Your family had a tradition of passing down a recipe each year to a different family member. Call it a family heirloom of sorts, though most of your family would call it a burden. It always started drama on which cookies were better, who used too much butter or not enough chocolate chips– it was unnecessary yet happened every single year.

Unfortunately for you, you got the recipe this year. And with it came the responsibility of outdoing all your other relatives this Christmas. Thankfully for you though, you had a little helper this year. A… reluctant helper.

“Baby I’m tellin’ you, I’m useless when it comes to bakin’,” Graves argued without malice. He was wearing the ugly sweater you’d bought him. He stepped halfway up a little stepping stool so he could properly hang up the Christmas lights you had asked him to put up. He sighed and stepped off the stool, brushing the dust off his hands before turning to look at you.

“Nahh, don’t you give me that look now,” Phillip lightly scolded with a growing grin. You knew exactly how to pull on his heartstrings because you were his only soft spot, and you knew that, unfortunately for him. He heavily sighed, hands resting on his hips. He pretended to contemplate, pretended like he wasn’t going to give you exactly what you wanted because he loved to see you happy. He chuckled, watching your puppy-eyed beg grow more dramatic by the second, finally shaking his head.

“Alright. Alright, mkay? We’ll bake some damn cookies.” Phillip hummed with a fake eye roll, though he couldn’t help but smile and laugh as you physically beamed with relief and excitement. He scooped his hand around the back of your neck to pull you closer, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead, murmuring soft, affectionate words against your skin.

“C’monnn,” He hummed, still pretending like he wasn’t completely fine looking stupid for the sake of your happiness. Phillip knew you needed the help, and he honestly would just enjoy being there with you.