#of course you preheat an oven??

[exopelagic]

I am baking cake at midnight and it is going to kill me <3

[princesssae]

{Chocolate Chip Cookies}

[Megumi Fushiguro x Platonic!Fem!Reader] [Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader]

In Which -> You and eight-year-old Megumi bond after having a hard time sleeping!

Word Count -> 1.3k

Authors Note -> Yayayay I’m SO excited! I love Megumi SO much and I want to write for him more! (Perhaps more fics with him slowly growing up?)

Warnings -> afab!reader, fluff, established relationship with Gojo, not really any warnings but please let me know if there’s anything I should add!

When Gojo Satoru tells you that he has a child, you assumed that the said “child” would be a fur baby. A dog, cat, or even a mouse. But when you start dating him in your final years of high school, you notice that the “child” is actually a child. A human being. And it’s two children, to be precise.

Satoru is a heavy sleeper. His Infinity flickers in the middle of the night so it’s hard to cuddle with him. Tonight is one of those examples. He’s snoring and his limbs are spread all over the bed.

But that’s not what woke you up tonight. Waking up from your slumber, you look at your nightstand. It’s 3:32am. You’re still a bit drowsy, but you’re able to hear the refrigerator door open and shut. A few seconds later, you hear the slight drag of a chair across your wooden floors. You grimace. Hopefully it didn’t scratch the floor.

Is it someone breaking in? No, it can’t be. Their cursed energy feels similar, though. You slowly get out from your side of the bed, slide on your slippers and head to the kitchen.

The sound of your footsteps makes the burglar stop their movement. You turn the corner and you see a child. This child has a bed head and loose, black and yellow Batman pajamas on. You internally laugh. It’s Megumi.

“What are you doing up so late, ‘Gumi?” You ask.

He flinches. He’s eight years old now. It’s been 2 years since you’ve met him, and one year since you’ve moved in with the Gojo-Fushiguro family. You’d like to think that he tolerates you more than Gojo, considering the fact that Gojo likes to mess with poor Megumi often.

Does he think that he’s in trouble? You hope not. All this effort over the past few years can burn in a matter of seconds.

“I wanted milk,” he states. “Because I’m thirsty.” He looks like a kitten on the side of the road. Cute.

You look at the counter and see that there’s only one Pokémon themed plastic cup occupying the space. You look at the fridge and see one of your dining room chairs pressed against the door.

“Did you need help getting the milk?” You ask. He can’t reach, of course. That explains the noise from earlier.

You think of the last time you put the groceries in the refrigerator. It was earlier that day that you remember Satoru wanting to help put the groceries up despite not knowing where everything went. You make a mental note to tell Satoru that the milk should not be tucked away in the back of the refrigerator, where both Tsumiki and Megumi cannot reach. One time, he put the milk in the freezer and you were searching everywhere for it.

You set the chair back in the dining room and rummage through the stack of dumplings and sushi that Gojo begged to get, for himself obviously. Pulling the milk carton from the fridge, you set it down on the counter and let Megumi pour his own amount. He’s old enough and you trust him not to spill it.

Now, the both of y’all are more awake, but still silent. Suddenly, an idea pops in your mind.

“Would you like to make chocolate chip cookies? Tsumiki made the dough but we didn't finish making the batch last night,” you explain.

Megumi’s silent for a few seconds before he speaks up. “Sure,” he says. But before you do anything, you tell Megumi that it’s always proper etiquette to wash your hands before eating and making food in the kitchen.

While he washes his hands, you walk over to the oven and set it out to preheat. Going over to the fridge, you find the dough stashed away and covered from the vegetables sitting on top of it.

Did Gojo try to hide it? You giggle and get the dough out. It doesn’t take long for it to thaw out. You grab the baking pan and set in front of Megumi.

He watches you take a decent amount of cookie dough and roll it into a ball before placing it on the cookie tray. Then, he grabs some dough from the bowl and proceeds to make different shapes before placing them on the sheet. It’s okay though, because they’ll all end up flat anyways.

When y’all are done making the amount of desired cookies, you wash your hands again and take out the chocolate chips. Even though Tsumiki has added more than enough chips, you know Megumi has a sweet tooth. Maybe you’re also feeling a little sugar yourself.

“Would you like to add more chocolate chips to your cookies?” You ask. Megumi nods and takes the chocolate out of your hand. He makes smiley faces on his cookies before he tells you that he’s done.

Then the oven beeps to let you know that it’s done preheating, you grab the cookie tray and set it in the oven. You notice that one of the cookies doesn’t have chocolate chips in it at all. Ah, so that’s what he’s doing, you think.

You pick Megumi up and he punches 10 minutes in the timer on the oven. While the both of y’all wait, you refill his milk and get a glass for yourself. The rest of the time is spent making small talk about school, homework, teachers, his demon dogs, etc.

When the timer ends, you click clear and when you take the tray out of the oven, those golden brown cookies smell so very good. You let them cool down before setting them on a plate, giving the first cookie to Megumi.

After taking the first bite, his eyes close for just a second longer than needed, and that’s how you know that he likes it. When he takes his second cookie, the one without any chocolate in it, he splits it in half and summons his demon dogs. He feeds each of them half of the cookie and pets them for a bit. In the next few minutes, the cookies are gone in a flash and the milk is no longer there. You put the dishes in the sink and tell Megumi not to worry about it, and that you’ll get to it tomorrow.

As you walk him back to his bedroom, you tell him that, “Next time, we’re going to have to give you a glass of water on your nightstand so you don’t make any more noise in the middle of the night.” He laughs at that.

But you both know that neither of you mind these late night shenanigans. As he enters his room, his dogs find their spot on the bed to sleep with him. You watch with a smile, and once he’s settled into bed, you tell him to sleep well and get plenty of rest for the big day tomorrow.

The next morning, you wake up with Gojo screeching his head off and running into your shared bedroom. He shoves the empty plate of cookies in your face, but it’s not entirely empty. Melted chocolate chip residue is the evidence of the cookies you and Megumi enjoyed and savored last night.

Satoru whines and tells you that the next time you make cookies, you should wake him up, no matter what. As you smile in response to Gojo’s complaining, you don’t fail to notice the sly grin on Megumi’s face looking in between the crack of you and Satoru’s bedroom door.

Please do not copy, translate, or alter my work without my permission!

[pucksandpower]

Lover

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: the little (and not so little) ways that you and Charles show your love for each other

You’re in the kitchen, phone pressed to your ear as you listen intently to Charles’ mother give you her famous tiramisu recipe step-by-step. “Now, this next part is very important,” she stresses. “You’ll need one cup of granulated sugar to add to the mascarpone filling.”

“Got it, one cup sugar for the filling,” you confirm.

Pascale chuckles warmly. “I’m so glad Charles has found such a lovely girl who wants to learn my recipes. He’s always loved my tiramisu since he was a little boy.”

You smile, touched by her kind words. You and Charles have been together for a year now, but it still makes your heart flutter to be so accepted into his close-knit family.

“It means so much to me that you’re sharing this recipe with me,” you tell Pascale sincerely.

You chat with her a while longer, going over some of the trickier steps and getting tips on how to best soak the ladyfingers. Finally, you have the full recipe memorized and are ready to give it a try.

“Okay, I think I’ve got it now. Thank you so much again, Pascale! I really appreciate you taking the time to walk me through this.”

“Of course, chère! Let me know how it turns out. Charles is a lucky man to have such a thoughtful girlfriend,” Pascale says warmly before hanging up.

You grin, eager to get started. You know tiramisu is Charles’ absolute favorite dessert and you want to surprise him with a homemade version tonight after he finally comes back from his latest race.

Humming to yourself, you gather the ingredients — mascarpone, eggs, espresso, cocoa powder, and of course, the sugar. You double check you have everything and preheat the oven so the ladyfingers will be perfect.

As you start the recipe, you feel a rush of excitement. You follow each step meticulously, Pascale’s voice guiding you in your mind. You carefully separate the eggs and beat the whites to stiff peaks. When it’s time to add the sugar to the mascarpone filling, you pause.

Now, which one was the sugar again? You look between the two identical jars of white powder, second-guessing yourself.

Shoot, you should have labeled them.

After a moment of hesitation, you decide on the bowl on the left. Yes, that must be sugar, you reassure yourself. You mix it into the silky mascarpone filling until it’s perfectly combined. Once assembled, you spread the filling over the ladyfingers and cover it with a final dusting of cocoa powder.

It looks absolutely beautiful. You did it! You made Charles’ favorite dessert completely from scratch. You can’t wait to see the look on his face when he takes the first delicious bite.

You glance at the clock as you clean up. Charles will be home soon. You carefully store the tiramisu in the fridge to chill until after dinner.

Right on time, you hear Charles’ keys in the lock. You hurry to greet him, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. “I missed you!”

He grins and nuzzles your neck. “And I missed you, ma belle.”

Over dinner on the balcony, Charles tells you all about the race and his ambitious one-stop strategy under the Suzuka cherry blossoms. You listen attentively, asking questions and laughing at his dramatic reenactments.

Finally, it’s time for dessert. “I have a surprise for you,” you say with a playful smile.

Charles’ eyes light up. “Oh really? Do tell!”

You bring the chilled tiramisu to the table, along with two small plates and forks. “Ta-da! I made your favorite, with your mom’s secret recipe.”

“No way, you’re kidding!” Charles exclaims. He takes in the layered dessert with delight. “It looks incredible, mon cœur. I can’t believe you did this for me.”

You blush happily as you dish out servings for both of you. “I hope I did it justice. Your mom walked me through the whole thing over the phone.”

Charles takes a big eager bite, closing his eyes as he savors it. “Mmm … it’s absolutely delicious,” he declares after swallowing. “Seriously, this is amazing. Here, you have to try it!”

He holds out a forkful toward you. You accept it into your mouth, immediately bursting into incredulous laughter. “Oh my god, this is so salty! I definitely screwed up somewhere. You don’t have to eat it!”

But Charles just grins and takes another hearty bite. “What do you mean? It tastes perfect to me.”

You stare at him in confusion. “You can’t actually like this, Charles. It’s like I poured the entire salt shaker in by accident.”

“No no, it’s great! The best tiramisu I’ve ever had,” he insists. Seeing your disbelief, he takes your hand from across the table. “Really, Y/N. I love it because you made it just for me. With love. That’s what makes it so special.”

You feel your insides turn soft and melty at his words. “You’re just saying that to be nice,” you protest weakly.

He shakes his head. “I’m saying it because it’s true. Because ...” He pauses, looking into your eyes sincerely. “Because I’m completely in love with you, mon amour. I’d eat a thousand salty tiramisus if it made you smile like this.”

You can’t help the joyful laugh that escapes you. “You’re such a hopeless romantic, you know that?” You tease him.

“Only for you,” he flirts back with a playful wink.

You lean across the table to kiss him tenderly. When you pull back, the adoration shining in his green eyes leaves you breathless.

Maybe he’s right. It doesn’t matter that the tiramisu is an utter fail. All that matters is that you made it with love.

And that’s the sweetest taste of all.

***

It’s been a few weeks since your salty tiramisu mishap. You and Charles laughed about it afterwards, but you were still determined to make him something special with your own two hands.

So you decided to take up crocheting. It was trickier than you expected, but you persevered, watching YouTube tutorials and getting tangled in yarn for hours.

Finally, after a month of work, you’ve produced your first wearable creation — a sweater for Charles.

It’s an oversized style, cream colored with red racing stripes across the chest. You did your best to evenly stitch the rows, but there are gaps in some places that cause the stripes to waver drunkenly.

The sleeves are several inches too long, dangling adorably over Charles’ hands when he tries it on. And the neckline gapes open no matter how he tugs it.

But none of the flaws matter to Charles. His face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning when you present it to him.

“You made this? For me?” He asks as he eagerly pulls it on.

