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kathea · 11 months

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Night Intruders in the Kitchen

I wrote this story in 2022. It's still one of my favourite things I have ever written. And it features my favourite character! :D (Haga :)))

Summary: Young noble daughter wants to take revenge on her father.

TW: mentions of domestic violence, mentions of poisoning

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When the night had fallen, Lord Deneran’s young daughter snuck out of her room. She tiptoed down the staircase, barefoot, careful not to make any noise. She managed to get all the way down to the castle kitchen without meeting a single soul. The large room was softly illuminated by the moonlight. She didn’t use a lantern to avoid drawing any attention.

She slowly walked through the kitchen, looking around. The tables were piled high with various ingredients and dishes in preparation for tomorrow’s big celebration. Her gaze landed on a large pot on a tall table. The edge of the pot was too high for her to peek into it, so instead she sniffed. It smelled like stew, a highly seasoned one. This was perfect.

She looked around and found a wooden stool that she put next to the table to help her reach into the pot.

She reached for a pouch that was fastened at her waist. She untied it and opened it. Inside was a pile of orange berries which she took out and crushed in her palms above the pot. She wiped her hands on a towel that was lying on the table. She picked up a large cooking spoon that was lying next to the pot and started stirring the–

“What are you doing?”

She screamed and jumped off the stool when she heard a curious voice coming from a dark corner of the kitchen. After she calmed down her breathing, she slowly peeked beyond a corner of the table. She was quite puzzled to find Uncle Haga sitting on the dirty kitchen floor with his back resting against a sack of flour, and a large bowl of dough lying on the ground next to him. He must have been sitting here this whole time, and she just hadn’t noticed him.

She frowned. “What are you doing here?”

He grinned playfully. “I asked first.”

“Hmph.” She slowly returned to her table. “I don’t need to ask what you’re doing. You’re stealing food again. Now I’m sure Pa would love to hear about it. Or rather… hate?” She peeked around the table to assess his reaction.

Haga laughed, his voice showing nothing but genuine amusement as always. “Haha! You’re threatening me?”

“I simply want to present you a deal. You didn’t see me, I didn’t see you.”

He folded his arms. “Now I’m even more curious about what you’re doing here.”

“Nothing anymore. I’m leaving.” She picked up the stool and went to put it back in the original place.

“Then what have you done?” He started to sound rather urgent. With a grunt, he pulled himself to his feet. “Hey! Come back, you squirt, you hear me!”

She walked back towards him. “You wanna know what I did? It doesn’t matter anymore, now that you have seen me, I have to cancel the plan.” She tried to make sure he doesn’t hear her voice trembling.

Haga put his hands on his hips. “Yes, I want to know. Tomorrow is an important banquet so I want to know what you are secretly doing in the kitchen in the middle of the night.”

Her chin began to tremble, but she raised it high and looked defiantly into his eyes.. “H-he hit my mother so I’ll ruin his banquet!” she yelled, throwing her arms around. A tear that she couldn’t stop ran down her cheek.

Uncle Haga’s expression softened, showing worry and surprise. He let his arms fall to his side and leaned down to her. He put a hand on her shoulder and looked her directly in her eyes. “Tell me, little one…” he said quietly. “What did you put in that stew?”

She sobbed and wiped her nose by her hand in a completely unladylike manner. “You know, I read this book in the library…”

“Yeah?” he prompted her to go on.

“I took the book with me for a stroll in the forest and I found this plant…”

He frowned slightly.

“It wasn’t going to kill anyone.”

Uncle Haga sighed and straightened up. “Well I can’t let you do that. Sorry. Even though I might be curious about the chaos that would ensue…” He apparently pondered about it for a moment. “Nah,” he said eventually. “You know, this wouldn’t just hurt Deneran. This would hurt everyone.”

She sobbed. “I knoooow…”

“And you still wanted to do that?” He frowned in disbelief. “Even I wouldn’t do that. Well, maybe when I was your age, I would.” He thought about it for a second. “Yeah, I would. But now I’m… I’m more mature, I guess. I don’t know what went wrong with me.”

She looked up at him with pleading eyes. “You won’t tell Dad, will you?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Don’t worry. You see, I understand what you’re trying to do here. But there’s a better way to go about it.”

He knelt down in front of her, looked into her eyes and whispered, “I’ll let you in on a secret.” He winked.

She sniffed. “What secret?”

“You know, I… I know a trick…”

She stared at him in anticipation.

“You know about the intense headaches your father seems to suffer from?”

She nodded. Her father tends to stay in bed for a few days when that happens.

Uncle Haga continued. “I may know a trick to… cause him to get a headache.”

She frowned. As much as she wanted to take revenge, this seemed… cruel. “What trick is that?” she still asked.

Haga shook his head. “I won’t tell you what it is. But I can use it…” He put a hand on her arm. “I’ll use it to protect you and your mom. If I have the chance.”

She sniffed and folded her arms on her chest. “Why should I believe you? You’re just pulling my leg. You won’t even tell me the trick.”

Haga shrugged. “You don’t have to believe me. Whatever. I’ll still do it.”

He got up with difficulty, using the edge of the table to help himself up.

“Now we gotta decide what to do about this~” He tapped the pot with his knuckles.

She looked down in shame and didn’t answer.

“Well, we need to get rid of it,” he said. “Will you help me carry it to a privy?”

She looked up. “But… won’t they notice it’s gone?”

Haga grinned. “I’ll say I ate it – he’ll believe it, really. I mean, I may have… actually done that before…”

She sniffed. “But he’ll– he’ll–!” She remembered seeing the dark bruise, imperfectly hidden by makeup, that appears around Uncle’s eye when he makes Father angry.

“Don’t worry, I can deal with him,” Haga smiled nonchalantly.

“No! You haven’t done anything!” She had known she would be hurting innocent people by what she was going to do, but now she didn’t like that anymore. Uncle was trying to help her, she didn’t want him to suffer for something she had done!

“Don’t worry, I told you I have a trick. But you mustn’t tell anyone that I told you this. Especially not Deneran.” For the first time tonight, he looked genuinely scared. “I… I’m not sure how he’d react…”

She shook her head. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul. I still think you are pulling my leg though.” Haga nodded towards the large pot. “Now… We need to clean the mess you’ve made.” He took a sad look into the pot. “Too bad. It tasted so good before.”

