couldn’t sleep. Felt like making cookies” you said weakly, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for the dough scoop again.

Roman’s eyes softened as he stepped closer. “It’s 3 AM. Why didn’t you wake me up?” You felt the guilt tighten in your chest. “I didn’t want to bother you” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

He chuckled, the sound warm and comforting despite the late hour. “You know I’m always here, right? Even at 3 AM for cookies.” You gave a small laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. Roman walked over, pulling up a chair at the kitchen island. He took a seat, rubbing his eyes as he looked at the mess you’d made. The flour on the counter. The half-finished cookies. You had only just started.

“I’ll help” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. You raised an eyebrow, feeling a strange mixture of relief and embarrassment. “You sure? You’ve got to wake up in a few hours.”

He shrugged, already pulling up his sleeves. “I’m fine. Besides, I’d rather be here with you than worrying about getting enough sleep. Let’s get these cookies baked.”

So, the two of you worked together in the soft glow of the kitchen light, laughing quietly as you rolled the dough into perfect little balls and placed them on the tray. Roman’s hands were surprisingly quick for someone who had just woken up, and you couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly he fell into the rhythm with you. You loved the way your husband was always down for your stupid shenanigans.

As the cookies baked, the smell wafting through the house became even more irresistible for your hungry ass. The two of you settled on the couch, each holding a warm plate of freshly baked cookies, crumbs already dotting the corners of your mouths as you both dug into the treat.

You put on the notebook, and oldish movie which was one you both had seen a dozen times, but it didn’t matter. It was your favourite which meant so was it Roman’s. You began drifting into deep thought of the fact your poor husband was woken up to help you bake freaking cookies out of all things. “I’m sorry” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?” Roman asked, his voice still gentle, even though you knew how little sleep he was getting. “For waking you up. I didn’t mean to keep you up late.” Roman smiled softly and kissed your forehead. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad I could be here with you. Just next time, maybe we can do this... before 4 AM?”

You chuckled, your heart swelling with warmth. “Deal.” In the quiet of the night, with nothing but cookies and a cheesy movie, you realized that Roman was all you could ask for in life.

[nickeverdeen]

No-Wands | Hermione Granger x fem!reader

Pairings: Hermione x reader (romantic), Ron x Hermione (platonic), Ron x reader (platonic), Molly x Hermione (platonic), Molly x reader (platonic), Molly x Ron (family)

Type of fic: Fluff

Warnings: Reader has a british slang ‘cause I couldn’t help myself

Summary: This year’s Christmas celebrations are at the Weasley’s and considering both you and Hermione are “muggle-born” Molly insisted you show her how to do Christmas cookies without magic.

Ps: Finding gifs for Hermione is so hard istg

——————

The Weasleys’ kitchen was alive with laughter and the warm, sugary scent of baking cookies. Molly Weasley stood by the counter, hands on her hips, watching with amusement as you, Hermione, and Ron wrestled with dough and bowls of flour. The day’s baking was well underway, though decidedly more chaotic than usual.

“Mum, I don’t see why we can’t just use magic,” Ron grumbled, though he was elbow-deep in mixing batter. His usual enthusiasm for Christmas seemed somewhat dimmed by the sheer effort of this no-wands rule.

You grinned at him from where you were rolling out a sheet of dough. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, Molly wanted the full experience, yeah?”

Molly smiled warmly but stepped back, letting you take the reins. “I’ve always wondered how Muggles do all this. But I didn’t realize it was so… involved.”

“More satisfying this way,” Hermione said with a small, proud smile. She was carefully cutting out star shapes, her sleeves rolled up and her hair tied back in a loose bun.

“Exactly!” you chimed in, pressing a snowman-shaped cutter into the dough with a flourish. “Besides, Ron, you’ve got muscles from Quidditch. What’s a bit of stirring to you?”

“Ha, ha,” Ron said dryly, though you caught the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Hermione shot you an approving look, her brown eyes warm. It made your stomach do that familiar flip, even after months of dating her. The way she smiled at you—like you were the only one in the room—was enough to make your cheeks flush, though you quickly masked it by focusing on the dough.

“You’re blushing,” Ron teased, tossing a sprinkling of flour in your direction.

“Am not,” you retorted, dodging just in time. “Maybe you’re just embarrassed you can’t keep up, yeah?”

Hermione laughed, a soft, melodic sound that filled the room. “Don’t be too hard on him,” she said, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. “He’s doing well for his first baking session.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Ron muttered, though his cheeks flushed slightly.