You nod, suddenly shy. “I wanted to make something special for you, even if my skills are still .... developing,” you admit with an embarrassed chuckle.

But Charles is beaming, admiring himself in the mirror. “It’s perfect! Seriously, I love it. This is the best gift ever!”

He engulfs you in a big hug, sleeves flopping over you. You hug him back, relieved and happy he appreciates your efforts.

From that day on, Charles insists on wearing the sweater constantly, even styling it with whatever eclectic pants he decides to wear on race weekends.

You try to discourage him — the holes along the hem are getting bigger from snagging and the neckline is truly unsalvageable.

But Charles won’t hear it. “Are you kidding? This is my new lucky charm!” He declares. “I have to wear it for every race now.”

Sure enough, he starts a winning streak whenever he dons your handmade sweater, even though it’s quite a departure from the fitted shirts and designer hoodies he previously favored, leaving his fans scratching their heads at the sudden change.

You watch in amused endearment as he proudly wears your gift for candid pre-race interviews and photo-ops. The overlong sleeves just make his exuberant gestures even more adorable.

Finally, a reporter works up the courage to ask him about the quirky sweater. “That’s quite a statement piece you have been arriving in each Sunday,” the reporter comments during a press conference. “What made you decide to wear it?”

Charles’ face lights up even more. “My sweater? It was handmade for me by my incredible girlfriend,” he announces, making you blush furiously from the audience.

“She worked so hard on it, even though crocheting is totally new to her. So I wear it to show how much I appreciate her and how talented she is,” he continues sincerely.

The reporters “aww” as Charles shows off the uneven stitches like they’re couture. “It’s my good luck charm now too! She put so much love into making it that I feel like I can’t lose whenever I have it on.”

He looks directly at you, eyes shining. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever received, because she made it just for me. I’m the luckiest man in the world to be with someone so thoughtful and caring.”

You have to wipe away joyful tears at his heartfelt words. You never imagined your clumsy crocheting would come to mean so much to him.

But Charles wears that sweater for every race, no matter how tattered it gets. Because for him, it represents something priceless — your love.

***

You hum along to the radio as you stir the melted chocolate in a bowl. The rich aroma fills the air of your shared apartment. Today is Valentine’s Day and you want to surprise your boyfriend with homemade chocolate-covered strawberries when he gets home from training.

You dip the first plump, red strawberry into the silky chocolate, letting the excess drip off before placing it gently onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. One by one, you coat each strawberry, taking care to fully submerge them.

When the tray is full, you quickly pop one glistening strawberry into your mouth and slide the rest into the fridge to let the chocolate harden. As you wait, you tidy up the kitchen, washing the bowls and utensils used to make the treat. A glance at the clock on the microwave tells you Charles will be home soon.

The sound of the front door opening makes you grin. “Mon amour, I’m back!” Charles calls out.

You grab the tray of chocolate-covered strawberries and head towards his voice. “Welcome home! I have a surprise for y-”

You stop short, your throat suddenly feeling scratchy and tight. Your lips tingle oddly.

Confused, you lift a hand to your neck. Is this just excitement to see Charles? But no, your tongue is starting to swell now too. Your breathing becomes labored.

Charles rounds the corner. “Mon ange, what’s wro-” His eyes widen as he takes in your distress. In a few quick strides he is by your side, the tray clattering forgotten to the floor. “What’s happening?”

You wheeze, barely able to force out words. “Can’t … breathe …”

Charles sweeps you into his arms and runs for the front door. “Hospital. Now.”

You cling to him, each ragged breath a struggle. The world seems to blur and tilt alarmingly.

Then somehow you’re in Charles’ car, speeding down the street. One of his hands grips the wheel while the other clutches yours tightly. “Just hold on, stay with me. We’re almost there.”

You try to respond but only manage a choked gurgle. Black spots swim across your vision. A feeling of detachment steals over you.

The car screeches to a stop outside the emergency department entrance. Charles lifts you from the passenger seat, calling for help. There is a flurry of activity as a team of doctors and nurses rushes over with a gurney.

You are barely aware of being wheeled into an exam room, too focused on trying to pull air into your lungs. A mask is fitted over your face, dispensing blessed oxygen. An IV is inserted into your arm.

The medical staff works quickly, asking Charles questions as they begin treatment. Antihistamines. Steroids. Epinephrine. The medications slowly start to counteract your reaction. The vice-like tightness in your chest and throat gradually lessens.

After what feels like an eternity, you are able to take full breaths again. The room comes back into focus, no longer spinning. Charles sits at your bedside, clutching your hand, his handsome face creased with worry.

The doctor examines you, nodding with satisfaction as your symptoms continue to improve. “It appears you had a severe allergic reaction. We’ll run some tests to determine the cause.”

Charles looks stricken. “But how? What could have possibly …” His gaze falls on your swollen lips. “The strawberries,” he whispers.

You nod weakly. It had to have been. You’ve never reacted to them before, but an allergy can develop at any time.

Charles smoothes back your hair, distress pouring off of him. “I’m so sorry, mon cœur. I should have been there with you.”

You squeeze his hand. “You couldn’t have known. I’m okay now thanks to you.”

He just shakes his head, unconvinced.

The testing confirms it — you are now mysteriously allergic to strawberries. The doctor gives you an EpiPen prescription and strict instructions to the fruit in the future.

After several more hours of observation, you are finally discharged from the hospital with an exhausted Charles supporting you.

The sun has long since set on what was supposed to have been a romantic Valentine’s Day. Instead, you spent it swollen and terrified in the ER.

Back home, Charles tucks you into bed, insisting you rest. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror — puffy-faced and red-eyed — and cringe. Some Valentine you turned out to be.

You reach for Charles’ hand again. “I’m so sorry I ruined our evening. I wanted it to be perfect but instead I ended up scaring you half to death and forcing you to rush me to the hospital.”

Charles silences you with a gentle kiss. “Not another word, mon amour. You have nothing to apologize for. All that matters is that you are safe.”

He caresses your cheek, looking at you with such love and tenderness it makes your heart ache. “You could never ruin anything. You are the light of my life — my everything. No Valentine’s Day is complete without you.”

You feel yourself tearing up. Even after the ordeal of this evening, he still looks at you like you hung the moon.

“You’re still the most beautiful Valentine I’ve ever had, you know that? A little swelling can’t hide that.” Charles brushes away your tears and pulls you close. “Rest now. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

You nestle into his embrace, letting his warmth and steady heartbeat soothe you. As you drift off, you can’t help but marvel at how lucky you are to have this man. Even at your puffiest and most distressed, he thinks you’re beautiful.

No matter what surprises life throws at you, with Charles by your side you know everything will be okay. He loves you unconditionally — swollen lips, hospital visits, and all.

***

“Close your eyes,” you say to Charles as you lead him into the living room.

He laughs and covers his eyes with his hands. “What are you up to, mon amour?”

You grin, though he cannot see it. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

You guide him across the room, hands on his shoulders. He shuffles along, peeking through his fingers.

“No peeking!” You scold, and he squeezes his eyes shut again, smiling.

You position him in front of the coffee table. “Okay,” you say. “You can open your eyes now.”

Charles drops his hands. On the table sits a large gift-wrapped box with a massive red bow on top. His eyes go wide with surprise and delight.

“For me?”

You nod, bouncing on your toes excitedly. “Happy birthday!”

He pulls you into a tight hug. “You are too good to me, ma belle. Thank you.” Leaning down, he captures your lips in a sweet kiss.

You swat his shoulder playfully. “You don’t even know what it is yet! Open it.”

Charles grins and turns his attention to the present. He carefully unties the bow and lifts the lid on the box. Inside sits a sleek red bomber jacket with the Ferrari logo embroidered on the chest. He runs his fingers over the leather appreciatively.

“This is beautiful,” he murmurs.

“Look on the back,” you prompt.

Charles turns the jacket over. Across the back, in bold white letters, it reads: DADDY.

His eyes go wide again, and for a moment he just stands there gaping at the jacket. Then his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses to the floor in a dead faint.

“Charles!” You rush to his side, kneeling next to him on the plush carpet. Gently you pat his cheek, trying to rouse him. “Charles, wake up!”

After a few tense moments, his eyelashes begin to flutter. You breathe a sigh of relief as he opens his eyes.

“Wha … what happened?” He mumbles.

“You fainted, silly.”

You help him sit up slowly. He puts a hand to his head, still looking dazed.

“I had the strangest dream …” He trails off, glancing around the room. His gaze lands on the jacket lying nearby, and his eyes widen again.

“It wasn’t a dream,” you say softly.

Charles looks at you, lips parted in shock. “Then you … you’re …”

You furrow your brow in confusion. “I’m what?”

“Pregnant!” He exclaims. “We’re having a baby!”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to go wide. “What? No! I’m not pregnant!”

Charles frowns, thoroughly bewildered. “But the jacket said … I thought it was your way of telling me we’re expecting.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Oh my goodness, no. The jacket is for a very different reason.”

He looks almost disappointed. “It is?”

You take his hands in yours. “I know you’ve been talking about getting a dog for months now, ever since you met Mimi.”

Comprehension begins to dawn on Charles’s face. “So the jacket …”

“Is for our new puppy!” You finish excitedly.

Charles’ face lights up. “You got me a dog? Really?”

You nod, grinning. “Really! I picked him up yesterday from the shelter. He’s the cutest little dachshund, white with brown spots. I’ve been keeping him at your brother’s so I could surprise you today.”

Charles whoops and tackles you in another ecstatic hug. You laugh as he covers your face in rapid, smacking kisses.

“This is the best birthday surprise ever!” He crows. “I can’t believe we’re finally getting a dog. And the jacket — it’s perfect!”

He grabs the bomber and shrugs it on over his t-shirt. It fits him flawlessly, the white lettering bold against the red.

Charles scrambles to his feet and rushes to the nearest mirror, twisting this way and that to admire himself. “I love it! Thank you, thank you!”

You stand and wrap your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I’m so glad. But you should really be thanking your new baby boy.”

Charles turns in your arms and cups your face in his hands. “Have I told you lately that you’re the best girlfriend in the world?”

You grin up at him. “Hmm, I don’t recall. Feel free to remind me.”

“You …” He punctuates each word with a kiss. “Are …” kiss “The …” kiss “Most …” kiss “Thoughtful …” kiss “Loving …” kiss “Girlfriend …” kiss “In …” kiss “The …” kiss “World.”

You pretend to swoon. “My, what a sweet talker you are.”

He chuckles and kisses you tenderly. When you break apart, his eyes are shining.

“So when do I get to meet our new baby?” He asks eagerly.

“Right now, if you want,” you say. “We can go pick him up from Lorenzo.”

Charles pumps a fist in the air. “Yes! I’m going to be the best dog dad ever, just you wait and see.” He crouches down and coos, “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?”

You pat his head playfully. “You’re a good boy.”

Taking your hand, he practically drags you out the door, babbling excitedly about names, beds, toys, and treats for the puppy the whole way to the car. Your heart swells watching his enthusiasm. You know that dog is going to be the most loved and cared for pup in the world.

When you arrive at his brother’s apartment, Charles bounds up to the front door ahead of you, unable to contain his excitement. Lorenzo opens it laughing, the wiggling brown and white puppy in his arms.

“Someone’s here to see you!” He says, handing the squirming bundle of fluff to Charles.

“Hello, hello!” Charles cuddles the puppy to his chest, his whole face alight with pure joy. The pup responds by licking every inch of Charles’ face he can reach.

Charles laughs delightedly. “Aren’t you just the sweetest boy? Yes you are!”

He looks up at you, eyes shining. “Thank you, mon cœur. This is the best gift I could have asked for.”

You lean in and scratch the puppy behind his silky ears. “Of course. Happy birthday, my love.”

As you walk back to the car, Charles cradling the puppy like a newborn, you know in your heart that your little family is one step closer to completion.