#my writing #short story #OCs #Haganer Nilhur #Haga #Fria Nilhur #Deneran Nilhur #Deneran #Hagův příběh #Haga's Story

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grannyandgrandpascreations · 5 months

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Kitchen Dish Towel Monthly Subscription Box

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With a 12-month subscription you will receive 60 kitchen towels and 4 rubber bottom oven mitts. Here is how it works, each month you will receive 5 designed white flour sack kitchen dish towels, all five designs will be different and different writing colors on white flour sack kitchen dish towels. Keep them for yourself or consider gifting them for presents that will last beyond any holiday or occasion. Designs maybe of wine, cooking, humorous sayings, family sayings, inspirational sayings, grilling, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Television Shows, Retirement, Farming, the sky is the limit! So, every month you will be surprised with our five different designed kitchen towels that we are sending to you!

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Each month you will receive 4 new designed Kitchen Towels, all four designs will be different and different writing color on a white kitchen towel. Keep them for yourself or consider gifting them for presents that will last beyond any holiday or occasion. Designs maybe of Wine, Cooking, Dishes, Family, Funny Sayings, Grilling, Meat, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Television Shows, Retirement, Farming, the sky is the limit! So, every month you will be surprised with our five different designed kitchen towels that we are sending to you!

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Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Air dry is recommended.

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

Cost: $24.95 a month for our 12-month Subscription. All Subscriptions will include an Oven Mitt. We do not accept returns and / or exchanges on our Subscription Boxes.

What you receive: Each month four kitchen towels. Every Four Months an Oven Mitt along with your four kitchen towels.

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thebagladyofidaho · 2 years

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: NEW GOOD FOOD/GOOD MOOD TEA TOWEL.

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ajbwasntwriting · 3 years

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Daughter!Reader x Negan, Reader x Daryl: Chapter 4. Bow Boy

First | Previous | Next

After way too many chapters the reader will now meet our favorite archer.

I’ll only post more chapters if previous chapters get a good reaction so if you enjoy this please heart it, reblog it, and/or reply to it. Interaction inspires.

if you wish to be added to the tag list please dm me. All chapters can be found under the tag AJ’s Negan’s Daughter AU

In the weeks that followed you had become adept at moving through the dead. You had set up a little place closer in the city for yourself, complete with a crappy veggie garden on the roof of an apartment complex for yourself. Only Tomatoes, Onions, and Lettuce seemed to grow up there but it was better than nothing. You had built up a steady collection of books, turning one of the abandoned apartments into a library. You treated the zombie books as if they were comedy. ‘If only they knew’ you’d think looking at your wardrobe which consisted of some comfortable pieces to lounge around your hideout in and a bucket of cloths stewing in guts for when you went out. It proved beneficial to leave the home smelling freshly dead.

You were trying to build up a collection of canned food, meant to get you through the winter, but it wasn’t enough and with your last crop failing you knew it was back to foraging for at least the next three months. You had an old calendar broken up and spread across your floor. If you could fit seven cans on each page then you’d be fine...but seven cans was all you had, not including the dog food. The only good thing is that food was the only thing you had a hard time coming up with.

You were wandering through the streets again in your walker gear, your bag empty, aside from some old seed mix you took from the pet store. The snow had begun to fall making being discrete more difficult as the dead would often get stuck or fall over, which wasn’t an option for you. ‘Maybe when it gets heavy I can wear my normal clothes.’ you thought.

It was no use, the sun was setting, and traveling deeper into town would prove a fruitless effort if you got caught by the dead. You backtracked to a bank. The doors were broken and bloodied and ripped sleeping bags lined the ground, but what you came here for was the boards on the windows. You ripped some filling from a sleeping bag, shoving it into your ruck-sack, and moved to the windows.

You got the first board down but the click of a gun stopped your movements. “Turn around. Slowly” a man with a southern accent spoke. You did as he said, turning around with your hands raised. To say you were surprised would be an understatement. Before you stood Rick Grimes, along with a man with a crossbow and a woman with dark hair pulled into a tight pony, pointing a familiar rifle at you.

“Hey...Rick was it?” you nodded to the woman “Glad to see you got some use out of that rifle.” It took a moment for it to dawn on Rick who you were, at which he couldn’t contain his chuckle at your overly friendly attitude.

“I didn’t recognise you with all that filth on your face, then again I never got your name.”

“I have reasons to prefer it that way,” you smiled at him.

“Look, can you leave those blanks? We need to camp here for the night.” He asked, not putting his gun down, but you didn’t judge.

“I need the wood,”

“Let’s just kill her” the man spoke up, stepping closer then visually wincing. You looked him over quickly and noticed his leg was bleeding badly.

“Your hurt,” you spoke, locking eyes with the man. After a glance over the rest of them, it seemed they had been through a war. Maybe that’s why they decided to stay “I can help with that if you let me. I have a safe house not too far from here.” you said, nodding to the man behind Rick. “In return you guys just gotta help me carry up some planks to make a fire.”

“No” the woman behind Rick spoke.

“Yes,” Rick interjected. He turned to his group, his back to you which seemed to make them trail their weapons on your head. You took a step back for their sake. “If she says she can patch Daryl up then she can.”

“Why do you trust her?” the woman asked, not taking her eyes or aim off of you for a second.

“It’s a long story,” he whispered “But we’re cold and exposed out here. So I say we take her up on the offer.”

“Can I go back to getting my wood now?” you interrupted them. “It’s getting late and it’s hard to navigate in the dark”

“Yeah,” Rick said, turning back to you. You turned and started pulling the planks off the windows, now with Rick’s help. The other two took a moment to join you too, pulling a couple planks off the wall. Between yourself and Rick you had a few days worth of wood, while the woman was busy helping the second man who was limping. You lead them down to an old red-brick building, leading them to the entrance to the basement.

“It’s ten flours up,” you said, unlocking the gate and motioning the group to go down. “You’ll sleep like babies after.” Once inside the planks were offloaded onto you to carry the second man up the floors. Once on your floor, you dropped the planks onto the ground, finding an oil-lamp in the moonlight and turning it on. The group looked even more exhausted now. You held out the lamp to Rick and nodded to the door to your left. “My bed’s in there. Get him laid out. I’ll be on the roof.” he took the lamp from you. You grabbed two planks and walked past them “Don’t take my food there’s not enough” you called as you passed them.

