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grannyandgrandpascreations · 7 months

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Grab Your Nuts It's Baking Season Flour Sack Kitchen Towel

Grab Your Nuts It’s Baking Season funny Flour Sack white kitchen towel is a perfect unique gift for your favorite Canning Person in your World. This towels also makes a great housewarming gift, birthday gift or just because!

Flour sack dish towels are called “flour sack” because they are modeled after the thin cotton bags that flour and grain used to be packed in, which were re-used as towels. The thin cotton yarn and the looser weave make for a towel that’s extra absorbent. You can even air dry your salad greens; the super absorbent nature of flour sack towels makes them great for drying delicate greens. Also, flour sack towels are lint free! Which means no more fuzzies on your wine glasses when you wipe them dry!

Flour sack towels are also softer and significantly larger than a standard kitchen towel….and more towel is always a good thing! You can use these towels for drying, wiping, cleaning, or dusting and they can be used for fun decorations.

Each flour sack kitchen towel measures 28 in. x 29 inches (Product dimensions L x W x H – 28 x 29 x 29 inches). They are 100% cotton, durable and absorbent. These are flat woven towels; they are perfect for cooking or baking and can safely be used around food such as covering dough for rising or as a food strainer. These towels also double as a kind of strainer or cheese cloth; the fine weave means you can strain sauces and broths through a flour sack towel to clarify them. Flour sack kitchen towels are sturdy, highly absorbent, dry quickly, and are designed to stand up to most any cleaning job. The towels easily withstand frequent washings and are made for repeated daily use.

The flour sack kitchen towel is a quality item with versatility and utility, we offer everyday designs and special occasion designs. Our flour sack towels are a great gift idea and very inexpensive!

Care instructions: Machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.

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website/ www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop

facebook.com/ https://www.facebook.com/GrandpaHandmadecreations/

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#grannygrandpascustomcreations

The flour sack kitchen towel is a quality item with versatility and utility, we offer everyday designs and special occasion designs. Our flour sack towels are a great gift idea and very inexpensive!

Care instructions: Machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.

LET’S GET SOCIAL & BE FRIENDS! Like, Tag & Follow us for Our new Creations, Inspiration & Giveaways!

website/ www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop

facebook.com/ https://www.facebook.com/GrandpaHandmadecreations/

instagram.com/ https://www.instagram.com/grannyandgrandpacustomcreation/

goimagine.com/ https://goimagine.com/granny-and-grandpas-custom-creations/

#grannygrandpascustomcreations

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sweetiesicheng · 1 year

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mark - bakery

word count : 1,014

"y/n, could you take this customer's order? i need to move all of the bags of flour," your co-worker, taeyong, spoke as he walked into the kitchen from behind the counter.

"got it," you spoke and cleaned your hands. you went to the front of the store and saw a guy looking at pastries in one of the display cases. "hi, what would you like?" you greeted.

the guy stood up straight, "could i get two cheesecakes and a chocolate cake?" he pointed to the mini cakes in the display case.

"of course," you spoke. you opened the case and took out the requested items. you put the cakes on the counter where the register was. "anything else?" you asked him.

"i'll take a cup of coffee," he answered. you turned around and grabbed an empty cup. you poured coffee into the cup.

"cream and sugar?" you asked.

"sure," he replied.

you put cream and sugar into the coffee and mixed the contents. you put a lid on top of the coffee and turned around.

"y/n! can you put these cakes out?" taeyong yelled from the back.

"i will in a second," you responded. "will that be all?" you asked the customer.

"yea," he nodded his head.

you rang up his order and he handed you a credit card to pay with. you swiped the card and returned the card with a receipt to him.

"thanks."

"you're welcome. have a nice day," you said. you turned around and headed into the kitchen, where you saw a few trays of desserts that needed to be put out. you picked up one tray and went back to the front of the store.

as you placed more cakes in the display case, you saw the guy who ordered the three cakes sitting at one of the tables. he had a notebook out on the table and was tapping a pencil against the notebook while drinking his coffee. he scribbled something done but then sighed. in defeat, he started eating one of the mini cheesecakes.

you finished putting the desserts out and went back into the kitchen. you put the empty, metal tray on a baking rack. taeyong passed by while carrying another sack of flour. "do you need help?" you asked him.

"no, that was the last one," he mentioned and placed the sack where the other ones were. he brushed his hands off with his apron to get rid of any flour that had gotten on him. "are the pound cakes done yet?" he asked.

you walked over to one of the ovens and looked through the window. "they haven't risen all the way up yet, and the timer says eighteen more minutes."

"ight."

you walked out the front and walked around the counter with a towel and a small bucket of water. you cleaned the display cases and tided up the counter space.

you peeked behind your shoulder and saw the guy still eating the first cheesecake. he looked very frustrated as he scribbled something into his notebook again, but he marked out whatever he had just written. you noticed him drink the rest of his coffee, so you decided to make him another cup.

you walked behind the counter and put the bucket and towel in the kitchen before making another cup of coffee. you mixed cream and sugar into the coffee and walked out again. you walked up to the guy and placed the cup next to one of his cakes.

"huh?" the guy looked up.

"you look like you could use another cup," you said to him.

he smiled, "thanks."

"whatcha struggling with?" you asked out of curiosity.

he looked down at his notebook, which was covered in writing that had been crossed out. "i'm trying to write...to write lyrics," he answered, "but i can't come up with anything decent."

"i'm sure you can think of something. good luck," you smiled at him.

he smiled back, "thanks."

you walked behind the counter and into the kitchen. taeyong made pastries while you looked at another oven.

"are you making more cakes?" you asked.

"i'm just trying out the new recipe the company sent us," taeyong mentioned.

you heard the bell at the door ding and looked through the doorway to see more customers. "there's more customers," you mentioned.

"i'll come help you, then," taeyong said and quickly cleaned his hands. both of you went to the front and served the customers.

after all of the customers received their orders, you organized the display cases again.

"hey y/n, you can go ahead and take off. jaemin said he'll be here soon," taeyong said to you as he cleaned one of the drink machines.

"don't i need to make donuts?" you asked him.

"nah, jaemin will do it. he said he wanted to try making donuts with jam in the middle," taeyong replied. "go ahead and leave. you worked for a long time today."

"okay, thanks taeyong. i'll see you tomorrow," you said to him. he nodded his head and continued cleaning.

you walked into the kitchen while untying your apron. you put the apron in your backpack and put your backpack on. you walked back out of the kitchen and opened one of the display cases.

"i'm taking a cheesecake," you mentioned.

"it's coming out of your pay," taeyong said to you as you closed the case.

"i know, i know," you grabbed a plastic fork and held the cake and fork with one hand. "bye taeyong."

"see ya later."

you walked out and headed out of the bakery.

"hey."

you saw the customer from earlier leaning against what you assumed was his car.

"hi," you smiled.

"heading out?" he asked.

"yea, i'm done with my shift," you mentioned and walked up to him.

"how would you feel if we went to the park and we jam out to the lyrics i wrote while eating cake?" he asked.

you smiled at him, "i think i'll take you up on that offer."

"i'm mark," he introduced himself.

"i'm y/n."

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propface · 3 months

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10 Best Ways to Use Household Items as Photography Props Ideas

Inspiring product images above basic white backgrounds requires introducing creative elements to spark viewer curiosity.

Rather than invest in expensive photography kits, transform everyday objects around your home into DIY props that add visual intrigue without blowing your product photography budget.

1. Spin Kitchen Towels into Backdrops

The flour sack towels tucked inside that kitchen drawer present the ultimate blank canvas for showcasing earrings, makeup compacts, plants, baked goods, and other photogenic products. Drape one over cardboard to introduce soft wrinkles and dimension.

The neutral hues and textured fabric inject warmth and authenticity into product photography ideas. For added interest, display the exact product against different colored towels to offer viewers palette options.

2. Shape Foil Pie Pans into Reflectors

Light bounces differently off various surface sheens. By strategically placing metal cooking trays around a product, you can amplify and redirect light to unexpectedly bring out dimension and added glow.

The ultra-shiny interior side of a foil pie pan unleashes maximum reflectivity for adding buttery luminosity or accent shadows

3. Craft Paper Boxes into Backdrops

For playful product images with a colorful personality, upcycle leftover gift boxes from clothing or jewelry purchases into vibrant, patterned backdrops for only the effort of some strategic unwrapping.

Or pick out a paper bag in complementary tones to the item displayed. Iron out creases if desired and drape wrinkled paper behind subjects captured overhead for abstract backgrounds brimming with mood.

4. Upcycle Clear Glass Jars and Bottles into Display Stands

Translucent glass drinkware, condiment jars, and apothecary bottles present the perfect neutral platforms for propping up an endless assortment of items for your next product shoot.

Fill squat jam jars with colorful pulses like lentils or rice to buoy bath bombs and ornaments. Let the distorted glass magnify views of earrings, charms, pins, or other miniature wares.

5. Engineer Wooden Clipboards into Vertical Display Backdrops

Sometimes, demonstrating product functionality requires angled views showcasing usage and components.

For ad hoc vertical backdrops or photography prop ideas clip assorted products onto the ledge of a humble wooden clipboard elevated by hooks, clamps, or props against a neutral wall.

6. Shape Aluminum Foil into Reflectors

Beyond baking pans, reach for ordinary household aluminum foil as an ultra-affordable photography reflector for adding dimension to product shots. Simply scrunch sheets into loose balls and strategic angles optimized to bounce light onto specific surfaces.

The wavy texture catches and reflects light for accentuating dimensions and surfaces with increased luminance your camera’s flash alone can’t achieve.

7. Craft Paper Towels and toilet Paper Rolls into Product Stands.

Rather than trashing cardboard paper product tubes, transform these household cylinders into custom photography stands and risers ideal for propping up compact items like jewelry, cosmetics, plants, and trinkets.

Cut various lengths, stack into plinths, or leave full rolls intact for accenting product heights. Spray paint rolls into solid hues or fun patterns to complement displayed items like metallic gold embellishing a jewelry series or bright white matching a makeup line’s packaging.

8. Bend Wire Hangers into Abstract Sculptures

The ordinary wire hanger transforms into an abstract modern art sculpture when strategically bent into exciting angles. Use unique shapes or Photography Tray as framing elements surrounding products or as textural displays stand underneath.

Use adult garment racks and miniature child hanger sizes to craft custom wire sculptures scaled to displayed products.

9. Drape Silk Scarves as Bold Backdrops

Vibrant 100% silk scarves block solid colors in the frame as exciting backdrops that aesthetically pop accessories, foods, plants, and other photographable products.

Unleash those unworn styles stashed inside drawers to inject exotic global textures and rich dyed hues easily manipulated to stage items creatively and elegantly.

10. Shape Aluminum Foil into Reflectors

Crumble aluminum foil sheets into an improvised photography reflector for bouncing light. The metallic sheen and randomly crinkled texture catch and heightened ambient lighting from all angles.

Sculpt sheets into spheres, cones, or abstract shapes surrounding product subjects to accent dimensions and surfaces with increased luminance beyond your camera flash’s capabilities.

Conclusion

Rather than break budgets on expensive photography lighting kits and backdrops, transform mundane household items into creative photographic props guaranteed to showcase products in visually intriguing environments.

Construct improvised backgrounds, stands, frames, and reflectors using materials around your home kitchen, closets, and recycle bins.

#backdrops #backdrops ideas #product photography backdrop #photography

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countryporch · 2 years

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Best Part Christmas Being Together Kitchen Hand Towel Dishtowel

The Best Part Of Christmas Is Being Together Kitchen Hand Towel Dishtowel from the C&F Home > Kitchen > Holiday > Flour Sack Towels collection by C&F Enterprises. From drying dishes to cleaning up after baking your famous chocolate chip cookies, these machine washable woven cotton towels have endless uses. The design features snowflakes and a red plaid ruffled skirt. Details: Embroidered Kitchen Towel. Dimensions: 18" x 27". Materials: Cotton. Color: Green. Care Instructions: Machine Wash.

source https://www.thecountryporch.com/c-and-f-enterprises/view.asp?item=842653032B

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livebloggingmydescentintomadness · 2 years

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so my energy seems to be continuing to improve, if very slowly, but after the past few years where i’ve been bedbound ~22 hours of the day, it’s something i’m thrilled to experience. i’m not only cooking more and more (though in chunks every few days, not every single day like i used to), i feel like i have to actually force myself to stay in bed instead of running downstairs to bake something, because i know doing too much will set me back.

(not to get into a tangent, but this is why it drives me fucking nuts when people imply that chronically ill/disabled people are ‘lucky’ for ‘getting’ to stay in bed all day every day. staying in bed for a weekend is fun; staying in bed for a decade is not fun.)

it’s kind of funny how getting back to cooking is partly like riding a bike and partly like having to start all over again. i keep having to buy new jars and bags and boxes of things because what i have expired in 2016 and has been sitting in my pantry all this time while i lied in bed. and, much like my guitar calluses from when i was 15, i’ve totally lost my chef fingers! i keep touching hot things and going “FUCK”.

this tuesday i did my once-every-six-weeks massive grocery trip (which sounds like i have my shit together, but it’s mostly fear of being exposed to covid in this shithole state and not having the energy to go more frequently; we supplement with online orders and a small delivery in the middle for fresh stuff), and i have so much stuff planned that’s actually exciting. (i made burritos with those pinto beans i cooked from dry the other day and i honestly think they’re the best beans i’ve ever had. i bought a bunch more dried legumes, and i even bought YEAST!)

i’ve spent the last couple weeks meticulously planning the details of what i want to make and how to keep things from going bad (i’ve been pickling lots of veg to keep them from spoiling, and learning how, like, wrapping cucumber in paper towels keeps them good much longer), and i was kind of nervous about buying raw meat for the first time in literally a couple years, but i was actually able to go downstairs just two days after shopping (i used to be stuck in bed for close to a week after the big shopping trip) and do two hours of cooking! that’s fucking huge for me.

i also treated myself to a HUGE sheet tray and a 24 cup muffin pan, because the more i can cook at once the more i can do. last night i roasted 3 pounds of mushrooms AT ONE TIME instead of standing by the stove sautéing half a pound at a time. honestly, fatigue is the mother of brilliant shortcuts.

i got a beautiful eye of round roast, my favorite kind of roast, and i’m planning on making some very simple yeast rolls to go with it, which is also really exciting. i used to be a person who bought 25lb sacks of whole grain and put it through my grain mill to make flour and then baked my own bread and bagels and pie crusts, but my health has been so bad i haven’t even made a pan of muffins in at least a couple years. my kitchen is a messy wreck, but if i can actually clean the shit off the countertops and rescue my stand mixer from where it’s buried, if i can knead dough with my hands again...

these last few years as i got worse and worse, i honestly feared that i was just going to keep going downhill until i died. i went through so many nights lying in the dark by myself, in pain and exhausted and unable to sleep, my little tv on 24/7 because if i was in complete silence i would start thinking about how i would rather be dead than have this be the rest of my life, that just the glimmer of hope of being able to achieve even a fraction of what i used to do when i wasn’t even healthy but just less-sick-than-this, it’s really... it’s good. there’s still a lot wrong, i wouldn’t actually call myself ‘happy’ or even ‘not super fucking depressed’, but just to have a sliver of hope makes a genuine difference.

anyway, i guess i just wanted to share what i’ve been going through lately, and also explain why you may have been seeing fewer posts or answered asks from me. i’m definitely not going anywhere, but being productive is addictive (so is my food... i’m a really good cook 😁), so most of my spoons have been going to kitchen work rather than typing.

and thank you in advance for your kind words, because i have such lovely followers and you always leave the sweetest comments and i don’t usually have the energy to respond to each one. thank you for being there to support me in the dark times too. <3

#personal #didn't really intend this to be a whole big thing but i guess i should do a little personal update to share what's been going on #do y'all still like the posts with photos of what i've made? i haven't done that recently but i could do it again #suicide tw #suicide ideation tw

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fortheloveoffanfic · 2 years

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The Christmas Cookie Disaster

12 Days of Christmas Writing Event- Day 4

John Wick x Reader

Masterlist 12 Days of Christmas Writing Event Masterlist

Prompt 11- “I’ve never made sugar cookies. This is a disaster!” “Well, at least you look cute in that apron.”

Warnings- None

It had to be the recipe, right? It couldn't have been Y/n, she'd followed it to the letter, twice, resulting in failure both times. She didn't think it was something she was using, all her ingredients were regular, run of the mill brands and she'd been sure to get anything that they didn't have so she wouldn't have to go through the hassle of researching substitutes. Baking flour, sugar, vanilla extract…...maybe it was her butter.

But it couldn't be, it worked fine for everything else!

With a frustrated sigh, she turned off the hand mixer, set it on the counter and then planted her floury hands on the messy, granite surface. In the glass bowl was her second, and possibly final ever, attempt at sugar cookies; a liquid-y batter that looked nothing like the firm dough she was supposed to have and even worse than the soft, formless concoction from her first attempt, promising but completely useless. “Ugh,” giving up with a defeated groan, Y/n began the process of taking off the beater attachments from the hand mixer, cleaning them off before turning to set them in the sink.

After rinsing off her hands, Y/n grabbed a dish towel hung on a rack nearby, drying off her formerly sticky though now clean hands as she regarded the mess littered along the island. From a melting stick of butter, a small, near empty, sack of flour and the open sugar jar on one side to some spilt extract and a wad of used up paper towels, saturated with egg on the other. Among the two sections of clutter were dirty bowls or varying sizes, a couple wooden spoons and possibly every spatula they owned. It couldn’t have taken her more than a couple hours to turn their kitchen into a disaster zone, though cleaning it up was beginning to look like it would take all evening.