***

The race weekend after Charles’ birthday feels strange. As you wander through the Ferrari garage during free practice, Fred rushes over looking concerned.

“Here, take a seat,” the team principal says, grabbing a folding chair and positioning it behind you. “You should not be on your feet so much in your condition.”

You frown in confusion. “What condition?”

But the French man has already hurried away. Shaking your head, you continue walking. It’s a few minutes later that you spot Pierre.

“Hey!” He says, jogging up to you. Before you can react, he places both hands on your stomach and smiles brightly. “Wow, it’s hard to believe that little baby Leclerc is in there! I can’t wait to meet my niece or nephew.”

Now you’re really bewildered. You take a small step back from Pierre’s wandering hands. “What are you talking about? I’m not pregnant!”

Pierre laughs. “Very funny. You don’t have to hide it from me.” He winks and walks away.

When Charles finds you later, you’re still puzzling over the strange encounter.

“Everyone is acting so weird,” you tell him, explaining what’s been happening all day. "It’s like they all think I’m pregnant or something."

Charles frowns. “That is odd. Where would they get that idea?”

You shake your head. “I have no idea …”

Later, after the last practice session of the day, you wander into Ferrari hospitality for a quick cup of coffee. Carlos quickly spots you and makes a beeline over, cheeks flushed with excitement.

“I just saw the photos of Charles wearing his new jacket.” He says. “A mini Leclerc on the way, how wonderful! Congratulations to you both.”

“What? No, there’s no …” you start to protest, but Carlos is already walking away.

Charles comes up beside you, having overheard. “This is getting out of hand,” he mutters. “We need to clear this up.”

“I know!” You say. “I feel bad, they all seem so excited. They must think we’re hiding a pregnancy from them.”

An idea comes to you then. Turning to Charles, you say loudly, “Honey, why don’t we go introduce the baby to everyone? I know they’re all just dying to meet him!”

Charles catches on immediately, smiling slyly. “Of course! Let’s go get our little one right now.”

You nod, linking your arm through his. As you walk away, you hear gasps and murmurs behind you.

“They already had the baby? When did this happen?”

“I can’t believe they’ve been hiding it all this time!”

You have to stifle a laugh. Charles grins and squeezes your hand.

In his driver’s room, your puppy is napping contentedly on a plush dog bed. Charles scoops him up gently so as not to wake him. Cradling the pup, you both head back out to the hospitality suite.

Everyone turns to look at you eagerly as you enter. Carlos steps forward, craning his neck to see the bundle in Charles’ arms.

“Here he is!” You announce proudly. “Our baby boy!”

Charles turns so they can see the sleeping dachshund nestled against his bomber jacket. A shocked silence falls over the room.

“Wha … that’s not a baby!” Carlos splutters. “That’s a dog!”

You and Charles just shrug with matching sly smiles. “He’s our baby.”

As the puppy yawns and stretches in Charles’ arms, licking his chin affectionately, you know with certainty that your furry new addition will be showered with just as much love and adoration as you both share for one another.

Who could ask for anything more?

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗕𝗔𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗕𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗗, 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗙 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗨𝗧𝗘

　　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N participates in the Baking Blind, Deaf and Mute video, but things don't go as planned.

WARNING: Begin of a panic attack, anxiety.

REQUESTED?: Yes, @ecliphttlunar

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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"Alright guys, it's been almost a year since the last time we filmed one of these, I think..." Nick began, his body appearing in the camera frame, stopping next to Matt.

"Yeah, and today we have a special guest-" Matt was interrupted by Nick, who swallowed all the rest of his energy drink, stumbling back as he shook his head hard, feeling the burn go down his throat.

"Like she doesn't appear in almost every video." Chris ignored Nick's reaction, momentarily pointing to his girlfriend next to him.

A laugh escaped his throat, followed by a dramatic sound of pain as he received a slap from Y/N as a response, who rolled her eyes at him, crossing her arms and looking at the camera.

"They love me more than they love you guys at this point." She murmured, pointing at the camera with her chin, blowing an air kiss towards it.

"Anyways!" Nick shouted, casting a scolding glance from the corner of his eye at Chris and Y/N, focusing his eyes on the lens. "Today we're going to do the baking blind, deaf and mute challenge, and we have a guest with us, Y/N!" He raised his left hand, pointing it towards the girl momentarily, who smiled big and waved.

"Exactly, and since there will be four of us, instead of three, we will repeat one position. Y/N will be blind with Matt, while I will be mute and Nick will be deaf." Chris explained, wrapping his left arm around his girl's shoulder, pulling her close and massaging her biceps slightly, sealing his lips over her head momentarily.

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"Okay, today we're going to cook a carrot cake with chocolate frosting since it's our guest's favorite." Nick spoke, his voice coming out louder than normal since his ears were covered by the headphones where music was coming out at full volume.

Y/N nodded, resting her hands on the table, unable to see exactly where she was, her eyes already covered by Chris's red bandana.

"Y/N doesn't eat ready cake mixture, so we're going to make it from scratch!" Matt added, his back resting on the counter next to the stove.

His arms were crossed, and his head was turned in the direction he thought the camera was.

"Let's begin!"

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"Can someone preheat the oven, please?" Y/N asked, her head turned to the side where she heard footsteps.

A tired sigh escaped her nose when she received no response. The girl moved slowly, using her raised arms for support, feeling wherever she went.

Sudden hands on her waist made her jump in fright, relief coursing through her veins as she quickly recognized Chris's touch. The boy holds her tightly, guiding her slowly through the kitchen, until they reach the stove.

Chris lightly held her wrist, guiding her hand to the button to turn on the oven, waiting for her to do so before letting go of her hand, moving away slightly.

"What is happening? Are you still here?" Matt's voice cut through the air, his figure doing a 360° turn as he tried to understand where the others were.

"In here, Matt." Y/N replied as she walked back to the table, feeling around until she found the ingredients already separated.

The girl reached for the carrots, feeling them to check if they were peeled. They weren't.

"Chris, can you peel it for me, please?" The girl asked loudly, lifting her chin in the air so her voice could echo better.

Footsteps approached, and soon, the carrots were taken from her hands, the sound of a knife hitting the cutting board filling her ears.

The sound of screams filled the kitchen, Nick singing the songs he was listening to as loud as possible, probably dancing around the space, checking every now and then if the others were making the recipe correctly, despite Y/N and Chris knowing it by heart.

"Nick, can you shut up?" Matt asked loudly, turning in the direction where his brother's voice came from.

Nick noticed Matt trying to talk to him, looking back while furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

"What?" He screamed.

Y/N, who was blindly measuring the correct amount of oil using a measuring cup, jumped in place in fright by the sudden loud sound. Her hand holding the oil shook slightly from the movement, spilling some of the contents onto her other hand and the table.

Her shoulders slumped, but she just kept going, knowing that there was nothing she could do at that moment other than fulfill her task.

After measuring the oil and flour as correctly as possible, the girl felt the table on her right side in search of the cut carrots, no longer feeling Chris' presence there.

Her hands ran across the wooden surface, grabbing the first thing she found in the belief that it was the vegetables, but instead, it was a knife.

A wince escaped her lips, feeling a sharp burning sensation spread from her right index finger to her hand. She had cut herself.

"Can I have a paper towel?" Y/N asked in a low tone, her voice coming out choppy from the pain she felt. "Hey, somebody, a paper towel. Please?"

No one answered her, Matt and Nick's arguing voices only growing louder and louder.

The girl took a deep breath, wiping her finger on her t-shirt, feeling pain and disgust at the same time at the thought of cleaning a wound on a fabric that wasn't as clean as something specific for hygiene.

Her attention returned to the things in front of herself. Y/N replayed her last steps in her mind, making sure she did everything right.

With that, her hand rescued the fuê that she knew was on her left side and began to mix all the ingredients in the ceramic bowl carefully, despite the pain in her hand.

She felt her senses were more heightened than normal, perhaps because her eyes were covered, which made her hear the different steps of each of the triplets, their voices, and in which direction they were going.

But at that moment, her attention was so focused on the mixture that she forgot to pay attention to the three boys.

"Matt, I'm not listening to anything you're saying!" Nick shouted, his tone full of sarcasm.

"I'm just asking you to stop-"

"Don't touch me, Chris!"

"Nick, stop doing that-"

"Stop talking, I can't hear you-"

The impact came suddenly against Y/N's back, causing her to hit her belly on the corner of the table and, consequently, pushing the mixture forward due to the impact. She was certain that everything had been spilled onto the wooden surface when she heard a loud gasp coming from Matt.

Y/N's lips trembled before the tears even came. She felt her eyes burning behind her bandana while her cheeks and chest ached with anguish.

"Y/N?" Chris's voice came out softly, his hands quickly ripping the bandana from his mouth, approaching his girl, ignoring the guilty looks from Nick and Matt as they both removed their respective bandana and headphones.

Y/N didn't respond, resting her hands on the table and lowering her head, feeling the fabric over her eyes getting damp little by little.

"Baby?" Chris whispered, slowly untying the knot on the bandana behind her head, being careful not to pull out any hair. The last thing he wanted was to cause pain on his girlfriend.

He felt his heart sink at the sight of her eyes closed tightly and her eyelashes damp against her pink cheeks. His own eyes quickly caught her chest rising and falling faster than normal in agitation.

Chris moved closer to her, positioning his hands on both of his girl's hips, lightly squeezing the covered skin in an attempt to ground her.

"Hey, hey, pretty girl, it's okay. Deep breaths, hm?" The brunette whispered close to her ear, casting a quick look behind his shoulder at his brothers, silently asking them to move away. "That's right, just like that. You got it, my love."

Y/N sucked in air through her nose, holding it for a few seconds before releasing it through her mouth.

After repeating the process a few times, she could finally feel her heart calm down and the anguish slowly disappear. Y/N opened her eyes slowly, blinking a few times to remove the remnants of tears.

"There's my pretty girl. Are you with me, baby?" Chris smiled kindly, his eyes shining as he looked at Y/N, waiting for her answer.

"Uhum, I am good. Thank you, baby." Her voice came out still a whisper, but in a healthier tone. "Can we continue? I really want to-"

"Wait, is that blood? Baby, are you hurt?" Chris noticed the reddish tone on her right hand, interrupting her sentence and holding her hand delicately with both of his, analyzing the small cut.

"Yeah, with that knife. It was an accident, but it's not hurting anymore." The girl tried to assure him, stroking his hands with her thumb slowly.

"Can we at least clean it? Before we continue." He asked, his tone full of hope while his eyes run through her face, trying to find any trace of pain.

"Okay." Y/N nodded, whispering with a small smile decorating her face.

The boy guided her to the sink, turning on the tap to cold water and slowly bringing her hand closer to the jet, letting the water hit the injured skin slowly, so that it didn't make her feel any more pain.

A wince escaped Y/N's throat when she felt the contact, suppressing the urge to pull her hand back.

"I know, baby. I know, I'm sorry." Chris whispered, his lips pressed against the side of her head. His free hand made small circles on her back, trying to reflect calm to her.

After a few seconds, Chris finally turned off the tap again, drying his own hand before rescuing a few sheets of paper towels. He wiped Y/N's sensitive skin slowly, wrapping her finger around a clean sheet.

"All done, honey."

"Thank you." She smiled, sealing her lips on his jaw slightly. "Can we bake now?" She asked innocently, looking at Matt and Nick, who were still watching them with guilty eyes.

Chris let out a low chuckle at her comment, waving his brothers closer again.

"Are you good, girl?" Nick asked as he approached Y/N, stroking her left shoulder lightly, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I am good, Nick. I promise." She smiled big at her best friend, hugging him sideways and laying her head on his right shoulder for a few seconds before stepping away again.

"Okay then, let's bake a cake!" Matt smiled at the camera, grabbing the nearest roll of paper towels, ready to clean up the mess before they could start baking again.

