#how to frost red velvet cupcakes

[thegourmetpalette]

Red Velvet Cupcake Recipe: Fluffy, and Perfectly Frosted

[siriuslylantsov]

birthday kiss

pairing: roomate!spencer reid x reader

description: its readers birthday!

tags: fluffy fluff, first kiss, gn!reader, expensive watch but its okay because papa pasta paid for it, idk bro there are no warnings this is just cute.

a/n: more roomate spencer because i am a sucker for close proximity. this is the watch for reference (i rlly want it, let me live) and im choosing to be ignorant about spencers financial sitch, but in this its a tad too expensive for him. watched gilmore girls before writing this and had the overwhelming urge to write (somewhat) snappy dialogue. happy reading!

wc: 882

“make a wish.”

spencer holds out the cupcake with a single candle on it infront of your face. you blow out cold air extinguishing the frame with your eyes closed. 

“what’d you wish for?” you.

“i can't tell you, it won't come true.”

the two of you are sitting on the couch, facing each other. it's midnight, which means it's officially your birthday. spencer picked up a cupcake on the way home from work, it was red velvet with assorted coloured sprinkles, very festive. you split the cupcake with him, laughing when he inevitably gets frosting on his nose, swiping it off with your thumb. 

“so i got you something,” he starts as stands up to go get it.

“oh?”

“yeah,” he hands you a neatly wrapped box, sitting back down next to you, a little closer this time to  gauge your reaction. you peel away the paper and a red leather box reveals itself, and in small print; cartier.

“spencer, this isn't funny,” you look up at him, eyes wide.

“open it,” he urges.

you open the box, and your breath hitches. the most beautiful silver watch sits inside it–one you've had your eye on for months.

“this isn't funny,” you repeat, looking at the watch in disbelief. 

he swipes the box, taking the watch out and putting it on you, seeing as how you're frozen. he holds your wrist gently, admiring the piece he got you. he can't help but lift your wrist up and press a kiss to the soft skin, letting his lips linger there for a moment before putting it down.

his tenderness makes you frown. you look down and let out a slightly incredulous scoff. “i can't believe you…” you trail off before returning your glance to him, “how did you afford this?”

“i've got money.”

“i know you do. but you're also splitting the rent with me so that has to put up some spending limitations.”

“ok fair enough,” he surrenders, “rossi hooked me up, and by hooked me up, i mean he paid for most of it.”

you smile, a bright beautiful smile that loves. “that sly fox,” you chuckle, “remind me to kiss him next time i see him.”

“he gets a kiss and i don't?” he fake pouts.

“no, you get a kiss,” you lean over and lightly peck his cheek, you stay close. your lips are still curled up but this time it's a giddy grin.

you have an idea.

“i got something for you too.”

“it's not my birthday, why would you get me something?”

“it just came up,” you shrug.

“okay…” his uselessly veiled scepticism is very obvious.

“close your eyes.”

he does and a small crease forms between his eyebrows in confusion when you don't get up, he can feel the way the cushions dip as you shift in your seat, you're moving closer? why haven't you left to go get it yet? maybe it's in your pocket? maybe-

all rational thought vanishes from his mind when he feels your lips on his, soft. your hand is on his cheek as you kiss him. it's gentle and hesitant and he feels as though he might explode. careful not to make you think he doesn't reciprocate, spencer kisses you back, with a touch of desperation. you hum quietly into the kiss and pull back, resting your forehead on his.

“thank you,” you whisper, the soft puffs of your breath can be felt on his face and he relishes in the proximity.

he laughs, low and behind closed lips. “you're welcome. if i had known that getting you a watch would have earned me a kiss, i would've done it a lot sooner.”

“don't get too excited, dave gets one too.”

he shakes his head with a scoff, forehead still pressed against yours.

“thats what i wished for by the way.”

he leans his head back to look at you, “us kissing?”

“mhm, something like that.” you wished for a lot more than kissing but for now this was perfect.

“well, you know what they say…”

“what?” you inquire, amused.

“if the wish is granted within five minutes of the wish making, you're allowed a second one.”

“really? where'd you hear that?”

“i read it somewhere.”

“no sources?” you retort.

“nope, forgot.”

“likely story.”

you roll your eyes yet you humour him, picking up the liner filled with the mound of frosting you picked off your share of the cupcake earlier and sticking the previously lit candle into it. spencer grabs the match box and relights it.

you get all up in his space again, face dangerously close to his with the contraption you've made held next to you. “i wish you'd kiss me again,” you request, turning your head to blow out the flame. 

his fingers catch your chin to bring your face back to him, “we can definitely arrange that.”

you giggle as his lips hover over yours. “if this wish gets granted within the first five minutes too, do i get a third?”

“you can have whatever you want, angel.”

“good deal,” you murmur against his lips as he kisses you.

it was just a little over 15 minutes into your birthday but you could say with full certainty that this one was going to be your favourite.

[katescorner]

BAKED WITH LOVE — tendou satori x reader

some would call it a cliche. tendou calls it fate. after all, what were the odds a paris chocolatier would fall for a baker?

"i'm in love," tendou said with a dreamy sigh.

"you're dramatic," his coworker replied.

but he could only shake his head. you worked in the shop across from his, which meant that every so often he caught glimpses of you. it also meant his coworkers never heard the end of it about you, but that's beside the point.

"if you're so in love, why don't you ever go over there? strike a conversation?"

it's a question that came up every shift, but tendou was a lot . . . shyer than people thought. what if you rejected him? or worse—what if you said yes?

he doesn't realize he's staring until you send him a small wave, laughing when he turns a shade of red matching his hair.

he tries to busy himself, too embarrassed to look your way anymore until the end of day was nearing.

tendou doesn't know if it was the effect valentine's day had on him or all the love and affection he'd witnessed today or perhaps his coworkers' words ringing loudly in his ear. but he glanced across the street once more. he watched you welcome a customer in and greet another goodbye. you had an apron tied around your front; it was decorated in red hearts, and suddenly his mind was racing with ideas.

he only hoped he could catch you before you left.

he'd never worked so fast. whipping up a batch of chocolates for customers to buy because it was something he was paid to do was one thing. but it was another thing to be pouring his effort into creating chocolate for someone he cares about.

"finally worked up the courage to head to the bakery?"

"something like that," he responds, taking a deep breath and heading to where you work. he's through the door before he realizes he has no idea what he plans to tell you.

"i work across the street. i'm a chocolatier," he says sheepishly when you stare at him brightly, welcoming him in. "my name is—"

"satori," you cut in with a smile. "right? your coworkers come here a lot during their lunch break . . . lots of whispers about something regarding you and me?"

he doesn't know how deeper he can flush—both from the fact that you know his name and that his coworkers yap about him. he's stumbles over his words to mask his feelings. "i-i made you—here," he pushes a box your way, "it's chocolate!"

he wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole in the moment you freeze, before you have the chance to say anything.

"i . . ."

"please reject me quickly!"

your eyes widen, and you place a quick hand over the chocolate box almost protectively much to his surpise. "who said anything about rejecting you?"

tendou looks blankly at you; it's almost amusing.

"i . . . i was going to say i made you something too."

you bring out a small cupcake from behind the counter—red velvet with cream cheese frosting, decorated with pink hearts. it had just finished cooling after coming out of the oven.

"i was going to ask you . . ." you feel small under his gaze.

"do you want to have dinner with me tonight?" tendou asks.

"yes."

series masterlist link

[nanamis-princess]

Giving them Valentine’s Day chocolates: Jjk edition (pre relationship)

Includes: Nanami Kento, Satoru Gojo & Geto Suguru <3 x gender neutral reader

Warnings: no use of yn lol, none that I can think of lmk

A/N: if you’ve left a request I see it don’t worry! Requests close on February 28th! Please read on my page for more info about sending a request! 🤍click here🤍 I had so much fun writing this omg! Xoxo

��� ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Nanami Kento

To kento it was just another Friday but the bakery was more crowded than usual. Glancing at his watch as he waits in line, finally stepping up to the counter he greets you with a small smile. He orders his usual, stepping to the side as he glances at the case of red velvet cupcakes and other goodies decorated in pink and red frosting. Directing his attention to you coming in view with a small blue box on top his freshly wrapped bread. The rush of nervousness mixed with the adrenaline powering you through this interaction as you speak up, “i hope you can accept these chocolates, i made them for you” you confessed. The heat rushing to your cheeks as you feel his gaze and hearing the faint giggles from your coworkers behind you. for a moment he’s taken back and truthfully doesn’t know how to respond but says “thank you” with a nod and a small smile. You think you’ve ruined it all completely, moping around the whole day and dreading coming back in tomorrow. The idea of quitting your job and never looking back crossed your mind due to embarrassment. Saturday morning comes by as you begin your shift, preheating the oven as you hear the familiar bell ring of the front door. Your coworker peaks her head around the corner looking at you, “it’s for you” she hums with a grin before walking back towards you. Walking to the front as you pat your apron, looking up to see Kento with a bouquet of flowers. The heat rushes to your face again as your heart races, giving you a soft smile and blush raising to his cheeks. “I apologize for not reciprocating my interest yesterday, i was taken aback by your gesture but I’m grateful for it.” He expresses, extending the flowers to you. “It would be a pleasure to get to know you over dinner if you are interested?” Kento asks making eye contact with you. Nodding with a smile on your face as you accept the flowers “I’d really enjoy that” you confirm. Exchanging information takes a moment but before he leaves kento speaks up, “the chocolates were delicious by the way, you a very talented” he says with a grin before exiting.

Gojo Satoru

Every year since he was a teen gojo has always had an abundant of sweets, even if he doesn’t know who they are from, he keeps them. like com’n is Satoru one to pass upon sweets? Sitting on the benches during lunch You and geto glanced at each other as satoru went through each box not even caring who it was from. “This count higher or lower than last year?” Shoko rolls her eyes, standing up to zip up her jacket. “Lower but there is always more time left in the day” suguru hums, getting up from the bench following behind Shoko for a quick smoke break. Toying with your water bottle cap as satoru gasps, you look up at him “look its your favorite, let me feed it to you” he grins taking the sweet out of its packaging. Holding it up just a few inches away from your lips, you just blink at him, “what?” He asks confused. “That was gifted to you, it’s not for me to eat” you say trying not to let your jealousy bleed through. Satoru tsks shaking his head “but i want to share with you, open” he hums before making an ah sound. You roll your eyes and let him feed you the sweet treat.

Even years later he still gets an abundance of sweets so will these even make a difference if you give this to him you ask yourself? you glance at the small box in your bag. Taking a small breath pulling the small black box with a red ribbon tied nicely on it, you slip into his classroom placing it in the center on top papers from yaga that satoru had been putting off. Fifteen minutes or so go by and your phone screen lighting up catches your eye.

“Oh wow look what someone left me, these beautiful delicious chocolates;)”

“You always know my favorites😙❤️”

“Idk what you’re talking about”

“I don’t have six eyes for nothing😝”

“But yuji told me he seen you leaving them lol”

“….”

After teaching your last few classes of the day you practically speed walk to your car. Hoping to go home and put your comfy clothes on to binge that new series you’ve had your eye on. seeing the white hair a mile away as you reach your car leaves you smiling a little. Satoru turns around with that beautiful smile that makes you melt, “there you are. Let’s go get dinner tonight” satoru hums closing the gap between you. your heart racing as you shrug your shoulders. “Going out on Valentine’s Day last minute? Nowhere is going to have a seating open” you say dryly trying to play off the giddy feeling. “I can pull a few strings, but if you’d rather stay in and get takeout doesn’t sound too bad.” He offers with a smile. “Unless you want to get rid of me” he says with a fake pout making you playfully role your eyes. You turn to your car “I want to pick what we eat then” you add.

Suguru geto

Having been neighbors with geto for almost two years now has given you the courage to finally try to make a move, maybe now wasn’t a good time though? He’s always so busy with the girls, you’d never want to get in the way. From time to time you’d take the girls in for an hour after school if geto was running late. he’d always express his gratitude and adored how much the girls enjoyed being around you. The girls sat across from you as you washed grapes for them, Nanako speaks up “our dad doesn’t have a valentine this year” she ‘casually’ drops that followed by a giggle from Mimiko. “Oh is that so?” You humor them with a chuckle as you dry the grapes off with a towel. “Uh huh” Nanako hums with a giggle as the girls look at each other.

