#and i have to scrape it off the sides of the fucking oven and put my hard work in the trash

[floorpancakes]

if i want to be a watanuki kinnie (/j) im allowed to be cringefail but if im cringefail at baking that has the reverse effect and makes me less watanukicore.....life is cruel

[hyunsvngs]

hyunsvngbinimas !

pairing: lee minho x fem!reader

warnings: reader is a cat hybrid, perv!minho, heats, slick, kind of omegaverse but not, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, depictions of porn

Nothing is going right.

Minho’s apartment smells of those cliche candles that just reek of Christmas - spiced cinnamon apple strudel, or something like it. He’s burnt his cookies. His hair is covered in white sugary flakes that he’d tried to make snow for his gingerbread house with, and they’re currently melting into his hair from how stressed out he’s getting. Felix will be here any second. He’s freaking out. Felix always judges his baking.

He sighs, scraping the burnt remnants of his baking endeavours into the bin. Felix will have to be happy with just the gingerbread house. Anyway, Minho got him an amazing present for Christmas - a new headset for his gaming setup that had little holes for his white fluffy cat ears to peek through. 

Being best friends with a hybrid wasn’t easy for Minho. Unfortunately, Minho had some weird affinity for cat girls and boys alike, and his computer was decked out with mountains of hybrid heat porn that would make even Felix’s weird friend Jisung stutter. Minho had gotten drunk one night and opened up to Felix about it, and had received an overly wet kiss on a cheek and a sweet chirp of “I’ll fuck you whenever, hyung”. Minho still blushes to the tips of his ears when he remembers it. 

Felix’s hybrid status isn’t the only reason he’s reserved as Minho’s lifelong best friend. Felix is devious, weird, and a little bit evil just like Minho - he’s also always late, which really means a lot to Minho when he’s stressing out like this. 

True to his nature, there’s a loud knock on the door approximately fifteen minutes after the meeting time after Minho had just put the baking tray of newer, more promising cookies into the oven. Minho throws his oven gloves to the side and then he’s charging over to the door to swing it open, ready to give Felix a fake lecture about being late to their designated day for exchanging presents. 

Only, when the door opens, Felix isn’t alone. He’s standing on Minho’s doorstep with a wild smile on his face, a beanie pulled over his ears and his white tail swishing in excitement. Next to him is you. 

And you’re, well, you. You’re a cat hybrid, too, sans-beanie and baring your orange ears for the world to see. You have a matching smile on your face, and Minho can’t help but fight his own smile back. It’s that contagious. Your fluffy winter dress is swaying around your mid-thigh, and when you turn to stop your suitcase from falling in the snow, your tail curls in annoyance.

Wait. You have a suitcase.

“Yongbok-ah,” Minho starts, his apron covered in flour. His apron is covered in flour. He’s a mess, and the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen is standing on his doorstep with a cute little dress on. He wonders if you’d let him flip it up and stretch your pussy open with his thick- no. He clears his throat, repeats Felix’s Korean name once again. “Yongbok-ah. What is this?”

“Your new roommate!” Felix beams, his smile stretching from ear-to-ear. Minho contemplates how he can kill him. “She was looking for somewhere to stay. Her landlord just kicked her out over Christmas, hyung, isn’t that so sad? Anyway, I remembered you saying you wouldn’t mind someone moving in to help with rent, so-”

“I work!” You blurt, cheeks sufficiently rosy pink and your bottom lip looking so biteable. Minho mentally chastises himself. He needs to behave. “I can pay rent, and Felix said you’d like me.”

Oh, he did, did he? Minho manages to drag his eyes away from you to stare menacingly at Felix, who only nods in agreement and smiles. Minho sighs, eyes flickering behind him. How quick can he do a deep clean of the house so that you think he’s perfect and amazing and maybe want to be with him? “I do have a spare bedroom.”

“Great!” Felix chirps. His eyes flicker between you and Minho. You haven’t taken your eyes off of him, tail swishing around your back excitedly. It’s orange with faint stripes in it, and Minho’s trying not to get hard in his pants over the way you’re grinning at him. Felix claps his hands together, gloved and muffled. “So, I’ve got to go now. Bye, hyung!”

“Y-Yongbok,” Minho blurts. Did he really just stutter? “What about your present?”

“Oh, give it to me another day,” Yongbok waves him off, already turning down the drive.

Minho scoffs. “What about my present, you little-”

Yongbok turns around. “She is your present, hyung. Silly.” 

Minho reverts his eyes to you. He can feel how he’s widening them in shock, his bottom lip quivering. He wants to say something. He wants to talk to you, but how can he? You’re looking at him so expectantly and your dress has damn pom poms on it. He’s going to die. “Uh. D’ya wanna come in? I have cookies in the oven.”

“Great!” You say, and Minho’s convinced your voice is exactly how angels sound. You shimmy past him with your suitcase and leave it in the doorway, sashaying into the living room as if you’ve been there a million times. He watches you sprawl on the sofa in awe, stretching languidly. If he squints, he might be able to see the panties you’ve got on underneath your dress. “I love cookies.”

“Uh, yeah,” Minho says intelligently, kicking the door shut. He’s quick to follow you despite still being in his apron and having white specks in his dark hair. He tries to sit down casually on the sofa, and you gravitate towards his body heat, curling up beside him. “Have you had a roommate before?”

“A roommate?” You perk up, looking at him. Minho thinks he’s going to die. He’s definitely hard now, and he’s glad the apron is loose enough to cover it. You blink, and then you nod. “I guess so. In college, I stayed with a bunny girl. She was super sweet.”

A bunny girl? You two… lived together? Minho’s heart has stopped beating, officially. Maybe you’re still close friends. Maybe you can bring her over, when one or both of you are in your heats, and maybe you’ll let him watch if you-

Oh, Minho’s so fucked.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re so fucked.

When Felix said his friend Minho had mentioned wanting a roommate, you hadn’t expected him to be so sexy. Even standing on his doorstep with an apron covered in flour and a timid expression on his face, he was sexy. He’d shown you to the spare bedroom, nice as pie, and had waited while you got settled in to comfier clothes before getting on the couch with him. You couldn’t stop your tail from swishing when he fed you a cookie, warm from the oven, and you’d been looking at him with round, owlish eyes. He has to know. You’re wondering how much you can put down to kitty tendencies just to get closer to him. 

“Can we cuddle?” You chirp, and Minho turns to you. He blinks, lips parted. His eyes are so dark, so round. “You know, kitty tendencies. I like the warmth. If it makes you uncomfortable, that’s okay-”

“No,” He shakes his head, patting his lap. “C’mere, kitty- sorry, God, can I call you that? Is that okay?”

You giggle, curling up in his lap. Your tail curls around his arm comfortably, and Minho chokes back a noise. You wonder if he’s alright. “Kitty is fine. I like it.”

Minho lets out a stuttered breath. “O-Okay, so- how do you want to do this? I can cook for us, if you wanna clean?” He shakes his head. You feel his body tense up from beneath you. His thighs are so broad and muscled you can’t help but nuzzle your nose into one. You’re purring before you even realise you are. “Actually, no. Don’t clean.”

“I can clean!” You insist, but he’s already protesting again.

“No, kitty. Please don’t. Please don’t clean.”

Why not? You screw your face up in a pout, but you can’t help but feel the most comfortable you’d ever felt. It feels domestic, almost, the way you’re curled up on his lap and he’s just letting you. He’s warm. He’s warm and toned, and you flip over to look up at him. God, he’s pretty - sharp nose, pouty lips, the cutest bunny teeth that would have you swearing he had to be a hybrid too if you hadn’t seen his human ears. You want him.

Minho looks down at you then, a smile playing on his lips. “Why are you staring at me, kitty cat?”

You blush, shaking your head. “No reason. Hey, do you wanna watch a movie? I’m not moving though.” 

“Of course,” Minho chuckles, his shoulders shaking. You watch as he reaches over you to grab the remote, flicking through channels until he finds a decent Christmas one. He looks at you, almost hesitant with his spare hand raised above your hair. “I- Felix likes when I scratch his ears. Do you- would you-”

“Yes, please,” You nod eagerly, and he snickers at your response. His hand threads into your hair, fingertips rubbing absentmindedly at the start of your orange ears, and you purr. It makes him tense up again. 

When you finally turn over to pay attention to the movie, it’s some stupid film about two people finding love at Christmas. You can’t help but hope you have a similar experience, and you definitely wouldn’t be disappointed if it happened with the man who’s currently stroking over your ears and humming a soft tune. It feels too easy with him, too natural, but you’re not one to complain.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re panicking. You’ve been living with Minho for a week now, and between him doing absolutely everything around the house and refusing to let you pay rent - for what reason you’re unsure - you’re determined to get him a good gift for Christmas. Christmas is only in a few days, and you just can’t find anything perfect scrolling through your laptop. You have goosebumps on your arms from how cold you are, but you’re so focused you can’t put an extra layer on.

You’re convinced you’re hallucinating when the screen freezes, turns blue, and crashes. What? You bang on the keyboard with clenched fists, ears flattening in annoyance. What’s going on? Has it… broken? No way. No way would this happen to you, not during the most important time of your life. You had to get Minho a good gift. 

He’s sat on the sofa scrolling through his phone when you perk your head around the doorway - or perk your tail around, since that’s the first thing Minho sees. He grins, turning to you. God, his grin makes your stomach flutter. 

“What’s up, kitty cat?” He muses, and you grimace. 

“I- I was doing… something on my laptop, and I think it’s broken,” You say, voice quiet. Despite getting so close to Minho in the week you’ve been there, including even taking naps together on the sofa, you still can’t push past your silly little crush on him. Especially not when he scratches under your chin and feeds you cookies. “Nothing weird. I just- could I use yours? Just for an hour or two, and then you can have it back, and-”

“Of course you can,” Minho cuts you off. You try not to stare at his biceps as he leans over to grab his laptop, white t-shirt clenching tight around his muscles. You suppress a whimper as he hands it to you, and then you’re scurrying back to your room with a delighted squeal.

The sheets are soft on your legs as you make yourself comfortable again, and then you open the laptop. It has no password, which is just so Minho, and is covered in cat stickers. He must really like cats. The thought makes your tail curl in delight, and you try to calm your excitement as the laptop boots up. 

Immediately, you take notice of the fact that his laptop is definitely a newer, more expensive model than yours. It makes you shy, embarrassed that you’re not paying rent to live in his house and still can’t even get a good laptop, but then you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. He has around ten files, labelled nothing other than numbers 1-10, and they’re neatly organised in a row across the screen. 

