cookie platter

isak and even are in isak’s room, browsing through the “thrillers” section on netflix (because even says he’s in the mood for a little suspence) and there’s a knock on the door and they hear linn say “hey, did you guys take my box of cookies?” and the truth is that said box is right there on isak’s lap, and isak looks at even and mouths “oops”. when he opens the door, the box in his hand, he tells linn “it’s been there for like a month and i wasn’t sure whose cookies they were but, hm” he looks inside the box and continues “there’s a couple left” and he hands it to linn and she just stares at him for a few seconds, expressionless, and says “it’s fine, keep it”, turns around and leaves 

isak asks even “am i an ass?” and even laughs a little and ruffles isak’s hair and says “nah, just a hungry teenager”. and isak moves away from even’s hand and looks at him with a mischievous smile on his face and he replies “totally hungry” playfully, before he leans in and gently cover even’s nose with his teeth, not really bitting down and even doesn’t try to free himself, simply teases “it smells like chocolate chip cookies in there. actually, it smells like stolen chocolate chip cookies” and isak takes his mouth off his nose and replies “hey! i thought you said i wasn’t an ass”, all pouty and grumpy and even can’t help but smile at him. “you aren’t, but you did take linn’s cookies. and now she doesn’t have any”. isak sighs, rests his head on even’s shoulder and says “we could go get her another box?” 

they do end up going to the store, but instead they buy the ingredients they need to make the cookies themselves (except for eggs, which isak says he already has at home). and then they’re in the kitchen, and even places the ingredients on the counter, opens the fridge and grabs two eggs, says “catch!” before he slowly throws one in isak’s direction. isak does catch it and looks at him with wide eyes and warns “if you make a mess, you’re the one cleaning” and even simply cups his face, plants a quick kiss on his forehead and his nose and his mouth and his chin and says “i won’t”. and then they make the cookies, even telling isak the measurements. “two cups of chocolate chips”, which isak adds to the dough, and then he adds an extra handful, says “it’ll taste way better like this. more chocolate, better cookies” and even chuckles. “yes, chef valtersen” 

when the cookies are done, they knock on linn’s door, a platter in isak’s hands. even asks “liiiiinn, our dear linn, are you hungry for some amazing, delicious homemade cookies, made with a lot love and a whole lot of chocolate chips?” and there’s a short silence before they hear her say “thanks, but i’m not really hungry right now”. isak looks at even and shrugs and he tells linn “well, we made a lot, let us know when you want some, okay?” and they hear a muffled “mmhm” from behind the door 

they start to watch the usual suspects, isak all cuddled up against even, an arm around even’s stomach, a leg wrapped over his. a few minutes later, linn’s knocking on the door and asking “cookies kind of smelled nice, can i have some?” and isak tells her “come in, linn!” she doesn’t flinch when she sees them on the bed, linn really doesn’t mind displays of affection as long as they’re silent. even hands her the platter and asks her “hey, feel like watching a movie?” and linn frowns a little. “is it moulin rouge again?” and even replies “nah, it’s not moulin rouge”. he opens his free arm (the one that’s not holding isak close) as an invitation and linn sits next him, cookie platter on her lap, and even wraps an arm around her as she bites into one of the cookies. isak lifts his head up a little, and when even looks at him in the eyes, they exchange a knowing smile 

Guilty Secrets

You couldn’t lie to my sister. Not about the big stuff, anyway, the stuff that ate away at you and kept you awake at night. I don’t know if I’d call it a gift or anything, but she had an ability. She could see guilt.

I don’t mean she was good at reading expressions or picking up on body language; she could literally see manifestations of people’s guilt following them around. It started with Whiskey, our childhood cat. Mom said he’d decided to move out to the country to enjoy his old age, but Cassidy kept seeing him lying at Mom’s feet, completely still and stiff.

She asked Mom over and over why Whiskey wasn’t moving until Mom started to sob and admitted she’d had to put our kitty to sleep. She’d felt so guilty about lying and about her “betrayal” to Whiskey, her beloved companion of seventeen years, but she’d wanted to protect us from death for a little while longer.

In her grief, Mom didn’t think to ask Cassidy how she’d known the truth.

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(Zimbits, slight AU, 2.8K, under a cut because it got long.)

They asked him every year. Sometimes, even more than once a year if he wanted to be on Samwell’s promotional material.

Jack said no every time because he really didn’t have any interest in having his face plastered on billboards and on every brochure and course calendar they handed out to students, both prospective and current. He’d had enough secondhand publicity from his parents’ careers and he wasn’t going to go seeking it out while he was at Samwell.

