#sweet baker

[peacesmith]

i’ve been neglecting you gintoki… man i love him so much

tag list! —

@iceicewifey @wisp-herr-rbs @bambikisses66 @over--heaven @charlies-crushes @sharkruss | tag list here!

[jonfever]

i just remembered gintoki canonically has a nurse kink like yes i'll dress up for you in a nurse outfit and treat you to make you feel better, what? you're aching down there? well no can do! i must ease that pain immediately!

[ink-being]

@wilfordsbakingshop

Ollie to Wilford

[lynaferns]

I just thought of a cute fluffy AU where Sun bakes Muffins, Moon makes cupcakes, and Eclipse makes macarons.

Had to make a doodlely do for this.

...techniacally, Moon only decorates the muffins Sun makes with cream and stuff. A cupcake is a decorated muffin with cream lol.

[behindthescreamz]

promotional portraits of anna paquin and dylan baker on the set of “trick ‘r treat” (2007)

[newtkive]

sweet tooth | luca drabble

just thinking about luca w a partner who has a crazy sweet tooth (like i do) and you never asking for a sweet treat but mentioning it nonchalantly but still not expecting luca to make you something.

first of all, your nickname would probably be sweet tooth or smth similar, let’s be so real. it would start by luca calling you that affectionately, but then it catches on w friends and family and you’re just dubbed sweet tooth.

in general, if you saw some type of dessert on a commercial or a tiktok that had you going ‘oohhh’ luca would scrunch his brows and almost seem jealous. “they used meringue, they should’ve used icing sugar.” he’d scoff judgingly and just see it as a challenge. after he would deem it doable, he’d store the information in his brain and literally make it better at work the next day.

just say the word and he will make it. telling your friends on the phone that macaroons sound good? cool, he wants to practice his piping technique with the biscuits anyways.

a japanese fruit sando? awesome he can make the sweet bread so fast, and the cream is no big deal. in fact he can just whip it up for lunch.

want a hersheys bar? first, that chocolate is trash don’t ever mention it to a european, especially your european chef boyfriend. second, he’ll make you the best stack of milk chocolate, dark chocolate, white chocolate, and cookies n’ cream bar you’ve ever had (the cookies n cream one is so good, and you’d always say that and it would piss him off). anything to get hershey’s out of your brain.

you see those viral crunchy chocolate and pistachio filled croissants in new york on your phone and groan abt them? he can research the recipe and workshop it for a day or two in the restaurant kitchen, find a cute take out box to present it to you with to give you that full experience you’d get from the real bakery—you just gotta wait. even if it’s a couple days later, it’ll be waiting for you on the table, or pulled out from behind luca’s back as he walks through the door.

to be more specific, maybe at midnight when he doesn’t have work the next day, you guys are up watching a movie or just having pillow talk. saying smth nonchalant abt your cravings like “cookies sound so good right now luca.. don’t they?” your cheek is smushed against his bicep (which you’d much rather eat) so your voice is all cute and mumbled making his heart race.

“mhm.” he’d say. he’s got a lazy smile n a deep chuckle, voice laden w sleep since you’re the night owl and he’s just staying up to spend time with you. “you wan’ me to make some right now? that what you’re saying?” he’s clearly amused, knowing that you don’t expect him to but teasing you nonetheless.

“nono, it’s too late. you’re not allowed to leave anyways.” you would mumble again, arms tightening around his own in a hug. humming happily, a kiss from the chef would land on your head and you kinda forget about the dessert you want but luca doesn’t because he’s a chef and his literal profession is making desserts so why wouldn’t he?? when you want something he can easily make?? like his love language is giving, especially if it’s baking something for someone he loves.

the next day you’d still be asleep and wake up to the smell of cookies. savory was your forte in the morning most times but who could say no to starting their day with a yummy sweet when it’s presented to them, right?

it would take you a second to realize that 1. luca wasn’t wrapped around you like usual, etching a frown into your face, and 2. luca had to be the one making cookies. and he made the best cookies. you’d waste no time in grinning and hopping up to drag yourself to the kitchen. even more of the smell would welcome you, transporting you into some kind of dreamland—and if you really were dreaming you’d be so pissed bc the cookies being pulled out of the oven by your blond messy haired boyfriend look so fucking good right now (aside from the aforementioned boyfriend who is just as, if not more scrumptious than the cookies with only his flannel pants on).

arms would wrap around his waist from behind and luca would laugh muttering “hot pan” but you don’t give a fuck because you want him and those cookies now. if anything your arms tighten and you rub at his stomach sweetly from behind, a sign of affection.