‘Just a test run of chocolates’ you thought to yourself as you made this small batch of chocolates. After cooling, you slip them into the white box and wrapping a small red ripen around it with a little attachment geto with a heart next to it. Taking a small breath as you are leaving for work you slip it in his mailbox before heading out of the building. The thought crossing your mind all day at work with a bunch of what ifs, you try grounding yourself to get through the rest of the day. Buzzing back into your building after a long day you just want to relax and it had completely slipped from your mind. Shedding your coat and keys at the door and letting it close behind you. Not even two minutes of being in you apartment you get a knock at your door, glancing at the door you hear muffled giggles and shh. Opening it to see Suguru with three heart shaped balloons, a Valentines basket decked out with goodies, your favorite chips and gift cards. Giving you that warm smile that you find comfort in “Happy Valentine’s Day” he hums. The girls peaking out on each side of him with small vases of flowers.

[mpreglover225]

The Cupcake Chronicles:

It was a busy Saturday afternoon at Finch & Sons Grocery, and the store buzzed with shoppers maneuvering their carts. In the bakery aisle, three couples bumped into each other—quite literally. Each pair had something special in common: the soon-to-be dad, sporting a round belly and a wide grin, was on the hunt for cupcakes to satisfy unstoppable pregnancy cravings.

Logan and Carlos arrived first, scanning the shelves for salted caramel cupcakes. Logan, who was seven months along, tried to stifle his excitement as he spotted the perfectly swirled frosting. Carlos smiled at how carefully Logan carried the box, as if he were protecting a precious artifact—though both knew that those cupcakes would vanish the moment they got home.

Meanwhile, Elliot and Sam turned the corner, scanning for anything strawberry-flavored. Elliot was nearly done with his shopping list, but those pastel-pink cupcakes called his name every time he passed the bakery counter. Sam teased him gently: “You promised just one box.” Elliot shrugged and winked, slipping not one but two boxes into the cart before Sam could protest.

At the far end of the display, Devon and Marcus deliberated over chocolate fudge versus red velvet. Devon, six months in, sighed dramatically. “It’s impossible to choose just one,” he declared, finally tossing both flavors in the cart. Marcus laughed, pulling Devon in for a quick embrace; he knew better than to argue with pregnancy cravings.

[bullet-prooflove]

Hi 😊

From crab dance prompt list 57.Love letters written in the dead of night for Terry and Georgia please 💞

Tagging: @kmc1989 @thedeadsingforme @mia1653 @kimbergoldess @cortmac1989

I can not believe how quickly this turned NSFW - it is the curse if Terry Silver.

Companion piece to:

Colic - Terry steps in when he realises you're struggling with Sebastian.

It’s three in the morning and Terry is standing in the kitchen with Sebastian tucked into the crook of his arm, guzzling the bottle of formula when he spies the pink heart-shaped post-it stuck to tiny cardboard box on the counter.

“What has mommy left for us little one?” He murmurs to his son as he tilts his head to read the note you’ve written.

For all of those 3am feeds, the post it reads, and for saving my sanity.

He hooks his finger on the lid of the cardboard box, lifting it to see a cupcake.  Not just any cupcake, but a red velvet one from the Hummingbird Bakery, Terry’s favourite patisserie in LA. There’s tiny red hearts sprinkled on top of cream cheese frosting. He swipes his finger through it and the way it tastes on his tongue is utterly divine.

It’s a such a thoughtful token of appreciation, he can’t help but smile as he flicks the post it over so he can write his own note.

Wake me up at the 6am feed and I’ll lick the icing off you. This is an order! X

He wakes up to the sensation of your mouth on him, that wet, hot heat enclosing around his cock as his fingers thread through your hair, hips arching.

“This is not what I had in mind.” He mumbles into the pillow as his dick kisses the back of your throat. Your eyes flicker up to meet his and that doe eyed innocence has him erupting on your tongue, his release spilling into your mouth as you swallow every single drop. He’s breathless as you kiss a heated trail up his chest, draping yourself over his spent form. His palm slips under the elastic of your silk pyjama shorts, smoothing over your ass as you nuzzle into the curve of his throat.

“You’re a bad girl.” He murmurs, his lips brushing over your temple. “I was supposed to fuck you stupid this morning.”

“I’m sure you can get it up again for me.” You tease, your breath ghosting in his ear as his hand slips between your thighs, coating his fingertips with your wetness. You sigh contently as he dips inside of you, fingers lightly pumping.

“I think you were right.” He whispers, using his free hand to guide yours to his stiffening cock. “You’ll be getting that fucking after all.”

Love Terry? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[leashybebes]

fic: blue and gold (26/28)

today's @bucktommyfluffebruary prompt is picnic date. (preparing the picnic may or may not count but we are where we are). my fill is here and below

this is essentially part one of three in the final mini-arc and i'm gonna cry. i can't believe it's (almost) over!!

Buck starts with the sandwiches. Tommy's go-to sad sandwich is pre-sliced chicken, cheese, and onion, but Buck's pretty sure he can do better than that. He slow roasts a whole chicken with herbs and butter, slices the white meat into thick wedges, shreds the brown meat for a bastardized biryani salad that Tommy always goes wild for. He caramelized the red onions the night before and spent a frankly unhinged amount of time in the dairy aisle picking out just the right sharp cheddar. For the bread, he goes for a crusty white loaf that he perfected way back when. He doesn't bake so much anymore, but it did end up being a way to wind down after a busy shift, so he's not too rusty, and the bread turns out great. It feels like a good sign.

While the bread cools, he whips up some flatbreads for lamb gyros. He cuts a few corners, doesn't make the tzatziki himself, but he's on the clock, and he doesn't think Tommy will notice. He picked up some gorgeous looking tomatoes, some of which get sliced for the gyros, and some diced for the biryani salad. While he's blending the hummus he wonders if maybe he's going overboard, but shrugs it off. He wants this to be the single best picnic anyone's ever had. He wants to include everything Tommy might want.

The red velvet cupcakes were an easy choice. They're Tommy's favorite by far which Buck doesn't get at all, if he's being honest. But Tommy insists they're better than regular chocolate no matter how many times Buck tells him about the use of cochineal in red food coloring. So, Buck makes red velvet cupcakes. He takes more care than usual in applying the frosting, aiming for generous but neat.

The sandwiches, gyros and cookies get saran wrapped, the salads and dips and cupcakes get boxed up in tupperware of varying sizes, and stacked neatly into the cooler bag. He'd debated over the aesthetic merits of an actual picnic basket but wound up favoring cold beers instead.

The last thing he does is dig through the linen closet to find the blanket Tommy's mom had sent them home with from Taos. It's soft and comfortable and colorful and Buck thinks that, if all goes well, Maya will get a kick of knowing it was there with them.

He's a little surprised by how little anxiety he's feeling. Excitement, sure. But once the bread rose and the cream cheese frosting didn't split, all the anxiety drifted away. He pats his hip pocket almost unconsciously and gets back into the Jeep.

He pulls into the parking lot at Harbor ten minutes before Tommy's shift is due to end, twenty before he actually steps outside. The sun's low in the sky and Tommy looks golden. He pauses at the sight of the Jeep, smiles and redirects to cross the lot.

"Hey, handsome," Buck says, leaning his elbow on the open window. "You busy tonight?"

[ericshoney]

Doughnut Review ~ Brothers!Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: Based of the video where they try twelve doughnuts and you, their little sister, join too.

Warnings: possible swearing, nicknames, teasing, fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were in LA with Nick, Matt and Chris and about to join in with their video.

"You ready, kid?" Chris asked.

"Yeah!" You cheered. Filming a video that involved doughnuts must excite any four year old.

You sat on Matt's lap, knowing Nick was going to be getting up the most to pick the doughnuts, whilst Chris was fidgety, sometimes more than yourself.

You sat quietly as they filmed the into, waving to the camera and at Nate, who sat behind it pulling faces at you. He was like another brother.

"As you can see we also have our little sister, Y/n." Nick introduced.

"Hiiiii!" You exclaimed, making them laugh.

"Bub, on a scale of one to ten, how much do you love doughnuts?" Matt asked you.

"Umm nine! I love cupcakes more." You answered.

He chuckled as Nick got the first doughnut. You watched as Matt carefully cut the doughnut into six pieces, a piece each of you, including Nate, and a piece for the review.

You took a bite of the first doughnut, not really liking the icing. The guys made their comments as you softly pushed it to the side.

"Not like it, petal?" Matt asked you.

"Nu-uh!" You exclaimed.

They laughed as Chris whined about it also. You giggled and looked up at Matt.

"Whiny pants." You said, making him laugh.

"Shh." Chris mumbled.

Nick then placed the second doughnut down. You all took a bite of it and you quite like the red velvet one.

"Like this." You said.

"Us two, kid." Nick responded, putting it in front of the cherry one.

The third doughnut looked similar to the first, you thought, but noticed it wasn't frosting but sprinkles. You took a bite, as well as your brothers and giggled noticing how Chris' broke in his hand.

"Ah fuck!" He exclaimed.

"Chris!" Both Nick and Matt exclaimed.

"Don't repeat that word bub!" Chris said, making you nod.

"Why does it kinda taste like cigarettes?" Nick asked, making Chris and Matt laugh.

"What's a cigarette?" You asked, making the trio share a look.

"Um, something to make your lungs bad and they taste gross so don't ever get them, okay sweetheart." Matt answered, making you nod again.

You all continued to try doughnuts. You weren't bothered by the rating as you were just happy to try some sweet treats and liked most of them. You laughed a lot and it made your brothers happy. When it came to the end, the guys asked which was your favourite.

"Umm, this one!" You exclaimed, pointing to the cinnamon roll.

"Sweetheart, that's not a doughnut." Nick said through laughter.

"But it's my favourite." You replied.

"Alright kiddo, you want some more?" He responded, making you nod quickly.

He smiled and passed you another bit of the cinnamon roll to eat as Nate came on and took Chris' seat and tried some of the doughnuts.

"This the best." You said, holding the cinnamon roll up to Nate.

"You aren't wrong, kid." He replied with a smile.

You giggled as he carried on trying some doughnuts and picked his favourite, which made Chris whine again. The guys soon ended the video, but you were just happy to be there and eat some food.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags:

@lgbtq-girl @mattsfavbigtitties @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @riowritesitall @sturniolo-fann

[paladin--strait]

Congrats on 100 babe 🫶!! Can I request prompt 19 - reader brings cookies or cupcakes for players team after a huge win (athletes only) with jack hughes?

so cute!!! i love this prompt with jack ❤️

-

after the game ended, i immediately ran out to my car where the cupcakes are packed and placed neatly in the trunk. i brought the little cart with me and loaded the small treat boxes onto it, walking quickly into the hallway that the leads to the arena after i lock my car.

there's a huge grin on my face as i near the locker room. i pass a couple staff members and hand them their own little box with the freshly made treats inside.

the security checks the locker room to make sure the boys are still clothed before i walk in and that everyone is inside the large, messy room. i wheel in the cart after i get the okay and i run to jack, leaving the cart behind me, congratulating him on his huge win and the goal he got.

he smiles when he catches me in a hug, his sweaty hair falling onto my shoulder. i hear him laughing, and he kisses me on the lips with a quick thank you. "thank you baby! what's on the cart?" he points at it, and i suddenly remember all the boxed treats.

"oh! i brought you guys something!" my words that raised in volume caught the attention of the players and coaches. "i brought you all some treats!!" i walk over to the cart and grab a box. they're all named, since the goodies inside are customized to each players liking.

"nico and timo? i have your boxes!" both nico and timo practically run over to me, smiling and giving me a thank you hug as they take their boxes. "uhh...dawson and jesper?" they come over too, and all the boxes are eventually passed out, except for my two favorite devils players.