The only allowance he made was when he was photographed with the rest of the hockey team because he understood that hockey was a big selling point when it came to convincing people to attend their school. One of the team photos was enlarged and put up in the sports complex, right between the women’s volleyball team and Samwell’s dance team. It had already gotten vandalized this year by some drunk LAX bros and had to be replaced (which the university was not happy about and last Jack heard, the bros responsible were on suspension from the team).

The university couldn’t get Jack, but they got Ransom and Holster to agree to photos other than the team one. There were some of them pretending to study in the library, or looking happy and not-stressed as they socialized. These ended up on the cover of last year’s Campus Life magazine and both Holster and Ransom both joked that they were wasting their time at school when they should be modelling instead. It still didn’t stop the recruitment team from continually asking Jack who refused to change his mind.

Little did he know it was about to be changed for him.

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The World Is Ours

This is just something mediocre to make up for the fact that it’s been so long since I’ve last posted. Enjoy!

Justin stands at the other side of the room, his back straight and the black suit and tie clinging to him perfectly. My heart attempts to escape my ribcages whenever I look at him wearing such a thing, but I’d much rather he be wearing jeans and a T-shirt, just because I know he’d be more comfortable. He nods and smiles every now and then in response to the nonsense leaving the mouth of the man that stands close by him.

I know the smile is fake. It’s tight and hard and doesn’t touch his eyes. I watch in adoration when he licks his lips or bites down on his bottom lip, or runs a hand through his hair, I know he’s not even aware he’s doing any of these things.

Justin I both strongly dislike either of our parent’s parties, in fact, we spend many nights laid in bed and suggesting all the scenarios we could create that could get us out of them. But here we are. Again. 

“Oh, [Y/N]!” A voice bellows from the crowd of people dressed in fancy outfits, all of the faces secretly turning their noses up at everyone who so much as brushes their shoulder up against their own.

The voice is nasally and I would assume whoever is calling my name currently has the misfortune of a minor illness if I didn’t know the voice all too well.

“Amanda,” I say through gritted teeth. “How are you?” I ask while turning to my right to face her.

The woman stood before me is a close family friend. She thinks just because she happened to be close with my parents at one point in her life, she has the responsibility of making conversation with me whenever our paths meet. Her hair is cut perfectly and hugs her face. The deep red colour shines through every strand and sways almost in slow motion when she moves her head.

“I’m wonderful,” she slurs. “What about you, dear? What’s new with you?”

Even as she says this, I can guess she’s lying through her teeth. There’s a high chance her husband is cheating on her, and her, on her husband. She’s probably drowning in debt and her children wish they’d never been born. Despite this, she hides it with a smile.

“I’ve been fairly good, thank you,” I say and smile politely. “Not much is new but I’m just trying to appreciate every day.” I try to hold the smile on my face as she nods with a bored look in her eye.

“Rumour has it, you’ve got yourself a boyfriend,” Amanda grins and reaches an arm out as though to touch me, but thinks more of it and withdraws her claws.

‘I didn’t think that was so hard to believe but yes, I do.” I shift uncomfortably in my heels and feel my hand sweating around the wine glass. I alternated it between my hands and wiped my palms against my dress.

“.. Tell me about him,” she says quietly and sips her wine. I can see a red lipstick stain around the rim.

Justin pops into my mind without me having to make an effort. I suppress a smile and find the floor to be quite interesting. “Well, his name is Justin and we met a few years ago at college. He’s somewhere around here, actually.”

“I’d love to meet him.” She’s glancing around the room, and it’s painfully obvious she’s searching for a new target to make her own. I stay quiet and wait to see how long it takes before she disappears.

Eventually, I see her catch sight of her husband at the bar. She waves me off with a forced smile before her heels are click-click-clicking across the floor and through the crowd.

Sighing, I look around the room. People are smiling, laughing and enjoying themselves, sipping wine and making conversation. I tap my nails against the glass and enjoy the sound.

My shoes are the next to click against the floor while I make my way over to the long length table backed up against the wall. All sorts of food has been spread across it and I can feel my stomach rumbling at the sight.

“‘Scuse me, kind woman,” someone says - with a distinctly fake-posh accent - from directly behind me. “Would you mind joining me in a delightful conversation about the ten different yachts I own, and how I went backpacking through Antarctica last year? And let’s not forget about how I own five houses in five different states in America.”

“You suck at accents,” I laugh and crane my neck to see Justin grinning down at me. “What even was that?”

“What? That? Oh, just my imitation of just about everyone in this room.” He rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his half-empty glass of wine. “I’m surprised to see muffins and cookies being served here. I thought it’d be all scones and fancy cakes.”

“Me too,” I say while taking a cookie from the silver platter. I break it in half and feel crumbs fall into the palms of my hand. “Want some?”

