#what if I put my chocolate chip cookie recipe in the tags

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Cookies | Kim Hongjoong

-> Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader

-> Request: No. This is a repost from my old account. It was from my Christmas celebration but it doesn't mention Christmas.

-> Synopsis: Baking cookies goes wrong.

-> Warnings: pure domestic bliss.

-> Word Count: 772

-> Requests: Open.

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©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead.

Likes, comments & reblogs are welcomed and appreciated, thank you. 

“Are you okay?” Hongjoong asks his girlfriend as he walks into the kitchen after hearing her let out a string of curse words. He’s unsure if he should have asked anything when he spots the tray of burnt cookies in on the kitchen counter.   

“I was trying to make cookies for our movie night and for you to take back to the dorms for the guys,” she rambles. When she looks at him defeated and about to give up, he steps in, grabs a tea towel and picks up the tray of burnt cookies. He makes his way over to the rubbish bin and tosses the cookies into it.  

“Let’s try again,” he says placing the tray back on the kitchen counter and rips off some baking paper from the roll lying beside the ingredients. “Where’s the recipe?”   

“I was going by memory of how eomma makes them,” she tells him, going through the ingredients.  

“Why don’t you just ask her for the recipe?” he asks looking over the ingredients.  

“I did have the recipe,” she admits with a sigh. “I lost it.”  

“How did you lose it?” He questions as he starts searching for the piece of paper covered in ingredients from all the other times she’s used it. When he can’t find it, he goes back to over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders he looks deep into her eyes. “We’ll just have to wing it. Are you willing to give it one more shot?”  

“Only if you help me,” she nods, feeling slightly better that he wasn’t making a big deal about the missing recipe and the last batch of burnt cookies.   

“That’s what I’m here for,” he says pulling her in for a hug and kisses the top of her head. “Now what’s the first step?” He says, moving to the sink to wash his hands.  

“2 cups of flour,” she says remembering that part clearly. She grabs the bag of flour and pours it into the measuring cup.   

While she does that, Hongjoong grabs the sieve and puts it over the bowl. Y/N then pours the flour into the sieve before measuring the next couple. Relief filled her when there’s just enough flour to fill the second cup. Hongjoong sifts the flour as she moves on the sugar and salt before moving on to soften the butter.  

An hour and a trip to the grocery store later, both Hongjoong and Y/N have batter smeared on their faces, their clothes are covered in flour, salt and sugar, two burnt batches of cookies are in the bin and they’re looking skeptically at the gloop that is meant to be cookie dough in the bowl.   

“I think we should ask your eomma for the recipe again,” Hongjoong scrunches his face up, feeling gross and in need of a shower. “I need a shower.”  

“I’ll call her tomorrow,” she agrees, feeling the same. “I have cookies in the cupboard we can have instead.”  

Hongjoong eyes widen as a look of frustration crosses his features. “Yah! Why have we been trying to make cookies this whole time?”  

“Homemade cookies always taste better than store bought,” she shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “And I thought it would be fun. And then you decided to help me out so I thought that could be even more fun. But I lost my eomma’s recipe and now we’re both a mess and have to use the store-bought ones,” she pouts slightly.   

Hongjoong lets out a breath. “Let’s clean this up, go shower, get into something comfier, and eat those store-bought cookies while watching a movie?”   

“Sounds good to me,” she agrees again.   

They quickly clean up and have a shower and get dressed into some pajamas. As Hongjoong makes them some hot drinks, Y/N grabs the chocolate chip cookies she has stored in her pantry. She takes them into the lounge, places them on the coffee table and takes the blanket hanging over the back of the couch and unfolds it.   

Hongjoong joins her in the lounge, carrying both cups of hot chocolate. He hands her cup to her once she’s settled on the couch and sits down next to her. She turns on the tv and finds a movie they both like to watch.   

“Thank you for helping me try to make cookies when you didn’t have to,” she rests her head on his shoulder, quietly thanking him a few minutes into the movie.   

“I had fun,” he smiles kissing the top of her head. “And I’d do it all over again. Let's just make sure we have the recipe next time.” 

TAGGING: @staytiny2000 - @kpopmenace143 - @treehouse-mouse - @alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea

@rainydayteacups - @green-agent - @tinyelfperson - @yeonjunnie – @hollxe1

@laylasbunbunny – @deltamoon666 - @skz1-4-3 - @pinkies-things - @everythingboutkpop -

@trinxt

RED means I wasn't able to tag you or that your blog didn't come up when I tried to tag you (sometimes it happens after the post is posted - if that's the case please let me know if you got the notification). please make sure to check your settings. I have a post on my pinned post if you need help.

[unhingedoveractivemuse]

Title: FIrst LEGO Sets

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Tags: Married Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Note: Flufftober Prompt #16 Yes, No, Maybe

Note 2: Another one for my SEALs Buck AU but can be read as a stand-alone. All you have to know is that they’re married and are smitten with each other.

=========================================================

Buck has had to make many choices in his life. Eating spaghetti instead of pizza. Studying for a test versus not studying. Joining the SEALs versus quitting

Nothing is as daunting as this though.

What did they get into?

There are way too many to choose from, he thinks, looking at the wall of options in front of him and his husband.

“Yes?” he says, looking at the box his beloved picked out. “Or does it buy too much into gender stereotypes?”

His partner turns the box around and frowns, nose wrinkling in a way that Buck finds adorable. “Yeah, no,” his husband decides, putting the box back down.

“There's these little sets down here,” he notes, nodding at the little bags in a rack, careful not to disturb their son who's napping in his arms after another therapy session.

“No. He'll have them all mixed up within the day.”

“But variety, babe.”

A thoughtful head tilt. “Maybe.”

Then, his beloved sighs. “I never thought LEGO shopping would be so hard.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, looking at all the colorful boxes again. Their son's therapist had recommended they get some toys to help with Christopher's dexterity and LEGO was one of the better options on the list because it also promotes creativity.

There's just…a lot.

Fortunately, they were able to rule out the DUPLO sets for the youngest of children because both of them think that Christopher’s dexterity is good enough to not warrant buying the larger blocks for him. They also eliminated the sets meant for people 18 and above.

But, unfortunately, that still leaves them with plenty of options.

And this is only what Walmart has to offer!

It's his turn to sigh, running a hand through Christopher's curls to lull the child back to sleep when he feels the tell-tale signs of him waking up.

“We've got this,” the love of his life reassures him.

“Yeah, we've got this.”

Fifteen minutes later, they're at a standstill.

There are several sets in their cart all with their own merits. They've got a Classic box that would encourage creativity but only has little builds, a City set that's a bit more gender-neutral but doesn't seem all too interesting to Buck, a Speed Champions set which is definitely in there because of his husband's interest in it, a Star Wars mini set that seems cool but he worries about it being too detailed for Christopher, a DC set, a Marvel set, and a DUPLO Disney set because their son is a bit of a Disney fiend.

Now what would their final choice be?

“Papa,” Christopher whines from his arms, almost startling him. He had been so engrossed in weighing the pros and cons, price, and their son’s possible capabilities to build a set he completely missed Christopher waking up.

Did he wake the child up by accident? He did, didn’t he?

Goodness, he feels like a terrible parent.

“Hungry,” their son whines, clinging to Buck's shirt.

Okay, maybe he's not such a terrible parent. Experience has told him a hungry Christopher will wake up no matter what.

“Soon, mijo,” his partner consoles the six-year-old, pressing a kiss onto Christopher's temple.

“Cookies?”

Buck grins. He had made a batch of chocolate chip cookies from one of Bobby's recipes, and they were pretty good if he says so himself. Not as good as Bobby's based on the ones his soulmate brought back from the station, but good.

Christopher and his husband might or might not be hooked on them, and the sense of pride he has about it is immeasurable.

His beloved chuckles. “Maybe after lunch. Bisabuela's expecting us, remember? She’s making quesadillas.”

“Taquitos?”

He laughs, sharing the sentiment. Everything Abuela cooks is amazing, but those taquitos?

Heavenly.

“We had them last time,” he reminds their son. “Maybe next time if you ask Abuela nicely.”

Christopher nods, taking the assignment seriously based on the look on his face. “Let's gooo.”

“We really should go,” his partner says, checking his watch. “Or we'll be running late.”

“Alright,” he concurs, and then the idea pops into his mind. “How about you pick, then, superman? Which one would you like?”

He waves at their cart and watches as Christopher's curious gaze scrutinizes each one.

“One?”

“Yeah, just one.”

Their son nods, and Buck thanks whatever higher power is out there that Christopher is not one to beg for more toys. His soulmate must think the same too based on the pleased, fond look he's sending their son.

“That one.”

Buck blinks, wondering where the six-year-old is pointing when he spots it.

The lone Jurassic World set.

“You sure?” he asks. They had considered the set, of course, but there didn't seem like a lot to do with it. It was only a truck, a raptor, and two figures.

Christopher nods, though, and who is he to deny his son?

Well, the one who should be denying any unreasonable request coming from a six-year-old, but his point still stands in this case.

And it's not like his husband is denying it either considering how he plucks the box from the shelf to hand to their son and starts to put all the other ones back.

“Cariño?”

“Hm?”

“You wouldn't be upset if I ruined your budget right?”

He looks up from watching Christopher stare at the box in his hands with fascination and eagerness to see his partner holding up the set with the car.

Buck snorts. He should have seen that coming from a mile away. His beloved isn't obsessed with cars, but the ones he likes, he likes.

“No,” he says trying for unamused, but the smile on his soulmate's face tells him he failed.

“Yes.”

“Maybe. For a price.”

The love of his life walks up to them, pressing up against Buck before kissing him softly on the lips.

“Good enough?” his husband asks, a teasing smile on his face.

“Absolutely.”

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time

Day 7: Oh Sugar Sugar (Food Play)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Engineer x Fem!Reader

Summary: You know, I was never in to southern charm until Engineer

Tags: Food play, whipped cream, kinda silly/cheesy, reader can’t fucking bake

Word Count: 2.2k

The Masterlist

To say that you had never so much as touched an oven would be an understatement. You had never really been taught to cook when you were young, and by the time you were old enough to learn, you were out doing so many odd jobs for money that you pretty much lived off of fast food. So, it was a mystery as to why you had suddenly decided that you would attempt to make cookies from scratch.

The results were just as disastrous as anyone could have predicted.

Several trays of burnt or undercooked cookie-like concoctions sat on cooling racks beside the stove. You stared at them pathetically as you feebly tried to convince yourself that maybe they wouldn’t be so bad. Turning around, you looked at your haphazardly assembled ingredients, which amounted to anything sweet that you could find in the kitchen. Sugar, brown sugar, chocolate chips, chocolate sauce, and even freaking whipped cream. Just looking at the ingredients made you even more sure that these cookies- if you could even call them that- would be unsalvageable.

Your only saving grace was that no one was around to see this mess. Of course, the moment you let yourself feel thankful for that was the moment Engineer waltzed into the kitchen, stopping short the moment he witnessed the scene. The crime-scene, you could even say. An utter crime against baking that you had committed.

“Woah, darlin. What happened here?” He asked, staring at the items stacked on the counter as he tried to decipher what exactly you had been attempting to make.

“A tragedy, that’s what. An absolute travesty against bakers and cookies everywhere,” you said, finally letting the defeat settle in. You stared at the cooling racks, unable to meet Engie’s gaze.

“Oh, surely it can’t be that bad,” he said, although he wasn’t very convincing. Especially since he did a terrible job of suppressing a wince at the sight of your baked monstrosities.

