#baker verse

Homelander shakes his head in disbelief as he lounges in his chair at the head of the Seven table. It’s been a year…a whole year since the day you entered his life. He still has the ribbon from that first package, tucked discreetly into his waistband. It’s frayed now and soft from running it through his fingers. He’ll touch his hip softly sometimes, right where he knows it rests, when his ears ring and his eyes begin to burn. Countless lives have been saved just from a little piece of fabric. It was the first gift he’d ever truly been given that didn’t have dozens of corporate strings attached. He wonders if you’ll bring him more candy, now that Christmas is right around the corner. He can still perfectly remember the taste a year later.

But your hands are empty when he sees you, and there’s a nervous stiffness to your shoulders that he’s not sure he enjoys. You’re fiddling with your fingers as you approach. He’s disappointed, he really was looking forward to some candy. But you give him a shy smile and he pushes down the sullenness rising in his chest. You hop up on the table in front of him, a bad habit you’ve picked up ever since that day you brought him the cake. He supposes that’s on him for encouraging you. He ignores the urge to tug you into his lap instead.

“Sooooooo…I don’t have anything for you today but I did want to ask you something.” You look down at your hands before pausing, trying to spark the courage to continue. He tilts his head and waits, somewhat impatient and still annoyed at being denied. He doesn’t like the way you don’t meet his eyes. Surely your fingers can’t be more interesting than him. You take a deep breath.

“IwaswonderingifmaybeyouwantedtocometomyplaceforChristmas?” The words come spilling out uncontrollably and you stiffen up a bit once they’re out, bracing yourself for a denial.

Homelander’s heart stops.

“I know you’re probably really busy and you have plans and other people you’d rather be with.” He doesn’t. “But I was going to make gingerbread and watch some Christmas movies. I don’t have any family close by or…or friends really, so I usually spend Christmas on my own. It won’t be anything fancy but I’ll let you lick the spoon.” You let out an awkward laugh, obviously insecure about the simplicity of your plans. After all, how can your humble apartment compare to Vought’s glitz and finery? How could Homelander be content spending Christmas with a nobody like you?

If you only knew how much the offer wiped away any of the disappointment he felt about the candy. If only you knew how much he’s been longing to join you in the sugar-sweetness of your kitchen. He wants to leap up and take you in his arms. He wants to agree and whisk you away to start the holidays early…and privately. He’s never had a proper Christmas before. Just Vought’s pretty, sterile, fake, holiday bullshit. He found it cruel the way they’d let him watch movies on Christmas when he was in the lab. He still can’t watch A Christmas Story without feeling sick with want. But maybe…maybe this year will finally be different.

But reality sets in. He has the Vought Christmas party. He can’t skip it, as much as he’d love to. He’s been dreading it honestly. She’d always been there before, guiding him, leading him, making sure he got through the event with his shiny grin firmly in place. But that was gone, ended by his own hand. The last fucking bit of Christmas cheer he could have possibly had. He clenches his fist and he watches you shrink back, mistaking his grief for anger at your boldness. He wants to say yes…but he can’t

“We have the company Christmas party, remember? Surely you wouldn’t want to miss that. I get the honor of lighting up the tree” He beams, hoping it assures you that you are not the target of his ire. Sure he’d prefer to be tucked away with you but the party won’t be too bad if you’re there. If you’re there then her absence won’t matter.

But his hopes are quickly dashed.

“Oh I’m not high enough up on the totem pole to be invited, for business or pleasure.” You shrug, clearly not bothered by the corporate snub.

Oh

“Well…I can’t exactly miss it.” Your face falls at his reply and the words tumble out before he can stop them.

“But if you don’t mind staying up a little later, then maybe I can swing by real quick after to grab a cookie or two.” He reaches out to lay a hand warmly on your knee

You return his grin despite the disappointment in your eyes.