Feeling Justin’s closeness, I turn to look at him once more. His mouth is parted and it allows me to see his tongue laying low. His breath is hot against my face. I break the cookie into smaller segments and drop a piece into Justin’s awaiting mouth. Crunching noises ring through my ear, and a sweet kiss lands underneath my right ear after the sound comes to a halt.

“I don’t care how stuck up these people are, they make good cookies,” he mutters quietly and it causes a buzz through my neck that lingers for a few seconds.

While he’s busy crunching down on the remaining cookie, Justin is dragged away by a man I’ve never seen, but is apparently familiar to Justin because I see a small sigh leave his lips. Justin kisses my cheek and squeezes my hand before letting go and making his way through the crowd with reluctance.

I’m left alone once more, surrounded by bodies and feeling out of place. I stroll around the room and listen in to small segment of different people’s conversations; they range from cars to time shares to housing, to holidays in the Caribbean. I end up leaning against the wall in the far side of the room.

It takes another hour or so before I see Justin again, having been dragged into encounters of my own with people I barely know.

When Justin makes an appearance, he comes in close and grips my hand with his. I’m pleased to see him and I smile instantly.

“Let’s go,” he says and I frown in confusion.

“What? Whe-“

“Let’s leave right now, anywhere you wanna go. I can’t stand another five minutes with these people. This isn’t us. We’re not classy or fancy; we sit at home eating pizza and watching Netflix, we hit the stores at midnight looking for cookie dough, we sit on hotel balconies and feel each other up. I want all of that, not this.”

He didn’t have to say anything else to win me over; I’d been feeling the exact same all night.

“Are you in?” he asks and watches me hopefully. I waste no time and nod, and before I can comprehend, my hand is prisoner to Justin’s and we’re gliding in and out of the crowd. I manage to drop my wine glass on the buffet table without spilling anything as I glide passed the it.

Thankfully, we manage to make our way to the door without being noticed or stopped as I thought we would have. I can’t see either of our parents ready to stop us from fleeing either, and this causes a rush of hope to shoot through me that makes me grab the door handle and slide out before Justin does the same.

Almost in a flash, all of the commotion and noise I had to endure over the course of the night disappears. I wonder if I’ve momentarily gone deaf until Justin coughs gently and crushes my rising worry. The night is cold and I can see our warm breath escaping into the night. Justin’s hand keeps my own warm while the rest of my body shivers.

“Where to?” I ask while he’s already busy pulling me down the drive of my parent’s house and across the street. It’s quite late, meaning there’s no one in sight. The street looks frighteningly lifeless.

“Anywhere, just somewhere we can be together,” he replies and his breath flies towards me but disappears before it can touch me.

We end up at a 24-hour store by Justin’s request, his argument being he was hungry, despite having just scoffed anything he could find on the buffet. I didn’t object because I knew I had just enough money in my bag for a drink; my throat was burning for something other than overpriced wine.

The store was the only source of light on the street, it was getting darker by the minute and the streetlights were either broken or not on a schedule and had been abandoned for the night. Either way, I had that familiar thankfulness you feel when you see artificial lights and life after all you’ve seen is darkness for a long period of time. It was comforting.

Behind the counter however, was a man who didn’t seem very happy he was working the night shift. He looked half-dead as we walked through the automatic doors and made no effort to adjust himself to appear friendly.

Justin’s hand had been holding my own all the way to the store, but as soon as we were walking down the aisle full of food, his fingers slid away from my own.

“God, I’m starving,” he mutters while grabbing anything in his sight from the shelves. It’s not long before he’s cradling his items in his arms and walking towards the counter.

Meanwhile, I grab a bottle of water from the chilled section while trailing Justin like a puppy. The packaging crinkles loudly as Justin drops his things and I place my bottle down quietly. The cashier doesn’t look impressed and sighs heavily before straightening up.

Once we’ve paid, and the cashier has received a long, hard stare from Justin after asking him if he’d like a bag, we’re back out in the cool air and strolling off into the darkness. The bag rustles and disturbs the quiet but Justin doesn’t seem to care.

“Where to now?” I ask.

“Wherever we want, babygirl. The world is ours. I just want to be with you,” Justin replies, my heart would have been beating a lot faster if he wasn’t busy rummaging through his bag for the packet of Oreos he’d just bought.


Hannibal Lecter & Clarice Starling’s (First) Wedding

They knew it would never be legally binding, but that was just one more thing to laugh about. Hannibal was happy to give Clarice one last taste of structure and tradition. She wore silk, and he put an emerald on her finger. Their only witness was the priest. After the ceremony, they went out for dinner and dancing, and when they returned to their townhouse, they shared champagne and sweets and danced on their terrazza under the Florentine moonlight.

