GINGERBREAD WARS RUTGER MCGROARTY
— event masterlist !
pairing: fem!reader x rutger mcgroarty
summary: you and rutger get into a not-so-friendly gingerbread house building competition.
warnings: talks of candy, reader and rutger being insanely competitive, mention of weapon as a metaphor kind of?
wc: 1.23k
notes: first work in my 12 days of christmas celebration! hope y'all enjoy this one
The onset of winter had draped the world in a frosty embrace, crafting the perfect excuse to stay nestled indoors. Frost etched intricate patterns on the windows, and the living room glowed with the cozy flicker of a cinnamon and clove candle. The scent mingled with the warmth of thick blankets as you and Rutger sat cross-legged on the floor, transforming your coffee table into a chaotic gingerbread construction zone. Between you sat two unopened kits, brimming with cookie walls, tubes of frosting, and a kaleidoscope of colorful candies, all waiting to be shaped into edible masterpieces.
“We’re doing this right,” you declared, pulling out your phone to set a timer. “One hour. Whoever builds the best gingerbread house wins.”
“Define ‘best,’” Rutger said, smirking as he tore open his box. “Because if it’s sheer dominance, I’ve already won.”
“Best as in structurally sound and aesthetically pleasing,” you countered, leveling a mock-serious glare his way. “No shortcuts, no sabotage.”
Rutger laughed, a deep, infectious sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, it’s on.”
Competitiveness was the cornerstone of your relationship, transforming even the smallest activities into grand battles of wit and will. Whether it was a round of mini golf or a gingerbread showdown, neither of you could resist the pull of a challenge.
As the timer started, the room dissolved into chaotic creativity. You worked methodically, precision your guiding star, as you piped frosting along the cookie edges and pressed them together carefully. Rutger, in stark contrast, adopted what could only be described as a “freestyle” approach, squeezing frosting directly from the tube in uneven bursts. He slapped pieces together with reckless abandon, his hands soon sticky with icing and a streak of frosting somehow finding its way across his cheek.
“Looking good over there, babe,” you teased, eyeing the precarious tilt of his gingerbread walls.
“Oh, you’re intimidated,” Rutger shot back, his grin pure mischief. “Just admit it. My house has character.”
You snorted, sticking a gumdrop to your roof. “Sure, if by ‘character’ you mean it’s held together by sheer luck.”
The room filled with a soundtrack of quiet Christmas music, punctuated by your playful jabs and the occasional crunch of misplaced candies underfoot. For a brief moment, there was almost peace — until Rutger’s eyes flicked toward your symmetrical, candy-laden structure.
“Wow,” he says, leaning over to inspect it closer. “Looks… really sturdy.” He hummed as his hand hovering dangerously close. “Would be a shame if something—oops!” He nudged your roof piece just slightly, causing it to slide askew.
“Rutger!” you gasped, swatting his hand away as you shielded your creation.
“What?” he replied, all innocence, though his devilish grin betrayed him.
“If you try to knock my gingerbread house down one more time,” she warned, narrowing her eyes, “I swear, I will smash up your gingerbread house and glue candy canes to your eyebrows.”
His laughter boomed through the room, so loud it shook his already lopsided structure. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” you retorted, brandishing your frosting bag like a weapon.
What followed was an inevitable escalation. Rutger lunged for your house once more, but you were ready, swiping a line of frosting across his cheek in defense. He froze, mock-surrender in his posture. “Oh, you’ve done it now,” he said, his tone low and teasing as he grabbed his own frosting bag.
“Don’t you dare!” you shrieked, stumbling to your feet to escape the impending frosting attack, but found yourself cornered by the fireplace.
What began as a building contest transformed into an all-out war. A dollop of frosting hit your sweater, and you retaliated with a handful of gumdrops. Candies rained down like festive confetti as the two of you dissolved into laughter, the competition long forgotten.
When the alarm finally rang, Rutger threw up his hands. “Truce!” he panted, frosting streaked across his face and a lone sprinkle clinging to his hair. “You win. I concede.”
You stood triumphantly, frosting bag still in hand, your own cheeks flushed from laughter. “That’s what I thought,” you teased, grabbing a gummy bear from off the coffee table and stepping towards him, sticking it onto his frosting-covered cheek like a badge of victory.
He didn’t brush it away. Instead, he grinned and tugged you closer, his hands settling on your waist. “You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “you might be a little insane and intense, but I think I like you anyway.”
Your heart melted faster than the frosting in your hands. “Only ‘like’ me?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.
“Fine,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “I love you, even if you’re a menace with frosting.”
You laughed, your hands resting on his chest. “Good, because I love you too — even if you can’t build a gingerbread house to save your life.”
Rutger chuckled, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. “I don’t need to build gingerbread houses when I’ve already got the sweetest thing right here.”
Your face heated at his cheesy line, but you couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across your lips. “That was awful. You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“Lucky, huh?” he teased, his eyes flicking to your frosting-smeared cheek. “Maybe I should test my luck again.”
Before you could protest, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your frosting-covered cheek. It was warm and tender, the kind of kiss that made your heart flutter and the world fall away.
“Mm, sweet,” he murmured with a smirk as he pulled back. “Maybe I’m not so bad at this whole frosting thing after all.”
You rolled your eyes, but your laughter betrayed you. “If you’re trying to distract me so I won’t remember the fact that we were in the middle of a competition, it’s not working.”
Rutgers grin only widened as he laced his frosting-sticky fingers with yours. “Nah,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m just reminding you that the best part of tonight isn’t winning — it’s this. Spending time together.”
Your chest warmed, and for a moment, you forgot all about the half-finished gingerbread houses on the coffee table, the candies scattered across the floor, and the frosting war still visible on your sweaters and faces. All you could see was Rutger, his gaze full of affection, his presence wrapping around you like a blanket on a cold winter night.
“Okay,” you said, tilting your head in playful concession. “But for the record, my house was going to win.”
“It absolutely was not.” Rutger scoffed.
“Oh, it absolutely was,” you insisted, your tone dripping with mock authority as you gave him a pointed look. “But I guess I can forgive you since you’ve officially declared me the sweetest thing in your life.”
Rutger chuckled, his arms tightening around your waist as he pulled you into a warm hug. “You are,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something softer, more sincere. “And I’ll prove it — just wait till next year. My gingerbread game is going to blow your mind.”
You giggled, your cheek resting against his frosting-smudged sweater. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
The unfinished gingerbread houses remained forgotten on the coffee table as the two of you sank onto the couch, curling up together under a shared blanket. The Christmas lights twinkled, the music played softly in the background, and the snow outside blanketed the world in peaceful silence.