She was so caught up in assessing the damage, and dreading the cleanup, that Y/n completely missed the sound of the front door opening followed by Dog’s nails clicking on the hardwood as he hurried excitedly towards the door, intent on greeting his favorite human. All week, she’d been anticipating John’s return, he’d been gone on a job for the past couple weeks but had promised to return before Christmas Eve- and he’d made it, three days early, though, too caught up in her despair, she hadn’t even noticed. All she’d wanted to do was surprise him; give John the kind of Christmas he’d never had- festive looking sugar cookies and all. The only problem was that baking had never been her area of expertise.

With a huff, she dusted off her retro styled, Christmas themed apron. Upon just glimpsing it at the store a week earlier, Y/n had determined that she just had to have it; it was cut with the appearance of a dress, with a cute frill at the bottom hem and small snowflake patterns dotting the bright red fabric. It also made her feel like she really could whip up something decent if she tried hard enough. Clearly the apron’s magic was sorely limited.

Pushing off the lip of the farm sink after tossing the tea towel aside, Y/n reapproached the island, grabbing a flour dusted wooden spoon and introducing it to her batter, giving it a stir to test the thickness before setting it down again. She didn’t even know why she’d bothered messing with in the first place, it wasn’t like there was a chance of fixing it…...or was there?

Maybe a little more flour would fix it right up.

Reaching for the measuring cup, she sifted more baking flour into the bowl, surprised at how quickly it was starting to thicken. And then even more surprised when it became so thick and dry after a couple more cups that it was crumbling instead of coming together. Great, just great!

“Hey there sweetheart,” a pair of hands falling to affectionately grasp her shoulders caused Y/n to jump and yelp in surprise. She genuinely had not heard him come in, and because he’d said that the job would take him away indefinitely three weeks ago, Y/n had started conditioning herself into accepting that he’d be back on Christmas Eve- not three days before then.

Dropping the spoon to the counter with a clatter after the shock faded, Y/n submitted to his touch, smiling softly and she felt his thumb rub circles into the back of her shoulders. “Hi,” she pouted, disappointed that he’d had to come home, after work no less, to find the kitchen in disarray.

“Wanna tell me what exactly you’ve got going on here?” They were so physically close that Y/n could feel his chest rumble deeply when John let a light, teasing chuckle slip.

“Ugh,” without looking his way, Y/n rolled her eyes, more at her own failure than his request, “I’m sure you can guess,” she reached over to where her laptop sat on a thick book, both saved from the mess and still in clean and pristine condition, unlocking the screen so John could see the recipe.

She could practically hear the grimace when John let an amused sound escape his throat, “Hate the break it to you babygirl, but you’re not really the best baker,” to soften the blow, John kissed the side of her head, before shuffling past her to skim the recipe, eventually asking, “Is it even supposed to look like this?” He regarded her two attempts of the dough.

“No,” she frowned deeply, detaching herself so they could stand face to face, “I’ve never made sugar cookies. This is a disaster!”

For a solid minute, John just stood there, merely a half a foot away, smirk taunting his ruggedly handsome features and a glint in his whiskey gaze proving that he was hardly taking her despair seriously, as he appraised her; fancy new apron thrown on over her favorite pair of leggings and an old sweater that she’d rolled up to her forearms, “Well, at least you look cute in that apron.”

Scoffing, and trying to suppress the heat that rushed to her cheeks, Y/n gathered a pinch of flour between her finger tips and playfully tossed it at John, peppering his tailored black suit with flecks of white. A smile was already threatening to break through, and the surprise on his face following her lighthearted gesture only served to make hiding her grin a more of a trying task as she feigned offense, “That’s all you have to say to me?” Y/n’s voice rose an octave, “I’m in a serious cookie crisis here.”

“Oh, baby,” John cooed, gravely tone gorgeously low as he closed the distance between them with one step, taking Y/n into his arms once more, “This isn’t a crisis,” his words were punctuated by a slow, long, ardent peck, “This is…..whatever’s worse than a crisis.”

Scoffing, Y/n pulled her head back to regard him with wide eyes and agape lips, “Wow, thank you for making me feel better,” she rolled her eyes, hugging him back at the waist nonetheless, “You know, a simple ‘at least you tried Y/n’ would have sufficed.”

John frowned deeply, playing along with her, “I’m sorry baby,” he temporarily stopped his words with another kiss, and that time, when he pulled away, Y/n licked her lips to savor his taste, “At least you tried Y/n.”

“Thank you,” Y/n’s hands slid up his back and she consequently drew closer, laying her ear directly over his heartbeat, sighing contentedly at its steady thump. She absolutely adored hearing it, that unwavering sound that reminded her that John was real, he was there and he was hers. No one else got to do that with him, be like that with him, no one but her.

“I just wanted to give you the full Christmas experience,” she admitted bashfully, “You said you never had this stuff growing up, and it's our first Christmas together, so I just thought…..” She trailed off shrugging.

“Wait,” John pulled away a bit, just so he could meet her eyes. One of his large hands rose to cup her face, calloused thumb roving over the apple of her cheek, “You were doing this for me?”

Shaking a shoulder, Y/n averted her gaze before meeting John’s rich pools once more, “Yeah, of course. I want our first Christmas together to be perfect. I want you to have everything you never did, because you deserve it, you deserve to be happy, you know?”

Leaning in, John bent and pressed their foreheads together, briefly capturing her lips before settling so closely that the tips of their noses brushed, both a little cold from the traces of winter chill seeping through the sill of tightly shut windows. “I am happy, sweetheart. And this Christmas is going to be perfect, cause I’m spending it with you.”

Y/n hummed, rubbing her hands up and down his suit-clad biceps, “You mean that?”

“Of course I mean that,” John returned without missing a beat, and after a moment, he added teasingly, “I also mean it when I say please leave the baking to the bakery, I love you, but your cookies are terrible.”

Laughing despite her mocked offense, she playfully slapped his arm, “Well that doesn’t hurt at all,” she quipped sarcastically as they detached; Y/n going to the cupboard for trash bags and John getting started on moving the dishes to the washer.

“It’s the truth,” he shrugged, still grinning, “But hey, you’re still a great cook. And the hottest woman I’ve ever met,” he noted, slapping her ass playfully as she bent over to get the packet of bags from the cabinet under the sink, and without responding she giggled softly, forgetting about her disastrous attempt and cookies and just grateful that John was finally home so they could spend their first Christmas together- without any more baking escapades.

#john wick #keanu reeves #john wick x reader #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick x you #fanfiction #fanfic #john wick fluff #keanu reeves fanfiction

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grandmacozy · 2 years

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It would be a busy day, there was so much to do putting the little new house in order. Before beginning, Laura looked the place over with all the pride of possession.

There was the kitchen-dining-living room, all in one but so nicely proportioned and so cannily furnished that it answered all purposes delightfully. The front door in the northeast corner of the room opened onto the horseshoe-shaped drive before the house. Just south of it was the east window where the morning sun shone in. In the center of the south wall was another bright window.

The drop-leaf table stood against the west wall with one leaf raised and a chair at either end. It was covered with Ma’s bright red-and-white checked tablecloth on which stood the remains of the early breakfast. A door at the end of the table led into the storm shed, and there was Almanzo’s cook-stove with pots and frying pans on the walls. Then there was a window and a back door that opened toward the south.

Just across the corner from the door into the shed was the pantry door. And such a pantry!

Laura was so delighted with the pantry that she stood in the doorway for several minutes, admiring it. It was narrow, of course, but long. Opposite her at the far end was a full-sized window, and just outside the window stood a young cottonwood tree, its small green leaves fluttering in the morning wind. Inside before the window was a broad work shelf just the right height at which to stand. On the wall at the right a strip of board ran the whole length and in it were driven nails on which to hang dishpans, dish towels, colanders, and other kitchen utensils.

But the wall to the left was all a beautiful cabinet. Manly had found a carpenter of the old days who though old and slow did beautiful work, and the pantry had been his pride and a labor of love to Manly.

The wall was shelved the whole length. The top shelf was only a short space from the ceiling, and from it down, spaces between the shelves were wider until there was room for tall pitchers and other dishes to stand on the lower shelf. Beneath the lowest shelf was a row of drawers as well made and fitted as boughten furniture. There was a large wide drawer to hold a baking of bread. There was one drawer that already held a whole sack of white flour, a smaller one with graham flour, another with corn meal, a large shallow one for packages, and two others: one already filled with white sugar and the other one with brown. And one for Manly’s wedding present of silver knives and forks and spoons. Laura was so proud of them. Underneath the drawers was an open space to the floor and here stood the stone cookie-jar, the doughnut jar, and the jar of lard. Here also stood the tall stone churn and the dasher. The churn looked rather large when the only cow giving milk was the small fawn-colored heifer Pa had given them for a wedding present, but there would be more cream later when Manly’s cow should be fresh.

In the center of the pantry floor, a trap door opened into the cellar.

The door into the bedroom was just across the corner from the front door. On the wall at the foot of the bed was a high shelf for hats. A curtain hung from the edge of the shelf to the floor, and on the wall behind it were hooks for hanging clothes. And there was a carpet on the floor!

The pine floors of the front room and pantry were painted a bright clean yellow. The walls of all the house were white plaster, and the pine woodwork was satin-smooth and oiled and varnished in its natural color. It was a bright and shining little house and it was really all theirs, Laura thought. It belonged to just Manly and her.

Laura and Almanzo's wonderful little gray newlywed home in The First Four Years

#cottagecore #farmcore #cozycore #little house books #the first four years #laura ingalls wilder

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spiderman-homecomeme · 3 years

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i wish i knew how (your eyes are like starlight now)

🎄The Twelve Days of Promptmas🎄 - Day Ten

concepts: baking, cold sleepy cuddles, holiday smut ❆❆❆

Peter’s mind buzzes as he fumbles with the sack of flour, nearly spilling it all over the counter as he trips over his own feet. He feels as if he’s in one of those dumb infomercials—“there’s got to be a better way!”—when he opens the top cupboard and he’s immediately pelted with the box of disorganized seasonings and extracts. There’s a sense of relief when he manages to catch the red, green, and blue food coloring before it hits the ground, though the feeling fades into a mild panic when he can’t remember if the recipe MJ had sent him called for baking soda or baking powder.

It also does not help that his hands might be the tiniest bit sweaty.

So he’s a little nervous for some reason. It’s fine. It happens to everyone when they invite their best friend over for some holiday baking.

Just some casual, friendly holiday baking.

Sure, Ned’s not coming, but that doesn’t mean that this is any different, right?

Right?

So why does his heart skip one or two beats when MJ sends him a text that says she’s five minutes away?

It’s strange.

MJ’s great, she really is. She’s smart, funny, just an all around cool, amazing, good person. The best that he knows. There’s absolutely no reason to be nervous around her. Yeah, she can be a little mysterious, closed-off even, but as he’s gotten to know her, he’s seen glimpses of that soft, gooey person that’s inside.

Yet, even with all of that, lately Peter’s been feeling the exact opposite of “at ease” around her. His stomach always feels like it’s training for the olympics when she’s around, his brain going all fuzzy anytime she talks to him, like he’s stood up way too fast.

It’s the exact feeling he gets when he hears a knock at the front door.

And again, he nearly spills sugar all over the tile.

His body’s kind enough to carry him to the door, and he takes a deep breath, gathering himself before opening it. “Heyyyy.”

He mentally kicks himself for being so weird.

“Hey,” she gives a single wave, lips pressing together into a thin, casual smile. “You ready?”

Nodding quickly, he swallows, folding his arms across his chest. “Yeah. Yeah. Of course.”

He stays like that a moment, his eyes unconsciously taking her in—her soft-looking hoodie, the cozy looking joggers, her black converse.

“Uh… can I come in?”

Peter immediately snaps out of whatever daze he was in, huffing out a laugh as he steps aside. “Shit. Yeah. Sorry.”

She gives another small smile and a single nod, walking past him, her hands twiddling together.

It’s odd, Peter offhandedly thinks, as they walk into the kitchen, as they each put on one of his old hand-me-down aprons from May and Ben, how quiet she’s being. Of course, MJ’s not normally a loud person, by any means, but there’s usually a lot more snark when it comes to anything Peter does.

He’s especially surprised when she only lets out a quiet snort when he drops one of the bowls in his haste to get everything out and ready.

She’s still quiet as she whips out her phone, pulling up the recipe, lips twisting in thought as she scrolls. “Wow, I’m so glad that this lady decided to tell us about the time her sister smashed her gingerbread house before telling us the recipe,” she deadpans, though the corner of her lip quicks upward into a slight grin. “Every cookie recipe needs a good backstory.”

Peter snorts. “If there’s no plot, what’s the point? What’s the motivation?”

He feels MJ’s gaze drift up to him from behind her phone, and he can see her smile growing from the corner of his eye.

For some odd reason, it’s enough to make his ears burn.

A beat passes, neither of them saying anything as MJ continues to read and scroll through the recipe, Peter absentmindedly twiddling with the rim of the mixing bowl.

The silence is broken when she clears her throat, her hand moving to smooth over the back of her neck, resting there. “So, um—I guess uh, preheat the oven to 375. And… Prepare baking sheets by lining with parchment paper,” she reads.

Peter nods, inside of his lip caught between his teeth as he turns to the oven, a slight jitter to his movements as he presses the appropriate buttons. “What next?” He asks, as if he’s just completed the hardest part, grabbing an old cookie sheet from the cabinet beside the oven.

MJ cracks a smile, though it fades quickly when she goes back to the recipe, reading off the list of dry ingredients for them to mix together. The bowl is too small at first—a lapse in Peter’s judgement of what small means—a few patches of flour spilling out onto the counter when his overexcited mixing gets the best of him. The light teasing that MJ throws his way makes his heart do backflips, his stomach leap up into his chest.

It’s the strangest sensation that he’s starting to not really mind all that much.

MJ mixes the butter, brown sugar, and egg in one of the bigger bowls, tongue sticking out between her lips as she wrangles the electric mixer, deep in concentration when they add in the molasses and vanilla; it’s a look that Peter offhandedly thinks is very cute.

Especially with the bit of flour dusting her nose when they start to add the dry ingredients.

And it’s even cuter when they start cutting out the shapes in the dough, the Hanukkah cookie cutter set he’d gotten from May when he’d first moved in finally getting good use. There’s only one man, and they grab for it at the same time, both of them yanking their hands back when their knuckles brush.

MJ takes it, smiling quietly.

It seems like all of these feelings should feel new, given that he’s only just now noticing them. But, in a weird way, they feel nothing like that. Almost the exact opposite. Like they’ve been around forever and he’s just never thought too much about them, whatever they are.

It’s more confusing than anything.

Especially when, after getting the cookies in the oven, and they start mixing the icing together, MJ’s hit with a bold streak, swiping her blue-icing covered thumb over his forehead when he’s busy mixing his own bowl.

“Simbaaaaaa,” she says, her voice comically low and raspy—her best Rafiki impression.

“Hey!” Peter jumps away from her, a laugh bubbling up from his chest as he holds in hands up in self-defense. “What the hell?!”

“You got a little something—” she gestures to her own forehead, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

He feels his own smile nearly take over his entire face, feeling a challenge flaring in his chest when he dips the tip of his finger into his own icing bowl, booping her on the nose before she can dodge him.

“Hey—”

“You got a little something,” he says, mocking her from two seconds before, unable to keep his smile from growing even more. There’s a giddiness in his stomach, and he feels as if he’s lighter than air itself when she laughs at him.

MJ’s so cool, he can’t help but think.

And pretty.

Peter shakes his head when she doesn’t look away, and he wipes at his forehead, trying unsuccessfully to get the sticky blue off of him.

“You’ve still got some—right there,” she gestures to herself again. “Do you want me to get it?” She asks, a jitteriness to her tone as she lets out a chuckle. “I can lick it off.”

Peter’s sure that his face is every shade of red at this point. He nearly chokes on nothing, and he suddenly finds that he’s lost all ability to speak as he stares at her with furrowed brows, thoroughly dumbfounded.

“I’m kidding,” she says quickly, laughing it off, looking back down at her hands, stained blue and green from the dye in the food coloring. “Jeez, Parker.”

There’s a hint of something to her tone, but he can’t exactly pinpoint what it is; maybe nerves, maybe the awkwardness from him literally not saying anything at all in response. He’s not sure.

And he tries to brush it off as they clean up while they wait for the cookies to finish baking. A quiet falls between them, both pleasant and at the same time wildly uncomfortable. He clears his throat, placing the mixing bowl in the sink, his focus as he scrubs the dough from the sides failing.

When he turns around and catches her eye, his heart skips as she snorts at the sight of him, blue icing still caked onto his forehead.

“God, okay, let me get that,” she huffs out, grabbing a paper towel. He can almost smell the soft lavender notes of her shampoo when she leans over him to wet the paper towel in the sink. It’s dizzying, he finds, especially when she smiles at him as she wipes across his forehead. And he finds when her eyes meet his, he can’t look away, drawn in. He offhandedly thinks how pretty her eyes are, how soft they look, even when they’re teasing him.

“There,” she says, giving him one last, playful, less than gentle pat on the forehead.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, still seemingly lost in his trance, blinking slowly. “You’ve uh—you’ve still got some. On your nose.”