My local planned parenthood had a special bathroom just for me. Other people were using it, but I didn’t care because it had a giant platter of cookies, coffee, hot chocolate, sandwiches, and was essentially just an office kitchen with some toilets in it. I felt like a very important customer, and I took some cookies home.

Sweets For The Sweet


*Steve Rogers-centric


Steve was immediately greeted with the smell of sugar when he opened the door, the bell tinkling above him. A few of the tables were filled with customers, all who looked happy.

Steve went up to the counter, examining all the cookies and candies in the display cases. They all looked delicious.

A young woman with a round face stepped from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, sir! How can I help you?”

“I, uh…” Steve shook his head. “This is going to sound a little strange, but did you cater a party at STARK Tower recently?”

“Yes, sir.” You pulled a book out from under the counter, flipping to a particular page. “Mr. Stark ordered approximately one hundred chocolate fudge cupcakes, one hundred vanilla bean cupcakes, and ten pounds of caramel fudge.”

“Right. That sounds like it.”

You smiled up at him but your smile faltered. “Was… was there something wrong with the order?”

“No, no,” Steve reassured. “It was wonderful. So wonderful, in fact, that I’ve been dreaming about that fudge.”

You blushed slightly. “Thank you, sir.”

“And I was hoping that you still had some because I’m not sure I can go another day without another taste.”

“Well, you’re in luck.” You moved down the counter, pulling out a tray full of caramel fudge. “This has been freshly made. How much would you like?”


You nearly dropped the tray. “A-all?”

“If it’s not too much of a problem.”


Steve started stopping by weekly, then bi-weekly, then practically daily. He couldn’t get enough of the sweets—both the treats and you. You were round and soft and bubbly and it made Steve’s heart flutter, beat faster, every time he saw you.

One day, he decided to make his move.

“Hello, Mr. Rogers,” you said, giving him your warm, gooey smile.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“What can I get you today? I’ve just put out some fresh cupcakes—lemon.”

“Actually, I need your help.”


“I want to do something nice for someone… someone important.”


“What would you suggest?”

You thought for a moment. “Well, you could do a cookie platter. Everyone likes cookies.”

“You like cookies?”

You giggled. “Of course.”

“Well, a cookie platter it is, then.”

You grabbed a pretty heart-shaped plate, stepping over to the cookie display. “What kind of cookies are you thinking? We can do varieties, or just one kind, or whatever you’d like.”

“I’ll let you pick.”


“You know best.”

You smiled and began to pull cookies out, layering them beautifully on the plate. Then you took it over to the register, striking a few keys.

“That can’t be right,” Steve said, looking at the total readout. “Surely this costs more.”

You shook your head. “Customer loyalty program. You’re in here so much, you deserve a little break.”

Steve smiled and handed over the cash. You placed a cover over the tray and then placed a beautiful pink bow on top. “Good luck,” you said, passing the tray over.

“Thanks.” Steve took the plate, staring down at it.

“Is there something wrong?”

“I was just… wondering…”

You waited for him to explain.

“I was wondering if you would care to join me for a delicious cookie break.”


You carefully crept out of bed, leaving Steve softly snoring. You padded your way to your kitchen where you pulled out ingredients and pans and preheated the oven.

You and Steve had been dating for little over a year and this was the first time you two had been so intimate. You’d shared beds before, yes, but tonight… tonight had been different. Wonderful, but different.

You’d never thought you’d meet someone like Steve and you’d never thought someone like him could fall for you. All your life you’d been… pudgy. Your hips were round, your stomach wasn’t flat. You liked eating and you weren’t ashamed of that. But more than eating you loved creating. You always made treats for any family gathering your parents had when you were growing up; Christmas and birthday presents usually consisted of either a tried and true favorite or a mysterious new concoction.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t hear Steve come in. He wrapped his arms around your waist, laying his chin on your shoulder. “What are you doing?” he mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Sorry,” you said, your hands tossing the assorted berries into the pie crust. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What are you doing?”


“At this time of night?”

“Technically, it’s morning.”

Steve chuckled, the sound reverberating through you. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” you promised. “I just… I make things when I’m emotional.”

That woke Steve up. He pulled away from you, turning you to face him. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you said, giving him a smile. “I’m… so incredibly happy right now.”

“So… you’re a good emotional?”

“Of course.” You leaned into Steve, wrapping your arms around him. “Steve, you make me so happy. And tonight… well, I’m not sure I could handle much more happiness or I’ll burst.”

Steve smiled and leaned down, brushing his lips against yours. “What do you say we head back to bed, hm?”

“Let me get the pie in the oven,” you said.

“A woman after my own heart.”


