#i love your cakes and pies

[asitrita]

I’ve been reading some genetic studies (I’m a bit obssesed with genetics lately), about the different human groups that share the most genetic similarities with Spaniards and Portuguese. Of course, Europeans come first (Southern and Central French, North Italians and Swiss belonging to roughly the same ethnic group as “Iberians”, being all from the same "stock") , then the very North coastal population of North Africa, and finally Near Easterns (Eastern Mediterranean people, not surprising). Thing is, there’s this study from which I basically draw the conclusion that were Spaniards to become extinct, in order to bring us back (which is a must), you should mix about 80% of French fat butter, 12% of Italian wine (from Tuscany and Rome mainly, nice Latin blood wine u.u), 5% of Morrocan mint tea, and 3% of Irish Baileys XD (because I refuse to be made of English fish and chips, so I’m taking the Irish within the “native British and Irish”). And 100% of love.

#my shenanigans #XD #the fish&chips part is half jocking #funny thing is #the fish and chips dish comes from Spanish adn possibly Portuguese Sephardic Jews that fled to England after their expulsion #so technically #fish and chips are a Spanish derived dish #who would have thought #the only dich England is famous for is not English either u.u #just jocking #i love your cakes and pies #also #guys #this is an oversimplificated post #i mean #you could 100% make a spaniard out of all those groups #but the actual genes of Spanish people do not come only from those groups #there's a little bit of Northern Germanic #specifically southern sweden and northern german #goths suebi and vandals anyone? #as for eastern Europeans we do get small percentages from them too #Goths were in reality a mix of Northern European originally from Southern Sweden and Eastern Europeans #plus we have the Alans too #the mix of Northern and Southern European in France is similar to that in Spain #small traces of Eastern European genetics are also similar in France and Spain #and that's why they assigned all those genes to France instead of breaking them down into smaller percentages of Swedish and Romanian lol #on the other hand about a third of the Italian is probably gaulish from France that was carried by the celts when they got here #if not more #the moroccan is also not moroccan but mostly ancient north african from the roman carthagenean phoenitian and even earlier times #a smaller part of it would come from the berber tribes or moors during the al-ándalus and taifa kingdoms Medieval times

[inkskinned]

you're in the habit of denying yourself things.

if someone asked you directly, you would say that you love a little treat. you like iced coffee and getting the cookie. you drink juice out of a fancy cup sometimes, and often do use your candles until they gutter out helplessly.

but you hesitate about buying the 20 dollar hand mixer because, like. you could just use your arms. you weren't raised rich. you don't get to just spend the 20 dollars (remember when that could cover lunch?), at least - you don't spend that without agonizing over it first, trying to figure out the cost-benefits like you are defending yourself in front of a jury. yes, this rice cooker could seriously help you. but you do know how to make stovetop rice and it really isn't that hard. how many pies or brownies would you actually make, in order to make that hand mixer worthwhile?

what's wild is that if the money was for a friend, it would already be spent. you'd fork over 40 without blinking an eye, just to make them happy. the difference is that it's for you, so you need to justify it.

and it sneaks in. you ration yourself without meaning to - you don't finish the pint of ice cream, even though you want to. the next time you go to the store, you say ah, i really shouldn't, and then you walk away. you save little bits of your precious things - just in case. sometimes you even go so far as putting that one thing in your shopping cart. and then just leaving it there, because maybe-one-day, but not right now, there's other stuff going on.

you do self-care, of course. but you don't do it more than like, 3 days in a row. after that it just feels a little bit over-the-edge. like. you can't live in decadence, the economy is so bad right now, kid.

so you don't buy the rice cooker. you can-and-will spend the time over the stove. you can withstand the little sorrows. denial and discipline are practically synonyms. and you're not spoiled.

it's just - it's not always a rice cooker. sometimes it is a person or a job or a hug. sometimes it is asking for help. sometimes it is the summer and your college degree. sometimes it is looking down at scabbed knees and feeling a strange kind of falling, like you can't even recognize the girl you used to be. sometimes it is your handprint looking unsteady.

sometimes it is tuesday, and you didn't get fired, and you want to celebrate. but what is it you like, even? you search around your little heart and come up empty. you're so used to denying that all your desires draw a blank.

oh fuck. see, this is the perfect opportunity. if you had a mixer, you'd make a cake.

#warm up #this isn't good #writeblr #this is complicated by the fact i can't stand up too long or i fuckken pass out and <3 hit my damn head <3 #but i did take a deep breath and buy myself the stupid rice cooker #and!!! a very cheap sushi kit!!! i have been wanting to try making sushi for literally YEARS #the kit was only like 15 dollars!!!! and i haven't purchased it bc?!!??!?!?!?!!? #..... i didn't get the mixer tho that felt. like a lot. like too much. #on my list is a kitchenaid. one day when i get a check and i have paid off my student debt #and medical debt #i will put that first little bit of cash #into a kitchenaid 5qt stand mixer (with attachments) #i really do just go into their refurbished section and stare lustily at each option #but yeah i feel guilty about the rice cooker even tho i know for a fact this damn thing is gonna be a lifesaver #oh shit also fuck i forgot to mention . poached eggs

[libertyybellls]

KISS IT OFF ME !

pairing; finnick odair x f!dist4!reader

summary; finnick can’t take his eyes off of you in any crowd- but he can take care of you, what’s new?

contains; FLUFF, established relationship, finnick is still pining for reader, alcohol consumption- but positively i guess, reader is anxious in the beginning, objectification by the capitol as per usual.

a/n: i hope im not misunderstood but when i put specific photos or outfits/hairs in the headers of my works that is not directly what i am picturing the reader as! its more-so the hairstyle, or the outfit- or simply the aesthetic of the picture. not the race, hair nor body type. ur all cutie pies. ok anyways onto the fic kiss kiss.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

“well would you look at that!” your stylist squeals in your ear, “from the moment you won your last games i have just been dying to design for you again and… here we are!” she ushers you to spin around.

she’d always been kind to you, perhaps less kind to your dignity- always wanting to flaunt you like a show pony- but nonetheless her support had always been there.

“it’s beautiful, thank you.” you smile small at her. so bittersweet, she was oh-so ecstatic to dress you up once more but to you- this meant less serenity to you. more agitation, more distress, more death.

it felt like a paradox, to be adorned in this sweet, innocent, baby pink before you’re sent away to a grim world once again- you’d already gone off on a tangent to finnick. you’d both sobbed solemnly about the cruelty of it all, how you would never be able to live in peace.

but finnick just wanted you both to have this one night, to indulge in the capitol before you were sent of to your deaths, obviously he would see the brighter side of thing- blabbering about plutarchs plan and how he only needs to protect you, katniss, and peeta until he can get you out of there.

sounds so very simple doesn’t it?

once you’d finished your interview you attended a party, a celebration for the third quarter quell. how ironic, what was there to celebrate?

you’d seen the food platters, the spiked drinks, and indulge you did.

your brain had been fuzzy by the time you’d escape the overbearing class of the capitol citizens, who wanted to know every detail of your life.

it was then- finnick had spotted you- so inebriated you’d genuinely laugh at something the woman next to you said.

feasibly being that she’d said something so pretentious you couldn’t help but tilt your head back in laughter. but nonetheless he admired.

he admired your dress, your smile, the way your eyes slightly disappeared when you laughed, the way your hair was laying down your back. he was simply under the spell of you.

it was then your eyes met his smitten ones, so love drunk- or possibly just drunk- that you’d excused yourself and made a beeline straight for him.

he’d encaptured you with warm arms, a leather corset-like article of clothing consumed his waist- followed by his white buttoned down that seemed to be unbuttoned.

you noticed the way his eyes consumed you- not like the others did. not like you were a piece of cake, not like you were something they had to have for the night, but someone who lit his chest alight.

“you look beautiful.” he murmurs into your hair, his hands around your waist.

“i hardly feel that way- im scared, i think.”

he shook his head, pulling you from his warm embrace much to your dismay. “don’t be. you’re with me right now.” finnicks plush lips lay atop your forehead now.

you laugh as he continues to peck your face, giggles leaving your lips.”so beautiful.”

it was only when you nearly toppled over your unnecessarily long pumps that he took not of your consumption.

“so head over heels it seems you’ve had a little to much to drink. what do you say i get you back to your room now? hm?” he straightens you back up. “run you a bath?”

you let out a muffled mm into his chest, your other hand placed on the side of his chest holding you steady. “love you s’much finn.”

it was his turn to laugh now, there was no mockery, no heinous act behind it, just you and finnick. “i know baby.”

-

#finnick angst #finnick fanfic #finnick fluff #finnick imagine #finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x reader #finnick oneshot #finnick smut #finnick #hunger games finnick #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick x y/n #thg finnick #my #finnick odair x you

[anyroads]

OK you know what, if we're gonna talk about Bake Off then fuck it, let's do this.

It used to be this wholesome, lovely show! We used to watch it for the bakers! And the learning! And the light banter and occasional bit of coy innuendo! What happened?

Channel 4 happened. When they bought the show they made a number of changes, most of them Not Good™️. Not just in the sense of them resulting in a lot of 😬 and 🫠 moments, but in the sense of how they changed the show's purpose, atmosphere, and brand.

Look, I know most people are just like, "whatever, it's just a baking show," and yeah, sure. But it's one of the UK's most successful TV exports, and where it once shifted the tone of reality competition to being wholesome and supportive of contestants, it's since moved towards creating tension at the contestants' cost. So aside from the fact that most people watching it signed up to watch a nice show, it has also shifted the goalposts of what that even means. And that, lovelies and gentlefolk, is some bullshit.

I decided to break my rant analysis into four main parts: theme weeks, the hosts, the judges, and the bakers. Let's get to it!

Theme Weeks:

If you watch Bake Off, you know the show's always had a specific theme for each week. The staples that come up in most seasons are:

cake

biscuit

bread

pudding/dessert

pastry

patisserie

Less common but consistent are things like caramel and chocolate week.

Then there are the fun episodes! When GBBO was on the BBC, this started out with things tea week, tarts, pies, tray bakes, basically little tangents still focused on emphasizing specific baking skills. In Series 6 (still on the BBC) they had their first nation-focused theme week with French week -- fairly innocuous given that a lot of patisserie is French, France and England share much more culture than either cares to admit [Norman Flag dot gif], and it was a nice change from watching Paul make the bakers do recipes that involved boiling things while talking about how wonderful boiled doughs are (are they, Paul? Are they?).

The show kept mixing it up with innocuous themes like advanced dough and alternative ingredients weeks, European cakes, Victorian week, batter week, and botanical week. And while it was frustrating to watch Paul Hollywood mispronounce things like the Hungarian Dobos Torta and lecture bakers on babka when he clearly knew nothing about it (or about Jewish baking in general, go off Past Me), the show's general attitude was that the judges had their own opinions, which were separate from the immutable facts around the chemistry of baking (more on this later) and shouldn't affect how bakers are judged.

After the show moved to Channel 4, the number of themed weeks increased and more of them focused on specific countries. In 6 seasons on the BBC, there were only two country-focused theme weeks, and in 5 seasons on Channel 4 there have been five. And while they've also had themes like vegan baking, roaring 20s, the 1980s, spice week, etc. the show has really started to go hard on exoticizing other cultures in outright disrespectful and racist ways. There's been Italian and Danish week, German, Japanese (it wasn't, it was East Asian week), and now Mexican week (which doesn't touch on interspersed Jewish bakes that didn't get a theme week, like versions of bagels and babka set as technical challenges that were borderline hate crimes and mansplained by a guy who has no idea how to make either and once wrote in a cookbook that challah was traditionally eaten during Passover). Each time the hosts played up the theme with racist bits and jokes that can be used as evidence in court if your case is "why should shows with scripted content have a professional writing staff."

Which touches on other issues the show has now...

The Hosts:

When GBBO was on the BBC, the show was hosted by ✨Mel Giedroyc✨ and ✨Sue Perkins✨. They encouraged the bakers! They'd hold stuff for them sometimes! They were interested in them! If a baker had a breakdown, they would start singing copyrighted material to render the footage unusable! When the show moved to Channel 4, they left, though I'm not unconvinced that Channel 4 offered them impossible to accept contracts to force them out so they could rebrand the show. They replaced them with Sandy Toksvig and Noel Fielding. Sandy was a lovely host in the vein of Mel and Sue, and she and Noel had a relatively sweet rapport, but she left a few seasons ago and was replaced by Matt Lucas.

Noel Fielding is mostly known for his quirky brand of comedy, a sort of British Zooey Deschanel who's goth from the neck up, an upperclass British gay divorcee from the neck down, and basically an early 60s Beatle re: trousers. Matt Lucas has almost definitely never watched a single episode of GBBO and his most redeeming quality is his thinly veiled contempt for Paul Hollywood.

The two treat the baking tent as their personal playground. Far from the supportive attitude of Mel and Sue, they tend to get in the bakers' way during the most stressful moments, especially when they try to do hilarious "comedy" bits (I can't not put that in quotes) like Noel's talking wooden spoon thing, or Matt talking over Noel to do time calls. During theme weeks like Japanese and Mexican week, they do culture-specific bits that are both racist ("just Juan joke" and "is Mexico a real place?") and unsurprising, given that both Matt and Noel did blackface on their respective sketch shows and absolutely could and should have known better because it was already the current fucking century.

All this to say, there's now a separation between the bakers and the hosts, as if they're on different shows. The hosts are doing their own thing and the bakers are doing GBBO. The show has gotten meaner to the bakers, and the hosts aren't there to support them anymore, they're just there to be comic relief. Because when you refocus your show on stressing the bakers the fuck out, you need a forced laugh I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

The Judges:

First of all, a sincere congratulations to Paul Hollywood who managed to squeeze I jUsT cAmE bAcK fRoM mExIcO aNd YeT sTiLL pRoNoUnCe PiCo De GaLLo As 'PiKa De KaLLa' and I aM aN eXpErT oN s'MoReS wHiCh aRe MaDe WiTh DiGeStiVe BiScUiTs AcCoRdiNg tO mE, aN eXpErT oN s'MoReS, just two in a giant pile of astoundingly wrong hot takes, into a short enough time span that they all aired within Liz Truss's term as Prime Minister. A true man of accomplishments.

In the interest of fairness, I need to preface this with a disclaimer that, due to the fact that I've been watching Bake Off for most of its run, I'm biased. Specifically, I can't stand Paul Hollywood's smarmy, classist, egomaniac ass because he's proven time and again he's more interested in looking smart than actually knowing what he's talking about. Since the show moved to Channel 4, they've changed the occasional handshake Paul would give bakers to the HoLlYwOoD hAnDsHaKe™️. It's gone from being an emphasis of someone's skill to a goal, a reward, and one that emphasizes the judges' place above the bakers.

The judges used to function as teachers, imparting their skills and insights to the bakers. When the show was on the BBC, the voiceover leading to a judging would focus on the bakers' work being finished, saying how it will now be evaluated based on their skill and how well they met the brief. The voiceovers now, on Channel 4, focus on the judging (literally saying something along the lines of, "the bakers will now be judged by Prue and Paul"). There is a clear distinction Channel 4's producers have made, to mark that the show is now about whether or not the judges approve, not whether the brief was understood and executed well. On the BBC, it was irrelevant whether the judges liked a particular flavor, as long as the bake was well-made. Now, the bakers are expected to know the judges tastes and cater to them, which is frankly bullshit. A judge doesn't have to like a flavor to know whether or not it was executed well, ie. is it carrying a bake and was it meant to etc.

The judges have been turned into a brand. Cynically, Channel 4 knows that by building them up and focusing the show more on them, they can exploit their image more for profit. In the process, they've become much more biased and their own biases have come out as well. Most recently in the flaming dumpster fire that was Mexican Week, Paul Hollywood tried to intimidate a baker by telling them he had just gotten back from Mexico (which must have been a fruitful learning trip if he couldn't even learn how to pronounce pico de gallo correctly). Where do I even start with this? Here's an amateur baker from England (the show specifically casts middle and lower middle class bakers for the most part??) who likely can't afford trips to Mexico, who lives in a country with incredibly limited access to Mexican cuisine, who is expected not only to understand the cooking and baking traditions of a completely different culture but to do so well enough to play with it and do something creative with it. On top of which, one of the judges is now using his privilege of traveling halfway around the world as some kind of leverage, as if this were a bar that any amateur British baker could clear.

Prue, meanwhile, has openly asserted her biases against cultural flavors and textures, prioritizing her own personal preferences over them, as if they were in any way relevant to the skills and knowledge necessary to execute the tasks she sets to the bakers. She has also been consistently elitist, criticizing bakers for choices they made that were clearly informed by their experiences within income brackets that are too low and foreign for Prue to comprehend. She once had a go at a baker on a Christmas special because his Christmas dinner themed bake didn't have a turkey, even though it was clear from the stories he shared of his own Christmases that his family likely couldn't afford one. "It's not really Christmas dinner without a turkey," Prue said into the camera angrily while sitting on a chair made of live orphans and telling the ghost of Christmas Future to come back when he had another museum gift shop necklace for her to round out her collection.

The show is no longer about which baker has the best skills. It's become about which mortal can appease the gods of Mount Olympus, ie. the judges.

The Bakers:

Remember when the show was about them? Channel 4 doesn't! Because this is a reality competition show, the bakers are chosen both based on their skills, as well as cast-ability. They're cast as characters, distinct from each other, from different areas, age groups, ethnicities. All of them are amateurs. All of them are middle or lower middle class. They've ranged from college students to supermarket cashiers to prison wardens to scientists.

Something I noticed when the show moved to Channel 4 is that the baker who goes home in the first week is always wildly behind the rest in skills. I have no proof of this other than my eyeballs and deductive reasoning skills, but I think that Channel 4 deliberately casts a ringer each season who they think will be an easy send-off in the first week, just to get the audience's feet wet.

Anyway, like I said, this show used to be about the bakers - about them building skills and learning, and having walked into the tent with a self-taught foundation and understanding of the processes and chemical reactions involved in baking. When the show was on the BBC, the end of each round had some (often brief) moments of tension - will they finish in time? Will they get their bakes on the plate before time is up? Did they forget to add sugar to their batter and only remember at the last minute? In the end, they usually managed to finish and we'd all breathe a sigh of relief and think, yeah! You go, Bakers Who I'm Rooting For!

Now, on Channel 4, the end of round drama has been stretched to be so much longer that they've composed extra music for it. The bakers often seem out of their depth, whether because the instructions for the technical challenge are too vague (bake a lemon meringue pie??? As if anyone in the UK under the age of 60 has had one in the last decade???), or because they were expected to bake something that required a more than a basic foundation they weren't told of. Often it seems like they just aren't given enough time, a tactic used by reality competition shows to manipulate contestants into giving the cameras more dramatic content. On top of all this, the hosts get in their way, instead of helping them plate their bakes. As has been pointed out before, when everyone fails the challenge, the real failure lies with whoever set it.

In conclusion:

The show no longer exists to teach the bakers - and the audience - skills or knowledge. It now manipulates contestants for dramatic effect and prioritizes showing conflict over wholesome content. Channel 4 sees the bakers as social media content they can churn out season after season, and don't care about them because in a few months there'll be a new batch to exploit. Meanwhile, the judges are also out of their depth, co-opting recipes from other cultures and butchering them horrendously, while the camera gives them nothing but status as they hold bakers to the expectation that they learn how to make things very much the wrong way. If you saw any of the tweets about Mexican or Japanese week, or read my post on how Paul Hollywood isn't allowed to go near babka ever again, you'll understand.

So what would fix all this? Scrap the current judges and the hosts altogether. Bring back Mel and Sue, and replace the judges with expert bakers who have a love of their craft and want to share it with others. The draw of GBBO used to be its warmth and comfort - if Channel 4 isn't going to start its own version of Master Chef For Bakers, then it needs to stop trying to find a balance of how it can insert that vibe into GBBO. It can't. That's not a thing. Stop trying.

