Can you do John B and Gingerbread making? Ty!
DAY FOUR
Gingerbread & Sugar Cookies
Summary: After a day with his friends, you suggest making gingerbread houses to warm yourselves.
Word Count: 0.6k
John B was holding both of your hands in his, hoping to warm them after you both stayed outside with the others for far too long.
“I told you we should’ve come inside sooner,” he gently chastens.
You scowl slightly. “You can’t blame me. I’m in pain.”
He rolls his eyes. “Right. My bad.” But he squeezes your hands tighter.
“I didn’t want to dampen the mood. JJ looked like he was having fun, and Pope was talking so much, I didn’t want to ask you to leave. That would’ve been rude.” It was only your second time ever meeting them, so you were still trying to impress them.
“One, I offered to take us back here. Two, no one would’ve noticed, babe. You worry too much.” He brushes his nose against your cheek, causing you to laugh (his goal) and push him away.
“Well, it’s too late now,” you huff, heading to the kitchen to boil water. “Do you have tea bags?”
He looks at you like you’re crazy, and you roll your eyes. “Why’d I even ask?”
A trip to the corner store, a warm shower, and two tea bags later, the two of you are sitting at his table with the gingerbread kits you bought placed in front of you.
Originally, you just wanted to make gingerbread houses for fun, but John B decided to call it a competition. Now, with two minutes left, you’re both trying to add the finishing touches to your houses.
“Shit. This frosting is not working. My gumdrops keep falling off the roof.” When he hears your laugh, he tries peeking over the makeshift wall you built to hide your house, and you yelp, using your arms to cover it.
“Get away. You’re the one who wanted to make this a game. I was perfectly happy doing it together.”
He says your name in a half-whine, but you pay no mind, focused on making your garden of hard candy. “One minute, John B. You better hurry.”
“I give up. You win,” he deadpans, snatching your phone to turn off the timer and removing the box separating the two of you.
When he sees your house, his mouth drops open. “You cheated. There’s no way you had enough time. And what—did you use glue or something? How is nothing falling off?”
You shrug, a small smirk on your face as you say, “I tried to tell you we should’ve done this together. I used to make gingerbread houses for some of the younger kids at school to get service hours for graduation.”
He blinks slowly, his lips forming a firm line. “Of course you did.” But he grins when he sees your self-satisfied smile, admiring your house.
“You should know better. I’m good at everything.”
“Uh-huh. Remind me to ask about those paint stains on my rug.”
“That was hardly my fault. You didn’t want me to put any newspaper on the ground.”
“I assumed you could paint on the canvas.”
When you narrow your eyes, ready to rebut, he comes around the table, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to his chest, kissing your cheek.
“Kidding, kidding. You’re right, you’re good at everything.”
“Don’t patronize me.” But you melt into his embrace anyway.
“I’m serious! Look at this.” He lifts up your house with one hand, but quickly sets it down when he sees your half-panicked look. He presses a few kisses to your lips.
“If you dropped it, that would’ve been grounds for a breakup,” you mumble.
He laughs, grabbing your hands and leading you to the couch before going to the kitchen to take the sugar cookies out of the oven. He brings out a stacked plate and your tea mug.
After a few moments of silence, John B settles next to you on the couch, his arm curling around your shoulders. You rest your head on his bicep and ask, “I won though, right?”
“Yeah, baby. You won.”