“I thought it would be a nice surprise for everyone,” you said. “I guess I conveniently forgot about my total lack of cooking experience.”

“So, I’m guessin’ you mixed up all this sweet stuff, hopin’ that it would result in cookie dough somehow?” Engineer asked, once again examining the wide range of sugary substances on the table. Each would be delicious on their own, but put together, they had resulted in a complete mess.

“Yeah,” you said curtly, leaning on the counter now with your head in your hands.

“Why didn’t you just follow an actual recipe? It would‘ve been easier.” Engie asked after pausing for a moment, probably noticing that you were becoming a bit agitated and trying to figure out how to pose that question in the most polite way possible.

“Well, apparently I don’t like doing things the easy way!” you responded, a bit annoyed and more than a bit embarrassed at this point.

Honestly, when you began this whole endeavor there was a part of you that thought you could do it better without any recipe, as if you could reveal some innate inner talent for baking if you just went at it blind. The mess on the kitchen counter was the evidence showing how wrong you were, and you really just wanted to clean it all up and forget this ever happened.

“Most people just use vanilla extract to make cookies sweet,” Engie said, picking up an open bottle of chocolate sauce in his ungloved hand. He stared at the rest of the mismatched ingredients scattered across the counters with a grimace.

“What’s that?” You asked. He turned to look at you with a thoroughly bewildered expression. You felt the flush of humiliation rise in your cheeks again.

“Oh. Oh darlin,” he said, a tone akin to horror evident in his voice. Apparently you had forgotten a very crucial ingredient. With the chocolate sauce still in hand, Engie walked over to a cabinet, opening it and retrieving a small brown bottle. He handed it to you. “Here, take a sniff. This makes a much better flavorin’ for baked goods than ice cream toppings.”

You sniffed the dark liquid, eyes going wide at the sweet vanilla aroma. Before Engie could even get a word out to stop you, you had taken a sip. That little taste was all it took for your face to immediately contort in disgust.

“Oh god!” You cried as the bitter taste coated your tongue. You shoved Engineer to the side to get to the sink, quickly cupping your hands beneath the running faucet and gulping water down until the horrible flavor ebbed away.

“Now, look at the mess we’ve made darlin.’” Turning around, you saw that when you had pushed Engie, he had accidentally squeezed the chocolate sauce bottle. The topping had spilled onto his button-down shirt as well as his ungloved hand, which was still holding the bottle a bit more tightly than necessary, causing the syrup to drip down the sides of the container.

“It serves you right!” You said, unable to drum up any sympathy for Engie’s current situation. “That was terrible!”

“Well, to be fair, I never told you to drink the stuff!” Engineer said, clearly trying to hold back laughter.

You glared at him, and that only seemed to make it more difficult for him to smother his amusement. That glare faded away however, as you watched him glance down at his chocolate covered shirt, consider it for a moment, and then begin to unbutton it.

“Woah, what are you doing?” You asked

Engineer looked at you, eyes half lidded. “Well, I can’t exactly go around with a shirt covered in chocolate sauce, now can I?” He said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I guess not,” you said, stammering slightly when you noticed the less than innocent look in his eyes. All your focus suddenly went to trying to keep the blush rising in your cheeks under control.

“Of course, that doesn’t take care of this mess,” he continued, holding up his hand, still sticky with chocolate. “Maybe you could help me clean up a bit, sweetheart?

You managed to regain your composure a bit, at least enough to take action. You closed in quickly, grabbing Engie’s hand and opening your mouth to suck his fingers clean. Because by God, if you were going to lick chocolate sauce off a man’s fingers, you were going to take charge while doing it. You made quite the show of it, swirling your tongue around and relishing the sweet taste, even playing it up with a moan every so often.

“Atta girl,” Engie crooned, pulling his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop. “Nice and clean.”

“Want a taste?” You asked before pressing your lips against his.

You moved against each other, eventually slipping your tongues into each other’s mouths. Engineer groaned as he tasted the chocolate on your tongue, relishing the sweetness of your mouth. With a quick motion, you were hoisted onto the countertop, shoving items to the side without a care to make room for yourself.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the cylindrical shape of a can of whipped cream. A devious idea began to form in your mind. You reached out to the side, picking up the can and shaking it, grinning against Engie’s lips as you did so.

Noticing the noise, Engineer pulled away to see what you were up to now. He didn’t get a chance to ask questions before you let the plastic cap fall to the floor with a clatter. Within the next moment, you had managed to spray the whipped cream onto Engie’s neck. You were met with a startled yelp.

“Darlin’! That’s a bit cold, y’know.” His complaint was cut off with a small gasp when you leaned in to lick the whipped cream off his neck. You were quite pleased with the reaction, planting soft kisses on the sensitive skin once it was completely clean.

“Well, we can certainly play that way,” Engie said, his tone dipping in a way that made you shiver.

You let him take the can from your hand, and you took the opportunity to strip off your shirt, tossing it to the side before unclasping your bra, which followed suit, thrown to the side. Out of sight and therefore out of mind.

Once your upper body was free of clothing, Engie began by spraying a dollop on your neck, just as you had done to him. However, he quickly migrated to your chest, where the temperature difference was much more noticeable. You tried not to shiver as the cold cream teased the sensitive skin of your breasts, only for Engie to then lean down and sweep it away with his tongue, relishing every sweet morsel until he returned to your neck where he had started.

Engineer placed a gloved hand on your thigh. He paused there, gently rubbing circles on the supple flesh before looking up at you for permission.

“Wanna go a bit further with this, darlin?” He asked as his robotic hand caressed you. You could feel the difference even through the glove, but it wasn’t bothersome, just a bit odd. Maybe even tantalizing if you thought about it enough.

“Yes, please,” you said, moving to unzip and remove your pants, shimmying them down along with your underwear. Engineer grinned and gave you a hand, pulling them down the rest of the way himself and allowing the garments to fall upon the tile floor.

“Well then, lemme give ya some sugar, darlin’” he said, his grin widening as if that was the most suave thing anyone had ever said.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but burst into laughter at that downright painful word play. It wasn’t long before Engie was laughing with you, self awareness having caught up with him.

“Yeah, I guess that was pretty terrible, huh?” He gasped in between fits of laughter. You sighed, finally catching your breath as your giggles began to subside.

“Just shut up and keep touching me,” you said, playfully swatting him on the shoulder.

“Sure thing, honey.”

The can was shaken up once again and Engie dragged the nozzle tantalizingly down your left thigh, building up anticipation. You once again failed to suppress a shiver when the whipped cream was finally applied in a line down to your mid thigh. Engie followed the sugary trail, licking his way up your thigh, pausing every so often to press a kiss to the supple flesh. His breath teased your inner thighs before he moved to repeat the process on the right.

The feeling of his tongue on you coupled with your rapidly increasing arousal had you shaking by the time he was finished with the right thigh. After that, he positioned himself between your legs. You saw him glance at the whipped cream, before shaking his head and placing it aside on the counter.

“Nah, I won’t be needin’ this anymore,” he whispered, placing a kiss on your inner thigh. “You’re delicious enough just as you are.”

You gasped as you finally felt the heat of Engie’s tongue upon you. He occupied his hands by caressing your thighs and hips. You knew that robotic hand was clutching you with a mere fraction of the power it could exert, and that made it all the more arousing to you.

Leaning back on the counter, you practically convulsed when Engie flicked his tongue upward, striking your clit. He took notice of your pleasant reaction, and if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied he probably would have grinned. He swirled and massaged his tongue against your clit, making you moan louder until you were finally pushed over the edge.

Engineer continued to go down on you as you rode out your orgasm, determined to make you feel as good as he could. Only when you began to pull away from the overstimulation did he stop, sitting up to admire the sight of you, satisfied and simply enjoying the afterglow.

“If this is what happens every time I screw up making cookies, then I’ll never be motivated to get better,” you said with a dizzy laugh. Engie simply chuckled, stroking your cheek until you regained enough strength to sit upright again.

“Want me to take care of you too?” You asked, palming at his erection through his pants. You smirked at the soft groan you got in response.

“I’d appreciate that, sweetheart,” he said, trying to maintain his composure. With a nod, you picked up the can of whipped cream and gave it a good shake.

“I guess it’s my turn for dessert, huh?” You said, smirking like it was the most clever thing you had ever said. However, it wasn’t long before you both dissolved into giddy laughter once again, half due to anticipation and half due to your cringe-worthy one liner.

Still, you planned to make this experience as good for Engie as he had made it for you. You were going to take your time with him, and you were going to enjoy every minute of it. By the time this was over, you would probably need to buy more whipped cream.

[sphyrnicate]

HELLO TUMBLR I NEED YOUR HELP

pretty please pick something for me to make for my music teacher since tmrw is my last ever class w her </3

[calethelettuce]

The Sides and Their Signature/Favorite Desserts

I'm dedicating this blog to little un-canon ideas for SaSi, send me requests!!! Small TW, there's a mention of we3d and some minor cursing :P

✨Roman✨

- A red velvet, three tiered cake with cream cheese icing decorations so perfect you'd think it's a painting

"No baking skills can compare to the skills of the mighty Prince Roman! Prepare your feeble taste buds!"

- Might cry if one detail is slightly messed up

- Makes cakes for birthdays

⭐Logan⭐

- A simple thumbprint cookie, of course filled with Crofter's jam. Each cookie has a different flavor of jam!

"I don't bake often, however I will admit these cookies are satisfactory."

- The sides fricking adore these cookies and beg him to give them the recipe coughcoughROMANcoughcough

- One of his "guilty" pleasures

🌩️Virgil🌩️

- Triple fudge brownies, topped with a thin layer of chocolate frosting and purple sprinkles.

"I sat here and panicked over the oven. I think they're slightly burnt? Oh well. You're welcome."

- Actually scared of the oven, makes another sit in the kitchen just in case (normally Patton, who's honestly glad because he gets to eat the extra frosting and batter)

- Literally never shares (I think he's a chocolate fiend ok, change my mind YOU WON'T)

💙Patton💙

- Hand-filled raspberry jam donuts, topped with different frostings and rainbow sprinkles.

"Oh, good to see you, kiddos! I made donuts! Al-dough, make sure you don't eat too many at once!"

- The jam inside varies, although the others normally beg him to fill the donuts with Crofter's jams instead of the jam he normally uses

- Stress bakes just about everything, so there's never a lack of desserts in The Mind Palace

⚜️Janus⚜️

- Banana Chip Muffins, sometimes with chocolate chips in there

"I totally put something in these. They're poisoned."

(Translation: "I didn't put anything in them. They're safe to eat.")

- Don't let this guy near the oven, he will literally stand there with the door open just soaking in the heat

- Enjoys baking every once in a while, although Remus likes to try and sneak some weird sh1t in the batter

⬛Remus🟩

- W3ed brownies.

"These brownies are THE SH1T! Come ooooon, just eat one!"

- omfg don't even eat them please save yourself

- bakes as a joke and then the kitchen always ends up smelling like drugs

BONUS!

💤Sleep💤

- Starbucks Cake Pops.

"Seriously, babes? You expect me to care enough to bake? That's cute."

- Bro is obsessed with those things omg

- I don't even know what to say atp

💗Emile💗

Homemade Cookie Cats! They're a pet for your tummy!

"Well, if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn't have hot dogs!"

- Really can't bake well, but he's trying

- He likes making the ice cream inside the best :3

🌈C!Thomas🌈

Will literally eat anything and make anything that sounds relatively good

"Who said I needed to have standards? Sugar is sugar!"

- I literally mean it, this dude will eat any sweet thing you give to him and then regret it 20 minutes later

- Remus almost got him to eat a we3d brownie lol

.