#GBBO #paul hollywood #prue leith #the great british bake off

[plushefemme]

"innocent" housewife feeder concepts- holidays edition ❄️

making the most hearty, butter and cream-laden foods, it's cold out, you need food that'll stick to your ribs and keep you warm

packing a thermos full of rich creamy hot cocoa with your lunch every day

trying SOOO many recipes for various holiday gatherings and i make you my official taste-tester (but you end up having more than a taste, we can't let it go to waste!)

constant baking- endless batches of holiday cookies, bars, brownies, cakes, pies from scratch with all-butter crust.... i offer that you take some of the extras to share with your coworkers but you scarf half of them in the car, i've slowly worn down your willpower and you just can't resist

i take you shopping to get new winter clothes because you've way outgrown last year's, although i insist it's only because i love to see you in a nice new fuzzy sweater

movie marathons, cuddling under blankets on the couch with snacks and eggnog, and i can't keep my hands off your full, softening belly

once i've figured out your all-time favorite holiday treats i make sure there's a constant supply available

and of course, lots of TLC after you've overindulged at a party, peppermint tea, ginger, so many belly rubs, plus shortbread cookies and homemade bread to help "settle your stomach"....

#housewife feeder vibes #plushetxt #soft feedism #domestic feedism #femme feeder hours

[luveline]

if you're still taking them I would love to make a request for Eddie and Roan! do you know how sometimes little kids will call their parents workplace just to talk about the most random things or just ask some totally super important question? I feel like roan would do that with the reader and Eddie

thank you for your request!! eddie and roan —roan learns how to use the phone, 1.3k

Eddie used to feel nervous when the phone rang for him at work. "Call for baby Munson!" shouted across the shop while Eddie was usually flat on his back under a truck or elbow deep in a scooter engine, he'd get this pit in his stomach thinking something was wrong. 

It was usually daycare. Roan's sick, Roan's wet herself and her spare clothes aren't here, is Roan allergic to veggie sticks? Because she's saying she is. 

But nowadays, a phone rings for him and it's almost always you with something nice to say. You miss him. You've been thinking about him. All manner of gooey soft confession that has him clutching the phone like a loser, desperate for your voice. 

He springs away from his lunch when he's called. Darwin gives Eddie a funny look as he passes the phone. 

Eddie shrugs it off. "Hello?" he asks. "Y/N?"

"It's me!" 

Eddie feels his eyebrows leap up. "Hi, me." Roan hadn't ever used the phone unassisted, to his memory. "Where's mom?" 

"She's trying to fix your hair dryer." 

Eddie hears it, then, the roaring blow in the background. "Why does it sound like that?" 

"She dropped it. I think she's sad." 

"Ro, I fixed it!" you shout, followed by an even louder howling of air, and a heavy silence. "Okay, I didn't." 

"Is that why you called me?" Eddie asks, bemused.

"No, I called you because I want to know how they make corndogs. How do they get the hot dog inside of the corn, dad?" 

Eddie puts his hand on the wall to steady himself as he laughs. "You wanna know how they make corndogs? Are you gonna make some?" 

"I could if I knew how!" she stresses. "I'd ask mom, but she's pre-oc-u-pied."

"That's a big word, babe, where'd you learn that one?" Eddie asks, impressed. 

"Dad, corndogs!" 

"Right, right. Okay, well. They put the hot dog on the stick first, and then the corn part is actually batter. They roll the hotdog around in the batter and cook them together in the fryer. So it isn't the hotdog going into the corn, it's actually corn going on the hotdog." 

"Batter like for cakes?"

"No," he laughs fondly. "And it's not sweet corn, babe, it's something called cornmeal. Maybe we can make some this week, wouldn't that be fun? Then you can see how they make them for real. I think that would be super fun."

His bubbly tone attracts the attention and subsequent laughter of his colleague. He throws them all the bird, totally content and more than happy with his life and his curious girl. 

"Yes," Roan cheers, dragging the 's' syllable until she's out of breath, "oh my god that would be so fun!" 

"Okay, then that's what we'll do. Are you being good for mom?" 

"I'm being awesome." There's a weird crunching noise. "Did you hear that? I think she put the screwdriver in the hairdryer again." 

"Again?" Eddie asks worriedly. 

Roan must put the phone down. Eddie genuinely can't hear a thing, until you pick up the receiver and say, "Hallo?" 

"You blowing up the house?" 

You make a pleased noise that has his heart doubling in size. "Hi, Eddie. I'm having a technological mishap, but rest assured, we are in no danger of explosion. Anymore. What did you call for? It's lunch, isn't it?" 

"Actually, Roan called me. She wanted to know how to make corndogs." 

"You do know everything," you say. "Go and eat your lunch, baby. We'll still be here when you get home, yeah? I love you. Roan, come and tell daddy you love him before we hang up." 

A small silence. "Dad?" Roan asks. 

"Yep, still here." 

"I love you, okie dokie? Please come home in an hour."

Eddie laughs warmly. It's more like four hours, but whatever she wants to think is what he'll tell her. "I love you. Tell Y/N I love her, too, will you? Thank you." 

"Yes!" Her voice comes quieter, "I love you," Roan says to you. 

"I love you, too. Let's make dinner." 

You must think he's said goodbye, because the phone gets a knock and the dial tone sounds. 

—

You're sitting at your desk shovelling pretzels into your mouth while you click around your emails when the phone rings. You slide it between your ear and shoulder, pausing your frankly messy chewing. "Hello and good afternoon, Y/N L/N speaking, how can I help?" 

"Y/N?" Roan says worriedly.

"Roan? What's the matter?" 

"Oh, it is you! It didn't sounded like you at first, that's weird." 

"Sorry, gorgeous, I was using my voice for fancy grown ups."

She giggles like this is the funniest thing you've ever said to her, "You're being funny," she praises. 

You're secretly incredibly pleased. Making your six year old laugh never gets old. "So nothing is wrong, then? You know, those numbers on the fridge are for emergencies." 

"This is an emergency." 

"Yeah, I bet. What's going on? Where's dad?" 

"He's making toffee cake for you. I was helping him do the buttercream but my arms got tired from whisking." 

"Is that why you're calling me?" 

"Yeah." 

You dig for a saltier pretzel and chew thoughtfully. "What's the tiredest part? Your shoulders?" 

"And my fingers." 

"Asked daddy to kiss 'em better?" 

"I would but he's trying to be perfect about the cake. It looks yummy." 

"Did you get to lick the bowl?" 

"Yeah, and dad let me eat a spoon of the melted chocolate. It was pretty great." 

You grin into the receiver. "I bet it was amazing. Maybe you can try and rest your poor arms. Make daddy pour you a big glass of cranberry juice with the heart shaped ice cubes and watch TV until I come home, okay? That's an order."

"Okay," she laughs. "When are you coming home?" 

"I can leave in about twenty minutes, and the drive home takes another twenty, so…" You check the time on your computer. "I think by five." 

"Ugh, that's forever away." 

"I know. Do what I said, okay? Sit down on the couch. I can have a little look at your arms when I come home, maybe we can have a pamper night tonight. We can use some of my fancy lotion and rub it in like a massage," you say. 

"That sounds nice," she hums. 

"Alright, sweetheart. Listen, can I talk to dad before I go back to work?" 

"Yep, yep." You know what's coming as soon as she inhales. "Daddy!" she bellows at the top of her lungs, "Y/N's on the phone!" 

It's flattering how swiftly he gets there. "Hey?" he asks. 

"Hi, do we need anything for me to grab on the way home? I know you ran out of deodorant, was there anything else?" 

"Nothing I can think of. You okay?" 

"I'm awesome. I told Ro you'd make her a big cup of juice for her sore arms." 

"She told you about those, huh?" He kisses her audibly. "She's the best mixer ever. I was thinking we'd change her name to kitchen aid." 

You choke on a pretzel. Coughing, you laugh through a chastisement. "You leave her name alone. Roan is a nice name all by itself." 

"If you insist," he says grandly. "See you in an hour? I've got a surprise for you." 

"I can't wait," you say. You'll pretend to be totally surprised at his cake, no problem. Anything to make him smile. "Love you both. See you soon." 

"Love you. Say love you," Eddie prompts. 

"I love you!" Roan yells. "I'll make dad put your blanket in the dryer!" 

You put down the phone with a small smile, wondering if you can weasel your way past your eagle-eyed coworkers for an early finish. 

#eddie and roan #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4

[egcdeath]

how the cookie crumbles

summary: when you come back home to austin to help your sister with her bakery, you end up in an arrangement with your high school crush that ends up being far more than you bargained for. 

word count: 11.5k

warnings: FAKE DATING, au: no outbreak, pining. so much pining and a touch of yearning, idiots to lovers, high school crushes to lovers, very hallmark-romcom esque, fluff, a touch of angst, more fluff, the reader has a sister but the sister doesn’t have a name, joel’s ex is kinda rude, alcohol consumption, cuddling, miscommunication kinda, unrequited love that’s actually requited love, no use of y/n, not beta read.

author’s note: this is my first fic back after taking my several month long break!! i want to give a big shoutout to my texas consultant and biggest cheerleader @cowgurrrl, who encouraged me to write, gave me helpful ideas, and let me dump my brain and my silly little ideas on her whenever <3

For as long as you could remember, you and your sister had been total opposites. As girls, your sister spent her time playing with dolls, experimenting with whatever new hairstyle on your scalp, and eagerly shadowing your mother in the kitchen, while you preferred to spend your time exploring the city on your bike, reading books in your hammock, and doodling whatever had caught your interest in your hourly. As you entered young adulthood, you were unsurprised as your sister married her high school sweetheart just months after graduating college before setting off to start her own business in Austin, while you moved as far as you could out of Texas and began a prosperous career in New York City. 

Regardless of the different paths your lives had taken, the minute your sister had even suggested that she might’ve needed help at her bakery, you were booking a flight back home. The holidays were a notoriously busy time for her business, with people wanting cakes and pies to display as their own labors of love at their family gatherings, or to have their children wake up to a dozen expertly decorated cookies under the guise that that was what their Elf on the Shelf had been up to that night. 

Given that you had no holiday plans other than drinking Bailey’s-spiked hot chocolate and watching reruns of your favorite season of The Bachelor, it seemed like a no-brainer to come back to Austin. Part of you was excited for your homecoming, to return to the vibrant personality of the city that was a far cry from the east coast city you’d grown to know and love over the years. The other part of you dreaded your return, not feeling particularly excited to have to run into peers from your adolescence while you were trying to peruse the shelves of your local Costco. 

You were welcomed with warm arms the moment that you walked through the door of your sister’s home—metaphorically and literally. She practically hugged you the entire way as you dropped your items off in her guest bedroom, then even more so as she directed you to her car, giving you all sorts of updates about your parents and her husband, but not allowing you to forget the whole reason that you’d come home in the first place. 

“You’re not hungry or anything, right?” she asked as she hopped into the driver's seat next to you. 

“I think I’m good. I ate at the airport,” you replied, slightly amused by your sister’s eagerness to get you to work immediately. Then again, you couldn’t exactly blame her when you thought about how busy she must’ve been. 

“Good! I’m gonna put you right to work then. How does frosting cupcakes sound?”

It sounded fine, and it was fine for the first few hours, until the angle of the piping bag started to make the newfound cramping in your hands unbearable, and your sister had to give you an impromptu tutorial on how not to make your rosettes look so… depressing. 

“Look, the Girl Scouts need this order in like, an hour, and my cashier is going home in a bit. Give yourself a little break to shake your hand out, or pee, or do whatever it is you have to do, then you can ring customers up. How does that sound?” she finally huffed, clearly just as frustrated with you for your inability to do a task that was practically second nature to her.

“Anything’s better than frosting these damn cupcakes,” you commented as you tossed your gloves into the trash. “If I never have to frost a cupcake again, it’ll be too soon.”

“I love you, which is why I have to tell you that you will be frosting so many more cupcakes in the next few days,” she laughed aloud, looking down at the army of baked goods in front of her that she was still working on meticulously frosting. “But you’ll get used to it. I’ll have Ben give you better instructions. He’s really good at this, for some reason. I’m convinced it’s because he went to art school.”

You groaned dramatically as you exited the kitchen, only to bother your sister if nothing else. After all, wasn’t it your job as a younger sibling to annoy your older sibling?

As much as you enjoyed doing random tasks that your sister needed done in the back, working in the front was definitely one of the better aspects of working at the bakery. There was far less technique involved in doing anything, and when there was downtime in the storefront, you got to passively scroll on social media, turning your brightness down so you could secretly cyberstalk people from your high school in peace. 

Being that you were distracted by the phone in your hand, you paid no mind to the shrill sound of the door’s bell as it opened. As you finished up looking at someone’s engagement pictures, you glanced up once before doing a complete double take.

“Hey, I’m just here to pick up the Girl Scout order-”

There was no way. 

You hadn’t seen that face in years. Hell, you hadn’t thought about that face in years, despite your mild obsession with him as a teenager. 

Joel had been the definition of so close, yet so far. You seemed to always be in his orbit, butterflies in your stomach every time he leaned over his desk to ask you a question about the material or to poke fun at one of the weirder quirks your teacher had. Yet, just as you’d finally worked up the nerve to confess your feelings to him, word got around the school that he was becoming a father. After many pints of ice cream and late nights of your older sister comforting an inconsolable teenage you, you’d finally gotten over the man, letting his memory become a funny anecdote you shared to friends to display your terrible luck in love. 

As much as you hated to admit it, he looked good. Obviously, he was much older now, but much to your dismay, he’d aged more like wine than like milk. Donning a new beard that somehow managed to make him even more handsome and biceps that strained against the sleeves of his shirt, he looked far more attractive than you could ever even remember him, his mature look a good one.  You were sure his wife loved looking at that striking face in the morning, before she set off to take care of their adorable young daughter. Their perfect little family, still holding up despite the test of time.

You had gotten so caught up in your thoughts, you’d barely registered the fact that Joel had said your name in a tone that held a mixture of excitement and disbelief. 

“I haven’t seen you in years! Since high school?” he asked, despite already knowing the answer. The surprise of seeing him, let alone seeing him looking so good led you to smile dumbly and shrug. “Wow!” he remarked.

“It has been a really long time,” you grinned involuntarily, practically feeling yourself revert back to your younger, immature self simply at the sight of the man standing across from you. “How are you? How’s the family?”

“We’re good. Sarah’s turning 13 soon, which is really exciting,” Joel explained, setting a hand on his hip as he did so. You swore you could see the fondness for his daughter as he spoke. “It feels like just yesterday I was feeding her bottles and carrying her around in a sling.”

“I know, they just grow up so fast,” you agreed, as if you’d had any sort of experience in the field. The fact that Joel still had this effect on you, one that made you want to follow him around like a lost puppy and agree with every word that came out of his mouth was mildly concerning to you—particularly because he clearly had a wife and a child. 

“They really do. You have any of your own?” Joel asked, looking deep into your eyes and making you want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“Me? No,” you dismissed before following it up with,. “I’ve been pretty focused on my career, so it’s not exactly the best time for a family. To be quite honest, I think my cats do the trick plenty well.”

“You’re still so responsible,” Joel complimented, stirring something up deep inside of you that you promptly wanted to push right back down. “Clearly, I didn’t do any family planning. I’d say it worked out pretty well, if you don’t count having to get divorced just a few years after getting married.”

This piqued your interest. You could almost feel the teenage version of yourself cheering internally at the news that Joel and the mother of his child had split. She’d always been a bit of a bitch to you, so to hear that the two of them had split had sounded like music to your ears.

“Man, that’s too bad. I always thought you two would be the one couple from our school to make it,” you lied through your teeth, hoping that your entertainment wasn’t too obvious.

Joel chuckled and shook his head, smile lines appearing seemingly out of thin air, and unfortunately making you melt on the inside, just the slightest bit. 

“That’s really too bad. I mean, what happened with you guys? If you don’t mind me asking,” you were definitely taking a risk with this question, but you were hoping that the reward of the answer would be worth every bit of boldness you put together to ask. 

“We just had… different ideas for our futures,” Joel explained what you could only assume was a very condensed version of what had actually occurred. “You know, she’s actually in town right now.”

“I hadn’t realized she’d left town. Should we keep our voices down then?” you asked jokingly, although it would be quite awkward if his ex wife walked in while the two of you were talking about her. 

“No, we’re good,” Joel chuckled. “Sarah really wanted to see her for the holidays, and it wasn’t like I could say no to that request. Although, getting Naomi to actually come was a bit like pulling teeth. I’m sorry, this is way too much information. What about you? Any special people in your life?”

“No, Joel, you’re all good. You know how much of a gossip I was,” you offered him a genuine smile. “Unfortunately, no. Funnily enough, the thing I was dreading most about coming home is having my mom constantly on my ass about bringing home a good man.”

“I get it. It’s exhausting seeing all the PDA whenever Naomi and Henry come back. It’s like they’re rubbing in that we’re so happy together and you’re still all alone.”

“Assholes,” you remarked, rolling your eyes to show Joel just how on his side you were. “I’m sure you’ll find someone someday. I mean, both of us will. Then maybe my mom will stop bothering me and your ex will finally stop acting all high and mighty for being in a relationship.”

“I can only hope,” Joel sighed. “Well, I apologize for dumping all of my holiday woes on you when I really should just be picking up some cupcakes.”

“Oh no, I apologize for holding you up. I’ll go grab that order for you,” you said before walking off to the back, where your sister had just finished putting the final touches on the order. 

“Perfect timing,” she remarked, stepping back and running her arm against her slightly damp forehead. “Who were you talking to back there?” 

“Oh, no one,” you dismissed, not ready to hear her reaction. “Just giving good customer service.”

The look she gave you told you loud and clear that she didn’t believe you, but it would be a conversation for another time. Since she didn’t seem interested in pressing, you took it as your opportunity to grab the large, pink box, and bring it out to Joel.

“Here’s that order for you,” you said politely. “It was good seeing you today.”

“Yeah, you too,” he said, happily taking the slightly heavy box when you offered it to him. “How long will you be in town?”

“Into the New Year, I think? Maybe earlier, maybe later,” you shrugged. 

“We should get together sometime. Maybe get a coffee or something and properly catch up? I would love for you to meet Sarah, too.”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” you grinned, begging yourself not to revert back to your younger, naive self, but not exactly being able to fight it at the same time. “Well, if you ever need me, I’ll probably be here.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said as he headed to the door. “See ya!”

As soon as the door jingled, announcing Joel’s departure, you let out a deep breath that you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding. 

Fuck. You could not be feeling this way about a man you had a crush on in high school.

-

Your sister always seemed to have a sixth sense for when you were getting antsy, so one evening as the two of you worked on closing the storefront, she pulled you from the monotony of sweeping the floors while listening to the sound of her new favorite pop artist to send you to the grocery store and retrieve a few items that she needed more of. 

With her company card safely secured in your wallet, a short list scribbled out on a pink post-it note, and your hands closely grasping the handlebars of the cart, you amaturely navigated the grocery store, unfamiliar with the locations of the items that lined the shelves after years of not visiting Austin.

The evening in the grocery store brought you a sense of serenity, with the rush of urgent people looking to pick up the one ingredient they forgot for dinner mostly gone. After packing your cart full of sticks of butter and bags of sugar, you headed off to the get your final item, relieved to have had a mostly successful trip without running into anyone you knew in your youth. 

But just as you had this thought, you caught a glimpse of someone out of the corner of your eye. Dark hair and beard imprinted in your mind after your brief interaction with him just one day ago. You did your absolute best to pretend you didn’t see him as you inspected a bag of flour, keeping your head lowered, and gaze averted. Yet, your efforts were futile, as just moments later, you heard your name called aloud as the man approached you. 

“Hey!” he said cheerily, blissfully unaware that you were attempting to use the ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me’ method on him just moments ago. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, it’s been like forever,” you added on, looking into his eyes and almost immediately regretting your decision as your gut was immediately consumed with a swarm of rabid butterflies. “What’re you doing here?”

“Grabbing some groceries,” he answered sweetly, despite that being the obvious answer to your not-so-great question. 

Duh. What else did people come to the grocery store for? What a stupid question. See? Joel just made you so… stupid! Even after all of the years you’d spent apart. 

“Sarah wanted to try making some Christmas cookies to bring to her mom, so…” he trailed off, gesturing down at the flour that was now in his hand. “Got any tips on the best flour to get?”

“That’s definitely more of my sister’s wheelhouse. I just do whatever she needs me to do, like go and get,” you glanced down at your list before continuing for comedic effect, “White miso paste.”

Joel smiled fondly at your joke, only making your insides melt further. 

“Remind me to stop by and try whatever has that white miso paste in it. Sounds interesting,” Joel grabbed a package of all-purpose flour and tossed it into his cart, before leaning on his cart. 