Before you can even process what you’re doing, you’re clicking on the first one. You gasp, hand covering your mouth. You’re snooping. Maybe… maybe the files will help you learn what stuff he’s into, what kind of things he’d love for Christmas? Yeah. That’s why you’re looking. Definitely no other reason. 

The first file has ten files inside it, all video files that are just begging for you to double click on. Could you watch them? Could you be nosy like this? Does that make you an awful person? You realise that yeah, you must be an awful person because you’re going to watch them. You’re going to watch every single one just to find out what they could be.

You don’t expect to be met with a cat hybrid being bent over a desk. She’s a girl, noted from the way the man’s speaking to her, and her slick is gushing around his cock. Your eyes widen, comically round, yet you can’t tear them away. Her tail curls around his waist, keeping him close, and her eyes roll back into her head. The camera is positioned to the side but it captures every single expression she’s making.

Is this what Minho’s into? Is he… into you? Would he fuck you like this, would he talk to you like this?

You’re clicking on the second video before you can even think of it. This one is recorded by the male, camera positioned to capture the cat girl’s tits as they sway and bounce enticingly. You want Minho to record you while you ride him like this. You wipe sweat off of your brow. She’s pretty, with blushing cheeks and ears flattened to her head as she moans in ecstasy. His pubic hair is drenched with her slick. You whimper. You want it. You want it with Minho. 

He must jerk off to these, you decide, clicking on the third video. This one’s a little different - the girl is on her knees, slobbering and spitting all over a rather large cock. Is Minho that big? It’d be perfect to breed you, he could hit your cervix like that. You wipe drool off of your bottom lip. It’s suddenly very, very warm, and you feel like you can’t breathe. Imagining Minho’s cock is sending your senses into haywire, your whole body feeling like it’s been ignited with fire and electricity and-

“Kitty,” A voice from your door. You perk up. You’d left it open, just slightly ajar, and Minho is standing there with wide doe eyes. “Oh, no. You’ve seen them. I’m so sorry, if you want to move out I understand and I- kitty?”

You’re panting. Your eyes are glassy, covered in unshed tears, and your t-shirt suddenly feels like it’s stuck to you. Weren’t you just cold? You can’t remember. Your senses are full of Minho, Minho, Minho, and you want him to fuck you under the Christmas tree or bend you over the sofa or his desk or just take you on the floor, you aren’t picky. 

“Minho,” You finally speak, chest heaving. “Minho, Minho, you- you- you like these? You- Minho, please, do you like these videos?”

He’s slow walking over to your bed, almost anxious to approach you. He sighs when he reaches the foot of the mattress, climbing onto it to sit cross-legged. He twiddles his thumbs. “Yeah. It turns me on. Yongbok- Felix said I have a kink for it. I’m sorry.”

“S-Sorry?” It’s so warm. It’s so warm. “Minho, Minho, I- I’m really warm. Are you warm? It’s really warm in my room, isn’t it?”

Minho’s eyebrows furrow. He reaches over, placing the back of his hand to your forehead, and you whine. Loudly. Just him touching your forehead with the back of his hand is enough to make your pussy drool slick into your sleep shorts, and you can’t even begin to question why you’re suddenly so wet, until Minho speaks. “Oh, kitty,” He coos, his hand moving up to scratch your ear. You hum, leaning into the touch. Your vision is blurry, but you can see him perfectly. “Oh, my girl. I’m so sorry. I think you’re going into heat, kitty. I’ll call Yongbok, and-”

“No,” You wail, surging forward. The laptop slides off the side of the bed with a loud clatter, and Minho doesn’t even blink, staring owlishly at you as you wrap your arms around his middle. You’re in heat. You can tell when his body hits yours, your pussy gushing and making even more of a mess just from his body, despite being clothed. “No. God, please, Minho, don’t leave. It’s you, I want you, I was thinking about you and me, and the videos, and-”

“You want me?” Minho’s voice is soft, and he swipes a thumb over your cheekbone. Your head is positioned on his chest, and you can smell him, earthy and woodsy and manly. He sighs, and then he’s speaking again. “I want you.” 

“Please. Please, please, please, please, I need you, I need to see it, I need to feel you,” You’re babbling, sweat dripping down your temple, and Minho lets out an amused puff of air. “I- Minho, is- do you want to? Please.”

“You need to see it?” He chuckles, shoulders shaking. His eyes form crescent moons and you can’t even admire how cute he is through your haze of lust. “What’s it, kitty cat? My dick?” You nod eagerly, and Minho shakes his head in disbelief. “I want to kiss you first. Let me do it right, yeah? Let me do it how I want to. I need to treat you right.”

You’re still shocked when his lips press into yours, pouty and plush. He licks into your mouth and you have to avoid nipping at his bottom lip, until he does it to you and you deem it fair game. You’re devouring him then, nibbling on his lip and sucking on his tongue and encompassing your arms around his neck. He lets you push him into the mattress, lets you run your hands through his hair and pull away to nip at his neck teasingly. 

“Kitty likes to bite, huh?” He huffs, and you nod, nipping him again for his cheek. Your tail swishes behind you, excited and playful, and you can feel how hard he is against your leg. “Better not bite like that when you suck my cock.”

You pull away from his neck in alarm, the milky skin littered in teeth marks and red bruises. “I can suck it? You’ll let me? Oh, please-”

His hand envelops in your hair, wrapping your hair around his fist and tugging hard. “Maybe later. I can feel how that pussy is drooling on me. You need it badly, huh? Need me badly.”

“Yes! Yes, yeah, since I saw you, I- I wanted you to fuck me through my heat so bad, pin me to the bed and just make me take it, and when I saw the videos I- Minho, I thought I was gonna die, and-”

Minho flips you over onto the mattress, your front planted against the bed. You let out a satisfied purr when he strokes your tail with one hand, and then he’s hooking his thumbs into your sleep shorts and yanking them down your legs. You feel the cold air hit your pussy and you moan, loud and high pitched, spreading your thighs to arch your back and present your pussy to him.

“Oh, would you look at that?” Minho coos, his thumb swiping over your hole. Your hole clenches with the lack of fullness, oozing more slick over his digit, and he groans. “Messy little pussy. God, do you want me inside you that bad? Little minx.”

“Please, please. Minho, Minho, will you fuck me? Look’it,” You whine, spreading your legs further. “Look at how wet I am. I need you, need you. M-master, please.”

Minho hisses through his teeth, and then his cockhead is pressing between your folds. When did he get naked? “You dirty little thing,” He whispers, his voice low. “Take master’s cock, then. You wanted to see it, how’s about feeling it?”

He sinks into you, all of his shaft in one go. It doesn’t hurt, only stretches you beyond pleasure, and your fingernails rip into the sheets with one loud moan. It feels insane, raw and veiny and pressing against your walls as if he was made for you. You let him grip your hips and arch you further, your tail wrapping around his waist to keep him close to you. It’s like the first video you saw, and the realisation has you whimpering into the sheets.

“God, you don’t know how long I thought about you like this,” Minho grunts, and then he’s thrusting. His pace is punishing immediately, your slick gushing and squelching around his cock messily and you can only hope his pubes are drenched in it. You want him to cum inside you, breed you, fill you up with kittens and mark you as his so that everyone knows. “Pliant, wet and so desperate for me.”

“Love it,” You slur, eyes rolling back into your head. You don’t realise you’re bouncing back on his thrusts, ass hitting the bottom of his tummy with every movement. He’s bent fully over your body, chest against your back and his lips whispering filth into your ear. “Love your cock, master, ‘s so big, I feel so full, I- hnnfg, master, master, will you breed me? Will you cum inside me?”

“Oh, kitty cat,” He moans, passionate, and when you try to look at him his eyes are rolling back into his head. His bunny teeth bite his bottom lip, almost drawing blood. His cockhead fucks against your cervix with every thrust, primal and intense. He wraps his arms around your front, hands clutching onto your shoulders to pull you back into him. “I’ll breed you, jagi. I’ll fuck you full until it has to take, yeah?”

You can’t think straight. Your pussy clenches around Minho’s cock almost painfully and it only makes him feel bigger, pulsing and throbbing inside of you. You need his cum. You need to cum - your clit throbs painfully with it. “Oh, oh, I need’a- master, master, I need to cum, I need to cum, please, hurts,” You huff, squirming beneath him. He reaches from your shoulder to pin your hips down into the bed, ensuring that you can’t thrash or wriggle anymore and he has full leverage to fuck you the way you need it. “It hurts! Ah, it hurts, I can’t, I can’t, I need to cum, I need to-”

“What’s stopping you?” He questions, hips starting to fuck you in a sinuous grind instead. The change in pace has your toes curling, hands scrabbling to find a better grip on the sheets as he lets you feel every inch and every vein of his length. “C’mon. Cum around my cock, and I’ll give you my cum, breed you full of kittens. Give it to me, jagi, c’mon, let me feel it.”

With a wail and a sharp inhale of breath, you’re cumming quicker than you ever have with any partner or even your own hand. Your pussy pulsates and gushes around him, and he grunts through your orgasm, trying with all of his might to fuck you through it. You try to thrash, to grind back on him through it, but he has you pinned down with a vice grip that only proves to make you cum even harder. 

Minho’s hips press tightly against yours, and with a deep sigh, you feel his cum flood inside of you. You’re purring with the sensation of it, warm and thick and reaching your cervix with every messy pulsation of his load. You hope it takes, deep down inside you - you hope you’re swollen with it, that everyone knows he’s yours and you’re his. 

With the knowledge that you’re full of cum, your heat is slightly sated, and you blink through the fog while Minho sidles up next to you. When did he pull out? You huff and cuddle into his chest, and he reaches up instinctively to scratch over your ears. 

“Good?” He questions, voice timid. You blink owlishly.

“Good?!” You shriek, lifting your head up to stare at him. “I’m enlisting you for the rest of my heat, and then every day after that. You’re mine now.”

Minho chuckles. “I think that’s the best Christmas present I’ve ever been given.”

“Well, I was actually looking for something to get you when my laptop broke,” You say shyly, and Minho turns to look at you with a wide smile on his face. “It’s embarrassing! Just have me instead.”

“I think I’m okay with that,” He yawns, eyes fluttering shut. “Nap. You’re gonna need to be fucked again soon.”

You wondered how he knew, then you remembered the videos on his computer. “That’s true. Merry early Christmas, Minho.”

“Merry early Christmas, kitty cat.”