As the cookies baked, the three of you cleaned up—or tried to. Hermione took charge of organizing the cooling rack, while Ron focused on sneaking spoonfuls of leftover frosting. You caught him red-handed, swatting his arm playfully.

“Ron, you’re worse than a kid!” you said, your voice filled with mock exasperation.

“I’m testing it,” he protested, grinning.

“Test it once more, mate, and I’ll hex you myself—no wands rule or not.”

Molly chuckled in the background as she observed the scene, shaking her head fondly. “You lot are worse than Fred and George.”

“Thank you, Molly,” you said brightly, pretending to take it as a compliment.

As the first batch of cookies came out of the oven, Hermione stepped close to you, the edges of her flour-dusted apron brushing against yours. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” she murmured, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Can you blame me?” you said, grinning at her. “I’ve got you, cookies, and a brilliant excuse to laugh at Ron.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks turned pink as she tried to suppress a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” you teased, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her temple.

“Get a room,” Ron groaned from across the kitchen, though he didn’t sound particularly bothered.

“Already in one, cheers,” you shot back.

Hermione giggled, and you couldn’t help but grin at her, the chaos of the room fading for a moment as you took in the way her hair framed her face, her sleeves pushed up to reveal flour-smudged forearms, and the way she looked at you like you hung the stars.

The cookies were finally cooled and ready to be decorated. You and Hermione worked together, spreading icing and adding sprinkles, while Ron attempted a snowman that ended up looking more like a blob.

“It’s artistic,” Ron insisted.

“It’s terrifying,” Hermione countered, her tone light.

As the day wound down and the cookies were piled onto plates, Molly took a bite of one and beamed. “These are wonderful,” she said, her voice full of genuine delight.

You raised an imaginary wand, pointing it toward Hermione. “All credit goes to Hermione.”

Hermione shook her head but leaned into you, her shoulder brushing yours. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

As the first snowflakes began to fall outside, the warmth of the kitchen and the laughter of your friends filled the house. And as you stood there beside Hermione, her hand brushing against yours, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect Christmas.

[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

[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 !! ]

[schlattslambo]

bigger girls are better | schlatt 18+ part 3

a/n: here it is! the long awaited part 3!! its a bit different from what i usually write, but a lovely 🍓anon came into my inbox with a fantastic idea! so, this one’s dedicated to you bestie! thank you all so so much for the love on this fic! it means so so much and i hope you all love this part as much as i loved writing it!!

cw: sub!schlatt, mommydom!reader, praise, VERY light bondage, edging

————

it had been roughly four years since the party. you and jay have been going strong since, and you’ve discovered your love for cooking during the course of the relationship. jay loves your cooking and you’ve gotten pretty damn good at it, if you do say so yourself. cooking and baking for jay has been a daily occurrence, and since it’s nearing christmastime, you’re cooking like crazy. making cookies, cakes, and even trying your hand at fruit cake - jay’s idea so you can ‘prank’ ted with it.

“hey baby,” jay says with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. “that smells amazing.”

“thank you, love,” you reply, leaning into his kiss. “i’m almost done this batch.”

jay sticks his finger into the cookie dough, scooping a large bit into his mouth. you shake your head as you place parchment paper on the cookie sheet. this has been common, and sometimes you think of just making cookie dough specifically for jay to eat while you’re baking so he doesn’t eat everything.

“you’re gonna get sick if you keep doing that,” you laugh.

“haven’t gotten sick yet, toots.” jay says with a mouthful of cookie dough. “‘sides, your cookie dough is fantastic.”

being with jay has been a dream. he’s so loving and caring and basically worships the ground you walk on. your relationship came out about a year and a half in, when you accidentally brought jay cookies when he was streaming. his fans were quick to notice your figure in the doorway, and making fun of how red jay got.

he just waved you into the room and sat you in his lap. his chat was going crazy, and you watched as so many people called you beautiful. one smart ass in the chat told you to be careful, that you might break the chair, but jay banned them before you could even see the comment. he just wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your shoulder as you told everyone that you chill the cookies before baking them so they keep their shape.

your eyes drift over to jay, who’s leaning against the counter on his phone, other hand in the bowl of cookie dough. you smile. since dating you and trying all your recipes, jay’s put on some weight. not that you mind, of course. you’ve always loved bigger guys. seeing jay’s rounder cheeks and chubbier tummy nearly make you go feral, but you keep your hands to yourself.