Fuck. Why did he have to be so endearing, with his smile lines and his kind eyes, and his insistence on treating you like you were the only other woman in the world, despite the other woman customer just standing feet away from you two.

“I definitely will. Has your number changed in the past thirteen years?” you asked, not sure what had gotten into you with the slightly flirty move. 

He shook his head, his eye briefly catching on something and causing him to pause in his movements before he returned to the conversation, now looking slightly off in a way that he hadn’t looked just a moment ago. You were so stupid. Of course you trying to flirt back would’ve backfired. You needed to excuse yourself before you managed to embarrass yourself any more than you already had. 

“It has not,” he confirmed, smiling at you once more, but not looking like his heart was completely into it. “Any chance you’re checking out?” 

“I am!” you said a little too enthusiastically, which Joel responded to by somewhat urgently beginning to walk to the check-out lane. Given that he hadn’t told you goodbye, you followed him like the lost puppy that you were around him. 

Just as the two of you stopped in line and had mostly finished checking out, Joel finally seemed to unclench from whatever he’d seen (or whatever you’d said) that had bothered him before. Yet, as soon as it was over, you noticed that same tension washed over him once more. 

“Oh, Naomi. Henry,” Joel said, his tone taking a complete 180 from what he had just had with you moments ago, and his change in demeanor suddenly made sense to you. “Didn’t realize you two were in town yet.”

You glanced over to the woman who had seemingly appeared out of thin air to ruin your moment with Joel, just like she had done in high school a million times over. Who you hadn’t recognized was the man next to her, looking a little too put together for someone who had likely just gotten off a flight and was headed to the grocery store.

“Joel,” she said artificially sweetly, the one singular word drenched in annoyance. “We just got in. We’re grabbing groceries for the hotel.”

“I didn’t realize chocolate chips were groceries,” Joel muttered to himself as he evaluated their basket. You were slightly surprised by the sass he had seemed to equip out of nowhere, a far cry from the southern charm he had displayed with you in your past interactions. You desperately wanted to leave the situation, which was clearly none of your business.

“Surely, you remember your ex-wife having a sweet tooth,” the man on her side replied defensively, wrapping an arm around her protectively. 

“Something like that,” he replied, glancing over at you with an expression that you couldn’t quite read. 

With tensions boiling over with just a few words stated, you finally decided to step in, impulse and instinct guiding you. 

“Hey honey, I think we need to get going,” you said, internally cringing as the words left your mouth. Joel’s now wide eyes made contact with your unsure ones and your furrowed brows as you attempted to tell him to just go with it without a single word. 

The good thing for you was that Joel was a quick learner, and his hand quickly found the small of your back. Something in Naomi’s expression changed, just for a moment, before she went back to her stone cold facade. You hoped that Joel caught it, the same way that you did. 

“Yeah, we don’t want to keep you too long, since we’ll be seeing you plenty this holiday season,” Naomi replied, flashing you a fake smile. “I didn’t realize you two were together. I’ve never heard Joel say anything about you.”

You were sure the sentiment was supposed to hurt your feelings, but you were more unsurprised by the sentiment than anything else. 

“Some of us like to leave our personal lives personal,” he shot back, glancing at you before bringing his glare back to his ex-wife. 

“Well, that’s cute. I remember, you had the biggest crush on Joel back in the day. Glad you two ended up together,” she laughed and your stomach dropped. Were you that obvious in the past? “Anyway, we’re gonna go to a less busy lane. See you at dinner, Joel. And maybe you, too?” She looked you up and down, and for a second you felt like you were in the hallways of your high school once again, trying your best to avoid the passive aggression of a particularly mean girl. 

“Right. Bye,” he said simply, watching the pair walk away as if he were scared that they would turn back around at some point and bother Joel some more. 

“Fuck,” he muttered aloud as soon as they were out of earshot, his hand falling away from your back and back to his side.  

You immediately launched yourself into a rambling apology, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep or anything, they just looked like they wanted to eat you alive and-“

“No, no, don’t apologize. I appreciate what you did back here. I mean, you saw the look on her face when she thought we were together?”

“Oh yeah,” you laughed out, which also acted as a cover for the deep sigh of relief you needed to let out. “Is she always so shocked when she thinks you’re dating someone new?”

“Well, I haven’t dated much since the divorce,” he explained as the two of you began exiting the building. “So I guess I didn’t really know what to expect. But it totally delivered.”

You couldn’t help but smile as the two of you walked out to your cars together and Joel confessed that not only was he single, but that he hadn’t really seen anyone. Not that it really mattered to you, considering that the two of you had absolutely no shot together. 

You weren’t exactly sure where Joel had parked, but he’d offered to help unload your groceries into your car, and you weren’t exactly going to decline that offer. 

“Thank you, again for helping me out tonight,” Joel said as he helped place bags in the trunk of the car. “Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

“Actually, there is one thing.” 

— 

Every year, you absolutely dreaded your family’s holiday celebrations. Specifically, the celebrations where you showed up without a date, and had to spend the night downing eggnog to drown out the sound of your family asking you when you were going to settle down and bring a grandchild, or niece, or nephew into the family. 

But this year, you didn’t have to worry about that issue. After running into Joel at the grocery store and briefly pretending to be his partner, he’d agreed to do the same for you at a family holiday party, and to be completely honest, you couldn’t be more excited. 

“Again, thank you,” you said to Joel as he opened the passenger door to his truck for you, politely standing at the side of it as you got in. 

“It was really the least I could do after you saved my ass back there in the store,” he dismissed, closing the door behind you before getting back into the car. 

“I mean, I couldn’t just stand there and let you suffer,” you explained, glancing over at the man as he settled into the seat and started the car. He’d certainly dressed up more than usual for the event, a nice red sweater nicely complimenting your green sweater, and his hair styled nicely. For a second, you thought about your younger self, and how she probably would’ve given anything for a night like this—to just play pretend with Joel just for a moment, since he clearly didn’t see you the way you saw him. 

“Well, I appreciate it,” he dismissed, sending you a quick, charming smile before beginning to pull out of the driveway. “Anything I need to know about your family?”

“Oh my god,” you laughed. “Where do I start?”

You more or less talked Joel’s ear off on the drive over, filling him in on family members to avoid; overbearing aunts who would attempt to examine him like a lab specimen, uncles who would try to quiz him on his knowledge of local sports teams, and the occasional family friend, who seemed to be just as crazy as your actual kin. Joel listened politely, taking in all of the information, and throwing in some commentary every now and then, but surely making mental notes on who to try to avoid. 

Once you finally arrived at the car-lined street, Joel once again opened the door for you like the gentleman he was, before allowing you to lead the way to the christmas-light adorned house that was clearly bustling on the inside. As the two of you walked up to the porch, Joel looked at you rather earnestly. 

“Did I scare you in the car? I promise they’re not all that bad,” you began to attempt to explain, nerves bubbling in your stomach as you thought about how Joel surely wanted to go home. 

“No, no, you didn’t scare me,” he assured you, reaching over to brush a stray hair out of your face. “I just… I never got the chance to tell you how good you look. I wanted to say something when you first got in my car, but I guess I got scared. You always look good, but you kinda took my breath away.”

Fuck, you internally groaned. Why did he have to tell you that? Was he just trying to get into character or something? You couldn’t even gather the words for how it made you feel before the front door was swinging open with one of your favorite aunts at the door greeting you. 

“Hello, my love!” she practically squealed as she pulled you into a hug. “And who is this?”

“This is my boyfriend, Joel,” you introduced, only slightly alarmed at how easily the word rolled off your tongue.

“Hello, ma’am,” Joel said warmly, setting out a hand for her to shake, which was rejected in favor of a hug. He was clearly a bit caught off guard by it, but also clearly a little into it. 

“Sorry,” you whispered to him once she let go and the two of you were ushered inside. “We’re a hug family. I probably should’ve warned you about that on the ride over.”

“I don’t mind, I promise,” he assured you, gently grabbing your hand and looking to you for some sort of assurance. You smiled at him then subtly nodded, lacing your fingers in between his in an act that you hoped would be as practical as it was performative.

As the two of you navigated through the house, you made pleasant small talk with all who you encountered, with you proudly introducing Joel as your boyfriend, and him taking the lead in introducing himself from time to time. After an exhausting hello tour, you had finally made it to the kitchen for drinks, something you’d surely need if you were going to keep up at this rate of socialization. 

As you grabbed Joel the beer he’d requested and began to spoon out ladles of the bowl that was tape-labeled ‘ADULT Punch’ into your own cup, you were slightly surprised that you’d finally ran into your mother. 

“Hi honey,” she squealed, pulling you into a hug. “How long have you been here? You avoiding me?”

While past experiences of being single during the holiday season and having to interact with your mother often ended up with you suffering for the entirety of the night–or an entire week, like the time she tried to set you up with a coworker’s son–you felt a newfound confidence with the knowledge that Joel was just a few feet away from you, diligently playing the perfect boyfriend.

“We just got here,” you giggled at her typical overbearing self. For once, your guard was down, knowing that she would not be attempting to set you up with anyone, or hounding you about coming home and settling down with a nice local. 

“We?” she asked dramatically, brows raised in surprise. “Is your sister somewhere around here, or something?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” you feigned offense as she stepped back to look at the two drinks in your hands. “I brought my boyfriend,” you glanced back at Joel, who was right where you left him, making enthusiastic smalltalk with one of your cousins about the Cowboys game. Like a good little fake boyfriend, upon catching your eye he excused himself from his conversation and walked over to you and your mother.

“Mom, this is Joel, my partner,” you explained, as your gentlemanly fake boyfriend grabbed your mother’s hand and gave it a polite kiss. You certainly hadn’t forgotten about his charm back in the day, but to watch it up close and personal after so much time had passed was undoubtedly having a bit of an effect on you. 

“I’ve heard all about you. Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he gushed. You had to give credit where credit was due, Joel was a great actor. You’d given him a bit of backstory on your mom on the ride over to the house, and you’d certainly discussed her while the two of you were students, but definitely not to the extent that he was playing up.

“So nice to meet you,” she replied, her cheeks warming at her interactions with the man. Joel was laying it on thick, but it seemed to be working for her. “Miller, right?”

“Indeed,” he confirmed, flashing a pearly white smile at your mother. As you watched the interaction, you were doing your best to keep it together, partially wanting to laugh out loud at Joel’s overdramatic chivalrous act, and partially wanting to melt into a puddle over just how alluring he was.

“Then I’ve also heard a lot about you. My daughter had the biggest crush on you in high school! It’s so funny that you’ve ended up together now. I suppose God’s timing is always right?”

Your eyes grew wide and your mouth gaped open for a second as your mother reinforced your little secret that Joel had heard from someone else just a few days ago. Suddenly, you were feeling a lot less like a liquidy puddle, and more like the bark of a firm tree–if that tree could experience mortification. If you didn’t need it before, now you really needed that drink. He glanced at you and smiled cheekily before looking back at your mother. 

“So I’ve heard,” he said with a smirk, clearly biting back a laugh. You were going to kill your mother. And maybe Naomi too, while you were at it. In fact, you might just add yourself into the mix. It certainly couldn’t hurt. Or at least, it would hurt less than the discomfiture of your fake boyfriend hearing from everyone about the huge crush you had on him. 

“Mom! I think your other daughter just got here. Why don’t you go say hi to her and Ben?” you suggested, knowing that the best way to prevent her from embarrassing you any further was to distract her with the idea of embarrassing her other child in front of her significant other.  

You clearly knew your mother well, because the strategy worked well enough to get her off your tail. You passed Joel his beer as he watched you closely, the same mischievous smirk lingering on his face long after your mother had left. 

“Crush, huh?” he teased you, causing you to shake your head as you took a healthy sip from a deceptively strong punch. 

“Shut up,” you groaned. “Please.”

As the night went on, you realized that you couldn’t have picked a better candidate to pretend to be your boyfriend at a family gathering. Joel was quite sociable and polite, even more so with a beer in his system. He didn’t even mind entertaining your family members on his own as you went off and caught up with the few members of your family that you could tolerate for more than a few minutes at a time.

Following a rather chaotic series of discussions including when you and Joel were getting engaged (never, I mean, in the next few years. Probably.), the most romantic thing you’d done (backpacking through Europe, according to Joel), and what it was like reconnecting with your high school crush (fucking fantastic), you’d finally lost track of Joel. You did a quick lap around the house before bumping into your sister and cousin, the latter of which desperately described her need for air. 

The three of you huddled together outside on the deck, the spot where you seemed to find yourselves at almost every family function regardless of how fun or stressful it ended up being. While you were enjoying the mayhem of the party and enjoying your time with Joel even more, it was nice to have a little break from it all. 

“I can’t believe you’ve been home for just a few days and you’ve already gotten your childhood crush wrapped around your finger,” your sister laughed, comfortably leaning against the railing of the deck.

“That’s the power of working for a Fortune 500. All of the men in your hometown just want a sugar mommy for a little bit. Get some presents for the kids and wife for free,” you joked. 

“You’re kidding?” your cousin asked, her brows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and intrigue. 

“I’m kidding,” you confirmed. “You know, we aren’t even actually dating,” you confessed, lips and tongue loose from your second glass of punch. 

“What?” your cousin and sister exclaimed at the same time, the two of them suddenly very alert.

Even in your not-completely-there state of mind, you could tell that you had made a mistake telling your secret. It was now very likely that the entire house would know the truth within the next hour, or that you would not be hearing the end of how terrible an idea the whole ordeal was for months on end. 

“I figured you two just hit it off, or had some long distance thing going on?” your sister questioned, peering at you curiously as if your face would reveal some sort of information about your arrangement.

“Nope. It’s kinda a long story, but I guess the short of it all is that we’re pretending to be together for the holidays so certain people get off our asses,” you said casually, finishing off your drink and looking out into the backyard rather than making eye contact with either of your kin. 

“Fair enough,” your cousin sighed, finally relaxing once more. “If I wasn’t already seeing Will, I’d probably do the same.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea? He really broke your heart,” your sister asked, grabbing your arm to attempt to force you to look at her, and staring at you with concern. 

You were sure you could imagine what was going through her head in the moment, the vision of your heartbroken teenage self and the sound of your prolonged sobs as you questioned what your crush saw in her that he couldn’t see in you.  You really couldn’t blame her for being worried. She was your older sister, after all, the task of protecting you instilled in her from the day you left the womb, and clearly not gone now. But things were different now. You were all adults, you had more life experience and perspective, and most importantly, whatever was going on between you and Joel wasn’t real, regardless of how much you might have wanted it to be.

“Yeah, when we were eighteen. I think it’ll be fine,” you dismissed, as if anything was ever that simple. 

“And he seems like a sweetie now. I think my own parents were wishing I brought him home for the holidays,” your cousin, ever the peacekeeper, added as she attempted to diffuse the quickly escalating tension between you and your sibling. 

“He was also a sweetie thirteen years ago when he led you on, then got someone pregnant,” your sister snapped back with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest and turning her back to you. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” you declared, watching your breath float away in a cold puff of air. “Can we go inside now? I think my toes are gonna fall off.”

After a side eye from your sister and a nod of agreement from your cousin, the three of you headed back inside, where you made quick work of grabbing yet another drink and finding the fireplace.

A few couches were arranged by the fireplace, some filled from edge to edge with sleeping, snuggling children who were exhausted by the excitement of a holiday party, others with some of the older members of your family who simply needed a break from it all. Among them all, you were surprised to find Joel, enthusiastically talking to none other than your father. 

Your father was probably one of the most difficult people in your life to impress. He’d maybe told you that he was proud of you a total of five times in your life. Yet, he looked content, hell, happy as he spoke to your fake boyfriend. 

Part of you felt bad as you found your way to the empty spot on the couch next to Joel, but you were cold, and you weren’t going to pass up on the opportunity to warm up by the fire and the man that you had found was a bit of a human furnace. 

When Joel caught sight of you, he smiled and beckoned you over, and you made quick work of maneuvering yourself past the coffee table between the couch. Once you sat down, Joel surprised you by greeting you with a gentle peck on the lips. The action temporarily shocked you, and you desperately hoped that the feeling was not reflected on your face. The naturalness of it all almost felt as if you’d done it a thousand times, and you tried your best to suppress the part of you that wanted to do it a thousand more. 

“Hi honey,” Joel greeted you sweetly, his hand almost immediately finding yours. It all felt so right, and if you weren’t so endeared by him in the moment, you certainly would’ve been mildly panicking. 

“It was nice meeting you, Joel, but I’m old and I’m tired, so I’m gonna head out,” your father explained, giving you a half nod as he began to stand up. 

“Bye, dad. I’ll see you on Christmas?” you asked him, ignoring the panicked look that Joel was certainly sending your way. 

“Sounds like a plan. Love you. Get home safe,” he bid the two of you farewell before leaving without much other fanfare.

“Why didn’t you tell me that was your dad?” Joel asked you, looking at you with wide eyes. You laughed a little bit at his panic, finding the dumbfounded look on his face more adorable than you’d like to admit. 

“Thought it might’ve come up in conversation, or something,” you shrugged, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of the day, mixed with the criminally strong punch set in. “Why do you care so much? Trying to make a good impression, Miller?” you teased. 

“You’re the worst,” he groaned, then laughed as you snuggled up to his side. You weren’t exactly sure whether the laugh was coming from discomfort or relief, but with the bone-deep cold you were feeling and alcohol in your system, you couldn’t exactly bring yourself to care. “You’re also really cold. Are you okay?”

“Mmm, you’re really warm,” you replied, settling against his warm body unconsciously.

“Someone’s feeling the punch,” he replied, wrapping an arm around you as you closed your eyes. 

“It was way stronger than it needed to be,” you agreed in a murmur against his sweater. “Thank you for being such a good fake boyfriend tonight.”

“It was actually pretty fun. I like your family a lot,” he confessed, trying his best to maintain eye contact with you despite the fact that you were in the express lane to dreamland and your blinks were beginning to turn into miniature naps.

“Everyone liked you too. I owe you,” you yawned, dropping your head from the soft fabric of his sweater to the denim of his jeans.

“Mhm. Wanna head home?” he asked.

“How’d you know?” you responded as Joel chuckled above you. 

The ride back home was a mostly quiet one, with Christmas music playing softly on the radio and you dozing off in the passenger seat. Every now and then Joel glanced over at you, and the few times that your eyes were actually open, you wondered what it was that he was thinking. Was he checking up on you to make sure you were still alive? Probably. But you just swore there was something else in his eyes, something you’d seen when Ben looked at your sister, or when your parents looked at each other. 

But that was probably just the exhaustion speaking. 

Once you arrived at your sister’s place, Joel made quick work of helping you get inside safely, even helping you get to bed at your own insistence. Even in your not sober and exhausted state, you knew that you didn’t want the night to end. Even in your less than ideal state of mind, you knew that the way you were feeling about Joel was unsustainable. 

—

The soft, dim lighting of a restaurant that felt fancy even for you seemed to beam down on you, encouraging little beads of sweat to collect at your forehead and the creases of your arms. As much as you were desperately trying to maintain the appearance of being cool and collected, your staccato breaths, wobbly smile, and the rapidly appearing perspiration were quite clearly selling you out. You couldn’t help but to stare down at your menu like it was the most interesting thing in the world, the intimidation of sitting across from your fake partner’s ex-wife’s heated glare far more intense than what you’d expected. Far worse than sharing a brief, yet artificial moment of PDA in a grocery store, and far more than you expected to be able to handle. Yet, Joel had done the same for you, and really, it was only fair that you would do the same. 

After the Christmas party, you hadn’t really expected to hear anything else from your date. As far as you knew, Joel had only agreed to play pretend with you for one night, and as fun as that night was, it was all fake. 

As much as you hated to admit it, your sister was maybe, just a little bit right about the whole ordeal not being your best idea. You couldn’t help but think about the two of you at the party—how he’d held your hand like your hands were two pieces of a puzzle that were made for each other, how he cuddled with you on the couch and looked at you with such genuine concern when he thought you might not be well, but above all, you were stuck on his confession to you, about how beautiful you looked and how scared he was to tell you. 

You couldn’t believe that you were still making these kinds of stupid decisions, the type of decisions that made you want to lay in bed all day with a pint of ice cream and a soap opera playing on the revision, and not do work—the very work that you came back to Austin to do. 