And almost disappointingly, she wipes it off herself with the same paper towel.

Why he’s disappointed, he has no idea.

MJ’s quick to change the subject—or, start one—before he can even think of anything to say. She’s warmed up by now, less tense, though there’s still a jitter to her movements, a certain breathiness to her laugh that makes the butterflies in his stomach seem to kick into overdrive.

And it’s a back and forth as they start decorating the cookies—after they’ve cooled, of course. MJ wouldn’t let him anywhere near them when she’d taken them out of the oven.

“What did you do to that Menorah?” She asks him through a laugh as he struggles to even out the too-big dollop of icing he’d put on his first cookie.

“I’m not good at this, okay?” He laughs back, letting out a comically quiet scream when the icing drips down onto his hand. He does a double-take though, looking at her cookie.

A man with a too-big, borderline dumb smile, eyes nearly on opposite sides of the cookie, wearing all red and blue. “What is that?”

“It’s you,” she says with a toothy grin, as if it’s obvious. “Do you like it?”

“Why does he look like that?” Peter finds himself laughing more.

“I think he’s cute,” she says simply.

Peter nearly short-circuits, but he honestly has no response. At all.

Because she can’t mean what he thinks she means, right? No. Absolutely not. MJ’s calling the cookie cute. Get your shit together, Parker.

He does feel her glance at him a few times after that comment, almost as if she’s waiting to see if he’ll say anything. Then again, that’s literally just his brain making him think that, making him see and feel things. Obviously.

There’s no way MJ likes him like that.

And it doesn’t even matter really. They’re just friends.

Just some good pals.

The cookies are even more delicious than they’d smelled, and Peter finds himself caught up in just how cozy and safe it feels to be eating gingerbread cookies with his best friend, even when said best friend pointedly bites off the bottom half of the cookie that supposed to look like him. She can’t keep a straight face, though, nearly choking on the gingerbread when he snorts, crumbs flying.

“Gross,” she says through her mouthful, unable to keep herself from laughing.

Peter finally swallows, struggling to get a word out. “You started it!”

They turn on some documentary—though, if he’s being honest, Peter’s finding that he can’t pay much attention to it. He keeps wanting to look at Michelle, glancing at her every few seconds. It’s a sight that makes his whole body flood with warmth, seeing her curled up on the other end of his couch, absently munching on a cookie as she stares at the screen.

There’s a moment where she catches him looking at her, the corners of her lips twitching into a quick smile when they both immediately look away.

Peter swears he can feel his heart beating in his ears.

Though he has no idea when he started feeling this way about her, this weird nervousness, he now realizes how not new it is. He’s always thought Michelle was cool. That she was smart. That she was funny. That she was so pretty.

But if he’s always thought this, then why is this… realization suddenly hitting him like a train? Why is it that he can’t even look at her without his stomach wanting to jump right out of his body? Why when every time she so much as talks to him is he smiling like a damn idiot?

Why now?

And then, it dawns on him when she looks over at him, her lips pressing into a shy smile before quickly looking back at the TV, curling her legs to her chest more.

Oh.

Well, shit.

There’s been a number of time’s where Peter’s questioned his own intelligence. Sure, he’s good at school—ignoring the late and missing assignments—he’s made his own web formula.

But, fuck, he’s a dumbass.

Because he’s been stupidly, deliriously, ridiculously in love with his best friend and he’s only just now realized it.

He’s lost track of time by the end of the documentary, barely registering as the credits roll, and they sit there, neither one saying a thing. Peter feels the awkwardness—again, not entirely the worst thing, for some reason—creeping up his neck. He jumps up from the couch, needing something, anything to do.

With this new realization, Peter feels almost more nervous, terrified of doing something stupid like exposing himself.

It’s almost midnight by the time they finish putting the cookies away, saving the rest for later, of course.

MJ stretches her hands above her head, moving them down to hold herself. “It’s getting pretty late,” she says, her voice soft, tired.

Peter nods, pressing his lips together, leaning on the counter. “Yeah…”

Neither of them move.

“I should probably go…” She trails off, rocking back on her heels, though she still doesn’t make any kind of move to the door. She looks out the window, groaning at the sight of the heavy snow falling. She huffs out a nervous laugh, her eyes meeting his expectantly. “It’s so cold though.”

“I could… lend you a coat? Or something?” He can’t help but cough into his arm, glancing around the apartment as his lips curve into a shaky smile.

MJ seems to get a kick out of that. “Nah. ‘Cause then I’ll have to give it back… and then I’d just end up keeping it.”

There’s nothing that can stop the faint dusting of pink on Peter’s cheeks as he thinks about he wouldn’t mind that at all.

After a beat, however, Peter’s brow furrows in concern, altogether missing the way she’s looking at him. “Did you walk here?”

She purses her lips. “Yeah.”

“I—” Peter clears his throat, not wanting to seem to eager at the idea of her staying. “I could call you an Uber?”

She shakes her head, brow pinched. “No. No, that’s fine. Then I’d have to pay you back.”

“Yeah, you’d probably forget that, too,” Peter finds himself teasing.

“Hey!”

“Kidding…” Peter clears his throat, biting back his smile.

A beat passes again where neither say anything, the two of them awkwardly shifting on their feet as they wait for the other to speak.

Peter’s the first to break. “I mean, if you want, you could… stay here. Wait the storm out.” It feels like it takes about five-hundred years to get those words out, and even longer when MJ’s eyes meet his. And it’s not his best idea, given he’s just figured out he’s in love with her. Having her in such close proximity overnight seems like the las thing he should do.

But he can’t seem to stop himself.

“When it’s not so… cold.”

Her fingers drum against the other side of the counter, the inside of her lip caught between her teeth.

“Good point,” she finally replies.

Peter breathes out a smile, finding himself relieved, though he’d never admit to it. “So…” He clears his throat again, disguising it behind a cough into his arm. “Sleepover?” He asks lamely.

MJ’s expression breaks, and she snorts out a laugh, a sound he wants to hear over and over again.

It goes quiet again though, MJ seeming to be deep in thought before she says anything again.

“I hope it’s okay, though…” She glances left and right, a tint of insecurity in her gaze. “I like to sleep without pants on. If that’s cool… with you.”

And for a moment, Peter wonders if he’s died, or if he’s having a really vivid, cruel dream. He’s short circuited for a split-second; getting any kind of sentence out is damn near impossible. He blinks. Once. Twice.

“Um—” He finds himself saying, though he has no idea where that thought is going. “I mean. Whatever. Makes you… more comfortable. I guess?” He huffs out a nervous laugh, the idea of sharing a bed with a very pantsless MJ drilling it’s way into his brain.

There’s a minuscule upward twitch of her lips as she looks at him.

“I can take the couch,” Peter says dumbly, and instantly, he’s mentally kicking himself.

But it’s for good reason.

MJ needs to be comfortable.

She doesn’t feel the same way, and he doesn’t want to push himself on her. He doesn’t ever plan on telling her how he feels, so there’s no reason to make this any more difficult for either of them.

“And you can take my bed?”

He doesn’t see the way her expression falls ever so slightly.

“Oh—” Her head jerks back slightly, mouth tugging into a faint frown. “I mean. Sure. I guess.”

Peter only nods, feeling his shoulders squeezing up to his ears, every muscle in his body tight. He nearly trips over himself as he walks past her, leading her to his bedroom. She only throws him a fleeting smile as he pulls out a spare t-shirt for her to wear—what friends do—leaving just as quickly as he’d come into the room.

In his haste to get her out of his sight, he’s forgotten to grab his own pajamas. Or blankets. Or pillows.

Oh well.

It’s not like he’s going to walk back into that bedroom. That would be the most dangerous thing he could possibly do.

But then, as he lays down on the couch in just his boxers and his shirt that still has a few flour stains on it, his brain decides to bring back the cruel thought, the tempting image of Michelle in his bed. Without pants on.

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. He’s an adult. Not some hormonal teen anymore.

But everytime he closes his eyes, he can just see so vividly, and he can’t help but wonder what she’s wearing—

No.

Bad Peter.

That’s your friend.

Stop that.

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to rid his mind of the idea of her long, bare legs tangled in his sheets.

Damn it!

It feels like the entire night’s passed by the time he opens his eyes again, only to realize that it’s only been thirty minutes. He huffs, flopping onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. It’s a fruitless endeavor, he knows, trying to fall asleep. He knows that as long as MJ’s in his room, there’s no way he’ll have any sort of peace.

He debates getting up and checking the cabinets in his bathroom for some melatonin or maybe even benadryl, when the floor at the entry to the hallway creaks. “Peter?”

He jolts upright, looking over the back of the couch to see MJ standing in the archway, the Stark Internship shirt he’d loaned her just reaching the tops of her thighs.

One wrong move, and he’d definitely see what she’s wearing.

He swallows, whispering a pathetic, “hey.”

“Uh, hey,” she responds breathily. “So… It’s like… really cold in your room.”

“Yeah?” Peter sits up more, the throw blanket pooling at his hips as he rubs his eyes. “Do you want like an extra blanket or… something?”

She shifts on her feet, her hands toying with the hem of the t-shirt, Peter finding his eyes instantly drawn to the movement.

He drags his gaze back up to meet her face.

“I was actually—uh… wondering if you could just come get in bed?”

He wants to say that all the blood’s left his body, but it’s honestly gone in two different directions. His face, and… well.

A faint, nervous chuckle spills out of him as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. It’s a terrible idea, saying yes, but there’s nothing he can do to stop himself from nodding silently and getting up from the couch. “Another blanket would… would probably be too much.”

A wavy smile tugs at her lips. “Yeah. Exactly.”

It’s strictly for that purpose, he reasons with himself. MJ’s cold. She needs another body next to her. Nothing more. No, sir.

And it stays that way in his mind as he crawls in next to her, as they turn to face each other, their knees barely brushing one another’s. It’s dark, but he’s close enough that he can just make out the soft curls on her forehead, the slight uptick of her lips as she looks at him.

It surprises him when she scoots just the slightest bit closer, the way she tilts toward him. A shiver ripples through her.

“Still cold?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

A light chuckle bubbles up out of her. “Yeah. Could you—”

“Do you want me to hold you?” He asks before he can even think.

She laughs again, a breathy, borderline nervous sound.

And he’s frozen solid, a ringing in his ears, unable to move as she nestles against him, his arms wrapping around her. He has no idea what else to do, every muscle in his body tensing when she breathes out, and he knows then that this is where he’ll be the entire night. No sleep.

His eyes squeeze shut, and he tries not to concentrate on the feeling of her bare legs slotting against his, the warmth of her skin making his brain go all fuzzy.

“Is this… Is this better?” He asks, clearing his throat again.

She hums into him, and he can almost feel her smile into his chest. But she pulls back slightly, twisting so that she’s on her back and he’s propped up above her. “Almost,” she says softly, her eyes never leaving his.

“Are you sure you don’t want another blanket? I can—”

His words are cut off as she leans up to press her lips to his, her hand gently resting on his cheek.

It’s brief, barely five seconds, before she pulls away, biting at the inside of her lip.

Peter’s barely had time to process it; the softness of her lips, the warmth of her hand on his cheek. But it hits him in a dizzying flurry as she looks up at him, eyes sparkling, a glint of vulnerability in them as she waits for his response.

“What?” Is all he can ask, breathing out a giddy laugh.

“Was that okay?”

Peter’s smile widens. “God, yeah. But I mean—I’m just… Um… I’m a little surprised.”

Even in the dark of the room, Peter can see the way her face contorts. “Surprised? How?”

And then, it’s Peter’s turn to be confused. Was he not supposed to be?

“Uh… I don’t know it just kinda… came out of nowhere. Again—” He breathes out a chuckle. “—Not a bad thing. At all.”

She stares at him for a few seconds. She blinks. “Peter, I’ve been throwing myself at you this whole night.”

He almost falls off the bed. “What?!” He hisses.

“I thought I was being obvious,” she says, a laugh bubbling up from her chest. When he does nothing but stare at her in shock, she shrugs. “I was.”

“The… I—what? You…?” He laughs. “How?”

“Well—” Her fingers drum over the blanket. “—the icing fight was kinda classic flirty shit. Eating the gingerbread version of you that I said was cute.”

“I thought you were threatening me,” he quips.

“Who says I wasn’t?” She deapans, though he doesn’t miss the way the corner of her lips twitch upward. A beat passes. She blows a puff of air through her lips. “I mean, I dunno, I thought for sure you’d get the message when I said I slept without pants on.”

Pursing his lips, Peter nods slowly. “I did not.”

The silence afterward breaks when MJ lets out a sudden snicker.

“I’m such an idiot,” Peter scoffs to himself, covering his eyes. “God.”

MJ’s hand falls on his shoulder, gently—yet stiffly—patting him. “There, there,” she says. He can hear the smile in her voice. “I still think you’re cute,” she adds quietly. “So there’s that.”

He peeks out from behind his hands, unable to bite back his smile. “I’m a cute idiot?”

Her smile widens, even as she presses her lips together to keep it from growing. She reaches out, smoothing down his curls that had fallen onto his forehead.

“The cutest idiot.”

And as gross and sickly sweet as it is, Peter never wants this to end.

But when she leans in to kiss him again, he doesn’t mind. Not at all.

Her lips are soft against his, gentle and wanting. Her hand falls to his cheek, moving to cup his jaw as his arms coil around her waist, pulling himself closer as he leans over her. It feels like a dream, the warmth of her skin under the fabric of his t-shirt, the soft sighs she lets out as he deepens the kiss, and there’s a pang in his chest when he wonders if he’ll wake up from this, cold and alone.

But he knows it’s real. All of it. All of her.

His hand falls to her hip, slipping just underneath the hem of her shirt to draw soft lines into her skin. “MJ,” he says simply, breaking the kiss only for his lips to find a spot on the underside of her jaw. “I like you. So much.”

He hears her breathy laugh, a sound that makes his heart skip. “I like you, too. So much.”

And he grins against her neck, lips and tongue dragging back up to meet hers again in a searing kiss. Though the room is cold, there’s nothing but warmth underneath the blanket, under her touch, and he thinks that he could stay here forever.

Goodbye college.

Goodbye anything that’s not this bed and MJ.

It’s been a whirlwind; for one, realizing these feelings only just a few hours ago, and now he’s kissing her. His head’s spinning, slowly finding himself getting more and more addicted to the feel of her soft skin under his fingers and palms as they smooth down over her behind, along her bare thigh, drinking every inch of her in.

The sound of her moan against his mouth causes a flooding rush in his brain, the heat pooled in the pit of his stomach to burn, and he’d give anything to hear it again. His hand travels up the inside of her thigh, settling on her stomach, thumb resting on the trim of her cotton underwear.

She breathes in sharply, her muscles twitching underneath him. And he breaks away, muttering an apology into her lips. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she breathes back, and he can feel her smile against his lips as she pulls him back down. “I’m cold.”

It’s at the moment that he wonders if his heart will actually burst through his ribs with the way it’s pounding against them. He laughs breathily before eagerly kissing her, his fingers toying with the waistband of her panties. It almost makes him chuckle again when she subtly raises her hips, encouraging him, but he holds back, still not able to keep from smiling against her as his hands moves to cup her over the fabric of her underwear.

It’s so dizzying, how much warmer she is where his hand holds her, the heat radiating from her, and he has to screw his eyes shut to concentrate, beginning to draw slow lines up and down her center over the thin, damp cotton.

She sighs shakily against him, her head falling back, breaking the kiss as his lips find a home on the underside of her jaw. He brings her closer to him, nestled into his chest as he continues his ghost-like touches.

When his fingers finally brush over her clit, she sucks in a breath, one of her hands coming to comb through his curls.

He’s achingly slow as he circles the bundle of nerves through the fabric, matching the relaxed rhythm with his kisses on her neck. He knows he could go faster, that he could just get a move on, and judging from the way MJ’s grip in his hair tightens when he increases his pressure, she does, too.

But this moment is one he wants to stay in. To savor. He wants to pack up everything he owns and live in it.

But he also knows that his self-control might not last that long.

Again, for the nth time that night, he finds himself smiling, both at her soft whines as he picks up his speed and at the way her hand falls to cling to his shoulder. He can hear in how her breath hitches and quickens, feel how her muscles start to twitch underneath him, how she stiffens, that she’s close.

And right at that moment, he pulls away.

“Peter—”

Her whine is cut off by his hand dipping under the waistband of her underwear, finally touching her. Her mouth hangs open, a choked gasp spilling from her as he dips his fingers into her entrance, gathering her arousal and swirling it over her sensitive clit, and he can’t help but groan into her neck, feeling how wet she is.

How wet she is for him.

Her back arches as she pushes herself into him, his pace on her clit quickening when she moans out his name. And he murmurs hers back, his soft kisses on her skin a contrast to his feverish touches as he eagerly works her heat.

His fingers dip down again to her entrance, teasing faint circles before he slides one in, his eyes once again screwing shut at the warmth, at the feeling of her clenching around him. He works a steady pace, pumping his finger in and out, smiling at her wet gasp when he pushes a second one in, instinctively curling them as he glides through her wetness. Her grip on his shoulder tightens even more, nails digging as he finds that perfect spot inside her.

But then, when he feels her getting close again, he stops, and he wonders if she might hit him by the way she groans in frustration. Still, he smiles—cheekily—as he grabs the hand on his shoulder, guiding it down to her center.

