Imagines. | Band of Brothers [𝗥𝗘𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗦 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗡]

baked cookies. | babe heffron

a short fic for my 200 followers celebration!

***

"It's not supposed to taste like armpits, Edward."

Babe stared at you blankly, blinking a few times before placing the metal baking pan onto the kitchen counter. The two of you had been busy at work, making freshly baked cookies he wanted to bring to dinner at Bill's house. Bill's son absolutely loved cookies, and Babe wanted to, in his words, establish himself as their favourite uncle, a position he and Joe had been battling for since the boy was born. It was ridiculous, but every time the young boy would come running when they came over, Babe's face lit up, you couldn't possibly say no to him.

Except now, you wish you had. Four bags of flour and a dozen sticks of butter later, and you still hadn't gotten good results. "Are you sure the oven isn't too hot?" he asked you for what could've been the hundredth time that afternoon, "Maybe the butter's too.. wet."

"The butter is fine," you grumbled, twisting the knob on the oven once more, trying to figure out what was wrong. He stood behind you with his eyebrows knotted together, the floral apron he donned making him look more ridiculous than it should've.

In his hand was another bitter cookie, and he brought it up to his mouth to take a bite, wincing right after. "You're right, this tastes like your armpits."

You gaped at him, slapping him lightly on the chest with one of the oven mitts. "You don't have a clue what my armpits taste like!" Babe let out a loud laugh, his voice filling the small kitchen. Despite how frustrated you both were, and how close to dinner it was getting, you couldn't help but laugh as well.

After a couple of minutes laughing, tossing bitter cookies at each other, and sitting on the floor, flour all over your faces, Babe finally chose to give up. Finally.

"I can't believe Toye wins this round," his cheeks puffed up when he pouted, crossing his arms across his chest, "I was so close to winning last dinner as well!" You giggled and poked his cheek, the sound of your laughter forcing a smile onto his face.

"Where did we go wrong?" you sighed dramatically, placing a hand on your forehead in faux distress.

Babe shrugged, picking up a cookie that was on the ground in front of you and bringing it up against the light to inspect it. "No clue. Followed the recipe to the T," he mumbled, shutting one eye to aim and throwing the cookie against the wall, "The butter wasn't too hard or too melted. We didn't mix the flour too much. Ran out of sugar so I used baking soda. Did everything."

Your face hardened, a breath trapped in your throat. "What did you say?"

"Did everything," Babe repeated his last sentence, chewing onto a bitter cookie despite the disgust evident on his face.

Punching his arm gently, you shook him. "Baking soda?" you exclaimed, gently punching him again, the breath finally breaking free and escaping in laughs, "This whole time, we've been using baking soda?"

Babe nodded cluelessly, grabbing onto your hands to stop you from moving so much. Why, the clueless look on his face asked, making you laugh even more. "Baking soda is not a substitute for sugar, Edward. We have brown sugar."

"They were both white—"

"Salt is also white," you interrupted, the two of you now laughing so hard your stomachs' hurt.

He wiped a tear that had formed in his eye, struggling to stand from how hard you both had laughed. Helping you up, he opened the cupboard and took out the brown sugar, and incredulous look on his face.

Babe grinned at you, once more picking up a bag of flour. "Let's see what I can do."

He was definitely the winner that night.