But despite your urge to shut down, you tried your absolute best to do what you set out to do. You spent hours tossing ingredients in mixers, whipping egg whites into stiff peaks, and narrowly avoiding burning yourself as you took trays out of the oven. Only at the end of the day, as you wiped your forehead with a flour-covered arm and checked your phone did you realize that you’d missed a call from Joel. 

After a quick call-back and an explanation to your sister that you would no longer be third wheeling the night’s tree-lighting ceremony with her, you had somehow managed to renew your little agreement with Joel. Your task being a performance of being the perfect, dream girlfriend to Joel Miller, a task that you hoped you would be up for.

But as you sat at the table next to Joel, nearly sweating your mascara off, you began to question the extent of your capabilities within this particular role. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Naomi began, the sharp wing of her eyeliner and the depths of her eyes feeling like they were poking and prodding into you, searching for any weakness or insecurity to be exploited. “What are you up to these days?”

“Well, apart from making the most of my time with Joel,” you looked over at him with what you hoped appeared to be adoration, but probably came across more accurately as the fear you were experiencing, and grabbed his bicep–what you hoped to appear like a fond move, but was something more like you bracing onto him for dear life. “I’m a consultant in New York City. It definitely takes up a lot of my time, but it also feels like every second of free time I have, I’m spending it on the phone with this one.”

You and Joel chuckled, your choked out laugh feeling far more artificial than his. You hoped to whatever powers above that you would somehow manage to convince the couple across from you to believe a story that you could barely even believe yourself, although, with the way that Naomi was still glaring at you, you doubted that being the case. 

“That sounds fun,” she replied, leaning forward slightly as if she was ready to sink her teeth into you two and absolutely tear you apart. “So how’d you two reconnect?”

Joel, clearly sensing your discomfort, came to your rescue with a quick, preplanned answer. “Remember when I took Sarah to Manhattan earlier this year?” Joel began, averting his gaze from you and onto his ex, who now shot Joel a pleasant, yet, rehearsed smile. 

“Mhm,” she replied, seemingly already entertained by where the story might end up going. 

“Well, we ran into each other at a coffee shop a few blocks away from her workplace and really just hit it off. The rest is history,” he said, turning his attention back towards you.

“You two were hitting it off in front of our daughter?” Naomi asked, the slight tilt to her head and hint of smirk on her face revealing that her question was less out of concern for their child, and more out of taking an opportunity to antagonize the two of you.

“It was more like reconnecting. I swear, Joel is the only person in the world to think that recommending my favorite bagel shop in the city is flirting,” you attempted to save, not wanting to be labeled as a threat to their child just a few minutes into dinner.

“To my credit, you were selling it pretty hard. You were practically saying, ‘come with me to get bagels tomorrow,’” Joel added on, seemingly lighting up as the two of you added more and more to your fake meet-cute.

“Next time you visit we’ll get all the bagels you want, my love. We can even split them Lady and The Tramp style,” you giggled, feeling your cheeks warm as you imagined you and Joel at the opposite ends of one cream cheese filled bagel.

“Okay, yeah, I get it. I was just joking, anyway,” she replied, clearly fed up with the two of you.

“Sorry,” you apologized, actually feeling a little bad about how long your little bit had gone on. “What about you two? How’d you and Henry meet?”

“It’s actually a pretty cute story,” Henry spoke up after being a passive spectator for an uncomfortable period of time. “Noms had just moved out west a little bit after the divorce, and the two of us met in a yoga class. I accidentally took her yoga mat, and it was… what did you say earlier? The rest was history?”

The two of them shared an intimate laugh, one that indicated that they were referencing some sort of inside joke, just as you and Joel had earlier after you’d shared what you’d been doing with your life since high school. You glanced over at Joel, his pressed smile and slightly furrowed brows a clear indicator that he was not impressed by the two of them. Thankfully, before the tension could go any further, a kind waitress interrupted the conversation with the simple question of whether or not your table was ready to order. 

Shortly after ordering, the conversation picked up once again. While you occasionally were able to ask a question or two about the couple sitting across from you, it above all felt like you and Joel were being interrogated about the nature of your relationship. Lies easily flowed from both of your tongues, sandwiched between fond looks shared between the two of you as if there was no one else in the room, and stolen moments of physical affection that seemed to warm you from the inside-out.

As the two of you added more and more onto your story, the more you began to yearn for the more intricate details of it all to be true.

You wanted to receive a bouquet of flowers on your doorstep from someone almost two-thousand miles from you, just because he’d been thinking about you. You wanted to have a reason to come back and visit the city you grew up in, and to learn about every new hole-in-the-wall shop that had come to mean a lot to him. You wanted to take on his hobbies, and have him take on some of yours despite you both being terrible at them, solely because you knew that the other cared about it. The longer the night went on, the clearer everything became: you wanted all of this and more with Joel, but you’d clearly never be able to have him. 

It was no longer a question to you of if your arrangement should end, and had clearly become a matter of when it was going to end. No matter how much fun you were having holding Joel’s hand under the table and feeding the man next to you bites of scallop, you knew it wasn’t sustainable to be feeling so strongly about a situation that had been doomed from the start.

You were undoubtedly treading a very thin line between getting your hopes up for what wasn’t, but could be, and savoring every last second you had with Joel, pretending to be something that the two of you were very obviously not. With the arrival and passing of dessert, and the final spoonfuls of a split chocolate cake, you’d realized that your time with Joel had ended; a conclusion as bitter as the dark chocolate garnish on your shared plate.

The two of you held hands once more as you walked out to his car, fingers lingering together even after the couple you’d been putting a show on were safely tucked away in their own vehicle. You didn’t talk much on your ride back home, the air thick with a tension that made you wonder if Joel had come to a similar conclusion of his own during dinner. The radio filled in the silence where words lacked, covers of Christmas songs filling in for the conversation that surely should’ve been occurring. 

After a ride that felt like it had lasted forever and no time at all, you had finally arrived at your sister’s place, the final resting ground for whatever your relationship had been.

“Thanks,” you said as you unclipped your seatbelt, wanting to rip the bandaid off and leave as quickly as humanly possible, while also lingering in his car forever. “Have a good night.”

“Yeah,” he looked at you for a moment as if he had something more to say, but was holding his tongue. Taking one long look at your face, then offering you a weak half smile, he spoke once more. “You too.”

-

Though you were mildly disappointed when you didn’t hear back from Joel, you couldn’t say that you were particularly surprised. Everything about your final encounter in his truck indicated that the very brief chapter in both of your lives of pretending to be what you both were not was over. Still, you couldn’t deny the remnant ache in your chest when your father asked where your boyfriend was over Christmas dinner, or the pathetic way that you secretly hoped every ring of the bakery door would deliver you Joel Miller, much like your first day back in Austin did. 

Once again, you attempted to drown yourself in your work, working from open to close at your sister’s bakery and ending the day with sore legs, flour in your hair, and an intense desire to never consume anything sweet ever again. You somehow even managed to convince your boss to let you clock a few virtual hours at your actual job, spending all of the time that you were not at the bakery in your temporary bedroom, doing whatever tasks would set you ahead by the time you returned to work.

You realized you weren’t being particularly subtle with the fact that you were trying to distract yourself from something, and while your sister did her best to be whatever it was that you needed during such a bizarre time, she didn’t exactly press, though you were sure she had a bit of an idea of what was making you feel so down. 

“Hey, I have a catering job for us,” she informed you one morning as the two of you worked side-by-side. 

“When? You remember I’m leaving tomorrow, right?” you sighed, hoping your sister recognized your mild annoyance as less with her, and more with your time in Austin as a whole. You desperately wanted to leave, but you’d promised to stay until the new year began, when orders typically began to slow down. (“Resolutions,” she told you over the phone as you prepared to come back home.)

“Of course I remember,” she shook her head playfully as she spoke to you. “It’s tonight. At the Spoke. They’re doing some New Year’s Eve thing, and I think it’ll be fun.”

“I think maybe we have two different definitions of fun,” you commented, continuing to roll out the piece of dough in front of you.

“Oh, come on. What were you going to be doing anyway?” she pressed you, her attempt to get you to get out of the house clear as day now. “Working in your bedroom during your break? Sulking for reasons you refuse to share with me? Watching episodes of The Bachelor that you’ve seen a hundred times already?”

“Ugh, okay, okay. I’ll do it. We’ll do it,” you finally conceded.

“Good! Now, do you want a coffee? We’re gonna have a lot of trays to finish today.”

You couldn’t deny that it made you feel a little bit better knowing that you had somewhere fun to go that night. Despite living in Texas for the first portion of your life, you’d never had the opportunity to go to any sort of dance hall, and though you’d probably be spending the majority of your time distributing cupcakes to people, you were excited to be doing something fun regardless. 

After your longest and final shift at the bakery, your sister hugged you as tight as she could manage and thanked you for everything you’d helped her accomplish this holiday season, before sending you back home to get dressed up for the dance hall. After deciding to go full cowgirl with your attire, you peered in your sibling’s closet for any article of clothing that you could borrow for the night, and ultimately left her closet with a completely different wardrobe.

Even as you and your sister arrived at the dance hall early to set up, patrons were already beginning to flood into the venue. Their excited energy was contagious, and you couldn’t help but feel invigorated, your downtrodden feelings being replaced with much more positive ones.

As the night went on, you found yourself having more and more fun, whether it was from distributing pastries to rosy-cheeked dancers who paused to take a break from the floor, or flirty gentlemen who took the brief moment of your fingers touching over a distributed cupcake to ask to buy you a drink. While you were sure that you would’ve had a decent time doing nothing at home, then popping a bottle of champagne at midnight, the night was certainly shaping up to be a memorable one. 

Time seemed to be flying by as you stood by the table, offering cupcakes to whoever passed you by. It wasn’t long before Ben arrived, and your sister was excusing herself from the table to share a dance with her partner. You watched the two of them with adoration, thinking of how you would love to have someone to come sweep you off your feet and offer to dance with you–well, someone other than a sweaty patron. As much as you’d tried to convince yourself over the years that you weren’t cut out for relationships, your trip and weird fake dating arrangement with Joel had made you realize something of the opposite. Maybe you’d be ringing in the New Year with a Hinge download. 

After passing out the final cupcake you had, you began to break down boxes and put away some of the other items you’d brought to help the distribution process go more smoothly. With your back turned to the dance floor as you dropped leftover napkins into a plastic bag, you were surprised as you heard a familiar voice greet you from behind.  

“Joel?” you said as you looked up at the patiently waiting person, surprised to see his face after such an abrupt ending and a period of radio silence between the two of you.

“Hi,” he said, almost shyly. 

“Hi. Sorry, we just ran out of cupcakes” you stated, trying to pretend that things were business as usual between the two of you–whatever business as usual meant now. 

“I don’t…” Joel trailed off before ditching the idea altogether, surely figuring that whatever he had to say was more important than an explanation of how he was uninterested in the treats you were serving. “Can we talk?” 

“I mean,” you hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would be better to avoid everything altogether and simply move on with your life. You could simply tell him no, hop on a plane the following afternoon, then never think about Joel again. It would all be so simple and easy–the exact opposite of what your relationship had spiraled into during your time back in Austin.  “Yeah. Sure. Let’s talk.”

The truth was, as easy as you would’ve liked it to be, you were intrigued by Joel’s nervous body language. As he shifted from foot to foot and subtly picked at his hand, you imagined him walking into the hall with his friends, or whoever it was that he came with, seeing you, and immediately going to leave the venue, only staying from the coercion and peer pressure of his peers. You imagined him spending the night working up the nerve to come say to you what was left unspoken the last time the two of you talked, hoping that the beers in his system and all of the dancing would finally get enough jitters out of him to finally address you. 

“I’m all ears,” you shrugged, crossing your arms over your chest in a subconscious protective measure. Even though he could do no physical harm to you, your brain was all too aware of the damage he’d done to your heart in the past. 

“I’m sorry. For everything. For not reaching out to you after our dinner, and for being an oblivious idiot in high school. And I guess, for being an oblivious idiot now,” he began to blather, glancing down nervously at his shoes as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

You were surprised by his words and slightly unsure of what to say, or even think in response. Now that you had heard his apology, you were beginning to have an idea of the direction that this confession was likely going to take, and you couldn’t tell if you should be leaping for joy or finding the nearest exit. Maybe you could figure out a way to do both, jumping and skipping as you left through the fire exit.

Joel began to search for his next words and you tried to ignore the racing heartbeat in your chest as you attempted to search for your own. Just when you were thinking that it would be impossible for your situation to get any more uncomfortable, a man slightly shorter than Joel and who oddly resembled him sauntered up to the table where the two of you were attempting to speak.

“It’s gonna be twelve soon! Come dance!” the man shouted at Joel, his accent heavy and his words slurred as he grabbed onto Joel’s flannel sleeve. Joel shot him a dirty look, one that clearly communicated his annoyance, but didn’t exactly scream surprised. 

“Not now, Tommy,” Joel reprimanded, his gritted teeth and tense demeanor making you want to laugh–if not for his reaction, then over the surrealistic nature of the scene. Mere moments into some sort of apology or confession, the two of you had been interrupted by his intoxicated acquaintance asking him to dance. 

“Yes now, Joel. C’mon, lighten up!” the man practically whined, eliciting an exasperated eye roll from Joel. He looked back at you with tense shoulders and worry in his eyes, and you couldn’t exactly tell if he was looking for backup or sympathy. Instead of responding to him with either, you gave him a shy shrug of approval.

“We can talk while we dance?” you suggested, part of you hoping that maybe the distraction of doing something else while you spoke would make your conversation a little less difficult. 

Taking Joel’s hand, you followed the men out to the dance floor, where Tommy had disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared to interrupt Joel’s confession. Part of you wondered if this had been premeditated, or if Joel’s drunk friend was simply not able to read the room.

“Before we start, I have a confession of my own,” you began, hoping that what you were about to say would at least lighten up the mood of your conversation. Clearly, the two of you struggled with communicating your feelings, and you hoped sharing what you were prepared to share would at least be helpful in opening up a line of communication.

“Yeah?” he said hopefully. You tried your best to fight the smile that was threatening to appear on your face at the sound of his tone, but ultimately failed.

“I don’t have a damn clue how to do this,” you confessed, glancing over at the pairings around you moving together as if they had done these steps a million times–and knowing your town, they probably had. 

“It’s fine,” he said without an ounce of judgment in his voice. “I’ll teach you how.”

And he did, his mouth pressed closely to your ear as he counted off numbers in time with the live band just a few feet away from you, and directed your body left, right, back, and forward until you finally seemed to get the hang of the dance. Though there was still an elephant remaining in the room, dancing seemed to be successful in alleviating some of the tension that lingered. 

“Is it okay if we continue our conversation?” Joel asked as the two of you took a synchronized step back. Your eyes were trained on your nearly matching boots, and the thought of having to face your feelings–or the lack thereof–made your stomach churn. Once again, you began to consider the most efficient exit routes.

“Of course,” you replied, doing your best to mask the nerves that had bubbled right back up as you finally met his eye. 

“I was so excited to see you, when I found out you were back in town. I guess there was still part of me that wondered what things might have been like if things were different. Then I saw you in the store, and we started doing… whatever we were doing, and I just kept wanting more. It just felt so real, too real, and I started wanting more than what I could have. I mean, you live so far away, and even if you didn’t, I’m sure you have romantic prospects all over the place. Why would you settle for me?”

You almost couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Joel still thought about you? He had begun to want more in the same way that you did the more your fake relationship progressed? He thought he wasn’t good enough for you?

“Joel-” you began, his name slipping off your tongue involuntarily. You desperately wanted to dispute his claims, but he didn't let you finish. 

“I guess I just wanted to apologize for how I acted. I didn’t want you to assume that things ended how they ended for any other reason other than me making terrible decisions as usual.” Once again, it was Joel’s turn to look uncomfortable, and you couldn’t exactly blame him after what he shared with you. 

“I accept your apology, but it wasn’t all your fault. And you’re not an idiot,” you clarified in between a spin, finishing your sentence as Joel pulled you back to him. “I was disappointed, but I understood. Honestly, I was starting to feel the same way with you. Our fake dating was starting to feel a little too much like real dating, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up when you were clearly uninterested.”

“But I’m not uninterested,” Joel looked at you with a glimmer of hope in his eyes, which only seemed to be highlighted by the fact that his arm was draped across your torso, a welcome result of the spinning move. “I want to try, if you want to try. The distance is a hurdle, but we can give it a shot, at the very least. We can visit each other when we get the chance. We can watch the same episodes of The Bachelor, then discuss it afterward.”

“Oh my god, who told you about that?” you remarked, interrupting his big speech. 

“Your sister. At the Christmas party,�� Joel replied, his cheeks flush with the adrenaline of sharing his feelings with you and the excitement of dreaming of a future with you.

“She’s unbelievable,” you murmured, shaking your head the slightest bit before Joel continued.

“But that’s besides the point. We can send each other delivered gifts, and can talk to each other every day, like what you told Naomi.”

“What I told her when I was lying?” you asked with a laugh, reminiscing on your dinner.

“Well, yeah… But it doesn’t have to be a lie. I can come visit you, and you can come visit me. We can get bagels at your favorite shop when I come to the city. I can teach you how to dance when you come to Austin. Maybe it’s crazy, but I think we can try. Should try.”

“I would like nothing more than that,” you confessed, an honest truth that seemed to light you up from the inside. Hearing Joel’s almost crazed rant about how passionate he was about trying made you a little less afraid of your possible future together, and a whole lot more sure about your feelings for the man. 

“Then let’s do it. Let’s do it right this time,” he said as the music finally came to a conclusion, being swapped out for none other than the chant of a countdown. 

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. 

As cheers of ‘Happy New Years’ rang out, Joel gently directed your face towards his, your noses and foreheads pleasantly bumping into each other. As your lips finally touched, it felt as if two puzzle pieces designed for each other and meant to be together had finally fallen into place, the rumble of fireworks outside celebrating the long-awaited union between the two of your bodies.  

In the past, the affection the two of you had shared had felt real, but deep down you were aware that it was nothing more than a farce. A façade to trick judgmental exes and prying family members. But this time, the affection was different. 

The growing warm feeling in your chest, the electric sparks on your skin where Joel was touching you, and the look of admiration in his eyes once you’d finally pulled away told you everything you needed to know. 

This was real.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou

[cult-of-husbandos]

karasuda ren [soft!yandere] - All I Want For Christmas Is A Cute Yandere!

synopsis: you're spending another Christmas alone. there's only one thing you want and there's only one person who can make it happen. but, shenanigans occur!

genre: a little crackish, fluff, holiday love

word count: 6.29k

warnings: binge drinking, kidnapping, a little claustrophobia

Ahh, Christmas Eve. The most festive and romantic time of year. The city has never looked so bright and beautiful than when it’s decorated with wreaths and tinsel on every pole and building and fairy lights illuminating a soft glow of the pillowy snowy streets of your city. Not to mention the sights and sounds that sing this otherwise boring, claustrophobic place into jolly merriment. The delicious smells of bakeries and restaurants serving cakes and pies and nauseatingly sugary Christmas cookies. Buskers singing Christmas songs to afford a decent meal. Last minute idiots scrounging the shelves in stores and causing scenes to get that one important present or Christmas is ruined. Families walking with their children with excitement on their faces about what Santa will bring them tonight. Happy couples walking hand in hand and sharing hot cocoa and sweet treats before they get home. Retail workers resisting the urge to shoot themselves when Mariah Carey’s winter album plays for 6667th time that day.

Yes, it seems that everyone was in a rush to get home to be with that special somebody tonight.

EXCEPT FOR YOU!

Day after day. Year after year. Holiday after fucking holiday!

Seriously! It should be against the fucking law to have to work on Christmas Eve. Especially, when the workplace is complete ass and your coworkers take turns using the singular brain cell that seems to float aimlessly around the office. When you were just a fresh newbie, you used to blame your singleness on your work. ‘I don’t have the time right now, I should try when I get used to the environment.’ That was your thought process. But, now you know that it was all complete horseshit! The real reason you can’t make time for anything, let alone a relationship, is because your boss and your coworkers are required by the laws of fate and destiny to cockblock you until you’re that old Karen calling the cops on your neighbors for having too bright lights in their yard. When you first got hired, you promised that you wouldn’t become like the old greedy ladies at your work that glared at the smallest hint of happiness and bitched about it on their ‘Moms Against…’ Facebook groups.