You opened up the roof, finding what was left of your garden, some plastic boxes collecting snow, and a fire pit you had jerry-rigged out of a sheet of metal, an old lamp, and a punch of wire hangers twirled to suspend a pot that had filled with snow. You grabbed the hatchet you had found from it’s space by the door and got the filling from your bag and started a fire using a lighter. As it burned you went back to the entrance way to the roof, where you kept the bucket of guts for your walker gear and a small cupboard with clean clothes in it and some pieces of cloth. By the time you had peeled off the layers, the snow had turned to water. You poured some out into a neighbouring pot full of snow, cooling it.

As you were washing the gunk off your skin and out of your hair you heard the door open. It was the woman. “I’m so sorry” she yelped, closing the door.

“What is it?” you yelled just before she closed it again.

“We were wondering what was taking you” she answered. “You didn’t mention you were bathing.” you wiped the blood from your arms, your skin reacting to the sudden heat and cold.

“There’s a pot on the stove in my kitchen. Can you bring it up?” you called. She replied positively before fully closing the door. By the time she came back you were fully clean and redressed in some red pants, a black shirt, a yellow hoodie, and a pair of slip-on shoes you’d designated as your house shoes. She held the pot from behind the door, you walked over and opened the door, finding her with her eyes closed. “I’m dressed,” you said, taking the pot. You got some snow from the bins and emptied the last of the water into the new pot. You picked it up.

“I’m Tara, by the way” she spoke up as you walked back towards her.

“I didn’t ask” you replied, walking past her “close the door” you were down one flight of stairs with her behind you when you stopped short, looking over your shoulder. “Sorry, it’s just...safer to not exchange names.” Tara nodded at you

“No, I get it.” she smiled at you meekly. The two of you continued down the stairs. “How do you know Rick?”

“I tried to kill him,” you said plainly, pushing your door open to see Rick and the other man, now sitting on the couch. “I thought I told you the bed.” You said, putting the pot of hot water on the coffee table. “Where’s the wound?”

“His calf,” Rick replied, watching you walk into the kitchen. You threw open one of the presses and to the shock of the other three, it was over flowing with medical supplies. You grabbed a familiar first-aid kid, a bottle of antibiotics, some bandage, and gauze.

“Great. Take off your pants.” You unintentionally slammed the doors closed “Or just roll up the leg of your jeans. Either way, I need a look at it.” The man bent over and rolled up the jean leg.

“Where did you find all that stuff?” Rick asked. You picked up the man’s leg and placed it on the coffee table, shoving the pant leg up.

“Around” you replied as you cleaned the matted blood from the wound. It was a rather deep cut and it didn’t look good. “You’re gonna need stitches, and I’m gonna have to open it up more.”

“The hell you mean open it up more!” The man shouted

“To make sure it’s clean, numb-nuts. How’d you get this?”

“We jumped out of an office window” Tara spoke up. “Daryl got caught on the fire escape.” Now that made you laugh. That fragile-looking man, that baby-faced girl, and this rough-looking redneck is the one that gets hurt.

“Old steal.” you signed dramatically “I gotta clean it properly.” you spoke, opening the first aid kit to show it full of medical tools. Mainly single-use tweezers and scissors. You took some scissors and cut up some gauze, “It’s gonna hurt. Need a towel to bite on?” you asked, using a pair of tweezers to pick up the gaze and soak it in the steaming water.

“Fuck you” Daryl cursed. You positioned your free hand over the wound, pushing it open slightly, causing him to wince.

“As you wish” you cut back before focusing on cleaning the wound. He took it like a champ and you had him bandaged in no time. You dumped the water out the window when you were done. You laughed to yourself as it hit a walker and he grumbled up at you. You didn’t pay attention to their conversation until they pulled you into it.

“How many walkers have you killed?” Rick called over to you. You closed the window and walked back into the sitting room of the apartment,

“Why?”

“Please just answer the question,” Rick spoke quietly. You leaned against a hall and took a deep breath

“I don��t know... a lot”

“How many people have you killed?” he asked. You thought on it a moment and remembered the lady you sent a walker on back at Sanctuary

“One”

“Why?”

“She tried to kill me first”

The three of them looked amongst themselves as if reading each other’s minds. “We have a place-”

“No” you stopped Rick, knowing what was coming next. “I am not going to your camp, and you're not staying here. Tomorrow morning you will leave, and I will stay,” you spoke firmly

“It’s not a camp,” Tara spoke up from where she was sitting on the couch next to Daryl. “It’s a community. We have walls.”

“I’m not going” you spoke slowly, making sure every word was heard. You pushed off the wall and walked past the living area towards your bedroom. “Next door is my library. There’s another bed and a couch. Just don’t take my shit.” you closed the door and locked it for good measure. ‘They’ll take my supplies’ you thought as you crawled into bed, pulling the blankets as closely around you as possible, ‘but they won’t take me’.

The following morning you woke to see your patient out cold on your couch, with his friends on the floor covered in the blankets from the library. It was still dark out, as expected in the winter season, but you still wanted them gone. You walked past him to your door, remembering you’d left your bag on the roof. Everything up there was still in its place too.

Back in your apartment, you prepared a wonderful breakfast; half a can of soup, and some seed mix in a bowl. It tasted like crap but you knew it would fill you for the next while. “Thought you said there was no food” Daryl piped up from the couch. You turned your back to him.

“Not enough for more people” you retorted, slurping down your cold soupy-seedy mix.

“How long have you been out here?” He asked.

“Some time” you said through gulps

“Where were you before this?”

“Someplace else” you snapped, scraping the last of the mix into your mouth. Silence fell for a moment.

“Why did you help us?” he asked. You looked down into the old metal sink as if it had the answers. You used to do the same with the neck of a vodka bottle at sanctuary. They never had the answers. ‘Old soldiers don’t forget their training?’ you thought

“I don’t know” is what you said.

The other two woke not long after. Rick looked at your cabinet than at you before approaching you. Before he could speak you opened it up and pulled out two changes of bandages. “For Daryl,” you said, “Now get out.”

Three days later you were coming back to your home from another run, finding some clothes and chocolate powder but no food. With the seeds, you could stretch your rations to another week but it was still tight. That was when you saw a small pile of cans in front of your door. Eight in total. Soups, peas, beans, apple sauce. Among the cans, you found a small note. ‘From Alexandria’ it read. You thought of the ramifications that might have to your security and how that they’ll probably pay a price for not having enough food for your father this week, then one of the tins read /FAVOURITE SOUP/ and your stomach won over, demanding you to start a fire this minute and warm that can of delicious right up!