"luke and jack?" i turn and look at the two brothers with a big smile. they walk over together, chatting for a second before taking their boxes as well. luke gives me a big, long, thank you hug and tells me a quick i love you. jack gives me a kiss, along with a quick thank you and i love you also.

once i turn around to look at all the players and coaches, they're all digging into the boxes of yummy desserts, some of them looking like their about to go into a sugar crash or food coma. i look at nico, who's head is tilted back in bliss and his jaw is chomping down on a soft sugar cookie, one of his favorite treats that i've made, he's expressed to me how much he loves them multiple times, so i wrote it down in my notebook.

over a long time of baking and selling goods, i began to keep a journal of certain people's favorite things that i make. i have my family's favorite things, the hughes family's favorite things, the devils team, the canucks team, the umich team and even some of jack's friends like trevor and jamie.

i smile as i watch them enjoy the food. it's always made me happy to see people enjoy the desserts i make, especially people that i love so dearly. i rarely make batches of goodies like this, but the boys have worked so hard this season and they deserve a treat. luke is eating a no bake chocolate oatmeal cookie, one of his all time favorites, timo is eating the same cookie and dawson is eating a classic gingerbread cookie.

jack is chowing down on a carrot cake cupcake, smiling at me as we make eye contact. he holds the cupcake out to me, and i take a bite. i chew my bite of jack's cupcake, savoring the moist cake and delicious frosting. i'm never one to talk about how good my desserts are, but damn, i'm a good baker. i smile and giggle when i see the amount of frosting on coach keefe's face from his red velvet cupcake he's eating. he's really enjoying that cupcake, i think to myself.

moments like these with the team are my favorites. we're all together, enjoying the moment of happiness while we celebrate a huge win. we're definitely all going out for drinks later, but i know the night will be cut short for me and jack, since he always is super tired after playing for longer than usual, which he did tonight.

-

once we reach the doorway to the quiet, dark, and cold apartment, jack and i take our shoes off by the door, walking to the bedroom. i flop down on the bed, groaning from how tired my body is, and i look up to see jack changing into his sleep pants, i decide that i should probably change too, so i stand and take my clothes from the game off, my 'hughes 86' jersey coming off and getting put into the hamper alongside my pants and bra.

i hear jack grunt when his body hits the bed, i finish taking off my makeup and make my way to bed, cuddling up to jack almost immediately. i hum into his chest, tracing shapes onto his back. "thank you for making all those things for my teammates, you really didn't have to do all that. but, i'm glad you did. they really love you, not just because of how good your desserts are, but because of how caring you are for them. they wouldn't shut up about how good it was and everyone told me to tell you thank you."

i smile at his words, "i love them too. i know how hard you boys have been working and you all deserve to know that people care about you guys and not just about the game and i know all the fans are thankful for all you guys do, so i decided to make all that stuff for you guys. i'm glad they appreciated it, too!" i play with his hair as i speak, messing it up and putting it in various little styles.

we chat more about the game before jack turns his alarm on so he can get up for morning skate in the early hours of the next morning and i cut off the light, darkening the room except for the light coming off the tv and the light from jack's phone. i smile when i see him scrolling through instagram, seeing where reporters had made various articles about the boys who talked about getting the delicious treats from me after being asked about the goodie boxes that were sitting beside them.

jack smiles and likes the article, shutting his phone off and putting it on charge. i he turns to look at me and grabs my waist, pulling me closer to him and kissing my jaw, down my neck and along my shoulder. i giggle when he kisses my neck, i've always been ticklish there and he knows it.

the cold breeze from the air conditioning hits us, and we cuddle closer to each other, both to lazy to get up and mess with the ac unit this late in the night. we fall asleep in each others arms, the faint smell of alcohol coming off of us from our celebratory drinks at the bar. but that doesn't bother either of us, we just enjoy each others time, sleeping peacefully in each others arms.

[bonzirelle]

Cookie Thief

paring: guitarist!jisung x baker!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: pet names(babe & baby) and mentions of food.

summary: guitarist!jisung has to deal with the repercussions from baker!reader after sneaking a sweet treat after his late night gig.

dolle’s note: AHHH this is my first post on here ever…so lmk how i did..!

✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊˚ ✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊˚ ✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊

The familiar scent of icing and cake batter lingered in the air of your small bakery that you loved to call home. This bakery has been with you for a few years but you feel like it’s been forever with how many memories that’s been made there.

The late nights, nice customers, sweet smells and tastes. That’s what you call love. you’ve taken a special liking in baking since you were a little girl in the kitchen with your mother. It’s the feeling of warmth and comfort that makes you happy to make all of these delicious treats.

Everything was normal, it truly was. Until you saw the absence of a cookie on the tray. Your eye brows furrowed before counting the rows and columns to make sure you weren’t going crazy.

“I could’ve swore i made sixteen..” You mumbled while looking around to see any trace of anyone that could’ve broken in but everything around was normal.

The pink curtains were jumbled up on the window like you left them yesterday afternoon, all of the money was in the tip jar, even the little porcelain doll you sat in the window seal was still sat up. Now this was weird. You began to retrace your steps before you left the bakery.

You put the cover back on the cookies, put them back on the shelf walked to your apartment and fell right asleep. Jisung came back from his nightly gig, put his stuff down but didn’t come in the room until later. Woke up and then came here this morning. So then what happened?

Jisung. Jisung happened

“BABE!”

Seconds later he came downstairs from your apartment into the bakery downstairs.

“You called me? What’s wrong are you hurt?” He walked over to you with confusion and concern etched on his face.

“Did you eat my cookies?” You we’re getting straight to the point, no games.

“Well..no. I didn’t eat multiple cookies. I only had one.”

“That’s just as bad, ji!”

He could tell you were bothered by this. He knew how much you loved baking, maybe he should have just got something to eat on the way home.

A low sigh escaped his lips as he walked over to you behind the counter. “Okay…i did eat a cookie, and i apologize for that. I just didn’t think you would get so worked up about it.”

You wanted to be mad at him, you really wanted to. But it’s the way he grabbed your hand with such a gentle and loving smile on his face that made you believe that everything was alright in this world.

“I needed this batch for today. It was important, babe.”

You saw the way his eyes flicked over to the silver tin tray that sat next to the glass jar of baguettes on the cream white colored counter.

“It’s fine, i swear. Before you open up we can make a whole new batch with sixteen more.” He leaned down a bit to place a kiss on your cheek.

“Are you sure?” You questioned.

“Of course i am, baby. When haven’t i kept my promises?” Your silence told him all that you needed to know. “Exactly. Now c’mon, we can make some red velvet ones.”

The kitchen lights were soft, the air smelled like sugar, and he was already licking frosting off his finger like he wasn’t just caught. That’s love, right? Or something like it. You’ve been baking since you were a kid, standing on a stool next to your mom, and somehow it still feels just as magical. Maybe it’s the cupcakes. Or maybe it’s him. Probably both.

✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊˚ ✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊˚ ✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊

[misc-obeyme]

Hello hello!!! I just saw your kink/flufftober post and wondered if I could request “biting” with barbatos? It can be either fluff of nsfw, whichever gets the creative juices flowing more! As always, love the work you do here, thank you!!!!

Hello and thank you I'm so glad you're enjoying my writing! <3

I was doing so well keeping within my word count limit until now. I can't act like I'm surprised, it's Barbatos we're talking about lol. And I decided to use this as a kink prompt because ooooof I love biting. So you know, having two things I very much enjoy as a prompt ended up with something slightly longer than perhaps intended. But I think it turned out okay still!

Thank you for submitting a prompt!

KINKTOBER 2023

GN!MC x Barbatos

NSFW MDNI

Warnings: biting, a little bit of blood, oral and penetration (both reader receiving)

You were in the kitchen at the Demon Lord's Castle, helping Barbatos make red velvet cupcakes. Since it was a flavor from the human world, you had agreed to help out with making them, passing final judgment on how they turned out. You were currently mixing the red food coloring into the batter. While the recipe you had used was a classic red velvet recipe, the bright color of the cake still needed that extra vibrancy from the food coloring.

Barbatos was beside you, mixing vanilla into the frosting.

Normally, Barbatos entered a sort of flow when baking. It was almost meditative, the way he moved around the kitchen so easily. But at that moment, you noticed that he seemed a little distracted. Certainly the frosting was looking delicious, but he seemed to be focused elsewhere.

You stopped what you were doing and looked over at him. He froze, meeting your eyes for a moment before flicking his gaze down to your fingers.

You looked down at your hands and saw that they were covered in red food coloring.

You laughed a little. "Sorry," you said. "I'm making a mess, huh? Is that why you're so distracted?"

Barbatos closed his eyes and frowned. "You needn't apologize, MC. I'm afraid seeing that brilliant red on your skin has made me think of things I shouldn't."

You were puzzled by this response. You cocked your head curiously. "Such as…?"

Barbatos opened his eyes and the hunger you saw there made heat run through you. Barbatos put down the spatula he'd been using to mix the vanilla into the frosting and took one of your hands instead. He brought it to his lips and kissed away some of the red. The way it painted his lips was so sensual your knees went weak.

You let out a little gasp as Barbatos circled behind you, putting his red stained lips to your neck. You had to grip the kitchen counter for support as he sucked for a moment, his arms going around your waist.

Barbatos let his teeth scrape gently across your skin as he pulled his lips away. "Forgive me, MC. I am not sure what has come over me."

His arms moved as if he was about to move away from you, but you put both of your hands on them. You didn't care that you were likely getting red food coloring on him. You just wanted to hold him in place. "Don't stop."

Barbatos pressed himself into you and there was no mistaking the erection you felt against you as he put his lips back on your neck.

You moaned as he bit down gently, as though he couldn't resist but he also didn't want to hurt you too much.

You deliberately pushed yourself back against him, making it clear that you knew how turned on he already was.

Barbatos laughed softly against your neck. "What is it you would like from me, MC?"

"I want you to bite harder," you said.

Barbatos put his lips on your ear. "As you wish."

A tingle ran up your spine at the sound of his voice in your ear. He turned you around in his arms, then lifted you bodily. He set you down on the kitchen counter, on a spot that was far away from where you had been attempting to make red velvet cupcakes.

In moments, Barbatos had removed your clothes and put his lips on your inner thighs. Your hands flew to his head, fingers running through his hair. You gasped and tried desperately not to pull when he bit down on the sensitive skin there, harder than before just as you had asked. He worked his way up your thigh, biting the whole time, making you gasp and whine as he did.

When he finally put his tongue between your legs, you cried out his name, your legs squeezing around his head involuntarily. He stayed there for a long time, but he never let you get too close to orgasming.

Barbatos finally stood up, causing you to whine and grip at his arms unhappily. You squirmed on the counter top as you tried to pull him closer to you. He obliged, moving closer to stand between your knees.

Barbatos reached out and put his fingertips to your neck where he had been biting it earlier. He wasn't wearing his gloves, of course, he had taken them off long before you even started baking. Now his fingers were covered in the red food coloring.

"Barbatos," you said as you pulled on his pants, unzipping them and pulling out his cock. You rubbed it in your hands for a moment before looking at him. "Please."

"Normally I would not allow such a mess to occur on my kitchen counter," Barbatos said quietly, putting his hands on either side of you and leaning in to your neck once again. "But I'm afraid you've awakened something in me, MC."

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him closer. You realized that the counter here was a bit lower than it was in most of the other places in the kitchen. Which meant that you were at the perfect height. You smirked a little when you realized that Barbatos knew exactly what he was doing when he placed you here.

The smirk was gone in an instant as Barbatos pressed his cock into you, his teeth leaving marks on your neck at the same time, his hands gripping your hips. You had to hold on because as soon as he was inside you, Barbatos did not hold back. You felt your entire body heat up as he thrust fast and hard, his teeth continuing down your neck. He reached up to pull your top out of the way so he could bite down your shoulder.

The sweetness of his cock inside you mixed with the pleasurable pain of his teeth was almost too much sensation. You couldn't hold still and you couldn't keep quiet. You were already close from when he was using his tongue and it wasn't long before you were crying out, clamping hard around him. You felt his cum inside you only moments later.

When Barbatos pulled away to look at you, the red of the food coloring was still bright against his lips, but there was a slightly darker red next to it now. He leaned back in and kissed the bite marks he had left.

"Your blood is much prettier than this food coloring," he said softly in your ear. "I do hope I did not hurt you too much by drawing it."

You sighed against him, leaning your head on his shoulder. "Next time you can add the food coloring to the batter."

Barbatos chuckled, taking your face in his hands and kissing you. Later you would need to wash the red off your hands as well as your lips, cheeks, neck, and thighs.

flufftober | kinktober | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

taglist: @anxious-chick @t0tallycoolname @libidinous-weeb

[thegourmetpalette]

Red Velvet Cupcakes: Hacks, Variations & Fun Baking Tips

Red Velvet Cupcakes – Hacks, Variations & A Little Mystery Behind Their Origin Red velvet cupcakes aren’t just a dessert; they’re an experience. The soft, velvety texture, that signature deep red hue, and the perfectly balanced cocoa-buttermilk flavor make them irresistible. But have you ever wondered where they came from, how to make them even better, or what fun twists you can try? Buckle up,…

[sapphichotmess]

All I Do Is Dream of You

Ellie Williams x plus size!f!reader (not really specified, but that’s what I write)

Name inspired by Dodie’s song All I Do Is Dream of You

Even though this is not 18+, I am an 18+ blog, mdni

continuation of this

Warnings/Tags: horrendous writing with very little dialogue (bc idk how to human), fluff, reader wears makeup, reader is able-bodied, reader is right-handed

PLS COMMENT & RB FOR ME PLS

thanks for reading this for me babe @les4elliewilliams u deserve to be fucked so good <3

It has been several days since you were literally knocked off of your feet by one Ellie Williams. And every day since then has been better than the last. You two have been texting non-stop, giddily giggling into your phones with warm cheeks at all hours of the day. 