Yet, here you are. Hours before Christmas, shuffling home like a morally depleted penguin hating every single happy and smiling face you came across. Even the forced ones.

As you trudged through the dirt clodded snowy and slippery as hell sidewalk, you couldn’t help but unintentionally glare at every single couple you passed by. Happy smiles adorned their faces as they shared intimate kisses and huddled together for warmth. You tried not to gag or roll your eyes because it wasn’t really their fault. They were just enjoying the festivities and snow. You on the other hand are huddled into yourself trying not to bust your ass in the middle of a public street and quickly get home so you can rip off your shoes that were sopping wet and nearing frostbite from the slushy snow penetrating your shoes. 

To be honest, the last place you wanted to be at was your apartment. You sigh to yourself in disappointment knowing what’s waiting for you: Nothing. In particular, no one. As stated before, day after day, year after year, holiday after freaking holiday, all that awaits you is a cold, empty apartment with comfort items and furniture that you either bought off of Amazon or got off the streets. No one would be waiting for you except the inescapable loneliness that you felt every day. Your plans are the same as last year’s, and the year before that, and the year before that, and so on and so forth. You’ll get home, take a lukewarm shower because your plumbing is always busted around this time of year, drink a 1/5th of Holly Jolly Krinkles Peppermint Vodka, and pass out watching the Polar Express on Hulu. Then, wake up Christmas afternoon and try not to throw up the rest of the day. Your ancestors must be so proud staring down at you after generations of their own hardship.

Peeking up from your huddled form you spot your apartment complex up ahead. You sigh again feeling the need for a drink. As you hurriedly jogged up the stairs and rushed to your door, you slowed to a halt as you saw a bottle sitting on your doormat. Titling your head in confusion, you looked around for any clues on who could’ve left this on your door. Cautiously, you picked up the suspicious bottle and felt that it was heavy and filled with liquid. A white and red envelope fell onto the mat and you picked it up as well. The envelope had your name addressed to it, but nothing else. You looked back at the bottle and squinted into the dark to read the label on the front. In the dark you could only make out ‘Feeling Pine Mulled Wine.’ You groaned at the pun. On top of the cork you noticed a green ribbon tied along with a small folded note. Inside the card read, “For you, from Santa Claus~♡”.

“Santa Claus…?” you muttered to yourself. You scoff and think of this as nothing more than corporate shilling and shameless advertisement to get people to spend even more money on this capitalist holiday. Everyone in the building must’ve gotten a bottle and since you got home late you’re the only one left. Shivering harshly as a chilling breeze rushed through you, you quickly shot into your apartment. Like a defeated animal, you ripped off every single piece of wet clothing and left it near your front door for ‘hungover you’ to worry about. Placing the mulled wine on the kitchen counter to worry about later you jogged to the bathroom for your shower. Second to drinking yourself to sleep, you looked forward to your shower the most. Flipping your shower nozzle to the highest setting, you jumped in and hopped around as the blizzard water hit your skin. You shivered as you rubbed soap aggressively on your body waiting for the lukewarm water to set in. After a few minutes, the water didn’t change. You waited a few more minutes and the water was still cold?! All of the frustration and anger bottling up inside you finally popped.

“AAAARRGGHHHH!!!” You screamed with all your might. Your screams bounced around your echo-ey bathroom as your next-door neighbor banged on your wall. You banged the wall back even harder out of frustration. What kind of shitty development is this?! You are a good person! Why is it that whenever something good happens to you someone shits all over you?! Who did you kill in your past life to warrant this sharknado level shitstorm that is your adult life?

“God-fucking-DAMMITT! I hate this shitty building and its shitty pipes and its shitty… shitty shit shit!!” You stomped as you frustratingly shut off the shower. Again, you’re reminded of your paper thin walls as your next door neighbor banged on your wall even harder. Completely fed up with everything, you punched and kicked at your wall with all your might.

“Evan Christopher Daniels, you motherfucker! I swear to God, you bang on this wall one more FUCKING time! I’m calling the landlord and telling him all about your basement cock fighting ring and we BOTH know we aren’t talking about chickens!”

The banging immediately stopped. You huffed and leaned against the cold tile wall. You needed a drink more than ever, but you did feel a little better after yelling. Walking out of the bathroom in your towel, your attention is brought back to the wine bottle and envelope. Staring at the wine bottle and label again in a better light you didn’t see anything wrong with it. Nothing obvious at least. So, with a shrug and popped the cork.

“Better than that shitty minty vodka…” you muttered.

*****

“A-And then… that Chevy-back refrigerator built asshole had the nerve to put his dirty face next to mine and breathe his hot Frito-shit pie breath all over me! Can you believe that?!”

You were venting. You were venting and drunk. You were venting, drunk, and talking to the only thing that brought you solace in this cruel time of joyful merriment: the characters on screen from the movie you were watching.

Wow. How sad.

“‘This is no good, Y/N.’ ‘You should try harder, Y/N.’ ‘How ‘bout spending Christmas stuck to my bed sheets, Y/N.’ How about you get the fuck outta my face, fix your hairline and get veneers you shitty generic ugly bastard-looking McFuck!!”

You sprawled out on the floor, sloppy lamenting over your life and where you could have possibly gone wrong.

“Why is it that whenever I get hit on, it’s either from creeps on the subway or fat geriatrics with greasy foreheads that get off on power harassment?” you ask your screen.

“‘Cause that’s the way things happen on the Polar Express!’”

You clicked your tongue and grumbled, “I wish I was on the Polar Express…” you spared a glance to your empty apartment. “Better than being here alone…” You took another drink from your bottle and set it down beside you. “This is good… I’ll have to drink this shit all-year round.”

As you silently surveyed your surroundings as the movie continued in the background, your eyes were drawn to the unopened letter that came with your wine. With a grunt and a sigh, you reached over to pick up predicting that it’s mostly like a Christmas themed advertisement for the company. However, instead was a Christmas portrait card. You opened the card and read the beautiful cursive that was inside.

“Wish upon the brightest star in the sky and your deepest wish will come true.”

You read the words over and over again. ‘Wish upon a star?’ you thought incredulously. What good would that do? You looked on each side of the card but there wasn’t anything else, not even a signature. The handwriting on the Christmas card didn’t match the note on the cork either. You scoffed after a while and flicked the card back on the floor.

“Deepest wish will come true…” you grumbled softly. “That’s only something a child would believe in.”

“‘Seeing is believing, but, sometimes, the most real things in the world are the things we can't see.’”

Your attention was brought back to your movie and the words that stood out by the conductor. Wait… was the movie playing out of order?

“Seeing is believing, huh?” you muttered to yourself. You looked to your bedroom window. Snow gracefully falling from the night sky down to the bright city lights from under your window. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was just a plane, but there in the cloudy night you spotted a single light that penetrated the clouds. Again the words on the card rang through your mind like church bells, or maybe those were just the bells from the movie.

“Meh, fuck it.” You were already drunk and alone. Might as well do something embarrassing in the comfort of your own home than in a bar full of equally lonely people, right?

You crawled your way towards the window and sat on your knees. You already knew what your deepest wish was. You wished for it every holiday: your birthday, Valentine’s Day, hell, even Arbor Day. But, who should you even be praying to to make the wish come true? Santa Claus? God? Buddha? David Bowie? No, there’s only one person who could make a wish like this come true. Someone who you've never prayed to. Someone who could make your dream a reality.

“Oh, Supreme Lord Master Gege Akutami,” you called out. “I know I’ve never prayed to you before, but you’re a man that can make miracles happen. You’re the only one I know that can make my wish come true. The only thing that I want for Christmas is…” you took a deep breath.

“All I want is a super cute yandere boyfriend!”

You can’t be serious.

“I’ve seen your creations Oh Heavenly One and I know you can make that happen. The gorgeous men and women from your manga are only just as beautiful and holy as the animated versions! But not just an old yandere will do! I want a super cute one! The kind of yandere that feed, spoil, and give their unwavering love and affection to the MC! The kind of yandere that will only keep me to himself so I don’t have to work at my shitty job anymore.”

Oh you are dead serious, aren’t you?

“He has to have a cute smile, gorgeous eyes, and soft kissable lips! And he has to be taller than me, but not too tall! Just the right amount of height where I can give him headpats and forehead kisses and when he lays down on my lap only his feet go over the couch arms, not his legs! Also, I want him to have a nice build, not too skinny and lanky. I’ve seen the kind of men you’ve brought to light so I know you can make it work Oh Great One.”

Oh dear lord…

“And he has to know everything about me! Like super omega obsessed with me, but in a cute way that makes it hard to be mad at him. Oh, and extroverted as hell to counterout my introvertedness! Like the type of person who will go up to the fast food worker and tell them that I wanted no pickles on the burger! Y’know, and also…”

Okay, I’m gonna cut the rest of this drunken otaku rambling for the future therapy you’ll be court mandated to attend.

“Please, Lord Gege… if not you then… I don’t know what else I’m gonna do.” You squeeze your fist tighter and close your eyes shut as a last ditch effort. “Please make my deepest wish come true.”

You slowly opened your eyes to see nothing in the sky anymore. Nothing but dark snowy clouds. You let out a pitiful chuckle as you felt tears brimming your eyes.

“What the hell am I doing…?” you whispered. “I am so fucking pathetic…” Maybe it was just a stupid plane after all. You meekly crawled back to your spot on the floor and layed down a few inches away from your laptop. The movie was still playing and the time read “12:01 A.M.”. It was officially Christmas. And today, just like every Christmas, you were drunk and alone. The sounds of actual church bells rang throughout your room from the outside. You lazily stared at the movie that was nearing its end.

“‘Just remember, the true spirit of Christmas lies in your heart.’”

‘Santa Claus… Christmas… wishing… it’s all a bunch of shit…’

As you felt your eyelids grow heavier and heavier, you soon gave into your tiredness praying that your hangover in the morning wouldn’t be too bad.

*****

Rustle… Rustle… THUD!

You are jolted awake at the sound of a large thudding sound coming from outside your bedroom door. Bleary-eyed, you check the time on your phone. It was 3 A.M.. Thinking it was just your neighbors, you laid back down on the cold hard floor. Until, a few seconds later, you are woken up again this time with a large bang. 

Okay, that sounded way too close to be your neighbor. Someone was definitely in your apartment. You carefully snuck over to your bedroom door and pressed your ear against it. You couldn’t hear any voices (which makes sense), all you could hear was the sounds of something rustling.Are you actually getting robbed?! On fucking Christmas?! Oh hell no! Fueled with drunken courage and hazy eyes, you grabbed the empty wine bottle and quietly snuck out of your room. Peeking around the corner, you saw a tall, dark figure looming in your living room. You quickly flipped on the lights and jumped from around the corner raising the bottle above your head, ready to smack a bitch if they tried to run.

“Alright! Who the fuck are–!”

 You stopped dead in your tracks and the wine bottle you held tightly in your hands dropped to the floor with a solid thud. The man standing in your living room, staring you dead in your eyes like a deer caught in headlights of a lifted Ford truck, was wearing a vibrant red suit complete with black boots, white gloves, and a red had, had a long, fluffy white beard, a large white bag filled to the brim with wrapped presents, and twinkling blue eyes. You felt your breath catch in your throat. It was unmistakable.

“Santa Claus…?” you groggily called out.

The man’s face turned from caution to jolly in a matter of seconds as he let out his signature laugh.

“Ho ho ho!” he bellowed. “Well, this is odd! Shouldn’t all the little good boys and girls be asleep right now?”

“I… I was asleep… I-I think your bag woke me up when you set it down…”

“Ah! Of course! I was looking for your Christmas tree, but I can’t seem to find one. So, I was wondering where to leave your presents!”

“I don’t have a Christmas tree. I couldn’t afford one this year…” you told him, folding your arms. Wait. Why were you telling him anything?! This has to be a dream. Yes, just a drunk dream. There’s no way you could be talking to some strange man dressed as Santa Claus right now.

“I see… How unfortunate. Life must be so tough for you, Y/N L/N.”

Your eyes widened. “H-How do you know my name?”

Again, “Santa Claus”'s laugh rang throughout your tiny living room.

“Santa knows all the good boys and girls! And you have been extra good this year!” he exclaimed. He bent down and started rummaging through his bag as if he was looking for something.

Your attention snapped to your front door. You were sure that you had locked it. Squinting, you didn’t notice anything strange about it. The deadbolt was still locked. It wasn’t even left open for a clean getaway if this were an actual robbery or even a dream. None of your windows open, they’re more like decoration. It’s brutal in the summer when the building’s AC stops randomly. So how did–

“How did you get in my apartment?” 

“Santa Claus” stopped searching through his bag, but didn’t look up at you. He just… stared down into it like he didn’t want to make conversation with you.

“I don’t have a chimney. This low-rated rat hole would never give such a luxury. Plus, none of the windows open. I locked my door with a deadbolt so I would’ve definitely heard you if you had tried breaking in through the front door, not while you were looking around for a Christmas tree so… how did you get in here?”

You could feel the tension rising as silence choked the jolly air around him. After a moment, the man raised his head to look at you. You felt your blood run cold. He was smiling, but his eyes… no longer had that same twinkle in them like before.

“How do you think I got in here?” he asked stiffly. Shivers rolled down your spine and you couldn’t bring yourself to speak a word. The man laughed again, but not his silly jolly laugh. It was more rigid and harsh. “I’m Santa Claus. Even if homes don’t have a chimney… I can still find my way in.”

‘Okay! I’m done with this dream now! I’d like to wake up! Wake up, me! Wake up!’

But, nothing changed. If this were a dream, something anxiety inducing would’ve happened by now. Like Santa Claus melting or turning into an eldritch monster. The air felt like it was suffocating you ever so slowly as your heart started to beat faster and faster.

“You look like you don’t believe me.” You jumped at his voice. He smiled even brighter and pointed the opening of his gift bag towards you. “Why don’t you see for yourself. I have a present here just for you.”

You swallowed hard. “A-A present…? But I–” You could barely stutter out a sentence before he spoke again.

“It’s what you deeply wished for.”

Your eyes widened again. Those choice of words… It couldn’t have been an accident. How would he… unless he…

You found yourself slowly inching towards the gift bag. It felt like an out-of-body experience. Like watching a first-person POV of someone doing something extremely stupid. As you stopped mere inches from the bag, you peered inside to see nothing but an almost seemingly amount of presents that ranged from big to small throughout the bag. Just as you tried to peek down further into the bag, you felt a large gloved hand grab the back of your neck.

“Sorry kid. No witnesses.”

Before you could utter a word or scream in shock, you are unceremoniously shoved into Santa's bulging sack of gifts. As the bag closed tight above you, your panic-filled mind finally kicked in as you screamed and thrashed around the bag. However, the more you screamed and kicked, the more the weight and closeness of the presents started to crush around you. This set in more panic and then more kicking and screaming.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be all over soon.”

‘What?! What does that mean?!’ You continued to scream and clawed at the walls of the bag to try and rip through. With a sudden jerk motion, you were lifted into the air and the bag was thrown over the man’s shoulder causing what seemed like a hurricane of presents to rain down on you. As you tried to kick up towards the opening again, you left out a gasp when your foot hit nothing. The more you kicked the more you stuffed yourself down the ocean of presents currently crushing you from all sides. When you tried to reach out to the side to claw at the bag again, you again found nothing. And again, the more you tried to reach, the more your arms got stuck wedged against the weight and size of the presents. There seemed no end as the presents continued to suffocate you, pressing hard against your stomach, legs, head, and chest.

You felt your vision starting to blacken out and called out once more.

“Please… someone… help me…”

But, your voice was too low and soon, you did not speak again.

*****

Your eyes fluttered open to see nothing but darkness all around you. You let out a grunt as your head pounded harshly only to find out that your mouth had been taped shut. 

‘What the fuck?’

You tried to take the tape off your mouth only to find your hands tied together.

‘What the fuck?’

You stretched out from your fetal only for feet to to hit a solid wall. Not only that, your feet were also bound together.

‘What the fuck?!’

You jerked up only for your head to meet a solid wall.

‘Ow! What the FUCK?!’

Your head pounded again and you laid back down trying to remember how you got in this situation. All you can remember is drinking your problems away and watching the Polar Express, and then… wishing on a plane in the sky…? And then Santa Claus showed up?

‘Ugh… fuck me… Did I sleepwalk into an empty plot again?’ You tried with all your might to try and bang on the walls of the box that you were currently in, but with this hangover all you were doing was making yourself tired and nauseous. You sighed with a huff. ‘I swear if I die in here, I’m gonna ghost sue these assholes…’

How long had you even been here? Were you even alive at this point? If you are, how long until the air in here runs out and you suffocate? Ugh… too many thoughts were making your head pound even more. Oh, what a tragic and pitiful end for our tragic and pitiful protagonist–

“Oh, wow! What a huge present!” a voice from outside shouted. You jolted in surprise. Who was that? And did they say present?

“I wonder what Santa got me~?” the voice asked melodically. Santa Claus? Wait, so… that wasn’t a dream?! The sounds of gift wrapping paper answered your question. You didn’t get super drunk and walk into a cemetery and crawl into a coffin like last time. You got super drunk and got stuffed into a giant Christmas present. You want to be disappointed with this development, but honestly you’ve found yourself in much worse situations than this. Like how on three Valentine’s Days ago you unknowingly joined a cannibal love nest cult when buying candy for yourself.

The lid of the box was aggressively thrown creaked open, revealing the most enchanting sight — you were surrounded and bathed in the glow of fairy lights. Blinking away the haze, you found yourself in an unfamiliar room, illuminated by soft, colorful lights and warm furniture. This place was definitely better than your dinky apartment. Your eyes then landed on the strikingly charming individual with the most captivating eyes you’ve ever seen and an endearing yet unsettling aura seeping from him. You felt your heart skip a beat as you locked eyes with the gorgeous hottie staring you down. His cute smile was twice as blinding as the dozen of lights surrounding the two of you.

“Looks like Santa got my letter. Just what I wanted for Christmas~.”

‘Holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshitholyshitsholyshitholyshit–’

“Homy shmpf! Phuu’re hmpf!” You tried to shout.

Blinking a few times, the hottie deliciously chuckled and reached for the tape around your mouth. “Lemme get that for you, sweetheart. Only if you promise not to scream.”

Oh please, like you’d scream in a situation like this.

“There you go–”

“Holy shit! You’re hot!” you shout again. “Whoa… this has to be a dream. There’s no way that I’m sitting in a human sized box in a hottie’s apartment. I gotta buy more of that wine.” you muttered to yourself. You felt a tiny pinch on your cheek and snapped out of your muttering to lock eyes with those gorgeous eyes again.

“Ow… that hurt…”

“Then you’re not dreaming, sweetheart.”

“Woah…” You reeled back into the box. “I’m actually sitting in a hottie’s apartment…”

He chuckled. “House, my love. Not an apartment.”

“House?”

“Yes.”

“Like a house house? Like with a mortgage and shit?”

“The house is fully paid off. My parents paid it off and handed it to me when they retired and moved.”

“For real?!” you gasped and gasped even harder at the sights behind him. “Are those Sanrio plushies?! And a 5-foot Rilakkuma bear?! A PS5, a polaroid camera, an Apple laptop?! What are you, loaded or something?!” you exclaimed in astonishment.

“Well, it’s true that I spared no expense getting this place ready.” he chuckled again. “After all, I spent a lot of time getting all this stuff ready just in time for you.”

“For me?”

“Of course. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t know what my girlfriend liked?”

You paused for a moment, soaking in his words. “Boyfriend…? Girlfriend?”

“That’s right.”

“You and me?”

“Yup.”

“Me and you?”

“Mhm!”

“You’re my boyfriend?”

“Yes, my love. I was getting a little impatient waiting to take you for myself. So, I asked Santa to deliver you to me.”

You couldn’t believe your ears and eyes. You wished upon a stupid star/plane, got kidnapped by Santa Claus, and got unwrapped by a gorgeous man that’s now your boyfriend. 

“Where the hell have you been hiding, huh? If I knew a hottie like you was scoping me out all this time I would’ve delivered myself without the gag and restraints.”

The hottie paused for a moment and smiled again. It seems like your reaction to all this wasn’t what he was expecting. “I’ll untie you if you promise you won’t start trying to escape.”