You were grateful for the first time. Alarmed the second time. Tired of it by the third time. They would come every week with cans and tins of food. When you expected the next delivery ‘from Alexandra’ you stayed home, sitting on the floor watching the door. The sun had been up a while and you were certain they weren’t coming when you heard heavy steps, followed by the sound of tin knocking off each other. You opened the door quickly, startling the delivery man in the process.

“Howdy, Bow Boy” you spoke to Daryl who had the bow pointed at your face. “What’re you doing?” Daryl slid his crossbow back into place.

“ugh...Feeding ya?” he said, a little embarrassed about getting caught. “I figured you’d be out, scavenging.”

“I usually am but some homeless-looking guy keeps bringing me food” you smiled sarcastically.

“Well he sounds like a gentleman,” he said, picking up the cans and offering one to you.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, closing your eyes in annoyance.

“You need it,” he spoke plainly. You pushed your door open and motioned for him to follow.

“Put the cans on the coffee table” you said, going to your medical supplies and pulling some things out and placing them on the counter. “I am not taking any more charity. We are going to trade.” He looked over what you were pulling out.

“Are you sure?” he asked. You nodded sternly.

“You ain’t leaving me short, so I ain’t gonna leave you short. That’s the terms.” you held out your hand to him. “Deal?”

You parted with a lot of medical supplies, some soaps, two blankets, and a box of cutlery. You would have given him more but he couldn’t fit any more in his bag. You’d just have to find him better stuff next time.

Riding into the Sanctuary on his bike, Daryl was greeted by some saviours. He emptied his bag, claiming to have found the pieces. Everyone was overjoyed at the supplies and the fresh blankets went to Rodney and his new-born. Heading back to his quarters he was approached by Lauren. “Daryl! Daryl, it happened again. Some asshole robbed some of our cans”

~ Tag List ~

@softsebastian

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desirethepositive · 2 years

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Tagged by @dis-spoopy-boi for a 9 people you want to get to know better challenge

1. Favorite color- I’ve got a few, right now it’s between emerald green, black, and turquoise

2. Currently reading- Gone Girl and American Gods, neither of them for the first time, and yes both at the same time.

3. Last song I listened to- Nervous by K Flay

4. Last series I watched- New Girl for about the ten millionth time

5. Last movie I watched- For A Good Time, Call (which is excellent and stupid and campy and funny, I love it)

6. Savory, sweet, or spicy- why not all? Why are we pitting these bad bitches against each other

7. Craving- would kill or die for some fancy breakfast food right now. As it is I’m going to make myself an egg and move on.

8. Currently working on- okay I actually just started a project to hand-embroider some flour sack towels for my roommates for Christmas and I’m super excited about it. Since we’re all going our separate ways at the end of the year I thought it’d be fun to celebrate their next steps with something tangible and useful for their kitchens!

Tagging @scoooops @pizz4-andsqu4ts @angelus-mortis-13 @malevolent-god @azurepixie and honestly anyone else who wants to do this (I’m not super social on here and couldn’t think of 9 people under pressure, sorry!)

#asks #personal

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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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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

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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miscellaneous-miraculous · 4 years

Text

Day 8: Hair Down

A little late, but hope you enjoy anyways :)

AO3

“Let operation Best Sleepover Ever commence!” Nino grinned.

“What do we do first?” Adrien asked. He had already changed into his pajamas, fuzzy Ladybug patterned pants with a plain white t-shirt. He’d decided against the matching top since his blanket and pillow were already Ladybug themed too.

“Tom and Sabine always make tons of food,” Nino said. “And Marinette mentioned something about decorating cookies, so that’ll probably be first. Then we can watch a movie – hey, maybe you, me, and Alya can finally convince Mari to watch a horror movie!”

“Not happening!” Marinette called from upstairs.

Nino shrugged but sent him a wink, “We’ll see about that. Oh, and Alya will probably want to play truth or dare at least once.”

“But first –” a large pile of blankets tumbled down the stairs and Marinette emerged at the bottom with a grin, “Time to build a fort!”

Adrien suddenly forgot how to breath and Nino's laughter was little more than ringing in his ears. All he could see was her.

Marinette's hair was free from it's usual pigtails, falling in a sheet around her face. She was just as breathtaking as the first time he'd seen her with her hair down, even as the static electricity of the blankets made it frizz out in all sorts of directions. A soft “Wow” escaped his lips.

Pink dusted Marinette’s cheeks as she mumbled a thanks.

They built a fort from the blankets and couch cushions, Alya joining at some point, but Adrien hardly noticed. Maybe it was good Marinette didn't wear her hair down often, he couldn't imagine focusing on anything else. She was cute all the time, but there was something special about her hair being down. Especially when she blushed or laughed. Her laugh was magical, lighting up the whole room. She had so many different laughs too. Her laugh was different with Chat Noir, completely unrestrained. With Alya there were often shrieks mixed in with laughs. Nino was somewhere in the middle of those two, and with Adrien she giggled.

Adrien had been lost in trying to think of a good pun to get her to laugh when he realized they'd moved to the kitchen. His gaze kept being drawn back to Marinette. Marinette with the same cat pun t-shirt he’d once gotten for Ladybug. Marinette with her hair down and icing on her nose. Marinette laughing as Alya smeared some on her cheek. Marinette who made works of art on her cookies. Marinette who, for everyone of Alya’s Ladybug cookies, had made a Chat Noir cookie insisting one couldn’t exist without the other. Marinette who was definitely going to be the death of him by the end of the night.

“Um, dude, you alright there?” Nino asked, pointing down to his try of cookies. A giant glob of pink icing was covering his hands and several cookies. Marinette had been laughing at joke Alya told.

“Oh, I’ll get a towel!” Marinette said, glancing over at them.

“Sorry,” Adrien cringed.

“Don’t worry about it,” Marinette said. “I’ve spilled entire sacks of flour before, this is nothing.”

Only when she came back with a wet rag did Adrien notice the design of icing on her face. The bit on her nose had been smudged into a triangle, three streaks for whiskers on either side of her face. That must’ve been what Alya had been doing when she smudged some on Marinette’s cheek.

As Adrien wiped off his hands Marinette began redistributing the icing more evenly over all the cookies. “Time for a game then?” Alya asked.