All it took was one meeting, and you were utterly captivated by the adorably dog-like auburn-haired woman, her presence—even if only by phone—filling your heart with a warmth you couldn't explain. 

You can’t get the woman out of your head, always seeing her pale green eyes piercing into you when you close yours. And don’t get you started on her adorable smile, her lips quirking up and parting, showcasing a slight bit of white teeth. You groan, staring into the mirror on your desk, right hand holding eyeliner up though doing nothing to put any on. All you can think of is the way her cheeks flushed adorably, highlighting the smattering of freckles on her face. You want to trace them—learn the pattern to a T. Learn everything about her, really. 

Your daydreaming is disrupted by the buzzing of your phone which is sat face-down on your bedspread, music blaring from it’s tiny-but-mighty speakers. You drop the eyeliner you were using to make the wing on your eye, drawing a black line down your cheek in your haste. Socked feet making gentle thudding on the hardwood floor, you reach your bed in record time. With your heart racing, you swiftly pick up your phone and flip it over to see the notification. It's another message from Ellie; the sight of her name sends a wave of excitement through you, your heart dropping from your chest out of your ass and a warm flush tickling your cheeks. With trembling fingers, you open the message, eager to see what she has to say. 

Ellie's message pops up on your screen, and you can't help but grin as you read her words:

heyyy you! just wanted to say hi and see how your day is going. i've been thinking about you bunches today. craving one of those bomb cupcakes you whip up... you know, those red ones with the fucking insane frosting? the one i had the other day?

Not bothering to wait more than a few seconds, you quickly type out a response, unable to hide your own excitement:

hi ellie! literally made my day hearing from you fr ❤️ 

you send one text, instantly starting on another:

oh, the red velvet ones? i won’t be making those in the shop for a bit… BUT i can totally open the bakery on an off day and make a batch for you?

Happy with your words, you go to sit down your phone again, butterflies swooping around aggressively in your stomach, but before you do, it’s vibrating in your hand. 

It was Ellie reacting to your first message with a heart. She must have been waiting for your reply—or you were being a horrible loser and texting back too fast. Shaking your head at that thought, you watch as the texting bubble appears, heart racing as you wait for her reply. 

You can't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of Ellie's response. Was she as eager to continue the conversation as you were? Or perhaps she had something else in mind? With bated breath, you wait for her message to come through, the seconds feeling like an eternity as your mind races with all the possibilities of what she might say. The anticipation only adds to the butterflies swirling in your stomach, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Finally, Ellie's response comes through, and you eagerly read her message:

DUDE, no way! opening the bakery just for us? that's fucking awesome! i'm so down to hang out with you, especially if it means i get to devour those bomb-ass cupcakes. hit me up whenever you're free!

A grin spreads across your face as you read her words, your heart soaring with happiness. It seems Ellie is just as excited about the idea as you are, and the thought of spending time together fills you with warmth. It would be the first time you guys would meet face-to-face since your first encounter. 

Fuck you couldn't wait to bask in the magnificence of her; her being in your space, filling her lungs with the very same air you breathe. 

You are in trouble if these thoughts are an indication of anything. 

Quickly typing out your reply, you suggest a few possible dates and times for your cupcake date, hoping that one of them will work for both of you. Positively beaming, eyes glimmering with youthful mirth, you finally set down your phone and turn on your sock-clad heels to head back toward your vanity. You make it halfway before you remember what day it is.

The bakery is closed. 

You could see Ellie today. 

Then, you’re slipping against the hardwood, trying to get back to the bed as quick as possible. You finally get your footing after sliding around and almost ending up on your ass, practically flying toward your bed and divebombing onto the soft mattress. Your phone bounces with the impact as you scramble to get to your knees and grab it from mid-air. Somehow, you end up on your back with your phone smashed onto your nose. 

Ouch. That's definitely going to leave a mark.

You grab your phone, scrubbing a hand at your sore nose. After the shock of the hit has left, you regain your urgentness, unlocking your phone, bringing up the messages app, and clicking on your and Ellie’s chat. 

Your fingers move at what seems like the speed of light as you type out a new message: 

so, um, funny thing... i was thinking, and why wait for your cupcakes when you could have them today? how about you swing by the bakery this afternoon?

Thinking for a second, you quickly send a second text:

we can even bake them together! how does that sound?

Nausea creeps up on you as you wait, heart racing and dry eyes staring at your messages to Ellie for several minutes without a text bubble. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, a bubble appears on the screen, only to disappear just as quickly. This pattern repeats a few times, leaving you on edge.

But then, finally, Ellie's response lights up your screen:

i'm so down for a baking session at the bakery. what time should i be there? 

A wave of relief washes over you as you read Ellie's enthusiastic reply—though you are confused as to why it took her so long to come up with this response. With a wide grin, you quickly type back the details, feeling excitement building in the pit of your stomach. 

Finally having that done, you put your phone back on the bed—hopefully for the last time for a while. Then, you finally sit back down at your vanity, ready to finish your makeup for the day. When you look in the mirror, your smile falters and your mouth hangs open in disbelief. 

There is a long, thick black line running across your cheek. 

“Fuck.” 

***

You’re just setting up everything you need for red velvet cupcakes when you hear the front doorbell ring. Your head snaps up so fast you’re surprised you don’t break your neck. However, any pain is worth seeing Ellie walk into your bakery looking so damn fine. 

The olive-skinned girl is wearing a pair of blue jeans that fit her ass nicely, a grey t-shirt, and a burnt-red flannel that looks well-loved with tearing seams and fading colors. Her shoulder-length auburn hair is pulled into a half-up, half-down look, with some stray hairs framing her face. Your hands itch to push them behind her ears, even standing at the distance you are. 

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you set the pan you had in your hands onto the counter with a clatter, causing Ellie to start. Making your way towards the front of the store where Ellie stands with hands in her pockets, you call out her name.  

"Ellie!" You greet her with a wide grin, unable to contain your excitement at seeing her—even if it was planned just short of an hour ago. 

“Ah, uh… Hey!” the freckled girl stutters out. “I… it’s good to see you?” 

“Was that a question?” you ask, hiding your smile behind your hand. 

“Uh, no?” Ellie says before realizing that she phrased her response as a question, too. “I mean, no. No, it wasn’t a question. I, um, I am excited to see you.” 

You can't help but find Ellie's nervousness adorable as she stumbles over her words. Suppressing a giggle, you offer her a reassuring smile, eyes crinkling on the edges. "Well, I'm excited to see you too," you reply warmly, noting the faint blush creeping up on her cheeks.

As Ellie's gaze drifts somewhere behind you and she nervously swipes her hand over her nose, you realize just how nervous she must be feeling. Wanting to ease her discomfort, you gently reach out and place a hand on her arm—holy shit, you didn’t realize she was strong, but you can feel her muscles under her flannel. "Hey, it's okay. No need to be nervous," you say softly, trying to ignore your thoughts about what she could do with that strength. "We're just here to have fun and bake some delicious cupcakes together."

Ellie’s green eyes finally meet yours again, though a crease forms between her eyebrows as she does. “I just, ah… you’re, like, stupidly pretty. And, you know, it’s really distracting.” Ellie's cheeks flush a deeper shade of red as she confesses, her final words coming out in a rush.

Your heart skips a beat at Ellie's unexpected compliment, and a warm flush of pleasure spreads through you. "Wow, thank you," you reply. "You're not so bad yourself, you know."

Ellie’s eyes widen in surprise at your compliment, her right hand coming back up to shuffle across her nose. “Ah, thank you?” 

Giggling at her utter lack of words or charm, you grab her hand as it falls from in front of her face. “C’mon! We have so much to do. I’m so excited to teach you how to bake!” you say in a high-pitched voice, obviously excited. 

Pulling her by the—fucking giant—hand to the back of the bakery where you do all the… well, baking, you continue, “I’m almost done setting up everything for us. There are a few ingredients I have to pull out since I wasn’t gonna be using them, but it shouldn’t be too long until we can start.” 

“I—oh,” Ellie lets out a strangled breath as she is suddenly dragged by you into the back room. “That’s okay. I’m just, uh, really excited for the cupcakes.” 

As you lead Ellie towards the back of the bakery, you can't help but chuckle at her adorable awkwardness. "Don't worry, I promise it'll be fun," you reassure her, looking behind you with a warm smile. "And don't worry about being nervous. Baking is all about having a good time and enjoying the process."

Ellie nods once, her cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. "Yeah, I'm sure it'll be great," she says, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Reaching the back room, you release Ellie's hand and gesture towards the kitchen area. "Here we are," you say, motioning for her to take a seat on one of the chairs you pulled back here from the dining room. "Make yourself comfortable while I grab the rest of the ingredients."

As you rummage through the cabinets and pull out the remaining ingredients needed for the cupcakes, you can't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of teaching Ellie how to bake. Getting to spend any time with the adorably awkward, puppy-like freckle-faced girl was a blessing, but getting to do your favorite thing with her? It’s a dream come true. 

Returning to the counter with an armful of ingredients, you grin at Ellie. "Alright, let's get started," you say eagerly. “First up, we have to… turn on the oven,” you stumble in the middle of your sentence as you get lost looking at Ellie’s tanned face, trying to memorize the placement of her paint-splattered freckles so that you could imagine her going do—that isn’t what today is about.

Ellie nods once, standing to her feet. “Sounds easy enough.” 

As Ellie stands up, hands on her knees to help her get up, you can't help but admire the way her eyes sparkle with a mixture of excitement and nervousness as she looks at you. Holy shit, she’s looking at you. "Great!" you exclaim, shaking off your momentary distraction—for the hundredth time—and focusing on the task at hand. "Let's get this show on the road."

Together, you and the freckle-faced girl move towards the oven, your hands brushing against each other as you reach for the knob. Heat crawling up your neck and over the apples of your cheeks, you quickly move your hand and turn the knob to 350 degrees Fahrenheit, the soft hum of the oven heating up filling the air.

Still hot in the face, you turn toward Ellie, "Okay, next step, cupcake pans," you say, gesturing toward the neatly lined trays on the counter. With Ellie by your side, arms brushing, you grab the pans and place them on the counter, ready to put the liners in. 

As you work, you steal glances at Ellie, admiring her focused expression as she carefully places each cupcake liner in its designated spot like it’s some kind of science experiment that could go wrong. Her tongue slightly sticking out of her plump lips in concentration is definitely cuter than it should be. 

What you weren’t ready for was to have the auburn-haired girl turn her head and look at you as you distractedly stared at her, unable to shake the image of her soft, freckled cheeks, long, slender fingers, and strong arms from your mind. 

Caught off guard by Ellie's piercing green gaze, you feel your heart skip a beat as you quickly avert your eyes. Clearing your throat, you focus on the task at hand, determined to maintain composure.

"Um, so, uh, yeah," you stammer, trying to regain your train of thought. "Looks like we're all set with the cupcake pans." You can practically feel the heat radiating from your cheeks as you turn back to the task, hoping to distract yourself from the intensity of Ellie's gaze.

With a shaky hand, you reach for the extra cupcake liners, trying to steady your nerves as you carefully place them back in a stack, ready for you to put away later. 

When you're done—and your hands aren’t shaking anymore—you finally drag your gaze back to Ellie. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize she is still looking at you. Her green gaze—what you can only describe as a moss-covered forest bathed in warm, sparkling sunlight—feels like taking a knife to the heart, her head tilt—so dog-like—a sucker punch to the gut. You want her eyes on you forever—to bask in the warmth of her eyes and bathe in the depths of her soul—you realize as your heart tries to beat out of your chest. 

Somehow, you find it within yourself to tear your eyes away from Ellie’s; it’s one of the hardest things you’ve ever done, and you run a bakery by yourself. Clearing your throat and staring at the prepped pans, you say, “Ah, um, we can start making the batter now, I guess.” 