.

Oh also shameless tag @thatsthat24 hi Thomas :3

[of-twilight-and-moonshadow]

Cookie Dough Kisses - Kyle O'Reilly x Reader

I freakin LOVE Kyle, guys. He’s always been a favorite, and I love that he gets to shine right now in NXT, doing Solo stuff. <3 

This was brought on by a few prompts, including: > Person A and B making cookies, but Person A keeps sneaking Cookie Dough > Person A and B find themselves under a mistletoe and Person B makes comment (about fuck tradition– you’ll see it below)

Y/N/N = Your nick name I honestly don’t think I alluded to a gender in this… so it may be gender neutral.

Forgot I had a tag list. Until someone asked to be added to it. So, I’m going back through and adding to all the posts I’ve done. If you want to be added, lemme know! TAG LIST

@starwithaheart​ @shedevil22 @amourseculier @regalbanshee​ 

(Divider)

Soft Christmas music was playing in the background, an old vinyl record my best friend had insisted on playing. They never voiced to anyone- or even each other- that they were best friends, but everyone knew. Everyone also knew there was more. There had to be. But there never was. Each was too afraid to lose their best friend—so instead of trying to make it more, they lived in the happy bliss that was their friendship.

“Thanks again for coming and helping me Kor. I might’ve bitten off more than I can chew,” I admitted sheepishly.

“You know, you could have always just… downsized how much you were going to make. No one would have minded,” Kyle laughed, scooping the cookie dough onto the tray before turning it around and sliding it into the oven.

“Yeah, but,” I argued, swiping a finger against the top of the bowl and eating some of the dough,” I never planned on making all these. I just kept finding more and more recipes I wanted to try.”

Kyle turned around as I put my dough-topped finger into my mouth, giving me a despairing look.

“Stop doing that,” he frowned,” You’re going to make yourself really sick one of these times.”

“Kyle—I’ve ate cookie dough since I was five. If it hasn’t done anything yet, it won’t.”

“You don’t know that!” he argued, his voice softening just slightly,” Just… please? I don’t want you getting sick.”

He gave me those puppy eyes of his, and as always, I was putty in his hands. Though he’d never know.

“Fine,” I rolled my eyes, not being able to help the smile on my face when I saw him smile.

“Thank you. Now—what’s… Oh. One sec,” Kyle frowned, grabbing the towel and wetting it slightly at the sink, before coming around the counter and stopping next to me.

“Ya got something… right—” his hand gently cupped my face, tilting it so he could wipe off the flour from my face. I tried to ignore how close he was, how fast my heart was beating. He heard it, he had to. After he was finished, pleased that all the flour was gone, he released my chin and for a split second our faces were mere inches apart.

Kyle cleared his throat, looking away at the same time I spun away from him,” So er… what recipe was next?”

“The uh… the chocolate chip one,” I replied, taking a deep breath to calm myself,” I was planning on adding crushed up Oreos and maybe some molasses to it too, though.”

“To chocolate chip cookies? C’mon! You can’t mess with the sanctity that is Chocolate Chip!”

“Sure I can! There’s a thing called creative liberty O’Reilly,” I stuck my tongue out at him, making him give me an over-animated eye roll, as he slouched back into the main part of the kitchen—putting the counter between us once more.

“Fine, where you stashing those Oreos then? The snack cupboard by the fridge?”

“You know me so well,” I teased him, causing him to shake his head in mild amusement, turning around to trifle through the snacks to find the Oreos. Without thinking about it, I leaned forward and grabbed another small finger of cookie dough, bringing it to my mouth just as he turned around.

“Mint Oreos—rea—” he and I both froze at the same time, him with feigned annoyance and me from being caught.

“It’s.. uh… not what it looks like?” I tried, swallowing the cookie dough, slowly sliding off the stool I was sitting on.

“Y/N/N…” Kyle drawled out, setting the package of cookies down gently, as he slowly made to move around the counter.

“I’m sorry!” I exclaimed, taking off at a run (as fast as I could in the house) but with Kyle’s speed it didn’t take much for him to catch up to me. His arms wrapped around my mid-section, fastening me to his torso. My hands clamped onto his forearms, trying to nudge them apart without much luck. His arms only locked against me tighter. I could feel his breath on my neck, could imagine the playful smile on his face.

Sighing, I ‘tapped out’, tapping on his forearm; he instantly loosened his grip, but his hands never left my body. They stayed glued to my side as I turned around, watching as his smile faltered only a bit. He seemed nervous, but he refused to fully show it.

Then I realized we were in the space between the kitchen and the living room. Right where my roommate demanded we put—

My eyes flickered up, landing on the green flowered stem, swallowing the lump in my throat. Kyle followed my gaze, before scoffing slightly to himself.

“M-Mistletoe…” I whispered, looking at him, uncertain. Did I want Kyle to kiss me? Yes. Did I want to lose my best friend? No.

“What do you want me to do? Kiss you?” Kyle asked, almost sarcastically, and I felt my heart crumble a bit.

“I mean—it’s tradition… but—”

“Let a plant control when I should kiss the one I love? That’s stupid,” Kyle rolled his eyes playfully—a fact I missed in my heartache. I couldn’t look at him, it would only hurt more. I tried to push against him, to walk away, but his arms locked me in place.

“Fuck tradition, I kiss people when I want.”

Instantly, I felt his lips on mine, his trimmed beard scratching gently against my cheek. His hand came up to caress my face as he kissed me, slightly deepening the kiss near the end. Upon ending it, Kyle leaned his forehead against mine, and when I opened my eyes, he was staring at me. When our eyes met, he smiled, almost shyly— uncertain.

“I can’t keep ignoring how I feel about you, Y/N/N… please tell me… you feel the same?”

Not trusting my voice, I slowly leaned up, placing a gentle kiss against his lips, nodding as I pulled away. His smile brightened, but before he could say anything—the timer started going off, alerting us the batch of cookies were done.

Together, we walked back to the kitchen, retaking our places from before. Only this time—I completely ignored the bowl of cookie dough.

At least, until Kyle and I mixed up the Chocolate Chip Oreo concoction, and as I tasted the batter, Kyle turned around and caught me.

“Alright—you can’t keep your hands off it.” Kyle frowned, before a mischievous smirk crossed his face,” I know a way to keep you out of the cookie dough.” He started towards me, causing me to playfully shriek as I ran away—Kyle right behind me.

[rcreveal]

Complete Choice Overload

Summary:

NaNoMutt Prompt a Day Challenge How you say I love you: Day 8 an apology, Day 9 with chocolate chip cookies. Muriel gets stuck researching food love languages and Eric comes by to help her out.

Work Text:

Wickber Street in Soho, London was bustling with pedestrians and cars as the door of Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death opened and the Demon Eric slipped out of the shop.  Shaking himself all over, he took off his employee name tag “Hi, my name is: Demon Eric” and looked hopefully across the street.   But, his hopes for a quiet afternoon at Maggie’s record shop were disappointed.  He could see her in animated conversation with her new hire, Geoffrey.  Well, there was always shelving to be done at A Z Fell’s Book shop and if he really needed to hide out, he could start to index books in the upper rooms.

As he entered the book shop his finely honed demon senses detected a throbbing concentration of distress coming from the kitchen.  Giving the rug-covered portal to Heaven a wide berth, he went to see what was going on.

“OH!” Muriel looked up to see one of Eric’s “horns” and one kohl blackened eye peeking around the kitchen door.  Eric ducked behind the door again mumbling, “Sorry, sorry, but, um, what’re you doing?’  Muriel was standing in front of a tablet with rapidly scrolling text flashing down it with their hands clasped under their chin and worriedly biting on their lip.

“Oh, hi! Eric! You can come into the kitchen.  I’m still researching love miracles.  Did you know that people have different love languages?”

Eric appeared carefully around the door and eased into the kitchen with his line of escape still clear.

“Cor, I didn’t know that.  Love languages include being really anxious and stressed?” he asked.

“No! Love languages don’t.  I’m sorry, am I all anxious and stressed again?  Do you need to go inventory?”  Muriel’s brow wrinkled, they knew how the demon needed his peace and quiet sometimes.  Earth was amazing , but Muriel needed some solitude to recharge sometimes themselves.

“I’m ok. Nina was getting tetchy and she saw that her being tetchy was getting me nervous and that made her more tetchy, so I came to work over here,”  he said bashfully.

“Nina can get very tetchy,” the demon and angel shared a look.  “That’s why I didn’t go over to ask her about this love language, and Maggie was busy, too.”  Muriel said.

“What love language? French?” asked the demon.

“No!  Humans have ‘love languages’ that can be gifts, words of praise, touch, acts of service, quality time and things like that.  I’ve been researching food love languages!  And one of the traditional ways to share a food love language is with,” Muriel looked around conspiratorially, stage whispering,  “chocolate chip cookies!”

Eric nodded confused and leaned over to look over their shoulder.  “An' all those writin’s are chocolate chip cookies?” he pointed.

Muriel’s shoulders sagged and they bit their fingernail.  “No!  Those are recipes for chocolate chip cookies!  I’ve been trying to find the most perfect recipe.  But, I can’t!” 

Eric eased a little closer to the tablet.  Neither of them had been able to pick up the habit of reading the internet slowly like humans and he had no trouble keeping up with the stream of information.  Then he looked up at the kitchen, noticing that all the pantry doors were open to display the contents that Muriel had neatly labeled and organized.

“Does it have to be a perfect recipe?  This looks like putting together a curse or summat, with directions for how to put the material things together,” he points out.

“But I want it to be perfect for my friends!” wailed Muriel and sat down at the kitchen table shivering, locked in CCO: complete choice overload.

Eric walked over to the electric kettle (a gift from Maggie since there were so many people drinking hot beverages at the Book Shop these days) and casually turned it on while his hands busied themselves with putting together one of Nina’s Grandmother’s famous calming teas.  He brought over the tablet and the tea,  leaning to the side and looking at Muriel until they started drinking, then turned back to the pantry.  He had perfect memory, too, and the relative proportions of hundreds of recipes were humming through his mind as he pulled out Aziraphale’s baking sheets, parchment, mixing bowls, and turned the oven on to pre-heat.  Baking journals that debated the amount of leavening based on elevation, humidity, and incoming weather patterns sparkled across his vision as he weighed and measured the dry ingredients.  The angel had quite a collection of different vanillas and chocolates.  Between the vast data on the possible recipes and the many choices of materials, it was no wonder that Muriel was in CCO. 

He slipped the batter bowl in front of Muriel while he licked the remaining spoon, all senses on alert for the optimal time of caramelization of the sugars to create a chewy but textured cookie.  Muriel was looking at him in wonder as they wrinkled their nose up in preparation of tasting their first raw cookie dough (despite all the admonitions in their research NOT to eat raw cookie dough).  

Eric pulled the cookies from the oven at the absolute perfect moment and set them to cool on cookie racks.  He’d cleaned up the kitchen as he went and when he offered Muriel a warm chocolate chip cookie on a little plate, there was nothing but the cookies and the tea adorning the kitchen.

Muriel looked up at Eric as they tasted the cookie, their eyes closing in delight, “It’s perfect!” they sighed.

Eric briefly shared a warm smile with the angel.

“Can we have some?” and looked up to see Maggie, Crowley, Aziraphale, Nina, Geoffrey, Mrs Sandwich, and what looked like half of Wickber street coming into the shop following the scent of perfect chocolate chip cookies.

Muriel smiled at the startled Eric, tugging his sleeve, “It worked!”

[deerteatime]

In relation to the Ask Game:

Spicy Mayo and possibly Choccy Milk.