You scoffed and handed him your bound hands. “Oh, please. Yeah, I’m gonna escape and run back to my 250 sq. ft. apartment with no hot water, no heating, and no one waiting for me that even notices I’m gone.”

The hottie laughed softly and began to untie your hands. “And trust me. I wasn’t hiding. I left you gifts every moment I got. However, whenever I saw you, you never had them.” After untying your hands, he gave you a sullen look. “Did you not like them?”

You rubbed your wrists and titled your head in confusion. “Gifts? I never got any gifts.”

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N. I’ve been leaving you gifts and small tokens for two years.”

“I’m not lying! If I had gotten anything from someone like you, I would’ve been here two years ago.” you defended. “Where did you leave them?”

“On your desk at work, on your doormat, in your mailbox! I placed them everywhere you could see.”

If you weren’t so hungover you’d scream your head off. “Ugh…! Oh my fucking God…” you grumbled angrily, lightly banging your head on the corner of the box. You knew it! Your coworkers were cock-blocking you from finding true love. “All my coworkers are conniving, evil, love-hating bitches! And my boss is a misogynistic, sexual power harasser. They probably threw those presents away when I wasn’t at my desk.”

Your new boyfriend’s eyes grew dark. “What about your apartment?”

“Ugh… those animals would steal chewed up gum after you spit it out. They probably stole it while I was out at work. And my mailbox got broken into 6 months after moving in. All my bills are on autopay.”

As your boyfriend’s face grew darker, his smile remained. “Well, it’s a good thing I told them you quit and got you out of that disgusting “apartment”.”

Your mouth dropped at his words.

“R-Really? So, my job?”

“You don’t need one. I make enough money to support 5 of you. Plus, everything you could ever want is here anyways.”

“My apartment?”

“Considering most of the things in your “apartment” came from the side of the road, just tell me and I’ll buy whatever needs replacing.”

You leaned in close. “And my boss?” you whispered.

He leaned in closer, both your noses touching. “Dead, if you want him to be.”

Holy shit. Let’s go over the list.

He is: 

✔ Hot as fuck

✔ Obsessive

✔ Tall

✔ Built

✔ Has a cute smile

✔ Puppy face

✔ Not too overbearing

✔ Dommy

✔ Willing to support your lazy piece of shit lifestyle

✔ Owns a home

JACKPOT!!

“This is the BEST CHRISTMAS EVER!” you shouted, but immediately regretted it when a sharp throbbing pain pierced your head. You clutched your head, tenderly rubbing your temples.

“Woah, are you okay?” he gently asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a hangover…” you smiled wearily.

“I’ll get you some water and Ibuprofen. Wait here. Don’t move, okay?”

Again, you shot him a look that told him that you didn’t have anywhere to go.

“Oh, and uh, thanks… um…”

“Karasuda Ren. But you can only call me Ren, okay Y/N?”

“Okay, Ren.” you smiled. He smiled back at you and headed to the kitchen. You sat in the box looking around at the beautiful home filled with Ren’s things combined with the things you love. If you weren’t on cloud 9 right now, you would plan a vindictive revenge plan on your job. But, now you had nothing to worry about anymore. Your wish came true and he was even cuter than you could’ve possibly imagined.

“Oh!” Ren suddenly called out. “Since you might be hungover, you probably won’t be able to eat this cake I made huh?”

“Homemade cake?! I love– Woah?!” You shot up at just the word cake and fell out of the box and face first into the floor.

“My love! Are you okay?” Ren asked, rushing to you with a glass of water in his hand.

“Yep! I’m okay! I forgot that my feet are also tied up sooo… can you help me?”

Ren laughed and helped you back on your butt and began to untie your feet. After that, he handed you the water and the bottle of Ibuprofen. Swallowing the pills dry and drinking a few gulps of water, you began to feel a little better with some water in your system now.

Just as you were about to get up, you were immediately swept off your feet and carried bridal style across the living room. You let out a tiny yelp as your head made contact with Ren’s warm chest.

“W-What’re you doing?”

“Oh. Did you think I wasn’t going to hog you all to myself? You’re my Christmas present and I intend to enjoy this day and many more with you by my side.”

You felt your face burn as you were sure your face was as red as a habanero. Well, this was your Christmas wish too. It’s finally your time to enjoy the lovey-dovey part of this holiday. 

Throughout the entire day, you had never felt more love and content. Despite your initial shock, you soon got used to the huge shower of affection your new boyfriend continued to give you. Karasuda Ren, while intense and possessive, showered you with affection and attention unlike anything you had experienced before. He filled you with so much cake and food, you felt like you were gonna pop.

The loneliness that had haunted you dissipated in the wake of this blooming, although unconventional, relationship, was replaced by a new sense of belonging.

As Christmas lights flickered outside, you found yourself entangled in a love both warm and intense. The hours that passed brought a mix of emotions that you could get used to feeling everyday for the rest of your life.

This was it. Your deepest Christmas wish came true. You were finally happy. Only one question was left on your mind.

“Hey, so, how did you start liking me? Have we met before and I just didn’t pay attention or…?”

“No, we’d never even spoken to each other. About 3 years ago on Christmas Eve, I was riding the subway on my way home when I heard a bunch of drunk people get on.” Ren grimaced just remembering the situation. “I wasn’t anywhere near them, but I could smell the alcohol. I was going to change cars when I heard them start to argue with someone, I turned around and I saw you. You looked so tired and angry.”

“Really? I don’t remember that.” you hummed, trying to think back.

“I was going to step in, but you had already clocked one guy in the jaw and dropped the other guy like a sack of flour.”

“Oh yeah! I remember that now!”

“That moment, I fell in love with you at first sight. It took a while to find you again, but after I did I knew in my heart that I could never ever let you go.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet, Ren! Man, I guess first impressions always stick. Kind of embarrassing that your first sighting of me was when I was drunk.”

“...You were drunk?”

“Oh, I was fucking wasted. I always get smashed on Christmas Eve. It’s kind of a tradition. I was drunk off my ass the night Santa took me too.”

“...Y/N.”

“Mhm?”

“You can’t drink in front of other men. If you plan on drinking, let me know and I’ll take care of you. No one can see you drunk and vulnerable except me, okay?”

“Of course, my love! Maybe next year, you can show me where you got that kickass mulled wine from.”

“Mulled wine?”

“Yeah, that one you left on my doorstep. With the note.”

“I didn’t leave anything on your doorstep.”

“...”

“...”

“Hmm… maybe I should stop drinking random alcohol that appears next to me…”

“Y/N?!”

Bonus:

As you both were cuddled up on the couch half-asleep, watching a random Christmas movie as the fireplace crackled in the background, you were brought back to a realization. You never thanked the person that made this all possible.

You quickly got up causing Ren to jolted up at your sudden movements and stare at you wide-eyed as you made your way to his window.

“Baby, what’re you doing?” he asked cautiously with a yawn.

“I need to probably thank the person that brought us together today.”

You collapsed your hands together and smiled up at the starry-night sky, immediately catching a glimpse of the brightest twinkling star in the sky.

“Oh, you mean Santa–”

“Oh, thank you Lord Gege, you are truly my savior. If I had known praying to you would’ve gotten me results like this I would’ve prayed sooner. You are truly the ‘God of Handsome Men’.”

“Wait– what?”

“I will continue to support you and buy all of your merchandise…”

“...Y/N?”

“Mhm?”

“Are you praying to another man? While your boyfriend is right here?” You could hear the pout in his voice, but his face screamed baby-faced yandere.

You smiled and made your way back to your spot on the sofa. “Well, Lord Gege is more like a God amongst men to me now. But, of course I had to thank him.” You softly poked Ren’s puffed up cheeks. “I prayed to him the night before and he granted my wish. I am now the girlfriend to the cutest man alive!”

Ren blushed your words and decided to let your little prayer slide this time. Looks like you found the cute yandere’s weakness. Whether you decide to tease him in the future only time will tell.

—

a/n: merry christmas, my trash babies~˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i know it's been a while since i've updated, but i couldn't leave the year off without a little slight yandere fic. i was planning on uploading two fics this month, but adhd brain and procrastination are praying on my downfall. so enjoy, a cute fic with a cute soft yandere for the holidays.

happy holidays~!❆⋆꙳•☃︎⋆꙳•✩⋆꙳•❅

#male yandere #yandere male #soft yandere #soft yandere oc #soft yandere boy #yandere boy #yandere oc #soft yandere boyfriend #soft yandere x reader #yandere x reader #soft yandere x darling #yandere x darling #soft yandere x y/n #yandere x y/n #soft yandere x willing reader #yandere x willing reader #x reader #yandere scenarios #soft yandere scenarios #soft yandere boyfriend scenarios #yandere boyfriend scenario #soft yandere kinnie #yandere kinnie #my writing #another crack fic #happy holidays #merry christmas #merry xmas #creative writing #fluff scenario

[gremlingottoosilly]

feel free to ignore this if you’ve done it already but…

how would könig react to a wifey who loves to bake? growing up with a sweet tooth she developed a love for making treats and now she wants to share it with him!!

i just imagine her waking up early to make some doughy treats for breakfast and him walking in the kitchen seeing her being all cute and rolling out the pastries 🧁🧁 would he ever help her with them??

Well, the man got a whole backery, so- ACHEM. He loves a wifey that can cook! Baking is a whole other different skill that he doesn't have, not at all - he can cook very simple dishes, but anything more is a dark forest where he doesn't understand anything. He has a sweet tooth too, so whenever you're making buns or maybe some baked pretzels or even just making bread...yeah, he is taking on so many additional kilos just from your baking, he will have to get new pants because of the newly found tummy he has. He would love to help you, but he won't be much of an assistance - he often tries to sneakily eat some raw cookie dough, he eats berries and fruits when you are making pies and god forbid you ever try to bake bread, he will just steal the whole loaf from the oven before you could even glaze it with some butter! You will have to shoo him away, put him on a Chair of Shame because his ass is not helping! You're only allowing him in the kitchen because you need him to check the dough for salt and sugar balance, and you strike him with a wooden spoon every time his ass is trying to get the food from you. Konig asks you to bake some traditional Austrian sweets for him - you have to bake so much strudel(bakes apple pastry)for him, it's actually insane. He always asks you to bring some baked pastries for him to work, when he started to get more of a desk and administrative/instructor's job at KorTac - he just loves having his wife bring some home-baked cookies and cakes because he fucking won at life and everyone else can kiss his royal ass because he is not sharing.

#cod #konig x reader #konig

[notjustjavierpena]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT Husband Javier and the reader are fighting the whole day but trying to repress it because of their kids- After they're asleep the two are arguing again and then boom makeup sex 😋 thank you angel !!!!

Fight

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost

A/N: This request literally had me up all night, and now it has come to life and possibly turned into one of the most sensual pieces I’ve ever written. I’m obsessed with them. 

Summary: You feel overlooked and unappreciated. Javier says the wrong thing and hell breaks loose, but he also knows how to say sorry. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (mdni!), domestic life and dynamic, grownups being assholes to each other, hurt/comfort, saying sorry to each other and to your kids because I’m healing my inner child, crying, pregnancy, pregnancy sex, passionate and rough sex, MAKEUP SEX!!!, clit stim, creampie, dirty talk, praise kink, love love love, they are just crazy about each other 

Word count: 4.2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49596877

Fight

Chucho Peña is coming over tomorrow and that’s fine. 

You’ve made plans to make plans at this point though. The list of things you need to do before he arrives still gets longer every time you have a moment to think about it to yourself, teeny tiny details adding up to a day that’ll keep you busy from the moment you wake up. It would have been fine if you didn’t have to get the kids out of bed and prepared for school, and then go to work too, right on top of cleaning, shopping, cooking, and hosting — at 34 weeks pregnant.

Javier is Javier about it, reassuring you that it will be fine and that you just need to take a breath whilst he stands in the door to the garden, back towards you and smoking his morning cigarette whilst you try to tell Inés that she should have cornflakes instead of lucky charms for breakfast. 

“Oh,” Javier says after stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray that Lucas has made for him in arts and crafts class. He turns around and rests against the doorframe, “Can we have that chocolate cake you made last time? The one with the white chocolate frosting?”

You never personally thought that you’d ever get into an argument about chocolate cake. If you’d said this to the child version of yourself, she would have laughed out loud and told you that nobody could ever be angry about anything to do with dessert. Especially not chocolate desserts. Yet here you are, letting your fatigue get the better of you.

“Sure,” you let out a loud sigh, dragging it out to really let your husband know that you are not happy about his input, “Sure, Javi, I’ll just add it to my ever-growing list of things I need to do for your father.”

You hear it as soon as it leaves your mouth but you’re too stubborn to backtrack, watching Javier go rigid in the door. He furrows his brow in confusion, and then his expression turns into a frown and eventually a scowl. He doesn’t look downright angry but not happy either. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks defensively, body language telling you that he is getting ready for another attack. He enters the kitchen like he is walking on eggshells, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I only asked you if we could. You have every right to say no, and not be pi—“

Inés looks up at him with big brown eyes that are similar to his own. He swallows down the word, replaces it with something more child-friendly, “And not be rude about it.”

“Say no and watch you be a giant toddler about it? Great, I’ll definitely choose that,” you scoff, running on autopilot and clearing the kitchen counter whilst you argue. Out of the corner, you see Inés starting to squirm in her seat but you’re too far gone by now, “It’s not even my father, and I have to do everything for the preparation because you’re oh-so-important.”

“So we’re just never having my dad over ever again?” Javier seethes, mouth twitching in anger and threatening to put on a violent smile. He has some kind of ability to piss you even more off when he is just about to smile during arguments. 

“That’s not what I said, and that’s not the point,” you stubbornly bend down, hand on your round belly, to put your own plate into the dishwasher. Sebastian is due soon, kicking you as your pulse rises due to anger. Javier looks like he is contemplating whether to help you straighten again or not. 

“Then what is the point?”

With a hand on the edge of the kitchen counter, you manage to stand upright once more. You face Javier, finally scowling right back at him and he seems to shrink a little underneath your fury, “I’m exhausted, Javier. When do you think I have had a night to myself? I know you have a busy schedule, I do, but God—“

You drag the last word out, running a hand through your hair in frustration, “But you went out with Steve just days ago. I need to cook, clean, do the grocery shopping, take care of two kids, and - by the way - do it all with someone kicking my bladder every goddamn minute of the day. Which - by the way - is your doing.”

There is no reason to sound as venomous as you do, but you suspect that half of it is exhaustion and the other half is hormones getting the better of you and ridding you of better judgment. 

“Fine, you win,” Javier makes a display of holding his hands up in surrender but he mixes it with a roll of his eyes, and you almost go for his throat, “I’m a terrible husband.”

“Oh, you did not ju—“ You raise your voice.

Suddenly, you hear sniffling beside you. It pulls you right out of your head and makes you observe your surroundings, and with the way that Javier flinches, it seems to be doing the same to him. 

Inés' little voice breaks your heart, the sight of her even more so when you see she has covered her ears with her hands, “Mamá. Why are you yelling at Papá? Don’t you like each other anymore?”

Javier sends you a look that makes your stomach drop, something that tells you that you are not done here. He looks absolutely furious with you, especially after seeing his daughter cry.

But then he sucks in a deep breath and crosses the room to crouch down beside Inés. He rubs her back soothingly, “Nos gustamos mucho, mija.”

Your legs have made you join them before your brain can even get the idea. Ever so gently, you run your hand over Inés' hair, “I’m so sorry, baby. We won’t shout anymore. Sometimes we get bad feelings. Remember when we talked about those?”

Javier looks at you with his mouth still a thin line and you glare back at him without Inés seeing. He straightens to get a piece of paper towel, first dabbing his daughter’s eyes and then blowing her nose afterward. 

Lucas Peña peeks into the kitchen from the hallway. He looks like someone who has just woken up, hair sticking out in the same way that his father’s sometimes does, but it’s accompanied by a concerned expression on his face as he watches the scene in the kitchen, “Why were you fighting?”

“We weren’t fighting,” you reassure and hold out your arm. Lucas goes to press into your side, and you respond to his affection by resting a hand on his head, “Okay?”

“Okay,” Lucas replies but he doesn’t sound convinced. 

From the outside, it probably looks like the perfect family portrait but you can feel Javier is fuming underneath the surface. He leaves Inés’ side to throw the snotty paper towel out, his shoulders still tense.

“Lucas, can you take your sister into the bathroom and brush your teeth?” You say as neutrally as you can muster, faking a smile down at him as he looks up at you, “I’ll be right there.”

“What about breakfast?” He asks.

“I’ll make you a sandwich for the bus ride. Whatever you want, but we’re already late,” you tell him, and it seems to work as he takes Inés’ hand in his own and leads her out of the room.

When Javier and you are alone again, an uncomfortable silence settles between the two of you. Javier stands against the counter, palms flat on its surface and you can hear the sound of the clock in the background, ticking by as the silence stretches. 

You are just about to apologize when Javier turns around. His eyes are wild with fury, not at all as submissive as just moments earlier when you had been the angry one. He points at you, mustache twitching with disgust that you are sure must be directed at himself too, because he says, “Never in front of the kids. I don’t care how angry you are. We don’t do that.”

You can feel your bottom lip tremble. 

Javier leaves the kitchen instead of comforting you. 

You force a smile, trying your hardest to sound cheerful while tears spill down your cheeks, “Lucas, what do you want on your sandwich?” 

*

The rest of the day goes by without any resolve, and it feels like there’s a brick lying heavy on your chest and making you on the verge of tears all day. Despite this, you manage to get everything on today’s list done before dinner and yes, you buy the ingredients for the stupid chocolate cake, making an effort to ‘casually’ leave the recipe on the counter for Javier to see. It results in him emptying and refilling the dishwasher without a word. 

During your bedtime routine, Lucas looks worried. He tugs at your hand when you are just about to leave and you can see the cogs turn in his head as he strings together a sentence, “Mom… It’s okay if you and Dad were angry at each other. I just don’t like it when you cry and… and I want you to say sorry. That’s what you make me do when I get angry at you or Dad. Or Inés.”

Your heart hurts from the love that’s barely able to be contained inside of it. With every single muscle in your body being strained, you manage to bend down to hug his head close to your chest, “Mijo.”

“No, don’t be sad,” he says quickly, hugging you back. 

“I’m not, baby. These are good tears because I love you so much,” you kiss his head, “I’m so proud of being your mom, baby. You know this, right?”

Lucas pulls back and you quickly wipe your tears away. He studies your face for a second, “Y-yes, I love you too, Mom, but you need to say sorry to Dad.”

You nod, struggle a little as you try to get up and say your final goodnight. On the way out, you desperately brush more tears out of your face because looking at the photos in the hallway makes them well up in your eyes once more. 

Javier is tying the strings of his pajama pants as you enter your shared bedroom. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you strip yourself naked except for your underwear, and not even when you pull a tank top over your head that’s barely covering your pregnant belly anymore. You’re unsure of what to say to get a reaction from him. The silence screams. 

“I’m sorry,” you eventually settle for. 

Javier turns to you then. His eyes rest on you for a moment before he speaks, “I’m sorry too. I get it… wanting time to yourself. I just didn’t know that was what you needed.”

He is hugging you soon after, strong arms around your exhausted frame. Your round stomach bumps against his flat one, and he lets go with one arm in favor of resting a hand where Sebastian usually kicks during the evening hours. It’s thankfully quiet right now, as if he senses that you need it.

“I wish you could just see how much invisible work I put into this house,” you say softly into his shoulder, “I feel so underappreciated and overwhelmed sometimes.”

“And I wish you would tell me how you’re feeling instead of treating me like a damn mind reader,” he sighs deeply, and you respond by getting defensive again. You’re just about to pull away with an annoyed groan. 

“No, no, c’mere,” he tugs you back into his arms and you let him because you’re feeling generous. His hands cradle your face, “I don’t wanna fight. Please. I hate fighting with you. I’m sorry.” 

“You make me so furious,” you whine as he bumps your nose with his own, feeling tears prickle at the corner of your eyes and one sliding down to drip from your chin. Javier tuts, catches it with his thumb.

“I’m sorry, baby,” his mouth curls downward as he says it, puppy dog eyes on their highest setting, “I know how much you do. I do. I’m just— you know how I am. Don’t cry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Javier embraces you once more as you blink tears away, dragging in a deep breath. The air in the bedroom smells like him, comforting and safe, and it makes it hard to keep concentrating on your fight and easier to fall into him. 

