#ykw i'd say its been a pretty good year in gingerbreadmonsters land | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gingerbreadmonsters · 1 year

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I posted 2,211 times in 2022

That's 1,862 more posts than 2021!

559 posts created (25%)

1,652 posts reblogged (75%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@gingerbreadmonsters

@sri-rachaa

@ejunkiet

@sealriously-sealrious

@slushrottweiler

I tagged 1,972 of my posts in 2022

Only 11% of my posts had no tags

#ginger reblogs art - 213 posts

#redacted asmr - 165 posts

#icymi <3 - 148 posts

#a cheeky timezone rb - 97 posts

#rae beloved <3 - 76 posts

#ginger speaks to anons - 69 posts

#ginger speaks to lovely blogs - 66 posts

#gingerbreadmonsters - 59 posts

#ginger writes - 42 posts

#ooh a game! - 29 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#i will most likely end up posting the same version here and on ao3 bc can you imagine reformatting the whole thing like that 😵‍💫😵‍💫

My Top Posts in 2022:

ALL MINE

or: it’s easy to have a good time, if you don’t mind getting a little messy - all it takes is meringue, cream, and strawberries.

the long-awaited finale of LOVE HEART! gn!reader, domestic fluff to smut, absolutely and without exception minors dni. this is… a lot more explicit than i thought it was going to be - i really didn’t think i had this in me, but what @ejunkiet wants, @ejunkiet gets! i hope this does the hot boi summer aesthetic justice :) sweetheart’s a brit because i say so - it’s not necessary for the plot, but quite frankly i think it’s a crime that eton mess and trifle don’t exist in america, and this is my only way of promoting them, so there you go. @solclaw is the source of all knowledge, and i am making trifle in their honour - rowan darling there is always an extra bowl for you!

sweetheart is gender neutral, and their anatomy is not described. milo’s skin is stated to be of an appropriate colour to show love bites, but no specific colour is mentioned and the reader’s skin is not described at all. milo being an excellent sous chef for just over 3600 words.

this fic contains explicit content, and is 18+ only. minors please do not interact with this one i am BEGGING you. thank you.

“sweetheart, you’ve, uh… you’ve got a little somethin’ just there…”

“here?”

“a little higher, to the left - no, no, your left - let me just-”

he licks his thumb and strokes it over your cheek, wiping away the stickiness as your lips pull into a very familiar smirk. christ, he knows that look, knows what it means when you run your tongue over your teeth, eyebrow cocked and head tilted to the right - it usually means that whatever you’re about to say probably isn’t fit for polite company.

“it’s not fair - how come i always get it all over my face?”

damn that mouth of yours - even when he knows it’s coming, you still get him blushing up a storm. “not my fault you’re such a messy eater, sweetheart. maybe i oughta have you wearin’ an apron next time.”

you smack lightly him in the arm with the wooden spoon, laughing at his mock-outraged expression as you go back to your cake batter. “go and get me one then, lover boy. it’s weird to hear you telling me to put on clothes, though.”

he… yeah, he doesn’t really have a comeback to that.

the two of you have been in the kitchen all morning, putting together the desserts for david’s birthday party this afternoon. it’s pretty fucking warm today, early summer and all, so you’ve got all the windows open and the fan going full blast to try and balance out the heat from the oven. both of you are sweating from the humidity, so he’s can’t really be surprised you’d forgone the apron for a little while.

david always insists that he doesn’t want anything for his birthday, but the rest of the pack - as happens every year, and’ll probably happen until the end of time - has other ideas. about a month ago, his mate had sent him off on some errand or other and got straight on a video call with you, sam, and ash’s mate to get something together.