“I’ll wait up for you then”

~~~~~~~

It’s late by the time he’s finally released from his shiny decorated prison. He’s sick to death of Frank Sinatra and mistletoe. He barely resisted crushing the hand of every asshole who felt entitled to his attention purely due to the holiday festivities. He gritted his teeth while he was forced to kiss the asses of board members and politicians. He barely avoided lasering A-Train’s head clean off his body when he wrapped his arm around him for a photo op. He’s so overloaded that he’s halfway to his penthouse for some much needed rest when he remembers your offer.

He pulls aside some tipsy asshole for the time, annoyed that no one seems to have remained sober. It’s not long until midnight and he worries that maybe you’ll already have given up waiting. He worries that he’ll get to your apartment to find you already snug and sleeping in your bed. He reminds himself that he can always wake you up. After all, he’s seen you bake until the wee hours of the morning. He remembers when he’d watch you bake till not long before you’d be needing to rise for work. Surely…surely, you haven’t forgotten to wait for him.

The night is frigid as he flies towards your apartment. The cold doesn’t hinder him but it isn’t exactly pleasant as the sharp wind stings his cheeks. He’d always wave away Maeve’s complaints but he reluctantly admits to himself that she had a point about freezing over the Atlantic. Luckily it’s a far shorter path to your apartment building. So he ignores it. The thought of you keeps him warm anyway.

What he can’t ignore is the distinctly human shaped figure waiting on the roof. He knows your form intimately and he’s clocked you the moment he sees you. You’re shivering, wrapped only in an old threadbare bathrobe over some red pajamas. It’s far too cold to be loitering without winter wear and an exasperated concern grows in his chest. Couldn’t you at least have grabbed a jacket? It wouldn’t do for you to catch hyperthermia before he even gets to celebrate Christmas with you. You haven’t seen him yet and he makes sure to land behind you as quietly as he can, lip twitching mischievously.

“Are you cold? You look like you’re freezing” He calls out from the other side of the roof. You leap into the air and stumble a bit too close to the edge for his liking so he rushes to steady you. Even through his gloves he can feel how chilled you are. You look back at him, disbelief on your face but surprised delight in your eyes. You shake in his arms and before his brain consciously makes the decision to, he swiftly detaches his cape to wrap it warmly around your shoulders. Your cheeks heat despite the chill and he’s deeply pleased by the way you look and the way his scent mixes with yours.

“I’m alright. I was waiting for you! I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to make it.” You clasp his cape tighter around you, teeth chattering. He pulls you closer so some of his heat can seep into you. He realizes that you may have been too focused watching for him to realize how chilled you are. He tuts at you, both flattered by your devotion and annoyed that you were so careless with your health.

“Would it have killed you to grab a coat?” He rubs your frozen hands between his gloved ones. Your answering smile is sweet and he’d blush if he could (He can. He did.)

“Are you worried about me?” You tease him lightly, eyes soft.

“I was promised gingerbread. If I’m promised something then I expect it to be delivered” He gives you a stern glare that’s tempered by the slight twitch of his lip as he fights a smile.

“Well, I can’t possibly deny you, can I?” Your lips quirk into a cheeky smirk. Your lighthearted words settle warm and heavy in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, you feel so beautifully fragile in his grip, a small precious light that he keeps warm between his palms. You’re his. You’re so wonderfully his in this moment and deep within him, so deep he doesn’t even realize it yet, he’s become inescapably, completely, ineffably, yours.

You gesture for him to follow you down the fire escape to your floor. He follows behind as though he doesn’t have the way to your apartment imprinted in his mind. But your legs are stiff from the cold and after you slip slightly on the slick metal of the fire escape, he scoops you into his arms. You cling to him, stunned at the quickness and ease at which he gathered you up against his chest. You’re disoriented and wrap an arm around his neck to steady yourself.

“Don’t drop me!” you squeak and he laughs in response. You’re light as a feather to him and he’s not hindered by you at all. He would never, could never drop you.

“I won’t let you go, ever.” He reassures you and you relax against him, trusting him. You tuck yourself into the crook of his neck, and all of a sudden he has a sharp regret that his collar rises so high on his neck. He longs to feel your softness and your eyelashes brushing against the sensitive skin of his throat. He can’t resist leaning his head against yours as he climbs effortlessly down the thin and rickety steps.