[darkmuffinstudios]

Was bored and decided to create a silly little one-shot of Errormare for @inkywellcrow 🤭

Who knows, I might get more motivation to make more parts, I might not haha

Baking One-Shot (Errormare) (1.7k words)

Darkxsoulzyxcaliberx

Dream’s birthday (and by extension, Nightmare’s) was only a few days away, and the two most dastardly villains of the multiverse were in the middle of making something for it.

You see, after many decades of struggle, the two guardians grew weary of the constant back-and-forth and had since settled on a truce; No more bloodshed and no more overbearing war meetings. After so long, however, the two had long since forgotten times of peace. It was nothing more than echoes of what could have been, as well as what once was… So, as always in their relationship, Nightmare decided to be the first to extend one of many olive branches that will occur down the line.

To show a sign of good faith and to celebrate the occasion, Nightmare had his boys come up with gift ideas that they would give to his brother. The dark king had hoped that, whatever the gifts may be, that the action alone would show that he intended to support this truce and to keep friendly relations with his other half.

But asking a band of miscreants and murderers was a bad decision in hindsight, and so after many, MANY days of brainstorming, he eventually caved to Horror’s insistence on a birthday cake.

Which brings us to the present…

“Error, you’re whisking batter, not pummeling it into submission.” Nightmare scolded lightly. He wiped his hands on the apron he was wearing, trying not to get too irritated at how sloppy of a job his partner was doing.

“This is stupid.” Error grumbled.

“Error— slower, slower.”

“Don’t— !” His body locked up at Nightmare’s complaining, and he drastically slowed down his pace to a glaringly slow tempo. He gave Nightmare a frustrated look, to which the king easily brushed off. “Don’t tell me what to do. I read the recipe too.”

“Uh huh.” Nightmare deadpanned, setting a metal tray on the counter. “You're also as blind as a bat without your glasses, my dear.”

“They would have just got in the way.” Error huffed. After a few more mixes, he decided that surely was enough of that, and he dropped the bowl into the counter with a loud CLANK. “There. Done mixing.”

Nightmare rubbed his temples. What was that method of reducing stress? Counting back from five? Whatever it was, it surely wasn’t working as well as he had hoped. “Please don’t slam the bowl down.”

“Mmhm.” Error leaned against the counter, dismissive.

For his own mental (and Error’s physical) wellbeing, Nightmare opted to ignore him for a little while. Once he sprayed down the baking pan, he glanced over Error’s work. There was still some dry clumps of the batter mix floating around, but he wasn’t going to correct any of it since he knows how much his partner loves to throw his tantrums. Besides, Dream has been a pain in his ass for decades— the least he can do is crunch on some raw flour to save him from future headaches.

Carefully, he lifted the bowl and poured the mixture into the baking tin. Using a tentacle, he grabbed a spatula he set out beforehand to scrape any excess, and quietly put the bowl down. He gave Error a mild look.

Error met his gaze and paused, looking to either side of himself. “… What?”

“That’s how you put a bowl down. Silently.” Nightmare said, his voice dripping honey and tar.

“Oh, fuck you.” Error griped, rolling his eyes so over dramatically that his head went with it. Nightmare couldn’t help but smile at how stupid he could be.

After making his point, he walked over to the oven with the pan. After opening it with a tentacle (fashioned with a cute little baking mitten), he placed the pan inside and shut it with his hip. Making note of the time, he finally allowed himself to slump against the counter.

Nightmare looked up at the ceiling. How the hell does Horror do this every single day? Willingly?? He couldn’t even imagine how difficult it would be to order his men around such a small space, never mind how destructive all of them already are. Just the thought started to give him a headache…

“So,” Error started. “Why didn’t you ask your uh…” He thought for a moment, his body glitching a little from the effort.

“Horror?” Nightmare offered.

“Yeah— the big, freaky guy— to do this for you? Doesn’t he do this stuff already?”

Nightmare sighed. “… Well… Monster food is magic—”

“Uh. Yeah— I know.”

“I know that you know—“

“Then why say it—?”

Nightmare turned and glared at him. “Just let me talk!” Error held up his hands defensively, glaring right back at him for a moment, before Nightmare eventually continued.

“Well, because monster food is made of magic, then cooking monster food involves magic too. It incorporates the chef’s intent, and can communicate unspoken feelings through each bite.” Nightmare idly messed with one of the spoons on the counter, staring at the oven glass as he spoke. “To put it simply, it has to be made by me. I may not be the best at baking, but he will understand and appreciate the gesture anyways. He is that kind of guy, unfortunately.” He scoffed.

“So why drag me into this?” Error groused. “I couldn’t care less about making ‘Mr.Sunshine’ feel any better than he already feels.”

“Oh.” Nightmare turned to flash a smug look at Error. “Because I didn’t want to suffer alone.”

Error stared at Nightmare. For a long, long moment. A quiet, high-pitched sound began to come from Error’s body— the telltale sign that he was starting to crash. “You’re joking.”

Nightmare shrugged. “Am I?”

Error grabbed the whisk from the counter, chucking it with all his strength at Nightmare. “YOU ASS!! I COULD HAVE LEFT AT ANY TIME?!?”

The king chuckled, letting the whisk hit his shoulder. “Of course you could have. You weren’t obligated to do any of this.”

Error threw his arms around, already hellbent on destroying the kitchen. He ripped the toaster from its electrical socket, threatening to throw it on the ground when Nightmare continued. “But you stayed because you love me.”

That got Error to freeze in place. He stared at Nightmare, bewildered for a few seconds, before slowly lowering the toaster onto the counter. “… Whatever.” He mumbled, stewing.

Nightmare smiled at Error’s obvious admission of defeat, finding himself slowly walking over to him. He stopped a good few feet away, settling on leaning against the counter once more. “You love me, and wanted to help me because you loved me.” He teased lightly.

Error bristled. “I will leave!”

“But then I’d be so sad if you did.” Nightmare touched his own chest, right over where his apple soul would be. “All alone… abandoned…”

Error huffed, crossing his arms. “Good! Feel bad!! Feel bad for tormenting me for HOURS while I slaved away in this kitchen for you!!”

“It was only an hour, dear.” Nightmare chuckled.

“NUH UH!! You’re wrong!!” Error scowled, swinging an arm out to the side and ripping a portal open to a random, unsuspecting world. He gestured wildly to the setting sun. “See!! HOURS!! It’s already growing dark!!”

Nightmare rolled his eye. “Mmhm.” He knew he wasn’t winning this fight.

Error smiled triumphantly, leaning a little closer to Nightmare. The portal fizzled next to them, disappearing soon after. “Apologize.”

Nightmare raised a metaphorical eyebrow at Error. “For what?”

“For being mean and awful and terrible!” Error demanded, counting on his fingers as he went.

Nightmare rolled his eye for the second time. “Mmmmmmno. I don’t think I will.”

Error leaned back, pouting now. “Asshole.”

Nightmare sighed. A brief moment of silence grew between them as they waited for the cake to bake before Nightmare sighed again, shoulder sagging. He looked at the clock hanging on the far wall of the kitchen, then back at the oven glass. The cake wasn’t rising at all.

“… Do you think he will like it?”

Error didn’t look at Nightmare, arms still crossed. After another beat of silence, Error’s shoulders sagged a little and he quietly responded. “What do you mean.”

Another beat of silence. Error didn’t like it. He turned back to glance at Nightmare, only to see the other have his hands folded against his chest in a sort-of self hug. His tentacles were curled inward on themselves, and Nightmare hadn’t looked up once from the oven glass.

It bugged Error. He tried again, softer. “What... do you mean by that?” Nightmare sighed again, a third time, and it was starting to get to Error. He shook his head. “No one hates chocolate cake. If I find out he does, I’m throwing him.”

“Not the cake.” Nightmare answered quietly, though he did smile a little at Error’s threat. The spectacle of the destroyer of worlds tossing his brother like a football was amusing, to say the least. He gestured vaguely, trying to find the right words. “My… message.”

“Message?” Error echoed, clearly confused.

“My intent.” Nightmare tried instead. “It’s… I want this to go well. I want this to be our first steps in making up with one another, and I tried to put as much as I could into this cake… I tried to not fill it with…” he sighed, the fourth time. “… with my lingering feelings of the past.”

Nightmare raised a hand. “I’m certain I didn’t, and I know this won’t make up for everything that has happened between us… but…” He slowly brought his hand back towards himself, back to where it was wrapped around his chest. “I don’t know… I lack the proper words at the moment.”

Not that Error needed all of the words to understand. He thought a little bit before he spoke. “That’s why you asked me to help you with this.” The dots started connecting more in his head as he turned to Nightmare. “You didn’t want to do this alone.”

Nightmare considered Error’s words. “… I suppose I didn’t.”

Error stared at Nightmare, trying to get maybe just a little bit more out of him, before turning to look back at the oven. “… I think he’ll like it.”

“You think so?” Nightmare’s voice sounded uncertain.

“Yeah.” Error shrugged. “He is that kind of guy, like you said.”

Nightmare smiled a little. “I guess you’re right.”

[wildlyglittering]

Illyrian Comfort Pie

I shared a post with some Christmas OTP prompts and asked if anyone wanted any for Nessian and @dustjacketmusings chose:

"Every country has different traditions for Christmas when it comes to food: trying something new when they have always eaten the same dishes for the holidays feels wrong at first. But when it’s cooked with love by their favourite person, it can sure taste like new traditions."

I don't know if this entirely fills the prompt and it's a lot rougher than I'd like but please enjoy!

Illyrian Comfort Pie

“Fuck you, Morrigan.” Nesta wiped her bare arm across her brow, spices and herbs transferring straight from her forehead onto her forearm, the little green and orange specks dusting her skin. “And fuck you Rhys come to that.”

The alarm on her phone screamed and Nesta whirled around in her small kitchen space. She’d put the device down earlier, stabbing at the timer with a flour covered fingertip whilst trying to shove her pie into the oven.

Where the hell had she put the damn thing?

On the counter stood an open cookbook entitled ‘Recipes from the Heartland of Illyria,’ a bottle of wine which doubled as a rolling pin and cooking motivation, and Nesta’s pathetic pastry attempts one, two, and three – each one slightly less gloopy than the last - until she finally made semi-successful attempt number four.

No phone.  

Nesta let out a noise halfway between a screech and a yell, her hands reaching either side of her head, ignoring whatever food stuff would end up in her hair.

“Shit!” At least she managed to remember what the phone alarm was for, swivelling behind her and yanking down the oven door, reaching for the mitts as she ducked a plume of smoke.