Ellie doesn’t hold in her laugh at your obvious discomfort, her melodic laughter filling the room with a warmth that soothes your frayed nerves. Despite the embarrassment of being caught in a moment of vulnerability, you can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you at the sound of her laughter.

"Yeah, let's get started on that batter," Ellie says, her voice laced with amusement as she reaches for the ingredients on the counter. “What do we start with, pretty girl?”

“I–uh, holy shit…”

The freckled girl laughs even harder at your stunned expression, mouth hanging open and eyebrows raised. “Close your mouth, or you’ll catch flies,” she says, lips quirked up as she nudges your chin with her hand. 

Her hand on you gets your mind racing in all different directions before you remember where you are. Snapping your gaping mouth shut, teeth clacking together, you gather yourself. “Uh yeah… we have to, ah… start with the dry ingredients.” 

Ellie hums a “Mhmm” out, mouth still curved in a cocky smile as she tilts her head again—her stupidly pretty auburn hair catching the midday light filtering in from the window—leaning her hip against the counter. 

“We have to shift the flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking powder, and baking soda together into… this large bowl.” you point at every ingredient when you name them, picking up the stainless steel bowl when you find it.

“Sounds easy enough.” 

This time, it’s you who hums an answer as you put the bowl down and grab the ingredients to start measuring. “If I measure, would you shift, Ellie?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” she gives you a little salute. 

So, as you hand over every measured dry ingredient, Ellie shifts it into the bowl. Her tongue makes another appearance as she focuses on getting every ingredient into the bowl with no spillage, causing you to overfill the ¼ teaspoon of baking soda. You quickly get the right amount into the teaspoon and clean up your mess, wiping your hands on your apron. 

“Okay, now that’s done, we have to add the salt and whisk everything together.” 

Ellie reaches for the salt, adding it to the bowl as you grab the whisk. She slides the bowl over to you, watching intently as you whisk. It’s one of the most mundane, boring parts of the baking process, yet she looks so entranced by the whisk circling the bowl, mixing the ingredients together. 

Once everything is thoroughly mixed, you tap the whisk on the bowl and set it aside, putting your hands on your hips and turning towards the girl leaning casually on your counter. “Can I trust you with a knife?” 

“Wh–I–Yes!” She splutters, eyebrows raised. 

Giggling quietly to yourself, hand over your mouth, you shake your head. Dropping your hand, you say, “Sorry, I just had to ask. I need you to cut the butter if you could, please.”

“How could I say no to those puppy dog eyes, hmm?” 

This time, it’s you who splutters, caught off guard. Instead of deigning the tease with a response, you turn your back to Ellie, hiding your burning face and grabbing the stand mixer you equipped with a paddle attachment. When that’s set up, and you can feel the burning embarrassment leave your face, you turn to Ellie, who is wielding a knife, cutting the room-temperature butter into uneven pieces. 

“Babe, it’s gotta be more uniform than that.”

Ellie’s head snaps up, eyebrows furrowed, pupils blown wide, and knife almost cutting into her fingers. “Wh–what did you just call me?”

Caught in a moment of panic, you freeze, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to come up with a plausible explanation. The air feels thick with tension, every second stretching out into an eternity as you search for the right words to say. You hadn’t even realized you said it; it came so naturally, calling the auburn-haired girl babe. “I… nothing, nothing at all,” you spit out quickly, eyes going wide. 

“Nah-uh, you called me ‘babe.’” A loud clattering sound makes you startle, your eyes moving from Ellie’s piercing greens to the knife that just hit the countertop. 

"I… I didn't mean to," you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. "It just… slipped out."

Ellie's gaze remains fixed on you, you can feel it like a weight on your skin, pinning you in place as you struggle to regain your composure.

“Look at me,” she demands. You follow her directions immediately, your gaze taking in her expression. She looked almost dazed with a quizzical brow as she scratched her head.

"I'm sorry," you continue, your words tumbling out in a rush. "It was just a slip of the tongue. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear."

For a moment, the silence hangs heavy between you, broken only by the sound of your own rapid breathing. And then, without warning, Ellie's features soften, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"It's okay," she says softly, her voice like a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. 

As Ellie's soft smile spreads across her face, her pearly whites making an appearance, a sense of relief washes over you like a warm embrace. Your shoulders drop from where they had taken a place beside your ears, and tension leaks out of you like butter in a baking croissant. The weight that had been pressing down on you lifted away like a heavy fog dispersing in the morning sun.

"Thanks," you murmur, gratitude lacing your words as you meet Ellie's gaze once more. Her eyes hold a warmth that makes your heart flutter, a silent reassurance that everything is okay between you.

With a playful glint in her eye, Ellie leans closer, her voice a soft whisper falling from her plump lips that sends shivers down your spine. "You know," she says, her tone teasing, "I don't mind being called babe."

Your heart skips a beat at her words.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you lean in, unable to resist the magnetic pull of Ellie's presence. "Good to know," you reply, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I'll try to remember that for next time."

As the last of the tension melts away like butter as it’s baked into the delicious treats you make, you and Ellie dive into the joyful task of baking red velvet cupcakes together. With each step of the recipe, you find yourselves falling into a comfortable rhythm, working seamlessly together as if you've been doing this for years.

The scent of cocoa and vanilla fills the air as you and Ellie chat and laugh, exchanging stories and getting to know each other on a deeper level. From childhood memories to dreams for the future, you two open your hearts and minds to each other. 

As the cupcakes bake in the oven, you steal glances at Ellie, admiring the way her eyes light up when she talks about her passions and the infectious laughter that bubbles up from within her. 

And when the cupcakes are finally cooled and ready, their red tops gleaming with perfection, you and Ellie decorate the cupcakes with swirls of cream cheese frosting and a sprinkle of red velvet crumbs together, playfully bumping shoulders and laughing at Ellie’s attempts at decorating. 

As you sit down to enjoy the fruits of your labor, savoring each bite of the moist, decadent cupcakes, you realize that this is just the beginning of a beautiful friendship—and perhaps something more. 

[ask-enchantingdelights]

"Since it's from our Magic Special Menu, it's a little well...special! It's big size also contains a big spicy KICK, so I really hope you're a spicy lover, heh heh."

"Besides being a nice treat to bite into to heal any Pokemon dealing with Paralysis effect, it can really help if your mind is running wild with too many thoughts. Those spicy flavors really make you stop for a moment because Pokemon either love the flavor or it's just so HOT! But, that little moment have helped other's settle down afterward and not feel stuck anymore and make a decision they've been stuck on. Some have said they suddenly gained a small boost of courage to tackle a situation that was scary before."

She provides some napkins and a couple eating eating utensils to the mew.

"I've seen some smaller Pokemon challenging each other to see how fast they can eat one, and they end up in tears for one reason or another. But it's a nice pastry to share too. There's one more thing I'm forgetting....OH! If you're able, try to store it somewhere away from the air, the effects I mentioned start to fade if you leave it out half eaten."

Dish's Profile: A larger than average red velvet cupcake, with cinnamon cream cheese frosting, sprinkled with dried Cheri berry flakes, and topped with a chunk of dried Cheri berry in the shape of a Cheri blossom.

The dryness of the Cheri berry brings out a more concentrated flavor that shocks the consumer with a strong spicy kick. The spicy palette mixes with the sweet bread, create a pleasant bite that help ease feelings that may be overwhelming the consumer.

@mezuni-and-willow

[sanjoongie]

𝒟𝒶𝓎 𝐸𝓁𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃~ 𝒫𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓈𝑒

The Menu

❤️Pairing: boss! Kang Yeosang x employee! Reader (f)

❤️Au: bakery au

❤️Trope: boss/employee

❤️Genre: smut

❤️Rating: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

❤️Warnings: praise kink, dom!reader, sub!yeosang, pain kink, semi-public sex, DO NOT HAVE SEX IN A KITCHEN THAT'S SO UNSANITARY BRO, oral (f), hair tugging, breast play

❤️Word Count: 1,394

❤️Summary: when you praise your boss rather forcefully, yeosang pursues a more carnal activity in the kitchen

❤️Day Ten: Mingi| Masterlist | Day Twelve: San 💛

“Yeosang, I’m ready for you to show me how you fill the piping bags for these cupcakes because the last time I attempted it, it was a disaster,” You round the corner with your tray of red-velvet cupcakes.

When Yeosang doesn’t answer, you put down your tray and go find him. Usually, the head bakery chef was in his head while he completed his projects, so you had to be gentle about the way you got his attention. Otherwise, there’d be a cake on the floor.

You swiftly go towards the benches used for frosting and finally find your boss. He was contemplating his job on a special order cake. He cocked his head and shook it. “That’s not right,” he murmured to himself.

“Yeosang, it’s beautiful!’ You covered your mouth in awe.

He had prepared a mirror glaze with an aurora theme, and it was simply the most gorgeous thing you had ever seen in your entire life.

Yeosang’s eyes widened upon your statement. He ducked his head, and you spotted his cheeks becoming pink. “Oh no, I think I got the coloring incorrect. I’ll need to start again.”

You clucked your tongue in annoyance. Your boss was always his worst critique. He cared so much that he always wanted the cakes he made to be utter perfection for the person receiving them.

“You will do no such thing,” you frowned.

Yeosang sent you a kind, fond smile. “Who’s the boss here?”

You made a noise of frustration. “But Yeosang! Your art is amazing! There’s nothing wrong with this. You got the green’s and purple’s perfectly. Your talent is unparalleled. That’s why I applied to this bakery? To learn from the best.

Yeosang laughed nervously and then schooled his features quickly. “I’d tell my boss he’s the best too.”

Your body moved without another thought. You grabbed Yeosang’s face tightly. “Don’t you dare make light of what I said. I do not flatter, I simply speak the truth.”

Yeosang’s eyes were wide again in surprise. You couldn't believe you just did that to your boss.

You were quick to drop your hands and apologize. “Just don’t throw out the cake. I can at least sell it at half price as a happy accident, okay? Now, please, can you show me how to fill the piping bag properly?”

You stared down at the floor, wringing your hands in anxiety. You really had gone too far. Perhaps you should start typing up a resignation letter quickly before--

Yeosang’s large, gentle hands encompassed your own. He brought them back up to his cheeks. “Do that again.”

You eyed your boss warily. “Yeosang.”

“Please,” Yeosang murmured. “Be forceful and praise me. I liked it.”

“Yeosang…” This time, your tone took a cautious turn. “We can’t…”

Yeosang squared his shoulders. “I’m the boss, right? We can if we’re both consensual.”

Your hand tightened against Yeosang’s jaw, pushing into his flesh. “You are an amazing chef, the likes of which should be lauded for his talent.”

Yeosang whimpered in response. “More,” he whispered.

“Your cakes only rival your own looks, in beauty and visual aesthetic. If anyone was so lucky to receive your affections, and your baked goods, they would be the luckiest person on this planet,” You continued.

Yeosang swallowed loudly when you released him. You could see that the gears were turning in his head, and then he turned around to clear the stainless steel counter of all the utensils. “I’m good at other things, too. You know.” His hand patted the counter suggestively.

“Yeosang, this is--are you sure? What if someone--”

“You and I both know that the shop doesn’t open for another couple of hours. My cakes are already finished and I can help you with the cupcakes. Now, please. Hike up your cute little skirt, and let me show you how good I am at giving head.”

The quiet determination emanating from Yeosang, paired with the delicate trembling for what was to come, was all the convincing you needed.

You slipped your panties off, stuffing them into your apron front pocket, and pulled up your skirt. You put your ass to the counter and settle your palms down on the cold surface to haul yourself up. Yeosang’s hands encircled your waist and helped you, moving his body between your legs.

He reached down, almost reverently, grabbing your socked ankle and lifting one of your legs up so your foot was on the counter. It opened your body up to reveal your cunt.

Yeosang made a desperate but deep-toned noise at the reveal and fell to his knees immediately. His thumbs parted your outer lips and he dove into your pussy like it was the dessert he was most eager to consume.

You bit down on your finger to contain the moan that threatened to spill from your lips as Yeosang licked you. His technique wasn’t tentative at all; in fact, his nose continued to flirt with your clit as his tongue circled your hole and teased it.

You quickly remembered you had your own task, so you went to work. “Oh god, Yeosang, that’s it. You’re licking me so well.”

Yeosang’s licking stuttered as his body jolted from his reaction to your praise. Still he continued to trace your inner lips with his tongue.

“Oh god, your handsome face looks so good between my legs, yes, just like that, Sangie,” you cooed.