Spicy mayo - I appreciate the vibes you give off Choccy milk - we are baking cookies together and you don't have the option to say no

:D thank you nihi!!! also CHOCCY MILK SO TRUE!! MUTUALS GET IN HERE WE ARE MAKING COOKIES

[henqtic]

Hi, could I request a post-war dracoxreader with a lot of fluff? thanks :)

hot chocolate and cookies - d.m

- word count: 1.1k

- request works here

- other works like this → Stolen Blankets 

- masterlist | draco malfoy masterlist | gif creds | taglist form |

——

Hot chocolate and cookies whenever he’d have a nightmare; a routine engraved in your head since that first night.

Draco had been riddled with nightmares. Having the dark lord be under the same roof as you for two years combined with an immeasurable amount of pressure to live up to your family's expectations of being a death eater was hard.

So hard that even when he tried his best, he just couldn’t help thoughts from fogging his mind; the dark and negative ones. And the fact that there was no escape even when he entered his dreaming state both angered and saddened the young boy.

And he thought that once everything had ended they would go away, magically vanish into nothing but they didn’t. Turns out going through a war and an immense amount of stress for such a long time could have side effects and his was nightmares.

He soon realized that he needed to be in a different environment, a calmer one. And that’s what led him to you, a person who had always brought a sense of comfort into his life.

If you were to see the situation from an outlooker's point of view, you’d call it pure. A young couple moving in with each other just because one of them couldn’t stop terrors from tainting what was supposed to be their dreams.

The house was much smaller seeing as it was only you and him but it felt like home with a little fixing up— or as you liked to call it, adding personality. The muggle neighbors were nice enough, never making too much noise and always inviting themselves over to get to know you guys better.

You didn't know what to label it, overbearing or just friendly, Draco immediately opted on overbearing, probably because his manor was surrounded by trees and he most likely never got interaction with children his age other than pureblood’s and the ones at Hogwarts.

The only thing you said about it was that he should try to branch out, muggles had always been a bit... different but that was only bad if you made it out to be.

That being said, most noises came from birds, excited chitters being somewhat an alarm clock for you and sometimes, the wind when mother nature wanted the day to be a little louder. There was also the advantage of seeing small animals running around in the grass, doubling as entertainment when the mornings were slow and the only task needing to be fulfilled was laying in each other’s arms.

Not to mention the mundane things that would occur, like teaching Draco how to cook a proper meal because he never got that sort of experience with the service of house elves at his fingertips. Something you discovered after walking in on him cooking pancakes in the same manor you would scramble eggs— All you could say was that it was a very traumatic event.

Everything was calm though, the embodiment of euphoria; you and him simply living like you never had before.

——

The nightmares were still persistent with their stay even a year later and every time it happened, you’d insist that it was never a burden to have to get up in the middle of the night to make him feel better after what he had previously endured.

And sadly, tonight was no different, rotten replays seeping back into his head and you were there carefully and cautiously pulling him out, all to make sure he didn’t get any more startled than he already was.

The same thing happened of course— apologies you didn’t want or need, mutters of I’m sorry repeating again and again and somehow, you could tell this one was worse than the others. Seeing as he could barely get anything out, you shushed him.

“It’s okay Draco, whatever happened wasn’t real. I’m here,” you soothed into his ear as his head laid in the crook of your neck. 

Minutes whet by until he calmed down, the circles you were rubbing into his back aiding in some way until his body eventually detached from yours. Soft hands went to cup his face, wiping off any excess tears that hadn’t already been soaked up by your shirt.

You didn’t ask him what it had been about because that wouldn't help, only make things worse, but you remembered the routine—

“Hot chocolate? I’ll make the cookies,” you offered in a soft voice, adding a small smile to lighten. He answered by slowly nodding his head, leaving you to shift away from him, feet going on a search for your slippers through the darkness. You pressed a small kiss to the side of his head before leaving, wordlessly telling him it would be a smart idea to put a shirt on before leaving the warmth of the bed.

——

You made your way to the kitchen with the cookie recipe reciting itself in your head. The thought of why you hadn't just bought the ones from the store already bounced around your head.

The process would be much quicker than it was now but you always went back to the sense that if you did this, there would be some love going into it and that made all the difference there was a difference. That and adding extra chocolate chips to the mix.

Strong arms found their way around your middle making a smile come over. You hummed in acknowledgment as they tightened the smallest bit, only to realize that it was to distract you from seeing his hands sneaking to the bag of chocolates.

“Draco don’t eat those, I already use way too many. And where is your shirt?”You scolded, your back now facing the counter as you watched him eat the small candy. 

“Oh come on love, you always seem to like me better shirtless,” he replied, smirking down at you. Turns out your eyes had trailed a little too far down.  

“Tha- That is beside the point, and either way, I would much rather you without a cold. So can you please find something to wear? These should be in the oven by the time you’re back.” He rolled his eyes playfully before trudging back up the stairs.

The snacks were in the oven soon after, leaving the last things you needed to do being to retrieve the milk and whipped cream from the refrigerator.

“Thank you!” He had come down with a shirt on and a small pout. “This was not by choice, I have a very demanding girlfriend.”

He went to the brown wooden cupboards as you poured the milk into the kettle. The mugs he chose were matching with single engraved hearts carved into both of them.

And once everything was done, you sat down at the table, falling into your usual slow conversation. The main focus being anything far from his nightmare because you knew that when he was ready to talk about it, he would, and you respected that. 

You admired how even though the reason behind this routine wasn’t desirable in any way, there was still a little light found through the darkness.

— nights like these

🏷 @90smalfoy @eunoniaa @dracosaccount @ambi-doo12 @sw33tgirl @ang9lic @daltonacademia @inglourious-imagines @willowmores @turn-to-page-394-please @callmesasha @aguamvnti @dracosathenaeum @fives-cup-of-coffee @dracomalfoys-wh0re @lovecroftreads @sfdlm @marrymetheonott @becgggg @gwlvr @oh-my-mphfpc-fanfic-heart @draco-malfoys-significant-other @fjorelaant @axgelxr

[ if I couldn't tag you, you need to check your privacy settings !! ]

Click here to be added to my taglist

[disgruntledkittenface]

snippet

thank you @princelyharry @kingsofeverything and @wabadabadaba for tagging me lately! And special thanks to Amelia for the encouragement about the accidental courting au prompt I reblogged last week, I have an outline and a moodboard and almost 500 words already asdfghjkl;

Hello !

Sorry for the mass email but I’m new here and don’t know very many of you yet (aside from Niall in HR. Yes he made the brilliant decision to hire me but he’s been making me do paperwork all day, so jury’s still out on that one.) I’ll try to make the rounds to put faces to names soon but first I had to send out a thank you to whoever left the chocolate chip cookies in the break room, they were incredible !! Defo the best part of my first day. I know I’m in the right place when there are free homemade cookies by the coffeemaker and not a single raisin in sight. Any chance that’s a frequent occurrence or… ;) Anyway thank you !! 

Looking forward to getting to know you all and being part of the team.

Louis

Louis Tomlinson

Lead Project Manager, Global Motors Account

Innovare Advertising

louist@innovare.com

Harry grins at his laptop, rereading the email. Unlike a lot of alphas, he likes to bake. He finds it soothing. Cakes, pies, cookies, any recipe that strikes his fancy really. And he always gets a few thank you’s from people he passes in the halls and at meetings when he brings something in for the office, but no one has ever gone to the effort of a company wide email to thank him before. It’s just nice is all. It makes Harry feel good, even though this Louis probably doesn’t know he’s an alpha. Innovare is a small agency but it’s owned by omegas so most of the people who work there aren’t too concerned with conforming to gender stereotypes, but he still gets a funny look or two each time he drops off a tupperware container of baked goods in the break room. 

“Harry!”

Finally tearing his eyes away from the screen at the sound of his cubicle mate Jade’s voice, Harry turns in his chair, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger.

“It’s past five,” Jade continues, bending down and pulling her purse out of the bottom drawer of her desk. “Let’s go before Ben conveniently remembers some project he needs copy for before nine tomorrow.”

“Shit, you’re right,” Harry mutters, swiveling back to his desk and shutting his laptop. He grabs his messenger bag and shoves the laptop into it, standing up. “Okay, ready.”

“So,” she says as they start down the hallway. “What are you doing tonight? Perrie’s coming over to watch Real Housewives, you want to join? She’s bringing wine and you know she always gets the good stuff.”

“No, thanks,” Harry says, holding the door open for her as he mentally flips through recipes from his favorite cookbook. “Think I’m in the mood to bake again.”

I’ll tag @crinkle-eyed-boo @absoloutenonsense @homosociallyyours @lululawrence @louandhazaf @littleroverlouis @uhoh-but-yeah-alright @juliusschmidt and @berzerkshires if you’re writing and have a snip (or a line) you want to share!

[highqueenofelfhame]

An: I’ll add tags later, i just wanted to get this posted because I’m like pretty happy with it, it’s alright. So i hope you guys enjoy! I’ll also attach links and stuff later, I’m posting this from my iPad and i just am too lazy for the tagging process. Me wants to sleep. This is part of the Disney au! Shoutout to @tangledraysofsunshine and @punkassbookjockey26 for the help on this one! This is mostly fluff (i know, how wild) but don’t worry i’m working on some angst for you soon. Fafs update soon too! I’ve already started on it and I’m going to keep working on it as the week goes. Thankfully it’s an easy chapter for me to write bc i have plenty of OG stuff to pull from. Okay, anyway! Enjoy!!

With every second that ticked by, it was getting harder and harder not to rummage through his belongings like she lived there. Even worse was that Rowan was sneaking glances at her with a smirk on his lips like he knew she wanted to. It made her scowl, a frown line appearing between her eyebrows as she glared into his back.

“I’m making you dinner, and you’re still finding a reason to be unhappy with me?” He asked her, putting down the spatula and turning to lean against his counter. The man looked criminally good in an ivory cable-knit sweater and dark jeans, an outfit combination that Aelin had never seen him in before. Thinking back on it, she was positive that when he wasn’t in a costume at work, she had only ever seen him in jeans and a t-shirt. There was also the single flannel he’d worn on Halloween, but all of that was simply incomparable to how he looked now.

“You said dinner would be ready ages ago.”

“I said it would be ready in half an hour when you got here, which was twenty minutes ago. I still have ten minutes before you get to hound me about lying.”

“Maybe if you’d prepared an appetizer…” she teased, hoping with every cell in her body that he knew she was kidding. When Rowan had said he wanted to cook her dinner, she’d been floored. The only meal that she could successfully make was breakfast, and the options were limited. Additionally, she couldn’t remember the last time a romantic interest had cooked for her at all. Probably Sam several years earlier, and it had been so bad they’d relented and settled on drive-thru burgers instead.

Rowan’s eyes narrowed at her, and she knew she’d missed the mark with her joke. The date had been going well so far; not much could have been ruined. He’d kissed her hello once, or four times, then told her to make herself at home. Rowan even had a beautiful arrangement of kingsflame at the table in the dining area. Their banter had ensued as it always did, casual teasing comments. Until she went too far. Obviously.

He turned his back, and Aelin tensed, moving across the kitchen to get to him. Just before she touched him, he turned back around, eyes widening almost comically when his elbow nearly hit her temple. Without her boots, her footsteps had been near-silent on his hardwood floors.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, fingers brushing her temple where his sweater had grazed her face. “Hi.”