“you made me cookies!” the grin would be so evident in your voice and so infectious that luca beams as he transfers the said cookies onto a pretty dish.

“and who said they were for you?” the tease is obvious and earns an eye roll. you don’t fall for it and he doesn’t expect you to, but you gently nip at his shoulder nonetheless. a dramatic ‘ow!’ comes from the tall man, laced with laughter. you snicker evilly, standing on tip toes to rest your chin on the same shoulder (no matter your height you still gotta do tiptoes bc that man is tall).

soon enough he’d plate the perfect chocolate chip cookies with a dash of sea salt that you spotted, and turn around. it would be your turn to be wrapped in a hug by strong arms, even lifted up a little just to hear your laugh. luca also likes to hear how surprised you get that he can lift you, even though to him you’re weightless.

it wouldn’t be long until you’re begging for a cookie even if he sets you on the counter, stern look as he assures you they’re still cooling off. like hellooo?? who cares?? but he distracts you with soft kisses on your cheeks, leading down to your lips until he pulls away and leaves you wanting more. the mumble from him that, “the cookies are probably cool enough now” has you forgetting your desire for him and replacing it with the golden saucers just waiting for you to demolish them.

hands on his shoulder, you’d firmly push him to the side and hop off the counter. the roll of luca’s eyes would be affectionate and endeared, since you were this excited for his cooking. you were his best customer after all.

your feet would have a mind of their own, floating towards the cookies like a cartoon man levitating towards a pie, lured by the aroma. you start ravaging like a hungry creature. one turns into three as you face your boyfriend, moaning with closed eyes at almost every bite inbetween telling him about what you two did in your dream (he baked you brownies laced with a golden syrup in your dream so you accredit your subconscious to manifesting this).

he would just stand there with a grin, hands on the edge of the sink behind him while leaning on it. usually dreams would be so boring to talk about, but luca swore he could stand there for an eternity just watching you eat his creations and talk about any dream you wanted to share with him.

of course, those cookies would be gone in two days. and in place would be brownies drizzled in a golden syrup that luca took home from work. the surprise would earn him a watery eyed smile, and he’d just shrug and say he had extra time to kill on the evening shift.

[girlpresidentt]

[sher2650]

As domestic as it’s gonna get within the walls of 221B, probably.

@goopierthenyou :)

[peacesmith]

sweet baker but ponies

[lesbian-sunshim]

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rare pairs for your consideration - pinkie pie x sugar belle

i did two versions of this pose before ultimately deciding i liked sugar belle's expression better in the first one but i wish i had kept pinkie's mane lion-like

[tishrivers]

TREVANTE RHODES: CINEPLEX INTERVIEW (2018)

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Sweet Redemption

Title: Sweet Redemption

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Dennis Baker x Female!Reader

Word Count: 5.5K

Summary: You move into the neighborhood and meet Dennis Baker, a man in the middle of a divorce. Trying to keep yourself honest, you keep him at a distance. But you're drawn together after a mishap online. Will it end sweetly or on a sour note?

Warnings: ending of a marriage due to infidelity, nosy neighbors, slight social media stalking, alcohol consumption, premature ejaculation, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, hyperspermia, mention of bodily fluids

Beta: @peyton-warren

A/N: This all started as a dream, and no it wasn’t like a Stephanie Meyer situation. More like, I dreamt of Dennis cumming in his pants from getting too excited and then 5,000+ words fell out of my fingers. So, enjoy!!

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

It’s been the talk of the neighborhood. Mrs. Baker was moving out of the house she shared with Mr. Baker, and it was quite a messy ordeal. It was the stuff of trashy romance novels, but here it was in real life. The worst part was trying to sympathize with Mr. Baker losing his marriage. Of course, this was a sad thing, and you understood that he was distraught. But, ever since last summer at the neighborhood block party, you had been falling for Mr. ‘Please, call me Dennis’ Baker. 

You had just moved in and were excited to get out and meet your new neighbors. You met most of the cul-de-sac the day you moved in. But the Bakers seemed to keep to themselves, for the most part. 