When he reaches your apartment, he assists you in finding your footing and guides you inside. You don’t question how he’s able to navigate your apartment with ease. Stepping into your kitchen is like getting reborn into another life, a life that he had been cruelly denied. You’ve decorated every inch. False snow lines the top of your cabinets and it charms him to see tiny figures and miniature buildings tucked into the fuzzy winter wonderland. Mismatched bowls of ingredients line the counter, and deep red liquid smelling strongly of spice is steaming on the stove. It smells heavenly. It’s the same scent he normally loathes, the artificial scent burning his nose and giving him headaches, one of the few pains that he can experience. But there is nothing faked or imitated here and the rich smell makes his head swim pleasantly. His mouth waters and his jaw aches at the sweet spicy deliciousness in the air. It’s lovely and warm and you immediately shake off the shiver as you enter.

He blinks back sudden tears at the sight of a brightly lit tree twinkling merrily in the corner of the living room, a yule log crackling on the television. It’s perfect. Your tiny crumbling apartment that he would have scoffed at in any other time, is suddenly finer than any palace. His chest tightens almost painfully.

“It’s not much but I did my best to make it festive! The cookie dough is chilling in the fridge and there is as much eggnog and mulled wine as you could want. Help yourself.” You nod at the pot on the stove, hands on your hips, looking as confident as he’s ever seen you now that you’re in your domain. It’s not normally the response he gets when someone sees him in their home. He takes a brief scan of your fridge.

“Just milk for me, thank you.” He responds and you shrug and take a glass out of the cabinet. You fill it up full and hand it over. He takes a big chug. 2%

Perfect

“Well, I’m gonna have myself some mulled wine.” You grab another glass and fill yourself up a healthy serving. A tiny sip has you sighing deeply in pleasure and he wants nothing more than to lick the remnants off your lips. Your temperature is rising by the second and when he’s satisfied that you’re sufficiently warmed he relaxes a bit, wandering around your kitchen to look at everything.

You busy yourself taking a large bowl of dough out of the fridge and lining the counter and a baking sheet with parchment paper and a light dusting of flour. He’s distracted looking through all your cabinets. Nothing of yours is very fancy and it’s all a bit mismatched which he finds charming in a quaint kind of way. He rifles through your dish towels, smelling them to see if your scent still lingers. Then you tap him on the shoulder. He turns to find you with your head cocked and your arms wrapped around a large bowl, eyes shining and bright

“I promised gingerbread but first you have to help.” You wink at his baffled expression before turning around to begin scooping out the dough onto the parchment paper. “And take off your gloves! This stuff can get sticky.”

He’s still standing there frozen when you hand him a rolling pin. He frowns at it disdainfully before raising a skeptical eyebrow. This is so…beneath him.

“C’mon, let your inner kid out a little. I promise it tastes better when you’ve helped make it.” You shake the rolling pin at him.

Inner kid

You don’t have a single fucking clue.

He grumpily removes his gloves. He feels naked without them. He feels so raw, the Christmas cheer welcome but also a painful reminder of everything he was denied. He wants to be here but he feels unsure how to exist in a space when there are no expectations, no predetermined role he can play. Shedding the gloves feels like shedding a layer of skin but he can’t deny you when you look at him like that. You’re still wearing his cape around his shoulders and a sharp possessive pang runs through him.

His

He reaches out to grab the rolling pin.

“Normally people avoid giving me heavy blunt objects” He remarks dryly, although he quickly regrets it. It doesn’t seem to phase you though. You’ve heard the stories.

“You are a heavy blunt object capable of plenty of damage so I don’t think handing you a rolling pin is going to make much difference. Now get to work while I preheat the oven” You reach out to gently push him towards the dough.

He stares at it, frozen.

The dings from the oven ring in his ears.

It’s not that he doesn’t know what to do. The mechanics of a rolling pin are not difficult to fucking grasp. It’s just…none of this feels real. It feels like he’s still back in this lab and this is some cruel dream that will fade away into empty white. It’s like making one wrong move will shatter everything

He can’t lose this.

“Here! The recipe says ⅛ of an inch so you’ll need to roll it like this.” Your breath is hot on his ear as you lean in behind him.

Your hands rest tenderly on top of his as you gently guide him.

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

Your touch burns and a ravenous monster wakes in his chest. It howls and wails against the prison of his ribcage. He can smell you, hear your heart racing, practically taste the heavy scent of your soaking cunt into the air. The wood creaks under his grip as your thumb brushes against his. His cock is hard and leaking into the tight spandex of his pants. The ribbon on his hip is like a brand; like your hands are on him there too.