This one didn’t smell too bad. Nesta grabbed the pie and shoved it onto the trivet on the counter. The crust was a little singed on one side but, if she was careful, she’d be able to scrape that off.

Her movements jostled a reem of paper towels and as they fell to their side, they revealed the object of Nesta’s irritation. One phone.

“Thank you,” she muttered, her eyes drifting upwards to the ceiling as she turned off the alarm. Her thanks was to whatever cookery god was willing to listen and half to the smoke alarm not going off.

Three notifications waited for her. She took a breath in and hit open on the first one.

Hahaha. You agreed to what?! Even *I* run from making that dish. Pretty sure my *grandmother* ran from making that dish and she used to be a baker. Anyway, are you coming Thursday?

Emerie. Not providing the answers Nesta was so desperately hoping for, instead reminding Nesta she had yet to confirm drinks with her and Gwyn. Nesta typed out a quick response.

Yes to Thursday. Any chance your grandmother would attempt making this again if I paid her?

Sent. Nesta moved onto notification number two - Feyre.

Did you want me to see if the Illyrian restaurant down Sidra Street will do a delivery? If you put it in the oven for a bit and burn the edges no one will know.

Nesta raised an eyebrow. The audacity of her sister to assume Nesta would need assistance and that she’d burn the pie. She had burnt the pie but still, the audacity.

She chose not to respond to that one and instead moved to the final notification. Cassian. Nesta took a deep breath and hit open.

Are you having as much fun as I am? Thinking I could do this as a side hustle.

There was a photo attached. Cassian had taken a selfie of himself standing in front of his obnoxiously large quartz kitchen counter. His dark hair was tied in a messy bun and he winked into the camera. He wore an apron Nesta had never seen before, deep red with candy cane striped ties and in Christmas style writing was embroidered ‘Kiss the Chef’ underneath a sprig of mistletoe.

Nesta squinted at the image, zooming past Cassian himself to the dishes behind him slightly out of frame. Was that a bowl of perfectly glazed parsnips? A tray of immaculate shortbreads?

She let out another noise and flung the phone back onto the counter so she could press her palms into her eyes. At this point she was covered in flour, meat juice, and soggy pastry pieces. Sweat gathered under her breasts and trickled down her back from the constant heat of the oven.

Nesta had been baking for over six hours now and though there was a small part of her which wanted to cry, she refused. Although she’d cursed Morrigan and Rhys the biggest ‘fuck you’ should have been delivered to Nesta herself.

She’d agreed to this when she should have declined, and now her pride would cause her to take a fall.

There had been five of them for drinks at Rita’s. Should have been two – only Nesta and Cassian for their quiet post theatre drinks, but Morrigan had been there with other friends who she swiftly abandoned as soon as she saw Cassian arrive.

Within minutes Morrigan had called Feyre and then before Nesta knew it, she was being squished into a booth, Cassian to her left and Feyre to her right, while she sipped her chilled white wine and counted the minutes until it was socially acceptable to say her goodbyes.

“Oh my god,” Morrigan had been saying. “That was the best dish I think I’d ever eaten. Do you remember it Rhys? The caramelised onions and gravy? What was it called again Cass?”

Cassian groaned and lolled his head back. “Illyrian Comfort Pie. My favourite.” He took a sip of his beer. “The Illyrian army did a version with off-cuts, almost ruined a perfect dish.”

“What’s this pie?” Feyre asked.

“Only the best pie in the world,” Cassian replied, his eyes misting over. “Imagine thick tender beef soaked in its own juices for hours, drowned in rich gravy and embedded with caramelised onions all under a cover of hot crust pastry.”

“You need a room, Cass?” Rhys laughed.

Cassian raised his middle finger to Rhys but joined him in the laughter.

“Cassian’s ex made the best version,” Morrigan said, her eyes sliding to Nesta. “Honestly no one would be able to top it. Bri wasn’t even Illyrian but it was spot on.” She took a long sip from her own glass of red wine. “I guess it doesn’t need to be your own tradition if you care enough to put in the effort.”

There was a heavy silence which would have lingered if not for the clearing of Feyre’s throat. “Who’s got who for Secret Santa?”

“Oh, I’m sure if Nesta put in the effort it would be just as good. Right?” Nesta looked up and met Rhys’ eyes as he ignored Feyre’s question. He smirked as he finished speaking, cocking his own beer bottle to his mouth.

Three more pairs of eyes looked her way. Nesta felt the slight, almost imperceptible tensing from Cassian but it was Feyre’s eyes which widened the most. There was a kick against Nesta’s shin under the table.

“I’m sure it would,” Nesta said, “if I had the time.”

“Cassian was telling us at the bar you’re now on vacation. All your gifts already wrapped and under the tree. Sounds like you have time.”

“Rhys...” Feyre began but Morrigan jumped in.

“I think that would be a lovely Christmas present for Cass. You can start your own tradition now you’re official. Illyrian food is so hearty.”

There was a part of Nesta which was too stubborn for her own good. Rhys’ smirk and Morrigan’s too-wide grin opposite her, the meeting of the cousin’s eyes like this was some in-joke they had just started. Feyre kept kicking her under the table, the jostling movement irritating Nesta further.

The flash of irritation was the problem. That, and the second glass of wine she’d drunk on a half empty stomach fuelling it. Her temperature rose and her skin prickled and instead of counting to twenty like she’d been practicing in her apartment Nesta opened her mouth.

“Fine,” she said, “this whole thing sounds great. One Illyrian Comfort Pie it is. When do you want it? Day after next?” Nesta quickly grabbed her glass to take a swig of her drink before she agreed to anything else.

Cassian’s eyebrows shot up but she didn’t want to meet his eyes, he was probably thinking how Nesta wasn’t implementing those ‘take a moment’ techniques. But his hand reached down to clasp her free one under the table, giving it a squeeze.

“You know what?” he said, looking at the group. “I want in on this. New traditions sound great. You’re making mine so how about yours. What’s the Archeron family dish of choice?” He asked this looking at Nesta but she still had the wine glass clamped to her lips. No longer drinking, just holding it there to feel the cold.

“Ooh,” Feyre said, clapping her hands and jiggling a little on her seat. “Roasted venison, but that’s quite tricky. We haven’t eaten that since Elain went vegetarian. We also had roast potatoes and honey glazed parsnips. Green beans. There was a cheesy mash and – oh, oh, the shortbread biscuits with a chocolate drizzle and the Prythian Pavlova. That’s Nesta’s favourite.”

Cassian laughed. “You want to take a breath there, Feyre?”

In response, Feyre’s stomach grumbled. “No, but I think I need some dinner.”

Aside from Nesta, the table laughed. Her wine glass was now empty and back on the table, her fingers toying with the stem, her mind too preoccupied with the thought of this pie and how the hell she’d even find the recipe.

As the chatter resumed, now about where Rhys and Feyre were going for dinner, Cassian’s weight shifted against her, his arm casually slinging around her shoulders.

“You ok?”

She glanced up at him, plastering a smile on her face. “Absolutely fine.”

“Hmm. Is that genuine fine or Nesta fine?”

Cassian was staring at her intently, concern swimming in his dark eyes. She knew if she immediately conceded he’d let it go, their friendship group knew Nesta wasn’t known for her domestic pursuits and Cassian could whip up a mean dish filled with flavour.

If she really wanted to, Nesta could cheat her way out of this. Getting Elain to bake the pie for her would have once been a consideration until Elain and Lucien’s diet change. No meat, no dairy, no sugar.

No flavour, Lucien had added, ignoring Elain’s frown.

Still, there was something else shining in Cassian’s eyes. Excitement. He was pleased she’d agreed, he relished competition in all its forms and he seemed eager to do this with her.

Nesta’s smile melted in a more genuine one and she squeezed his hand back. “Honestly, it’s good. Dare I say I may even find it fun?”

That was two days ago. Two long days.

“Ha!” She now shouted to her cramped kitchen. “Two drink Nesta has no concept of what the fuck fun is.”

Everything was a mess, even the edges of the cookbook were singed and Nesta cringed at the sight. Gwyn had managed to track down the edition on her behalf and Nesta hated to see a book suffer.

She looked at the clock. Two hours to go – plenty of time to shower, dress up and cart the pie to Cassian’s where they would have a grand unveiling in front of their friends. Her phone pinged and Nesta glanced down to see a reply from Emerie.

She says no chance.

“That’s not a problem,” Nesta said, wiping her hands on her thighs and staining her jeans further. “Because I now have a half decent pie.” She picked up the sharp knife. “Just scrape some of the black bits off and we are good to go.”

The knife slid through the crust and Nesta lifted some of the burnt pastry off using the blade. Odd. What was a deep and crispy brown on the surface seemed pale and soft underneath. Almost as though the pastry hadn’t fully cooked all the way through.

“It’s just this bit,” Nesta told herself. “I’m sure the rest is just fine.” But as she gently lifted the pie-top she could see the same pale colour underneath. Worse was the distinct lack of steam rising from the filling. “No, no, no, no. You’ve been in the oven for almost two hours.”

Grabbing a fork, she stuck it into the dish and scooped out a lump of meat. Juice, which looked far too oily for her liking, dripped off the prongs. Nesta placed the meat on the counter and cut through it with a knife.

She was met with resistance. The beef was still cold. A noise left her throat unbidden, something akin to a half sob. Nesta had researched the best meat cuts for the pie, she’d made sure to go to the best butcher and spent no less than forty-five minutes asking the rather exasperated man behind the counter questions from her list.

Her eyes flew up to the clock. Less than two hours to go. The time she’d budgeted to get ready and go to Cassian’s now shrivelled up. Just like my hopes for this pie.

She peered into the dish, the caramelized onions bobbing in the gravy like some apple bobbing contest gone wrong. “You’re mocking me,” she said and then groaned. They wouldn’t be the only ones.  

Nesta sank down onto her floor, ignoring the drip of gravy she sat on and put her head on her knees. She could imagine it all now; Feyre, Rhys, and Morrigan all dressed up, swanning around Cassian’s apartment waiting to be served their multiple courses.

Feyre’s eyes would go wide at Nesta’s attempt but she’d try and make Nesta feel better and yet somehow by trying, she’d only make Nesta feel worse. Cassian would likely tuck the monstrosity – if she even bothered bringing it – behind some extravaganza he’d made and perform an elaborate distraction.

Rhys and Morrigan would probably just snigger behind their drinks and tell her that ‘at least she tried.’ Patronising fuckers.

A tear dripped from the corner of her eye down her chin.