At the block party, you made baked goods for everyone to enjoy. The first person to come and try your lemon bars was Mr. Baker. He stormed out of his house a few moments prior, and you tried to keep your eyes to yourself, but you couldn’t help but watch as he charged to a cooler holding beer and pulled out a fresh bottle. 

Using his shirt to cover the cap before he twisted it, you got a sneak peek of his washboard abs and happy trail. Tossing the bottle cap back into the cooler, he took a long pull of the hoppy liquid, swiping the bottle across his forehead to cool himself down. He took off his glasses to wipe off the sweat on his brow and put them back on, surveying the cul-de-sac.

As soon as he saw you, he seemed to be transfixed. He walked over to your lawn, where you had set up a little table with your lemon bars and some fresh, ice-cold lemonade. He reached over the table, offering his large hand for a handshake, and you loved having your hand in his, even if only for a moment. His grip was firm, and his smile was wide.

“You just moved in, yeah? I’m Dennis Baker. Welcome to the neighborhood,” he bantered, his gemstone-blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

“Thank you, Mr. Baker,” you mumbled, adding your name at the end.

“Nice to meet you. And please, call me Dennis,” he encouraged, looking down at the treats between you. “Lemon bars are my favorite.”

You lift the tray so he can take one. “Try one before Mrs. Johnson brings her grandkids over and there are none left,” you insisted, nodding to where the older woman was wrangling the kids.

He laughed, the sound tickling your eardrums. “I think you’re right, they look ravenous,” he joked, picking up one of the bars between his fingers and biting into the sweet yet tart delight. 

His eyes closed, a sinful moan escaping his lips as he finished. He sucked on his thumb and forefinger to get every last morsel of the delicacy, but a crumb stayed behind on his plump, pink lips.

You grabbed a napkin, and before you knew what you were doing, you dabbed at his lip to wipe away the offensive piece of shortbread crust. You froze, your hand gripping the napkin so close to his succulent mouth, ready to apologize for treating him like a messy child. But he saves you from your embarrassment.

“I swear, I am such a mess. My wife will tell you the same damn thing, I'm sure," he lamented, a nervous chuckle on his lips as he took the napkin from your hand and wiped his mouth.

“Dennis!” His wife stands outside their front door with her hands on her hips. Her ash blonde waves reflected the sunlight, but the fire in her eyes made you want to be swallowed up into the earth. 

“Speak of the devil, and she shall appear,” he mumbles lowly, just loud enough for you to catch what he said. “Um, thanks for the, uh, lemon bar. I’ll see you around, I guess.” He smiles at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you immediately feel the urge to wrap your arms around him and tell him that everything will be ok.

Instead, you smile back politely and give a little wave. You watch him until he turns around to walk back to his house, busying yourself with pouring a cup of lemonade. You gulped the drink in one go, trying to soothe your suddenly dry mouth, when Mrs. Johnson walked over.

“Alright, kids. Take one lemon bar and go sit down in the shade, ok?” One by one, the three youngsters take a napkin and a lemon bar, and you pour each a glass of lemonade. Once they have their snacks, they walk back to sit under the shade of a tree. You almost forgot Mrs. Johnson was still there until she cleared her throat. “So, I see you met Mr. Baker. Easy with that one, honey.”

“I’m sorry?” you asked, knowing damn well what she meant.

“He’s married, child. Unhappily, but still very much married,” she began, shaking her head as she watched Dennis’ retreating form enter his front door. When she turned back around, she looked you right in the eyes and started to whisper. “Now, you didn’t hear this from me. But word on the street is they’re in the middle of a divorce because of infidelity. That hussy went and got mixed up with the pool boy, and poor Dennis was the last to know, of course. And I don’t mean to lecture you on who you should be drooling over, but I can’t help wanting to make sure you know what you are getting into, baby.”

“I’m not—I wasn’t drooling. We barely even spoke,” you stuttered, shaking your head.

“Mhm, okay. Just try your best to wait for the ink to dry on that divorce decree, alright?” She patted your hand that lay on the table, then walked back to her grandchildren.

‘Well, that was fun,’ you thought to yourself. You poured yourself another lemonade, took a sip, and peeked over the top of the cup to see the blinds closing quickly in the front window of the Baker house. Your heart fluttered in your chest, and you packed up your small table to take everything back inside. 