A garbled groan vibrated deep in Yeosang’s throat. His tongue began to thrust into your hole, slowly opening you up with the wet appendage.

You cast your head back, reveling in the way you were feeling right now. Yeosang wasn’t lying when he said he was good at giving head.

“Such a good little pussy licker, aren’t you, Sangie? You love being between my legs that much, hmmm? Were you meant to simply be a throne for my cunt? Cuz your tongue feels amazing in me.”

Yeosang, somehow, became even more enthusiastic in his pussy-eating. He wrapped both arms around your legs so that he could rub his face against your cunt. His tongue flicked at your clit rapidly.

Your engorged flesh was ripe to be licked, and it took everything in you to maintain your brain cells and continue to praise him. You did run your hand through his hair and use your other free hand to play with your breast.

“That’s it, play with my clit and make me feel good, Yeosang. No one has ever eaten me out like this, oh god, you’re going to ruin me for any other man, this is like heaven.”

You lightly pulled Yeosang’s hair as he coaxed you towards a climax. You pinched your nipple, pulling and playing with it to only aid in the pleasure you were feeling in this moment.

Soon, you were resorted to short, simple sentences like “yeah, just like that, Sangie” and “fuck, feels so good”, unable to wax poetic anymore.

But Yeosang was focused on his purpose. His tongue was working quickly against your clit and you could feel your climax soon approaching. You were about to tell him as such, when as if he had a connection to your brain, he sucked harshly on your clit and you came.

You squished his face with your thighs. Yeosang didn’t stop you, even though he was fully capable of pushing your thighs back apart. You had a sneaky suspicion he enjoyed the pressure.

“Holy fuck,” You cursed. “Yeosang, I--” You let out a shaky laugh.

Yeosang stood up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Don’t you dare say that was a one-time only freebie.”

Your mouth stayed open in shock. “Uhhh?”

Yeosang’s eyebrows furrowed with worry. “Please. Please, please, please. I could do so much more for you.”

You pursed your lips to one side and then grinned as an idea formed. “Only if you can compliment yourself once a day on your talents.”

Yeosang was nodding his head quickly, without another thought. “Absolutely. I can do that. Without a doubt.”

You laughed under your breath. He'd probably pretend that he hadn't agreed to that tomorrow, cutely scratching his head like nothing bounced around in that gorgeous head of his, but you knew better. Your boss pretended to be an airhead but underneath that exterior was a man who simply enjoyed eating pussy artfully.

❤️Day Ten: Mingi| Masterlist | Day Twelve: San 💛

[amethystarachnid]

Hi! Could I please request part 2 of CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL? First of all, thank you so much for the first part—I absolutely loved it! I adore pure fluff Tony, and I’d love to see how he and the reader prepare for the wedding. The ceremony is full of love and warmth😍 And maybe a honeymoon too? 👀 Totally up to you!

Also, I’m obsessed with your HAPPY TEARS with Steve, so I’m super curious to see how Tony spends his wedding day! 😘 Thank you!

CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL - part II

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Word count: 7k

ᯓ★ Part I | Part III

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): fluff fluff fluff

ᯓ★Uhm guys??? 422 followers??? I can't even explain how happy I am, and it's all thanks to you guys <3 so I wanted to do something special (like the holiday special kind of stuff) but I have absolutely no idea lmao, so if you have any suggestion feel free to comment or send an ask <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

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

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

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

It starts with a cozy night in, the two of you curled up on the couch again, laptops open, surrounded by a chaotic array of wedding magazines, fabric swatches, and a notepad filled with Tony’s increasingly absurd ideas.

“Alright,” you say, balancing your laptop on your knees as you scroll through potential wedding venues. “If we’re doing this Stark-style, it’s gotta be epic. But not so over-the-top that people think we’re filming a movie instead of getting married.”

Tony doesn’t even look up from his own screen. “Epic but not over-the-top? That’s literally my whole brand. Relax, I’ve got this.”

You glance at him over the rim of your glasses, one brow arched. “Do you? Because the last time you ‘got this,’ you suggested the moon as a venue.”

He looks up, feigning offense. “And what’s wrong with the moon? It’s exclusive, it’s got amazing views, and we wouldn’t have to worry about gate crashers.”

“We’d also have to worry about oxygen,” you counter, biting back a smile. “I love you, but I’m not wearing a spacesuit to my own wedding.”

“Fair point,” he concedes, leaning back against the couch and smirking. “Alright, no moon. But hear me out—what about Lake Como? Gorgeous scenery, plenty of luxury villas, and no space helmets required.”

You pause, considering it. “Lake Como… that’s actually not a bad idea.”

Tony snaps his fingers, looking smug. “Of course it’s not. I’m a genius.”

The planning spirals from there. Within hours, you’ve gone from casually browsing venues to booking a private villa overlooking the lake, complete with sprawling gardens, a dock for sunset photos, and enough rooms to house your closest friends and family.

The next day, you find yourself sitting at the kitchen counter, poring over catering options while Tony insists on researching cake flavors. By “researching,” of course, he means ordering samples from every bakery within a hundred-mile radius.

“You realize we could just taste the cakes when we fly to Lake Como,” you point out as he sets yet another box of cupcakes in front of you.

“And you realize this is me we’re talking about, right?” he replies, already peeling the wrapper off a red velvet cupcake. “I’m not leaving anything to chance. Besides, I need to know what’s out there before we start narrowing down the options.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling as you take a bite of the cupcake he hands you. “Okay, fine. But if I gain ten pounds before the wedding, you’re footing the bill for my dress alterations.”

“Deal,” he says with a grin, licking frosting off his finger.

Things escalate quickly after that. Tony throws himself into wedding planning with the same enthusiasm he brings to building a new suit, and while his ideas often verge on ridiculous, you can’t deny that he’s genuinely trying to make this day as perfect as possible. By the end of the week, you’ve picked out invitations (“Minimalist and classy,” you insist, vetoing Tony’s idea of holographic ones), narrowed down a guest list, and even debated the merits of having an ice sculpture at the reception.

The moment that really seals it, though, is when Tony insists on flying to Lake Como to finalize everything in person. “I’m not trusting some random event planner with this,” he declares, scrolling through flights on his tablet. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

Which is how you end up on a private jet a few days later, sipping champagne at 30,000 feet while Tony leans over a stack of cake photos, ranking them on a scale from “delicious” to “life-changing.”

“I still think we should’ve gone with the tiramisu-inspired one,” you say, nibbling on a chocolate-covered strawberry from the platter on the table.

Tony looks up, his expression mock-serious. “Tiramisu is great, but have you considered the social impact of a six-tier chocolate hazelnut masterpiece? It’ll change lives.”

You snort, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he counters, grinning as he reaches over to steal your strawberry.

When you finally land in Italy, the villa takes your breath away. The lake stretches out before you, its surface shimmering in the sunlight, and the gardens are bursting with flowers in every color imaginable. Tony looks around, nodding approvingly. “Not bad,” he says, slipping his sunglasses on. “It’ll do.”

“It’s perfect,” you breathe, spinning slowly to take it all in. “Tony, this is… wow.”

He smirks, clearly pleased with himself. “Told you. Epic but not over-the-top.”

The next few days are a whirlwind of meetings with caterers, florists, and decorators. You try on dresses at a boutique in the charming village nearby while Tony spends an alarming amount of time debating the merits of different napkin folds with the wedding planner. (“They’ll notice,” he insists when you tease him about it. “Trust me.”)

The cake tasting is an event in itself. You’re seated at a long table overlooking the lake, a parade of beautifully decorated cakes laid out before you. Tony, of course, takes this as seriously as he does everything else, meticulously tasting each one and jotting down notes like a food critic.

“This one,” he says, pointing to a slice of lemon raspberry. “It’s light, it’s fresh, it’s got that ‘wow’ factor.”

You nod, trying it yourself. “I like it. But what about the hazelnut one?”

Tony sighs, clearly torn. “They’re both amazing. Maybe we do two cakes?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Of course you’d suggest two cakes.”

“Hey, it’s our wedding,” he says, grinning. “Why not go all out?”

By the time you’ve settled on a menu, chosen floral arrangements, and finalized the seating chart, you’re both exhausted but exhilarated. One night, after a particularly long day of planning, you collapse onto the couch in the villa’s living room, your feet propped up on Tony’s lap.

“This is a lot of work,” you say, letting out a dramatic sigh. “How do people do this without a billionaire fiancé?”

Tony chuckles, massaging your feet as he leans back. “They probably don’t argue over napkin folds for three hours.”

“You started it,” you remind him, grinning.

“And I stand by it,” he replies, smirking. “But seriously, we’re killing it. This is going to be the wedding of the century.”

You smile, reaching out to take his hand. “As long as I’m marrying you, it’ll be perfect.”

He squeezes your hand, his expression softening. “Ditto.”

The days fly by, and before you know it, you’re boarding the jet back to New York, your heads buzzing with ideas and plans. The wedding is shaping up to be everything you dreamed of and more, and as you settle into your seat, Tony leans over to kiss your temple.

“Ready to make this official?” he murmurs.

You turn to him, your heart swelling with love and excitement. “I’ve been ready since the day you asked me.”

The announcement of your engagement predictably sets off a media firestorm. After all, Tony Stark isn’t just any billionaire—he’s the billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist who swore he’d never settle down. And now he’s planning a wedding? It’s enough to send every tabloid, gossip site, and high-end magazine into overdrive.

Your phones are bombarded with calls from reporters, PR teams, and acquaintances who haven’t spoken to either of you in years. Headlines splash across screens with phrases like “Iron Man Off the Market!” and “Tony Stark’s Bride-to-Be: Who Is She, and What Will She Wear?”

Tony, of course, thrives in the chaos. He’s always loved being the center of attention, and the fact that everyone’s buzzing about the wedding seems to amuse him endlessly.

“Look at this,” he says one morning, lounging on the couch with a tablet in hand. He’s still in his pajama pants, his hair sticking out in every direction, but his grin is pure Tony Stark. “Page Six thinks we’re hosting the wedding on a private island. They’re speculating if we’ll helicopter the guests in or just use a fleet of yachts.”

You glance over your coffee cup at him, unimpressed. “And they’re wrong. Again. Are you keeping track of how many ridiculous rumors they’ve printed so far?”

“Seventeen,” he says cheerfully. “And counting.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “I still can’t believe people care this much. It’s just a wedding.”

“Our wedding,” Tony corrects, setting the tablet aside. “The Stark name alone guarantees headlines, but throw in the mystery of you and the fact that we’re not doing some flashy billionaire extravaganza? It’s like catnip for the press.”

He’s not wrong. The media frenzy reaches new heights when it leaks that you’re not wearing a designer wedding gown. For days, every major fashion house seems to issue statements claiming they would have been honored to dress you. Some are downright offended, their outrage thinly veiled in press releases about how they “support individuality in brides” while clearly implying they can’t believe you’d snub them.

You, however, couldn’t care less. Months ago, during one of your trips to Lake Como to finalize wedding plans, you stumbled upon a small boutique in a quiet village just off the beaten path. The seamstress, an older woman with a warm smile and a sharp eye, had insisted on making your dress after hearing you talk about your love for simple elegance. She’d shown you sketches, swatches of delicate fabrics, and handmade lace, and by the end of the meeting, you’d been sold.

“It’s perfect,” you’d told her, running your fingers over the soft fabric she’d shown you. “Exactly what I want.”

And now, even as the world speculates about your decision, you stand by it. You can’t imagine wearing anything else.

Tony, though, is another story. He’s been obsessively trying to sneak a peek at the dress ever since you mentioned it, and he’s not exactly subtle about it.

“Come on,” he says one afternoon, sidling up to you in the kitchen where you’re scrolling through your email. He leans against the counter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just show me a picture. One tiny little photo. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

You don’t even look up. “Nope.”

He groans dramatically, flopping down onto a barstool like you’ve just broken his heart. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

“You’ll survive,” you reply, smirking.

“Will I, though?” he counters, leaning forward. “I’m a very visual person. How am I supposed to mentally prepare for this wedding if I don’t know what you’ll look like walking down the aisle?”

“Use your imagination,” you suggest, scrolling past an ad for floral arrangements.

“I am,” he says, grinning. “But it would be way easier if you’d just give me a hint. Is it white? Off-white? Does it have lace? Beading? A cape?”

You laugh, finally glancing up at him. “A cape? Seriously?”

“Hey, I’ve seen stranger things,” he says, holding up his hands defensively. “You never know.”