“As long as it’s not truth or dare,” Marinette warned.

“Aw, but Marinette, don’t you want Adrien to get the complete sleepover experience?”

“We could play Mahjong, we’ve got four people, it’s perfect!”

“But – okay, actually, that sounds fun, I’ve never played before,” Alya said, frowning. “But don’t think you’re getting off easy, Marinette, we can play truth or dare after!”

“We'll see about that. Mama taught me when I was little, it’s a lot like cards actually,” Marinette put the tray off to the side, wiping her fingers on a nearby towel. “I’ll go get the tiles.”

A few minutes later Marinette had begun explaining the rules and setting up the tiles, “We’ll leave the flower tiles out since it’s your first time. Nino’s played at least a few times before, but I’ll start as the East Wind. Nino you might want to sit in the South seat so you can be East after me.”

“This is so much fun, I’ve only ever played the solitaire version,” Adrien said, the game distracting him from being too absorbed by Marinette’s beauty, even if he ended up losing spectacularly.

“How?” Alya groaned as Marinette declaring mahjong with her two North wind tiles. She’d managed to win using entirely dragon and wind tiles, tripling her final score. She’d won each hand but the second, each with a different score modifier.

Marinette shrugged, “This was one of the only games I would play for a while, so I've gotten a lot of practice. At first I just thought the tiles were pretty and I liked the noise they made but I picked up some strategy along the way.”

“Wait, Mari, didn’t you make your own set of tiles for an art project one year?” Nino asked.

“Oh yeah, they’re still around here somewhere. I think Mama put them away for safe keeping though.”

“I vote we switch to truth or dare before Marinette finds someway to win that too,” Alya said, still shaking her head as they put the tiles away.

“Don’t give her any ideas!” Nino protested.

--------------------------------

Later:

“I dare you to compliment Marinette,” Alya smirked.

“Aren’t dares supposed to be hard?” Adrien asked.

“Well, I’d say until she blushes, but that ship has sailed,” Alya nodded in her friend’s direction.

“Marinette, you’re the kindest, bravest, most creative person I know,” Adrien said. Except for maybe Ladybug. Maybe. “Also, you look beautiful with your hair down.”

“Eep!” Marinette squeaked, burying her face in a nearby pillow.

#adrinetteapril2020 #adrinetteapril #adrinette #day 8 #hair down #sleepover #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #mahjong #cookie decorating

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gelasssoek · 3 years

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Easy homemade stir fry honey and soy egg noodles with mushrooms. Hi, Recipe for Noodles Stir Fired with Mushrooms, onions and capsicum! This one is super yummy, healthy and yes Vegetarian!! So i hope you all will give.

You sauté mushrooms with a honey and soy sauce glaze and then toss them with stir-fried green onions, and peas in Make the sauce by whisking together the stock, soy sauce, honey, rice vinegar, cooking wine or sherry, and the cornstarch Easy Chinese Chicken Salad With Chow Mein Noodles. Stir in the cooked noodles, green onions, bean sprouts and stir-fry sauce and toss well to combine. One of the secrets to a great stir fry is to have all the ingredients ready before you start cooking.

Hey everyone, hope you're having an incredible day today. Today, I will show you a way to make a special dish, easy homemade stir fry honey and soy egg noodles with mushrooms. It is one of my favorites food recipes. This time, I will make it a bit unique. This is gonna smell and look delicious.

Easy homemade stir fry honey and soy egg noodles with mushrooms is one of the most popular of recent trending meals on earth. It is simple, it is quick, it tastes delicious. It is appreciated by millions daily. Easy homemade stir fry honey and soy egg noodles with mushrooms is something that I've loved my whole life. They're nice and they look fantastic.

Hi, Recipe for Noodles Stir Fired with Mushrooms, onions and capsicum! This one is super yummy, healthy and yes Vegetarian!! So i hope you all will give.

To begin with this recipe, we must prepare a few ingredients. You can cook easy homemade stir fry honey and soy egg noodles with mushrooms using 16 ingredients and 4 steps. Here is how you cook that.

The ingredients needed to make Easy homemade stir fry honey and soy egg noodles with mushrooms:

{Take 150 g of pack medium egg noodle.

{Make ready 1 cup of broccoli (chopped up).

{Take 1 of carrot (cut into matchsticks).

{Prepare 1 cup of cabbage (sliced).

{Make ready 1 pack of shiitake mushrooms (you can use other mushrooms).

{Get 2 cups of beansprouts.

{Prepare 1 of garlic (finely chopped).

{Make ready 2 tbsp of vegetable cooking oil.

{Take of Honey and Soy sauce.

{Get 3 tbsp of soysauce.

{Prepare 2 tbsp of honey.

{Take 1 clove of garlic (minced).

{Make ready 1 tbsp of corn flour.

{Get 1 pinch of salt and pepper.

{Make ready 1 tsp of sesame oil (optional).

{Make ready 1 tsp of sesame seed (optional).

If you chop the vegetables while waiting for the water to come to a boil and start stir frying them while the. Stir soy sauce mixture into mushroom mixture; bring to a boil. Stir-Fried Egg Noodles with Mushrooms, Tomatoes, and Bean Sprouts (Bakmie Goreng). Really easy to throw together once everything is prepped ahead and choc full of flavor.almost too spicy for us.

Steps to make Easy homemade stir fry honey and soy egg noodles with mushrooms:

Add your sauce mix (soy sauce, honey, minced garlic, corn flour and salt and pepper) in a bowl until all combined. Prep all your vegetables and noodles..

On a medium heat pan or wok, add cooking oil in follow bu finely chopped garlic, stir until garlic become crisp and yellow. Add your mushrooms in and cook for a few minutes..

Add your vegetable start from the one that take longer to cook, carrot, cabbage, broccoli. Quick stir on medium heat for a few min then add egg noodles in and mix them all..

Add your sauce in and at this point you need to mix them really quick because you want your sauce be nicely coated on your stir fried and the sauce will turn to a nice and glossy sauce (with the help of corn flour) then you can add beansprounts in at the last stage, mix well and turn the heat off..

The "noodles" in this vegetarian recipe is really eggs cooked as a flat omelet then sliced to recipe eggs in this easy stir-fry. Sure, flowers are nice, but homemade food gifts are the sweetest tokens of affection—especially when they're To make this dish gluten-free, use a gluten-free soy sauce. Making homemade egg noodles with my mom is something that I always loved to do. We would roll the dough out on the flour-covered kitchen table and slice the noodles. I remember hanging them over the kitchen chair or laying them out to dry on one of the many hand-embroidered flour sack towels my.