Over the last year, you heeded Mrs. Johnson’s warning and managed to keep Dennis at arm’s length. You greeted each other when you happened to check the mailbox at the same time, exchanged recipes when you bumped into one another at the grocery store, and even commented on the other’s social media posts. 

Speaking of social media, you noticed when Dennis cropped his wife out of a few photos. You hated to admit it, but you stalked his page more than once. It became a habit of yours to scroll through his posts now and then. He usually reposted articles about creative writing workshops and local beer tastings. You watched the evolution of his life from a man divorcing his wife to a man who looked forward to the future.

One night, while enjoying a glass of wine, you open your laptop and begin scrolling through your feed. You find yourself clicking on an article about online dating and pushing past the fear of putting yourself out there. As you reach the end of the piece, you click the thumbs-up button and are shown other names of friends who also liked it. And that’s when you see it.

‘Dennis Baker also liked this.’ 

So, it looked like Dennis was ready to move on. You chew your lip, thinking a million things all at once. You click out of the article and resume scrolling for the night. 

After about a half hour, you get up to refresh your chardonnay. As you pour a healthy glass, you hear a ‘ding’ come from your laptop. Returning to the couch, you set down your glass and pick up the computer. 

You search the screen for what could have made that sound, and you spot a notification in the corner. Clicking it reveals a pop-up that says, ‘Dennis Baker liked your photo.’. Clicking it again, you are shown the photo in question. It’s a selfie you took about three weeks ago when you and a few friends went to the beach. You smile at the camera lens and show off your skimpy two-piece bathing suit as you lay on a lounger.

This man liked your thirst trap from three weeks ago, at 10:36 pm on a Thursday. It could be a fluke, but it could be that this man stalks your page as well. You don’t have the chance to ponder it in-depth because you are startled by another ‘ding’.

This time, there is an alert from the Messenger app. 

‘You have a new message from Dennis Baker.’

You waste no time clicking the notification and are brought to the web-based messenger. 

Hey, what are the chances that my liking your photo just now isn’t creepy??

Not creepy at all 😉

Just unexpected

Then again, it is a thirst trap, guess it worked lol

Oh, it definitely worked 😁

And by that, I mean you take great selfies

You looked beautiful, I mean

I am shit at this, I’m sorry

You wish you could reach through the computer screen and cradle his face in your hands and tell him that everything is fine. But instead, you gush over him calling you beautiful, and try to lighten the mood.

No apologies necessary

And thank you for the compliment 😉

What are you up to tonight?

Besides flattering me ☺️

I was just taking a break from writing

Have a deadline coming up and my mind is a mess

Saw you were online, so I figured ‘why not’

Still getting used to a quiet house

I’m sorry

You have nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart

That responsibility belongs to my ex-wife

But enough about her, what are you doing up so late?

Just enjoying some wine 😉

And I also don’t like the quiet all the time

Sometimes you just want a body next to you

The chardonnay gave you some liquid courage, allowing you to say what you think.

I doubt that was an invitation

But

If you wanted, I wouldn’t mind the company

You could relax and have some wine

And I could get some writing done

Totally up to you

I would love the company as well

I’m sure Mrs. Johnson and the other old bitties would talk about us though

Let them talk, doesn’t bother me one bit

Mrs. Johnson doesn’t scare me

And either way, it’s our business

Not hers

Not that we have business

I’m shutting up now

‘A man this wonderful should never have to feel like he isn’t allowed to express himself,’ you thought to yourself. Plus, you know you wouldn’t exactly mind it if you and he did have some ‘business’.

I know what you mean

You don’t have to shut up lol

But I think I might go to bed in a bit

Yeah it is getting late

Do you want to exchange numbers?

No pressure, of course

Just figured it would be easier than this

Yeah that sounds great

You exchange numbers and smile at your phone before saving his contact and returning to your online chat.

Well, good luck writing

And don’t stay up too late 😉

I’ll try my best

Good night, sweetheart 😁

Good night, Dennis

You close your laptop and gulp down the rest of your wine. Well, so much for keeping him at arm’s length.

Throughout the next week, you and Dennis send texts back and forth from morning to midnight. You find out you have similar interests in movies and humor, but you differ in music and food tastes. Both of you love horror films and John Mulaney stand-up. You enjoy any music you could dance to and trying interesting new foods, while he likes easy listening and “nothing too spicy”.