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extra - comments:

"omg I would die on Y/N's place, all this was so overwhelming 😭"

"chris is such a good boyfriend and you can see it in here, the way he helps her at the beginning? bf goals 😫😫😫"

"chris and Y/N are so beautiful together 🥺"

"the way chris was super worried about Y/N so he ripped off his bandana too quickly to help her 😔😔😔"

"I want what they have so bad"

"nick and matt feeling guilty and then worrying about her was so cute!!"

"them baking it from the beginning again only because Y/N wanted to eat that cake is so thoughtful 😭"

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @sturniolho @ksskianshd

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sugar Cookie

Warnings: non/dubcon, allusions to abuse and neglect, oral sex, manipulation, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You try to learn some new traditions for your first Christmas with Tony.

Character: Tony Stark

Day Eleven of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - experiencing a new festive tradition 

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stare at the floating screen and suck in your cheeks. It's only your first try but you're feeling overwhelmed. Just like always, you can't follow simple directions. You're a fuck up. 

It makes you wonder how you ever ended up here. In this immaculate kitchen with its shining marble counter tops, sparkling appliances, and many gadgets and accessories. Silver pans dangle from the rack hung over the island and knives are stuck to the magnet hold mounted on the wall. Yet you've made a mess of it all as flour dusts over the gold-veined surface and the smell of burnt dough tinges your nostrils. 

"Miss, is appears you've burnt the snickerdoodles," Friday says in her matter-of-fact way. 

"I did," you groan and plant your elbows on the counter, cup your chin in defeat. "I'm sorry." 

"You don't need to apologise to me," she assures. "You should start again at step one. 'Preheat the oven to 375 Farenheit...' 

"The oven's still on, you drone as you turn your face down. "I've ruined it all. I tried so hard but it's just all spoiled." 

"Miss, you can try again. I've already ordered more ingredients so that you can make everything," she insists. 

You puff. That dang computer. Of course, Tony insists that isn't what she is. She's a companion. She's more than code and she's a lot smarter than you, so you should listen. 

You push yourself up as you stick your lip out pathetically. You've never baked before. Tony knows this but it's a tradition. Not your tradition. You never even celebrated Christmas before. You watched it on the old VHS'. The films about daughters or sons or lovers trying to make it home for the holiday. Stuck between four walls, you always just assumed it was another fantasy. 

"Miss, you should dump the burnt cookies. They are not fit for consumption. And put a fresh sheet of parchment paper down." 

You nod and do as she says. Your hands are still fettered in the oven gloves as you take the tray and carry it to the bin. She opens it and you wince. You're still not used to that. 

You return to the counter and pull off the thick gloves. You tear off a new sheet of parchment and lay it on the pan. A frown tugs at your cheeks until they hurt. What if you can't do this? What if you disappoint Tony? He'd just be another person who you let down. There may not be many of those, but you can count everyone you've known on one hand. 

"Begin with the topping," Friday directs you. "Combine the granulated sugar and cinnamon together in a small bowl..." 

It's easier to let her tell you what to do. Almost like she's thinking for you. Tony does that too. He tells you what needs to be done so you're not so worried. Sometimes though, it's too much. All those expectations. Before, you were only ever expected to be quiet. 

You make three lines of four. The dough balls are perfectly arranged. Now you just need to not mess them up. 

"I would be happy to set a timer, miss." Friday offers. 

"Thanks," you say over your shoulder as you slide the pan into the oven. 

"You've made enough dough for three more batches. In the meantime, you could begin on the fruitcake," she suggests. 

"Uh, sure," you agree. 

"Mmm, smells like a fire," Tony's voice jars you before the companion-programmed interface can give her next command. "What're we workin' on, beautiful?" 

You face him and press your sweaty palms to the red apron with the frill edging. "Cookies. Or cake--" 

"There are a dozen snickerdoodles cooking with eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds left," Friday supplies. "And she was about to begin the fruitcake." 

You cringe and nod, "what she said." 

"What about the meringues? Peppermint? Just like I said?" He asks. 

"Sure, uh," you gulp, "you know, Mr. Stark, Tony... I'm not very good at this." 

"You'll get better, beautiful. Besides, it's tradition." 

"Y-yeah, I know, but I... I don't want to screw up or make you sick." 

"Baby, you're just fine. I know you can do it." He steps closer and puts his hands on your arms, "I see what no one else saw in you, huh? You got potential, you just gotta try." 

"I am. Trying, sir," you say. 

"I know, beautiful," he reaches to tap the end of your nose. "Don't be so mopey, alright? Look at all you got; a gorgeous kitchen, a gorgeous house, a gorgeous man..." 

You flick your lashes shyly and look away. He leans in and you let him kiss you. That's getting easier, even if the other things still hurt. 

"You know, there's nothing else I could ask for," he purrs as he draws back, "well, maybe one thing. Whiskey?" 

He looks at you with his deep brown eyes and that crooked grin. It was that look that comforted you the day you met. When the red and gold receded and revealed the very human man beneath. The first man you knew that didn't loathe you outright. 

"Yes, Tony," you answer and spin around. The liquor cabinet opens as you approach. You thank Friday and take out the dark bottle. A cupboard opens and you pull out a glass to pour. You bring the drink to him and smile nervously. "Here you are." 

"You know, seeing as this is your first Christmas and all, you're learning all my traditions," he leans a hand on the counter and sniffs the whiskey before he sips. You watch him tentatively, "we could start a few new ones." 

"New?" You echo curiously. 

He winks and takes another swig, "yeah, all this sweetness," he looks around at the cluttered ingredients, "I'm thinking something even sweeter."  

"Oh?" You bring your hands together and wring them. "What's that?" 

"Friday, scram," he looms close to you and sets his glass down.  

"Reconfiguring to standby," Friday responds promptly. 

He steps up and frames your hips with his hands. He sucks his teeth as he looks you up and down. You shiver as you're reminded of the night before. 

"How about you hop up here?" He keeps one hand on you as he sweeps aside the bag of flower and canister of baking powder with his other. "And feed me another kinda dessert." 

You look at him. You think you know what he means but you’re not sure. You’ll be embarrassed if you’re right. The last time he tried that you couldn’t stay still. 

“Oh,” you bat your lashes. 

“Oh,” he repeats coyly as he squeezes your hip. “You’re doing all this work, baby, why don’t you let me do some?” 

“Um, later... er, the cookies--” 

“I got a hankering for something better than cookies,” he grabs at your skirt and shoves his hands under the hem. He gropes your ass suddenly as he pulls you flush to him. You squeal in surprise. “What are these?” He pinches the fabric of your panties. “I didn’t pull these out.” 

“Uh, I...” you gulp. You didn’t think he’d be unhappy, you can see through every pair he gave you. “I’m sorry.” 

“Take ‘em off,” his voice deepens as he lets you go and steps back. He crosses his arms as his lips straighten to a dire expression. “Now.” 

“Yes, sir,” you blanch and open, your thumbs catching on your skirt before you can get the panties down. 

You teeter as you shove them to your knees and they fall to your feet. You bend to untangle them and stand. Tony takes them from you and flings them without looking. 

“Now, baby, I’m ready for the full course,” He takes you by the waist and turns your back to the counter. “You gonna serve it up to me?” 

You stare at him, speechless. His thumbs curl into your stomach then ease. He trails his hands to your hips and you yelp as he lifts you. You land on the counter and knock over a bowl as you slap your palms on the marble. 

“Tony!” You squeal. 

He hushes you as he raises the apron and your dress up your thighs, “open up for me, beautiful.” 

“Please, can’t we wait--” 

“I’ve been waiting,” he growls and bends before you can stop him. Not that you would even try. 

He grazes your thigh with his lips and his facial hair tickles you. You quiver as he nuzzles along the crease of your leg and against your pelvis. You tense as he grips your knees, holding them wide as he shoves his mouth against your cunt. 

You cry out again. You spasm as his tongue glides between your lips. His flicks around your clit and you whine. It’s so sensitive you could explode. 

You grasp the back of his head and try to push him away, “it’s still too much--” 

He hums and keeps going, ignoring your protests as he suckles on your bud. The pressure is enough to make you buck. You lean back on your arm and hiss. He puts his hand over yours and presses it to his skull, as if to make you urge him on. 

He wiggles his head as he eats you up unabashedly. He snarls and groans and laps. You whimper and shake, your insides consumed in flames. You can hardly stand the heat as he seeps through to your skin. You push your nails into his scalp and murmur his name. 

“Mmm, delicious,” he slithers against your thigh, pressing a wet kiss to your leg. 

You close your eyes as the sight of his head just peeking out beneath the rumpled apron makes you blush. You bite your lip and shudder as he goes back to his eager tending. He clutches your hand tighter as his tongue swirls around and around. 

The smell of smoke tinges your nose again. You sniff and flutter your lashes. You open your eyes and see the silver curls climbing out of the stove. You squeak and try to twist free of Tony. He grabs your thighs and sinks in fingertips in until you ache. 

“Ton-y,” you eke out, “the cook-ies!” 

“Leave em,” He growls as he snakes his hands under your thighs and hooks his arms around them. He yanks you so you fall onto your back, splaying wider as you crush mixing spoons and bags of chocolate chips and sugar. “I got more than enough right here.” 

[doumadono]

Synopsis: Bakugo assists you in baking a cake, unaware that it's intended for him :)

A/N: the prompt was baking a cake together, but Bakugo doesn't realize it's for him Happy birthday, my sweet little gremlin!

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST BAKUGO'S BIRTHDAY EVENT 2024

The kitchen was awash with the sweet scent of vanilla and chocolate as you preheated the oven, Bakugo leaning against the counter, eyeing the ingredients laid out on the marble surface. His crimson eyes darted between the measuring cups and mixing bowls, a brow quirked in intrigue.

"What's all this for, nerd?" he asked, the gravelly tone of his voice making your heart skip a beat.

You looked up from the recipe book, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. "It's just a surprise," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"A surprise, huh?" He tilted his head, a smirk forming on his lips. "Well, don't expect me to stand here and watch you struggle, nerd. I'm helping."

You chuckled, nodding toward the apron hanging on the pantry door. "Then put that on, Chef Bakugo."

He rolled his eyes but complied, tying the apron around his waist with a little too much flair, earning a laugh from you. "Alright, what do you need me to do, Y/N?"

"First," you began, handing him a whisk, "whisk together the dry ingredients — flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt."

Once the dry ingredients were combined, you moved on to the wet ones. "Can you crack the eggs into that bowl? Just be careful, Kats," you cautioned with a smile. "We don't want any shell in the batter."

He snorted, "I know what I'm doing, nerd." Despite his sarcastic remark, he cracked the eggs skillfully, not spilling a drop.

You couldn't help but chuckle. "Of course you do," you conceded, reaching over to gently brush a stray strand of blond hair away from his forehead.

The brief touch sent a jolt of warmth through him, and he let out a quiet "tsk."

With both mixtures ready, you slowly incorporated the wet ingredients into the dry, Bakugo watching intently, his gaze never leaving the bowl. You picked up the electric mixer and began to blend the ingredients together, the soft whirring sound filling the kitchen.

Bakugo watched you for a moment, his gaze softening as he admired your skillful movements. "You're really good at this, Y/N," he admitted grudgingly, a hint of admiration creeping into his voice.

You grinned, feeling a surge of pride at his compliment. "Well, I've had a bit of practice," you replied modestly. "But it's even better when I have such a talented assistant."

His cheeks flushed slightly at your praise, a rare display of vulnerability from the fiery young man. "Yeah, whatever, nerd, just don't get used to it," he muttered, though his eyes betrayed the warmth he felt.

As you continued to mix the batter, Bakugo moved on to preparing the cake pans, carefully greasing them with butter and flour. His strong hands were steady, his movements precise, a testament to his unwavering determination and focus.