“Can you touch yourself?” He asks, his tone too innocent for such a request, and he knows it.

MJ finds it in herself to laugh, shaking her head and closing her eyes as her hand sneaks under the waistband of her underwear and starts toying with her clit.

And for a moment, in all honesty, Peter almost forgets that he’s a part of this, too entranced in watching her face as she touches herself.

But then, he remembers. A true gentlemen, he peels her underwear from her legs, helping her kick them off before sneaking his hand down again to play with the wetness at her entrance, drowning his fingers in it. An airy smile tugs at her lips when he pushes his two fingers back in, languidly pumping in and out of her.

“Teamwork,” he mutters dumbly into her neck.

Her laugh is a beautiful sound, but it’s broken by a low moan when Peter’s fingers curl inside of her, her eyes screwing shut as she matches her pace on her clit with his buried in her cunt.

“That’s it, MJ,” he whispers hotly as she clenches around him, her muscles fluttering, feeling her teetering on the edge as her thighs start to close around his hand. He watches her expression for a moment, seeing it building and building, before moving to capture her lips into a heated, messy kiss. It’s clumsy, all tongue and teeth as her high climbs.

And she comes with a loud cry, breaking the kiss, her other hand clinging to him for dear life, nails digging into his skin as her muscles flex and twitch. Her breathing is ragged as she comes down, her hand on her clit moving to grab his working her heat. She holds his hand for a moment, leaning up to kiss him again.

It’s slower, yet just as hungry.

Peter moves to wipe his hand on his boxers before placing it on her hip, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against her skin as he kisses her.

When they break apart, she pushes her forehead against his, smiling dreamily.

“Still cold?” Peter asks, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Is that better?”

She huffs out a breathy laugh, planting another quick kiss on his smile. She curls further into him, nuzzling into his neck, her breath tickling.

“Much better.”

#spideychelle #petermj #petermjane #promptmas #promptmas 2k20

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steverogersnotebook · 3 years

Photo

Neighbors - Sofa Date

NEIGHBORS

Recovering TJ Hammond and Steve Rogers (between TWS/CW) who try to find comfort on sleepless nights through baking, music, and friendship. An offer to share company and their mutual talents when being alone is just too much leads to friendship.

(my inbox is open for ideas, prompts and headcanons)

NEIGHBORS fluff | gen [platonic friendships] / Steve & TJ Hammond | minor romance TJ & OMC Julian [SERIES of oneshots]

[read on ao3]

A/N: I started this for Valentine’s Day 2017 or 2018. I don’t know what the holdup was, It’s been almost complete ever since. Well, better late than never!! TYSM every one!

The heavy bag landed atop the previous three, in no better shape, all losing their fill through the ruined covers, causing Steve to wonder if he’d ever find something that could stand up to his strength and frustration instead of prematurely exploding.

Though these troubled nights were on the decline with the catharsis of baking and having friends like Sam and TJ, sometimes, baking just didn’t cut it and he was loathe to push himself into his friends’ space - again - and Steve would resort to a little controlled destruction.

Tonight wasn’t going down without a fight. He’d tried to get some rest after the call came telling him that in a few hours they were ‘wheels up’. It had been fruitless and resulted in a run. He’d amped up his speed and set a course for himself that should have done the trick, but after running fast and far, Steve’s run and subsequent shower didn’t put him any closer to a settled state.

Next try, the kitchen, resulting in cookies and fudge. Ordinarily he wouldn’t bother with something like that in the hours before a mission, knowing he’d be gone for an unknown number of days, but tomorrow was Valentine’s day, and he’d yet to figure out what to do for TJ.

Even though TJ wasn’t alone this year for the holiday, it felt like a tradition. He didn’t have many of those left, so it just felt like something he had to do.

Making fudge from his Ma’s recipe had brought both her and Bucky’s sister to mind. The memory of their childlike joys - from sampling the finished product to trying to cut the fudge into shapes with a knife, not just simple boring squares, to entertain Becca - and the rich aroma had provided all the comfort he’d expected.

Clearly, Steve thought as he unwound tape from his wrist, It just wasn’t enough to quell the agitation over the continuing uneventful search for Bucky and the stress of the impending mission.

So that was how he wound up tearing up heavy bags in a dimly lit gym. He really did need to find a new schtick. And he definitely needed a second shower.

Lying across his bed after his shower, unable to relax - still - Steve laughed at his naive expectations. He reached toward the end of his bed to drag his t-shirt to him as he sat up. Steve tugged the thin fabric over his half-dried hair. He stretched the soft, worn fabric hem over the waist of his pajama pants.

“Might as well finish the thing,” Steve’s voice echoed through the quiet space. He shuffled his stockinged feet across the smooth, clean floor. The glow from the light over the stove led him to the frosted confection. Fingers that had sported bruises when he came home, but were now perfectly pink gently tapped at the icing to see if it had set up.

Satisfied with the firm, smooth texture, Steve inspected the box made from cookies for any weak points before filling it with heart-shaped fudge pieces. Overkill? Maybe, but he could laugh it off with TJ. The thought propelled him out the door and down the stairs until he stood in front of TJ’s door, in his pajamas.

Oops.

He wondered if this was the best idea - if it was even ‘proper’. Shoving doubts aside in favor of not spending the next few hours sweating over yet another physical distraction or tossing and turning fitfully, Steve knocked on the door.

---.---

TJ was just putting the finishing touches on the last of the heart shaped cake pops that he’d decided to bravely tackle on his own, when the knock on the door startled him. Well, maybe he could salvage it, he thought as he wiped his fingers on the flour sack towel and headed for the door.

He wasn’t expecting the sight of Steve standing in the doorway wearing brightly colored socks, brown plaid pajama pants, and a stretched out, yet still too small purple t-shirt threw him. He looked -- anxious.

“Steve, you okay? Come in.”

“Yeah, I thought I’d bring this by.” Steve looked around the apartment as he handed TJ a heart-shaped box, made from layers of cookies. “I’m not interrupting?”

“Of course not. Thanks, wow. This is -” TJ lifted the top cookie that doubled as a lid, to see heart-shaped fudge inside the hollowed out cookie box. “Beautiful.”

“Ma’s old recipe.” Steve’s smile was a weak attempt.

“I can’t wait to try it. Come, sit down.”

“It’s Valentine’s day, you must be expecting Julian, I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Valentine’s Day Eve, and nope, not expecting him until tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Steve sighed. His relief was almost as palpable as whatever was troubling him. “TJ, would you mind playing something - I don’t know - mellow?”

TJ didn’t bother asking, again, what might be bothering Steve. He simply made yummy sounds as he set the box on the piano.

They both sat, Steve heavily on the sofa and TJ eased onto the piano bench. His fingers touched the keys and the first thing to come to mind was the tune Steve had requested the night they’d met. The wan smile from moments ago softened and Steve closed his eyes. Two and a half tunes later, Steve sighed before sitting forward with his elbows on his knees. “So, you do have plans for Valentine’s Day?”

“Me? Other than some iffy cake pops, no, but Julian says he has something planned for me. Miles is with his mom this week.”

“How glad are you that Miles and I broke the ice for you two?”

“Are you still trying to take credit? You know it was my legs and ass,” TJ chuckled.

Steve’s smile eased some more. “I’m glad it’s working out, TJ.” He rubbed his palms up and down the length of his thighs before sitting back against the cushions again. “I’ve got to head out in a few hours.”

“More top secret stuff?” TJ turned away from the piano keys.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “You know, just once I wish I could confide in someone outside of it all.”

“Yeah. Hey, have you considered talking to a therapist?”

“I did think about it. I can’t figure out how it all works now. With everything - I mean with S.H.I.E.L.D. - it had to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. approved doctor. You know, definitely not outside. Then after - who’s qualified? Who’s not a security risk? I’d rather talk to you. You, I trust.”

“That really means a lot, Steve.” TJ couldn’t begin to express how much it meant without losing all dignity. Not that Steve probably thought he had any. “If it gets to be too much, you still could. I know a thing or two about security.

Steve pulled his feet up onto the cushion, the limber bastard looked deceptively small just now.

“Hey, you wanna see what I’ve been trying to do?” TJ knew it was a lame attempt at a topic change, but it was less awkward than a pained awkward silence would be.

“Yeah, sure.” Steve looked over his knees at TJ.

“Steve, are you frightened?”

“No more than usual. Just - when will it stop? I thought it was over when I woke up in this new world. It wasn’t. I thought we were doing something by bringing S.H.I.E.L.D. down. We didn’t.”

“You did, rousting so many corrupt agents and supporters,” TJ lunged forward in his urgent attempt to mollify Steve, nearly toppling the piano bench. “I mean -”

“Thanks, TJ. I know what you mean. There are still cells out there - and it doesn’t feel like we’re ever going to find the end. So -” Steve uncurled from the compact shape and surged to his feet - feigned energy mingling with whatever the serum did to make him quick and agile. He followed TJ to the kitchen. “- What’s your project?”

“Valentine’s gifts for my best friend and my boyfriend.” TJ knew that he still flushed when he said the word, but Steve wouldn’t harass him for it.

“I’d rather be watching Miles for you two to go on your date tomorrow.”

“How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“Possibly a week. Hopefully just a week.”

TJ plucked away the blob of now hardened icing that had plopped over the edge of the heart “I was doing well, the knock on the door startled me. You think I can salvage it?”

“Yeah. Hey, these look great. If you can get most of that off so that it’s flush, you should be able to give it a little touch-up with the red. Then you can go back to decorating.”

“I was going to do roses, but gave up early on. Hearts are my speed right now. Maybe I can practice roses before Julian’s birthday.”

“Of course you can. Maybe we can figure it out together.” Steve spread his hands across the flat plane of the countertop, “If you’d like.”

“Of course. It’s your fault I even considered this. You should have to do the time.”

“Where are the rejects?”

“Nonexistent,” TJ said, fighting a grin. “Not as in ‘TJ didn’t make any mistakes but this one’ - but as in, ‘I ate them’.”

Steve smiled, shaking his head “I should have known.”

TJ painted red candy coating over the white spot on the damaged cake pop with a surprisingly steady hand, considering how close he was to laughing at them both. “How’s this?” He held the confection towards Steve for inspection.

“You’d have to know about the mistake to find it, but if you’re nervous about it, you could give that one to your best friend and pick out the pristine ones for Julian.”

“Says my best friend.”

“Me?” Steve’s feigned surprise was terrible.

“You don’t go undercover do you?”

“Occasionally.”

“Well, don’t get yourself caught and killed, okay? Cos that was terrible acting. How do you feel about a Valentine’s Eve pizza and movie until you have to take off? Or you’re welcome to crash on the sofa if you just want to unwind.”

“There will be no crashing for many hours,” Steve confided. “I’ve had this nervous energy for several hours, went to the gym. It helped a little. Got home and tried to unwind and now I’m here. Pizza does sound great.”

“So, did you snag yourself a Valentine this year? Anybody going to be disappointed you’re ditching them on the big day?”

“No, I haven’t been looking. If you’d like, I can have Nat give you a call and you two can plot against me?”

“No, hey, if you’re happy - that’s what matters.”

“I sent flowers to Peggy. They’ve moved her back to England. I think I’ll stop by before I come back.”

“Might be just the thing.” TJ picked up his phone to order pizza. “The usual?”

“Hm. Yeah, sounds good. Am I overthinking the dating thing?”

“Probably. It seems like you’re trying to avoid a long-term thing, and in the process you’re missing out on good company and fun things like shows, dinner, and weird but enjoyable adventure dates. I’m not the only person who likes those things, Steve.”

“You’re saying I’ve been using you as a surrogate?”

“People have asked if we’re dating. Even after I started seeing Julian. I don’t mind it, it’s good for my reputation. You’re probably suffering in that department though.”

“I’m willing to take a hit for your burgeoning reputation,” Steve teased.

“That’s why you’re my best friend. Here - bestie - Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Steve took the offered arrangement of cake pops with a warm smile. “Thank you, TJ. You’re not getting any flak from Julian about our friendship, are you?”

“Hell no. He loves that you sized him up both in and out of the Iron Man costume. He was intimidated enough to ask if there was something between us. But I let him know the only competition he has is if he messes up your pastry apprentice.”

“Damn straight,” Steve laughed.

--.--

Music filled the Audi but it might as well have been silent for as much attention Julian paid the noise. His mind was chock full of loneliness. The same thing that he experienced every time he had to drop Miles off at the ex’s.

He tried to think ahead to his Valentine’s plans for TJ. A late brunch, followed by an afternoon and evening on the town. It should be enough to sustain him through the night, but the glaring silence that he’d pretended to look forward to - the lack of childish glee and minor tantrums - made him restless.

Long fingers stroked a strong, smooth jaw before clicking the car stereo off and turning the car toward TJ’s apartment.

He recognized the pizza delivery guy as their regular from TJ’s favorite pizza joint. As they both got out of their cars at the same time, he nodded toward the guy, “223?”

At the nod of recognition, Julian smiled. “Let me take that off your hands.”

“It’s already paid for,” the kid spoke up when Julian reached for his wallet.

“Right. Then this is for you.” Julian smiled. “Thanks. Be careful out there.”

The kid took the cash and grinned. “Thank you, you too - uh - I mean - have a good evening.”

Julian saluted him as he passed, balancing the two jumbo pizza boxes on one hand. He carried them inside wondering if Steve had stopped by, TJ wasn’t expecting him and that was a lot of pizza. Julian let himself in, as he was accustomed to doing, and stopped short when it looked like Captain America might take him out without hesitation.

--.--

They both turned toward the door when it opened. TJ wasn’t surprised, but Steve - unaccustomed to this type of visit - was nearly to his feet, prepared to fight. TJ had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. “Jules, you startled us.”

“I come bearing pizza, is that enough to cover the price of admission? And buy forgiveness?”

Steve backed down instantly, knowing Julian wasn’t a threat. Still, he appeared ready to bolt without notice.

TJ met Julian with a kiss, which went a long way toward alleviating his loneliness.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. You think there’s enough for one more?”

“I see you accosted our delivery person.” TJ followed Julian around the sofa, trying to take the boxes, before giving up and letting Julian set them on the coffee table. “Did you tip well?”

“Of course.” Julian passed a large hand through his wavy hair before putting his palm on the side of TJ’s neck, “Do I look like a barbarian?”

“Jury’s out.”

“Hi Steve. I really hope you don’t mind me crashing. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Julian,” Steve nodded, the momentary shock had melted away and he smiled at the friendly greeting. “I know the feeling. The more the merrier.”

“What kept you up?” TJ asked as he opened the pizza boxes and lined them up in front of Steve and Julian.

“Too quiet.”

“Miles is with his mom,” TJ laid a hand on Julian’s wrist. “You really should be having celebratory naps when he’s with her, that little one is always going.”

“That he is.”

“Must be hard,” Steve said. Loading his plate with slices of pizza, he again considered leaving. He just couldn’t get behind facing the loneliness. He definitely understood too quiet. It might be more permanent for him than for Julian, but the feeling wasn’t easy no matter how long it prevailed.

“Just the first few days. It’s so much easier to adjust to his coming back than his being gone. He loves it there, she’s really a great mom. I just - I’m learning how to behave in both worlds.”

“Let’s eat and watch a movie, maybe that will distract both of you for a bit.” TJ moved past them both to turn the television on. “None of that I hope I’m not in the way nonsense from either of you.”

Steve sat back against the cushions, his plate piled with slices of pizza balanced on the sofa arm next to him. “You’re the boss.”

“Yeah, for now,” Julian teased, tossing napkins on top of the pizza boxes.

“I’m offended,” TJ pouted as he sat heavily on the cushion next to Julian, and sprawled half across Julian’s leg.

Steve snickered before taking a bite of one of his slices of pizza. The trio settled into the comfy sofa in hopes that the movie could distract them.

<<<>>>>

The vibrating phone in his pocket woke Steve. At some point in the movie, the sleep that had eluded him all evening had taken over. He didn’t bother looking at the phone, just slipped out of TJ’s apartment, leaving TJ and Julian snoozing on the opposite end of the sofa.

He tapped a quick reply to Sam, and took the stairs by twos and threes, silent except for one stair that creaked if you breathed on it. In his apartment, he sent TJ a thank you and another Valentine’s day wish before grabbing his gear from beside the door, deciding that he could change clothes on the way. Off to Lagos, for what he hoped would be a quick recon mission.