Good morning and good night texts sandwich your other messages that range from fascinating to mundane. If you were honest with yourself, there were moments where you wish the texts would get a bit spicier. You didn’t want to force him into a conversation he wasn’t ready to have. Also, you didn’t want to assume he would ever want to have a conversation like that.

You invited Dennis over on Friday night; neither of you had plans, and you were feeling a bit on the lonely side since your friends all had significant others to hang out with. You get home from work, take a shower, and change into some comfy loungewear. 

Just as you are finishing your dinner dishes, you get a text from Dennis asking if he can head over. After sending a quick text to the affirmative, you set your phone on the counter. You’re drying your wine glass from dinner when your doorbell rings. You hang up your dish towel and go to answer the door.

You check your appearance in the mirror in the foyer and are pleased with yourself. Opening the door, you are greeted by a smiling Dennis who holds his laptop case in one hand and a bottle of your favorite red blend in the other. More wine!You step aside to let him into your house and note that he looks relaxed for once.

“I picked this up for you. I remember you saying that you liked it,” he says, giving you the bottle once he is in your living room. The self-satisfied smile on his face does nothing to quell the fire between your legs.

“Thank you, Dennis,” you beam, taking the bottle in one hand while the other squeezes his bicep. You’re surprised when he flexes under your grip, biting your lip and rushing to the kitchen to open the bottle.

“No problem, sweetheart. Mind if I get set up here on the couch?” He inquires, already sitting down and taking out his laptop.

“Yeah, that’s perfect. There’s an outlet for your charger on the wall next to the—”

“I got it!” He interjects, cutting you off and plugging in his charger. He sits again and starts to boot up his laptop, looking over at you and noticing you are having trouble opening the wine. 

He walks over to you, taking the bottle and corkscrew from your hands after wordlessly offering help. Effortlessly, he pops the cork on the bottle and pours you a healthy glass. You accept the wine, take a sip, and thank him for his help.

“Next time, just say that you need help. I’m not gonna think any less of you, sweetheart,” he reassures, smiling and rubbing a hand down your arm. 

You stand there looking up at him, wishing you weren’t intimidated by this normally unassuming man. Clearing your throat, you find your voice. 

“Come on, you told me you were gonna read me some of what you’re writing,” you probe, nodding to the couch.

“That’s right, I did say that,” he snorts, running a hand through his hair and walking back to the living room. “But, remember, I’m no Shakespeare. So, don’t expect this to be—”

“Dennis?” You cut him off, your hand going to his solid shoulder.

“Yeah?” His soft, aquamarine orbs move to you.

“Shut up and show me your work,” you insist, dropping your hand from his arm so you don’t accidentally ruffle his hair. He’s so cute when he’s pathetic and down on himself, but you would never tell him that. 

That nervous laugh of his is your absolute favorite; it never disappoints. 

“Alright, um, this one I’m working on is about the new brewery that opened up on Main Street a few months ago. It’s owned by this guy who used to own another brewery with friends, but one day he just decided to open this place. Anyway, uh, I’ll start here,” he begins, adjusting his glasses on his face.

Dennis launches into a tale about a brewmaster who decides to follow his dream of being the sole owner of a brewery, leaving behind his skeptical friends and doubtful family. Against all odds, he was able to find a building that was available for purchase in his budget. Along with help from a friend who was an interior designer, he created an inviting space where people could not only come to have a drink but also learn about the brewing process.

The way he wrote about the owner’s friends and family not believing in him sounded like he knew what it was like to be doubted, to be second-guessed. You sip from your glass while Dennis reads aloud, and you study him. 

He fidgets while he speaks, fingers smoothing over the keys until he uses the trackpad to scroll down to the next paragraph. While he scrolls, his tongue pokes out of his mouth to moisten his bottom lip. Now and then, he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

He ends the story with some flowery words about overcoming odds, trusting your gut, and being your own biggest motivator. Had those words come from anyone else, you wouldn’t have believed them. But because you know what Dennis has gone through and have seen with your own eyes how he has persevered, you are drawn in by the words like a moth to a flame.

“So, come on. What is your honest opinion? I promise I won’t be offended,” he sighs, expecting the worst.

You’re unsure if you are drunk from the good wine or moved by his words. But instead of trying to figure it out, you drain your glass and set it on the coffee table. You then turn to Dennis and move his laptop to the coffee table as well; all the while he furrows his brow and waits to see what you’re up to.