(he still can’t figure out how the four of you seem to read each other’s minds, ‘cause the lot of you can be fucking terrifying when you’re on a mission. if he’s honest, he’s still not recovered from that goddamn prank with the door, and he knows that ash has lived in permanent fear of sam’s overhand serve ever since his mate had made the dubiously-successful suggestion of late-night tennis. it’s got to be something to do with this secretive “mates’ group chat” he’s heard legends of…)

(it gets a little more complicated when you’ve got to get the actual wolves involved, but david’s mate is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to organising shit. jesus, it’s like they’re the alpha, sometimes, and you’ve told him that you’ve met superiors at DUMP that are less intimidating. it’s no bad thing - that’s what you need when you’re dealing with a crack team like the one right here.)

(well, maybe less of a crack team, and more of a team on crack, but that’s what you get for trying to get him and ash to actually stop bickering and decide on a playlist or whatever.)

in any case, the pair of you have been put in charge of desserts for today - well, nobody was going to have ash go anywhere near anything that needed to be edible, and sam had declined politely, saying something about how “unless david’s developed a taste for O negative, i might not be too much help in the caterin’ department”. fair enough.

it doesn’t help that basically the whole pack is coming, and wolves aren’t exactly known for their, uh, delicate eating habits. you’re going to need a lot of food, and as if that wasn’t enough, you’re going to have to impress david fucking shaw. looks like the fridge is going to be working overtime in this weather, huh?

you’d taken it as a challenge, which meant that yesterday evening had been dedicated to all of the shit that needed to set overnight: tiramisu, cheesecake, chocolate tart, caramel shortbread… he doesn’t know how the hell you managed to balance it all in the fridge, but he’s not touching it, not a chance.

(it’s got to the point where he had to ask you to grab him another can of soda off the shelf because he wasn’t looking to accidentally knock something over - you’d thought it was funny, but he’d been dead serious! that new flavour you bought - the ones in the pink cans? - is really good, especially in this heat, but it’s not worth a dessert catastrophe, alright?)

(he’s especially not going near the trifle on the middle shelf - it looks pretty freaking impressive, what with all the layers and shit, but he doesn’t need you mad at him for swiping one of the raspberries off the top.)

(he remembers you making it last time, when his ma’d come over for lunch at the weekend, and you’d damn near kicked his shit in for accidentally trying to put the custard in before the cream. let’s just say he’d got the message loud and clear - he doesn’t get in the way when you make trifle any more.)

this morning’s endeavours have got you two dashing about trying to get the last few desserts finished, in a flurry of buttercream and baking powder. neither of you could remember whether david likes chocolate or vanilla more, and his mate’s not picking up, so you’d just made both - the victoria sponge is cooling on the rack over by the microwave, and the chocolate cake’s just come out of the oven.

fuck, it’s hot in here today.

the morning is almost unbearably humid, sun beating down outside between a few, sparse clouds. looks like you’re both going to need a shower before you go, as if there wasn’t enough to do. his shirt’s unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up to the elbows and collar hanging open, and he’d be tempted to take it off entirely if he didn’t know that when he does that, you almost always end up late.

you’ve got all of the ingredients for cream puffs (at least, he thinks that’s what they’ll be? you’d rattled off some fancy name, and he’d just kind of nodded and gone back to his strawberry mousse) laid out on the counter, while he slices up some kiwi for the fruit salad.

he’s not bad at cooking, by any means, but you’re the pro when it comes to desserts - he’s really just your sous chef today, and the system seems to be working pretty well.

(hey, it’s not like he minds you bossing him around a bit. he certainly hasn’t been complaining about the view today, seeing as the warm weather’s got you wearing a little less than normal.. and christ, when you do that thing where you grab him by the hips to move him out of the way? you know exactly what that does to him, you little minx.)