Nesta had tried. Had really tried. She’d memorised the recipe from back to front before she even started, she’d gone out into Velaris Market with a clipboard, she’d called Elain early for pastry tips ignoring Lucien joining the call to ask Nesta if she could describe what real food tasted like because the memory of butter was fading fast.

She wiped her eyes with her fingers, knowing she must look even more of a state than before. But wait – there was an option open to her. Hope flared yet.

Nesta grabbed her phone from the counter. What had Feyre said? The Illyrian restaurant down Sidra Street might be able to deliver. If anyone served an Illyrian Comfort Pie, it would be them. She scrolled through her favourites for the number. Her and Cassian had eaten there so often, she practically had them on speed dial.

The phone answered after the second ring.

“Hello? Hi. I know it’s late notice but I’m in a bit of a bind and hoping you could help.”

She explained the situation, confirming that yes, her pie request was for that Cassian, the one with the tattoos and arms.

“I mean, I don’t know,” Nesta said, eyeing up the clock and tapping her foot against the cupboard. “I’ll ask him. Some kind of protein shake, I think. Yeah, it’s really glossy hair. I’ll ask him that too. Anyway – the pie?”

They were regretful. Truly. Nesta could almost feel their sorrow down the phone. They didn’t have any pies pre-baked and they wouldn’t have one ready for the time she needed it by. They offered Nesta and Cassian a discount on their next visit and Nesta thanked them before hanging up.

“Well. Shit.”

Her eyes itched and she wanted to cry again but this wasn’t the Archeron way. She shook her shoulders and cleared her throat. There would be no pie but Nesta would be damned if she turned up without bringing anything and looking like a chaotic mess.

The kitchen horror show was a problem for future her, but in less than an hour, she had showered, dressed herself in her most confidence boosting little black dress and practiced her affirmations in front of the hallway mirror.

“You are a calm, confident, capable woman. You did not achieve the pie. Others have probably not achieved the pie. You have achieved other things. Like your best friends, two degrees, and this awesome looking pavlova.”

Nesta held the covered bowl to the mirror as though to show her reflection the cream and meringue evidence. Her lipstick red smile shook a little but the taxi driver was calling to say he was downstairs so there was no time for doubt to creep in.

On a usual night it took too long to get to Cassian’s. The drive was less than fifteen minutes from one end of the small city where Nesta lived to Cassian’s address and every second stretched out painfully slow.

Tonight, it was as though all roads had cleared especially for her just to say ‘look, you can get to your ritual humiliation even earlier.’

“It’s not like I’ve ever seen Rhys or Morrigan cook,” she mumbled to herself as she exited the cab and entered Cassian’s building. The porter nodded and buzzed her in and then Nesta was counting the too-quick numbers on the elevator.

Cassian’s apartment was one of two at the top of the building and though the sound-proofing was excellent, which they could attest to personally, Nesta was surprised at the distinct lack of any festivities sounding from behind his door when she approached.

He answered after one knock, hair freshly washed and dried. His white dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the top buttons were undone, swathes of black swirling tattoos on display.

Cassian let out a low whistle and grinned like a wolf when he saw her. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite lady, in my favourite dress of hers, with my favourite dish.”

He leant in to kiss her and Nesta winced at the mention of food. Cassian’s lips met hers in a chaste kiss but he must have noticed her response as he was frowning when he pulled away.

“Come in,” he said with a light tone. “Let me take that.” He held his hands out for the bowl she was carrying but she clutched it tighter to her body.

“That’s ok, let me find a space to put it.”

“Sure.”

Nesta stepped further into the apartment. Everything was chrome, quartz, or wood but Cassian couldn’t help himself when it came to Christmas. What was once an interior designers dream for a ‘bachelor living’ magazine spread was now a grotto fit for the dreams of any eight-year-old girl.

A smile lifted the corner of her lips. She’d never begrudge him this. Foster care and ten endless churn of care homes hadn’t left Cassian with any sense of home and the orphanage tried their best but lacked the funds.

Cassian had told her that his best Christmas eventually came in the Illyrian military and all that involved was eating dry turkey from paper plates and reading stupid jokes from cheap crackers. But he was with people that felt like family and that’s what mattered the most.

Now, garlands hung from the oversized windows, a tree larger than Cassian himself stood by the fireplace decked with shining ornaments. A range of presents piled up under the tree to the point where they spilled across his floor.

Stockings on the mantel, rugs everywhere, gingerbread houses which increased in number each time Nesta was over. Candles on every surface.

“Wine?” Cassian asked as Nesta slid the bowl onto his counter. She nodded while taking a breath in. Ham and apricot, honey, a distinct scent of rich chocolate. All the food laid out but under coverings to keep them fresh.

Her stomach stank. She’d failed him so miserably.

Her face must have painted a picture because Cassian moved beside her. “Hey, what’s up.” His fingers tucked under her chin, tilting her face to his. Those deep eyes of his, again swimming in concern.

She hoped the best Christmas present she could get him was honesty.

“I fucked it.”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“The pie, I completely fucked it up.”

His confused blank expression immediately melted and he laughed, his head thrown back and the column of his throat on display. His face in laughter was a delight, he was young and happy and in love with life. “Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“There is no pie. I botched it.”

He looked down at her, his expression softening, his smile gentle. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. That pie is an art only the devil knows how to get right. Did you know Emerie’s grandmother won’t even make one and she won Illyrian baker of the year for fifteen years?”

Nesta coughed and reached for the wine poured out for her. “No, I didn’t know that.”

Cassian moved round the counter to Nesta’s dish. “So, what did you bring?”

“The only thing that didn’t involve my oven. The meringue isn’t even home-made. I’m such a sellout.”

He peeked under the covering and exhaled. “Oh, thank the Mother.” He stepped back, his hand over his heart. “I fucked it.”

Now, Nesta blinked at him. “Sorry?”

“The meringue for the Prythian Pavlova. It was the one thing I wanted to get perfect but do you know how hard meringue is to make? I couldn’t even make it to the store.”

He shook his head, grabbing his own glass of wine. “I even rang Elain to ask her for tips but Lucien answered and begged me to tell him in great detail how the filo wrapped parcels were smelling. He said, and I quote ‘go low and take your time’. I’m not sure how comfortable I am having them over for New Year.”

Nesta laughed, shaking her own head, glancing around the apartment. It had taken her long enough but something finally dawned on her. “Am I early? When are the others arriving?”

Cassian paused, swirling his glass. “Yeah, about that... I thought ‘fuck ‘em.’”

Nesta’s eyes bulged. “I think I’m missing something.”

Cassian put his glass down and leant back against the far counter.

“You know Bri’s pie wasn’t all that great. Mor was being...” he trailed off, scratching his eyebrow the way he did when he was uncomfortable. “Mor was being difficult and it was unfair. Rhys too. But I liked the idea of you and I doing our own holiday tradition so I guess I thought I’d see where we ended up.”

He gestured to his apartment and the dishes before them. “So, we ended up here. Just you and I, a bottle of wine, lots of delicious food and a very comfy rug we’re fucking on after dinner.”

“Is that right?” Nesta said, putting her glass down. She walked over to him. “Have you seen what you’ve made? We are not fucking after dinner.” She placed her hand on his chest, his heart beating a rhythm against her palm as she ignored his disappointed face. “We’re fucking before dinner.”

That wolf grin was back on his face and he leant forward to kiss her but Nesta stopped him. “I feel bad, everything here is an Archeron dish. You didn’t get your pie.”

“Oh, I’ll get to eat my pie.”

“Cassian!”

He laughed again, his broad arms wrapping around her body. “The fact that you tried means everything. I promise. This is a great start to our forever tradition.”

Nesta looked up at him; the hours of failed baking, the constant smoke alarms, the mess she had to clear up tomorrow. Worth it. All of it. “Forever you say?”

“Forever.”

[wakandamama]

Routine

Yall been knew I had fallen down The Bear rabbit hole and have YET to climb out. So it was only a matter of time before I drop a Carmy x Sydney fic lol. So here it is! It's a bit of smut, a bit of sneaky around, a bit of character deep dive. A whole bunch of sexual tension, way too may food allegories. This is just a ONESHOT!

Sydney thinks about just how this became routine for her and Carmy.

It may have happened when he and her were the last ones left in the kitchen on a Saturday. Three weeks before the disaster of Pre-Order and the blessing of Tomato Money.

 Sydney’s highschool cousin had begged her to provide some of her family famous crab cakes for a graduation kickback for one of her friends. The friend remembered having them from way back when 18 year-old Sydney still had to babysit them as ever-hungry 10 year olds and never forgot. Honestly, Sydney felt honored that her food made such a lasting memory on a stranger just like Camry had for her-

Anyway, the kickback was at 8 and it was 7:20 and Sydney had just put the last sheet of crabcake from the oven. She called out absentminded goodbyes as Tina’s quiet “Night Jeffes,” and Richie’s brash “Night Cousin” kinda floated behind her.

 As she waited for the batch of paprika-savry crab cakes to bake, she was whipping up a creamy tabasco base sauce to dip them in. Carmy was softly in her space, like usually. He was precious in sharpening all the knives of the kitchen, old school style with a grit stone set, he stood catty-corner to her. His drilling blue eyes didn’t stare directly at her soul but instead to the delicately-deadly curve of the knife. 

For once it was Sydney stuck side eyeing him with a soft focus. Her cooking had come to  a quiet moment of waiting. Waiting for her sauce to set, waiting for the last batch and waiting for the batch before to cool, waiting to taste test.

Camry chuckled when he heard her mutter out a quiet yet frantic “hot hot hot hot” as she let her impatience get the best of her to taste her sauce with the crab cake. He shut up at her moan of delicious pleasure. A soft but throat-y sound of pure satisfied bliss. He practically tasted the seasoning of such a sound in the air and a craving to hear it again and again hit his gut, spreading warmth all over his skin. 

He glanced up from the black grit of the stone to see her all eyes closed, swaying in the taste and her crafted fingers still clutched half of the cake. He took her in further, she was dressed down from her kitchen wear, instead wearing the outfit for the kickback ( - supervising, one last babysitting gig I guess. Because I know those brats are gonna get high off their asses) 

A pair of black jeans that should be illegal on her body, a gray cropped sweatshirt and sneakers that would lead to certain death by slip in a busy kitchen.

 His eyes followed every line of hers like he was seeing the best grain to cut for optimal presentation. The curve of her calf into the curve of her thigh, into the curve of her tempting ass into the concave of her back. His eyes skirt the plane of her stomach onto the lines that made her shapely waist. Over her petite chest to the curve of her lean shoulders that connected to the slope of her neck that was still stretched back in bliss from a euphoric bite of damn good food. 