“you excited for the party tonight?” you ask.

“oh yeah,” jay says. “me and ted are gonna do shots.”

you roll your eyes with a smile. “of course you are,” you tease. “just be careful baby.”

“i will,” jay smiles at you. “are you gonna wear that sweater that i got you?”

you nod. a few days ago, jay got you a cute red sweater for the christmas party. you had no christmas sweaters, so obviously jay had to help.

“good,” jay says, walking over and wrapping his arms around your waist. “you’re gonna look so fuckin’ good.”

a few hours later, you and jay walk into the bar. you’re wearing that pretty red sweater and some black leggings which hug the curves of your ass and thighs perfectly. jay leads you with his hand on the small of your back. his tie is a bit messed up and he’s running a hand through his hair. in the car, you had tried to keep your patience, but you jumped his bones in the parking lot.

jay always looked fantastic in a dress shirt and slacks. in tonight’s case, he was wearing a red dress shirt, a black tie, and black slacks. his hair was slightly gelled back and he put his aviators on. truthfully, you were about to say fuck the party and just go back home, but you knew how much jay was looking forward to it.

the annual chuckle christmas party was held at a bar this year, since tucker couldn’t find anything else at this time of year. you didn’t mind, mainly because you got to see your friends and spend time with jay. the group of you guys had a table reserved in the back, so you were able to sit down, but you had to grab your own drinks from the bar.

the party is amazing so far, with lots of good drinks and music. you can’t help but feel yourself get a little tipsy from the cocktails that ted bought you. he introduced you to espresso martinis and you just cannot get enough.

you get into a conversation with tucker at the bar while jay orders you both some more drinks. you don’t notice a drunk guy stumble up to the bar and strike up a conversation with your man because tucker said something that made you laugh.

“yo, bro, you gotta wear a bra or something,” the man says, making your ear twitch. “you got bigger tits than my girl.”

you glance to see what’s happening, but fully whip around when you see jay wrapping his arms around himself slightly. over the course of your relationship, you learned that jay may seem to have a hard exterior, but he’s really sensitive. it doesn’t help that he’s drunk right now. he takes everything to heart, even more so when he’s drunk. he’s emotional as it is.

“hey, can you fuck off?” you snap, stepping in front of jay.

“well hello there,” the man slurs. “what’s your name?”

“get fucking lost,” you snarl.

“whoa there, hot stuff,” the man puts his hands up in surrender. “i was just letting fatty back there know that he might need a bra.”

“do not talk to my boyfriend like that,” you growl. “i don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you need to get lost.”

“oh, he’s your boyfriend?” the man laughs. “you gotta tell him to lose weight-“

he’s cut off by your palm connecting with his cheek. tucker’s eyes nearly pop out of his head as a red handprint blooms on the asshole’s cheek.

“leave!!” you yell, watching as the guy scrambles to leave as fast as possible.

you turn and look at jay. he’s looking down and messing with the buttons on his shirt. if there’s anything you know about jay when he gets like this, its that he needs to get right out of this situation.

“c’mon love,” you say softly to him, taking his hand. “lets go home.”

jay just nods quietly. you wave goodbye to everyone that you know and call an uber. thankfully, the ride home was quick and silent. jay had kept it together until you guys shut the door behind you. then you heard the sniffle that made your heart break.

you follow the trail of clothes as jay goes into the room that you two share. when you get there, he’s under the covers. you climb into bed and pull his head to your chest, not even caring that you’re still in the sparkly sweater. jay is quick to attach to you, wrapping his long limbs around you.

you run a hand through his hair, smiling softly as he leans into your touch.

“i got you baby,” you say softly. “i’m sorry that jerk didn’t know how to shut his mouth.”

when jay gets like this, clingy and sad, the best thing that you can do is hold him and tell him everything you love about him. which, frankly, is just about everything.

jay sighs in response, shaking his head. “you deserve someone better than me,” his voice comes out soft and broken.

if your heart wasn’t already broken, it would have shattered when he said this.

“jay,” you say, some firmness to your voice. “look at me.”

jay’s head lifts up slightly, your eyes connecting with his brown ones. a tear slides down jay’s cheek, getting lost somewhere in his mutton chops.

“you are an amazing, talented, hilarious, caring, and generous person,” you start. “you make sure everyone is always comfortable and will never eat once you’re sure that everyone else has eaten. you make everyone around you happier, especially me. you are my pookie and i love you forever.”

jay snorts at the nickname, a sad smile spreading across his face briefly before disappearing again.