“Hi.” With their dinner sizzling in the background, she was sure that he could hardly hear the soft whisper of her voice. That didn’t seem to matter because Rowan leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, short and sweet and leaving her wanting more. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Rowan’s brows knit together, green eyes tracing over every feature of her face before settling to meet her gaze.

“Being… me? Teasing? I don’t know. This is a date, and you’re so nice to be making dinner, and I shouldn’t be--”

“Aelin,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t busting my balls for something. I don’t think we would be us.” At the mention of them as an item, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth to ward off the embarrassingly large grin that was threatening to take over her face.

“That doesn’t mean I can be rude,” she grumbled, earning another smile from the man in front of her.

“You aren’t.” Rowan turned away from her for a brief moment. When he faced her again he held half of a cookie in his hand. “You just get hangry.”

She stared at the small offering in his hand before accepting it with a smile. Not only was he making her dinner, but it seemed he had also baked her double chocolate chip cookies. It made her heart squeeze in an almost painful way, but she took the cookie and nibbled on the corner. Whatever recipe he had used was perfect. It only made the rumbling in her belly worse, but she was determined to finish it without chocolate smeared all over her mouth.

“I’m almost done with dinner. Go snoop. I know you’re dying to.” Aelin wrinkled her nose, and Rowan was quick to kiss the tip of it, despite her failed attempt to swerve. Not that she wanted him to miss, really. Aelin wanted to beg him to kiss her until she was physically sick and couldn’t stand to feel his mouth on her body ever again.

The apartment was simple. It had one bedroom and an open living and kitchen area. Rowan had a small table that could seat four between the two rooms. It was sparsely decorated but had a few personal touches here and there that provided a glimpse into Rowan’s life. She walked around the living room, noting the pile of books stacked neatly next to the TV contained some of her favorites. She hadn’t pegged Rowan as an avid reader, but she realized that despite working with the man for the past two years, there was still so much she didn’t know about him.

And she realized, more than anything, that she wanted to know everything.

Furthermore, she’d been right about the books stacked on the coffee table. They were travel books, some of them with tabs and post-it notes sticking out of the sides. With a sly glance to the kitchen, she perched on the edge of the couch and pulled the biggest of them with the most annotations toward her, flipping through the pages to see what all he had bookmarked.

One of the first pages was a map marking all the parks and their major attractions. It seemed Rowan had a key for himself, little stars, triangles and squares marking various locations.

“The stars are my favorite places I’ve been,” Rowan said, pulling her gaze from pages of mountains and canyons and over to his green eyes.

“Is this what you do when you aren’t working?” Aelin closed the books and restacked them neatly on the table. Rowan was carrying two plates of stir-fry over to the table. In a few steps she joined him, sliding into the seat beside his.

“When I can, yes.” She was so hungry that she merely nodded, taking a too-large bite of food and meaning at the taste. Rowan’s eyebrow quirked while he took a bite of his own, and to avoid speaking with a mouthful she gave him a thumbs up.

“So good,” she reiterated after she swallowed, clearing her throat.

“I’m glad you like it. I was worried you wouldn’t.”

“It’s food. I like food. And you baked cookies,” Aelin reminded him, popping another bite in her mouth. The tickle she seemed to be developing in her throat worsened, forcing her to clear her throat again after she swallowed. Actually, the tickle was becoming an insatiable itch that she tried to chase away with water. She had no luck. “Is your um— is your throat itchy?”

“No…?” Aelin tugged on the collar of her shirt, nodding her head instead of responding. Rowan leaned over to brush his fingers along her cheek, worry settling in the wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Are you allergic to anything?”

“Gods, my mouth is itchy,” she mumbled, mostly to herself, while she downed the rest of her water so quickly a drop slipped down the side of her chin.

“Aelin. What are you allergic to?”

“I’m not allergic to anything,” she insisted, despite the way her tongue felt undeniably too big for her mouth. Rowan had already left the table, though, disappearing through a door off the living room and coming back with a small white bottle. His phone was also now in his hand and the numbers his thumb was pressing looked a lot like 9-1-1 from her vantage point.

“Take these,” he said softly, holding two pills to her lips that she opened her mouth for and downed with Rowan’s full glass of water.

“That’s dramatic.” She nodded at his phone. “I can breathe fine. My mouth is just itchy. And my tongue is a little too big.” To prove a point, she stuck her tongue out. Rowan’s eyes were saucers and he was ready to hit the call button.

“Your tongue is twice the size it usually is!”

“Did you do this on purpose? Is this getting me back for the syrup?” Aelin was kidding. Half-kidding, maybe, but kidding all the same. When she spoke, drool dribbled down her chin that she wiped at with the collar of her shirt. The whimper that sounded in the back of her throat wasn’t voluntary. It was their first date and she managed to drool on herself in front of him. Aelin Galathynius was the epitome of cool.

“This is not getting you back for the syrup.” Rowan’s voice was sharp, if still soft around the edges while he watched her carefully. His thumb was still dancing over the call button, but Aelin refused to be carted out of his apartment on a stretcher. She took his phone, locked it, and held it hostage in her lap while he fussed and mumbled about how big her tongue was. “What are you allergic to?”

“I didn’t know I was allergic to anything,” she swore again, grabbing his water for another long drink.

It went on like this for several minutes: Rowan listing the ingredients for the stir-fry that she may not have had before, or maybe she’d not had it in such a long time she forgot she had a mild allergy to it. MSG, soy, celery, sesame, carrots, on and on. He ran through everything twice before Aelin asked him to please stop, she had no idea and listing them over and over wasn’t going to spark a memory or knowledge she didn’t have.

The signature frown he wore most of the time was all the more prominent the droopier her eyes got; the effects of Benadryl were hitting her harder than she cared to admit, but her throat wasn’t as itchy and her tongue was feeling closer to normal. Rowan held both of her hands and guided her to his bedroom. Aelin wanted to make a joke about how this wasn’t what she’d had in mind, but she was too sleepy to find the words.

Rowan undressed her, pulling her jeans off before guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed. The duvet was softer, fluffier than she’d anticipated him to sleep on, and she wanted to burrow down into it as he replaced her shirt with one of his own. When he pulled back the blanket, she crawled under and didn’t settle until he laid down with her. His sweater was soft beneath her cheek and she felt like she was cuddling with him on a cloud. Gods, his bed was so comfortable she wanted to sleep in it forever.

“I’m sorry for ruining our date,” she mumbled, tilting her head back to look at him beneath heavy lashes and heavier lids.

“I’m sorry for accidentally almost killing you.” Despite the way his lips were turned down, there was amusement hidden in his words. Aelin smiled and tilted her head back enough for him to take the hint: she wanted to be kissed. A half smile spread across his lips and he kissed her gently, fingers brushing loose strands of her hair behind her ear.

“This isn’t how I imagined our date ending,” she grumbled, ducking her face down into his sweater. Rowan chuckled and Aelin knew that it wasn’t what he had in mind, either. “I thought I would end up in your bed but not to sleep. I mean, maybe after you fucked me senseless, but I didn’t think we would be skipping that part altogether.”

“I didn’t think I would make something that had flare up an obscure allergy you didn’t know you had, either. So I guess we’re both surprised.” Aelin snorted, sitting up enough to tug on the side of his sweater. Rowan took the hint, sitting up to pull the sweater and his shirt over his head. While in the process of undressing, he stood and pulled his jeans off, too, tossing them over the back of a desk chair in the corner of the room. Aelin swallowed, eyes dipping over the expanse of golden skin he’d exposed.

Her eyes caught on a scar on his lower abdomen, zeroed-in on the trail of hair that disappeared into his briefs. It dawned on her then that she hadn’t seen him completely naked. At work, they saw each other in various stages of undress while changing costumes, but the only time they’d had sex had been a quickie in Lorcan’s bathroom. They’d both been mostly clothed for that. She was making it a goal to see him entirely naked in the next twenty-four hours, because he looked so good like this it was unfair.

“Maybe I’ll feel better when I wake up,” she said, breathlessly. Rowan grinned, a dimple appearing in his cheek that she didn’t see often enough.

“I’m counting on it.”

[honestsycrets]

Extra Hands [ Ivar x Reader, Ivar/Hvitserk Platonic ] VD7

❛ pairing | ivar/hvitserk, ivar x reader

❛ type | drabble for @youbloodymadgenius​ ‘s 1k event that I’m so, totally, late for. i’m so sorry that i’ve been slow, cat. i’ve been in a strange funk. other requests filled: you’ve never had a Valentine’s date and right, like you could do so much better. / You bet your ass I could.

❛ summary | hvitserk knows when his brother is nervous.

❛ tags | implied first date, modern ivar

“I dunno why you’re making all of these. Is that a homemade box?” 

Hvitserk picked the chocolate chunks out of Ivar’s drab vanilla cookie mix. It was the first time that he had tried this particular recipe. It was a painfully simple recipe of chocolate chip cookies, but that was the point. He made a note to use sea salt to give it some life. Who, after all, disliked chocolate chip cookies? Ivar gripped the wheels of his wheelchair, scooting himself around the kitchen. 

“Bro, this is a fuckin’ homemade box!” 

“Stop eating the dark chocolate,” Ivar lurched up, smacking his elder brother’s knuckles. Hvitserk sneaks his fingers back in to take three morsels back with him. “You’ll throw off the proportions.” 

“So what? It’s just for us, right?” 

“As if I would put this much effort into something for my brothers.” Ivar oils an ice cream scoop. He digs into the dough, scooping pieces that were-- of course, the perfect size. “It is for my woman.” 

Hvitserk about chokes on his chocolate morsels. 

“A girl?!”

“Yes, a woman, Hvitserk.” 

But you’ve never had a bitch for Valentine’s!”

“Don’t call her that,” Ivar bobs his head toward Hvitserk in a nod. He spent the better part of the afternoon in preparation for his date this evening. It was his first-- with a mother like his-- it had been previously impossible to date. But the ever-growing litany of questions that Hvitserk had for him began to pile up. 

“I gotta see this. Is she hot?” Hvitserk laughed, bouncing up and down in the question. “That why you’re making so many fuckin’ cookies? Chocolate chip cookies, thumbprint cookies, sugar cookies. Sweetheart, you can’t buy the necessities of life--err dick-- with cookies.” 

“Don’t Burton me. Why don’t you go fuck another one of your failed film students and leave me alone?” Ivar bit out. It was easier with his help, no doubt, but this was something he did with the express intention of seeing your smile. It had been years. Years that he spent changing your mind about dating your boss. He wasn’t about to ruin this now. 

Hvitserk swept the cookie sheet from the granite countertop and eased it into the oven. Ivar’s mind swims in the vast lake of his mind, wondering exactly how he could make sure that nothing went awry. It was, after all, his first date. 

“I just wanna see what she’s like. I mean, when have you brought a girl home? Suddenly you open up this publishing company, and bam, pussy.” 

Ivar looks at the other steaming cookies. They would have to cool first. His kitchen was perfumed with the scent of vanilla, almond, and delicious brown butter from the oven. Ivar eyes Hvitserk sharply, reaching for the glittery homemade box. “She’s not just pussy. She’s--” 

“Look at you being all romantic and shit.” 

“You are annoying me.” 

Sometimes, he wished he was an only child—most days. Today was one of them. His hands trembled around the box of delicate cookies. His brother’s expression was hooded for a moment before Hvitserk took the handles of his wheelchair, dragging him out of the room with nothing more but Ivar’s booming complaint. Hvitserk knew how much he hated it when he did this. It was like a mother dragging a child by the braids! 

“I’ll come check them fuckin’ cookies, don’ worry. What’re you gonna wear?” 