“I love you,” you mumble into his shoulder, and holy fuck, you do - every single day, hour, minute and second. He is your best friend, your husband, the face of your children, and most importantly, you know that he does his best for you.

It seems that those three words are exactly what he wants to hear because you feel his hands curl around the hem of your tank top. You don’t protest, relishing in the gentle touch of his fingertips against your back as he pulls the piece of clothing up and over your head. 

Your shoulders come down to relax from having been tensed up. You haven’t even noticed how much energy you have been using on straining your muscles, but now that you are calming again, you can feel how upset you’ve actually been throughout the day. 

“I love you too,” he promises. Your heart drums in your chest. The way he says it makes arousal burn below your belly button, a gentle tingling, and swirling sensation pleasantly taking over your whole pelvic floor. 

You look down between the two of you to see that Javier is already half-hard in his pajama pants, words seemingly having had the very same effect on him too. You start untying the strings of his pants slowly until you can tug them down over his hips, and he mirrors you to remove your underwear. 

Both of your bottoms pool around your feet, and when you have both stepped out of them, Javier pulls you close by your elbows. He catches your mouth in a desperate kiss, and you melt into him in a way that an apology could never make him feel. 

He pushes you back towards the bed whilst never breaking the searing kiss. Your hair is a mess in his hands, heartbeat speeding up as everything moves so fast from then on out; he helps you down onto the bed like the gentleman he is, manhandles you onto your side like the man you were swept off your feet by years ago and finally presses his front up against your back.  

“I want you,” you say in unison, and it makes you giggle at how in sync you are with each other despite having spent the day fighting over something already long forgotten. Especially when his arm scoops underneath you to cage you against his chest, hand tightening around your shoulder to hold you in place. 

Javier leans over you slightly to kiss the giggles away, bends your knees a little with his free hand so he can let it wander over you. He touches you up along your thigh as you place a pillow under your pregnant belly, takes his time holding you tightly, “Get hotter and hotter every day, mi amor.”

You press your ass back into his crotch, cunt throbbing with impatience as you hear the tiny groan that he lets out. He is so hard against the roundness of your behind, cocktip leaking steadily against your warm skin when he grinds right back into you. 

“Put it in,” you plead softly. Your hands come up to grip his forearm that is secured just above your tits, “Javi, please. I need it so bad.”

He is silent behind you as he works. The anticipation is unbearable when it is mixed with the unnerving need to have an outlet for all the intense emotions that you have just been through, your pussy quivering in desperation to be deliciously stretched out to transform your feelings into something physical. 

Suddenly, you feel the thick head of his cock between your thighs and you ready yourself for intrusion. Luckily, he doesn’t make you wait, guides himself into you in a slow motion until he is fully sheathed inside you. 

“Fuck,” you whine as quietly as you can, nails digging his arm from how hard you are gripping it.

“I know, ahh fuck, shhh,” he soothes but the way his voice sounds makes you believe that he is just as close to losing his mind, “Be quiet, baby. Just let me make you feel fucking amazing. Need a pillow between your knees too?”

You nod, and he is right there with his own pillow to help you get even more comfortable in bed with him. God, why were you even fighting? Something about cake? Either way, it seems beyond ridiculous. 

His nose is in your neck, his hand travels up to cup your breast and then he moves his body for a very first thrust inside of you. It makes your eyes nearly roll back into your skull when he keeps the pace lazy and deep, barely pulling out with each roll of his hips. 

“You feel so good,” he praises whilst mouthing along the most sensitive spot on your neck, “Makes me never wanna leave. Wanna live here.”

“Inside me?” You chuckle breathlessly. 

“Forever,” he gives you a slightly harder thrust, the first where the noise of his skin slapping against yours resonates through the bedroom. You moan in surprise, and he hushes you once more, “Don’t let them wake up and think momma is in pain.”

“Definitely not in pain.”

Javier lets out the quietest laugh. It’s almost unfair how good he is at keeping it down compared to you, but you don’t think you’ll mind having his big palm cover your mouth if you end up causing trouble. It almost happens when he pinches an overly sensitive nipple, making it harden immediately under his touch. 

“Help me spread my legs a little more,” you beg at a low decibel. 

The hand on your tit gropes obscenely and shakes for a moment before it slips down and caresses your belly on the way. Still lying on your side, he smacks the fleshiest part of where your ass and thigh meet before he cups the back of your knee so he can lift.

The move gives you the access you need to rub your cunt, two fingers going in taut little circles around the swollen nub. You rock with him too, and it goes on until you come with your back arched, releasing a short and hot breath that you didn’t notice you had been holding until it turns into a loud and accidental moan. 

“That’s my girl,” he moans too as you clench rhythmically and choke his dick when you release the built-up tension. When your orgasm reaches its peak, Javier’s hand on your shoulder moves to cover your mouth at the fear of you making enough noise to have the door burst open with unwelcome visitors, “I know it’s hard, mi vida, but - shit - but be quiet.”

You take the opportunity to let out a drawn-out and helpless cry into his hand as the sweet pleasure goes on for a few moments more. Then you slump, and he gently moves your leg down again to put less strain on your body. 

“My God,” he talks into your ear, thrusts never slowing down and you swear that you can feel his cock jump with every weak noise you make, “I love you so much. Love your little cunt too, she takes me so well.”

Javier’s hand comes down to grip the extra pounds on your hips. He tugs at the flesh almost painfully, but your exhaustion and dopamine overload are making you too delirious to notice that it’s to the point of bruising. He holds tight and uses the grasp that he has on you to pull you down onto his cock over and over. 

It takes no time to make a second orgasm stir in the pits of your stomach. Your moans change once more as your body starts responding to him fucking you so hard. 

“You think you can come again?” He rasps into your ear, and when the head of his cock slides teasingly over your favorite little spot inside of yourself, you nod frantically and it feels like you are about to cry actual tears. Fuck yes, you can come as many times as he wants. 

“Mhm, won’t take long,” you whimper and use all your willpower to lift your leg over your husband’s thigh until you are spread widely. Your belly is still comfortably supported in the new position, but now that your front is stretched taut and fully exposed like a well-trained and submissive animal, it enhances the feeling of Javier gliding over your g-spot repeatedly.

Javier removes the arm that he has caged you in with, but whereas it gives you a moment to heave a breath of air into the very bottom of your lungs, he quickly takes it away from you as he reaches up with his other hand to grab your throat. He doesn’t squeeze like he normally would when you are not pregnant, but the anticipation of him doing it makes your head swim. 

And then he is absolutely brutal in his thrusts, and before you know it, you are coming with your clit untouched and a strangled sob. The convulsions are so intense that your thighs shake, your toes curl and your eyes screw shut. 

You reach up to put your hand on the back of Javier’s head, holding on tightly as he pounds into you from behind throughout your orgasm. The way he pants tells you that he is close, and when you yank the tiny curls at the nape of his neck, he starts to chase his release. 

“Javi,” you whisper loudly as he slams into your sensitive cunt, “Give it to me. Pleasepleaseplease. Need you to fill me up.”

“Fu— oh shit,” Javier swears in a low, rough growl as he snaps his hips a few last times before stilling inside of you. He feels impossibly big inside your cunt as he pumps you full of his come, cockhead resting at your cervix and coating you in warmth. 

“Jesus, we’re terrible at being quiet,” you whisper as he pants. You let your leg come down onto the other once again, a giggle suddenly building up in your chest. He starts laughing whilst still inside of you, hugging you tightly into his chest and nuzzling his nose into your cheek.

“They sleep through it, don’t gotta worry about it much anymore, I think,” he notes without care, kissing your cheek repeatedly despite still not having calmed his breath. You smile widely as you stare at the ceiling, overtaken by the love you feel for him every time he gets you to post-orgasmic bliss. 

“We need a date night soon though, Jesus. Perhaps Pop could take the kids home with him tomorrow after dinner and I could… do this again,” he smacks your ass playfully, then strokes your hip in soothing circles, and you almost purr like a cat at the gentle move, “Without a mute button on my pretty wife’s mouth, of course.”

“I’d like that,” you say with a soft and sweet sigh, acknowledging his attempt to make things from earlier up to you, “Been a while since you’ve made me scream. Wanna take our time.” 

Javier reaches down between you to pull out before he is completely soft. You hiss at being left empty when you are so spent, but Javier quickly distracts you with another string of kisses to your cheek and the corner of your mouth. He adds to the fantasy, “And then I’ll draw you a bath and you can spend as much time alone as you want. Don’t gotta be no one to anyone.” 

He moves on the bed as far as his arm that’s trapped beneath you allows him, going for the packet of wet wipes you keep on the nightstand. He had suggested them when it had become too hard during your third trimester for you to get out of bed after sex. He hands you a few and you hold them over your mound, enjoying the coolness of them.

“You know the way to my heart,” you say, wiggling a little and feeling his come seep out. It makes your nose crinkle.

“Well, I did convince you to marry me,” he replies. 

“Worst decision I’ve ever made,” you tease. Javier wraps his other arm around you, hand splayed on your belly. 

The position you are in is uncomfortable; Javier’s arm underneath you has got to be asleep by now and you feel damp with sweat due to him being like a furnace against your back.

Still, you both drift off slowly into the soundest sleep. You don’t wake up until two unexpected visitors barge in at the most ungodly hours of the morning, causing you to scramble for the blanket to cover your bodies up and hide the come-stained wet wipes in the nightstand drawer.

.

.

.

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[stvolanis]

Can you do a dom reader x sub farleigh fan fic? 🙇‍♀️. I don't really have a backstory for it fleshed out. I was kind of thinking maybe after the karaoke scene the reader confronts him for being bitchy to oliver in front of everyone. (w/ spanking, overstim, possibly mommy kink)

Omg I love this!

Vixen.

(One shot)

PAIRINGS: Sub!Brat!Farleigh Start X Dom!Reader

WARNINGS: I’m aware that the karaoke scene doesn’t happen at his bday party but i put them together anyway!! foul language, pet names, needy!Farleigh, established relationship, mentions of drugs and alcohol

NSFW WARNINGS: mean!Reader, slight humiliation, spanking, overstimulation, mommy kink, brat taming, degradation, praise, dacryphilia, restraint (our boy is tied up), oral (m receiving), cream pies, fluff at the end

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

Ever since Oliver came to live at Saltburn, Farleigh has seemed to make it his personal mission to belittle, taunt, shit talk and ruin Oliver.

You didn’t know what it was, why he was behaving this way, or even what was so wrong with Oliver, because he was nothing but sweet to you.

Always smiling and throwing out random little awkward jokes, making people laugh. He was a little bit quiet, and shy. An awkward scholarship boy, as Farleigh put it. How kind of him.

Tonight’s party was in celebration of Saltburns newest arrival, and apparently Felix’s’ jewel, Oliver. It was his birthday and the crowds of people were here, even though they had the least bit a clue as to who exactly they were even there for.

When the party was over, few people stayed around for a more toned down get together. It was just the family, you, and a few friends lying about having a good time chatting, drinking, and of course, karaoke.

Everyone was taking turns, picking their favorite songs to sing aloud for the group of peoples entertainment. You thought nothing of it when Farleigh told you he wanted to pick a song, yet your mood soured as the song began to play.

It was ‘Rent’ by Pet Shop boys.

You watched as Farleigh tossed the remote to Oliver, exclaiming how it was ‘his song’. Your jaw clenched. “Farleigh, that’s enough.” You said sternly as you peered up at the taller man. He scoffed. “Oh cmon, it’s just a little fun.” He replied with a chuckle.

You clicked your tongue. “No, Farleigh, turn it off! Now!” You yelled at him. The curly haired boy grew frustrated, and embarrassed as he felt the room of people stop and stare at the scene you caused, but he wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Oh my god, you’re fucking overreacting, it’s not that big of a deal!” He yelled back as he flared his arms out. Something in you snapped. After months of seeing him torment Oliver, you’d finally had enough. This was the icing on the cake.

“Dammit, Farleigh! I’ve fucking had it with you! Since Oliver’s been here you’ve been a raging cunt and without even an explanation as to why, and I’m done putting up with it!” You screamed out at him as you roughly grabbed him by his arm, dragging him towards the door.

His mouth was hung agape as you drug him out of the room, eyes following the both of you as you made your grand, oh so dramatic exit. He felt utterly humiliated at the way you talked to him in front of everyone, yet he couldn’t ignore the way his cock stirred in his slacks.

You threw him into your shared bedroom and locked the door shut. “Take off your pants and bend over.” You told him. He gulped, your tone of voice sounding too serious not to listen as he stripped himself of his slacks and boxers, bending over the bed.

You tied your hair up with a rubber band around your wrist and watched as Farleigh gripped the sheets beneath him, bracing himself for whatever was to come next. He jolted forward with a gasp as he felt your palm meet the flesh of his ass harshly.

Once, twice, then suddenly he lost count. By the time you were done, his ass felt raw and your hand print was red and visible. He had tears running down his cheek, yet his cock was oh so painfully hard against his lower stomach. He ached to be touched in any way you’d allow.

“Been such a fuckin’ brat since Ollie came. If you wanted my attention, you could’ve just said that, honey.” You chuckled out as you turned him over onto his back, instructing him to scoot further up the bed. “M’sorry, mommy, please—“ he begged, not even knowing what for.

“Shut your whore mouth, Farleigh.” You scolded as you perched yourself on his lower stomach, your clothed cunt sitting taut on his hard cock, making him let out a needy whimper. You leaned over to your night stand, digging through a drawer before pulling out a pair of pink rope.

You gripped Farleighs wrists with one of your hands and held them up to the head board, securely tying them. “Been such a bad boy, needa fix that for you.” You breathed against his lips. He leaned up, desperately trying to kiss you, but you pushed his head back down onto the pillow.

“Only good boys get kisses.” You whimpered against his ear as your body trailed down till your face was eye level with his cock and your back was arched in the air, displaying your ass that you knew Farleigh wanted to taint.

You took his tip into your mouth, sucking teasingly before smearing the pre-cum around with your thumb. His hips wiggled and his eyes were blown out with lust as he stared down at you through hooded eyes, watching as you began to take all of him in your mouth.

You gagged and gurgled around him, taking him so deep, his cock hitting the back of your throat. His moans filled your ears, and his hands clamped around his restrains, toes curling and eyes squeezing shut as you used one of your hands to play with his heavy balls.

“Mommy! Oh god—so good, so fuckin good.” He whimpered out as drool poured at the corner of his mouth, his mouth hung agape for too long. You released him from your mouth with a pop, using your other free hand to fist his cock tightly at a fast pace. “Yeah? Like mommy’s mouth oh your pretty cock?” You giggled out as your mouth trailed down to his balls.

You suckled one into your mouth, and Farleigh came with a loud moan, his head thrown back and his back arching off of the bed. The scene before you was straight out of a porno, and he looked so helpless and pretty when his cum spurted everywhere.

All over your face, on the bed sheets and his stomach. “Messy, messy boy, Farleigh.” You said as you shook your head. He was breathless, no words able to form as he watched you strip yourself of those god ridden clothes he wanted to rip off of you.

You glided your pussy along his still rock hard cock, letting your juices spread. You bit your lip at the stimulation on your sensitive bud. “Need you. Need your pussy, mommy, please? I’ll be a good boy, I swear—“ he babbled on, his words nearly slurring together to form what you presumed were sentences.

You laughed at the man who lied underneath you, a whimpering, needy mess. So desperate for you. So ready and willing to take anything you’ll give him. “I know, handsome, I know.” You shushed him as you finally planted a soft kiss to his trembling lips.

You lined him to your entrance, not giving him a chance to think as you slammed yourself down onto him. His cock kissed your cervix, and it felt like he was in your womb. “Such a big cock, all for me? My big boy.” You groaned out as you moved your hips in a circular motion on his cock, rubbing against your walls blissfully.

His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he nodded, his brain pussy drunk on you. “Mhm, yes, yes-“ he continued on. You bit your lip, holding back your moans as you watched him unravel beneath you.

But god, did his cock feel like heaven inside of you. You felt so unbelievably full, and all you could focus on was chasing your high—but Farleigh seemed to already be two seconds away from cunning again. You could feel it in the way his cock throbbed inside of you, and his balls tightened.

“Mommy, m’gonna cum, gonna cum inside of you. Gonna fill you, mommy.” He whimpered brainlessly as his hips slammed up into you as you slammed down onto him, the both of you forming a rhythmic pace. “Cmon, slut, fill me with your cum. Now.” You groaned out as you leaned down to capture his lips with yours.

He moaned into your mouth, tongues swirling together as his cum shot into you, leaking a little bit as you sat on his cock, making sure he got all of it in you. You sucked his lip into your mouth, releasing it with a little nibble and a cunning smile.

“Good boy, Farleigh. Mommy’s good boy.” You cooed at him. He lazily smiled up at you. “Good boy, m’a good boy..” he mumbled on. His eyes widened as you continued to fuck yourself onto him.

His cock was so, so sensitive. The way your walls squeezed around him, and your cervix kissing his aching tip each time he entered you was too much for him. Your pussy was milking him, and all he could sit there and do was take it. But seeing you bouncing up and down on top of him, tits bouncing with you, made it worth it.

To him, you looked utterly enchanting. The way you finally let your moans run lose, your hair coming undone from your ponytail. Your skin was sweaty and your face was red. He wanted to touch you so badly. He wanted to hold your waist and rut himself into you, even thought his cock was overused.

But now, you were using him for your pleasure. “So fucking good f’me, Farleigh. Makin’ me feel so good.” You moaned out as you threw your head back. Your praise of him making you feel good circled around in his mind, and that was all he wanted. Your approval. Knowing he was the only one who got to make you feel like this. And knowing only person who could see you like this was him—had him cumming for a third time inside of you.

Each time you slammed down onto him, your clit was met with his cute happy trail, and that was enough to send you into overdrive as you squirted all over the boy under you. Your juices made a mess of him, but you didn’t care. You bounced up and down on him a few more times, riding out your orgasm.

As you slowly came down from your high, you admired the way Farleigh looked. Still so, so beautiful. The handsomest boy you’d ever seen. Even when he was a brat, he still took care of you and loved you dearly. Your darling boy.

“Let’s take a bath, hm?” You suggested as you pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. He nodded, and you untied the restraints. His hands immediately slithered around your waist, pulling you to lay down onto his chest. “Was I too rough, honey?” You asked as you peered up at him.

He shook his head. “No, you were perfect.” He whispered.

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

don’t be shy, ask to be a part of the tag list and request things!!

TAG LIST: @elvisalltheway101 @epthedream69 @claire-elvisgirl @elvisrealgf @littlehoneyposts @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @luxuriouslokistan-3 @foxevxid @salepso

#stvolanis #saltburn thoughts #saltburn fic #saltburn film #saltburn posting #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #farleigh saltburn #saltburn smut #saltburn movie #saltburn #farleigh x reader #farleigh start #farleigh smut #farleigh catton #farleigh imagine #oliver quick #oliver quick smut #felix catton smut #felix catton

[minas-linkverse]

Minish, what is your favorite food? In the mean time, I have brought you cakes and pies from Wheaton and Pita's bakery. They are all for you. You don't have to share.

He loves baked goods!

#Ask #Minish #Wind #Grandpa #Linkverse #Hehe

[archive-of-alexandria]

Mind Your Manners (Sanji X Reader)

A/N: ITS KINKTOBER! I have it in my head that head-over-heels, perverted Sanji would absolutely give the Reader snacks or food that are just a little bit too messy as an excuse to watch them clean up after themself and I just had to write it out. Kinda feels yandere? Smutty Food Play, because I haven't seen enough kinky Sanji action on here. xx

Sanji knows better than to play with his food. However, the way you're sitting at the dining table - pretty legs tucked up underneath you and breasts pressed together as you lean on your elbows - makes him think that he may have to make an exception.

Sanji's rule about manners doesn't extend to you, however.

No.

Sanji goes out of his way to ensure that you'll make a mess in his kitchen.

Back during the summer months, the Going Merry had made a pitstop at an island known for their enormous strawberries. Sanji had been eager to try his hand at pastries for a change - tarts, pies, the works - and the gargantuan summertime fruits seemed the perfect challenge.

A challenge the cook didn't anticipate, however, was finding you elbow-deep in the barrel of harvested berries that same evening, caught literally red-handed from the saccharine juices that dripped from your fingertips to the floor with a heavy tap tap tap.