“here,” you offer. “lay down on your back.”

jay does and you sit on his thighs, leaning over him. the action is quick to make him hard.

“you worship me all the time,” you whisper against his lips. “let me worship you, yeah?”

jay nods, his cock twitching in his pants as his face reddens. he lets out a pathetic little whine as your crotch brushes over his while you scoot up to kiss him. you cradle his face in your hands as you kiss him, allowing his arms to wrap around you. you only release his cheeks when his hands grip your ass firmly.

“ah ah,” you smile. “it’s my turn.”

jay nods and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. “y-yes ma’am,”

you lift a brow. jay is often the one in charge in the bedroom, but whenever he decides to relinquish his place, he makes sure to address you properly.

“m-mommy,” he corrects, making you smile.

you move down to his neck, hands going up underneath his shirt. jay tenses a bit but relaxes when you don’t take your hands away. you lift his shirt up just a bit but he stops you.

“d-don’t take my shirt off please,” jay mumbles against you.

“why’s that?” you ask, pulling away ever so slightly to look into his eyes.

“‘m fat,” jay replies.

“no you aren’t,” you say gently. “besides, i’ve seen you without a shirt so many times, and it’ll be a bit hard to worship you like you worship me with your clothes on.”

with a reassuring smile, you sit back on your heels. jay slips his shirt off and his arms wrap around his midsection.

“nope,” you say, grabbing his tie that sits on the bed. “hands, please.”

jay doesn’t protest as you tie his wrists together. he places his hands behind his head as you smile.

“good boy,” you praise, running your hand down the center of his chest. “let mommy show you how much she loves you.”

you lean down, kissing from his neck to his collarbone, nipping at his skin as he hisses in pleasure. jay loves being bitten, no matter where he sits on the dom/sub scale, so you’re enjoying this nearly as much as he is. your kisses trail lower, down to his chest and along his side.

jay’s cock is pressing hard against his zipper now, and he’s not sure how much longer he’ll last. pleads are on the tip of his tongue, but he knows not to push his luck. he is loving the attention, even if he’s still fighting the insecure feelings from earlier.

“fuck,” jay whines as your hand goes to his bulge. his hips twitch and you grin.

“sensitive today,” you tease, undoing his belt.

jay lifts his hips as you tug his pants off, squirming ever so slightly. he’s painfully hard, his cock leaking onto the fabric of his gray boxers. you lean down and kiss his stomach, down to his hips while your hand grips his cock gently.

the way jay reacts sets your core on fire. you waste no time in giving him open mouthed kisses over his boxers, and he watches you with pleasure adamant on his face. every time your mouth touches his cock over his boxers, it twitches and he gasps.

“please,” he chokes out. “i-i don’t know how much longer i can last.”

without a word, you tug his boxers down to his ankles. his pants and boxers are acting as a restraint while he tugs at the tie holding his wrists together. he knows better than to move his arms from behind his head. jay’s cock is uncut, the pink head peeking out from his foreskin. you spit in your palm which makes jay groan.

he watches you with teary eyes, holding back his orgasm the best he can. he nearly cums when your tongue flicks on the head of his cock as it pops out from his foreskin. you twist your hand as you stroke him, his hips grinding pathetically in time with your hand. you can tell that he’s getting close.

“now tell me,” you muse. “who’s my handsome boy?”

jay’s face nearly matches your sweater. he’s terrible at taking compliments, so you reward him with an orgasm if he replies to your praise.

“a-ah,” jay squirms, looking away.

“c’mon,” you urge.

“d-dunno,”

your hand leaves his cock and it twitches angrily. jay was right on the edge and you brought him back down to earth. your hand goes back to his cock, your finger swiping along his slit. your other hand massages his balls. he arches his back.

“tell me,” you warn. “or you won’t finish.”

“m-me!” jay breathes. “i-i’m your good, handsome boy!”

“that’s my good boy,” you praise. “go ahead and cum for me.”

thick, white spurts of cum shoot from jay’s cock as it twitches in your hand. you stroke him through his orgasm and only stop when he softens in your hands. you gently untie jay’s wrists as he takes them out from behind his head.

you get yanked down to him in a kiss that takes your breath away. it says everything that jay can’t in his post-orgasm haze: that you’re amazing, he’s never felt so good, and that he loves you more than anything in the entire world. he loves you forever and ever, and then some.

[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.