You get up on your knees, move Dennis' clammy hands away from nervously rubbing his thighs, and climb onto his lap. His eyes widen, and you can tell he doesn’t know what to do as you invade his space. When you settle in straddling his legs, your hands go to his chest. You’re not surprised when firm pecs greet your palms or when a bulge twitches under your ass.

“Dennis, you are an amazing writer. I was hooked from the first sentence. I can tell how passionate you are about writing. Makes me wonder if you’re passionate like that in other areas,” you confess, licking your wine-stained lips and sliding your hands from his chest to rest on his shoulders.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows deeply before speaking. “Th—thank you, sweetheart. I mean, it’s just a puff piece I was working on. You should see what Nathan comes up with; he’s already a junior editor, and—”

“Dennis?” You cut him off, covering his mouth with your forefinger in a ‘shhh’ gesture. “With all due respect, I don’t care what Nathan does. I’m complimenting you, and you will accept it. When I move my finger from your lips, you will say, ‘Thank you’ and we will move on, ok?”

He nods quickly, his glasses sliding down his nose a bit. You remove your finger from his lips and adjust his glasses for him. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his hands at his sides and aching to touch you.

“Good boy,” you tease, biting your lip in a devilish grin. You notice his breathing quicken. And was that a whimper? A pink hue dusts his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and you realize he’s very much turned on. You are so mesmerized by how hot he looks that you are rendered speechless, allowing Dennis to take it the wrong way.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

This time, you cut off his words with a kiss. As soon as your mouths touch, you feel a slight flutter in your chest. It’s just a brush of lips, a fleeting second where you throw caution to the wind. But you’re convinced this is just the beginning.

Leaning back, you look into Dennis’ eyes. Searching for what, you don’t know. He lets out a breath, saying nothing while his hands remain at his sides. The moment stretches long enough that you begin to think that you fucked up.

You tremble, afraid that you may have crossed a line. “Fuck, I’m so sor—”

Now, it’s your turn to get cut off. His large hand raises to touch your cheek, his thumb on your lips. “Sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, since that day at the block party. I can’t believe that you want me, too.”

Instead of responding, your hand grips his wrist, and you open your mouth to take the tip of his thumb between your lips. You suck on his thumb sinfully, watching as his pupils dilate. Swirling your tongue around his digit, you close your eyes and savor the little noises he makes.

As you let his thumb slip from your lips, you adjust yourself in his lap. The hardening length in his pants brushes against your ass. He hisses, a mixture of pleasure and pain on his face. You gyrate your hips slowly, setting a rhythm of teasing him before you lean in to nip and kiss his neck. 

His hands go to your waist, guiding you as you grind into him. “Is this ok, sweetheart?” 

“Mhm,” you murmur between the kisses you leave on his neck. 

His grip on you tightens momentarily, and he lets out a breathy groan. You feel his arms wrap around you, and he pulls you close, effectively stopping you from moving your hips any longer. Your arms encircle him, your hand tangling in his dishwater-blonde hair. 

You sit there, enveloped in each other until you realize Dennis just came in his pants. Lifting yourself, you spot the wet spot on his jeans. In place of feeling grossed out by the offensive patch of cum, you are even more aroused than you were while you rode his lap. You just made this man cum in his pants; you couldn’t be prouder.

“Good going, Dennis. You just came in your pants like a horny teenager. Maybe you do have a bad penis,” he says to himself, just loud enough for you to hear.

You ignore his negative self-talk and remove yourself from his grip, standing up before him. He looks so small as he sits there, and all you want to do is cuddle him like a hurt puppy. But rather than cuddle, you determine it’s your turn to cum with his help.

“Dennis, get up and follow me,” you order, already walking away. You hear his soft footfalls behind you, doing as he’s told.

Once you get to your bedroom, you sit at the edge of the bed and move yourself to lie back on your pillows. You instruct him to take off his jeans and lay next to you. He takes off all of his clothing, leaving his boxer briefs on to cover his softening cock.

When he is on the bed, he silently asks for permission to undress you by tucking his fingers in your bottoms. You nod, lying on your back, and he gets to work. Pulling down your leggings, he peppers your legs with kisses. With your pants off, he can see the small damp patch in your underwear and lets out a whimper. 

“Dennis, do you want to eat my pussy?” you hint, widening your legs.