“Nice try,” you say, patting his cheek before turning back to your laptop. “But you’re not seeing it until the wedding.”

Tony doesn’t give up easily, of course. Over the next few days, he tries everything from bribing you with your favorite snacks to kissing you senseless in an attempt to distract you long enough to sneak a glance at your phone.

One evening, you’re curled up on the couch when he tries a new tactic. “What if I guess?” he asks, turning to face you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “If I get it right, you have to show me.”

“Good luck with that,” you say, smirking.

He narrows his eyes, studying you like you’re a puzzle he’s determined to solve. “Okay. Is it strapless?”

“Not telling.”

“Long train?”

“Still not telling.”

“Some kind of vintage vibe?” he asks, leaning closer like he’s about to crack the code.

You just smile innocently, refusing to give anything away.

Tony groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” you reply, grinning as you lean in to kiss him.

Meanwhile, the media isn’t taking the news about the no-press rule any better than Tony’s taking your refusal to show him the dress. The announcement is met with everything from outrage to confusion, with some outlets even speculating that the wedding isn’t happening at all.

“It’s hilarious,” Tony says one morning, reading a headline aloud. “‘Stark Wedding Cloaked in Secrecy: Is This All Just a Publicity Stunt?’ They’re acting like we’re planning a covert operation.”

“Well, you are Iron Man,” you point out, sipping your coffee. “Maybe they think we’re staging the wedding in a bunker.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Tony says, grinning. “Really throw them off the scent.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No bunkers. And no reporters. This is our day, Tony. Not theirs.”

He reaches across the table, taking your hand. “I know. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The days leading up to the wedding are chaotic but exhilarating. Between finalizing last-minute details and fielding questions from your friends and family, you barely have time to breathe. But through it all, Tony keeps things light, his humor and unwavering support reminding you why you fell in love with him in the first place.

And even though he’s still dying to see the dress, he respects your decision to keep it a secret. Mostly.

One night, as you’re lying in bed, he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “I could just hack your email and find the picture myself.”

You laugh, swatting his chest. “Don’t you dare.”

He grins, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Fine. I’ll wait. But just so you know, the suspense is killing me.”

“It’ll be worth it,” you promise, snuggling into his side. “I promise.”

As you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but smile, knowing that no matter what the media says or how many absurd rumors they print, the only thing that really matters is that you’re marrying the man you love. And on your wedding day, when Tony finally sees you in that dress, you know it’ll all be worth it.

When the countdown to the wedding day dwindles to single digits, the two of you make your way back to Lake Como. The villa looks even more beautiful than you remembered, draped in flowers and golden sunlight as preparations kick into full swing. You can hardly believe it’s all happening so soon.

The day before the wedding, your dress finally arrives. It’s carefully packaged and transported from the little boutique in the village, the seamstress herself bringing it to the villa. She fusses over you like a proud grandmother as she helps you slip into it for the very first time.

In the mirror, you catch your breath.

The dress is everything you dreamed it would be. Soft, elegant lace hugs your body in all the right places, cascading into a flowing skirt that feels like it was made from clouds. Delicate beading glimmers subtly in the light, and the handcrafted details are so intricate, they could bring you to tears. You touch the fabric reverently, as if you can’t quite believe it’s real.

“You look stunning,” the seamstress says, her voice warm and pleased. She adjusts a pin here, a hem there, her skilled hands making sure everything is perfect. “Tony will not know what to do with himself.”

At the mention of Tony, you smile, imagining the way his jaw will drop when he sees you in this. But then your smile turns mischievous because you can also picture how frustrated he’d be if he knew you were trying the dress on without him.

True to your “no peeking” rule, Tony is relegated to the other end of the villa. You’d been firm about it—he wasn’t allowed anywhere near you or the dress until the ceremony.

That doesn’t stop him from trying.

A little while later, as you’re standing in the room where you’ve been hiding the dress, you hear a soft knock on the door. You frown, glancing at the seamstress, who gives you a knowing look before slipping out the side door to give you some privacy.

You crack the door open cautiously, already suspecting who it is.

“Tony,” you say, narrowing your eyes when you find him leaning casually against the doorframe. He’s dressed in a fitted suit—dark slacks and a crisp button-down shirt—but there’s nothing formal about the way he’s smirking at you.

“Just checking in,” he says, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “I wanted to make sure you haven’t run off.”

You snort, crossing your arms. “I’m not going anywhere. But you’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m not in the room,” he points out, tilting his head. “I’m just near it. Totally different.”

“Not different enough.” You start to close the door, but he stops you with a hand on the edge, his grin widening.

“Come on,” he says, his voice dropping into that smooth, coaxing tone he knows you have a hard time resisting. “Just a little peek. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Absolutely not.” You try to sound firm, but you can’t help laughing at how persistent he is. “You’ll see the dress tomorrow. Until then, you’re staying out of this room.”

“Alright, fine,” he relents, stepping back with a sigh. But then he winks. “Just know that the suspense is killing me.”

As he walks away, you shake your head, still smiling. You’ve known Tony long enough to expect this kind of behavior, but it only makes you love him more.

The next morning, the villa is alive with activity. The air buzzes with excitement as everyone prepares for the big day. Florists scurry around, perfecting the arrangements, while the catering team sets up tables under the canopy of twinkling lights. Somewhere in the distance, you can hear the faint strains of music as the band rehearses.

In the bridal suite, you’re surrounded by your closest friends and family as you get ready. The room is a flurry of makeup brushes, champagne glasses, and heartfelt laughter. Your dress hangs nearby, carefully draped on a mannequin, waiting for the final moment when you’ll put it on.

You glance at your phone, where a series of texts from Tony light up the screen:

Tony: How’s it going over there? Tony: Are you wearing the dress yet? Tony: I’m starving. Can I come steal some snacks? Tony: Okay, fine. I miss you. This no-seeing-you thing is stupid.

You laugh, typing out a quick response:

You: No, you can’t come over. It’s tradition. Suck it up.

A reply comes almost instantly:

Tony: Traditions are overrated. I’m breaking in and stealing you.

Shaking your head, you put your phone down and focus on getting ready. A stylist adjusts the loose waves in your hair, pinning them back just enough to keep them off your face while leaving the rest to cascade over your shoulders. Your makeup is soft and natural, just enough to highlight your features without overpowering them.

When the moment finally comes to put on the dress, everyone falls silent. Your heart races as the seamstress—who’s been invited to attend the wedding as a guest—helps you into it, her hands steady and confident. The fabric feels as weightless as a dream, and when you turn to look in the mirror, your breath catches all over again.

The room erupts in gasps and whispers of awe. Your best friend wipes away a tear, and your mother clasps her hands to her mouth, her eyes shining with emotion.

“You look incredible,” someone says, but their voice is distant, almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

It’s real. This is happening. You’re getting married.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the villa, Tony is pacing in his own suite, clearly struggling with the whole “no seeing each other before the ceremony” rule. Happy sits in the corner, shaking his head as Tony mutters under his breath.

“This is ridiculous,” Tony says, tugging at the collar of his suit jacket. “Why can’t I just go see her? It’s not like we’re superstitious.”

“It’s tradition,” Happy reminds him for what feels like the hundredth time. “And you agreed to it, remember?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Tony grumbles. “What if she’s freaking out? What if she needs me?”

Happy raises an eyebrow. “Do you really think she’s freaking out? She’s probably fine. You, on the other hand…”

Tony stops pacing, running a hand through his hair. “I just— I don’t know. I hate not knowing what’s going on. And I hate waiting.”

Happy chuckles. “Welcome to marriage.”

The ceremony takes place under a golden sunset that casts the shores of Lake Como in warm, radiant hues. The guests are seated in an intimate garden surrounded by flowers and soft candlelight. A gentle breeze carries the scent of jasmine and roses through the air, mingling with the faint strains of the string quartet playing softly in the background.

Tony stands at the end of the aisle, uncharacteristically still. For a man who thrives on control and confidence, he looks both out of place and exactly where he’s meant to be. His suit fits him perfectly—because, of course, it’s custom-made—but it’s his expression that stands out. His usual cocky smirk is nowhere to be found, replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable. His eyes are locked on the end of the aisle, where he knows you’ll appear any second now.

When the music shifts, signaling your arrival, everyone turns. You step into view, your dress catching the light in a way that seems almost otherworldly. Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure everyone can hear it, but the second you meet Tony’s gaze, the world narrows to just the two of you. His mouth falls open slightly, and he visibly swallows, blinking as though he’s trying to commit every detail to memory.

The aisle feels impossibly long and yet too short at the same time. Your steps are measured, your arm looped through your father’s, but all you can focus on is Tony. When you finally reach him, your father gently squeezes your hand before stepping back, leaving the two of you standing together.

“You look…” Tony starts, but he trails off, shaking his head as though words fail him. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s barely restraining himself from pulling you into his arms right then and there. Finally, he settles for whispering, “You’re breathtaking.”

“Back at you, Stark,” you reply, grinning as you squeeze his hands.

The officiant begins the ceremony, but it’s hard to focus on anything except Tony’s gaze, which never leaves yours. There are laughs when the officiant makes a joke about how unexpected it is to see Tony Stark—the man who swore off commitment—standing here, and a few sniffles when he talks about the journey that brought the two of you together.

When it’s time for the vows, Tony goes first. He clears his throat, looking unusually nervous, which only makes you smile.

“Okay,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck before taking both of your hands in his. “So, I’m not exactly the best at this whole heartfelt speech thing. I usually rely on charm and wit to get me through emotional situations. But… I guess that won’t work here, huh?”

The guests laugh softly, and Tony takes a deep breath before continuing. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and that’s coming from a guy who’s built flying suits and saved the world a few times. You make everything better—me, my life, the world. And I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I do know I’m not letting you go. Ever. You’re my everything, and I promise to keep proving that to you every single day.”

There’s a collective “aww” from the crowd, and you have to blink back tears as you smile at him.

When it’s your turn, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “Tony, you are the most infuriating, brilliant, and wonderful person I’ve ever met. You challenge me, you support me, and you love me in ways I never thought possible. You’ve shown me that love isn’t about perfection—it’s about choosing each other, every single day, even when things get messy. I choose you, Tony. I’ll always choose you.”

Tony’s eyes shine with unshed tears as you finish, and you hear a few sniffles from the audience. The officiant smiles, asking for the rings, which Pepper hands over with a wink.

When the vows are complete, the officiant pronounces you husband and wife. Tony doesn’t wait for permission; he pulls you into a kiss that’s so tender, so full of love, that it feels like time stops. The guests cheer, but all you can hear is the pounding of your heart and the soft, warm press of his lips against yours.

At the reception, the energy is electric. The villa’s gardens have been transformed into a magical setting, with fairy lights strung through the trees and tables adorned with elegant floral arrangements. The food is exquisite, as expected, and the champagne flows freely.

Tony is in his element, mingling with guests, cracking jokes, and stealing kisses from you whenever he gets the chance. You’ve just finished an amazing meal—one that includes truffle pasta and a heavenly risotto—when the band announces a special performance.

Tony stands, dramatically clinking his glass to get everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, smirking as he loosens his tie, “it’s time for a little entertainment. And no, I don’t mean another Stark tech demonstration. This one’s just for my wife.”

Your eyes narrow suspiciously, but you can’t hide your grin. “What are you up to, Stark?”

“You’ll see,” he says, winking before heading to the center of the dance floor.

The music shifts to something sultry yet playful, and Tony begins to dance. At first, it’s surprisingly smooth—he’s clearly put some effort into this—but then it starts getting ridiculous. He throws in dramatic spins, over-the-top gestures, and even a few hip thrusts that make you laugh so hard you have to wipe tears from your eyes.

By the time he finishes with a ridiculous flourish, the guests are on their feet, clapping and cheering. Tony returns to your side, grinning like a kid who’s just pulled off the prank of the century.

“That was… something,” you say, still laughing as you pull him into a hug.

“Only the best for you, Mrs. Stark,” he replies, pressing a kiss to your temple.

After the dance, it’s time for the cake. It’s a towering masterpiece of chocolate, caramel, and gold leaf, and when you and Tony cut into it together, the crowd erupts in cheers. Tony, of course, can’t resist smearing a little frosting on your nose, and you retaliate by smearing some on his cheek. The photos are sure to be priceless.

As the night winds down, the guests begin to trickle away, leaving just the two of you. You stand on the edge of the garden, looking out over the lake, the lights reflecting off the water like a scene from a dream.