The bell above the door jingled as Steve stepped in. You looked up at him from behind the counter, smiling broadly. As you stepped aside, he could see the apron straining across your growing bump.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Steve said, leaning over the counter and pressing a kiss to your sugary lips. “How’s work?”

“Great. Lots of cake pops sold today. And I got an order for another birthday party.”

“And how’s the little one?”

“Squirming to her heart’s content.”

Steve smiled. “What is she craving today?”

“Anything chocolate. She really likes the caramel fudge.” You rubbed a hand over your stomach. “She’s got a sweet tooth, just like her daddy.”

“That’s my girl.”

I Fucking Knew It

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,392

Summary: It’s Thanksgiving at the Winchester household and a certain guest catches Dean’s attention. 

“Hey Mom!”

“Hi honey! Happy Thanksgiving.” Mary says giving Dean a big hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” Deans says with a smile.

Dean hasn’t been around for the holidays in awhile. He always went to some fancy dinner or on a trip with his ex-girlfriend’s family. Whether he wanted to or not.

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anonymous asked:

prompt/fic idea: im ur next door neighbor and the walls are too thin so yeah i can hear u banging all night and it sounds like u're really good judging from the grunts and screams... one night i got home drunk and my friend was yelling how sexually frustrated i am and i have the hots for you even though we haven't met before and when we do see each other, oh boy i am a goner

(bless u nonnie this idea is a Gift)

Really, Zuko shouldn’t be allowed to drink.

Whenever he drinks, he almost always ends up embarrassing situations - embarrassing and sometimes life threatening. He thinks back to the lake incident with Toph and shudders; that night not only put the fear of God in him, but a healthy fear of snapping turtles as well.

And yet here he is, stumbling into his little apartment. Suki bumps into his back impatiently as he fumbles with the lock before finally getting it open. She nudges past him and goes right for the couch, dropping all of her weight onto the cushions. 

Zuko pushes the door shut. He winces at the somewhat loud slam and toes his shoes off, then shuffles in after Suki. He doesn’t bother with the couch - she won’t share, anyway - and instead lays on the floor, cheek pressed to the scratchy carpet. The room spins around his head. He exhales, a groan tacked on the end, and reaches up to smack at Suki’s foot.

“Why did you even take me to that bar in the first place?” Zuko mumbles into the carpet. He shifts lazily, tugging his shirt up his back slightly to cool off his skin.

“Because,” Suki drawls, kicking at Zuko’s hand, “You’re annoying when you mope and you’ve been moping about the hot neighbor girl for weeks.”

Zuko grunts and rolls over. “I have not!” He isn’t aware of how loud his voice is. “I haven’t been moping over her!” 

Above him, Suki laughs. It’s twice as loud as his voice, bouncing off the walls and coming right back to them. “Bullshit!” She snorts. She forces herself onto her side, honey colored hair falling across her face as she stares down at him. “You’ve got it so bad for the neighbor girl! All you do is talk about her and how loud she is!” Suki sits up, reaching down to bat at Zuko’s face. “I am a very good friend, so - so I took you out to try to find someone else for you to mope over, but nooooooooo, all you could talk about was the neighbor girl and who she might be banging and how you wished it was you.”

Zuko grunts and bats at Suki’s hand in turn. He gives up on trying to deny it and instead yells with all of the pent up frustration in him. “It’s just not fair!” He shouts, fists banging on the carpet. “She’s so goddamn pretty, and she has the nicest laugh!” He rocks from side to side, legs folding up slightly. “And - Suki, oh my god - I can hear every sound she makes - oh my god - her moans are the hottest thing I have ever heard!” 

Suki laughs again. She lays down and presses her cheek to the mattress. All the shit they’ve gotten into tonight and still her make up is perfectly intact, red lips pristine and winged eyeliner flawless. 

She reaches down and pats Zuko’s cheek, clumsy, but trying to comfort him. “Maybe you should just suck it up and take her out,” She suggests, “So you’re the one that ends up in bed with her.”

His scoff is so loud it scratches his throat. “Yeah, right. Like that’ll ever happen.”


After Suki leaves in the morning, Zuko spends a good hour nursing his hangover. 

He manages to drag himself to the kitchen and make a cup of tea, though he’s not even sure what he grabbed; something sweet and hot to soothe the sharp aches in his head.

He changes into the first clean shirt and sweats he finds, then trudges downstairs to the mailbox. Much as he wants to sleep some more, he’s waiting on a package from Uncle.

Zuko shuffles to the mailboxes, stifling a loud yawn behind his hand. He unlocks his, finding only bills and advertisements - and a postcard from Uncle inside. He shifts his weight, reading over it with a slight smile; the package is on its way, Uncle assures him, and he’s having the time of his life on the tiny island he’d chosen for his vacation.