“Yes, please, can I?” he pleads, smoothing a hand up your thigh.

“Finish undressing me and then lay down so I can ride that pretty face of yours,” you direct, smiling up at him as he hovers above you.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he replies, carefully helping you undress fully. He lays down, his head supported by one of your pillows. You face away from him, throwing one leg over his torso, scooting up until your vagina is just above his lips. “Take everything you need. Use me, sweetheart.”

Lowering yourself, you are met with his hot, wet mouth. He licks a stripe between your folds, splitting you down the middle. Once he gets to your soaked entrance, he laps up what nectar has accumulated there, moaning all the while. Your hands go to his abdomen to hold yourself up, marveling at how sculpted he is.

His hands grip your ass, opening you up so he can dive in further. The sloppy sounds of him slurping up your juices only serve to make you whimper and call out his name. He eats you out like it’s his dream come true, and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

His tongue swirls around your clit then flicks up and down on the sensitive bead until you’re a moaning mess. Your eyes lose focus for a second, and when you regain sight, you notice his hardening length. You watch his cock bob as you let out a particularly breathy whine.

When he changes tactics and sucks on your clit, you keen like a cat in heat. You can feel yourself reaching the point of no return quicker than you thought possible. He moans into your sex when you lean forward and palm him through his boxer briefs. Your hand can barely fit around it, and the sight alone has you pressing yourself further into Dennis’ mouth.

He begins to pump into your hand as you rub your soaked pussy up and down his face, taking what you need just like he said you could. With the way his mouth slides across your snatch, you’re getting beard burn, and you couldn’t give two shits. You fuck yourself on his tongue, your clit stimulated by his bottom lip. 

Within a handful of minutes, you’re gushing into his mouth, and he is drinking you down until you have nothing left to give. He lazily presses kisses to your outer labia as you catch your breath. When you can’t take anymore, he helps you lie down next to him.

He wraps his arms around you, soothing a hand down your arm as you come down from your high. You come back to yourself once you feel his hard dick slightly pressing into your hip. You say nothing at first until you realize he’s canting his hips and humping into you like a horny puppy.

You reach for his erection, slipping your hand into his underwear and stroking him. The tighter your grip, the louder he groans. You turn slightly to face him and help him remove his last article of clothing. His uncut cock is heavy as it hangs between you. It looks pretty, and you bet it tastes good, too. Licking your lips, you dip your head and lick the bead of precum that leaks from his shiny red tip.

The whimper that leaves his mouth is too precious. You can tell that if you use your mouth on him, he is bound to blow sooner rather than later. You take pity on him and lay on your back again, throwing your leg over his hip. 

“Need you to fuck me, Dennis. Need you so bad,” you beg, teasing his tip while it sits just under your heat.

“Are you sure, sweetheart? I don’t want you to feel pressured just because we’re naked in bed together,” he counters, courteous to a fault.

“I’m sure, Dennis. I want you. I need you,” you stress, pressing your hips into him.

“It’s okay. I’m right here, sweetheart,” he consoles, turning your head to capture your lips in a kiss. While you kiss, he pushes his tip between your folds, teasing your hole. He slips into your tight entrance, ramming forward until you take him in completely.

Letting you get used to the intrusion, he stills for a beat until you break the kiss. You nod, mutely imploring him to move. He gets the hint, pulling out until only his thick mushroom head is inside you before pushing back in. His grip around your waist tenses as he begins to fuck you in earnest.

Dragging moan after groan from you, he revels in the different noises you make. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear as his dick is squeezed by your cunt with every thrust. He pecks your cheek and neck, littering your warm skin with kisses.

As he continues to cuddlefuck you, you’ve never felt safer in a lover’s arms. He periodically asks if you’re okay as if he’s afraid that any false move will have you running for the hills. You hum in approval every time, unsure if your voice can articulate how amazing he makes you feel.

“So good for me, sweetheart. You were made for me. Hmm, I can’t get enough of you. You’re perfect. Every fucking inch of you, sweetheart. Even the parts of you that I don’t know about. I needed this. Needed you, sweetheart. Do you know how beautiful you are?” He babbles as he gets lost pumping inside you.