So that is going to wrap this up for this special food easy homemade stir fry honey and soy egg noodles with mushrooms recipe. Thanks so much for your time. I'm confident that you can make this at home. There's gonna be interesting food at home recipes coming up. Remember to bookmark this page on your browser, and share it to your loved ones, colleague and friends. Thanks again for reading. Go on get cooking!

#recipesfood

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grannyandgrandpascreations · 5 months

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Before You Leave This Home designed Flour Sack Kitchen Towel

Before you leave this home, always remember I love you no matter what. I believe in you. Follow your heart. Come home safe. Inspirational, uplifting, loving designed Flour Sack white decorative kitchen tea dish towel is a perfect unique kitchen decor towel for anyone's kitchen including yours! This towel also makes a great housewarming gift, birthday gift or just because! The writing color will vary, as the kitchen towels are already packaged, if there is a certain writing color that you would like to request, please add in comments and we will do our best to try to honor your request.

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.

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

website/ www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop

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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/

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thebagladyofidaho · 2 years

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: NEW FOOD IS MY LOVE LANGUAGE TEA TOWEL.

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perfectlyrose · 6 years

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a cup of sugar, a pinch of magic (1/?)

Summary: It's just another night spent baking instead of sleeping for John Smith, owner of The Blue Box Bakery, when a mysterious blonde woman knocks on the bakery door hours before opening time. He never expected that letting her in would draw him into a world of magic and shadow organizations or be the start of a life-changing love.

Pairing: Nine x Rose || Word Count: 3850 || Rating: All Ages (for now)

Note: So I swore I wouldn't start a new WIP until I finished one but... well... here I am. Buckle in because I think this is going to be a long one. -- tagging @doctorroseprompts for Fantasy month and also the bread prompt

AO3

John pushed the heels of his hands into the dough, putting all his strength behind it as he worked to get it to the right consistency. Kneading bread dough was therapeutic in the way he could focus on doing just this one single thing, putting mind and body both towards a single goal and shutting out the rest of the world for a bit.

He was starting to get a reputation for his breads in the neighborhood, was starting to get people coming into the shop specifically looking for certain ones. No one had to know that the days he had the most variety were products of nights spent avoiding the nightmares that lived in his head.

Today there would be a lot of bread. Probably would be quite a few of the fussy little miniature cakes that sold well when he could find the time to make them. Detail work would be a good follow up to making bread.

He’d been working for a couple hours and his kitchen was covered in various breads and cakes and sweets in varying stages of baking, cooling, and being decorated when a sharp knocking cut through the quiet. John’s head whipped up, brows drawing together as he glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning on a Wednesday, not there weren’t usually many people wandering about looking for a bakery at this time.

John grabbed a towel to wipe his hands with and headed out into the bakery proper to see what the fuss was about. He had the lights in the shop low but it was just enough to make the glass cases shine and still leave the corners shadowed.

He turned his gaze to the front windows. A blonde woman was at the door, arms wrapped round her middle as she glanced up and down the dark, empty street. John frowned as he took in the fact that she was only wearing a vest top and jeans even though it was the middle of winter and the middle of the night on top of that.

His decision to let her in was made the second he laid eyes on her. At the very least, he could offer her a spot to sit in the warmth of the bakery for a bit. Maybe some food as well.

He strode over to the door and unlocked it, pulling it open and letting in a blast of cold air.

The woman hesitated as she looked up at John, fear apparent in her eyes.

John didn’t think he looked all that intimidating with an apron on and flour all over him but he was bigger than her. Years of working doughs and hauling sacks of flour and sugar and trays of food had maintained and built muscle that he belatedly realized was on display with the sleeves of his jumper pushed up. He offered her a disarming smile, trying to convey that he was not a threat.

He stepped back, pulling the door open wider and gesturing into the shop with one hand. “Come on, it’s a lot warmer in here and I’ve got a few croissants that should be about warm that I can share.”

She took a small step forward then stopped. “I don’t have any money.” Her voice was hoarse like she hadn’t spoken in a while or had spoken too much and too loud recently.

He shrugged. “Don’t need money to help someone out. Please come in.”

She pressed her lips together and then nodded stepping inside Blue Box Bakery.

John shut the door behind her and locked it back. She jumped at the sound of the lock.

“You can unlock and leave at anytime you want,” he reassured her. “It’s a deadbolt operated from the inside, no need for a key if you’re going out.”

“Thank you,” she said, quiet voice perfectly audible in the almost silence of the bakery. “You didn’t have to let me in.”

He snorted. “Wasn’t going to leave you out in the cold. Come on back to the kitchen, I think I promised you croissants.”

He led the way back behind the counter and then into the kitchen, pretending not to notice the way she stole a few glances back out the windows or the way some of her tension dissipated the moment the kitchen door swung shut.

“Oh my god, it smells amazing in here,” she said, inhaling deeply. “Is that cinnamon I smell?”

“Good nose. There’s cinnamon swirl bread in the oven.”

He opened one of the ovens and used the towel he’d slung over his shoulder to pull out a tray with three croissants on it. They were leftover from yesterday and he’d been warming them back up to eat but he thought she needed them more.

He slid the tray onto a clear spot on the counter before turning to grab a plate from a cabinet. John plucked the croissants off the baking tray and dropped them onto the plate, muttering as he burned his fingertips on the hot pastry. He shook his hand out as he set the plate down near the blonde, giving her a sheepish grin.

“You’d think after a year or so of baking professionally I’d have built up more heat tolerance,” he quipped.

The smile that broke over her face was wonderful to behold. “Might should invest in some tongs so you keep the feeling in your fingers.”

“Got some, just never remember to use the damn things,” he said easily, turning back to check on the breads and pull a sponge out of the oven that was probably already overbaked.

“I’m John Smith by the way.” He didn’t look behind him to see if her silence was due to a return of her hesitance or because she was in the middle of a bite. “I own this place.”

“Are most bakers already up and baking at three in the morning?” the blonde asked, ignoring the opportunity to share her own name.

John turned to face her, eyes flicking down to the crumbs on her plate, all that was left of the croissants. “Nah, I’m just an insomniac who lives above his shop so when I can’t sleep, I come get started on the day’s baking. No one’s complained about the extra pastries yet.”