“Hi, ‘scuse me.” 

Zuko glances up to find his neighbor coming up to his side, reaching for her mailbox. He flushes faintly and steps aside, pushing his mailbox door shut. “Hi, sorry.”

Chewing his lip, Zuko continues leafing through his mail, glancing at his neighbor from the corner of his eye. Her name is Katara; he’d learned this two days after moving in, when she’d introduced herself with a platter of cookies that actually tasted horrible, but the gesture was so kind that he hadn’t had the heart to admit that.

But then he’d learned just how thin the walls between their apartments are when she’d brought someone home a few days after their introductions. He vividly remembers almost dropping a pot on his foot when he realized he was hearing Katara moan. Didn’t matter who it was, either, everyone she brought home praised her and worshiped her, all for Zuko to hear loud and clear.

Beside him, Katara extracts her mail and shuts the little door. She leafs through it, and for a moment, Zuko can only sigh inwardly at how pretty she is; it’s barely eleven AM and she looks so perfect already.

“So,” Katara hedges, and Zuko glances up. She doesn’t lift her head, but her eyes instead. There’s a glint in them that makes him instantly nervous. “You had an interesting night, didn’t you?”

His brows furrow in confusion, and then it hits him like a train - everything he and Suki had yelled about, everything to do with Katara, in his living room, surrounded by the thinnest walls ever made.

She’d heard it.

She’d heard all of it.

The faint flush on his cheeks flares up to his good ear and down the length of his neck, disappearing into his shirt. Zuko groans and presses the envelopes to his face to hide himself. If he’s lucky, the ground will just - just shatter under him right now and drop him straight into the depths of hell. 

Katara watches him. She laughs softly; the sound is warm and teasing, and it only makes his embarrassment that much worse.

“Oh, God,” Zuko mutters behind his makeshift shield, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-”

“It’s fine,” Katara insists. Her tone is easy, not bothered in the slightest, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. She pockets her keys and looks up, tilting her head.

“Whenever you’re ready for that date, I’m available all day on Saturdays.”

Zuko promptly drops everything in his hands, jaw going slack. Katara laughs again. She turns away with a gentle toss of her wildly long hair, walking away. 

Zuko is frozen to the spot, rooted to the tile floor by sheer shock. He finally comes back to himself and crouches down, scrambling to grab his discarded mail, and rushes after Katara.

“Hey!” He calls, trying to catch up to her, “Wait! About that date - are you free this Saturday?”

“Oh come now did you honestly think this was ever going to end any other way?” Merichat 

Here you go, @elosva!

Marinette had been quiet for a few minutes now, giving him a deadpan stare that made Chat very nervous. He didn’t miss the cookie platter she held, and his mouth began to water at the amazing smell wafting from them…but now probably wasn’t the right time.

“Okay…I know you’re probably mad,” he began, attempting to sheepishly raise his hands in defense…but he couldn’t really lift them from where they were tangled to his legs. Stupid ball of yarn… “…But in my defense, you just left it lying there! Did you really think this was going to end any other way?”

Marinette stared at him for a few more seconds…and then she sighed.

“Honestly…I should have known better,” she admitted, shaking her head as she set down the cookie platter and went to her desk, rummaging around within it until she withdrew a pair of scissors. “You have a penchant for trouble, chaton.

“…Do I still get cookies?”

“We’ll see.”

anonymous asked:

*sets a platter of cookies as offerings* dating a naga boy headcanons?

Don’t be fooled. He’s only being cuddly suddenly to sap your warmth to fuel his REPTILIAN BODY.

Probably very touch-adverse- most reptiles/snakes are! However, being calm and gentle will gain you some nose boops and not-biting-you.

A very lazy boyfriend. Have you ever seen a snake move when there isn’t danger or food? I thought so.

He does enjoy wrapping around you at night, and basically use you as his personal space heater.

[Compliments To The Chef #11]

Series: Fairy Tail.
Pairing: Gajevy.
Setting: Restaurant/Chef/Roommates AU.
Rating: M for sexual content and language.
Other Chapters: HERE.

Summary: Budding chef Gajeel Redfox is about to get a taste for the phrase: “If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen” when runaway Levy McGarden starts waiting tables at his restaurant – and living in his home.

A/N: This is it – the finale of feels! Thank you so much for sticking by me. There will be more Gajevy fics in the future, so keep an eye on my ffnet (of the same name) profile! There is an epilogue after this chapter, so make sure you don’t miss it! :) // Detailed smut (yes, you read that right) will be marked inside —x— borders if you wish to skip it! <3

“Cookery is not chemistry. It is an art. It requires instinct and taste rather than exact measurements.” – Marcel Boulestin.  