"Alright, I think we're ready to pour the batter," you announced, switching off the mixer and lifting the bowl. The batter seemed smooth and creamy, the perfect consistency.

Bakugo nodded, setting the prepared cake pans on the counter. Together, you carefully poured the batter into the pans, the rich, creamy mixture filling them to the brim. The sight of it was mesmerizing, a perfect blend of colors and textures that promised a delicious end result.

Once the cakes were done, you set them aside to cool, turning to Bakugo with a smile. "Thank you for helping me, Katsuki. It means a lot."

He shrugged, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Yeah, sure. It wasn't that bad, I guess. What's this cake for, anyway?"

You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before deciding to keep the secret a little longer. "It's just a surprise for someone so dear to me," you replied coyly.

Later that evening, Bakugo sat on the couch, flipping through channels while you disappeared into the bedroom. You returned a few minutes later, holding a beautifully frosted cake, the words 'Happy Birthday' written in elegant script across the top.

Bakugo's eyes widened, his gaze darting from the cake to you. "Is this…?"

You nodded, setting the cake down on the coffee table. "Happy birthday, Katsuki, my love."

His usual confident demeanor faltered for a moment, replaced by genuine surprise. "You did all this for me? I thought you forgot about… This stupid occassion."

You sat beside him, taking his hand in yours. "How could I? I just wanted to do something special for my lovely boyfriend, and I know you have a sweet tooth."

A soft smile spread across his sightly chapped lips, his crimson eyes softer than you'd ever seen them. "Thank you, Y/N," he murmured, getting up and pulling you into a gentle hug, finished with a soft kiss placed to your lips.

As you both pulled away, Bakugo looked down at the cake, a genuine smile gracing his features. "The cake is fucking beautiful. I guess this means I owe you one, huh?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "You being happy is payment enough, Kats."

Soon, you carefully placed a few candles on top, lighting them with a match. "Make a wish," you whispered.

Bakugo took a moment, closing his eyes before blowing out the candles. As he opened them, he looked up at you, his expression one of pure happiness. "I love you, babe," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

And as you both enjoyed the cake, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in your own little slice of happiness.

[onekindredspirit]

Family Recipes - *Plum Upside Down Cake* I had a message from my older brother. "Hey Bro, How's it going? I'd enjoy a catch up soon." It was 6pm. I decided to call him the next day. I knew by now he would be drunk and I hate to see any Uber Sapien lower themselves that way, as if a sound mind had no value at all. When I was a child Plum Upside Down Cake was baked with peaches, and for children, that is the perfect topping. But we grow up. The transition from peaches to plums happened around the same time I stopped flinching whenever I heard my childhood name. Preheat your oven to 180 Celsius (350 F). Take a 20 cm (8 inch) circular baking tin and in that melt 4 tablespoons of butter. Once melted blend in 1/2 to 3/4 cup of brown sugar. The aim is to incorporate all the butter resulting in a smooth, not stiff base. Spread evenly in the bottom of the pan. Lay canned plum halves over the entire butter and brown sugar mix. In a separate bowl cream together 1/4 cup butter, 1/2 cup white sugar and 1/4 teaspoon of vanilla essence. Add 1 unbeaten egg and beat until the mix is light and fluffy. Add 1 cup flour and 1 and 1/2 tsp baking powder (blended) alternating with 3/8 cup of milk. Beat lightly and pour over the plum halves. Bake. Once the top of your batter begins to brown, cover loosely with tinfoil for the remaining time. Bake until your knife comes out clean. Perhaps 30 to 45 minutes. I called my brother the next day but later than I had hoped for and by 3pm he was already slurring drunk. Me: How's it going? Older Brother: Well, I've decided. Me: What have you decided? Older Brother: I've decided to drink myself to death. Me: Why would you do that? Of course I knew the answer. I would have killed myself too, long ago, if I had been him but I'm not and he wouldn't. Older Brother: I've got nothing to live for ... I don't need a detailed list of all the people who have deserted him to save themselves. Or the employers who found ways to get rid of him. Nor the social clubs that banned him for life or his children who don't want to know him. My brother has an anti-social personality disorder. I spent the first 14 years of my life under the rule of this violent and remorseless narcissist. In my 14th year, and already 7 years into what would turn out to be a 25 year stretch of PTSD, my own sense of personal survival finally kicked in. Under threat of another violent encounter I drew my 20 cm hunting knife and I went for him. The kitchens here on Rikers Island are considered the best in the American penal system and I am proud to be speaking to you from the cake division. Okay, I'm not on Rikers Island but perhaps somewhere in a parallel universe I am. But in this timeline, my brother ran and locked himself in the bathroom and that was the last time he threatened me. Recipes evolve. So do people and I consider myself lucky to have a personal evolution. I no longer flinch when I hear my childhood name and I bake cakes with plums instead of peaches. But some people never evolve, like my brother, trapped for an eternity in the hell of a malignant self. I didn't speak to him for 20 years but as Tom Ripley said in the movie Ripley's Game "... we are constantly being born," So, I will call my brother again when I know he'll be sober. I'll suggest we have lunch together and I'll make sure that, for an hour or two at least, he believes he is human and that he is loved. Take your cake straight from the oven, lay a large platter over the top and invert. Carefully lift the baking tin off to reveal the glory of your Plum Upside Down Cake. Let it cool a bit but don't wait too long. Now is the time to decide. Do you want a piece of the cake? Well then, just draw your blade and take it. One Kindred Spirit

[faithfulren]

messy cooking

late at night in the 1-A dorm kitchen, izuku’s attempt to bake cookies turns into a chaotic mess. y/n steps in to help, and amidst playful flour fights and laughter, they bond over the imperfect but heartfelt moment, realizing they make the perfect team.

----

it’s past midnight, and the 1-A dorm’s shared kitchen smells like chaos.

y/n stands in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows raised as they watch izuku fumble around the counters. he’s still in his hero training sweats, his hair even messier than usual, with a streak of flour across his cheek. pots, bowls, and random utensils are scattered everywhere, and a thin trail of sugar leads from the counter to the sink.

“izu..” y/n says, barely holding back a laugh, “what on earth are you doing?”

izuku spins around, wide-eyed and guilty. “i—i was trying to make cookies!” he stammers, clutching a whisk that looks like it’s seen better days. “i thought it would be a nice surprise for you, but, uh… things got a little out of hand.”

y/n steps closer, surveying the battlefield of ingredients. “a little?” they tease, picking up an empty carton of eggs and gesturing to the flour explosion on the counter. “this looks like a sugar monster sneezed in here.”

izuku scratches the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “i thought it’d be easy, but i didn’t realize how fast everything happens. and then i forgot to preheat the oven, and, uh… i might’ve added salt instead of sugar at one point.”

y/n snorts, shaking their head as they grab an apron hanging nearby. “alright, chef midoriya. step aside. let me save this disaster.”

izuku blinks, his cheeks flushing. “you… you’re going to help me?”

“of course,” y/n says, pulling their hair back. “but only because you look like you’re about to cry over burnt cookie dough.”

together, they work to salvage the mess. izuku is surprisingly good at taking directions, though his clumsiness doesn’t exactly help. at one point, he accidentally flings a glob of dough onto y/n's cheek, earning a playful glare and a smear of flour across his nose in retaliation.

despite the chaos, laughter fills the room, and by the time the cookies come out of the oven, they’re leaning against the counter together, shoulders brushing and smiles lingering.

“these turned out pretty good,” y/n says, holding up a slightly misshapen cookie.

izuku takes a bite, his eyes lighting up. “they’re perfect,” he says earnestly, looking at y/n with that soft, adoring gaze that makes their heart skip a beat.

y/n grins, bumping their shoulder against his. “they’re messy, but they’re ours. just like this kitchen.”

he laughs, glancing at the disaster zone they’ll have to clean up. “yeah… i guess we make a good team.”

y/n rolls their eyes but leans in closer. “we always do, izu.”

[mapiforpresident]

Hi, can you please do prompt 18 with Mapi x Ingrid x reader?

Late night baking

You were craving chocolate chip cookies. Mapi and Ingrid help you bake some.

mapi x reader x ingrid

~~~

You were currently laid out on the couch with your head in Ingrids lap and your torso over Mapi's lap as the three of you watched the men's Barça game that was about to end. Ingrid was carding her hands softly through your hair as Mapi kept yelling curse words at the TV almost knocking you onto the floor.

You had already eaten dinner. Mapi had picked up sushi on her way home from her gym session that ran longer than yours and Ingrid's regular training session.

"I want a cookie," you whined out once there were only a couple seconds left in the game. You had been craving a good chocolate chip cookie all day since Patri was talking about some this morning from this new bakery she found.

"We don't have any love, Mapi ate the last one before dinner," Ingrid told you laughing at the glare you sent your other girlfriend. Mapi immediately looked betrayed and pushed you off of her and ran to the bedroom.

You got up after her and ran to the bedroom door and started knocking on it loudly as Ingrid watched on in amusement.

"I'm sorry amor, please do not hurt me. I did not know you want it." Mapi said as you still pounded on the door demanding she open it.

"I bake, I make you more. We have ingredients. We bake some." Mapi desperately yelled in English trying to get her point across once you still hadn't accepted her apology.

You thought about it for a moment, you did have the ingredients and a fresh one warm out of the oven did sound good. Although you knew Ingrid would have to help with the baking process since you and Mapi were not allowed alone in the kitchen together.

"Fine, but if they don't taste as good then I will tell Alexia that you were the one that dented her car door and she will make you run laps for a week straight." you finally replied as Mapi slowly opened the door.

"No, no please not tell Ale. They will taste good. Ingrid will help I promise." Mapi said as she went over to ask Ingrid to help them bake some new cookies.

~~~

A couple minutes later, you and Mapi had made up and were standing in the kitchen tying each others aprons as Ingrid pulled out all the necessary ingredients.

"Can we please use the dark chocolate chips those are my favorite," you asked Ingrid as you finished tying Mapi's apron.

"Of course, let me grab them."

As Ingrid grabbed all the ingredients, Mapi finished tying your apron, turning you around and pecking your lips to let you know she was done. You pulled her in and kissed her again never getting enough of your shorter girlfriends soft lips. Mapi immediately kissed you back, deepening it and slipping her tongue into your mouth. A couple seconds later you felt a kitchen towel hit your ass.

"You guys are worse than horny teenagers, these cookies will not bake themselves and I am not doing all the work. Mapi preheat the oven and y/n come help me mix the dry ingredients together," Ingrid said as you rubbed where the towel hit you.

You frowned at her, but she just laughed at pecked your lips making you immediately perk up. Mapi did as she was told as you added the flour and sugar into a big bowl before Ingrid stirred the mixture.

After all the hard work was done, Mapi put the trays in the oven. While you waited the three of you rewatched an old Barca game.

Finally, the timer went off, and the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air. You rushed to the oven, pulling out the tray, and the sight of the golden-brown cookies made your mouth water.

“Are they perfect?” Mapi asked, peeking over your shoulder.

“Let’s find out!” You took one out, letting it cool for a moment before breaking it in half to reveal the gooey chocolate inside. You took a bite, and your eyes lit up. “These are so good!”

“Oh thank god!” Mapi said as she grabbed a cookie for herself.

[felixbit]

baking

── flufftober day fifteen, masterlist tbd lee felix x gn!reader, w. 0.4k

The air was getting quite cold outside, but that always meant one thing when dating Lee Felix: all of the baking ingredients were coming out.

Brownies, cookies, cake, muffins, you name it. If there was some idea of a sweet treat that popped into Felix's mind, he was making it. You had become something of a helper in his escapades, although you didn't mind. His enthusiasm was cute.

That day, he'd decided it was going to be chocolate cookies.