They come to a stop in Ivar’s room. He looks toward his crutches, settled on the wall, and decides to reach for them so that he could stand. Hvitserk rustles in his closet. He had a wealth of handsome suits-- it happened when you needed to impress a good author or attend an important meeting-- but they all seemed wrong. His practiced expression melts off his face. He thought it all through: the date, the dinner simmering on the stove, but when it came to himself. He dropped his eyes to the floor before returning Hvitserk’s look. 

“That suit, I suppose.” 

“That shit is ugly,” Hvitserk returns.

“Right, like you could do so much better,” Ivar hisses. 

 “Bet your ass I could. You gotta wear something hot. You want her to fuck you, right?”

“I told you--”  

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Not jus’ some pussy. But you wanna fuck, don’t you?” 

He would be lying if he said he didn’t. Something hot ends up being some black slacks that contrast against a burgundy button-up and a tight, black vest. He feels more exposed than he has in a while when Hvitserk comes back from taking out his last batch of cookies. He likes it-- and he hates it.

“That’s hot,” Hvitserk clapped. Ivar runs his finger under the rolled-up sleeves, noting how they formed to his muscles. “No way she doesn’t fuck you.” 

“This isn’t about that.” 

“It’s Valentine’s day,” he told him. “It has to be about that.” 

His phone trills. What he hates, but truly hates, is Hvitserk’s nosiness. He lurches toward it before Ivar could even move. He produces Ivar a decent nod. “She’s beautiful,” he flicks the phone at Ivar on his way out of the room. “Has a pretty smile, too.” 

His heart pounded in leaps in his chest. You must be here; already. He’s not yet put the cookies in the box. He makes his way toward the front door with the bundle of flowers against his chest, cognizant of the sound of a scratching spatula dragging across his cookie sheet. 

Well, Hvitserk is good for something.

Ivar isn’t sure of what the etiquette for Valentine’s Day is, but he could hardly care, knocking the door open to let you in. You slip in beside him, drawing your fingers over the v of his waistcoat. 

“Is this new?” you asked. “It looks… amazing.” 

Hvitserk, of course, is skittering somewhere inside. Ivar can hear the stifled giggle marked by the painfully unapologetic, I told you I could do better. You draw your head toward the inside, peeling the edge of your mask off. You roll your ruby red lipstick in, then out, and smile at him once again. 

“Is someone inside?” 

“Sadly,” he sighs as he hands you the flowers under his arm. “That is my brother Hvitserk. I don’t expect him to stay in the kitchen long.” 

Ivar lingers on the word stay. You laugh, drawing the flowers up to inspect them more carefully. It’s a full bouquet of romantic red roses: painfully cliche, but painfully Ivar. They are his favourite shade. 

“He’s kicking me out of my own kitchen,” Hvitserk calls back. You make your way into the house, drawing the bottom of your skirt lower: if you could manage such a thing. It wasn’t necessarily short: but the slit on the side of your leg was something Ivar knew Hvitserk would point out later. 

Evidence, he’d shout. Evidence of nothing, Ivar would say back. 

Your fingers graze Ivar’s free hand, clipping around the corner where Hvitserk stood with cookie crumbling in between his fingers. Ivar’s forehead creases, the anger bubbling up in his stomach into a roiling boil. At that moment you snatch Ivar’s hand, lacing your fingers together, and throwing cool water to the boil. 

“You must be her,” Hvitserk mumbles. “Ivar’s first date.” 

“First date? Really?” He’d kill him. He’d kill him, he’d drag him out to sea, throw his body over to the bottom of the pond and-- you lean up, planting a kiss at his jawline. “I like being the first.” 

“Yes. This is my older brother Hvitserk. He likes to eat anything he can get his grubby little fingers on. Including things that I did not make for him,” Ivar returns. He leans against the cabinet and slams his crutch on the countertop. At times his brother can be overbearing. Today, like most days, Hvitserk needed his company. Unlike most days, Hvitserk doesn’t have the patience.

“Why don’t you,” he rubs his twirls his hand in a spin. “...fuck off, Hvitserk?” 

“Ivar.” 

“Don’ worry about it. He’s just all wound up because he’s brought me home a girl to meet.” He wiped his chocolates fingers over his basketball shorts and extended his hand out— “Name's Hvitserk.”

“I heard,” you smiled, bringing the hand not cupping Ivar’s hand to squeeze his bicep. “You’re Ivar’s lit agent?”

“One of them.” 

“Ain’t that like— sexual harassment?” Hvitserk folds his hand back in, quickly catching on that you’re not a touchy type. At least, not with him. Fair enough. 

“Why don’t you take a bottle of wine to your room, Hvitserk?” Ivar grumbles. 

“Ain’t that for your date?” 

“We don’t need it,” you shout.

“Huh. Well if you insist.” At last, he folds, taking the bottle and a stolen plate of food with a bounce. Although he doesn’t say anything— he has that dopey smile. He waits until the door slams behind Hvitserk to exhale an apology. Ivar began to think that he would never leave. 

“I made those cookies for you.”

Your lips curl into a smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Hvitserk hollers something from the back room about having helped— and you pat his chest. His cheeks pinken as he looks over the dinner he’s made and the cookies he baked. His nosy Hvitserk— always killing his mood. 

“Take me to your room.”

“Hm?” he asks. “You’re not hungry?”

“Not for pasta.”

Oh. For once, Hvitserk was right.

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[goingsparebutwithprecision]

Get to know me better!

Tag 10 people you want to get to know better

Thank you for the tag:  @ereborne :D

Relationship status:  single

Favorite color(s):  My wardrobe says blue, and my heart probably also says blue, but purples and greens are also up there

Favorite food:  currently, the homemade millionaire shortbread in my fridge (thanks @charhtebobo!), the goat’s cheese and caramelized onion pizza from the place down the road, and the lemon cream doughnuts from the place down the road from the pizza place down the road (we just moved to a new house and there is so much good food around here)

Song stuck in my head:  right this second it’s Agape by Bear’s Den but it’s only just defeated the ongoing Salt and Pepper Diner Experience of twenty rounds of The Heart is a Muscle by Gang of Youths interspersed with one (1) Buck Rogers by Feeder. No I don’t know what that’s about either.

Last thing you googled:  i have a vivid mental image of sitting at the kitchen table with my housemate last night drinking camomile tea and googling a question of vital importance but I have no idea what it was. no, wait, it was “do we need to put the bins out”, which isn’t very interesting (the answer was yes, and I had to do three separate rounds of “i am not a robot” to get it). In the course of the same conversation he googled both “hench women in film” and “who plays the built Russian woman in Deadpool” and was disappointed in both answers.

Time:  15.25

Dream trip:  i feel like i used to have a fun adventurous answer for this! but the travel anxiety is real. idk, i haven’t been to the sea in a while? and my sister’s in Germany at the moment, which is making me nostalgic, so maybe the Bodensee? or to go hang out with @divvectortrianglevector who I haven’t seen in person in wayyyyy too long.

Last thing you read:  this excellent Steddie fic by @greatunironic, which I found via @idiopath-fic-smile‘s amazing versions of the songs therein, Fugitive Telemetry, this incredible DinnCobb fic - it’s been a good reading time in the life of goingspare!

Last book you enjoyed reading: Fugitive Telemetry - murderbot gets to solve a murder! cleared my skin watered my crops etc etc

Last book you hated reading:  oh boy. well, it’s been a while. these days i have so little new-book-energy to spare that i don’t tend to start something unless i’m already 100% sure i’m going to love it? but i think it was about two years ago, we were talking about doing Time’s Eye by Arthur C Clarke and Stephen Baxter for @teachingmycattoread, and then it made me so angry that we did not, in fact, end up doing it for the podcast. The premise is kind of intriguing but the execution makes me want to commit acts of creative and unhinged violence. So.

Favorite thing to cook/bake:  to cook, macaroni cheese - i’ve got the recipe down to soothing-ritual-level now, and i almost never fuck it up (unless you count adding too much cayenne? which i manage to do nearly every time). to bake it’s probably my ten-minutes-and-done chocolate chip cookie recipe, which now i think about it works basically the same - I’ve done it so many times i can do it without thinking, i can fit it into the half-hour gaps between work meetings, and somehow they end up melt-in-the-mouth every time.

Favorite craft to do in your free time: hmmmm tricky. the most enduring is definitely knitting - it’s so soothing! - but I’ve fallen out of the habit recently due to ongoing battle with my physiotheraphy exercises. I’m patching some jeans with embroidery bees at the moment, which is a lot of fun, and I recently got into bookbinding, so those are both strong contenders.

Most niche dislike: probably any of my academic dislikes? I don’t know how common these are among other medievalists but 1) some specific translation choices in the Seamus Heaney Beowulf 2) Byrhtnoth antis 3) people who call the Alfred Jewel an aestel instead of an Unidentified Socketed Object. In real life it’s probably like...olives. or something.

Opinion on circuses:  None.

Do you have any sense of direction:  Absolutely not.

Tell us about your D&D character:  Akra Bharash! Silver dragonborn eldritch knight! Struggling PhD student and family black sheep! Originally conceived of as like, Newton Geizler but about dragons and also hench af, has somehow ended up Eliot Spencer, as all my D&D characters are eventually wont to do. I’m love them. I miss them. One day I will play them again.

Tag-list (you don’t need to do this if you don’t want it!): no pressure @sinni-ok-sessi @morkaischosen @tallangrycockatiel @july-19th-club @verbforverb @thesuperfeyneednoshoes and anyone else who wants to!

[icemankazansky]

Rules: Tag 5 people you want to get to know better!

@paxny @hcrogasm @valkilmerr @autopsy-mauve @bbr1 

Thank you so much for the tag @mvrckd !!! I'm sorry I am sometimes not the best at getting to these in a timely manner.

Relationship Status: positive self talk positive self talk who knows what the future holds?

Favourite Colour: pink

Favourite Food: My mom's spaghetti (specifically), gyoza.

Song Stuck in Your Head: "Talia" by King Princess. You have no idea how close I came to making that "The Night We Met" Icemav gifset with lyrics from "Talia" instead.

Last Thing You Googled: "book of kells"

Time: 20:25

Dream Trip: I want to go on safari and stay in that hotel where you have breakfast with giraffes. With my BFF and maybe my sister and my cousin, idk.

Last Book You Read: Crazy Hair by Neil Gaiman (my niece will be three next month)

Last Book You Enjoyed Reading: My memory: I have never in my life read a book, ever. Um ... Trail of Lightning?

Last Book You Hated Reading: I don't finish things I hate. I give them 10-20 pages, and then if I hate it, I'm out. The last thing I stopped reading because I wasn't feeling it was Bone Black. I didn't hate it, but we weren't vibing.

Favourite Thing to Cook/Bake: Chocolate chip Oreo chunk cookies by crepesofwrath who has apparently just disappeared from the Internet?! I'm just discovering this. Ughhhhh there were so many amazing recipes on that site.

Most Niche Dislike: Don't touch my hair.

Opinion on the Circus: My best friend is a circus performer! Modern circus is full of amazing athletes and artists. People who are able to make a living from circus (especially outside a solid gig like Cirque du Soleil) are the most hard working, inventive, creative people I've ever met. I've gone with Nina to training several times, and I swear to God it is the most grueling thing I have ever seen a human being put themselves through. And in addition to being in peak physical condition, they basically have to run their own businesses. They have to write contracts and make deals with clients. They have to do accounting and taxes. They have to know everything about the safety needs of their craft, and they have to be able to ensure those needs are met every single time they perform, because almost no venue on earth can be trusted to do it properly themselves, and it can mean life or death. They make their own costumes. They do their own makeup. They do their own choreography. They do their own photography and their own promotion. They are constantly learning new skills and styles. I think modern circus is absolutely amazing and everyone who has the opportunity to see it should. I really encourage you to visit my bestie's website for an idea of what modern circus really means.