Chapter Eleven: An Acquired Taste

Levy paced outside the restaurant. Bustling with trade, the Dragon’s Tongue hummed with the furor of human life. People were always at their happiest while eating. At least, that’s how it seemed when they were eating Gajeel’s food.

The flyer she’d made was taped to the store window, accompanied by both menus and, to Levy’s surprise, a collection of sweets and desserts she’d never seen before. One of the pictures caught her eye. Coming to a halt, Levy leaned in to get a look at the dessert names.  

‘Blue-Eyed Short-Stack,’ she read aloud. ‘An ice-cream sandwich with blue wafers.’

The list went on in the same manner. Almost every dessert was named after something small or blue. Occasionally the list veered off to name a few of Oak Town’s classic folktales, all of which were a part of Metalicana’s collection of books. The books she’d read while staying in the restaurant. 

Her gaze settled on the final dessert. ‘The McGarden,’ she whispered. ‘A platter of cookies shaped like flowers…’ Levy’s mind rushed back to the day she’d worn a flower-printed headband. Her heart fluttered. ‘Stupid Gajeel.’ 

Compelled to tears, Levy rubbed her eyes and willed the sentiment away. This wasn’t the time to be loitering outside his restaurant. Reaching into her cardigan pocket, she withdrew her phone and stared despondently at the blank screen. 

Why isn’t he responding to my messages?

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Ace of Cakes

Pairing: Jim Kirk x Reader

Word Count: 1013

Warnings: none, just lots of food and good fun. I guess a little angst

A/N: The final installment of my 300 follower celebration featuring the baking prompt with Jim requested by an anon!!! I love baking tbh so this was a really fun prompt for me. Also I only proofed half of it because I’m also watching Chopped right now so sorry if there are errors lol. 

The sun was shining and birds chirped from their perches in the trees by your house. Your neighbor was mowing his lawn and waved as you left your house. You waved back with a mile wide grin, enjoying your little slice of the perfect apple pie life. You meant that literally, of course, as you were known for your fair-winning apple pie through the whole neighborhood. Apple pie wasn’t your only skill, though. Today, you’d made your best cake ever in honor of Ruth Appleby’s 80th birthday. It was a beautiful piece, covered in modeling chocolate dyed lavender with little chocolate butterflies placed across the icing. The cake itself was a family recipe - dark chocolate and raspberry, two of Ruth’s favorite flavors. You were sure it would be the talk of the party. Still, your confidence didn’t stop you from eavesdropping as you mingled among the party goers.

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Bring ‘Em Home, part 7

Part 6


**Vietnam War!AU/Soldier!Dean

Tagging: @myrabbitholetoneverland


The wedding had been quick—neither you nor Dean wanted to wait, and neither of you felt like the wedding needed to be a big affair. It was a small ceremony in a local church, surrounded by your families, a few of Dean’s war buddies (including Cas) and a few of your coworkers from the hospital.

Afterward, the two of you went off on a two-week vacation to Arizona to view the Grand Canyon. Neither of you had ever had a better time. You were excited to start your life together: together, forever. Upon your return home, you moved into Dean’s grandmother’s house, the one left to him in her will. She’d died when he was in high school and the property had remained in the family, waiting for Dean to come back home and claim it.

You continued to work at the hospital, helping the influx of veterans who were coming home injured. Dean began to work at his Uncle Bobby’s auto shop—while Dean and his father had somewhat mended whatever issue they had for the wedding, they both agreed that it would be best if they didn’t work in the same place. But they still kept in touch and it was still technically the family business.

Everything was… wonderful. Life after the war was an adjustment, but you could tell things were getting better.


“Merry Christmas!”

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Winchester!” You stepped back from the door. “Come in!”

“Y/N, I keep telling you, you can call us John and Mary,” John said with a smile as he set down the large bags of gifts. “You are, after all, ‘Mrs. Winchester’ yourself.”

“Or Mom and Dad,” Mary added. “You’re one of ours, now.”

You smiled. Just then, the timer in the kitchen went off. “I’ll be right back!” you said as you disappeared into the kitchen. “Dean, please take your parents’ coats!”

“Of course.” Dean hung up the coats before giving his mother a hug. By that time, Jess and Sam had appeared, welcoming the elder Winchesters.

“I’d better go help Y/N,” Dean said. “Please, make yourselves comfortable!”

Dean stepped into the kitchen, finding you scooping the last of the cookies onto the platter. The kitchen was laced with plenty of delicious smells, you having been in the kitchen all day. (Dean had offered to help, but you’d caught him snacking multiple times.) “Hey, sweetheart. Everything good?”

“I think so. We just need to get everything out to the table.”

“You got it,” Dean said, grabbing a bowl of potatoes and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sammy! Come help me carry this stuff out.”