Fuck the cookies

The throb of his cock urges him to devour your brown sugar pussy instead.

But as strong as the sudden rush of his arousal, it pales in comparison to the prickling sting of tears at such a kind touch. The last person to touch him like this was…

Fake

Just like everything else

Except you

Except this.

A quiet sob escapes him but if you notice then you don’t acknowledge it. You just keep pushing your palms against his hands in a steady rhythm, the dough easily giving way. Your body rocks against his and the softness of you warms him to the core. He sees the flutter of his own cape out of the corner of his eye.

His

You’re his.

The whole world narrows down to only the two of you.

He could stay here forever with you. Life with you could be like Christmas for eternity. He’d never be alone. You’d never be alone. Just gingerbread scented air and mulled wine, and your body pressed to his forever.

“Alrighty! That just about does it. We just need to get out the cookie cutters and we’ll be good to go.” You pull back.

Something inside him snaps and he turns and grabs your shoulder, tugging you into him. You blink owlishly at him. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He reaches out to caress your cheek, relishing the warmth against his bare hand. You lay your hand over his although you make no move to pull away.

“I…” His breath catches.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask breathlessly

You don’t wait for an answer before shyly pressing your lips to his. It lasts barely a second before you're pulling back with a smug little smile. You point up and he barks out an incredulous laugh.

Mistletoe

A sprig of fucking mistletoe is attached to the ceiling.

“I thought you always spent Christmas alone.” He remarks, lips still burning. He’s dreaming. He’s…this can’t be real.

You chuckle.

“I’m not alone this year.” You respond before giving him another sweet kiss that he eagerly returns.

You taste exactly like brown sugar.

He giggles into the press of your lips

-----

The sky brightens later, in distinct contrast to how Gabriel is feeling. Even the huge rainbow shining in front of dark clouds does little to raise his mood. Instead, he watches the rain fall and tries to remember what he's supposed to be doing. He's on autopilot as he wakes up Henry and Hannah, feeding them, getting them dressed and taking care of all the other little things that parenting involves. He's barely awake enough to press a kiss to Hannah's cheek before she heads through the school gates. He kicks himself for that; he'd always told himself that he wouldn't let it affect the children if he and Sam fought. Lord knows he saw that enough with his own parents.

Regardless, he spends the day feeling grey and nothingy, ignoring the list of chores he set himself in favour of playing with Henry and taking a long walk through their neighbourhood, Henry in a buggy, kicking his little feet up with a giggle as they splash through puddles. Gabriel has to admit, it does brighten him up - his son is the best pick-me-up he's ever known. Henry should be sold instead of prozac.

When he gets back home, he settles on the couch with his knitting (a hobby that Sam teases him about endlessly, despite the fact he owns a hat, scarf and gloves that Gabriel made and wears them throughout the winters), watching as Henry makes shapes with his building blocks, putting them into tall towers and knocking them down with absolute glee. They have an early lunch and Henry has a nap, while Gabriel sits on the couch and stares at the sky.

It's about two o'clock when the home phone rings. Gabriel picks up to Mary Winchester.

'Hi Gabe. How are you honey?' To this day, Gabriel hasn't got over being referred to as 'honey' by his mother-in-law. Still, it is Kansas. And he doesn't really mind. Besides, Mary always sounds so warm and motherly, it's hard not to let her get away with most things.

He smiles instinctively. 'I'm good thanks. How about you and John? I take it you haven't decided to put rat poison in his dinner yet?' It's a long running joke between Mary and Gabriel about how someday, John Winchester is going to drive her to distraction one too many times. 

She laughs. 'No honey, not yet. And we're good too. Listen, I wondered if you wanted to pop over with Henry. We haven't seen either of you in a little while and you know how John dotes on him.'

Gabriel looks at the clock. 'I'm gonna have to go get Hannah in just over an hour, but sure, we could stop in a bit.' 

He can almost hear Mary's smile. 'Really? Oh honey, that'd be so nice! We'll see you soon then?'

'Yeah, I'll be there in twenty minutes.'

'See you soon!' Mary sounds happy. She always sounds happy. Sometimes it worries Gabriel.

'See you soon', he repeats and hangs up before too much of the happy rubs off on him, because he's pretty sunshiny as it is and Mary makes him look like Eeyore.

-----

Henry is pretty grumpy to be woken up early, but Gabriel's used to his moods by now and soothes him with some Billy Joel (kid's got good taste) as they drive to Mary and John's house. By the time they get there, he's all smiles again, giggling delightedly as John swings him up to the ceiling and bounces him on his knee. Mary watches with a sweet smile, as radiant and lovely as ever. John's pretty grey now, but Mary remains as resolutely blonde as ever. Gabriel thinks, once again, that she's beautiful. A small ache in his heart flares up at the memory of how happy Sam had been the first time he'd said that.