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174 notes - Posted May 13, 2022

in the style of @yetdevout

214 notes - Posted August 14, 2022

fizzing hot day!

or: he feels like seawater, drying on soft skin.

gn!reader, no content warnings, unless you count shirtless simeon (which, let's face it, we probably should). oh simeon, my sweet and tragic beloved. is this an established relationship? you’re looking at me like i have any idea. inspired by MIKA’s ‘sanremo’ and ‘tiny love’ - strongly suggest listening to those as you read! i am convinced that late afternoon on the beach in the sun is a different world altogether. simeon discovering what beach days are for in just over 1100 words.

it’s a beautiful summer’s day today, and you’ve decided to go to the beach.

you’ve been here before, so you know roughly which parts of the waterfront to head for and which to avoid. luckily, there’s only a handful of other people here today - no families with noisy children, or big get-togethers with loud music, or holidaymakers dragging huge umbrellas across the sand only to inevitably sit right in front of you.

just the occasional few people, scattered across the beach, peacefully soaking up the sun and the breeze and the quiet.

“so, how exactly does this work again?”

you get the feeling that simeon still doesn’t quite understand the purpose of sunscreen.

“but humans need sunlight to live, surely. when we’re in the devildom, you and solomon have to eat those… the little yellow marble things in the jar? why do you have to protect yourself from the sun when you eat your sunlight pills every day anyway?”

or, apparently, what your vitamin d supplements are.

(you explain it to him every time - you know by now that it doesn't work, but his concentrating-face is so adorable that you do it anyway. his big blue eyes go all wide and earnest, his lips part just slightly, and your heart goes all fluttery, every time.)

it doesn't matter. you take the bottle from his hand and squeeze a good amount into your palm. time to get to work.

"but d-aaah…"

his body is smooth and pliant under your hands, muscles relaxing into your firm touch as you rub the sunscreen into his back. you work over the crest of his shoulder blades and down to the small of his back, watching the soft, rich shimmer of his skin under the summer sun. the breeze is cool and gentle as it washes over you.

he stretches out on the sand underneath you like a cat, lithe and lean, and all of a sudden you suspect that he won't protest the next time you offer to put sunscreen on him.

"well, if you - mmm - put it that way, i can see why humans - hahhh - why humans bother with all of this."

exactly.

it takes a little while to get yourselves sorted, considering how distracting simeon's general state of undress is, but before long you're both settled under the umbrella. it's too heavy for you to normally bother bringing it, but it turns out that simeon's angelic strength is good for more than just opening jars and manhandling solomon away from the oven - who knew? it's a good thing too, what with the way the sunlight beats down over the sand, shattering over the waves.

for a little while, the world is quiet.

just you and him. the smell of salt, the crunch of sand, the rush of water. the sky is a rich and endless blue.

you open your eyes. you're not sure when you closed them, but when you turn your head, the distant shapes of seagulls twist and scatter in the sky. from here, the water looks cool and inviting - perhaps it'll be nice to go and dip your toes in.

“mmm, that sounds good. here, let me help you up, love.”

the sand scrapes pleasantly between your toes as you walk towards the water, fingers entwined with simeon's. as you get closer, an idea pops into your head - does simeon know how cold the water is the first time? you start to run, laughing, pulling him by the hand as he stumbles along, damp sprays of sand kicking up behind you both as the balls of your feet leave clumsy divots behind you.

simeon’s laughing too now, eyes scrunched up into happy half-moons as the water comes rushing up to meet you, still running full-tilt into the surf as you brace yourself for the inevitable-

“mc, d-hahhhh!”

yep, after an hour or two spent lying under the warm sun, the water is just as coldcoldcold as you’d predicted - and, if the way that he’s clinging to your waist and shaking his head frantically in protest is any indication, much colder than simeon had been expecting.

“you’re - hahh - mc, you’re so mean to me!”

he smiles playfully into your hair as he says it, and as you chase away the goosebumps across his back with your palms, it sounds like“i love you”.

you don’t let go of each other, but somehow you drift a little further into the water until you’re up to your waist - the temperature gradually gets a little more bearable, but you still shiver into him every time a cold current sweeps past. he doesn’t seem to mind.

you don’t say anything. your mouth is too full of clouds, soft and airy and light. the seagulls cartwheel across the endless blue above you, and you think that simeon’s is too.