Once the table was laden with food, your new extended family sat down to eat. John gave a small prayer; Dean carved the turkey. Everything was wonderful.

After the meal, Sam helped Dean with the dishes while you propped your feet up on the couch.

“I have to say, you look like you’re about to pop!” Mary said with a smile. “And yet, you still have that beautiful glow.”

“How many more months?” Jess asked.

“Three,” you said with a small smile. You rubbed your hand over your swollen belly, feeling your baby move around. “They say I’m going to gain a little more weight, a little more mass… and I already feel like a whale.”

“Well, you’re the cutest whale this family has ever seen,” John said.

“How are you feeling?” Mary asked.

“Fine,” you said. “Sometimes I get a backache, sometimes I have to take a break from being on my feet, but everyone at work is completely understanding. And Dean’s been wonderful.”

“My ears are burning,” Dean said, stepping into the living room, his brother behind him.

“Just singing your praises,” you said.

Dean leaned down and gave you a small kiss before sitting next to you. “Well, I have a lot. Which one are you discussing this time?”

“Your impending fatherhood,” John said. “You think you’re ready?”

Dean’s shoulders straightened. “Well, the way I see it, I’ve been to war, I lost part of a leg, went through months of therapy… I can handle anything.”


It was a blustery day in March when the newest Winchester made his way into the world. Dean called his parents and his brother and they all promised to visit.

Dean was standing outside the nursery, looking through the window at his son when John approached.

“Congratulations, son,” John said, clapping Dean on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Dad.” Dean noticed this was the first time John had called him ‘son’ in… well, a long, long time.

It felt good.

“So, which one is the next Winchester auto mechanic?”

Dean chuckled, pointing at his son. “Right there.”

“Looks strong,” John said. “You did good.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Dean said. “Y/N did all the work.”

“She did the heavy lifting. But you still contributed.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh. Was this what it was going to be like from now on? He and his father actually getting along?

“Dean!” Mary came bustling down the hall, looking like she was going to burst with happiness. She wrapped her arms around him. “I just talked to Y/N. She looks great! I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Dean!” Sam jogged down the hall, joining the family. “Congratulations, man!”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

“When can I hold him?”

Dean watched as a nurse stepped into the nursery and began to wheel his son out of the room. “As soon as Y/N’s done feeding him. Promise.”

Dean untangled himself from his family and went back to the room where you sat in bed, baby to your chest. Your hair was falling from the bun you’d pulled it into, you had the softest smile on your face.

“Hey, beautiful.”

You looked up, smiling at Dean. “Your mother is so excited to finally meet her grandson.”

“And somehow, Sammy’s even more excited to meet his nephew. I vote we get him to change the first diaper.”

You chuckled. “Don’t throw those moments away. You’ll miss them when he’s up and walking, which will be here before you know it.”

“Don’t say that,” Dean said, sitting beside you. “I want this moment to last forever.”

The Boy in the Spider Pajamas (Part 2)

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You’re not supposed to be at the airport when Earth’s Mightiest Heroes clash, but hoping to finally get to use your powers for once, you tag along anyway. Unfortunately, your appointed job becomes much more difficult when a strange, young hero appears.

Part:  TBitSP Masterlist

Words: 2.2K

[Y/N]=Your Name; [L/N]=Your Last Name

A/N: This one went on a bit longer than I was expecting lol I just couldn’t stop myself!

482. That’s how many days you’ve been on the run. The number of days since you signed up to be a criminal. The number of days since he happened.

You look down at the slip of paper in your hand. It appears that you are at the correct address, so you raise your fist to knock on the apartment door. After several raps, you turn around to look down the hall, checking to make sure there are no security cameras on the walls that can track you. When the door behind your creaks, you turn back to see a pretty woman in her mid-forties or so.

“Can I help you?” she asks. “If you’re selling Girl Scout cookies, I really don’t need to gain another twenty pounds—I’m still working off what I gained from last year.”

“I-is Peter home?” you say while you put on your best smile—something you have not done in ages.

The woman’s eyes instantly widen, and she practically pulls you inside. She shoves you down on the couch and runs into another room, saying that she will be right back. Before you have the chance to get a clear look around you, she returns with a platter of cookies and brownies, which she places in front of you.

“How do you know Peter? Do you go to the same school? How old are you? Do you two hang out often?” the woman fires question after question.

“Ummm,” you start, unsure of what to answer first.

“Oh how rude of me!” she suddenly interrupts. “I’m Peter’s Aunt May—maybe he’s mentioned me?”

You slowly shake your head, and her face falls in disappointment.

There is a squeaking noise from the front door that halts your conversation while a familiar voice yells, “I’m home, Aunt May!”

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