Do You Have a Sense of Direction: No. No. Not at all. I was late to my own high school graduation, even though I had left more than an hour early because I wanted to spend time with my friends, because I got lost driving to the venue. That I had been to the day before.

( p.s if anyone wants to do this feel free to snatch this as if I’d tagged you as well  )

[honey-makki]

grandma’s blessing

best friend!hanamaki takahiro x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of death (family member), oral (fem receiving), fire, probably unsanitary cooking conditions if i’m being honest (it’s soft i swear)

summary: the holidays are your favorite time of year. your best friend hanamaki tries to keep holiday cheer alive despite the loss of a family member.

word count 2.4k

masterlist

Holiday’s are tricky. Decisions on whether the trauma of going home will be a heavier burden to bear than the guilt and loneliness of your city apartment. GOing home was never a pleasant experience. Trips filled with parents nitpicking your seemingly successful life and emotionally battering you about anything and everything they could. The only reprieve would be hugging your grandmother and being able to see her face-to-face during dinner. She understood why you didn’t come home every opportunity and didn’t blame you a bit.

On years when it would be too much to travel, you knew that she would still give you a call. Spending all day on the phone with you while you bounced around the kitchen making much smaller portions of what they would be eating at home. Even the small amounts of silence on the call were comfortable. You could feel her next to you kneading the dough for a pie while you mixed together the fruit base. It felt like home.

The silence that has been living in your apartment the past few months after her passing was suffocating. Weekends spent with friends at their apartment just to get out of somewhere that just seems to reek of death and despair.

You had spent more nights at Makki’s place in the past month than at your own. He was your closest friend, a true confidant, someone skilled at lifting your mood, and the person you’ve been undeniably in love with for years. You accepted the fate of growing old with a horde of cats as long as you can have his silly pink hair shining in the sun when you hung out with friends. It’s ok that you are going to be alone forever as long as you still had a standing laser tag date once a month. The only thing stronger than your feelings of love towards the strawberry blond was fear of losing him.

He has been a pillar of strength during the past few months. Holding your crying body until you fall asleep on his tear-stained and snot covered chest. Setting alarms in your phone to make sure you are eating or going to work instead of sitting in a dissociative state. Ever since you shared a bed with him, he’s been a little more comfortable with physical contact. Walking closer together arms touching when going out or throwing an arm over your shoulder when lounging around the house. You can’t count the number of times you’ve both woken up in various stages of cuddling.

He was the one to bring up spending the holidays together. He had just gone home for a wedding and couldn’t afford another ticket and he knew that you were in a weird spot. “We can stay here and make dinner and bake cookies and watch shitty r-romcoms? Someone has to appreciate Hallmark movies, why not us?” You can hear his voice crack and start to speed up as a blush rises across his face. You see it but don’t really process it, more relieved that for the first time in months, the thought of holidays didn’t make you run to the bathroom and throw up. You smiled and nodded, setting plans for him to come over later in the week.

Makki always liked when you cooked, throwing a western spin on dishes he considered normal. But today, he was flabbergasted, you didn’t let him just sit on the barstool curating music while you did all the work, no, there was too much food to be made for him to laze around. You laid out the recipe for your grandmothers’ mac n’ cheese, explaining what everything meant while you got started on an asian fusion stuffing you figured out a few years back.

You stole glances at him in the middle of stirring, combining and folding everything together. His tongue sticks out between his lips while he deliberately measures out the exact amount of cheese required. In all the time you’ve seen him, you’ve never seen him totally lose his laid back air until now, and you can’t control your laugh. Is he really more serious about measuring out sharp cheddar cheese than a game that would take them to nationals? Or that physics final he actually studied for? Your heart skips a beat when you see his soft, satisfied smile to the dish he just created. All you can picture when he looks over to you is how cute of a child he must have been. Cheeks round encasing his bright smile as his head tilts ever so slightly to the left.

After he slides the last dish into the oven, you both opt for taking the time to clean the kitchen, knowing that you won’t want to do it after dinner. The dishes are washed and dried and while Makki puts away the ones that go on a higher shelf, you return flour and other ingredients to the pantry but before you put them down you call out to him, voice lighter than normal, the one you use when asking a favor.

“Taka, how upset would you be if I said I wanted to cook a little bit more?”

“You get dishes this time around then, but what are we makin’?”

You turn out of the pantry with a bounce in your step before slapping down the flour and newly acquired, chocolate chips and sprinkles. “Cookies! We always made cookies with my grandma and it wouldn’t be the same without them.” Your eyes sparkle at the thought of the sweet treats and equally sweet memories of your childhood. Makki thinks you are breathtaking.

“Let me get the bowls back down and we can probably make mediocre cookies if you have anything you do with it.” He smiles at just how cute the squawk you made from his teasing is, just happy that he gets to be here with you. He doesn’t really hear how you defend your baking skills and complain that just because you forgot flour one time doesn’t mean you are inept at baking.

He never thought he would be the type to settle down and be domestic, it just didn’t seem like something he cared a lot about, but now he he can’t rid his mind of the thought of waking up ten minutes before your alarm just to make you a cup of coffee or throwing your favorite blanket in the drier on days it’s raining so when you get home, you can melt into the soft plush and warm up instantly.The clattering of spices brings him back to the moment, turning to see you picking up the cinnamon and vanilla extract.

“You good, love?” There’s something about how you look when you flustered because of him, that scratches an itch he didn’t know was there. The first time a pet name like this had slipped through his lips he was certain that whatever line the two of you were toeing had been crossed, demolished. Instead you just tucked your hair away and averted your gaze back to whatever shitty movie the two of you were “watching” that night. Now it’s normal, well its not normal, its very much not normal for him to refer to you as love or babe and it's not normal for you to exclusivley call him by his first name. It's decidedly abnormal considering your relationship or lack thereof. But if you aren’t going to question it neither is he.

He helps you up and gather the remaining ingredients for the “famous snickerdoodle cookies” that you swear had won awards. The mixing of the dough is interrupted when he has to grab your wrist to stop you from adding salt instead of sugar. You refuse to look at him because you know he is sporting a huge smirk and raised eyebrows, knowing that he’s right about you not being the best baker. You are reprieved by the oven going off, signaling to remove the earlier and change the temperature.

“Damn, babe, these cookies look so good, especially this one.” You return to Makki who already started to lay out the dough on the baking tray. You see perfectly round blobs squished slightly by a fork for a pattern and then right in front of him you see the cookie he was talking about. You didn't expect to see your 27 year old boyfriend-who-isn’t-your-boyfriend to be holding a cockshaoped cookie. But really, you should have seen it coming from the guy who laughs when either of you fart.

He can hear the clock ticking as you just stare, annoyed. He was concerned for a second, that maybe he shouldn’t have made a lewd joke when making cookies. This is something he used to do with her grandmother, you stupid idiot.. But when he can see the apple of your cheek peeking out from behind your hand, he recognizes that face. The one that positively exudes warmth and happiness with her laughter. The butterflies always buzzing in his stomach go wild when this face comes out. He would do anything to see it for the rest of time.

You don’t know where the courage comes from but you cup his cheek for a kiss, he mirrors your action. It just felt normal, and you honestly didn’t realize that it wasn’t normal until you both pulled back. Your eyes are locked on his, both of you sporting a soft smile until his keeps growing, evolving into a laugh that is borderline offensive in how loud it is.

You don’t know why and you get a little nervous that maybe he doesn’t feel the same way, when you go to hide your face, you feel the heat rising but also a soft powdery coating? And that’s when you realize his hands are still coated in flour from shaping the cookies. Your eyes are rolling while you chuckle but Makki on the other hand is losing his mind, almost in tears from laughing while putting the cookies in the oven. “It’s not that funny, Takahiro! Get me a napkin please.”

“Nah, you look really sweet. Good enough to eat.” You weren’t surprised when he returned to kissing you, nor when he lifted you up by your thighs and plopped you on the counter. The kisses are sweet, lazy and perfect for a second kiss, and a third and a fourth. This is normal. His lips belong on yours. Your hands should be tangled up in his hair while his run over your waist and legs. This is right. There's no rush to deepen the kiss, both of you happy to just indulge in the warmth of the other, but it is inevitable. A soft nip at your bottom lip or an accidental tug of his hair, neither of you know what happened first but you both are staring at each other, panting lightly with a much darker gaze than the original flour induced makeout session.

“You are just as sweet as I thought. Gotta have a taste.” His voice is raspier than you’ve ever heard and you just let him move your body as he pleases. Pull your hips to the edge of the counter. Spread your legs as far apart as they’ll go. Lift your hips when he pulls your shorts and underwear down. Gotta act as sweet as he says I am. He has barely touched you but when he falls to his knees and just stares at your dripping slit that he's imagined for years, your eyes, you are already imagining how good he's going to feel.

You shouldn’t even try to think, his tongue exceeded any expectation or desire you had. Expertly flicking against your throbbing clit as he works two fingers in you. You feel the groan he lets out when he dips his tongue into your hole before you hear it. The vibrations reverberate up your spine and through your body, an all-consuming heat starting in your stomach, threatening to let loose, to run rampant on your body. His fingers, joined by another, return to your clenching hole and search for the spongy spot hidden deep inside. All you can hear is the blood rushing through your head, drowning out every other noise.

“C’mon love, cum on my fingers, on my tongue, I’ve wanted, dreamed about this for years, give it to me.” His slow words juxtaposed the fervent pace of his fingers and it was enough to send you over the edge.

You feel so hot you fear you might pass out, the groan Makki lets out beneath you is the only thing keeping you grounded. You were first concerned that you had hurt him in someway, but when you see his eyes roll back into his head and his tongue trying to lap up every single bit of cum you squirted on his face and thighs, you know it wasn’t due to excruciating pain, rather it's just an obscene reaction to you.

When you push him back, squirming with overstimulation, you hear him scramble and “Shit! Fuck! Fire extinguisher?? WHERE IS YOUR FIRE EXTINGUISHER???” You are still out of it until he starts actually screaming, words still evade you but he follows your line of sight to the red tube hiding in the corner next to the fridge. The smell of smoke is overwhelming all of a sudden. You were in a dreamlike post orgasmic state and suddenly your coughing, eyes hazy.

the cookies, SHIT THE COOKIES!! Smoke is billowing out of the oven and your fire alarm is blaring, but soon the room is filled with a white foam originating from Makki. You never realized that the foam would continue to expand until half of your kitchen was covered in it and you saw a sheepish looking Makki on the other side.

“Fires out”. Again, he starts to laugh at you, and this time you join him. Today has turned out entirely different than you expected. It wasn’t a sad day, it was filled with laughter, romance, an ill timed fire and Makki. All in all, a successful holiday, despite the fact everything you cooked was coated in foam. He’d seen you staring at the food and already took his phone out to order food, “Indian or ramen?”