“Oh, Dennis. Dennis, I’m gonna cum. That’s it, right there,” you ramble, feeling your walls clamp down around his shaft. Your back arches, allowing him to go impossibly deeper. You realize no one has ever made you cum like this, and you bask in the afterglow for as long as you can as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, his hips stuttering as he chases his release. “Right behind you, sweetheart. Ugh, I’m gonna cum. Where-”

“Don’t you dare fucking pull out! Wanna feel you,” you insist, your hand going to his ass to stop him from withdrawing.

“Fuck! Fuck, here it comes,” he howls, stilling his hips as his dick twitches and releases rope after rope of cum inside you. He cums so much that it starts to leak out past his thick meat. “Shit, I can’t believe I’m still cumming, sweetheart. Just keeps going. Oh, God.” You can still feel him spurting cum inside you, and you’re sure that if you weren’t on birth control, he would be impregnating you right now.

As his cock finally softens, it slips free from you along with some of his thick load. Both of you are so tired from your coupling that instead of cleaning up, you remove the comforter from the bed and climb under the sheets. Dennis is the big spoon, attaching himself to you once you press your ass into him.

You sleep soundly that night, lulled by his heartbeat against your back.

After a few months, you make it official. Dennis is yours, and you are his. Neither of you can get enough of each other, and keeping this secret has had its struggles. But together, you could get through anything. Dennis was moving up in his career as a writer, and you were proud to say you made leaps and bounds in your job.

Attending the neighborhood’s Halloween party together, you are dressed as Gomez and Morticia Adams. The way Dennis dotes on you, kissing you every chance he can get, it is the perfect costume. Plus, he looked adorable in that pin-striped suit with his hair slicked back. You were no slouch in your floor-length black long-sleeved fitted dress.

You get some looks and a few smiles as well. But when Dennis makes a bathroom run, you are approached by Mrs. Johnson. She hugs you and chuckles to herself before stepping back and patting your growing tummy. Your eyes widen, and you wonder how she could tell when Dennis didn’t even know.

“So, when can we expect the pitter-patter of little feet?” She inquires, a soft smile on her face.

“I go to the doctor on Tuesday to find out. How the hell did you know?” You challenge, crossing your arms to cover your belly.

“You thought you two were slick, sneaking back and forth to each other’s houses since the summer. Me and the girls have been watching the way you two interact. That’s the look of people in love. Plus, your tits are so big right now they look like you’re smuggling two Christmas hams in that bra,” she laughs again, rubbing your arm when you frown slightly. “Don’t worry, child. That man loves you more than he ever loved that hussy he was married to. Keep doing what you’re doing, and we’ll soon be calling you ‘Mrs. Baker’.”

Dennis appears next to you, whisking you away to the dance floor. He twirls you around and makes you laugh with his terrible dance moves and goofy faces. Nothing makes him happier than making you happy, and vice versa. You two were truly made for each other, and nothing could separate you. 

But the best part? When you are about six months pregnant, you go grocery shopping, running into Dennis's ex-wife in the bread aisle. It's priceless to see the look of shock on her face when she realizes he's the father and your new husband. Life doesn’t get much better than that. 

Dear Life,

Thanks for the lemons!

Sincerely,

The Bakers

A/N: First time writing for Dennis, and I don’t think this will be that last. Please let me know what you think!! I hope you all enjoyed this nutty little story. Sorry for the lemon puns!

**Tag List**

@cevansbaby-dove @startcarvingdarling @iwudbutnah @thezombieprostitute @thabiddie23

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

im gonna teach u a lesson boy!

[sleepysuburb]

tee hee *strawberry shortcake's your classic doctors*

[starleska]

i'm onto Terror of the Vervoids and am obsessed with the Doctor high-key flirting with Janet the Stewardess 😳💖

[oolhan]

this is a bit embarassing to admit and its niche but I HAD to share this okay. All this time I thought the entirety of the thg fandom just universally agreed (headcanon) that katniss' scents are along the smells of pines and wood and smoke. That makes sense. And then Peeta always has cinnamon and dill to him. This combination is present in almost all fic I've read so I assumed it's purely headcanon and I was curious why out of all scents a baker can smell, why dill? why cinnamon???

and then.

oh my god.

cinnamon and dill IS CANONICALLY Peeta's faint scents! it's shortly mentioned in mockingjay and I just discovered it in my re-read now. Katniss smelt faint scents of cinnamon and dill in her dream when she's missing her peeta.

I can't believe this I'm pushing myself down the stairs.