She moaned over the second bite. Camry licked his lips at the way her lips kiss over the crumbs and speckle of sauce left on her lithe fingertips. Fuck, he wondered how those plump lips of her witty mouth would fe-

Carmy bit back a curse as the grit of stone scraped with a rude sting over the side of his thumb to the heel of his hand. Like some punishment for allowing her to take his attention with one whisper of a sound and to greedily take in her beautiful shape when the fucking knives are dull.

“You good Chef?” Carmy asked. He brushed past her with a light hand on the small of her back to get to the sink. She finally opened her eyes and her nose scrunched cutely in slight embarrassment for moaning like that over a freakin’ bite of crab.  

“Sorry, it's just I haven’t made these in forever. I forgot how good I am at making ‘em. Shit, that probably sounds so conceited.” Sydney chuckled a bit nervously and Carmy shrugged.

“I only eat veal, if I cook it. That fact’s gotten me beat up by Mike once or twice.” he joked. It made Sydney smile. She grabbed another one with a graceful swoop of her wrist; she dipped it and came to his side.

“What do you think?” she asked, excitement in her eyes that Carmy was going to eat something so casual of hers. Carmy licked his lips at her obliviousness, her hands were still busy as he washed them and absently wrapped a bandage around the meat of his thumb. 

But he would never deny a taste test from her. 

Sydney freakin’ squeaked when he leaned his head close and ate the bite from her hand. Her body stiffened as she felt his lips grace off the side of her pointer finger and thumb. She is forced to focus on his working jaw as he chewed over it and gave a hum of pleasure himself. The sound made her bite her own lips, she wondered how such a sound would feel against her throat.

“That’s some amazing sauce Chef. Oughta add it to the menu.” he commented, looking into her eyes once again. Sydney gave a stiled nod that almost brushed their foreheads together. 

“Thanks. It’s- jus-just uhm, well y'know something I’ve perfected since I was a kid. My great uncle taught me how.” She rambled with a shuffled step back. 

“Whoa!” Carmy warned softly. His quick hands grasped her hips and pulled her back to him before she crashed back into the very full trash can. The movement collided her into his chest, his hands slid up to her waist and back to steady them before they ended up on the floor. 

“Uhm.” Sydney whispered as their noses bumped and she was nearly eye to eye with him. 

“Whoa uh-” he muttered back as Sydney’s hands fisted into the front of his shirt. 

It was awkward and exhilarating. 

Certainly, wrong and natural as they both found each other pulling their lips closer. Carmy closed his eyes tightly and Sydney refused to move her grip on his shirt because no-way was this real. Their lips placement is slightly off initially, they taste the same to one another and Sydney is pretty sure her foot is stepping on his.

Their next smack of lips was more of a moment to be connected yet adjusting. Sydney leads them to correct their posture, him leaning down more comfortably, one of her hands leaving his shirt to hold his cheek as their heads shift. Noses bumping once more but the kiss deepened deliciously. They got greedy with one another as they refused to separate for air. 

Sydney’s hand gripped down on his gold chain, locking him down as she started to trail her lips to his jaw. Carmy’s hand grabs at her breast and gives a soft squeeze as he forces her lips back to his and swallows her moan. 

 His other hand rubbed down her side until they gripped tightly on her hip. The combination of his caresses caused her to give a stuttering moan that sent lust running wild under Carmy’s skin. He turned them and lifted her with ease. Sydney pulls apart in shock as he sat her on the edge of an empty prep table with such swiftness. 

They are forced to breathe and look at each other now, their bodies still wrongly close. Sydney's hands slid down to hold his wrists as he still had a grip on her hips.

“Fuck.” they both whispered off wet, kissed bruised lips. They looked each other deeply in the eyes for a moment before Carmy turned away first. His hand instantly ran with worry through his hair as Sydney snatched her hands and crossed her arms, pressing into herself as she looked down at the titles. 

“Uhm, that wasn-”

“Shit, sorry w-”

They both hum to a quiet, lost for words at what they just did. 

And how they both liked it.

And how they both wanted it again. 

Sydney feels an embarrassed warmth under her skin to see her lip gloss over Cramy’s mouth and chin. Carmy went red and nervous as he saw how much he had hiked up her shirt.

“Sorry for uh… you good Syd?’ Carmy asked, still not looking at her. She slid off the counter, adjusting her clothes. She pointed her look past his head to the clock on the wall. 

7:55 pm.

“I’m good, Carmy. Are you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“I’ve got to go.”

Sydney has to bush close to him to get back to her counter to get the last batch and pack the food then getting the fuck out. Carmy flinched to see that his wet hands had left a drying imprint on her shirt. He passed her to the back door and collapsed into a resting crouch, lit a cigarette on instinct.

Five minutes later she was outside too, tupperware full of the best crab cakes and sauce he’s ever had and the girl that now owns his first kiss in 8 years.

 He hastily stood up and they gave each other tight smiles. 

“I’ll see you on Monday?” Sydney asked. She frowns a bit, that wasn’t meant to come out as a question. It doesn’t matter though with how fast she is walking away.

“Yeah!”Carmy called nervously after her, she turned just in time to catch him ducking back inside. 

Sydney is sure that’s not the start. Because they showed up on Monday and worked with their usual stressed ease. They each had their usual bicker with Richie, they each worked on prep, Sydney wrote in her little notebook, Carmy ticked over leftover paperwork, they sat across from each other during family and never met eyes.

They did the same thing Tuesday. 

They did the same thing Wednesday.

If she was trying to determine something official, it would be that Thursday. 

At the end of the day she swiped a piece of leftover lemon cake and two spoons as everybody left. She went into the office and Carmy looked up in soft surprise as she sat it on top of some random receipt book from 2015.

“What’s up Chef?” Carmy asked and Sydney shrugged.

“Just cake. I… we need to talk abou-”

“Shit, yeah, uh-yeah. We don’t-”

“Yes we do Carmen. That's the whole communication thing we talked about when I first started.” 

“Oh, right.”

They both went quiet as Sydney cleared some space on the desk and sat on the edge. She dived into a bite of cake and ignored the nerves created from Camry staring at her mouth again. 

“I’m sorry for kissing you like that.” Carmy said after a minute and Sydney handed him the other spoon. 

“I’m sorry too. That was unprofessional of us.”

“No, it’s on me Sydney. I’m older than you, I’m your boss.” he added, going for a bite as well. They are quiet as they share it down to an empty plate and yellow crumbs.

“I’ve liked you for a long time Carmen. Admired you even. I think you can go anywhere and do anything and it’s great.” Sydney said. Carmy let out a bitter chuckle at her statement.

“Sydney you have a lot of talent, creativity and whatever else makes a great person. From the moment you walked in the door you started lifting this place up. I’m a piece of shit compared to you.”

“Still like you though.” 

“... I like you alot too…”

It’s quiet again, no cake to fill in the time and space. Both chefs felt like they were going to bust and the silence was the only safe space. 

Ever impatient, Sydney is the first to break it. 

“Ya know… The first time I made scrambled eggs I was like 8. I set the fire alarm off with how high I cooked them. There was salt and pepper everywhere, somehow they were both browned as shit and still runny. I’m pretty sure I broke my dad’s heart fucking up his cast iron pan like that.” Sydney rambled and Carmy gave a soft smile at that.

“I’m pretty sure I broke my nan’s heart cause I broke spaghetti noodles in half before I boiled em. I had seen someone do it on Food Network and Sugar had to save my ass from getting beat with a spoon. I was 7 I think.”

Sydney couldn't help but snort at that. 

“Yeah, but we got better with practice right?”

“Yeah.”

“Not to be mean, but you could improve your kissing skills.” Sydney said, pointedly not looking at him as he settled back in his chair in shock and awe.

“... is this a complaint?”

“No.”

“No?”

“... it’s an offer to improve I guess. With practice.”

“Sydney.”

“I’m just saying! I liked it, you liked it. You could use practice. I could use pract- oh.” Sydney is cut off by Carmy rising up. He stood in the space between her legs and crossed his arms. Sydney couldn’t help but blink in surprise as he bent in slightly to look her in the eyes. 

“We can’t.” he scolded quietly. His voice is soft yet stern.

“We can’t?” Sydney rasped.

“It’s unprofessional.”

“...It is unprofessional.”

“It’s getting too close, even if we did like it. I can’t just make out and fuck you in the Beef like I’m some asshole line cook that only floats Waffle Houses.”

Sydney huffed then crossed her arms as well, leaning back and squinting at him. Her head gently bumped the shelf above the desk as she settled back. She can’t meet his eyes though, so she focused on his nose and thinks about how it bumped her the other night.

“This joint wishes it was a fuckable Waffle House. Richie might actually get a life.'' She smarted. Carmy jerked his head to a tilt, trying to force her eyes to his in disbelief. 

“Sydney!”

“Carmen!”

“We shouldn’t and aren’t doing this here.”

“Fine.” Sydney shrugged, plump lips pursing in attitude.

She finally got the nerve to meet his eyes but smiled to see that he was checking out her mouth. Carmy pressed the inch of space closer so her legs encompassed his hips. His arms dropped so that one hand braced on the shelves behind her head and the other rested on her knee, making her leg enclose his. She felt the subtle bulge in his pants settle against the desk and the edge of her inner thigh. She glances down at it and lets her posture correct up in a deep breath. 

The layer of their jeans blocking skin was fucking infuriating. 

Once again, they were dangerously in each other's faces.

“So, we aren’t doing this here?” Sydney challenged.

“Nope.”

They ended up half stripping in the back of his car, bruising each other's necks with hungry lips. 

Sydney finds out his hair is just as soft as it looks and he groans when you tug at his nape but flinches when you go too far up his crown.

Carmy learns to draw out moans from her. You had to kiss her down from the bottom of her ear, follow her jar and end at the center of her throat.

Sydney learns that holding his cheeks makes him cry. Carmy learns she likes to hide her face in her braids when her moans are out of control. Carmy learns that he’s really fucking handsy. Sydney learns that she’s a biter.

Both of them have very talented yet untrained hands that excel in finding the right spots.

It became routine. 

They’d work on Monday, then come in on Tuesday. They work like Carmen didn’t nearly crash his car with how good Sydney sucked him off on the drive to his place Monday night.

 They’d work on Wednesday. Pretending that the reason Sydney was walking so carefully is because she dropped a pot on her foot and not that Carmy fucked her thighs numb back at his apartment last night on Tuesday night.