#✪#neighbors #sofa date #tj hammond #steve rogers #omc julian #tj and steve are neighbors and friends #julian might resemble that aquaman guy #valentine's day #valentine's day eve

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diorsho · 4 years

Text

sugar cookies

bingo slot: kitchen disaster

words: 2k

pairing: kirishima x reader

warnings: none !

an: this is a day late but happy birthday zebra !!! besides the admins, you were one of the first members to welcome me and make me feel comfortable on the server :( ur amazing and i hope we can stay friends for a long time ! the bnhabookclub has brought so many ppl together to create one big family and i’m so grateful that we’re apart of it!! stay safe sweetheart and know you’re loved by many !! including kiri hehe

~~~

Kirishima watched as you paced around the kitchen, words tumbling out of your mouth as you went back and forth between the table and oven. Flour had dusted your apron before you had even started baking and a smile made its way onto the boy’s face. Your phone was clenched tightly in your hands as you scrolled through website after website trying to figure something out to your current situation.

“How did we forget to pick them up? Of all things! We forgot the eggs Eiji!” Your words were rushed and you threw your hands in the air hoping to emphasize your big mistake. The two of you had gone grocery shopping with plans to bake when you were both free from your heroic duties, and here you were but egg-less. Kirishima’s smile never left his face and he motioned for you to come near him and sit at the stools near the kitchen bar. You pouted as you made your way to him and placed your hands on his thighs, he rubbed at your arms hoping to calm you in any way and that your day offs weren’t going to be spent panicking.

“Okay, babe, just breathe. It’s all gonna be fine. Let’s take a look together and we'll figure somethin’ out yeah?” He made eye contact with you and you felt all the stress leave your body as you locked eyes with your lover. He had the tendency to calm you down in any situation, big or small. He was able to talk you down from stressing over how your hair looked in the morning to just punching villains in the face cause they deserved it.

Kirishima and you looked at the small screen for a minute before you finally came to a website that gave you a substitute for eggs and that you already had in your apartment kitchen. You heard Kirishima stifle a laugh, at your breath of relief.

“Mayonnaise? Who would put that in sugar cookies?” he teased.

“We are,” you huff.

“Yes, ma’am!” His pretty face held a dumb grin as he watched you get your confidence back about baking together, and you smiled back softly. You gathered the new ingredient and put it near the other ones laying on the counter top, Kirishima falling behind you before he grabbed your phone from your back pocket. A small surprised sound left your lips but you washed your hands as he set up some music to play while you were in the kitchen. He lathered his hands in soap and turned to see you getting a hand mixer out from a cabinet, he quickly flung his wet hands out and the water got everywhere. A loud laugh left his mouth and you turned around with a shocked expression on your face before you soon joined him in laughing at what he did. You were quick to get your hands wet again and rubbed them on Kirishima’s shirt as you winked at him. He laughed louder and moved to hug you with his wet hands and shirt and you yelled trying to get away from your lover but nothing stopped him as he hugged you from behind and got the back of your shirt damp. Laughter filled the entire apartment and you flailed in his arms trying to get him to let go,

“Okay, sweetheart! I’m letting you go, stop elbowing me in the stomach!” Your heart melted at the pet name and you stopped resisting as he let go to turn you around in his arms. You met his red eyes and it took everything in you to not kiss him right there.

“If you’re not gonna kiss me, let’s start the cookies.” You pouted once again and stood on your tiptoes to brush his lips with yours, he let out a shaky breath before closing the distance and sealing your lips. The kiss was sweet and short but it still filled your stomach with butterflies, and from the gleaming look in Kirishima’s eyes, he felt the same. You pecked his lips once more before getting back to your tasks. Kirishima moved to start filling the bowls with the dry ingredients as you moved on to combine the wet ones. You danced along with the music as you mixed the mayonnaise in, you could hear Kirishima humming along and you joined him without a care in the world.

Kirishima gasped and you heard something fall, as you turned to look over at him you were met with a not so pleasant sight. The red-headed was covered from the abdomen up with flour and the air surrounding him was flour-filled. The sack of flour was on its side on the countertop with flour spilling out everywhere. You met his scared eyes and with the spoon to mix your ingredients, you pointed at him.

“What just happened?”

“It slipped.” Kirishima slowly broke into a smile and you matched seeming that he was okay. He closed the flour sack and washed his hands, and the counter.

“How did you even manage that one, babe?” Your back was turned to him but he knew you meant in a teasing way, he could practically hear the smile in your voice. He cleaned the area and stood next to you, careful to not bother you as to not keep you from your cookies. He laughed loudly and you joined in when he got back to work on getting his part done.

“I really don’t know! I was just trying to measure it and It slipped from my hand and poof! Flour everywhere.” You laughed again at his hand movements that exaggerated what happened and he joined in while reopening the flour. He carefully remeasured the leftover flour and added it in before handing you the mixed dry materials. You added it in little by little and when it was thoroughly mixed you felt the pro hero staring at you. You let it happen for a while you started scoping out your the perfect cookie sizes on the baking sheet, you turned to him admiring you and he seemed to snap out of it, looking away with a small blush.

“What’s wrong, Eiji?” You looked back over at the cookies and his face had a small pout that was too cute to ignore, you stopped what you were doing and pushed it aside to take his hands in yours.

“You’re amazing.” He rubbed his thumbs along your hands and you pouted back at him,

“What’s with the sudden confession?” He sighed and brought your hands to his mouth, kissing the back of both of your hands.

“No reason, just love you a lot, sweetheart.” The words were rushed and he smiled at the look of nothing but love in your eyes. They mirrored his and you were quick to pull his body near yours, a small hmph left his mouth as you laid your head in his neck. He kissed your shoulder before placing his hands around your waist and squeezed you tight. Kirishima lifted you in the air and spun you around while you let out small giggles. You stroked his head and threaded your fingers in his hair, you moved your lips to his ear.

“Can you put me down?”

“Why?”

“I wanna kiss you.” Kirishima never seemed to get enough of your kisses and his movements were quick to place you back down on the ground, he cradled your face in his bigger hands. You let your hands wander to his hips and pulled him in, your lips melded together as you kissed in the kitchen. You started to nip at his bottom lip and he smiled into the kiss, you broke away from one another and he locked eyes with your confused face.

“We need to finish the cookies soon if you want to eat them tonight,” he rubbed his thumbs against your cheeks and you rolled your eyes at his comment but broke away from his hold when he winked at you. Kirishima made sure the oven was preheated and he was shocked to see it not even turned on, “Hey babe, we’ve got a problem…”

You wanted him to tell you that you hadn’t given him enough kisses, but when you turned and met his eyes you realized he was pointing at the oven that was stone cold. You had forgotten to turn on the oven earlier.

“We didn– We didn’t preheat the oven!? Are you kidding me?” You were finished with rolling out the raw cookies and you let out an exasperated sigh when realizing this meant you’d have to wait even longer for your cookies. Kirishima was laughing again at your mistake and you threw a dish towel at him, he easily dodged the soft material and placed it back where it belonged. You told him to turn it to the desired degrees and moved to sit at the kitchen bar seeing as now all you had to do was wait. He patted his hands against the gym shorts he was wearing, a small cloud was left nearly shimmering in the air, and he saw you hold back a laugh. Kirishima stood between your open legs and let his hands wander on your thighs.

“Today was a disaster wasn’t it?” You let him grab your hands and he played with your fingers awaiting your answer,

“It kinda was but I wouldn’t expect anything less from us. Plus, it was still fun since it was with you.” Your fingers itched to be entangled with his and he saw you watching them on your lap with a small smile. He threaded them together and watched your smile grow. He seemed to know you better than you knew yourself.

“Yeah I agree, baby.” He placed a kiss on your forehead and you relished in his warmth. His hands were warm in yours and he motioned for you to follow him to the living room.

He sat you both down on the soft couches and you moved to lay down. Kirishima soon followed and he watched you get comfortable next to his body as he turned on the tv to see a movie you both liked playing already.

“Oh, I love you too, E.” You saw a smile make its way to his face and his eyes crinkled at the ends, “Sorry I didn’t say back earlier.” He shushed you and let you move around until you were comfortable.

“Don’t need to say it back, I know how you feel, Y/n.” He saw you sleepily smile and he let his eyes drift back to the tv. The pro heroes laid on the couch basking in each other's presence, and it wasn’t long after that you seemed to fall asleep half an hour later. He smiled and pressed a small kiss to your nose before finally hearing their old oven beep signifying it was ready to use. Kirishima felt bad that he had to move so suddenly but he knew it’d be worth it when you go to eat cookies later tonight. He placed the two trays in the oven and set a timer, he made his way back to you and saw you hadn’t moved. Kirishima felt his heart strings pull at the cute face you made while you slept and laid down next to you. He knew he couldn’t fall asleep since the oven was still on but he watched the movie to pass time and sure enough the cookies seemed to be done. He left you again to let the cookie cool on their own mats before he turned the oven off and placed himself back next to you.

Almost as if you knew he’d be there to stay, you cuddled into his chest and he let his hand drape over you as he let himself finally close his own eyes. Cookies could wait.

~~~

taglist: | @pixxiesdust | @bnhabookclub |

masterlist | bingo mlist | kofi

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grannyandgrandpascreations · 5 months

Text

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

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You Set My Heart Ablaze pt. 9/25

The winter holidays were a chaotic affair for the wolf pack. Since their own families were a mess it had become tradition to come together as a team and spend the Solstice as one big found family. This year was extra special because it was Ciri’s first winter with them and her first without her own family. This year was Lambert’s turn to host and he was going to make damned sure it was the best Solstice that the team had ever had.

The only problem was his cooking skills.

Cooking had never been his strong point.

When he’d lived with his brother, Eskel had done most of the cooking in the house and had developed quite a passion for it. So Lambert, like any good younger sibling, had quite happily taken advantage of every second of it. Of course, once living together had reached boiling point and they’d decided it was best for everyone to move apart, Lambert’s quality of diet had dropped considerably. He now lived on ready meals and takeaways most of the time, unless Eskel took pity on him, which happened on a fairly regular basis.

He stared at the cook book in front of him. The woman on front was smiling brightly in a sunlit kitchen and holding a ridiculously picturesque pie.

“Fuck it.” Lambert growled as he flipped through the pages to the right section.

He’d brought all the right ingredients and he’d carefully written down all the timings for everything, just like he’d seen Eskel do in the past. He read through the recipe for the roast lamb a couple more times before tying an apron round his waist and pulling his hair back into a bun.

“Cooking. I can do this. Easy as pie!” He grumbled as he pulled the ingredients from the fridge.

Today was all about prep, chopping veg and potatoes ready for cooking tomorrow, baking cookies for snacks during the day. He was also making an onion soup to start with that could be reheated tomorrow. He grabbed his peeler and stared down at the sack of potatoes.

There were so many fucking potatoes.

He was going to be here all day.

He should probably ask for help. Eskel always called him and Renfri round to help chop shit up.

“Fuck off, I don’t need help.” He grumbled and got to work with the potatoes.

He was about three potatoes in when he decided he was going to die of boredom. He washed the starch off his hands and put on some music. The sound of acoustic guitar filled the kitchen. It was some unknown folk band that he’d discovered online by chance, called Dandelion and the Bards. The two lead singers Dandelion and Priscilla harmonised so perfectly that it was like they’d almost been born to sing together.

He spent the next hour or so dancing around his kitchen with the potato peeler and singing along to the songs. The music was so loud he almost didn’t hear the doorbell. He paused, turned the music off and dumped the potato in the bucket of water.

The doorbell went off another three times in quick succession.

Eskel.

“I’m coming you ass!” He called out as the doorbell continued to ring.

He swung the door open with more force than necessary and glared at his brother who was grinning back at him. Geralt was stood behind him with Ciri perched on his shoulders. Geralt raised an eyebrow at his appearance and Lambert looked down at his starch covered apron. He huffed but didn’t say anything, for Ciri’s sake.

“Ah Ciri! Hello little lion cub!” He waved the peeler at the young girl and then paused. “Wait. What day is it?”

“Don’t panic, you big lump. We’re here to help.” Eskel pulled him into a hug and thumped him on the back.

“Oh. Yeah. Well I have it all under control.” He growled.

“Nice singing.” Geralt said with a smirk.

He felt his cheeks heat up, damned ginger complexion. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Sooo… what’s the plan of attack?” Eskel asked as he pushed through into the house. “Apart from putting the heating on. It’s freezing in here!”

Lambert shrugged. “Kitchen’s hot.”

The four of them made their back into the kitchen. Eskel pulled out a bundle of aprons from his rucksack and a cloth carrier that contained his set of actually sharp knives. It took about three minutes to delegate the tasks between the four of them. Eskel was in charge of marinading the lamb and making sure it was properly trimmed and ready to go in the oven. Lambert was to finish the potatoes and start on the veg. Geralt and Ciri would be on cookies. It was a tad cramped in his kitchen with all four of them working together and they almost crashed into each other at every turn but they were laughing and chatting away.

It was actually sort of fun.

He was starting to understand why Eskel enjoyed cooking so much.

They sorted out a game plan for the next day. Eskel went through his list of times and corrected any mistakes. Honestly, how was he supposed to know you were meant to let the lamb rest out of the oven after cooking. Surely that just made the food go cold. He hated cold food but Eskel insisted it would be ok but they had to make sure the plates were heated. In the morning Ciri and Lambert would make cinnamon buns together for team breakfast, Eskel would be in charge of the savoury snacks and salad, and Geralt would make the mulled wine and hot spiced apple juice for Ciri.

That way Lambert wouldn’t be stuck in the kitchen for the whole day and he’d actually get to spend some time with the wolf pack. He breathed a sigh of relief as he collapsed down onto the sofa with a beer in his hand. Ciri was sat by his feet with a glass of chocolate milk and Geralt and Eskel were lounged out on the arm chairs.

“See that wasn’t so bad.” Eskel grinned.

“I would have been fine.” He growled back.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Seemed like you were having a party in there before we arrived.”

He shrugged. “I like to cook to music.”

Eskel almost choked on his beer. “You don’t like to cook.”

He growled. “I do too!”

“You never once cooked!”

“Only because I knew you liked it so much!” He shot back.

“I had fun!” Ciri announced loudly. “Even if Dad did drop flour in my hair.”

“Sorry, Princess.” Geralt grumbled.

“It’s ok! I blame Uncle Lambert! He crashed into you.”

Geralt laughed. “I blame Uncle Lambert too.”

“So what was the music you were listening to, Uncle Lambert?” Ciri asked as she wiped chocolate milk off her nose.

Lambert chuckled as she scrunched her nose up. She still managed to miss a huge smear of chocolate that was on her cheek. He wasn’t even sure how she’d managed to get chocolate that far away from her mouth. Geralt sighed at went to the kitchen to get a damp cloth to help her clean up.

“A band I found on the internet.” Lambert smiled. “You wanna hear some of their stuff?”

Ciri nodded enthusiastically. “Yes please! Dad get off!” She squirmed as Geralt attacked her with the kitchen roll.

“Mucky cub.” He laughed.

“I can do it myself!” She squealed and grabbed for the paper towel. Geralt let her take it and she scrubbed ferociously at her face until she was sure it was all clean. “Good?”

“Perfect.” He ruffled her hair fondly and she grumbled under her breath like an angry kitten.

Lambert went to get his phone so he could put his music back on. The melodic tones of Dandelion’s guitar filled the room. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Eskel chirped up.

“Thought you liked the heavy metal stuff.”

Lambert shrugged. “I’m a man of many tastes.”

“I like it!” Ciri agreed. “Sounds like Mr Jaskier’s playing.”

Eskel and Lambert both rolled their eyes at that. They heard enough about Jaskier from Geralt at work. They had almost forgotten that it was all because Ciri was just as fond of her teacher.

The first song was sung almost entirely by Priscilla. It was a soft heartbreaking number that always left him feeling emotionally strung out. It was only about halfway through that he remembered the cursing and he coughed loudly over the swear words earning a glare from Geralt. Ciri didn’t seem to notice though, thankfully.

The next song began just as quietly on the guitar but this was one of Dandelion’s. The moment he started to sing, Ciri began to scream excitedly and Geralt spat a mouthful of beer out onto the floor.

“Mr Jaskier!!” Ciri shrieked.

“Calm down, Cub.” Geralt spluttered. “I’m sure it just sounds like him.”

Lambert and Eskel exchanged a despairing look.

“No!” Ciri stomped. “It is him!”

Geralt looked at Lambert with a fierce glare. “What the hell, Lambert?”

He put his hands up in defence. “Woah now. I didn’t know anything about Ciri’s teacher.”

“Jaskier isn’t exactly a common name.” Geralt challenged angrily.

“Exactly!” Lambert cried. “It’s not Jaskier!”

“It is!” Ciri demanded with tears welling up in her eyes.

“Well what’s the band called?” Eskel asked as he scooped Ciri up into a hug.

“Dandelion and the Bards!” Lambert exclaimed. “Not Jaskier. The guy singing is Dandelion.”

“No!!” Ciri cried.

“Ciri, Princess.” Geralt said calmly and tried to smooth the young girl’s hair as she squirmed in Eskel’s arms.

“No!!” She repeated.

Lambert sighed and turned the music off. “I’m sorry Ciri. It doesn’t say anything about any Jaskier.”

But it didn’t matter. Ciri was having a meltdown. No matter what they did or said helped her to calm down and in the end Geralt had to bundle the screaming girl into the car with the promise that they would email Mr Jaskier about the band. Eskel left soon afterwards with the excuse that his goat needed feeding and Lambert was left alone once more.

“Ah blessed peace.” He sighed happily as he watched Eskel amble down the road towards his own house.

__________

For the second day in the row, Lambert’s kitchen was covered in flour. Ciri’s hair was now as white as her father’s and her fingers were covered in sticky cinnamon sugar. Lambert’s shirt was covered in tiny floury handprints from where Ciri had hug attacked him, her tantrum from the previous day now a distant memory. He’d reluctantly made sure to uncheck all of Dandelion’s songs from his Solstice playlist. He would miss the calming melodies of his favourite band but it was not worth another screaming match from the youngest wolf cub.

Ciri was dancing happily in the middle of the kitchen. She twirled and leapt about effortlessly with all the energy of a six year old. She was incredibly graceful and Lambert wondered whether Geralt had secretly enrolled her in some sort of dance lessons. That was a thing girls did right? He groaned as he thought about his present for Ciri. He’d probably completely fucked up. He’d bought her a wooden sword and matching bow and arrow set, something he’d always wanted as a kid but never had the good fortune to receive. Ciri would like that right?