The sight was enough to make his heart nearly stop.

Your eyes had been wide and your flushed cheeks were even wider, stuffed with sweet fruit as juice covered your face and hands...and every bit of you was dripping. Sanji had been unsure of where to look and his eyes darted between your slick fingers, your shy expression, and your perfectly tinted, glossy lips. He had never seen a more heavenly sight.

In his mind, nothing could ever compare...until your tongue ran along the back of your hand in a feeble attempt to clean yourself.

In the darkness of his room, Sanji thought about that tease of a tongue for weeks afterward.

Ever since then, he has taken extra care to make sure that you're given the messiest meals he can make. They're not gross, of course - Sanji is a chef first and a lover second. No, they're not gross. They are delectable. Every hum of enjoyment, every slurp, every squish...Sanji would lie awake in bed and dream of the different foods he wished to cover you in, if only just to watch you lick it up.

You had offered to help him make cinnamon buns one morning - though not without taking a generous helping of frosting on your finger and sucking it clean. "Labor tax", you joked with a wink. The image of your tongue licking the sinful-looking sweetness from your finger, mingled with your contented sigh, was seared into Sanji's brain from that moment forward.

Sanji became obsessed with watching you eat.

Food has always been an extension of Sanji's love for his crew and an expression of devotion. The act of cooking is artistic, and the act of eating is intimate. Hell, the kitchen itself is a lesson in foreplay: the preparation, the getting hands dirty, the building heat, the waiting game...all leading to a very satisfying end.

If only Sanji's cooking prowess had an excuse to leave the kitchen and move into the bedroom.

Sanji has yet to make his cake and eat it too in the ways of romance, though it would seem that you have recently taken a keen interest in his particular set of skills. The cook has noticed an increasing frequency of your kitchen visits, observing the way your eyes seem to latch to his hands and arms as he works. You've grown bolder, assisting him in his preparations and letting your elbows brush up against one another.

Sanji relishes the days you ask for his help and he nestles you between his body and the table, guiding your hands in his much larger ones.

The cook has grown bolder too, sometimes pressing too tightly against your back to allow his front to press up against your firm bottom as he huskily mumbles praises in your ear. He swears, sometimes, he can feel you lean into him.

The kitchen is the way to Sanji's heart, and he hopes that it may be the way into your bed.

And here you were, seated at his table awaiting the meal he had promised to cook for you once the Going Merry restocked at port.

As Sanji wipes down his cooking station, he lets his eyes drink you in without shame. Your breasts are practically falling from your tattered blouse, soft pillows highlighted by the dim candlelight of the galley. You're playing with your fingers, unaware of Sanji's gaze. He smirks.

"Sanji," You sigh, flushing pink as you look up to meet his gaze already set upon you,

"Is it almost ready?"

He chuckles, crossing his arms.

"My sweet girl is hungry, hm?" He muses, tossing his dishrag over his shoulder,

"Just a few more minutes, love."

"Wha-? But-!"

"You can't rush perfection now, can you?"

"Sanji," You whine, wiggling in your seat. His eyes once again meet your chest.

"If I had known it was going to take this long I would have taken up Zoro's offer to go to the pub."

Sanji stiffens.

The chef stands to his full height, a cigarette appearing between his tight-pressed lips as he turns from you to check on the pot simmering on the stove.

You, however, hold your ground.

It's silent.

"I didn't know you and mosshead had plans."

Sanji's voice is low. Much too low, and empty. It unsettles you.

"San-"

"-It's ready."

In a manner much too abrupt for the usually smitten Sanji, a steaming bowl is placed before you with an alarming thud. The spoon rattles in reaction to his aggressive delivery.

The enticing smell of the ramen can't mask the uneasy way Sanji stands perfectly still in front of you, face shrouded in shadow except for the blazing butt of his cigarette.

You're unsure of where to look, splitting your attention between the meal before you and the man hovering above the table. Sanji makes the decision for you.

"You were so hungry just a moment ago," he quips,

"So eat up."

You swallow, heat pooling in your cheeks and between your legs. This was nothing but the "Zoro effect" on Sanji, as you and Nami call it. Gingerly, you take hold of the spoon. Peering into the bowl, the meal looks heavenly - though you're soon aware of the way your hair keeps falling into your eyes, threatening to become part of the soup.

Your hair had grown long during the months at sea, and you had unwillingly lent Usopp your last bauble for slingshot practice. Your frustration doesn't go unnoticed.

“Here, my darling,” Sanji hummed, circling the table until he was behind you, “Let me help.”

At this moment, Sanji feels dangerous.

Your body erupts with heat as the cook looms behind you, your eyes glued to the steaming bowl of soup displayed before you. The galley feels all too warm, and the meal before you begins to feel more like a test - a challenge - rather than a token of whatever unspoken feelings float between you and Sanji.

Without another word, Sanji’s cold fingers glide along your feverish neck, scooping up your hair in their wake. He gives his wrist a well-practiced twist, eliciting a gasp from your lips at the feeling of your hair pulled taught in his grasp. Sanji feels his ego swell, giving your hair a sharp tug. Your head is thrown back as he lowers himself to your ear.

"Go on," His scruff grazes you, and your skin is suddenly on fire.

"Eat."

Heat floods through Sanji as he watches the way your neck moves as you swallow, nodding at his command. He eases up on his grip and observes the timid way you scoop the broth into your mouth.

He catches the way your eyelids flutter closed at the taste of his meal. You liked it. You always liked his food.

Tonight, simply liking wasn't enough.

"Eating so silently? Don't you know it's rude to the chef?"

Sanji's eyes darken as your fingers twitch on the tabletop. So, he muses to himself, you think you would get away that easily?

"Don't you like it?"

"S-Sanji-"

"Don't use your words, pet. Just enjoy."

From above, he watches as the plush peaks of your breasts begin to heave quicker. You allow yourself to fully dive into the meal, this time taking noodles and broth quickly between your lips. For a moment, you seem to forget that Sanji is there. You hum, in something akin to ecstasy - Sanji had made this meal just for you, just the way you liked it.

The obscenely wet squelches of your lips slurping up his creation elicit a deep groan from the chef, fingers tightening their grip on your hair. He can't help but chuckle at the idea of Zoro sitting alone in some corner booth and nursing a drink, all while you're here sucking up and savoring Sanji's affection.

You lift your head, lips puffy from the spice and heat of the meal. Sanji presses himself into your back, as his free thumb comes around and wipes your bottom lip. Your gazes meet, and Sanji brings his thumb to his mouth - tasting remnants of your meal.

A low chuckle escapes his lips.

"What, my love? Finished already?"

You understand his insinuation, whipping your head back to your meal and bringing the ladle back to your mouth.

Eat it all up, love. Made just for you.

In a moment of weakness, Sanji gently pushes your head down.

You gag on the spoon.

Sanji moans.

His hips buck forward, desperate for friction, meeting the soft dip of your arched back. His throbbing cock digs into your back, your buttocks...Unable to compose himself, Sanji begins to rut himself against you – and you don’t protest.

Sanji knows how fowl this display looks, and yet he can’t help himself. He has wanted you - really wanted you - for so long...the idea that Zoro could possibly take you away from him was enough to drive him over the edge.

When Sanji hears your voice rumble from your chest - "nnnugh-! Sanji...!" - he swears by the heavens that he'll do anything to make you his.

His hand moves from your hair and wraps around your throat, slick with the broth that dribbles from your lips. He wishes to lick every part of your sticky, salty skin, gently squeezing your throat as you gasp out his name.

Your head lolls onto his shoulder, hand gripping the table as it shakes under the weight of Sanji's wild bucking.

Sanji is everywhere, mumbling streams of thought between hot kisses along your forehead:

"I fucking love you, you know that? Would Zoro treat you so well?"

"That pretty mouth, always teasing me - you think that's fair?"

"Just wanna fill you up with all of me, darling...Want those gorgeous lips around my cock..."

For all his talk, he fumbles and lurches forward. His hand unceremoniously lands in the bowl, soaking him up to the cuff in warm broth. You're both breathing heavily, the high beginning to wind down. However, you see your moment to gain leverage.

You grab hold of his wrist before he can think, turning your face ever so slightly to meet his.

With a twinkle in your eye, you guide his hand to your lips. Sanji's mind is a fluffy haze, unable to anticipate your next move.

"We don't waste food, right?" You purr.

You take Sanji's fingers into your velvety mouth and he practically sees stars. He has been dreaming of this exact pleasure for months, straining to keep from collapsing on top of you as your tongue swirls between his fingers.

As your cheeks hollow out around his digits, your hooded gaze keeps his in a near mocking way.

So, you had known his game all along.

Sanji's chest heaves against your back, his hot breath fanning across your face with a stutter. His inexperience shows in this moment, numb and capable of doing nothing but watching the expert way your mouth moves around his fingers.

A faint pop of your cheeks accompanies the release, a ghostly string of spit connecting his fingers to your lips. The faint moonlight catches hold of his soaked digits. Sanji inhales sharply.

His hand, frozen in your hold, is easily guided down...

down...

down...

"I've already had my meal," you murmur.

A shiver.

His eager fingers meet your soaking, pulsing warmth.

"It's time you eat yours."

#sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #one piece sanji #opla sanji #YES CHEF #Sanji is something so personal #absolute brainrot #sanji imagine #yandere sanji #this is GROSS ahaha #kinktober #kinktober 2023

[celestialprincesse]

I JUST SAW YOUR POLY 141 AND UGGH IT WAS SO GOOD! If you’re interested! Could you do like poly 141 with an angst- hurt/comfort! Where supposedly one of the boys said something and the reader took it in a negative way? I liked to think that this reader is a more sensitive reader, maybe something some of us can relate too (cause I know I can <3)

with lots of love and positivity! - 🩰

Warnings: afab reader, mentions of periods 💕🎀

Cooking is your safe place. The bubbling of pots and sizzling of pans gets you out of your head. Working to delicately lattice the tops of pies or pipe cakes keeps your hands busy and your mind elsewhere. Today, the kitchen is less of a safe place, and more of a war room. The snap of your meat cleaver down onto the chopping board echoes through the house like a death knell, and the boys convene on the porch to work out what the hell happened.

"Mate, she sounds like fucking Hannibal in there." Kyle huffs, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose to soothe the building headache that stress has dropped upon his temples. Simon is already looking at Johnny, who looks like a guilty child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Johnny." Simon murmurs, surprisingly warmly, in that way he does to coax someone to talk before he resorts to his 6'4 arsenal of intimidation tactics. John and Kyle proceed to look his way, his captain's eyes blazing with embers of fire just ready to spark. "I did no mean to say anythin'." His thick Scots accent drips with defeat as he looks at the other men around him. "But.." Kyle nods slowly, a comforting hand placed on Johnny's shoulder, giving an encouraging squeeze. "I said she was acting pissy." He huffs, running his hands over his face in frustration. "She was bein' all huffy an' puffy, tried to ask what was wrong and she went off." Simon immediately has his phone in hand, scrolling through their shared calendar until he comes to the date, and a little blood drop emoji a few days later. "Ah." Simon sighs, followed by a chorus of "Oh's" From the others.

Halfway through cooking whatever it is you'd stormed in here to make - you weren't really sure what - You'd managed to elbow a bowl full of eggs on the floor, and now, sat in a mess of egg yolks, shells, flour and porcelain, you sniffled pathetically into your hands.

"Hen?" Johnny calls softly, a quiet knock on the kitchen door, which he opens slowly, shuffling in with your three other massive soldiers shimmying into the kitchen at his back. "Oh, no." He coos, taking your cheeks in his palms, dropping a kiss to your forehead as he helps you up. "I didnae mean to make you cry, love. I was jus' being an idiot, yeah? Insensitive an that." Simon is at your back, gathering your hair away from your face, leaning the reassuring weight of his head into the crook of your neck, whilst John helps you out of your apron and Kyle grabs cleaning supplies for the mess you'd made on the floor. "I'm sorry for being pissy." You sniffle, stuffing your head into the ever warm skin of his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne as your residual tears soak his shirt. "Ye was no bein' pissy. Ye jus weren't as chirpy as usual, eh? No problem with that, was jus surprised is all." "You know we all love you." John coos, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder as you're left smushed between four huge bodies. "Love you too."

#Angies asks! #cod mwii #cod mw2 #call of duty #modern warfare #cod modern warfare #cod #cod x reader #captain John price #John price #price #captain price #simon ghost riley #simon Riley #ghost Riley #ghost #Johnny soap mactavish #John soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap #Kyle gaz garrick #gaz #Kyle garrick #gaz garrick #tf 141 x reader #simon riley x reader #John price x reader #gaz x reader #gaz Garrick x reader #soap mactavish x reader

[mamirhodessxox]

😭😭 need a fic of him just in interrupting reader while baking ( reader could be a baker and trying new recipes to add to their menu )

Cherries On Top

Cody Rhodes x Baker Fem!Reader

Desc: Y/N is trying to focus on adding new sweet treats to her bakery’s menu but her husband tends to be a distraction.

Contents: Fluff, Cody being a little annoying but in a tolerable way, SMALL indications of smut, Y/N being a lil cutie Patootie!

🏷️ list: @alyyaanna @ginswife @coolpastelartshoe @greatkoalawizard @cokolin044 @kotoriarlert @alicerosejensen @bunnybot55 @agent-dessis-posts @adollonyourshelf @mini-rhodes @southerngirl41 @harmshake @femdisa @kabloswrld @claymoresofinfamy23 @jeysbvck

{~I'm very serious with you guys interacting with my writing!!!! it would make me so happy & excited, the more comments & reposts the more inspiration i have to write :) likes and comments are strongly appreciated so please COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT COMMEENNTTT the more comments the more content <3!!!~}

Before Y/N & Cody established a relationship between them Y/N had a small little bakery filled with alll sorts of sweets & treats! Once a month she would spend an entire day whipping up pies & cakes and many other scones & sweets to add on the menu at her little bakery & do cooking youtube videos & Today was that day.

Y/N was in the middle of recording in the kitchen, Cody would walk by every now and then or stand behind her and watch over her shoulder to see what she was doing. But then he became more vocal.

She was currently working on a bourbon pound cake. “Don’t you need measuring cups for this part?” He questioned while his hand ran up and down her back while his wife shrugged “I’m just gonna add like a few shot glasses worth of bourbon.” He shot open his eyes and looked over at her camera set up and shook his head dramatically “She’s gonna get me drunk with a cake.” Since he was video bombing Y/N she decided that she would put him to a little work and start stirring the cake mix while she poured bourbon into the mix very carefully & poured him a small shot as a reward which he pridefully took

Y/N was instructing her future viewers how to carefully put the mixture into the pan & how long to leave it in the oven but Cody randomly popped back into the kitchen “Check out my gun.” She looked up as he interrupted her speech & smiled “It’s a salt shooter my dad got it for him.” “Maybe next time I make steak I can season salt onto it with my cool gun yeah?” She shook her head “No because you’re gonna break something. Just use your hands.” He glared for a second and sassily shook his head “I won’t break anything.”

6 minutes later Y/N worked on another small pastry while the cake was in the oven & suddenly the lights started flickering & she laughed a little before he walked back into camera frame “What are you whipping up now?” “Blueberry crois-“ “Hold on wait I have a quick question what did 50 cent do when he was hungry? 58.” “Your not funny.” He shrugged with a smug smile “I’m actually very funny.” She hummed nodding slowly “whatever helps you sleep at night my love.” He raised an eyebrow and looked at a bowl full of flour.

Hmmmm…….

Interesting…..

What if he just….

“CODY GARRET RUNNELS GODDAMNIT I’M GOING TO KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP!” Y/N stood there frozen as he actively poured flour over her head while letting out a mischievous laugh “uh ohh she said the full na-“ she splashed him in the face with water “well deserved.” She glared up at him & picked up her bowl filled with yet to be stirred eggs while grinning to herself as her husband backed up and raised his hands in defense “No…Y/N….” She squinted and nodded “your right that would be to messy.” She sighed while he let out a chuckle of relief but she caved & poured the eggs all over him making him gasp and look at her while she giggled & grabbed the flour bag before shaking what remained inside all over him before he turned starring at a glass of milk that sat on the counter next to one of the bowls it was supposed to be inside of.

Eventually she gave up on the video she tried making & giggled while playfully kissing her lover while he grinned biting her lip a little & grip at her waist “You sure you don’t wanna take it any furth-“ she nodded immediately and pulled away before prancing up the stairs to get clean “C’mon Codes your filthy.”

This was just the Cherry On Top for Cody, he immediately tossed away the kitchen towel & followed behind her before giving Y/N a light smack on the butt chuckling

“The shower is your best idea yet sweetheart.”

“Pervert.”

mamirhodessxox’s Masterlist

#mamirhodessxox #cody rhodes #oh my fucking goooood #cody rhodes imagine #cody rhodes fic #cody rhodes x you #cody rhodes smut #wwe imagine #wwe #wwe smackdown #wweedit #wwe edit #wwe jey uso #wwe john cena #wwe gifs #wwe fanfiction #wwe chyna #wwe cody rhodes #wwe superstars #wwe wrestlemania #wwe raw #wwe lb #wwe royal rumble #wwe liveblog #wwe x reader #cody rhodes fanfic #cody rhodes fanfiction #cody rhodes edit #cody wwe #cody rhodes gif

[cerisereids]

aaron hotchner struggles accepting the love he deserves.

that’s why he shuts down when you move in next door. you, with your flowy dresses and baked goods and shiny lips. he doesn’t dare go near you. how could he, when he has the exact opposite of a midas touch? he wouldn’t even dare to think of putting you in harm’s way, which is why he rejects the brownies you offer him the day after your move in. his heart cracks at the way your face falls, but his legendary poker face has gotten him this far, and it’ll get him out of this, too. or so he thinks.

you show up the next day, and the day after that. soon, his kitchen counter is laden with cookies, cakes, and pies. jack is in heaven, and hotch himself can’t help but indulge. as his teeth sink into the chewy goodness of a chocolate chip cookie, he chastises himself for wondering if your lips taste just as sweet. he imagines kissing you after you taste test one of your treats, maybe licking some frosting off your top lip.

guilt and shame creep up his spine, slithering around his body until his heart is constricted with it. he can’t think like this. not with you. not when you’re so good. you’re so good, and he’s been through so much bad, what if that’s all he is now? why on earth would someone so sweet and beautiful want a divorced widower with a child? it makes no sense to him, so he shakes off any possibility of it even happening. even if the looks you give him from your garden tell him otherwise.

he recalls the times this week he’s seen you out while he’s arriving home from work. the way your eyes would follow up and down his body, how you’d bite your lip as you said hello. the way your gaze lingered on his biceps that were stuffed into his button up is seared into his memory. he normally saves these memories for bed time, or during a cold shower, but you’re taking up his brain capacity at a rapid pace. he’s afraid there’s no pumping the brakes.

one day, after two weeks of you bringing him baked goods and eye fucking him from your yard, you appear on his front doorstep. only this time, there’s not a treat in your hand, but an entire picnic basket.

“hi!” you chirp, your beautiful smile etched onto your face, “sorry to bug, i hope you’re not busy! it’s such a beautiful day outside, i thought it’d be perfect for a picnic, and i’d love some company! maybe we could get to know each other some more!”

his heart completely stops. he’s surprised he doesn’t go comatose in that very moment.

“w-wow!” he stutters, clearing his throat. smooth, aaron, “that sounds great, but i don’t have a sitter for jack…” he hates to decline, but his son has always come first. any woman entering his life needs to know that. not that you’re entering his life, right?

“oh! that’s not a problem! he’s invited too, i packed a peanut butter and jelly, but then i thought he could be allergic to peanut butter, so there’s a ham and cheese one in there for him too!” he sees you grow bashful at your rambling, your cheeks heating even more under the warm july sun. he has to fight the urge to kiss that pretty face, one on each cheek.

“that sounds wonderful,” he says gently, a smile in kind forming on his face, “let me go grab him.”

jack is elated to spend the day in the park with the new nice neighbor, and aaron’s heart swells at how much his son already loves you. his heart nearly bursts in his chest, though, when you loop your arm through his and lean up to whisper in his ear, “maybe later, when you can get a sitter, we can do this again, just you and me,” your siren eyes rendering him nearly comatose, once again.

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