That morning, Felix had woken you up with the idea. He'd seen a recipe online and just had to try it. Once he got hooked onto an idea, he wasn't letting go. So, it was barely nine in the morning and you were at the store picking out ingredients.

Now, Felix was very particular. He had to get the brands that the website recommended, or the next best thing in his mind. It got sort of expensive, but it was his hobby and you didn't want to shame it.

By the time you were done, the butter he had set out on the counter had begun to soften and he was ready to jump into the baking action. Half past ten, and the oven was already preheated.

Normally you'd be a lot more involved in this sort of thing. Since he'd gotten started so early, Felix didn't blame you when you took an early nap.

By the time you got back up, Felix had most of the dough done and let you taste test it. it was delicious, giving him the thumbs up he needed to put it in the oven.

The time that the cookies spent in the oven was a perfect time to kiss your boyfriend. You got to taste the sweet batter and ingredients again, as well as being lightly pushed into the countertop.

It was heartbreaking every time you had to stop to get the batches out and put new ones in, but watching Felix work wasn't so bad. He certainly looked good doing it. His apron was pretty cinched around his waist and his sleeves rolled up around his arms was a sight.

Many batches and lazy make out sessions later, the cookies were done. Most of them were in the jar cooling, but you and Felix happily chowed down on the softest batch you could eat without burning your mouths.

Felix had invited his friends over and timed it almost perfectly. The two of you were just finishing up your first cookies when they walked in, intrigued and commenting on the sweet smell.

Of course, lots of sugar was ingested amongst the group but it was all worth it. To see Felix smile and get all excited when tasting his own work was enough of a prize.

[str4ngr]

little things. [ nanami kento ]

im busy with travel and cant get to rqs so here are some hc about nanami!!!

cw: off plot/nanami is a white-collar worker, fluff, maybe suggestive if you quint, domestic, fem! reader.

boyfriend nanami! who remembers you specifically by your perfume. his heart swells with joy every single time he gets the slightest whiff of it. even if someone else was wearing it, he could only think of you. and when he goes over to your place for the first time, he makes sure to see the name, so he can buy a travel bottle and spray it on his pillow.

hid that pillow and bottle away into the depths of his perfectly organized closet the night you first came over. though, you did find it the morning after, when looking for some clothes to borrow.

boyfriend nanami! Who is so, so, cheesy, that you can't help but laugh when he shamelessly does something like push you hair behind your ear as if there's; a. your hair is tied back, and b. there's no hair sticking out. both of you try to hold back laughter but snickers bubble from your mouths.

boyfriend nanami! who makes the most theatrical faces as he watches you make bread with him. from unnecessarily forced smiles when you accidentally boil the yeast alive to faces to disappointment exaggerated by deep frown lines when you forget to preheat the oven. none of it was genuine, of course, each moment of deep expression followed my foolish laughter and the martyred yeast spilling across the table. (it was his fault but he said your name.)

boyfriend nanami! who loves when you have a bad week. not that he wants to watch you grovel and slam your forehead onto your keyboard, but because you become like a dress-up-&-pamper doll for him. he massage, bathe, and soothe you until your curled into his chest like a small kitten as he rubs your back. and he loves bad weeks because he loves you. he loves how when he has a bad week, you'll do the same: massage, bathe, and soothe. but he's not one to fall asleep so easily, so you still have one extra step.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

boyfriend nanami! who loves your texting dates during lunch break. you don't say anything important, sending pictures of the food you bought or made. sneaking in some strange, stalker-esque photos of your latest nuisance to bring a smile to each other's cheeks. as you creativly throw insults to their behavior and personalities.

boyfriend nanami! who holds you boob's just to hold them. when you get home, both of you busted and exhausted, post-shower chills lingering as goosbumps across your skin as you hold each other in bed. he pulls you between his thighs, arms secured around your waist. the t.v. lulls on and on but his hands move high with each minute, gently cupping the soft fat pf your breasts. it never surprised you, but it always made you happy that it wasn't always an inherently sex-driven action. not that the night would be any quieter.

directory

[starry-hughes]

wrapping presents (jack hughes)

day 12 of star’s ficmas

jack hughes x reader

Jack was pretty insistent on the fact that he didn’t need an assistant. But everyone else thought he did. He was immature, constantly forgetting about meetings, if someone else wasn’t grocery shopping for him, he would be eating leftover meals from the nutrition team every day. He didn’t know what temperature to preheat the oven to for chicken.

Luke didn’t mind your presence. He knew you helped Jack more than anything, plus you kept the pantry stocked with his favorite fruit snacks. Jack appreciated you more than anything. You picked up his drycleaning, made sure he was where he needed to be, and sometimes, you would wait up for him after hard games to help him put icy hot on his shoulder.

You were his life saver.

Jack had wanted to thank you for all your hardwork. You had been his assistant since his rookie year. You stuck by him through injuries and his small hissy fits he would throw when the team was in a bad area of the season. He had thanked you previously, big extravaganza gifts, bonuses for the holiday and offering to buy you plane tickets to go wherever you desired. At the beginning, he didn’t want to admit that he needed someone like you, but now he didn’t know what to do without you. This year, though, he couldn’t think of something to get you, until he saw the present in a bookstore. He wasn’t typically found in bookstores but the gift caught his eye in the window.

You entered his apartment with bags of Christmas gifts and wrapping paper. Jack was sitting on the couch with Luke. “Got all the gifts you needed,” you smiled at the man who was technically your boss. Jack sighed happily, “Oh what would I do without you.”

You grinned, carrying the gifts to his room to wrap. “You’d probably perish.”

Luke waited until the door of Jack’s bedroom closed, signaling that you were in his bedroom, wrapping gifts. You knew Jack’s bedroom well, hell you’d slept in his bed before. It wasn’t on purpose of course, but when the team had all gotten sick and you two were quarantined together, you had really gotten to know him by talking for hours in his bedroom, which resulted in you falling asleep on his bed. “Did you get (Y/N) a gift?”

“Yeah dude of course. I always get her one.”

Jack jumped up from the couch, carrying over a box. It wasn’t wrapped, just a plain white box he was planning to stick a bow on and call it a day. It was a custom, leather bound journal with flowers pressed on the cover. “It made me think of her.”

“So when are you going to tell her you’re in love with her?” Jack hit his brother, a signal for Luke to shut up.

You neatly wrapped all the gifts before packing them in a suitcase for Jack to take to Michigan for the holiday break. You loved your job and did it with a smile on your face. Sure, Jack sometimes drove you crazy but you really liked him. Maybe even loved. You chalked up your feelings to the fact that you spent a majority of your time with him. A proximity crush. You’d never fall for him if you didn’t spend so much time with him.

“Picking up dinner boys, be back soon,” you said as you got your coat on. “Oh actually, just dinner for you and Jacky, I’m going over to Dawson’s,” Luke said. Jack’s eyebrows furrowed together, “I didn’t think you were going there.” The brothers shared a look. Luke was telling him with his eyes that it was time to make a move. “Well I am, you and (Y/N) enjoy dinner together,” Luke gritted.

“Jack, I’ll be back with dinner I guess,” you said confused before leaving. “What the hell dude?” Jack whipped his head toward Luke. “Just tell her you love her! Tonight! Stop beating around the bush!”

You got home with food and Jack wasn’t in the living room. “Jack?” you called out. You heard a muttered “damn it” from his bedroom and you walked to his room. He had tape stuck to his fingers and horrible cut wrapping paper and a plain white box on the floor of his bedroom. “What are you doing? I thought I wrapped all the gifts?”

“This one is special,” Jack huffed out. He was raising the white flag, surrendering to the wrapping paper. You left the paper bag of food on his dresser and joined him on the floor of his bedroom. “You should measure the wrapping paper and make sure it covers the whole box, like this, before cutting,” you explained softly. He pulled himself closer to you, he could hear your heartbeat picking up.

“Then, you should tape one side down to the box, then the other side, and finally the edges you tuck in to make triangles and then fold,” you narrated as he handed you pieces of tape. “Must be a special present if you wanted to wrap it yourself,” you looked at him. His lips were inches away.

“Yeah, something like that,” he mumbled. You could have sworn he was moving in to kiss you before you snapped out of your trance. “Do you want to add a bow to the box?” you cleared your throat and looked back at the neatly wrapped present. “Oh,” Jack was snapped back to reality, “I guess?”

You added the bow before handing it to Jack. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”

Jack’s eyes almost pop out of his head. “How do you know it’s for a girl?”

“Because Jack, I’ve only ever seen you put this much effort into presents or items if it’s for a girl you really like.”

Jack could have laughed, it was so ironic. You were right and you had no idea how right you were.

[heian-era-housewife]

This fic is part of the @nanamiscocksleeve Secret Santa Ficmas event.

Happy Holidays to @mysteria157 who wanted some holiday fluff with Nanami!

A/N: Thanks to both of you for your patience and sincerest apologies for the delay. I hope you had a wonderful holiday season and a fantastic New Year to come! Enjoy!

Nanami Kento is perfect.

That's why you fell for him, isn't it? Perfect manners, perfect work ethic, perfect timing, perfect...hair.

So when he invited you over for your first holiday dinner together, it only made sense that you'd want to match that sky-high bar he had set.

Of course he insisted on making dinner, but you just wouldn't have it. Afterall, if you were going to prove your worth, you wanted to pull your weight.

And so, here you were, on hands and knees on your kitchen floor, picking up the broken pieces of the serving platter you'd just dropped- what would've been your main meal now splattered about the tile- cursing yourself for thinking you could ever match up to perfect Nanami Kento.

Kento♡ - Hello Darling, can't wait to see you.

He texted, thirty minutes before your would-be dinner.

The feeling is mutual. Heading out shortly!

You lied, preheating your oven while frantically scouring your fridge and pantry for spare...well...everything.

Kento♡ - Wonderful. See you soon.

See you soon ♡

The words make you cringe as you stare down at the floor. Your meticulously-made dinner still strewn about in slippery patches you dodge as you dart around aimlessly.

The minutes pass like frenzied heartbeats, and still you've nothing to show. You should have been at Kento's twenty minutes ago, now the growing feeling of failure has settled in.

Kento♡ - Everything okay?

Just a little setback... I'll be there soon.

You lie once more, desperate for a way out of the mess you've created.

Kento♡ - Take your time, my dear. I'm sure everything will be perfect.

And there it is. That dreaded word you've come to hate. The reason you're in this mess in the first place. Who were you kidding, thinking you could impress Mr. Flawless incarnate? Who were you, next to the consummate, Nanami Kento?

You sink to the floor, heart heavy from the shame of unmet expectation. Oven empty. Counters a mess. Tears falling hard and fast with with the weight of fear and failure.

If only he could see you now, you think bitterly.

Moments later there's a gentle knock at the door. You jolt to your senses, all time and meaning washed flat in that wave of sudden sorrow.

Getting up, you nearly trip, floor still slick with the meal you'd promised.

Panic stricken, you grab at papertowels in a frantic attempt to wipe up the mess, too tizzied to notice the door slowly opening, or the sound of steady, leatherbound footsteps.

A soft voice causes you to jump.

"Need a hand?"

Perfect timing.

Your voice catches. His face says it all. Not mad. Not disappointed. Just concerned. And somehow, that feels worse. Wiping at your tear-stained cheeks you continue to clean the floor in silence.

"Hey," Kento's voice is barely above a whisper as he crouches next to you, taking up your hand in his. "You could've told me, you know."

"I didn't want to let you down," you mumble out.

"Let me down?" Bringing your hand to his lips, still cold from the chilly outside air, he waits until you meet his tender gaze. "You could never."

The moments pass in silence, the two of you working to clean up the kitchen. Before long, the floor is free of food, much like the dinner table.

"Ken, I don't have the ingredients, other wise I'd try to-"

"You know," he gently interrupts, eyes gleaming over a runaway roll he plucks from under a cabinet. "I've never really been a big dinner guy anyway." He laughs, tossing you the roll. "Always fill up on the bread. Got any flour?"