He ran a hand through his own hair with a sigh. How the fuck was the White Wolf raising a daughter? It seemed like only yesterday they were all just getting pissed at the pub after every shift. Lambert had to admit. Geralt had guts. He would probably have had a meltdown if the task had been left to him but Geralt seemed to have taken to it pretty well.

“Uncle Lambert!!” Ciri giggled excitably.

“Yeah?” He scowled at her mischievous grin.

“You made your hair all white!” She pointed up at him.

He looked down at his hands in horror and sure enough they were covered in sticky floury dough.

“Fudge.” He caught the swear just in time.

“You look like Dad!” Ciri exclaimed as she spun round in a pirouette.

“So do you!” He shot back.

“Do not!”

“Do too!” He argued and scooped her up into his arms. “And I’m right because I’m the adult!”

“That’s not true!” Ciri countered. “Mr Jaskier says even adults make mistakes!”

“Mr Jaskier hasn’t met me.” He growled.

Ciri laughed. “Yes he has! See you made a mistake!”

“I was testing you.” He grumbled and flushed as he realised the young girl was right. He had met Jaskier at the school back in October.

“Suuure.” Ciri sang. “Now let me down! I want to open my presents!”

Lambert chuckled and dropped the girl gently back on the ground. She sped off out of the kitchen like a blur. It was almost certainly a mistake letting her dip her fingers in the butter and sugar. He grinned. The sugar crash was Geralt’s problem. He was the fun uncle and got to enjoy eating sugar out of the pot. He squatted in front of the oven to check on their creation. The warmth seeped right into his bones and he hummed contentedly. It had been a cold couple of weeks and there was just something unsurpassable about the glow of a warm oven, especially when it contained baked goods. The kitchen was full of the smell of baking and cinnamon, the perfect scent for the winter holidays.

“Wolf!” Vesemir barked from the doorway sternly.

Lambert looked up sharply and almost toppled over from his squat.

“Exactly how much sugar did you give the cub?” Vesemir muttered wearily. “She’s bouncing off the walls.”

Lambert shrugged. “It’s Solstice. Give her a break.”

“Smells good.” Vesemir nodded at the oven with a softening smile. “We’ll make a chef out of you yet.”

Soon enough the oven timer went off and the kitchen was crowded by hungry firefighters. Vesemir ordered them to queue up properly and in no time they were all crammed into the living room. The fireplace was lit and crackling. Ciri stared into the flames, mesmerised by the ever changing patterns of the fire licking up the chimney. Lil’ Bleater was curled up next to her licking at her hands. Geralt had put on a pan of mulled wine and a smaller pan of spiced apples juice for his daughter and the spicy scents had permeated the air. It was warmth and homely. Lambert grinned as he looked around at his family. He’d never felt so at home in his house before.

“Presents!” Ciri demanded as she tore her gaze away from the fireplace. Her face was now covered in icing and crumbs, and her emerald eyes seemed to dance in the light of the fire.

The sound of laughter filled the air. Renfri and Vesemir got to work distributing the presents until everyone had a pile. Naturally the young girl launched towards the biggest present but Geralt had her in his arms before she could tear the brown paper off.

“Dad!” She whined and struggled to get free.

“That one is last.” He ordered. “Promise me?”

She glared furiously at the floor but mumbled an agreement under her breath.

“Good.” He let her go and she picked up the smallest present instead. She looked up at Geralt to make sure it was ok and he nodded with a small smile.

Ciri tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a small jewellery box. She opened it with an adorable confused expression on her face.

“Did you check who it was from?” Vesemir asked.

“Sure.” Ciri growled but Lambert didn’t miss the way she sneaked a glance at the shreds of wrapping paper on her lap that were already being chewed up by Eskel’s demon goat. “Auntie Yen!”

“What is it, Princess?” Geralt asked.

“A necklace, with a bird!” She held the box up to Geralt.

“Looks like a swallow.” Geralt mused.

“That’s what Uncle Vesemir calls me!” Ciri exclaimed happily. “Help me put it on!” She thrust the box into his hands.

Geralt fumbled a bit with the clasp but wouldn’t let Renfri help him and eventually Ciri had a beautiful silver necklace around her neck. The swallow pedant was embedded with what looked like emeralds, and knowing Yennefer, they actually were emeralds.

Most of Lambert’s presents were new pieces of gym kit which suited him just fine. His old boxing gloves had sorely needed replacing so he was very pleased with Renfri’s gift. Although he knew it was probably so they would have an excuse to spar again without him blaming his gloves every time he lost. Vesemir had bought him a new set of guitar strings and a subscription to his favourite boxing magazine, Eskel and Geralt had come together to get him a brand new set of weights, one’s he’d been eyeing up for months but hadn’t been able to justify the costs. Yennefer’s gift was bottle of very expensive vodka that he’d had once in a bar on holiday and had never forgotten. Ciri had bought him a DVD of a film they’d watched together in the summer and a box of his favourite chocolates.

Vesemir had a brand new collection of history and gardening books. He was settled into his arm chair closest to the fireplace with his nose buried in one the books. Next to him was a crystal whiskey glass that Yennefer had bought him. The damned witch seemed to be intent on showing them all up this year with her fancy job and her even fancier salary but who was he to complain?

Eskel had his arms full of new goat supplies from most of team. He turned round to show the little bastard his new stuff when they realised he was missing.

“Where’s Lil’ Bleater?” Eskel frowned as he looked around the room.

Lambert shrugged. The last he’d seen of the goat he’d been munching on brown wrapping paper. Ciri leapt to her feet and started looking for clues to track the goats movements. Something she’d seen on one of her tv shows.

“How about the kitchen?” Geralt suggested. “Goats like food right?”

“Everyone likes food.” Renfri poked the silver-haired man in the arm. “We sort of need it to survive.”

“Goats really like food though.” Geralt insisted.

“Goats eat anything.” Lambert countered. “He could just as well be in the bathroom by that logic.”

“Well I’ve looked under all the wrapping paper and sofas so he’s not in here!” Ciri chimed up from where she was buried half under cushions and half under brown paper. “Oooh what if we track his smell? Lil’ Bleater stinks!”

Eskel gasped at the accusation. “He’s a very clean goat! I take good care of him.”

“There’s a reason Vesemir bought you fancy pet shampoo.” Lambert smirked and punched his brother in the arm.

“Shut it.” Eskel grumbled. “He’s a handsome boy.”

“Who stinks!” Ciri agreed.

“I still think we should try the kitchen.” Geralt insisted and then paused looking at Ciri thoughtfully. “I think I can smell goat from that direction.”

Ciri squealed and ran into the kitchen. “Fucking liar.” Lambert hissed under his breath earning a smirk from Geralt.

They trudged after the young girl. There was no obvious sign of the goat but Lambert could hear a strange scuffling sound coming from the oven.

“He wouldn’t jump in a hot oven would he?” Lambert asked.

Ciri yelled at him for that and hit him squarely in the chest with her wooden sword. Lambert seized the opportunity to fall dramatically to his knees, pretending to be fatally wounded. He let some of his weight fall onto Ciri who shrieked underneath him.

“Uncle Lambert!”

“You got me real good, little lion cub.” He groaned as she tried to hold back his weight. He was still supporting himself enough that she wouldn’t get hurt but she didn’t need to know that. “This might just be my last day in this world.”

“Get off!” Ciri growled. “I didn’t hurt you!”

“I am wounded!” He fell to the floor and pulled her down on top of him.

“You’re an asshole.” Ciri grumbled and there was an echo of shocked gasps from the adults in the room. “What? It’s not a swear!”

“And it’s true.” Eskel added.

“It is true.” Geralt agreed.

Lambert glared at them both. “Screw you.”

“You’re awfully loud for someone who just died.” Renfri pointed out and he had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t swear colourfully at her.

“Yeah! I told you I didn’t hurt you!” Ciri poked his chest.

A loud bleating ended the argument there.

“Lil’ Bleater!” Eskel cried happily.

Seconds later the a fluffy horned head poked out from under the oven. Lambert hadn’t even realised the gap between the oven and his kitchen floor was big enough for the goat to hide under. He was only a little goat but still it seemed like an impossible accomplishment.

Eskel picked up his beloved pet and swung him round in a big hug. “I missed you buddy! No hiding under ovens again, alright?”

The goat bleated.

“I know, I know. The oven smells of yummy food but you could have been hurt!” Eskel continued.

“Melitele save us.” Renfri sighed and topped up her mulled wine from the pan before stalking back into the lounge. So they could finish unwrapping the presents.

Eskel clipped on Lil’ Bleaters brand new collar and kept the mischievous goat in his lap as he unwrapped his last present, petting his sandy white fur absentmindedly.

Lambert had bought his brother a new cookbook that he was absolutely not allowed to open in front of Ciri. The names of the recipes were all very crude and there were pictures to match. Eskel had barely removed the paper before bundling it into his bag. His face flushed with embarrassment as Lambert cackled until his stomach began to ache. Ciri obviously asked what the big joke was and Eskel grumbled some lame excuse that made no sense. Luckily Ciri seemed content to let it go as long as she could open her next present. Vesemir had bought her a collection of new books after hearing so much about her love of school and reading. Some of them were a little hard for her age but Geralt would be able to read them with her.

Renfri only had two presents. Ciri had bought her a leather bracelet with wolves stitched into the band chasing each other’s tails all around the strap and howling at some unseen moon. The wolf pack and Yennefer had all teamed up to get her a decorative dagger that she’d seen at a craft fair over the summer. It was a beautiful blade, engraved with some kind of fantastical elven language and there was a stunning moonstone embedded into the hilt. It had been extortionately expensive but between the lot of them they had managed to afford it. Renfri’s eyes had lit up when she’d ripped the paper off the box, not quite believing it until she’d carefully lifted off the lid with shaking hands.

“There’s no way.” She whispered and then pulled them into a group hug. Even Vesemir put his book down to pat her awkwardly on the back. The blade fell from her lap with a clatter but thankfully she hadn’t quite managed to unsheathe it.

Ciri pouted at the sudden outburst of emotion but Renfri pulled her into the hug as well. “Your’s was better obviously! You’re the only person to get me their own present. These guys cheated.”

Ciri preened at that and stuck her tongue out at the rest of them.

The hug fell apart when Lil’ Bleater head butted Eskel in the back and they all toppled in a pile on the floor, much to the oldest wolf’s amusement. After that it was Ciri’s turn to open another present. Renfri bought her a new colouring book with glittery pens that Ciri loved. She had a strange obsession with anything glittery. The young girl declared it was because glitter was obviously magical and the rest of the team just couldn’t understand its power.

Geralt’s presents were all of a practical nature, a new toolbox from Vesemir, a couple of new shirts from Yennefer with a letter telling him that he had to wear them or else she would know. Ciri giggled at that but Geralt just looked at the freshly pressed black shirts in disgust. He was definitely more of a baggy t-shirt kind of guy but at least Yennefer hadn’t strayed from his usual colour scheme. Renfri had bought him some new stirrups for Roach. Lambert had bought him a new pair of boots after Geralt had complained about his old ones leaking following a particularly rainy shift at work. Eskel had made a picture frame filled with photographs of their little family. He’d even included a picture of Ciri with her parents and grandparents. The whole team had gotten a little sniffly at that one. Ciri was still yet to get off of Eskel’s lap and had promptly decided that he was the best uncle.

Geralt also had another present in the form of an envelope that he tucked into the pocket of his jeans. Lambert raised an eyebrow at that but Geralt just shrugged it off.

After Geralt’s presents Ciri was the only one with any presents left. She got a new wolf onesie from Eskel, further cementing his place as favourite uncle, much to Lambert’s displeasure. He vowed to make up for it on her birthday. He hated it when Eskel got one up on him.

And then it was time for Ciri’s last present and the last present of the day before they had to get busy in the kitchen for dinner.

She pulled at the paper excitedly and screamed when the guitar case fell into her lap.

“You got me a guitar!!” She shrieked.

Geralt winced at the high pinched tone of her voice and Lambert didn’t blame him. He was sitting across the room and even his ears were ringing. Geralt shook his head. “I got you a Ukulele.”

“A ukulele?” Ciri scrunched her nose up. “Does Mr Jaskier play the Ukulele?”

Geralt nodded. “He can. He thought it might be a better fit for you. It’s like a mini guitar and you’ve still got little hands. There’s some music in there too. Once you learn you’ll be able to read it just like Mr Jaskier.”

“Will he teach me?” Ciri asked brightly and Geralt shook his head.

“Jaskier won’t have much time outside of class to teach you but he has recommended a friend of his.” Geralt explained but Ciri was already scowling.

“I want Mr Jaskier to teach me!” She pouted.

“I’m sure if you ask nicely he can show you some things at school?” Eskel suggested.

“And you wouldn’t want to upset his friend.” Vesemir added from his place at the fireplace.

“Her name is Priscilla and she’s very excited to meet you. You’ll be starting lessons after school when term starts.” Geralt pulled his daughter into a hug.

Lambert almost dropped his mug of mulled wine.

“Sorry what?”

Everyone turned to face him with matching confused expressions on their faces.

“Lessons are after school?” Geralt repeated, raising his eyebrow at Lambert.

“No no… What was her name?” Lambert’s hands were trembling around his mulled wine.

“Priscilla?” Geralt repeated slowly. “He didn’t mention her last name.”

“Fuck!” He cursed.

Ciri gasped and pointed her finger accusingly at him and everyone in the room glared fiercely at him.

“Dandelion is Jaskier!” He yelled out to try and defend himself.

Ciri squealed happily and all the colour drained from Geralt’s face at the revelation.

“What the fuck, Lambert?”

______

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #witcher lambert #witcher eskel #lil' bleater #vesemir #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ciri #renfri #modern au #teacher!jaskier #fireman!geralt #you set my heart ablaze #wolfie's witcher writing #Umm I guess my tag list might need updating on this one #let me know if you want to be added/removed #I won't be offended either way!

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crocodileniall · 4 years

Text

masterlist wattpad

1.1 In which they meet

warnings: alcohol use

word count: 3940

Sometimes Julianna felt like she was in a movie. One of those angsty coming of age teenage movies that had an awesome soundtrack and characters that were unlikable but they were honest and that’s why people loved them. That’s how Julianna felt but her life was nowhere near as exciting as coming of age films were.

Julianna lived on the western coast and had been for the last three months. At eighteen, she ran away from New York to go to London. She worked in a cafe for five years and slept on couches to end up here.

She showed up to her publishers house after she dodged emails and phone calls from 20 year old Julianna. In her hands there was a three hundred page manuscript of poems and prose from her angsty years.

Her publisher slammed the door in her face. Juliana broadcasted the poems as loud as she could until her neighbors complained. And born of it was Julianna’s career, part time poet, full time lover.

Julianna did book tours and readings all across the world and as much as she loved it, her inspiration ran dry. Life inspired her and she wanted to explore her fascination with isolation. That’s how she wound up in what could only be described as a house that had lots of character.

When Julianna found out someone had moved in next door, she couldn’t believe it. It was almost too good to be true. Julianna did the most neighborly thing she could think of. She carried her plate of muffins over, knocking on the door gently.

The door swung open and a brunet appeared before her. Julianna took a breath, smiling. “Hi my names Julianna. I live next door. I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

The brunet looked her up and down, pushed his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “There’s only two houses.”

“I know,” Julianna laughed. “The neighborhood is quite small.”

“This isn’t a neighborhood,” he argued, seeming exasperated. “There’s only two houses.”

“I believe it is a neighborhood,” Julianna argued back, shifting on her feet. She let out a sharp sigh. “Do you want these fucking muffins or not.”

The brunet let out a startled laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. “Woah.”

“Pardon my French,” she rolled her eyes, extending the plate towards him.

He slowly took the plate from her, looking her up and down. “Thanks. I’m Niall.”

“Good to know,” Julianna responded dryly.

“If you want this to be a neighborhood it can be,” Niall conceded, eyes drifting off to the coast behind her. “But I’m isolating myself for personal reasons.”

“Me too,” she responded. “I’m a writer.”

“Are you?” He asked, looking her over once more. “I never would’ve guessed.”

Julianna narrowed her eyes at him, eyebrows scrunching up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Niall shrugged, holding the plate in his arm. With his other hand, he pushed the door open wider. “Do you want to come in?”

“I suppose,” Julianna nodded. “By the way this is Gordy.”

“I guess he can come in too,” Niall nodded, gesturing for them to come in.

Julianna followed him inside, snapping her fingers for Gordy to follow. He was eager to run inside the house, making work of inspecting (sniffing) the entire place.

The house was very similar to hers. A tiny living room dimply lit from a lamp plugged into the wall. The kitchen was small with only an island and two stools to sit at. The layout was exactly the same as Julianna’s. She didn't have to go down the hall to know that the bathroom was right across from the bedroom.

Niall lead her into the kitchen where he offered her a cup of tea. Julianna accepted, sitting down at the kitchen table. “So what about you?” She asked, looking around the place.

“What about me?” He echoed, turning to grab a mug out of the cupboard.

“What’s your story?” She asked, looking over at him.

Niall shrugged his shoulders, pouring water out of the steaming kettle into her cup. He dropped a teabag in and set it down in front of her.

“Do you want to hear my story?” Julianna asked, picking up her mug.