'Is everything ok sweetie?' Mary asks, her face filled with maternal concern. Gabriel forces a smile, trying to wipe any traces of sadness from his expression.

'Yeah, everything's fine. I was just wishing Sam didn't have to work so much.'

Mary nods sympathetically. 'He's sure been working a lot lately. Still, you know Sam - he's not one to leave a job done anything less than perfectly, even if he kills himself in the process. He gets that from his father', she says with a pointed look at John as she heads over to make some coffee.

John rolls his eyes, still bouncing Henry on his knee. 'Now come on Mary, it's no bad thing to want to do a job well. I raised my boys to take pride in what they do.'

Gabriel chuckled. 'Well between the two of you, Sam turned out pretty amazing, so I figure we can leave it there.' He accepts the coffee Mary gives him gratefully and they spend the next half an hour talking about birthdays and picnics and the numerous other mundane things that make up their lives.

All too soon, Gabriel puts down his cup with a sigh. 'Well, it's time for me to go get Hannah so I'm afraid I'm going to have to take my little man away.'

'Aww, no, come on honey, you've barely got here!' Mary looks heartbroken. Gabriel feels horrible.

'Why don't you leave Henry here with us? You can come and get him after you pick up Hannah and then we could see her too.' John has his grandson tucked into his chest and Henry looks so peaceful that Gabriel knows he's going to give in again.

He cracks a rueful smile and stands up. 'Sure, why not. I'll see you in a little while then.'

'Drive carefully sweetheart!' Mary calls after him. Gabriel shakes his head in disbelief. His own parents are basically a masterclass in absenteeism. The Winchesters somehow manage to make him feel like he's getting all the parenting he missed out on growing up. He doesn't mind though, not really.

Besides, they're ridiculously kind to their grandchildren. The hug Mary gives Hannah when she sees her makes it seem like they haven't seen each other in months. Then it's off for chocolate cake (one of the few things Mary can bake better than him) and milk, followed by bringing out all the Barbies and dolls' clothes the Winchesters keep at their house. It's heading for five o'clock when Gabriel reluctantly begins to think about heading home; dinner time will be rolling around soon and he'd rather have some food ready before his small people start getting too hungry.

'Well, we'd probably better go', he says and stands up. Instantly a chorus of protest springs up.

'Oh no honey, you don't have to go now do you?'

'But Daddy I want to stay here!'

'Are you sure son? It's not that late.'

Gabriel shakes his head. 'I'm sorry, but I'll need to start cooking soon and I want to get back before Sam does. He looked pretty tired yesterday and I want to have something ready for him when he's home.'

Mary and John exchange a look. It's Mary who speaks.

'Well why don't you leave the kids with us for tonight? We're not doing anything special and we've got plenty of food. That way you don't have to go right now, or worry about fixing something for Sam and putting these two to bed.'

Gabriel pauses, considering. 'I guess... I mean, it would make life a little easier. And, uh, we could probably use an evening on our own.' He frowns and looks down at Hannah. 'What about you, Hannah banana? Would you like to stay with Granny and Grandpa tonight?'

'There's chocolate cake for pudding', Mary says with a smile. Hannah's eyes are as big as saucers.

'I'd like to stay here please Daddy', she says in an awe-filled voice. It's all Gabriel can do not to laugh.

'Then it's settled', he says with a smile. 'You guys have enough of their things here right?'

John rolls his eyes. 'We sure do.' Mary shoots him a look. 'What? I'm not the one who insisted we do up two rooms just for the kids and fill them with toys and clothes.'

Mary raises an eyebrow and looks at Gabriel. 'Today might be the day', she says darkly and he laughs, remembering their earlier conversation about poison. John snorts. Henry gurgles happily and Hannah looks confused.

Nothing changes.

----

Gabriel heads home half an hour later, feeling remarkably relaxed. He's not looking forward to facing Sam, it's true, but at least they can have some time to work things out in peace.

He pulls into the driveway to find Sam's car is already parked there. His stomach tightens and he sighs. Well there goes my plan to have something for him to eat when he gets back, he thinks.

He walks to the front door and lets himself in. Warm light and soft jazz greet him. Slowly, he lets the door shut behind him and walks further into the house, taking in the candles placed all over the hall. He walks into the kitchen and sees Sam, back to him as he works over the kitchen stove, the smell of something meaty wafting through the air.

'Sam? What are - I mean, how come you're back so early?'

----