“I certainly wouldn’t,” she said, another smile blooming. “Those were delicious.”

“You should try a fresh one when I get them going.”

“Might just do that.”

“I could get you a cuppa, if you’d like,” he offered.

“If you show me where the kettle and tea are, I can make us both one. Least I can do when you let me in from the cold and fed me the best croissants I’ve ever had.”

John showed her where the kettle had a tiny corner of counter space with tea and mugs in the cabinet above it and then left her to it. He pulled the cinnamon swirl bread and set it on a cooling rack before going to check on the doughs that were still rising. None of them looked ready yet so he turned his attention back to the blonde who was pouring boiling water into the mugs.

“You any good at baking?” he asked.

She snorted. “Pretty much anything I touch in a kitchen ends up burnt so…”

He raised his eyebrows. “Gonna have to ask you to stay away from the bread dough then.”

The blonde laughed and his heart tripped over itself. “Not a problem.”

John grabbed milk out of the fridge as she brought mugs over to a clear spot on the counter. He poured a splash in his before offering it to her. She added a dash of milk and then took the spoon he was using for sugar to add a spoonful and a half to her cup.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she took her first sip. “Mmm, s’been awhile since I had a proper cuppa.”

John mulled over his words for a moment before opening his mouth. “Look, I’m not going to ask why you were out on the street in the middle of the winter in a vest top and no jacket. Not any of my business. But like I told you earlier, I live above the shop. So if you need a place to sleep and take a shower, make a few more cuppas, you’re welcome to use my flat.”

She froze, mug halfway to her lips. “I don’t want to put you out.”

He shrugged. “I’m going to be down here baking and then running the shop. I can give you the key and then you can lock the door behind you and have full run of the place for the day and I won’t bother you. Might even have some frozen dinners you can microwave without burning the place down.”

She set her mug down with a quiet thunk, keeping her hands wrapped around it. “Why are you being so nice? You don’t even know me.”

“Because it seems like you need help. Know what it’s like to be looking for a hand to help you get on your feet, me. Nice to be able to try and do the helping this time.”

“The world doesn’t work this way,” she argued. “It’s not this kind.”

“Not saying that it is. I’m just saying you knocked on the right bakery door on the right night and sometimes, luck works that way.”

She was opening her mouth to say something else when a banging sound cut through the quiet. The blonde jumped, almost spilling her tea as her face drained of color. Her eyes - more gold than brown now - were wild with fear when they met his. “They found me. Oh god, I didn’t think they’d find me this fast.”

“Calm down. I’m not letting anyone else into this shop, you got that?” John dug in his pocket and pulled out a key, pressed it into her hand. “Go through the door in the back of the kitchen and straight up the stairs. My flat is the door on the left. I’ll let you know when we’re clear down here.”

She nodded and took off, mug of tea still in one hand, the key in the other.

John took a deep breath, counted to ten and then walked back out into the shop for his second late night visitor.

There were two men at the door. They were dressed in black and had military-straight posture. John felt his own spine straighten instinctively, old habits reasserting themselves.

The men stood with a tilt to their stance that, to John’s trained eye, said they were carrying weapons of some sort under their jackets on their left hip. One of the men was sweeping the street with his eyes, searching for any signs of movement while the other locked his gaze on John.

He took his time getting to the door. He flipped the lock and opened the door just enough to accommodate his shoulders, making it very clear that they were not welcome to enter. “We’re not open,” John said shortly.

“Have you seen a woman around here tonight? About five foot five, blonde?” The man in front and the shorter of the two asked.

“No. I’ve been in the kitchen for the last couple hours and you’re the only people I’ve seen.”

“What are you doing up at this hour, anyways?” The other man asked, turning narrowed eyes on John.

“Insomniac, me. Good quality for a baker.”

“Mind if we have a look around?”

John crossed his arms over his chest. “I do actually. Pretty sure you can see the whole shop from where you’re standing and I don’t let people back into my kitchen, especially not when I have things baking.”

“You’re certain no one else has been around here tonight?”

“Nobody in the shop but me. If someone was lingering about outside I wouldn’t know about it. Barely heard your knocking over the ruckus I was making back there.”

The men were still suspicious, he could see it in their eyes, but he knew they didn’t have any proof that he was lying. “If you see a blonde woman wandering around tonight, don’t let her in. She’s dangerous.”

John raised his eyebrows. The blonde had seemed more scared than anything but he knew well enough that scared could make you feral, make you dangerous. “Got a number I can call if I catch sight of this dangerous fugitive?”

The man in the back reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. John took it and put it into his apron pocket without reading it. He kept his gaze locked on the two men memorizing their faces in case they decided to come back. The taller one had a permanent pinched expression and a narrow face with slicked back dark hair. The shorter one had a muscled build that John didn’t particularly want to test himself against and a blonde buzzcut.

“Bread’s going to burn if I don’t get back to it. Night gentlemen,” he said, moving back so he could shut the door.

The blonde man stopped him, slamming his palm against the glass. “I think you need to rethink letting us see the kitchen.”

“I think you need to get your hand off my glass or I’m going to make you clean it yourself,” John shot back. “I have no reason to let you on my property.”

“I think avoiding trouble should be incentive enough,” he said with a sneer, not moving his hand.

“Seems to me that letting you in would be inviting the trouble in.”

“If you’ve got nothing to hide, let us look around,” the taller man said.

John’s mouth quirked up into a smile that had no warmth to it, only warning. “No, thanks. Goodnight.”

He reached out and knocked the blonde’s hand down with a quick motion and closed the door, locking it up once more. John waved at the men still standing outside of his bakery and then headed back into the kitchen.

John pulled his bread out of the oven and set it to cool and then finished his already cold tea sitting on the counter. When about ten minutes had passed, he poked his head back out to see if the men were still out front. Deciding it was all clear, he ducked back into the kitchen, made sure everything was out of the ovens, then walked out the back door.

John checked the back alley to make sure they weren’t lurking back there and then mounted the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He knocked on the door to his flat softly. “It’s me,” he called out. “They’re gone, no sign of them still hanging about.”

He heard her moving on the other side of the door and stepped back so that she could see through the peephole that he was alone.

The deadbolt moved with a soft snick and the door swung open, revealing the blonde mystery woman. Her face was still pale, eyes still wide.

