Iplier and Septiceye One-Shots/Imagines

Gingerbread Houses (Robbie)

Date: January 1st

Day 8

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"Thanks for helping out, (Y.N), I'll pick him up in a week!" Seán yelled as he speed-walked to his car, hopped in, and drove off.  You grinned as he left, then turned to your brother's alter-ego.

"And how many brains do you eat in a day?" you asked Robbie, smiling at him.

Robbie was the zombie that you agreed to take care of for a week while your brother, Seán, was going to his parents' house for a Christmas getaway with Signe.  Robbie was a quiet little thing, with a faded black-and-white shirt, ripped jeans (that weren't ripped before they were bought), and a shy grin that could make your heart melt.

"Robbie doesn't eat too many...." Robbie said, speaking in the third person.

"Then what do you eat?"

"Robbie eats raw meat, but Robbie would like a brain once in a while," he answered with a lopsided grin.

"I don't know where I can get you that, but as long as you don't eat mine, I can see what I can get for you," you shrugged.

"Robbie would like that," he chuckled as he moved to follow you into the house.

"What do you want to do?" you asked when you walked into the kitchen.

"Robbie wants to do whatever you wanna do, (Y/N)," he said, still grinning stupidly.

"Alright, then.  Let's see what I have in my pantry, then," you muttered, walking downstairs with the peculiar zombie trailing behind, contently being a benevolent flesh-eating post-human.

"Do you eat anything but flesh?" you asked as you rummaged around for some food.

"Robbie can, but if he eats too much, Robbie gets a headache," he answered, patting his head like a child.  That was enough to make you pause from grabbing the box of cookies on the top shelf.

"Alright, then.  Maybe a bit later," you muttered, half to yourself, then something in your peripherals caught your attention.

"What's that?" Robbie the curious zombie asked as you pulled out two festively red and green boxes.

"How about we decorate some gingerbread houses?" you asked with a grin, holding up one box of pre-made, packaged gingerbread cookies ready to be built and devoured.

"Robbie would like that very much, but what's in that box?" he just asked again, not understanding the answer to his question.  You laughed, nudging him back up the stairs to go to the kitchen.

"What's Seán told you so far about Christmas?" you asked Rob when you tossed a bag of frosting to him.  It hit his head and fell to the ground, and he answered,

"Just a bit," without so much of a wince.

"Oops.  I forgot... reflexes... eye-hand coordination... stuff... let me just pick that up," you giggled bashfully, cheeks heating up with embarrassment as you bent on your knees to pick up the white icing sugar.  When you stood up, the zombie was trying to open the box with fumbling fingers.

"Robbie needs help," he grunted, seemingly frustrated with the lack of progress that he's made.  He handed the cardboard to you, which you took from him with a smile, then proceeded to open the box.

"Alright, there we go," you sighed, stepping back to look at the stack of large, brown, gingerbread cookies around the size of a small cutting board, two bowlfuls of small candies of various sizes and colours, and six packs of icing in red, green, and white.