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218 notes - Posted April 23, 2022

SWEET TALK

or: you’ll always be his favourite flavour.

an apology - this is written in american english, which i do not speak, for a character with a very strong regional accent, which i do not know very well! readers are encouraged to please raise cringe shields to maximum as a precaution. gn!reader, all fluff all day, no content warnings. thank you to the lovely @virtualizated for science support - have a tube of smarties on me! did you know that M&M’s are from new jersey? inspired by ‘my baby just cares for me’ by nina simone, which you should definitely listen to while reading this. milo finding out what love means in 1800 words or less.

(for context - "sweethearts" are a type of small, brightly-coloured confection sold in america that are made of chewy wafer stuff and have short, lovey-dovey phrases printed on them. we have an equivalent in the uk, called "love hearts", which (unlike the american version) are made of sherbert.)

“hey, sweetheart. you got a minute to talk?”

it shouldn’t be as hard as it is to get the sentence out.

it’s not like he doesn’t want to talk to you, and he never gets tired of talking to you - hell, he’d listen to your voice all day and all night if you let him - or anything like that. it’s just that this is about something kind of important, and he really doesn’t want to screw this up.

he fishes another candy out of the box and pops it clumsily in his mouth. this one is purple, and it says BE MINE.

he’s always had something of a sweet tooth. can you really blame him? david used to get on his case about always having some kind of candy in his schoolbag when they were kids, but by now the rest of the pack knows it’s just the way he is.

it works out pretty well - he’s always got something for when the kids (and ash) get restless at long pack meetings, and he knows it makes david smile just a bit whenever he sees the half-open packet of M&M’s on the counter.

(he still remembers the look on ash’s face when he’d first overheard him calling you ‘sweetheart’ - he’d had to tackle him over the side of the couch to stop him from telling you exactly what his favourite candy was.)

(you’d thought it was just their usual antics and gone into the kitchen to get some water, while he’d been busy telling ash to shut his goddamn mouth before he could embarrass him any more in front of you. yeah, so you make him all soft and gooey when he looks at you, but that doesn’t mean he needs the whole freaking pack to know why he calls you that!)

your work phone rings just as you’re walking over - both of you know that that ringtone means it’s important. you smile sheepishly at him as you rummage through your bag, but he doesn’t mind. it’s just an occupational hazard of dating the best, most gorgeous, intelligent, hardworking investigator in all of dahlia.

you kiss his cheek on your way out to the living room, and he blows you a kiss of his own as you disappear down the hall. you’re cute.

he slumps backwards onto the bed, legs hanging off the side, and takes a deep breath. the light above his head makes him squint up at the ceiling as he reaches for another candy. your voice, echoing from the living room, the lingering heat of your lips on his skin - god, how did he get so lucky? he thinks about you (as he always does), as he chews on FOR EVER.

it must have been, what, the thousandth date? millionth? he’s never been one to leave his sweetheart lonely. he likes to say that your little encounter with that shade was your first date, but you always argue that it was actually a few days later, when he showed up on your doorstep with a bunch of flowers, cotton candy pink, and his ma’s yelling still ringing in his ears. what a couple of romantics, huh?

(god, she’d been beside herself with worry when he’d turned up at her place. he’d staggered back from your apartment in a daze - mostly from your kisses but a little bit from blood loss - and realised that he’d have to bite the bullet and let her finish up the healing you’d started. he’d managed to play it off as a souvenir from work, but since when had that ever stopped his ma from telling him exactly what she thought about it?)

(she loves you though - always inviting you over, telling you stories about what a handful he’d been as a kid, sending you home with enough leftovers to feed the whole damn pack twice over.)