“Not particularly,” Niall chuckled. “But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“I’m a poet,” Julianna told him, sitting back in her chair. She had a kind of hellish smile on her lips. “I ran away to New York when I was eighteen. Got published. Ran away to here. That’s the condensed version for your benefit.”

“I appreciate that,” Niall smiled, eyes flicking from her to Gordy who’d made himself comfortable on the sofa. “What kind of poems do you write?” He asked, bringing his cup to his lips.

“Mostly about sex,” Julianna answered.

Niall snorted tea right out of his nose. He coughed, reaching for the dish towel on the table between them. “Jesus fuck,” he breathed out.

Julianna laughed, eyebrows raising. It was a belly laugh that made Niall’s cheeks heat up. She cleared her throat, sobering up. “As I was saying right now I’m isolated alone so there’s not much of that going on. I’ve been exploring different arts, nature, myself.”

“And how’s that going?” Niall asked, dropping the towel back on the table.

“Pretty good,” she nodded. “I’ve got no complaints. I’ve written some decent stuff. Still got a ways to go, I think.”

“And does this come naturally to you?” Niall asked, leaning on the table. “As opposed to the sex poems.”

“It’s about the same,” Julianna shrugged trying not to let her cheeks give her away. “Though obviously one is more thrilling than the other.”

“That’s true,” Niall agreed, reaching forward to grab a muffin.

“So now you get to tell me your story,” Julianna told him, head tilting to the side.

Niall chuckled, scratching at his jaw. “I’m a musician.”

“I know,” Julianna nodded. “I recognized you before you sat down.”

“So why’d you ask for my story?” He asked.

“Because being a musician isn’t a story,” she chuckled, shrugging. “And that tells me absolutely nothing about you.”

“I’ve been in the industry since I was sixteen. I grew up in the limelight. It turned sour. I wound up here,” he shrugged. “A tale as old as time.”

“I feel like there’s more to that story,” Julianna responded skeptically. “But I’ll accept it for now.”

Niall smiled, eyes dropping to the table. He took a bite of the muffin, ignoring the way it crumbled onto his pants. “These are good,” he said. “You bake a lot?”

“Sometimes,” Julianna shrugged. “When inspiration strikes.”

“Well anytime inspiration strikes, I’m your guy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Julianna murmured, holding her cup between her hands. She took a sip, meeting his eyes.

A silence settled over them that Julianna couldn’t quite put her finger on. Niall didn’t need to tell her, she already knew he was going through a hard time. She could see it in his tired eyes. And the couple days worth of scruff on his cheeks was a sign she couldn’t ignore.

Julianna also couldn’t help but to imagine that scruff rubbing her thighs absolutely raw. She couldn’t find it in herself to feel guilty about it. He was good looking and he had a voice that sounded like honey. It wasn’t her fault.

As an afterthought, Julianna added, “and any time you want some company, I’m your girl.”

“What happened to isolation?” Niall asked, amused.

“Isolation is all well and good but sometimes it’s a bit lonely out here,” Julianna admitted. “It doesn’t help that Gordy can’t talk back. He’s a good listener if you ever want to borrow him.”

“I might take you up on that,” Niall chuckled, looking over at him. He was sleeping on the sofa, ears twitching.

“I should get going,” Julianna announced, setting her half drank cup down. “As my publisher says, I have a funny way of stealing time from people.”

Niall only hummed in response, eyes following her as she walked toward Gordy to wake him up. Before she could leave, Niall said, “if you have a copy I’d love to read your poems sometime.”

“Of course,” Julianna nodded. “I had you hooked when I said they were about sex, huh?”

Niall laughed, a loud one that filled up the tiny house. It made Julianna smile. He shrugged his shoulders, muttering, “maybe.” And that made Julianna smile a bit wider.

Gordy followed her out the door and down the steps. The entire walk home, she couldn’t help but think about how Margaret told her not to go over and she did and now she admitted crush on Niall.

The following morning, Julianna was greeted by Margaret’s scowl. It probably had to do with her drunken texts. Margaret pushed past her, collapsing onto the sofa.

“Honestly, Anna,” she shook her head. “It’s like you do the exact opposite of everything I say.”

“He’s extremely good looking,” Julianna reasoned.

“Your groceries are in the car. I’m not getting them for you I’m mad at you today,” Margaret announces, crossing her arms over her chest.

Julianna stuck her tongue out at her, walking towards the door. Gordy followed her out, sitting on the porch to watch her.

There were only a few bags. Julianna didn’t require much. She was a flour and yeast kind of girl considering how much time she had on her hands to procrastinate.

“So you love him,” Margaret concluded as Julianna put her groceries away.

“I might,” Julianna nodded. “He’s got brooding eyes and this thick accent- irish. And I swear his smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. All crooked and sad.”

“Here we go,” Margaret laughed. “This is going to be another sex book. I can feel it.”

“Oh it is not,” Julianna huffed, stopping to look at her, hands on her hips.

“You sack every man you set your eyes on,” Margaret laughed. “And that’s the truth. And you churn out your best poems once you sink your teeth into someone new.”

“Thats so far off it’s almost ridiculous,” She scoffed.

“Let’s see off the top of my head I can think of Mathew, Nick, Neem, Jorge, and last but certainly least, George.”

Julianna laughed, nodding her head slowly as it all came into perspective. “Ah yes. Those were only my brief lovers, too.”

“And we got a best selling book,” Margaret chuckled. She shrugged, “as a friend I would tell you not to start anything with him. I looked him up and not much good came about besides some monstrous donations to charities through the years.”

“And as my publisher?”

“As your publisher,” she laughed, leaning forward. “I’d tell you to sink your fuckin teeth into him, babe.“

Julianna had a pleasant smile on her face as she sat down in a chair across from her. “This is all hypothetical of course. There’s a possibility that Niall is turned off by the very sight of me.”

“You said he asked to read your book?” Margaret asked. “Which he knows is about sex. I would say he wants it as badly as you do. I heard his last relationship went up in absolute flames. Probably hasn’t gotten any in a while.”

Julianna huffed out a laugh at her brazen comment. It did have her feeling a bit relieved. “You satisfy my Id,” she said, legs swinging to dangle over the side of the chair.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Margaret smiled. She looked around the dusty living room and sighed. “I don’t know how you’re doing this. Honest to god I’d go insane.”

“I’m having fun,” Julianna admitted, staring up at the ceiling. “I did some surfing earlier. Wrote about the ocean and how it’s so sharp that it cuts my shins if I go in too deep. Considering making gnocchi for dinner.”

“Sounds like you’re living the absolutely best life,” Margaret mused, standing up. “I’d love to stay and hang but I have a meeting in a few hours and the drive back is long as shit.”

“Hate to see you leave, but I love to watch ya go,” Julianna grinned, saying the same thing she said every time.

It made Margaret roll her eyes. She smoothed her hand over her hair and shook her head. She leaned down and gave Gordy a few scratches on the head. “Try not to go completely mad out here.”

“We are far beyond mad,” Julianna declared just as Margaret walked out, letting the door clang shut behind her.

Julianna allowed herself a few more long moments of self reflection before dragging herself out of the house, a bag on her shoulder full of the essentials. Her journal, a notepad, a water bottle, snacks. Everything she needed to survive.

She took Gordy’s lead, racing him down to the edge of water. He loved to run down and let the tide chase him back up. He loved it most when Julianna did it with him.

She only lasted a few moments before she collapsed in the dry sand beside her bag. Gordy licked at her face, begging her to go again. She didn’t have it in her, ruffling his ears. “I’m getting old,” she told him, shaking her head. “Or I’m just out of shape.”

Gordy took off back down to the shore, Julianna laughing at his excitement. She pulled her sketch pad, taking a few moments to scribble in the crashing waves. Her attention didn’t last very long. She found herself unable to concentrate, rather watching Gordy run about like a maniac.

He brought her a stick, tail wagging. Julianna had to give in, standing up to throw it. He took off after it. Gordy was a creature of habit. He could spend hours doing exactly this. Julianna decided to give in to him hoping to tire him out completely.

When the tide grew higher, Julianna declared it time to go in. She shouldered her bag, whistling for Gordy who’d run into some dunes not far from her. He ran out, tail swinging in the air.

Julianna bent over to pet him. Gordy put his sandy paws on her legs, leaving paw prints on her jeans. “Come on,” she chuckled, nodding to the house. Gordy matched her pace as they walked up to the house.

Only when they got inside did she realize how tired she was. Gordy went to his bowl, eating his leftover breakfast. Julianna pulled out a bottle of wine, pouring it into a glass. She rummaged through the cupboard, shrugging as she found a box of Mac and cheese.

“This wouldn’t be the worst combination,” Julianna mumbled, looking between her glass of wine and the box in her hand. There was no one there to judge her, anyways.

Julianna pulled a pan out, filling it with water. She turned the stove on, setting it on top. She leaned on the counter, sipping her wine slowly.

The silence sometimes ate her alive. Julianna ambled into her bedroom, turning her record player on. It was Joni Mitchell’s beautiful voice that began playing and that was fine with her.

The water on the stove had barely boiled when Niall knocked on her door. Julianna tried not to let her smile become smug as she pulled the door open.

“Hey,” Niall said, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

“Hey,” Julianna responded, opening the door for him to come in. “I’m making Mac and cheese if you’re hungry. I have wine too.”

“Mac and cheese and wine,” he murmured, walking in slowly, eyes traveling to look around the place. “Quite a combination.”

“It is,” Julianna agreed, pulling out a glass for him. “I didn’t feel like cooking.” Julianna filled just glass up, handing it to him.

“Thanks,” he murmured, taking it from her. He sat down at the table, watching her.

“So did you come over for my book?” Julianna asked, back to him as she watched the pot of water begin to boil. She poured the macaroni into the pot.

“Right,” Niall responded surely. “The book. Of course.”

“It’s I’m my room,” Julianna mentioned offhandedly. “I’ll grab it in a sec.”

“No worries,” Niall responded a bit eagerly at that. “I’ve got no where to go.”

“That’s good,” Julianna smiled, turning around to face him. “I’m excellent at killing time.”

“Are you?” Niall laughed, elbows resting on the table. “How do you kill time around here?”

“I’ve taken to surfing quite a bit,” Julianna told him, sitting down with her own glass in hand. “I write. I run. I write some more. Drink lots of wine. Write some more. And then after I do all that it’s only noon so I take a nap.”

Niall laughed, shaking his head. “Sounds like you’ve got quite the routine. I’m a bit envious. I can’t seem to get out of bed until two.”

“Well I’m sure you deserve to catch up on your sleep,” Julianna responded kindly, a slight shrug in her shoulder. “And I’m envious that you can sleep that long. I’m too restless.”

“At first I couldn’t sleep,” Niall admitted, taking another sip of wine. “Used to the city noises as opposed to the ocean. Now it puts me right to sleep.”

“The ocean is quite nice,” she agreed, looking him over. Niall’s hair was disheveled and Julianna decided that was the only way she liked it. His eyes were less tired and his scruff looked only day old now.

“You’ve got pretty eyes,” Niall told her, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her. “What color are they?”

“Green,” Julianna answered, completely aware of the fact that she was probably blushing.

“I’ve never seen eyes that color before,” he murmured, bringing his glass to his lips.

Julianna had to look away. She took a gulp of her wine and stood up to check on the pasta. She stirred it slowly, feeling Niall’s eyes on the back of her head. “You can’t flirt with me,” Julianna said, almost suddenly.

“Why not?” Niall asked, amused at her demand.

“Because,” Julianna turned around, arms crossed over her chest. “I’ll write poems about you. And they‘ll get published. And you will hate me for it.”

“That’s okay,” Niall chuckled, eyes unwavering. “If you flirt with me I’ll write songs about you. You’ll hear them on the radio and it’ll ruin your day.”

“I don’t listen to the radio,” Julianna answered slowly.

“And I don’t read poetry,” Niall shrugged, sitting back.

Julianna shook her head, fighting her smile with every ounce of her being. “You’re going through shit. That’s messy.”

“I could assume the same about you. Why the fuck else would you willingly come out here?” He asked, eyebrows raised. “Because you like isolation. I don’t believe it. You’ve gone through it.”

“And so what if I did?” Julianna huffed. “Is that a crime?”

“Of course not,” Niall chuckled. “But using it as an excuse to deflect your feelings could be considered a crime.”

“That’s subjective,” Julianna decided. “and you fuck with the creation process when you call me on my shit.”

“How?” Niall laughed.

Julianna moved around him, pulling the milk and butter out of the fridge. She set them down on the counter and sighed. “It’s a logical progression. I develop a crush, I mull over said crush and pine mercilessly. The emotions bubble up until I unwittingly confess my feelings to you.”

“That’s how it happens every time?” Niall asked, unconvinced about this process.

“Without fail,” Julianna nodded.

“If you insist,” Niall conceded. “How long will this take?”

“Why? Are you in a rush?” She asked, setting the pot of Mac and cheese on the table. She handed him a bowl and a fork.

Niall took them, chuckling lightly. “Not in a rush...” he trailed off, looking up at her. “Maybe eager?”

“Eager,” Julianna echoed, sitting down across from him. “Interesting.”

“Is it?” He asked, amused.

“It is,” Julianna laughed. She pulled her hair up into a bun on top of her head, eyes trained on the table. She took a long sip of her wine, already beginning to feel her skin flush.

Deciding to change the subject, Julianna asked, “are you ready to spill the gritty details of the industry.”

“Maybe,” Niall murmured. “What do you want to know?”

“Why’d you leave?” She asked, looking up at him. “Seemed like you had the world in the palm of your hand.”

“That article you mentioned,” he decided. “The narcissist one. That’s why I left.”

“You didn’t want the world to find out who you truly are?” Julianna asked in the teasing tone she somehow always had.

“Of course,” Niall nodded. “Do you know what happens to sales when people find out you’re an egotistical piece of shit? They plummet. I had to get out while I still had a little dignity.”

“Of course,” Julianna agreed. “Happens to the best of us.”

Niall chuckled, fingers scratching at his jaw. “I left because there was no trust. Or respect. At the end of the day, it’s my shit splashed on the front page.”

“That must be hard,” Julianna murmured. “Knowing what’s true but no one else does.”

“It makes everything else not fun anymore,” Niall shrugged. “And I knew if I didn’t get out I’d completely lose it.”

Julianna laughed. “Like Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah’s couch.”

“Exactly,” Niall laughed. He took a deep breath, shoulders seemingly relaxing. He ran his hand through his hair. “How’d you make that so easy?”

“What?” Julianna asked.

“Opening up to you,” Niall shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. “That was scary how you did that.”

“It’s the humor,” she explained. “If you don’t make things so serious they won’t feel so serious.”

“That logic is absurd,” Niall shook his head again, looking her over. “You’re a bit absurd.”

“And you’re a bit of a narcissist but you know,” she shrugged. “We’re not all perfect.”

“Again with the narcissist,” Niall laughed.

“If it’s a joke you can separate it from real life,” Julianna laughed. “I’m not even kidding. It works.”

“I don’t think it does,” he argued, shaking his head. “I think you’re just kicking me while I’m down.”

“I’m not,” she laughed, cheeks now aching.

“If you insist,” Niall murmured, a soft smile on his face.

Julianna decided it was this moment that her crush had grown into the next phase. Pining. She had absolutely no business pining after him. He was so obviously emotionally unavailable and Julianna fell for them every time.

Niall left soon after they finished dinner. He checked the clock on the wall murmuring something about how she’d just stolen two hours from him. Julianna handed him her copy of her poems, begrudgingly.

“This is a special copy,” she said, placing it in his hands. “Don’t let your sticky fingers ruin it.”

“Why is it special?” Niall asked, challenging her with his eyes.

“Because it’s my copy,” she clarified, hand on her hip. “And I better not see you until you finish it and have at least three comments.”

“That’s a lot to ask,” Niall responded, looking at her, one eyebrow raised. “I’m quite busy, you know?”

“Right,” Julianna rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you’ll find the time.”

“Would it drive you crazy if I never read it?” Niall asked her, leaning against the doorframe, not quite inside, not quite outside. “If I just took your book. Never had a comment. Never spoke to you ever again.”

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder,” Julianna shrugged. “And I’d never let you steal my copy. I know where you live.”

Niall laughed, nodding his head. “Okay.”

There you have it :) the first chapter of Never Enough!

let me know what you think, what you liked, what you’re excited for :)

thank you for reading!

#Never Enough au #niall horan fanfic #Niall Horan #niall fanfic

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countryporch · 2 years

Text

Home For Christmas Kitchen Hand Towel Dishtowel

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diddlesanddoodles · 4 years

Text

DUMPLING ch 44

Kol was busy hauling in sacks of flour from storage and Bart had called Saen and Avery to come help him along with the tenderfoots out in the courtyard, leaving just Yale and Quinn in the kitchen with Nenani. Farris had left in a fowl temper to attend a meeting with Donal regarding the upcoming dinner. Apparently, more Lords had sent their intentions to be present and the whole affair was beginning to grow in grandeur and size.

Yale was making some sort of cold sauce made of oil, crushed nuts, and the macerated leaves from a large stalky green that was taller than she was and smelled like a cross between celery and basil. Nenani sat comfortably on a folded tea towel, pulling apart the large nuts and tossing the shells into a waste bowl and the meat into another bowl. The nuts reminded her vaguely of walnuts, but much bigger and had the same sort of oily astringency.

“I don’t care if it’s normal for high-borns,” Yale said, using a little more force than necessary to rip the stalks off of the leafy greens. “Marryin’ off a lil’un is just beyond the pale.”