The reason Sydney had to wear her braids in a high bun instead of her usual scarf this Thursday morning? She overslept and didn’t have time to grab one. Not the fact that it slipped off her bucking head last night and is under Carmy’s couch right now.

The reason Carmy wore a long sleeve rolled up to his forearms instead of his usual short sleeve shirt this fine weather Friday? He had to fight the alley cats throwing out the trash. Not the fact the ‘cat’ was most definitely named Sydney as she rode him in the back seat while they were parked outside her and her father’s apartment building. 

Friday was their exception. 

They alway went home separately and alone on Fridays. The dinner rush was too taxing on their bodies to be hungry for anything else but a sandwich, a beer, and to drop dead into bed. (Friday didn’t stop nudes however. It didn’t stop Carmy from getting hard at the videos of Sydney muffling her loud moans of his name into her childhood pillows. It didn't stop Sydney’s gut from tightening up at the obscene shot of Carmy beating his dick to the sound of her name) 

Work was work on Saturday. 

It was Sunday mornings like this. Where they woke up cuddling in Carmy’s bed. Him smoking out the window into the cool morning air and Sydney listening to his heartbeat in his chest in the soft light of sunrise. 

That she thinks about this, about how they got here.

She feels guilt forever getting in a situation like this. She’s fucking her boss, fucking her idol, fucking a man five years older than her, fucking a white man, fucking a Catholic, all the without a ring nor relationship in sight. Her father would burn The Beef down to the ground with Carmy inside of it and expose her to church ladies for correction. Her mother would just cackle out of the grave.

 “At least you didn’t dirty the kitchen, Syddie Kitty.” Sydney can picture her teasing out of plum-colored lips over a wine glass as funeral dirt shakes out of her locs.

Sydney turns over so that she and Carmy are pressed chest to chest. Her chin rests on his sternum so she can look over his face. His hand absently rubs a firm circle over the knot in her lower back as he continues to stare at their city waking up. 

He’s beautiful. 

She’s beautiful. 

Carmy huffs a laugh as he dodges her trying to take the cigarette out of his hand, blowing the cloud high as he snuffs it out. She sticks her tongue out and dodges back, making the kiss he aimed for her lips land on her cheek instead. 

Before they can tease each other again, Carmy’s phone rings. He cringes at the tone he has set for Sugar echoing over them. He grabs it and just stares at the screen as it vibrates and lights up with the picture of his sister.

Sydney taps her hand on his wrist, thumb ghosting on the green accept slider. Carmy is quick to deny the call, toss the phone back to the side table and twist into Sydney's body.

“You can’t keep doing that.” Sydney says after a while. He burrows further into their hold until she melts back. 

What would Sugar think? Every time he declined her calls or avoided weekly family dinners was because he was in the hands of his younger sous that he still hasn’t introduced her to. Yeah, the one Richie has been complaining about changing everything. That she was the only one that made him feel like he could breathe and that he hated church. 

He knew what Richie would say, that's for sure. He’d be all smug and smartassed and judgmental. Announcing that he knew all along baby Carmy despite the prestige of his NORMA bullshit, was just a bitch who fell for pussy and would drive The Beef and the lives the revolved round it into the ground for it. 

Both chefs are shamefully selfish this Sunday morning.

They make savory crepes and drink coffee with Good Eats playing in the background.

They shower together about it. 

Carmy drops her off at the farmers market.

Carmy cleans the Beef alone with a toothbrush as one of Mikey’s old mixed CD’s plays on the old Beef stereo. 

Sydney tosses her laundry in the washing machine as her dad plays Charles Jenkins & Fellowship aloud and remarks that he missed her at service again. 

Carmy shows up 8 minutes late to dinner at Sugar's with the wine his big sister likes. 

Sydney fries fish and makes smothered green beans for dinner, her father sets the table for them to play cards and watch Down in the Delta. 

Both chefs pray that this stays their routine. 

Taglist 🥰

@blowmymbackout @kdoxkeic @pantherxrogers @soufcakmistress

[queerdiazs]

fuck it friday!!!

tagged by the sweet, darling @thewolvesof1998 <3 it's not friday here yet but, i mean, fuck it

wrote this at 4:30 am this morning because i couldn't sleep, so bone apple the teeth?

Angling the pipetting tip, Eddie prepares to fitness the ever-lovin’ fuck out of this last batch of cupcakes for the safari theme the PTA chose for this quarter’s bake sale so he can finally have a beer and go to bed, but before he’s able to put the finishing touches on the giraffe’s goofy grin, the rickety island he’s leaning on trembles like a mini-quake’s hit LA.  “Fuck.”  He sighs and puts the little baggy of icing down, frowning at the streak of black across the giraffe’s face. He’s already eaten several mistakes tonight; he might be able to salvage the design if he can scrape the icing off. He has to have something to show tomorrow since Chris promised he’d bring cookies and cupcakes to the bake sale and, by God, he’s not going to give Abbie Jean Gentry another reason to sneer at him.  “You good?”  Buck laughs and closes the oven, setting down the last pan of sugar cookies. “That’s the fifth time I’ve hit my hip on the table,” he says, rubbing his side viciously, as if it’ll stop the sting. “Your kitchen is too small, Eddie.”  “I know.” Eddie grabs for the butterknife and starts the precarious process of raking off the black streak without fucking up his masterpiece beneath. “We’ll look for a house with a bigger kitchen on Zillow after the bake sale.”  Buck makes a funny noise. “What?”  “We’ll get you a bigger kitchen, Buck,” he repeats, glancing up at Buck to make sure he’s not more hurt than he’s letting on. His face is screwed up in a weird expression, like he’s sucked a lemon dry, but he seems uninjured for the most part. “Let’s finish this shit so I can go to bed.”  Buck nods, blinks, nods again, and then shakes himself, as if he’s got a chill, and starts to shift the cookies off the parchment paper and onto the fancy rack they borrowed from Bobby so he can decorate them after they’ve cooled.  The butterknife cuts into the dough where it’s still soft and warm in the middle, collapsing it in its little zoo-themed sleeve. Dammit. He worked hard on this one, too.  He huffs, takes a bite out of the ruined cupcake, and reaches for another to start all over.  

no pressure tagging: @housewifebuck, @wildlife4life, @malewife-buck, @eddiediaztho, @panbuckley, @alyxmastershipper, @shitouttabuck, @honestlydarkprincess, @callmenewbie, @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy, and anybody else <3

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Sopapillas

Winter Prompts Masterlist | Winter Prompts List

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Reader

Prompts: Crunchy/ Honey/ Bake Sale

Warnings: Cursing

Notes: Sopapillas are a deep fried dessert! More info here if you're interested.

“What the hell is happening in here?” 

You hardly look away at the sound of Angel’s question, though your eyes do dart up from the mixing bowl for just a moment. 

“I promised Izzy I’d help with the bake sale,” You answer, scraping the wooden spoon around the edge of the bowl. 

“So you turned my kitchen into a bakery?” 

“Did you expect me to find a clean rock to bake the cookies on outside?” 

“Why didn’t you go to your place?” 

“My oven is broken.” 

“What? Since when?” 

“Since, like—I don’t know, it’s been a long time. And my little countertop one is too small for how much I need to make.” 

“So what the hell is your oven doing now?” 

“I use it to store some of my shoes.” 

“You what—”

“Oh calm down, they’re in, like, storage bags. They’re not just out in the open on the racks—Can you grab me the honey?” 

“What makes you think I have any?” 

“Remember when I got groceries for here?” 

“Uh-huh.” “I bought honey. It’s up there,” You wave back toward a cabinet, “But I can’t reach it, and you don’t have a step-stool because you’re freakishly tall.” 

“Why didn’t you just climb on the counter like you usually do?” 

“I had bowls and stuff out, it would’ve been a mess.” 

“More of a mess,” Angel mutters.

“You got reaaaal high standards for someone who sleeps in his jeans—Oh!” You gasp when Angel lands a slap on your ass as he sets the honey down on the counter. You reach back, swatting at his side. 

“Thank you,” You mutter. 

“So what are you making?” 

“Mm…Chocolate chip cookies are in the oven…I’m working on the batter for mini pasteles tres leches—Stop that,” You mutter, slapping at his hand as he dips his finger into your bowl. “I know your father raised you better than that. Never stick a finger into a woman’s batter uninvited.” 

“What’s the honey for?” 

“To drizzle on the sopapillas.” 

“Ooo, goin’ all out?” 

“Apparently Padrino requested them.” “Really?” 

“Mhm.” 

“They’re a favorite of his.” 

“Like, in general?” “No. He likes mine.” 

“When the hell has he had your sopapillas?” 

“From my oven’s previous life, when it was working—before it was a shoe rack.” 

“So why have I never had your sopapillas?”

“I refer you to my previous comment about my oven.” 

Angel grunts, brow furrowing a touch as he watches you. 

“...So am I getting cut in on any’a this," He waves his fingers over the bowls and baking trays, "Or is it all for the bake sale?” 

You smile. “Well I need a taste-tester, don’t I?” 

-- 

“Holy fuck,” Angel mumbles around his mouthful. You grin, glancing back at him as you tuck the last of the freshly washed dishes into the drying rack. 

“Holy fuck good, or like holy fuck you can’t serve these?”

“You can’t serve these.” 

“What?” You frown, turning to face Angel. 

“You can’t serve these,” He insists, taking up a chocolate chip cookie. “I’m eating all of ‘em—Hey, we got any milk?” 

Your concern melts to amusement, and you roll your eyes, reaching out and opening the fridge. You pour some into a mug before you walk over to where Angel is chowing down at the little table. You set it down, and before you can get far, he hooks his arm around your middle, drawing you down into his lap. 

“Take a load off,” He soothes, “You been busy cookin’ all day.” 

“I just wanna finish cleaning up. I’m all sweaty and I wanna put my apron in the laundry."

Angel grunts, dipping the corner of the cookie into the mug of milk and holding it up for you. You chuckle, ducking your head in and hurriedly taking a bite before it can drip or crumble. You sigh as you savor the flavor, settling back against Angel’s chest. 

“Mm, you’re right,” You mumble. “I’m good.”

Angel chuckles, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“So…Maybe we just keep the cookies?” 

“Nu-uh. This is your personal batch,” You wave to the plate with a few morsels on it. “Everything else is for the sale.” Angel grumbles, and you roll your eyes. “I’ll make you more later, alright? We need to restock the kitchen before I can.”

“...And you’ll make more sopasillas?” 