Yeah, you think you’re grandma would be happy seeing you like this. Happy Holidays.

a/n: i don’t really know what this is but the image of makki being a disaster in the kitchen came to me one day and here we are. make sure you read the other fics in the collab

matsukawa’s funeral home winter collab

a/n 2.0: also a/o to @iwaasfairy for making that makki image that i used in my header. i love her more than i love him which say a lot

[korissideblog]

ᴴᵉʸ i already apologized to Dante, but I guess I also have to apologize to y’all. So… once again, sorry I did a kick flip so sick it made the tag ill. I’ll be sure to think of you all when I’m living a solitary life as a hermit in the forest who’s mistaken for the ghost of a witch.

uuummmmmmI also finished the jetsam fic last night 👉👈 so here you go bestys <3

@jetsam-kisa

Jetsam knew getting into some sort of activity with Aito would be a mistake. Usually the little creature was up to something malicious, and even if you couldn’t figure it out immediately, at some point something would take a sharp right turn and now she’s tricked you into being his accomplice for whatever his next cruel joke is. Aito hasn’t revealed what this trick will be, but it definitely terrifies him considering that they’re in the kitchen.

“It’s just that Mich’ gave me such a pretty skirt yesterday.” Aito had explained, her wiry tail wagging from side to side. “And both Ikuto and Haru said I should say thank you with a little gift in return!”

And so Jetsam (foolishly) agreed to help Aito make cookies. Aito had found the recipe and ingredients, all she needed help with was execution. Jetsam wasn’t sure if he was stressed about how little he could vet the ingredients, or if he was relieved because he was helping with so little- he couldn’t possibly get in trouble for just making cookies right? Right???

“So we have flour, baking soda… salt right here…” Jetsam mumbled, his usual plumes of smoke going up and dissipating into the air as he read off what ingredients they would need and making sure Aito got the right stuff. Aito sat on the counter nearby, watching Jetsam sort everything out silently. After making sure everything was in place, Jetsam gave Aito the thumbs up and Aito hopped off the counter to come help. “Could you preheat the oven-” Jetsam immediately recognized the fault in leaving Aito alone with a heat source and took it back “ah, no, lemme get the oven, you can start mixing th-” nope! Aito would probably be worse if he was left unsupervised with ingredients that someone would be eating, and took that back as well. “Ok then… I’ll preheat the oven, you can just… just stand there for a second.” he finally settled on, stepping away and quickly setting the oven before looking back to check on Aito and-

And she didn’t seem to be doing much. Just kinda standing around, scrolling through the phone that they were using to look at the instructions. Seeing as it was Aito’s phone, Jetsam didn’t see any reason to panic as he returned to Aito’s side. “Next we have to mix the flour, baking soda, and salt.” Aito said, scrolling up and down the instructional website in boredom. “Sounds easy, lemme get the thingies.” by ‘thingies’ Aito apparently meant measuring tools, and (with a nervous Jetsam’s supervision) measured out the dry ingredients and put them into a bowl.

“Have you started on the report for history?” Jetsam asked, starting to mix the wet ingredients together with a handheld mixer- much too afraid of something motorized being in Aito’s hands to let her help. “I know what I wanna write about, I just haven’t started.”

“Yeah, Haru made me start before we left class.” Aito responded vaguely, strangely not taking the opportunity to lightheartedly complain about her friend.“It's lame, but I’m halfway done.” she shrugged, hopping onto the counter and watching like a cat on a windowsill, her tail even swaying side to side as she watched the ingredients mix. “Now we add the chocolate, right?”

“Roawr”

“Meow?” Aito perked up and looked to the floor of the kitchen, Jetsam not far behind as Aito jumped down from the counter to greet their new guest. “Oh! Look who’s here Jetsam!” Aito smiled, picking up a small black kitten who had wandered into the kitchen. “Oh wait, You’ve never met little Jiji, have you?”

“No?” Jetsam said, not wanting to get in trouble for being seen with a pet in the dorms but… but it was just the smallest little kitten he’s ever seen! And Aito was just bringing him to him! “H-hello there sweetheart.” Jetsam hummed, carefully putting his hand out for the kitten to sniff as he realized that the kitten didn’t seem to have eyes- a terrifying realization when in relation to Aito “Can he see anything?”

“No, I think it was a birth thing though.” Aito said, petting the kitten fondly before putting him down again. “He needs to walk around a bit, get a feel for the space.” she explained as the kitten stood still for a second before realizing that Aito wasn’t going to pick him up again and running off to go explore. If Jiji ran into a few walls, Aito ignored the sound, and so did Jetsam. “I think he got out through my vent, I'll have to close it next time.” Aito shrugged, finding the bag of chocolate chips and opening it.

“Why was the vent open in the first place?” Jetsam asked, worried about Aito’s answer, but deciding that it would be worse not to know.

“Sometimes Haru locks his door so he can destress.” Aito said, pouring the chips into one of the measuring cups. “I need to be able to stop that as quickly as humanly possible.” he explained, not going into detail as Jetsam nodded, not wanting any more details. Aito poured the chips into the mix and let Jetsam mix it for her, again taking her place on the counter to watch.

“You named the cat after the Jiji sticker on my wallet?” Jetsam asked, suddenly realizing how quiet Aito was being (at least compared to the insane amount of talking she normally did) and wanting him to talk again.

“Mhm.” Aito responded, watching the dough spin around in the bowl

“It’s from a show you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I could show you it some time.”

“I’d like that.”

Jetsam could taste the silence in the room as he put the mixer down. He thought he was scared of an over excited Aito, but a deathly silent one was twice as agonizing. He let Aito get the sheet pan and spray it down, but decided to let her play with a small portion of the dough as he quickly divided the rest into even little balls, all spread across the sheet, with a small space for Aito’s.

When he looked up to the girl on the counter, she had her back turned to him as she messed with the dough. Aito felt eyes on his back and looked up, noticing that Jetsam was finished, and held up the plate she was working on.

The cookie dough was formed into a crude little heart shape, rough around the edges, and still needing some work. “It looks good, Aito-kun.” Jetsam said, not sure how well it would turn out in the oven, but also not willing to put Aito down when she looked so contemplative. She turned around and put the plate back down on the counter, as if to let Jetsam see what she was doing.

“You know they found a body…” Aito said, barely above a whisper as she carefully formed the dough “on an Arabian Peninsula…” Jetsam felt his heart beat quicken with nervousness as he tried to hide the larger clouds of smoke billowing from his mouth. “It was an archeological dig and… they think she’s 4000 years old- the bones that is- she was… they think she was 18 when she died.” Good lord- Aito-kun always tells her stories in the worst way possible. “I’m writing my history report on her. Her bones were all messed up- way too thin for her to do much. She was severely disabled and would have needed around the clock care… but… but they also saw that she had… she had a lot of cavities, and her teeth were falling out and it didn’t make sense till…” Aito paused momentarily, as if trying to remember what his hands were doing before he continued the story. “till they realized that she… she just ate too many dates.” He giggled, sharpening the bottom of the heart as best as he could. “They just loved her so much… they loved her to death.” Aito paused again, looking over his handiwork and immediately started poking it again, less out of a want to shape it, and more out of a need to do something with his hands. “They always say survival of the fittest and- and I think they’re right!” He said, her voice rising a bit in volume. “Humanity’s made it this far because we found out that what makes us fit for survival is love and compassion and empathy and community and- and…” Aito just stood there, collecting her thoughts as he tapped a rhythm on the center of the cookie, as if trying to make it beat on its own. “And I like things better when they’re heart shaped.” She finally finished, still tapping the dough, but calming down a bit. “Can we… um”

“We can make them all heartshaped, if you want.” Jetsam offered, pointing to the rest of the cookies. Aito simply nodded and finally removed her hands from the dough, frowning a bit at the messy edges, but not willing to reshape it as she moved it from the plate to sheet pan.

Jetsam showed Aito how to make the dough into a shape that would actually end up as a heart after the oven, and together they finished the sheet, Jetsam slipping in into the oven and turning back to face Aito. Aito still looked tentative, swinging his legs over the side of the counter, but a bit more confident than before. “You said you still needed to start on your report?” Aito asked, and Jetsam nodded. Aito hopped down from the counter. “I’ll be back.”

Jetsam followed Aito to the door of the kitchen, but stayed put as Aito continued down the hall to the dorm rooms. Aito returned a bit later with a paper, pencil, copy of their history book, and a cozy looking blanket. “You should start now. I need a nap.” Aito said shortly, turning away from the kitchen and into the common room. Aito laid Jetsam’s supplies on the adjacent coffee table and let him sit down before wrapping herself in the blanket and laying her head across his lap.

“Is this my copy of the textbook?” Jetsam asked, recognizing some of the graffiti across the well used pages. “This was in my dorm room.”

“Mhm.” Aito hummed, looking over the pages as well.

“My dorm was locked?”

“Yeah,” Aito chuckled, sitting up a bit to explain himself. “But all the doors kinda suck. If you know what you’re doing, you can get into any dorm you want without a key.” He said, flipping a few pages and ignoring the nervousness on Jetsam’s face. “Your door in particular is a bit harder though, if it’s any comfort. You have to point the handle perfectly vertical and knee it really hard. Easy once you get used to it, but I don’t exactly go around telling people these things.” He mumbled, tossing his arms over Jetsam’s legs and resting his head on his arms.

“Thanks?” Jetsam shrugged, mildly uncomfortable with the fact that Aito could just break into his room whenever… maybe he should invest in a deadbolt…

“But what do you plan on writing your report on?” Aito asked, closing his eyes and very clearly not planning to listen to Jetsam’s report. So Jetsam gave a quick summary of his ideas till he was sure that Aito was out cold (luckily she fell asleep quickly) and continued working on his report in silence till the alarm on Aito’s phone went off.

Aito immediately jumped awake at the noise, but grumbled and complained as he turned the alarm off. Aito yawned like a cat and stepped over the couch like it was nothing- and seeing how often she disregarded the proper use of furniture, she probably saw it as such. Jetsam was still sorting his supplies, as well as his (mostly finished!) report when he heard Aito mumble something along the lines of “oh I hate this part” and the sound of running water. Jetsam immediately sprung to the kitchen, only barely making it to the door before Aito reached into the oven with his BARE HANDS and pulled the pan out, before throwing it on the counter and immediately putting her hands into the sink, under the running water. “I hate this I hate ovens I hate heat I hate-“ Aito rambled on and on about hating this and that about the stupid decision he just made, leaving Jetsam in completely stunned confusion.

“Why didn’t you just??? Use the mits???” Jetsam howled, running over to inspect Aito’s reddened hands.

“Mitts? You use those for cold things?” Aito asked, as if Jetsam was the moron here.

“You… they’re called oven mitts, Aito-kun!” Aito started at Jetsam, as if finally putting something together

“Oh…”

“Oh…?”

“Oven mitts are kitchen gloves.” Aito hummed, turning the water off and reaching into the drawer that the mitts were kept in, wincing a bit as his still red hands made contact.

“What?”

“Yeah ah… mama calls them kitchen gloves and… and ours are made of cloth.” Aito explained, pulling out the silicone glove. “I thought… you know, I thought these were two different things.”

And suddenly Jetsam understood why that prehistoric 18 year old was so important. Everyone will always not know something, it’s inevitable. Maybe it was something stupid like what oven mitts were, or something less stupid like living. Nobody knows anything. One day fire may burn cold, or the sun just not rise, or our blood may not pump… and all we could do is be kind, and caring, and compassionate.

“We have to take the cookies off the sheet.” Jetsam advised, patting Aito’s shoulder as she returned the mitt to it’s drawer. “They’ll keep baking if we don’t get them on a cooling rack.”

And so, in a more comfortable silence then before, Jetsam and Aito moved the cookies to the rack, pausing only at the last one, the one Aito had made first. Jetsam was right, the shape didn’t survive too well in the oven, the tops of the heart looking more like a single hill and the bottom having lost it’s point, and yet Aito moved it without hesitation onto the rack.

“I like it.” He said softly, making sure it fit onto the rack with all the rest. “It’s a little messed up, but it’s still heart shaped.”