“Mama said she wouldn’t make me marry anyone,” Nenano replied, trying to assure Yale that she was in no danger of suddenly being married. “She said she doesn’t want me to become someone’ pawn.”

“Well, I’m glad yer Mum’s got a sensible head on her shoulders,” he replied. “Someone need to straighten Lolly’s out for her though. She’s got a bug up her skirts fer sure. Not sure why. Makin’ me nervous though.”

“Me too,” she replied with a grunt as she had to put in a bit of effort to break apart a particularly tough nut.

“So, puttin’ that mess aside fer the moment,” Yale said, reaching for the bowl of shelled nuts and used the flat end of a wooden spoon to smash the soft flesh into crumbs and then adding the lot to the larger bowl of greens. “How’re yer magic lessons goin’?”

“Stopped for now,” she replied. “Maevis is busy making the lanterns.”

Yale turned towards the stone archway, gesturing vaguely to the black lantern hanging just above the lintel. “They put that one in yesterday. Curious to see if it works, but if it never went off, I’d be happy.”

“He says I’ve got a decent enough grasp now that I may not even need the amulet,” she said. “But Mama wants me to wear it all the time anyway.”

“Can’t say I blame her fer that,” Quinn said as he walked up beside Yale, reaching over him to grab a salt cellar, and forcing him to duck down. “Ye scared the lot of us shitless that one time.”

“Oi!” Yale snapped as Quinn retreated and he could straighten himself again. “Ye got salt over there!”

“Empty,” Quinn replied with a careless shrug.

“...so go fill it back up,” Yale retorted with some heat.

“Nah,” the baker smirked and turned around back towards his station. “This one’ll do just fine thanks.”

Yale chased after him, but Quinn seemed to have sensed him and stepped easily to the side as Yale made a grab for the salt cellar. Nenani laughed as they ran about the baking station, Quinn sprinkling salt onto the prepared loaves as he ran and dipped and danced around Yale. “Give it back, dammit!”

“I just need a bit, ye stingey bastard!”

“Use them long legs of yers and go fill yer own up!”

“And I said no thank you!” Watching as the two grown giants banter and fight like children, Nenani sat back and laughed, the mood carrying away the grimmer thoughts that had been congealing in her mind. To the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow descend the servants stairwell, but paid it no mind. A swath of blue fabric caught her eye and she turned to look.

Dressed in the blue coat of the rangers, Thrist stepped down into kitchen and his round coarsely shaven head was turned away from her as he watched Yale and Quinn. But almost as though sensing eyes upon him, his head swerved around and Nenani was suddenly the focus of his two beady eyes. Thin lips curled into a sickening grin. With an arrogant bounce to his gate, he sauntered over to the table and he drew nearer, Nenani glared. Hared.

“Go away,” she told him.

“What? Not even a hello?” he asked mockingly. “Well don’t that just show it then? Ye find out yer a Princess and suddenly yer too good fer us low folk?”

“No,” she replied. “Just you.”

He thrust his hand towards her and she fell back, raising her hand and pulling her magic out. But instead of grabbing her, his fingers dipped into the bowl shelled nuts and grabbed up a handful.

“Don’t flatter yerself, Sparkles,” Thrist snickered with an oily grin. “Ye ain’t worth it. Probably taste like three week old mutton anyway.”

“Better than smelling like three week old mutton,” she snapped back.

His arrogant grin dropped as just before he could retort, there was an angry shout from behind him.

“Oi!” Yale growled as he and Quinn both bore down onto the Ranger. The black haired cook slipped between the table and Thrist and thrust his pal against the ranger’s chest, pushing him back. “Ye fucker got a lotta nerve showin’ yer ugly arse face around here, Thrist.”

“Oh, calm yer tits, Yale,” Thrist sneered, batting Yale’s hand away. “I’m on duty. Ain’t after yer damn pet.”

Quinn swiped at the ranger’s arm pushing Yale away and laughed darkly. “Suppose havin’ to spend three weeks scoutin’ the swamps wasn’t all that fun, eh? Be a shame if ye went and earned yerself another bout of that, eh? Don’t think yer boss would be too happy with ye messin’ with his brother’s ward. Again.”

“Fuck ye both,” Thrist replied, unconcerned with the threat. He cracked a nut and ate it, tossing the shell into the fire and then threw himself hard into one of the chairs. His boots made a dull thud as they planted themselves onto the table only a few yards from where Nenani was sitting.

“No thanks,” Quinn said, the hard look in his eyes betraying the light lilt of his voice. “But ye can turn yerself right round and go find a nice sunny spot in gurney’s manuer pile. Ain’t that where pigs like to play? Neck deep in shit?”

“Fuck off, both of ye. Like I said, I’m duty. Sweepin’ the grounds fer anyone not belongin’. Suspicious characters and the like.”

“Well, as ye can see, we all belong,” Yale growled. “Now piss the fuck off.”

“And ye fuckers can go back to yer work,” Thrist replied lightly with a shrug. “Rheil and Keral have got us all scrounging ‘round the castle. The Magician sensed something that freaked him out. Supposed to make sure none of his stupid fuckin’ lanterns were on.”

“Well as ye can see, it ain’t. All is well. So do like Yale said and piss the fuck off.”

Thrist made a great exaggerated showing of pondering their words and then shrugged and then cracked another nut and tossed it into his mouth. “Not convinced. What if I leave and it just lights up?”

“Then ye’d be as useless as ye are now,” Yale replied.

“Yer pretty ungrateful ye know that?” Thrist said, folding his hands behind his head.

“Oh? And how do ye figure?” Quinn asked.

“Seein’ as I’m the reason yer pet’s even alive,” the ranger said. “After all that mess with the dragon.”

“Piss off,” Yale snapped. “Keral was the one that found her and brought her back.”

“Aye. After I spotted the thing and reported it to him. Like I say: she’s alive ‘cause ‘a me.”

“So? Do ye want a fuckin’ meddle or somethin’?” Quinn asked.

Thrist grinned. “A silver or two would be nice. A princess is worth that much, eh?”

Both Yale and Quinn looked murderous, but before either could formulate a response, Farris’s voice spoke just outside the stone archway leading out into the courtyard. “That’s what coats are fer ye idiot.”

“I couldn’t find it,” replied a quieter, but familiar voice.

“Does Hev know yer out here?”

“He’s not my mother,” Connar asserted.

“Don’t look that way t’most folk, lad.”

“Oh shut it. I can go where I want….so long as I’m allowed.”

“It’s not the being allowed part ye don’t seem to have a handle on. It’s the physical ability to make it there.”

“I can’t help it if the cold makes it hard to walk.”

“Again. That’s what a fuckin’ coat is fer. Now do ye want to take another trip ‘round this same bush or are ye done with yer tantrum?”

There was a deep sigh. “...yeah, fine. I’m done.”

“Good,” Farris replied just as he stepped down into kitchen with Connar sitting in the crook of his arm. Despite the cold and snow, Connar was only dressed in a pair of thin trousers and a short sleeve tunic. “Because ye was one smart-ass reply away from bein’ dumpin’ back into that snow pile.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?” Farris grinned darkly, but his eyes pulled away from Connar swept the room before falling onto Thrist. To the ranger’s credit, he hastily pulled his feet off of the table. “Who let in this fucker?”

“No one,” Yale replied. “He just sauntered in like he owned the damn place.”

Farris’s eyes never wavering from Thrist and he said in a low growl, “Ye got three seconds to get out of my kitchen before I shove my foot so far up yer arse you’ll be tastin’ leather fer a week.”

Thrist rose from his seat, clearly taking the threat serious enough. He took a few tentative steps towards the archyway, but keeping a good arm’s distance away from Farris. Nenani eyed him warily but grinned when an idea struck her.

“I just came to tell ye,” Thrist said defensively. “That Maevis sensed somethin’ off. We’re just checkin’ to see if the lanterns are lit. And to let ye know to keep an eye out.”

Nenani pulled a small amount of fire from her amulet, letting the small flame dance in her palm for a few moments before tossing it towards Thrist. It caught the middle portion of his coat, just below his waist. And began to burn. She caught Connar’s eye and shrugged innocently. The blacksmith bit his lip to keep himself from laughing.

“Message received,” Farris replied. “And seein’ as it ain’t lit, ye can get out. Now.”

“Right,” Thrist replied, scurrying towards the exit. “I’ll just be on my way then.”

“Oh, and Thrist?” Farris said.

“Huh?”

“...yer arse is on fire.”

“What…?” Thrist twisted to look behind him and seeing the back end of his coat beginning to smolder, jumped with a cry of alarm and ran for the archway. “AH!”

Laughter followed him up the stairs and out of the kitchen and into the courtyard. Still chuckling himself, Farris walked over to the table and sat Connar down next to Nenani and ruffled her hair into a fluffy mess. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up to find him grinning at her. “That’s my girl.”

She giggled, trying to put her hair back into some semblance of order. Kol came running down the stairs with a sack slung over his shoulder. “Oi!” he said with a breathless smile. “Who tossed Thrist into the fire?”

“No one,” Quinn laughed. “It was the Dumplin’.”

“Threw a fireball at him,” Yale replied, his words bouncing along with his laugh.

Kol howled with mirth as he laid the sack down onto the bakers’ station table. “He’s out here rollin’ in the snow!”

Beside her, Connar was laughing as well. “Ah, man. If only I could do that. Would’ve come in handy so many times.” He hobbled unsteadily over, greatly favoring his left leg, and plopped down onto the folded towel next to her. Wincing, he reached down to rub his left knee and pulled his trouser leg up to reveal the carved wood beneath. Where the wood ended, a large leather belt began, wrapping around his lower thigh. He popped a few buttons and slid the leg off to reveal the remnants of his real leg. Bright pink scar tissue created a sort of cushion just below his kneecap and there seemed to be a sort of callous where fake leg repeated rubbed against his skin. “Sorry,” he said, pulling his pant leg down. “I just needed to get it off for a bit. I know it’s an ugly thing to look at.”

“So, Farris,” Quinn asked, gesturing towards Connar. “Where’d ye find this one?”

Farris snorted as he dug through a cupboard. “Half frozen in a fuckin’ snow pile.” He pulled out another tea towel and tossed it over to Connar. It unfolded in the air and enveloped Connar completely. It took him a few moments to pull himself out of it’s tangles and wrapped the excess fabric around him.

“Why are ye even outside in this cold?” Yale asked, returning to his original task. “Don’t it hurt yer leg?”

“My leg? Not at all,” Connar replied with a cheeky grin, holding up the wooden leg. “But what’s left of my knee feels like it’s on fire.”

Yale shook his head, but was smiling. “Then why the fuck are ye out here?”

Connar pulled a satchel from behind him and placed it on his lap, patting it with a triumphant grin. “I heard Nenani was down here and I wanted to hand deliver this to her. Wanted to see her face.”

“My belt?” Nenani asked, eye bright.

“Yup. Among other things. I promised you I’d make you something you would love.”

“Oh!” she said, bouncing and holding her hands out. “Let me see, let me see!”

Connar held up a placating finger. “Ah-uh. What’s the magic word?”

“Please?” Nenani asked, but paused, recalling how much he seemed to enjoy Jae’s bribe. “...whiskey?”

Connar stared at her baffled and the grinned. With a laugh, he said, “No. It was please. But I may change it now.”

Flipping open the satchel’s flap, Connar reached inside and pulled out a leather belt as wide as her hand and decorated with intricate motifs. Trees, a mountain, a stream, and in the center, a seven petaled flower. “Here,” he said, flipping it over so show her the inside. “It snaps on, so it won’t be a huge problem to put it on. And you can secure your dagger’s sheath to it here with this flap. It buckles just here...and there’s another on the other side. You know. Just in case.”

He gestured for her to stand and she obeyed, remaining perfectly still as he he wrapped it around her waist and snapped the metal buttons. He hummed. “Hm. A little loose. Hold on a tic, I’ll adjust it. Spin a bit for me.”

She did as he asked and he began to put at the strings at the back of the belt, the leather beginning to tighten snugly against her. “How’s that?”

“Good,” she replied.

“Not too tight?”

“No.”

“All right!” he said, patting her side. “Let’s see you then.”

Nenani stood back, looking down at the belt and with a wide grin, spun around. Yale bent down to inspect it, giving an appreciative whistle.

“It’s a fine piece, lad,” Farris said. “Gen taught ye well.”

“Thanks,” Connar replied and then reached back into his bag. “But I’ve got more.”

“More?” Nenani asked, interest piqued. At Connar’s beckoning finger, she skipped back over to him.

“Let me see your right arm,” he said as he pulled out another piece of leather, tubular, and with similar motifs to the belt. He slipped it onto her arm and used the strings at the side to secure it. He motioned for her other arm as he pulled the second matching piece from the bag. “They’re vambraces. Kind of like the bracers archers wear.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Lolly’s gonna flip if she sees ye wearin’ all that,” Kol said. “Ye almost look like ye ready fer battle there, lass.”

Nenani’s face hurt from how wide her smile was. She looked over at Yale. “I’m gonna wear these to the dinner. The sleeves are long enough you’d never even see them!”

“Good luck with that!” he laughed.

Connar called her back over. “Haven’t even shown you the best part yet. Let me see that amulet of yours.”

She remembered him saying something about getting a better chain for it so she pulled it over her hear and handed it to him. He took a moment to inspect it. “Man, this thing is old. Like...ancient. Where’d you get it?”

“...Maevis took if off a dead mage in the catacombs inside the walls somewhere near the keep,” she replied. Connar looked up at her, giving her a look, but when she did not reveal it to be a joke, he frowned.

“...you’re serious.”

She nodded and he regarded the fire opal amulet with a growing look of unease. “This thing isn’t like...gonna curse me or anything will it?”

“It hasn’t cursed me,” she replied with a shrug and then paused. “At least I don’t think it has.”

“Very reassuring,” he snorted. From within his satchel he pulled out a few tools and with a deft fingers, used a pair of pliers to pull apart the links securing the chain to the amulet and sat it aside. With the amulet in hand, he gestured her forward and when she stood in front of him, he held out the amulet and placed it in the center of her belt. He used the pliers one more time to loop the ends with a link set into the leather and after only a few moments, he leaned back to inspect it. “There. Now you don’t have to worry about that old chain breaking loose.”

She took a moment to admire the whole of her new gifts before leaping at Connar and all but tackling him to the ground. “Oh, hey now! Oof –!”

“I love it!” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Told you that you would,” he laughed.

“All right, that’s enough,” Farris said. “We’ve got plenty to do without any more distractions. Kol, go get the others and have ‘em all come down here. I’ve got somethin’ ye all need t’hear.”

“Will do,” Kol replied, turning to race back up the stairs. In a matter of minutes, the entire kitchen staff was assembled. Farris looked them all in the eyes and with an irritable grumble, said to them, “Donal’s just told me the guest list fer the dinner just doubled.”

“What?” Yale asked, looking pale. “Doubled? Ye can’t be serious.”

“They’re all coming,” Farris replied, not bothering to disguise his irritation. “Every Duke, Duchess, Earl, and Countess. All of ‘em.”

The answering silence weighed heavily in the air.

“Fuck!” exclaimed Avery, breaking the quiet and yet seeming to capture everyone’s sentiment perfectly. “It’s the weddin’ all over again.”

“Worse,” Farrie replied. “We ain’t got nearly the same amount of time to prep. Donal’s got my list and he’ll be handlin’ the orderin’ and we’ll have twenty tenderfoots to help. Ten of ‘em are the ones that helped out during the weddin’ feast so they’ll at least have some sense of what’s expected of ‘em.”

Connar gave a low whistle. “I don’t envy you boys.”

Kol made an exaggerated moan, leaning heavily against Quinn. “Ugh, please. Someone just throw me off the battlements.”

“Alright,” Quinn smirked, grabbing Kol around the waist and bodily hoisting him up.

“Oi! I was fuckin’ jokin’!” Quinn obligingly sat Kol back down, laughing.

“I’ll trade you places,” Nenani offered Kol. “I’ll stay down here and you can go to the dinner instead.”

“If I thought we’d get away with it,” he said. “I might very well take ye up on that offer, Dumplin’.”

“Don’t think he’d fit into yer dress though,” added Saen with a grin.

“He could just wear it on his hand,” she offered.

“I’d pay good money to see Kol in a frock,” Avery snickered.

“Aye, I bet you would,” Kol replied with a frown.

“All right then, let’s get to it, lads,” Farris barked, sensing where the conversation was leading. He turned to Nenani. “Best go head on back upstairs, Dumplin’. Donal mentioned yer Mum was lookin’ fer ye.” Nenani made a sad noise of disappointment. “Yale? Go find one ‘a the guards to take her back up.”

“Why can’t I just take the tunnel?” Nenani asked.

Farris eyed her. “Ye heard Thrist didn’t ye? Maevis sensed somethin’. And I ain’t takin’ no chances.” He turned to Saen and waved at Connar as he was slipping his false leg back on. “Saen? Make sure Mr. Observant here gets back to Hev in one piece. Afraid to let him walk back on his own. Might not find him again until spring.”

Connar glared up at Farris. “You’re a real comedian, Farris. You know that?”

“Oh I wasn’t jokin’ none.”

#DUMPLING #g/t #g/t short #g/t writing #Giant/tiny #Nenani #Yale #Farris #Connar #Kol #Quinn #Saen #Thrist

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