(he’s half convinced she thinks you’re far too good for him, and she’s probably right, but it never stops her from giving him that look when she catches him staring at your lips like a goddamn fool, or pulling your chair out for you at dinner all fancy-like. it’s not his fault you deserve the world on a silver fucking platter, and if he wants to treat you like royalty, then he damn well ought to do it right!)

he’d made sure to take you on all of those classic dates you like - the park, the movies, the arcade, the theatre, the ice rink (god, that one had really been embarrassing), all that sort of rom-com type shit that makes him look like the most lovesick idiot on the planet. this one had been in the summer, august-time or something, a saturday in the middle of the heatwave.

you’d called and said you’d take him out for ice cream at that sundae place downtown, and he remembers the way, after you’d hung up, that he’d screamed into his pillow over how goddamn sweet you’d sounded on the phone, calling him up out of the blue like that.

(of course - he forgets sometimes that you ever used to live somewhere else. he’d asked you to move in with him about two months before and you’d said yes, but you’d had until october left on your lease, so you were waiting until then to properly move out.)

you’d turned up at his door an hour later, looking like a million dollars even in the blazing california heat, and oh, the way your whole face had brightened up when you saw him? he could have died a happy man right then and there.

the ice cream parlour had been busy, but you’d grabbed a booth by the window and told him to go up and order for you - you’d reeled off a list of toppings as long as your arm and beamed up at him, and he’d blinked, nodded, and wandered off towards the counter in some sort of love-drunk haze, still replaying the way your eyes had softened and sparkled when he’d held the door open for you a minute ago.

(he’s not sure how, but he’d actually got all the toppings you’d wanted correct - even the extra wafer in the top and the two different flavours of ice cream. the girl at the register had looked at him like he was crazy, but it had been worth it to see the look on your face when it had arrived in front of you. it’s his favourite photo in the world.)

(he’d only asked for one extra kind of candy on his. he remembers you laughing when you noticed, when the waitress who brought them had recited the order back to him, you want me in your mouth that badly, milo greer? and god, he had, but he wasn’t about to admit that to the whole damn room - he’d just stuck his tongue out at you playfully and jammed a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth to stop him saying something stupid.)

spoon in hand, you’d been in the middle of a story about the department handler guy two cubicles down from you - something about glitter gel pens and a restraining order? - when he’d felt it.

there’s a word on his tongue. he rolls it around his mouth, feels it clinking off his teeth and melting all sweet and sticky. KISS ME is written backwards on the inside of his cheek, but that’s not the word he’s thinking of.

his mouth is full of words - ALWAYS, ME & YOU, ONLY YOU - and that’s nothing new, not when it comes to you, but this one tastes different. he knows why.

the rest of the date had been good, despite the crushing heat outside. he’d walked you home and kissed you senseless on your doorstep - you won’t admit it, but his shifter hearing isn’t just for decoration, so he knows he heard your cursing as your legs gave out once you shut the door. he’d gone home with a word in his mouth, tucked behind his teeth, and he’d wondered if you’d been able to taste it on his lips.

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236 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

no thoughts only vincent, lovely, and darlin' INSISTING that "sam" is short for "sandwich" - vincent started it and now the three of them all have him saved as "sandwich collins 🤠" in their contacts

lovely, shouting up the stairs: we're going to be late! sam, come on!

darlin', trying not to laugh: sandwich collins, you get down here this instant!

sam, head in hands: for the last GODDAMN TIME-

will, across the room, thoroughly bemused: now now, sandwich, i won't have such language under my roof.

411 notes - Posted June 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #HAHAHAHAHAHA #i cannot BELIEVE that my top post is the fucking sandwich post that's BRILLIANT #also hello fizzing hot day! wasn't expecting you to be here but i am very glad to see you!#also I TOLD YOU I WASN'T KIDDING THIS IS A RAE SRIRACHAA STAN ACC BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE #also yes i know i mostly reblog my own posts YES I GET IT #that's all my self rbs when i write something lmao #ykw i'd say its been a pretty good year in gingerbreadmonsters land #we have fun on gingerbreadmonsters dot com 🥳🥳

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