“Well, Mrs. Stark,” Tony says, wrapping his arms around you from behind, “how does it feel to be officially stuck with me?”

You laugh, leaning back against him. “It feels perfect.”

“Good,” he says, nuzzling your neck. “Because this is just the beginning.”

When you finally retreat to the villa for the night, the excitement of the day lingers in the air. The room is dimly lit with candles, and the soft scent of roses fills the space. Tony takes your hand, pulling you close as he whispers, “Ready to start forever?”

You nod, smiling up at him. “Ready.”

Preparing for your honeymoon with Tony is an adventure in itself. The idea of spending weeks together on a luxury cruise, hopping between breathtaking destinations, sounds like a dream. But with Tony Stark involved, even the most straightforward plans take on a chaotic, hilarious, and deeply charming twist.

It starts with the packing. Tony has promised—on his honor, no less—that he won’t talk about work or tinker with his suits during the entire honeymoon. You’re skeptical, of course, but he insists he’s serious.

“You think I can’t relax?” he asks, dramatically throwing a shirt into his suitcase. “I’ll show you relaxing. I’m going to be so relaxed, people will worry about me.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning against the doorway to his closet. “Uh-huh. And how many suits have you snuck onto the ship already?”

“None!” he exclaims, looking genuinely offended. “Zero suits. Nada. Zilch. Just me, my charming personality, and an array of tasteful resort wear.”

You can’t help laughing at that. “You? Tasteful resort wear? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Tony smirks, crossing the room to pull you into his arms. “Keep doubting me, sweetheart. It just makes it more fun to prove you wrong.”

When it comes time to pack your own bags, Tony is—predictably—less than helpful. He hovers as you fold clothes, offering unhelpful suggestions like, “Do you really need that many shoes? You only have two feet,” and, “If we’re on a ship, do you think swimwear counts as acceptable dinner attire?”

Finally, you shoo him out of the room, promising to meet him downstairs once you’re finished. True to form, he makes an exit that involves exaggerated sighs and complaints about being “a misunderstood husband.”

The morning of your departure arrives, and the energy is palpable. The cruise Tony booked isn’t just any cruise—it’s a floating paradise with every imaginable luxury. There’s a private suite, gourmet dining, world-class spa treatments, and an itinerary that includes stops at some of the most beautiful places in the world.

“Did you see the pictures of the suite?” Tony asks as the two of you board the ship. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, which is both adorable and mildly concerning. “It’s got a hot tub on the balcony. A hot tub, Y/N! On a boat! It’s like science and luxury had a baby.”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “I saw the pictures. It looks amazing.”

“And wait until you see the restaurant menus,” he continues. “They’ve got a chef who does molecular gastronomy. I mean, it’s a cruise, but they’re serving food that looks like it came out of a lab. That’s my kind of vacation.”

Despite his excitement, you catch him sneaking a glance at his phone more than once during check-in. It’s clear he’s tempted to check his emails or fiddle with something Stark-related, but you don’t call him out on it. Yet.

The first day on the ship is nothing short of magical. The suite is even more impressive in person, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer sweeping views of the ocean. True to Tony’s word, there’s a hot tub on the balcony, as well as a plush lounge area where the two of you immediately collapse after unpacking.

“Alright,” Tony says, lying back with his hands behind his head. “First order of business: relaxation. What’s next?”

“Relaxation doesn’t have orders,” you tease, sitting beside him. “You just… relax.”

He makes a skeptical face. “Seems inefficient. But okay.”

To your surprise, Tony takes to cruise life remarkably well. The first couple of days are spent indulging in everything the ship has to offer—long, lazy breakfasts on your private balcony, couples’ massages at the spa, and afternoon naps in the sun. He keeps his promise about work, too, although there are a few close calls.

One evening, as the two of you are sitting in a lounge enjoying cocktails, he starts rambling about some new tech idea.

“So, I was thinking,” he says, gesturing with his drink. “What if we—”

You cut him off with a raised eyebrow. “What was the promise, Tony?”

He pauses mid-sentence, then groans dramatically. “Fine. No work talk. But just so you know, I’m going to forget this genius idea by the time we get home.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” you reply, grinning.

As the ship makes its way to its first port of call, you fall into an easy rhythm. Days are spent exploring the destinations—wandering through charming coastal towns, lounging on pristine beaches, and taking in breathtaking views. Tony insists on treating you to the best of everything, whether it’s a private wine tasting at a hillside vineyard or a helicopter tour of the islands.

“Only the best for Mrs. Stark,” he says with a wink, handing you a glass of champagne at one point.

“You do realize I’d be happy with just a quiet walk on the beach, right?” you tease, but he shakes his head.

“Nope. Not on my watch. You’re getting the full Stark experience.”

Despite his penchant for extravagance, Tony seems genuinely happy just being with you. He holds your hand as you stroll through markets, points out landmarks with boyish enthusiasm, and makes you laugh until your sides hurt.

At night, the two of you return to the ship, where you share intimate dinners, dance under the stars, and curl up on the balcony to watch the waves.

One of the highlights of the trip is a stop at a secluded island, where Tony has arranged for a private day just for the two of you. There’s a cabana set up on the beach, complete with comfortable lounge chairs, a table for two, and a chilled bottle of champagne waiting.

“This is ridiculous,” you say, laughing as Tony leads you to the cabana. “In the best way.”

“Ridiculously romantic,” he corrects, pulling you into a hug. “Admit it—you love it.”

You do, of course, but you pretend to think about it for a moment before replying. “It’s alright, I guess.”

Tony scoffs, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. I marry you, whisk you away to paradise, and this is the thanks I get?”

You laugh, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. It’s perfect.”

The day is spent swimming in the crystal-clear water, lounging in the cabana, and sharing a delicious meal prepared by a private chef. By the time the sun sets, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you feel completely at peace.

Tony wraps an arm around you as you sit on the beach together, watching the waves lap at the shore. “You know,” he says, his voice soft, “I could get used to this.”

“Used to what?” you ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Not thinking about work. Just… being here. With you.” He pauses, then adds with a smirk, “But don’t tell anyone I said that. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you reply, smiling.

As the cruise continues, the two of you grow even closer, sharing moments that range from hilariously ridiculous (like Tony attempting to teach you how to play poker in the ship’s casino) to deeply romantic (like dancing barefoot on your balcony under a blanket of stars). By the time the honeymoon comes to an end, it feels like the two of you have created a lifetime’s worth of memories.

“You know,” Tony says as the ship pulls into its final port, “I think I could actually do this whole ‘relaxation’ thing more often.”

“Really?” you tease. “No suits? No gadgets? Just us?”

He grins, pulling you into a kiss. “Just us.”

Returning to the hustle and bustle of life after the honeymoon feels surreal. The warm glow of relaxation clings to you both, and even Tony seems slower to dive back into work. You’ve settled into the penthouse, unpacking and sifting through souvenirs from the cruise—a little sunburnt but completely content.

The first morning back, Tony’s sprawled on the couch in sweatpants, eating leftover pizza with a sort of smug satisfaction. He looks at you from over the crust of his slice as you sort through a pile of mail on the coffee table. “So, Mrs. Stark,” he says, voice full of mischief. “Back to reality or another vacation?”

You smirk at him, tying your hair into a messy bun. “You’ve been spoiled enough for one honeymoon. Time to work, billionaire.”

“Cruel,” he murmurs dramatically, though his eyes are warm as he watches you. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be to focus on work now? Every time I look at my desk, I’ll remember that sunset in Santorini and think, ‘Why am I not with her instead?’”

You toss a throw pillow at him, laughing. “Well, if you need extra motivation to stay home, there’s plenty of laundry that needs folding.”

“Tempting,” he deadpans. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Later that afternoon, Pepper stops by with a stack of folders and updates from Stark Industries. She and Tony disappear into his office for what’s supposed to be a quick briefing, leaving you to scroll through your phone on the couch. You’re mid-yawn when a ping from a group chat grabs your attention.

Your best friend: OMG Y/N LOOK AT THIS. A second later, there’s a link attached to the message. Frowning, you click it—and your stomach drops.

It’s an article from a celebrity gossip site. The headline screams: “Tony Stark and New Bride’s Honeymoon Pics Will Make You Believe in Love Again!” Below it is a slideshow of photos from your honeymoon, clearly taken by a very determined paparazzo. The images range from shots of you and Tony laughing during a candlelit dinner to more intimate moments: Tony resting his head on your shoulder during a sunset cruise, your hand resting lightly on his chest while you both lounge by the pool.

But the most infuriating ones are the beach pictures. There you are in your swimsuit—smiling, carefree, and utterly oblivious to the fact that someone was pointing a camera at you. The comments beneath the article are already flooded with reactions, mostly admiring your figure and gushing over how “down-to-earth and gorgeous” you look.

You’re still scrolling when Tony emerges from his office, arms full of files. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s—” He stops mid-sentence when he sees the expression on your face. “Uh-oh. What happened?”

Wordlessly, you hold up your phone, and Tony squints at the screen. His jaw tightens as he processes the headline and the pictures.

“Son of a—” He cuts himself off, his free hand curling into a fist. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Paparazzi on a cruise? What, did they sneak onboard as stowaways?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, setting the phone down. “But it’s… weird, right? I didn’t even see anyone with cameras.”

Tony drops the files on the coffee table, sitting down beside you with a frown. “They’re like cockroaches,” he says darkly. “Show up where you least expect them, and then they won’t leave you alone.”

You glance at him, chewing your lip. “I don’t mind people seeing us happy, but… the beach photos? It’s invasive.”

Tony’s arm snakes around your shoulders, pulling you close. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this crap. I’m calling legal.”

You stop him before he can grab his phone. “No, Tony. Let’s not make this bigger than it already is. It’ll blow over.”

He looks at you skeptically. “Blow over? Do you know the internet? This isn’t going away until people have analyzed every grain of sand in those pictures.”

You laugh despite yourself, leaning into him. “I’m serious. Let’s just ignore it. It’s not like they caught us doing anything embarrassing.”

Tony snorts. “Says you. I look like a smug beach towel in half of these pictures.”

“Smug beach towel?” you repeat, grinning.

“Don’t laugh. It’s a serious concern.” He tilts his head to give you a mock-serious look, but the teasing glint in his eyes betrays him. “Also, for the record, I don’t love the way half the internet is swooning over my wife.”

You blink at him, surprised. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous?” He huffs, though the faint pink tint on his cheeks gives him away. “Of course not. I’m just… territorial. There’s a difference.”

“Uh-huh.” You grin, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Don’t worry, Stark. I only have eyes for you.”

Tony pulls you closer, kissing the side of your head. “Damn right, you do.”

The next few days are a whirlwind of media buzz, but you stick to your plan to ignore it. That doesn’t stop the headlines from escalating, though. Every outlet has something to say, from praising your swimsuit to speculating about how you and Tony stay so “down-to-earth” despite his wealth.

“‘Down-to-earth,’” Tony mutters one evening, scrolling through an article with a raised eyebrow. “Do they know I own a jet with gold seatbelts?”

You laugh from where you’re sprawled across the couch, a bowl of popcorn in your lap. “Maybe they mean me. I’m the relatable one in this relationship.”

Tony looks over at you, pretending to be offended. “You? Relatable? What about me? I’m incredibly relatable.”

“You spent an entire morning arguing with JARVIS about the ideal temperature for orange juice,” you remind him.

“That’s called having standards,” he retorts, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Besides, you married me. That makes you complicit in my ridiculousness.”

“Fair point,” you admit, smirking.

Despite the initial annoyance of the leaked photos, you both manage to laugh about it. Tony even uses the situation as an excuse to post a cheeky comment on one of the gossip sites: “Whoever took these pictures owes me royalties. Also, my wife looks stunning—don’t argue.”

Eventually, the buzz dies down, replaced by the next celebrity scandal. Life begins to return to normal—or as normal as it can be when you’re married to Tony Stark. He dives back into work, though he still makes an effort to carve out time for the two of you. Whether it’s impromptu date nights, lazy mornings in bed, or just sitting together on the couch watching movies, he’s determined to keep the honeymoon phase alive.

One evening, as the two of you are curled up in the penthouse living room, you catch him staring at you with a soft smile.

“What?” you ask, setting down your glass of wine.

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “Just… thinking about how lucky I am.”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks flush with warmth. “You’re such a sap.”

“For you? Always,” he says, pulling you closer.

The world outside may always have an opinion, but within the walls of your home, it’s just the two of you—and that’s all that matters.

a part 3 with baby Starks?