With a puzzled look you grab an unopened bag of all purpose flour from the cabinet as he suggests an easy recipe for dinner rolls his grandmother once taught him. A "guilty pleasure", he admits. Taking the bag he pulls at the corners, perfect confidence as he swoops in to save the night. And then-

*POOF*

The bag explodes. From top to bottom, he's torn it clean open, flour blanketing the countertops in a mess of powedery white. And Kento? He's covered.

You stare in silent shock as the man removes his signature glasses. Two hazel eyes blinking humorously through the chalky mess. And just as suddenly, laughter spills from your chest, echoing off the walls and around the once again soiled kitchen. Kento's laughing too. And for the first time tonight the weight of perfection is lifted from your shoulders. With what you can salvage, the two of you follow his grandmother's recipe, kneading dough, stealing kisses, and basking in the joy of togetherness.

"How long?" You ask as you slide the tray into the oven.

"Hmm..." he considers, a look of almost mischeif on his still-powdered face. "I'd say...long enough for a quick shower..." he says with a boyish grin. You know just what he's implying, taking his hand and heading toward the bathroom.

Clean and warm, you sit down at long last to your improvised holiday dinner. The rolls only slightly overdone.

But to you, they were perfect ♡

[flowermiist]

A warm heart - II

Click here to check out past chapters if you haven’t ♡

Pairing: John Price x Fem!Reader

Sypnosis: Some time ago, you started a cooking channel on YouTube as a way to relax, have a proper hobby and teach others your favorite recipes as you improved your own culinary skills too. Fame wasn't something you wanted, you were more than happy with your 50k subscribers... Yet you never thought you'd stumble upon one of them.

Word count: 3k

A/N: Hii!! I’m really excited for this chapter (as with every other) I’d like to apologize if this took me more time than I intended, work has been quite heavy lately but all the kind comments make me smile soo much. Enjoy!! And please don’t forget to like, reblog and let me know your thoughts about this chapter if you’d like!

After leaving your car at Harrison’s garage, you take an uber home. The mechanic told you it would take about three days to properly fix what was wrong with the engine, you didn’t give it much thought.

You sit in the back seat of the Uber and place your grocery bags on your lap, you sigh and open your purse, seeing the small note with John’s number – It was written on an old receipt the man managed to find in one of the pockets of his jeans, using a black pen you always keep in the glove compartment of your car.

You sink back into your thoughts while looking out the window. You don’t know whether to call his number or not, you sigh and keep thinking, as intense as it might sound, you know that if you call his number and he doesn’t pick up, you’ll be too embarrassed to ever attempt to call him again – You promise yourself that if he doesn’t pick up, you won’t call again.

It wasn’t like you wanted anything other than to thank him again properly for helping you back there. John was nice, yes, but he was still a stranger and you didn’t really know much about him.

You turn your head to the other window and realize you’ve reached your destiny, you pay the grumpy driver and make your way into place.

The charms hanging from the keychain jingle as you open the front door. You sigh and close the door behind you, locking it before you start walking towards the kitchen with the grocery bags in hand as well as your personal bag that has the receipt with the phone number of certain man – you make sure to place the groceries where they belong and you kneel down to the drawers of the counter where you store the bags you used, might come handy anytime.

The tripod is still on the counter where you left it. You check the battery of your camera before grabbing the ingredients for the homemade sourdough bread you’ve been preparing for your next video.

So after washing and drying your hands, you re-adjust the camera to the tripod and begin recording the process, making sure the lightning looks good enough.

When you try to start the small oven to preheat it and have it ready for the bread, it does not respond which makes you confused since last time you used it, which was over a week ago, it had been working – not anymore, apparently.

What is going on? Why is everything you own acting up? First the car now the fucking oven, great.

Not wanting to get pissed any further, you choose to use the oven of your stove which of course, was bigger and would take more time to heat up.

This was going to be a long night for sure.

John finishes putting the clean dishes away, the TV in the background with some History Channel show he was not paying attention to, but it was just the background noise he wanted.

Not particularly interested in what the telly had to offer anymore, he turns it off and does the same with the lights of the living room as well.

John Price has always had a pretty strict rule for himself and for his house, to turn off every light he wasn’t using – except for the old lamp he had in his living room next to the couch but besides from that one lamp, every other room that was not being used did not need any artificial lighting.

As he’s about to walk towards the stairs, the man remembers the laundry he had put in the dryer earlier, he had completely forgotten about it – “Fucking ’ell…” the words escape his lips as he clicks his tongue in annoyance and moves towards the uility room of his house, where the clothes should be.

After opening the small lid of the dryer, John places the clean clothes in the basket, grabs the old iron and the ironing board. He has never liked to leave things to the last minute, never liked to do things in a hurry and do them badly. John knows it’s better to iron the clean clothes now rather than leave them all wrinkly and forgotten.

Placing the ironing board in the living room, he folds out the winkly t-shirt and connects the iron, waiting for it to start producing enough heat and get this shit over with as soon as possible.

Some steam appears and he grabs the handle, making smooth movements with the iron, moving it from from the neck to the short sleeve of the green cotton t-shirt.

Looking back at it, the material is still the same, wrinkly and with obvious creases. John gathers his patience and moves the iron again, using a rough hand to stretch the fabric more and trying to press one of the buttons to make more heat yet nothing happens.

His mind drifts towards today’s events as all he can hear is the sound of the iron against the clothes – Your smile was still in the back of his mind and the thought of the big possibility of you not calling his number crosses his mind. Was he too forward? Would you call?

Without noticing, he moves the iron over his thumb and part of the back of his hand, groaning out in pain loudly as the sharp pain immediately hits him. John quickly grabs his left wrist. “God fuckin’ damnit, old fucking thing!” – Endless insults rumble through his chest, escaping through gritted teeth as the man is scrunching up his face with discomfort looking at the back of his hand where the bright red mark on his thumb throbs.

The smell of burning fabric and steam catches his attention again, looking down at the iron burning his shirt he quickly grabs it and places it vertically, taking a moment to manage the anger rising inside him, his face almost red.

John lifts up the green t-shirt, his gaze darkens as he sees the dark hole over the sleeve of the fabric. “Awesome.” He states with anger and sarcasm as he throws the t-shirt on the floor and unplugs the iron, contemplating smashing it against the wall for a single second but knowing it won’t solve anything.

Breathing through his nose while calming down, he walks to the kitchen sink, gritting his teeth in discomfort as he washes the burning part of his left hand – A first degree burn, nothing he can’t handle.

The basket with clothes ready to be ironed remains forgotten as John grabs one of the aid kits he keeps inside one of his kitchen counters. The man clearly has experience with dealing with these superficial wounds as he loosely wraps some of the bandage around it, covering the red area.

“What a muppet.” He grits through his teeth, directed to nobody but himself.

When you finally finish the video, you look at the clock, it is around 21:30 and you are tired, however; you aren’t too tired to go to bed just yet – and besides that, there’s still something you want to do before going to bed or rather someone you want to talk to.

The bread has such a good smell, freshly baked as you cut a big piece and put some cheese, tomato slices and arugula over it before biting and almost melting at the delicious flavor filling your palate.

You walk towards your bedroom and open the drawer of the nightstand right next to your bed to grab the pack of cigarettes on the second drawer. You were never a smoker but you liked the taste of nicotine on your mouth from time to time, especially after such a long day like this one.

You open all the windows to make sure the smell does not stay inside the apartment, you may like the taste and how the nicotine relaxes your mind but you still find the smell of it sticking to your clothes absolutely annoying.

Walking back to the living room, you grab our purse as the cigarette remains between your lips, the string of smoke and the smell over you now, your eyes open more when you look at the old receipt with the man’s number and smile, grabbing the cigarette from your lips and exhaling the smoke out of you.

At this point, all you are wearing is a pair of gray lacy underwear and a white tank top.

You look at the wrinkled paper and gather some courage before you dial the number and press on the green phone icon to call.

John sits on his back porch, a cigar between his index and middle finger.

His attention is immediately caught when he hears the ringing sound of his phone back in the living room, where he left it before moving to wash the dishes. Who would be calling him at this time of the night if it was not work related?

He grunts as his knees crack when he stands up and walks back inside, seeing the “unknown” contact and quietly staring at the number. Could it be?... No, he does not want to get his hopes up.

“Hello?” A hoarse, masculine voice speaks through the line with a tone full of curiosity and some clear seriousness, you immediately smile, holding the cigarette as sink down on the swing chair of your balcony.

“Hope it isn’t too late.” You say, bringing your hand closer to your mouth and position and the nail of your right thumb between your teeth when you hear a low chuckle. He recognized your voice, of course he would.

“How are you?” The man immediately asks after you stop talking – If you were able to see him, you’d see the way he scratches the beard on his cheek and goes back to his porch, a small smile between his thin lips.

“I’m good…” There’s a small silence before you speak again, keeping the phone close to your ear with your left hand. “Wanted to thank you again for everything, you know…”

John hums in acknowledgement – “No need to thank me, it was quite an honor for me to help my cooking teacher…” Is he flirting? No, that has to be a trick your mind wants to play with you for fun.

“How’s the car, eh? Hope it didn’t stop in the middle of the road.” He slightly tilts his head to the side while speaking, changing the topic rather fast.

“Well… I left it with the mechanic, won’t have it for a few days – took an uber home.”

You could have asked me to drive you home – He wants to say as he takes a puff of the thick cigar between his fingers. Of course, he would not rush into anything. He was still a stranger to you after all and the thought of possibly sounding creepy cringes him.

“Sounds like you had quite the battle then, with all those grocery bags?” His tone makes you chuckle and that gives him some relief yet he doesn’t want to think much of this call for now.

“I did, actually. Came home and filmed my next video.” You say, forgetting about the cigarette between your fingers and you move your hand away from your face.

“Mhm… Next recipe then?”

“Yes.”

“May I know ’bout it?”

“Nope.”

John chuckles quietly and it makes you smile.

“It’s a surprise...” The calmness of your voice is clear and it resonates in his ears.

“I don’t mind waiting then.” His voice is just as calm as yours.

There’s a comfortable silence through the line when the question pops out and you decide to ask it, to learn more about him.

“You said you had experience with changing tires.”

“Indeed.” John responds, giving you silence of his own for you to speak.

“Well, you got me wondering if you were actually my mechanic in disguise.” It lights up the mood a little bit when you hear a breathy smile. John grins before replying.

“I could be, you never know…”

“Where did you get the experience?”

He thinks of his answer...

“Different places ’round the world.” It’s vague and definitely not enough for you to figure him out completely and you are eager to do so.

A hum sounds through your throat, you take a drag of your cigarette and exhale. Not keeping the smoke inside for too long.

“You travel a lot?”

“Quite a lot, yes.” His voice is still calm. John is pondering whether he should say more or leave it at that, he is not the most open man when it comes to his line of work.

“Business men travel a lot.” The suggestion arises in the air when your words are spoken.

“They do, don’t they?” The sarcasm he uses answers absolutely nothing, he’s messing with you and you can clearly tell he finds it funny.

“Maybe you’re a famous lawyer traveling from one boring conference to another…” Another one of your suggestions.

John can’t help but grin a little at your response – “No, nothing like that.”

“Doctor?”

“No, not that either.”

You sigh, you won’t deny this is entertaining but you were getting nowhere so you give it one final try – “Well... They say military men travel a lot... Are you one of them?”

“Correct.” A calm voice replies and you try not to cheer loudly at finally guessing a part of this man’s life.

“So you’re in the military?” You want to make sure you’re right, even if he was clear and brief.

“I am.”

The line goes quiet before you break the silence.

“Explains a lot then.” You try to sound unimpressed as you shrug and it does get to him because now he’s curious.

“Does it?” He moves the cigar to his lips again, taking a puff and looking up at the dark sky.