John stepped inside and closed and locked the door behind him, flipping on the lights as well.

“You got rid of them?” she asked, looking him straight in the eye.

“Yup. Told them I hadn’t seen anyone of your description, refused to let them into my shop, generally didn’t make any new friends in the process.”

She wrapped her arms around her middle like she needed the extra support to stay upright. “Were they only looking for me?”

He nodded. “Did you have someone with you earlier?”

She looked away. “Yeah, couple people. We split up so it wouldn’t be as easy to track us but I guess they didn’t find a bakery to hide in.”

“Maybe they found somewhere else to lay low.”

“If Torchwood didn’t ask about them, they’ve already found ‘em.”

“Torchwood?”

She looked back up, brow furrowed in confusion. “That’s who came around looking for me, yeah?”

John dug in the pocket of his apron and pulled out the card he’d asked for. One side had a honeycomb T, the other side read “Torchwood: Scientific research for the betterment of Britain” along with a phone number.

“That’s cryptic,” he muttered. He looked back at the blonde. “You were right. Torchwood.”

“They gave you a card?” she asked.

John shrugged. “I asked for a way to contact them so that I knew who they were.”

“Clever.”

“Not just a pretty face,” he joked, mouth quirking into a half-smile. “Why don’t we move in to the couch? Could do with getting off my feet for a bit.”

He eased past her and walked towards his sofa. It was battered and a rather offensive shade of yellow but it was the comfiest thing he’d ever sat on and he was attached to it. John plopped down with a sigh and propped his feet up on the coffee table after tossing his apron on it.

“They don’t tell you when you decide to open a bakery that it’s hell on your feet,” he said.

The blonde carefully lowered herself down on the other end of the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest and leaning back against the arm. “I would think it would be obvious. Gotta stand in the kitchen and then in the shop. Can’t sit when you’re in customer service.”

“Sounds like you know the drill.”

“Might’ve worked in a shop once upon a time,” she admitted. “Splurged on those gel inserts for my shoes and never regretted a single penny.”

“I’ll have to look into that.”

“You should.”

John let the silence stretch until some of the tension drained from the blonde’s shoulders.

“You know they tried to tell me that you’re dangerous,” he said.

“They would say that,” she scoffed. She propped her chin up on a fist, met his eyes. “I’m not dangerous to you.”

“I know.” He paused, trying to decide if he should say the rest of what was in his head. He’d promised not to press for her story but that was before a couple of military grunts from a research facility he’d never heard of had come knocking on his door. “But you might be dangerous for them.”

“Yes.”

“Why are they looking for you?”

“Because I escaped their lab and they hate losing a test subject.” Her gaze was unflinching and her voice was steady. “Usually when they lose one, it’s because they went to far and killed them or sent them into a nervous breakdown or a coma. We were the first ones that escaped, I think.”

“These people are experimenting on humans? Government approved?” John asked, a crease forming in his brow.

She laughed, harsh and bitter. “The government knows, they just don’t care. Not officially sanctioned, I don’t think, but they and Torchwood don’t exactly consider us human so it doesn’t matter.”

John outright frowned. “Not human?”

She bit down on her bottom lip. “So, um, but there’s a certain percentage of people that seems to be growing that can do what most consider… magic. I’m one of those people.”

John blinked. “Alright.”

“You’re… okay with that? Just like that?” she asked, incredulous.

“Would you like me to freak out a bit more?”

“Not particularly, but I was expecting you to.”

“I heard some rumblings, rumors, about magic right before I left the army. It was something more than just the usual soldier superstition so, not surprised that there’s something to it. The world’s a strange enough place for it to be true,” John said.

“You were in the military?”

“Once upon a time,” he said, echoing her words from earlier. “I was a doctor.”

“Not anymore?”

He shook his head, mouth thinning into a hard, straight line. There were things he didn’t want to talk about either. “I’m a baker now.”

“Quite the shift in profession.”

“Needed a change.”

She nodded, understanding in her eyes. Before she could put voice to more words, she interrupted herself with a yawn.

John smiled. “Think you could use some sleep.”

“I think so too.” She uncurled herself, putting her feet on the floor. “Could I sleep here tonight?”

“Of course. Already said you could.”

“That was before you knew about the magic,” she wiggled her fingers at the word, “and before Torchwood came knocking.”

“Neither of those things changed my mind.”

She reached over and put a hand on his knee. “Thank you. I mean it. Not many people would be this kind.”

John put his hand over hers and squeezed gently before letting go. “Let’s get you set up for the night.”

“I promise I’ll tell you the rest of my story tomorrow, once my head’s not so fuzzy,” she said. She got to her feet and stretched, the crack of her spine audible to John.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. I owe you that much for saving me.”

John didn’t argue. He didn’t think she owed him anything but he was keen to know what had happened to her before she showed up at his door.

He led her to his bedroom and got out an old tee shirt and a pair of flannel bottoms. “These will probably drown you but should do for the night. Sheets were washed a few days ago and I haven’t slept much lately so, should be serviceable enough.”

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

“The bedroom door has a lock, loo is just here in the hall. You’re free to poke around and help yourself to any food you find. I’ll be down in the shop if you need me. If you decide to slip out, I’d appreciate you leaving a note so I know you left on your own,” he rattled off, uncharacteristically verbose. Her own reluctance to talk seemed to make him want to fill some of the silence.

“I’m not going to do a runner. At least not today,” she said with a smile.

John nodded. “Alright. I should get back to work then. Cakes are waiting and they aren’t patient things.”

He turned and walked towards the doorway, trying to figure out how he was going to focus on his baking when he knew she was up here sleeping in his bed, when he was busy wondering about her history with Torchwood. Already he could feel the urge to turn back around and continue their conversation, to give into whatever magnetic pull emanated from her.

He kept walking until her voice broke the quiet, just as he reached the door of his flat.

“Rose,” she said, and he turned around to look at her. She was leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, the stack of clothes he’d given her clutched to her chest. “My name’s Rose Tyler.”

She flashed him a small smile before closing the bedroom door and engaging the lock.

Rose Tyler. John mouthed the name, liking the way it rolled off his tongue.

There was no one to see his smile as he walked back to his kitchen so he didn’t bother trying to dim it one single iota.

#ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #nine x rose #special thanks to #sequencefairy #for listening to me talk about this and telling me it wasn't terrible #love you!#i wrote this #a cup of sugar a pinch of magic

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