The phone call hides the teasing smile painted over your lips. “Yeah, you look it.”

Before John can question your words any further, you change the topic.

“I’m pretty sure there are evil gnomes messing with my stuff.”

Your words don’t fail to impress him as he exhales smoke through his nostrils.

“You believe in that stuff?” The thick british accent and his raspy masculine voice could not be more noticeable as he tries not to sound rude while making fun of your possible beliefs.

A chuckle escapes your lips and you pretend to act offended by his selection of words “And what if I do?” A brief pause – “First my car then my oven…”

It catches his attention, John tilts his head like some curious dog and keeps the phone pressed against his ear.

“Did the secret recipe go wrong?”

“Well, almost.” You sigh and elaborate. “So I got this… smaller oven, easier to use compared to the bigger one that comes with the stove but as I tried to preheat it, it stopped responding.” “I’ll have to get a new one tomorrow.”

With a sigh, you get up from the swing and get closer to have a view of the street under your building, you take another drag of your cigarette as you place your elbows on the frame of the balcony, feeling the cold breeze embrace your exposed thighs and caress your almost naked arms, moving your hair with it.

“Could help you look for a new one.” The same husky voice sounds through the speaker of your phone. John’s eyes dart around his back yard, a man like him is never fully off guard. No matter where.

“You’ve already helped me enough… I- don’t really want to bother you.” There’s some embarrassment in the tone you use, looking up at the dark night sky while exhaling a slow – thin string of smoke out of your lips.

The man gazes at his bandaged thumb then at his fingers holding the cigar.

“Wouldn’t mind a shopping expedition, could use one m’self.”

This catches your attention, curiosity enters your mind. “Yeah?”

John won’t admit the fact that he burnt his hand with the old iron because he was distracted, he would rather lie that sound like a fool.

“Got this old iron at home, burnt my bloody hand while trying to use it, burnt my goddamn t-shirt too.” Some embarrassment makes the british man scrunch up his face, he doesn’t want to sound like a potty mouth.

He clears his throat before continuing – “Would be good to kill two birds in a stone, ya get your oven and I get my iron… Some advice could be useful too – ’bout the iron, ’course...”

A small smile escapes your lips as you reply to the man on the line - “Sounds like a good plan then...”

“Sounds like it.”

“Could drive you to the store with me if that’s alright.”

Right, you haven’t thought about how you’d get there.

“Will need one.” Of course you will, dummy, You don’t have your car with you – Says that little voice within your head, the one that tries to prevent you from saying too much.

His deep voice is heard again through the speaker of your phone. “Right, no problem.”

John replies, his tone monotone and casual about it which you’re thankful for.

“What time can I pick you up at? Got all day.”

“I get out of work at five, a friend will drop me off at home… Is six too late for you?”

“Don’t worry ’bout it, six ’s fine.” John says calmly and you smile.

“I’ll text you the address then.” You sit back on the hanging chair as the wind moves your hair and you squish the head of the cigarette against the ashtray placed on the small glass table of your balcony.

“Six it is then.” That voice rumbles through his chest and without even knowing you just put your cigarette away, he sticks the head of the cigar against the wood of his porch, leaving a small mark, putting his own cigar away almost at the same time as you.

“Good night, John.”

“Sleep tight, Y/N.”

Taglist: @bumblebeesfromvenus @thesevi0lentdelights @zekes-beard @blckbrrybasket @shuttlelauncher81 @thychuvaluswife @airzonaaa @mamanmae @cadotoast @ateliefloresdaprimavera @heyitsmarimari @markitvz @live-love-be-unique @syoddeye @hyriefortuno (Let me know im the comments if you’d like to be added! Dm me for removals! ♡)

[lucvly]

— christmas headcannons with chris. ⸰ 𖥔 ͙

warnings: fluff, cursing, mentions of sex, not proofread as always.

a/n: this is soo self indulgent help !! i love christmas fr.

— he’ll act like he literally doesn’t give a shit about christmas but on december 1 he’s already staying up late thinking about what he’s gonna give you.

— i don’t even wanna hear discourse about this but this man acts like a child around the holidays. he’ll enjoy december like he’s a 10 year old child who still thinks santa’s real.

— my man is quick to hang up those lights. it’ll deadass be mid november and he’s already asking you when you’re gonna decorate because he wants to help you.

— gingerbread house making is a must. he loves it. you do it at least three times in december because it’s by far one of his favorite traditions. of course he ends up building something that doesn’t look nearly close to a house but A for effort.

— you get matching ugly sweaters obviously. it’s your job to get them every year, and they progressively get worse. chris always complains about how itchy they are LMFAOO.

— baking christmas cookies with him is such a chore for real. you can’t even let him open the flour because it either ends up all on the floor, or on your face. don’t even ask him how to preheat the oven because those cookies will end up burnt.

— most times you have to make three or four batches of cookies because the first batch turns out awful, the second one: burnt.

— once your relationship gets really serious, you two make christmas cards and send them to your close family and relatives. it’s corny, sure, but you both love doing it.

— once every year, you go with him and his brothers for a late night drive just to see how people decorated around the neighborhood. chris always ends up falling asleep on your shoulder in the backseat while nick is yelling about how the lights should’ve been hung higher or how the reindeer is out of place.

— you best believe you’re writing letters to santa. it’s unserious but chris loves doing it, especially because he gets to write something along the lines of: “santa, all i want for christmas is my girlfriend under the tree. thx. — C” LMFAOOAOA sorry.

— you’re absolutely making matching ornaments. they have your initials on them it’s adorable. though decorating them is painful as hell because chris always ends up throwing glitter at you.

— takes elf on the shelf so serious like calm down!!! he better not catch anyone laying a finger on that dumbass elf or he’ll go absolutely insane.

— going christmas shopping with him is adorable. he gets so excited over what to get his brothers and his parents AWW, and he also gets a present for trevor obviously.

— you are never gonna know what that man gets you for christmas. he hides it so well it surprises you each year to be honest. you’re out here thinking he didn’t even get you a present and he’s already packing up at least three.

— definitely an expensive gift type of boyfriend, i’m talking tiffany necklaces, chanel bags, dior, ysl. and he doesn’t even care because seeing you happy makes him 10 times happier. (“baby, you didn’t have to– oh my god.” “i know, but i wanted to. you deserve it.”)

— of course you also get him cute and expensive gifts but you could seriously give him a rock and he’d cherish it as if you just gave him a gold bar.

— you two will absolutely watch christmas movies together, especially romcoms. he loves christmas romcoms LMFAOO. he’s the type to complain about the main character idc.

— he hangs up a mistletoe on his door just so he can tease you and give you a kiss every time you walk into his room. (“look, mistletoe, you gotta kiss me.” “chris i swear to god.”)

— christmas dinners are hilarious bye. he’ll deadass be eating 3 or 4 plates with no shame at all. you’re staring at him in disbelief and he just looks at you with his mouth full like “😊”. at least he’s happy LMFAOO.

— he gives you at least three presents. the first one is marked “from: santa, to: y/n” obviously you know it’s him LMFAO he thinks it’s cute and you just leave him be. second one is marked “from: chris, to: his girlfriend.” as if he wasn’t the one marking up those presents BYE. third one is “from: the best boyfriend ever, to: the prettiest girl.” he’s so cute somebody sedate me !!

— one hundred percent asks nick and matt to figure out what you got him for christmas. you’ve figured this out over the years so you don’t even give them hints anymore LMAOO.

— the worst jokes over the holidays seriously. (“hold on. babe, which cooking seasoning is the most festive?” “chris–” “christmas thyme.”) he needs to be stopped lord have mercy.

— secretly loves decorating. he’ll decorate with you all day fr. ornaments, mistletoes, the tree in general is his favorite. he cannot deal with putting up lights though. it pisses him off so badly– (only because he ends up tangled in them).

— i just know he makes hot chocolate with water. nuh uh. you had to teach him the correct way (with milk) because it was seriously getting on your nerves LMAO.

— he gets so lovey dovey over the holidays. he’s also horny 24/7 but that’s completely besides the point HELP. hands around your waist, arm around your shoulder, hand holding, everything.

— matching pjs YUP. he loves matching christmas outfits with you LMAO especially pjs. y’all have like four matching pj sets every year it’s so cute.

[lowkeyrobin]

Headcanons for mcyt x reader doing a cooking/baking stream together??

I love your writing!!!

<3

ooooo okay okay!!! yes of course bro ; also thank you!! I appreciate it sm 🫶🫶🫶🫶

MCYT ; cooking/baking stream

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu, quackity, & foolish gamers

warnings ; language, grease fires

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

you guys were making lasanga

Garfield jokes every five minutes

there's pasta sauce and cheese everywhere

he's constantly screaming to the viewers because you keep slapping him with the lasagna sheets, cooked or dry

"y/n! help! I'm being assaulted with lasagna sheets!"

he stained his shirt with pasta sauce 💀💀

almost set the house on fire bc he somehow left shit in the oven before preheating it

you turn on music halfway through and it turns into a karaoke stream

"CALIFORNIA GIRLS WERE UNFORGETTABLE-"

RANBOO

you were making soup because you found a good recipe you wanted to try

you accidently spilled the broth and covered your legs in it

he cut himself chopping up the celery (very minor cut dw)

"cooking stream? more like we injure ourselves for two hours stream"

"cooking stream? I hardly know her"

very chaotic but very good soup

during the intervals where you guys were just waiting for things to cook, you started a hashtag on Twitter to ask you guys stuff

and you answered them while keeping an eye on the food

afterwards you guys watch TV and eat your food while still streaming

"normalize eating on stream 2024!"

FREDDIE BADLINU

you were making breakfast for dinner on stream

you had to go use the bathroom while the bacon was cooking and left Freddie to tend to everything for less than a minute

and he started a grease fire.

after he got it extinguished he kinda just stood there waiting for you

meanwhile chat was exploding with panic and laughter

"Hey, y/n, I don't think we're having bacon tonight!"

"What the fuck happened???"

luckily no damage to anything other than the meat

the rest of it was really good though, and the stream had enough action for tonight 💀💀

NIKI NIHACHU

you guys were making cupcakes

you dropped like two eggs 💀💀💀 so while she was getting new ones you were cleaning up all the eggshell fragments and the insides

you got the camera to show stream your fucking mess and someone sent a dono saying "butterfingers ass"

the cackling after that 💀

you're able to get them into the oven though

and while you're waiting for them to cook, you watch dance moms and discuss everything wrong with it

commentary youtubers? I hardly know them

she begins making the icing while you pull the cupcakes out to let them cool

10/10 cupcakes they're amazing

you guys had a pride flag theme so lmao

ALEX QUACKITY

you were supposed to be making pancakes as a little challenge

his are literally raw and he put chocolate chips from the freezer straight in them

"that banana isn't gonna help anything"

"how do you know that??"

flour is everywhere. it looks like a war started

you put to much non-stick spray on the skillet and started a little fire

but Alex to the rescue dw

he couldn't even figure out how to use it and almost sprayed himself in the face!

goes on Twitter later to update that your kitchen was completely fine but the underneath of your microwave is a tiny bit melted

you blame him every time after that 💀💀

"my microwave melted a bit because you don't know how to use a fire extinguisher!"

"youre the one who used too much spray!"

chat always sides with you, too 😭😭

FOOLISH GAMERS

you thought making fried rice was a good idea? wrong

he literally has no idea what's happening

"can you make the scrambled eggs for me while I tend to the vegetables?"

"how many?"

"they're literally on the cabinet"

chat clipping every single funny moment too

"is the rice cooker even on? holy shit you left it on warm"

"I thought that meant it was on!"

"dude you've used this thing before, how long did it take for you to cook it?"

"like, forever"

"oh my god"

fried rice 10/10

he's complaining about the vegetables like he didn't have like two hours to say something about different veggies