You snort, nodding at Angel’s nervously hedged question. 

“Yes, baby.”

"As many as I want?"

"Okay, let's not get carried away."  

Tag list: @amneris21 ; @elen-aranel ; @brandyllyn ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight

[plaguedoctormemes]

drop the chicken paprikash resippy 👀

caveat: I don’t use a lot a measurements and just use my eye/intuition/taste buds a lot, so if you need specific measurements you’ll probably be better off following a dedicated recipe online or comparing them to mine. Also, my recipe is by no means traditional as I am just a latino dude living in the southwest and i’m Not Hungarian in any way, and this is a riff off of my mom’s dish rather than the traditional dish itself. I also like to be really descriptive so there’s a lot of steps but this recipe is, in reality, mega easy lol. Okay-

This dish contains dairy. You can try dairy-free sour cream but I’ve never tried it. Lactose-free sour cream is a perfectly fine substitute though!

(Serves 4)

Cookery:

- a large pot big enough to line thighs on the bottom

- A wooden spoon or spatula to stir with, and tongs or something to take out the chicken with.

Ingredients:

- Chicken thighs with skins on (i really do not recommend skinless or substituting for breasts at all) enough for 1 or 2 per person

- 1 white or sweet yellow onion

- 3-4 cloves of garlic

- 5 large carrots, or two handfuls of baby carrots.

- 3 Russet Potatoes

- Sour cream (you can use 8 oz, i like to use 16oz because i always use a little more than half)

- Chicken broth (at least 4 cups, I used almost a whole 32 oz carton.)

- Any neutral oil (for frying), olive oil is ok though

- Salt and pepper

- Paprika (If you can get hungarian paprika that’s preferred, but otherwise dont sweat it. The dish is called Paprikash so make sure you have plenty)

- Cayenne pepper

- Dried red pepper strips (I happened to have a bag of them from Trader Joes. This is kinda optional but i liked it so much that i recommend it.)

Optional Ingredients:

- Any other vegetable you want (corn, peas, green beans or diced fresh bell pepper would be good!)

- Tony Chachere’s cajun seasoning (for seasoning the chicken, i put this shit in everything tbh)

- Parsley (for color)

Directions:

1. Season thighs liberally with salt, pepper (and tony chachere’s seasoning if available), allow to sit for 30 minutes or while you chop veggies.

2. Pre-cook the potatoes partway by using a microwave, oven, or cubing and boiling in water until almost done. I used a microwave since it’s much faster.

3. While potatoes are cooking, slice onion horizontally (into rings) or vertically (into strips), whichever you’d prefer. Slice large carrots into 1/2 cm coins or baby carrots in half. Smash and mince your garlic.

5. Blend entire bag of dried red pepper. It seems like a lot, but it’s not since peppers are mostly air now. If you don’t have a blender, use a mortar and pestle or put into a bag and smash the fuck out of those guys until theyre a powder. It’s okay if it’s not super duper fine. If you dont have dried red pepper, skip this step.

6. Whenever your potatoes are half done, take them out of whatever vessel you chose and carefully cut into large cubes (theyre probably really hot!)

7. At med-high heat, add a couple tablespoons of oil to your pot, enough to coat the bottom. Add your thighs skin side DOWN so that theyre in direct contact with the bottom. Allow the thighs’ fat to render out and the skin to brown a bit. It should take about 6 minutes. If the skin hasnt taken on a lot of color yet, that’s ok- allow a few more minutes and then flip the thighs. Allow the bottoms to cook for another 5 minutes in the rendered fat then remove.

8. Now put in your carrots, garlic, and onion in the pan to cook in the rendered chicken fat. Scrape whatever yummy brown fond has built on the bottom. Don’t sweat about scraping it all up, as youll get most of it later. Cook until carrots are softened but still a little firm and onions are starting to turn translucent.

9. Add your cubed potatoes in with the other vegetables, give them a toss, and take off of the heat so you can add the seasonings- papricka scorches easily. Most recipes use ~3tbs, I swear I always use more like 4. Also add in your powdered red pepper here, as well as 1 tbs of cayenne some more salt and pepper. Mix everything and bring back to the heat, which you will reduce to Medium.

10. Pour in your chicken broth, enough to submerge all of the vegetables. Add about 3 generous spoonfuls of sour cream, mixing it in so that the soup is now a creamy, luscious gravy. It’s important to not have the pot much hotter than Medium so that the sour cream doesnt curdle. This is a good time to do some extra fond-scraping if you couldnt get a lot earlier! The potatoes may soften and deteriorate, and that’s fine.

11. Re-place the thighs back into the pot as well, making sure theyre covered in the gravy. If the liquid doesnt cover the thighs, add some more chicken broth and sour cream until it does.

12. Chop up or tear up a handful of parsley and add.

13. Cover pot with a lid and allow everything to come back to a boil. Let everything mingle together for about 15-20 minutes, stirring occasionally. This will re-heat the thighs and finish cooking them. You can also taste the gravy for salt and adjust accordingly. This is also a good time to add some frozen corn, peas and stuff if desired.

And that’s it! You can serve this on top of egg noodles as well since thats pretty traditional, but the thighs and veggies alone with the gravy makes for a very savory and hearty dinner. Make sure you add another ladle-full of gravy on top.

This dish will result in something that sort of resembles a stew with a bright vibrant reddish zesty and creamy gravy, tender vegetables and juicy, tender chicken. The gravy should be chickeny, savory, and delightfully creamy. Paprika is already powdered red pepper, but I feel like adding just normal powdered paprika and then the freshly blended dried red pepper adds an additional fresh, sweet richness to the sauce. Thighs still have the bone in it, so i usually eat this dish with a fork and use my fingers to carefully tear the meat off the bone, and then just pick up the bone once it’s cooled off a little and gnaw on the rest of the meat and the softened cartilage.

My partner and friends really liked it. Next time we’re going to add some chipotle or southwestern red chile to it for some more spice and smokiness to try out.

[thefreakydeaky]

You're No Good (Part 8)

Negan Smith x Reader

Various TWD Characters x Reader

Modern AU

Summary: Your husband came up with a way to keep you away from trouble but trouble just won't stay away from you.

Warnings: Smut, Angst, Fluff

On a cloudy and rainy morning, when you had plans to eat brunch at a cafe on the edge of town, you were spread out on Rick's bed. Your skirt had been shoved halfway up your belly, your panties were hanging off of your foot and Rick's face was buried in your slick cunt.

You moaned, the sweet sound not matching the overwhelming sensation of his lips sucking at your clit. The pressure of his lips curled around your sensitive bundle of nerves had you bucking up against him.

His arms hooked around your thighs pulling you down where he could reach you even better. The tip of his tongue ran along the middle of your lips, dipping into your core. You clenched and felt more cum seep out of you. You felt empty. much too empty.

Two of his thick fingers pressed into your vagina. He pushed them as far in as they would go and held them there as he ate you out around them. Rick sucked lightly on your labia.

You whined, the feeling of so much pleasure building higher and higher. He repeated the action on your other side. His tongue lapped up the juices dripping out of you. You squeezed down around his fingers. Rick began moving them gradually in and out of you.

Your groan was very nearly a growl as he fucked you with his fingers. You pushed back against them loving the way they were filling you. He started to move a bit faster. Your cum coated his hand, and his chin. He sucked on your clit, then scraped his teeth gently against it.

His thumb rubbed circles around it, until you were barely hanging on to a great precipice. Rick's fingers moved faster, he leaned in and took your bundle of nerves between his lips once more, sending you flying. Your senses were on a high, bliss flowing from your center to your limbs. You swore you could see the sky and touch the clouds. His fingers continued to work you through it.

As the feeling began to recede You stilled his hand, covering it with your own. Rick gently removed his fingers from you. He moved up over you until you were face to face. Then his mouth came down to yours. You kissed him languidly, your tongue lazily moving against his.The rest of your time with him was spent on slow intense fucking. His gorgeous blue eyes looking deeply into yours, your mouths joined almost the entire time. You enjoyed every second.

•••••••••••••••

Three months of getting to relearn each other and you still couldn't wait for the next time you saw him. The excitement, the thrill it caused in you was intoxicating. With your head up in the clouds you found yourself doing all sorts of extra little things you didn't seem to have the energy to do before like learning to bake.

You took the cookies out of the oven as the timer on your microwave went off again.

You registered your phone chime in the other room, but focused on the task at hand.

You rested one baking sheet on the stove and then reached in for the other.

The microwave beeped again.

You made a frustrated sound as you put the other baking sheet down. You quickly poked the end button on the machine, twice for good measure.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!" The anger in Negan's voice sent a chill down your spine.

You peeked into the living room, perplexed. You found Negan glowering down at the screen of your phone.

"You're fucking Rick Grimes?!" He demanded.

Your eyes widened.

"I...well, yes." You were taken aback by the blunt question.

He said your name in such a way that it made your heart ache to hear the hurt in his tone. "I will put up with a hell of a lot for you,but not this. Not him."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Wow I didn't realize I was putting such a burden on you."

"Here we fuckin go! Twisting my words so you don't have to own up to your shit."

"I haven't done anything wrong! You're the one who was looking through my phone. I thought we had agreed not to do shit like that?"

"Are you fucking serious? We both know you're not actually pissed about me looking through your phone. You're mad that I found you out."

"I haven't broken any rules. I'm not doing anything wrong."

"You think parading those limp dick himbos around in front of me is you not doing anything wrong? You think fucking the one person that is off limits isn't doing anything wrong?"

You grimaced.

"I-I didn't mean for you to have to deal with any of them. I know it seems hard to believe, but it was never my intention-"

"Oh I know. You never mean to make drama, things just happen to you."

"Negan!"

"I'm sick of making excuses for you. You are a grown ass woman and you keep putting yourself in these situations that come back to bite us both in the ass. All because you have about as much good judgement as a teenager."

You gasped. You were too hurt by his words to hide the tears in your eyes.

"Why him?" His voice wss rocky with anger.

Your chin trembled.

"You never told me he was off limits."

"I didn't fucking think I had to. Did the part where I kicked his ass over you not make it obvious?"

You took a breath that shook.

His eyes narrowed.

"Why am I not enough for you? Why do you need to sleep with anyone else?"

The anger you felt was sucked out of you by the vulnerability in his honey colored eyes, the pain in his tone.

"I don't." You clarified. "All I need is you."

His angry features relaxed somewhat at your words.

"After what we went through to fix our relationship, why would you get involved with him again?"

"I should have known you wouldn't be okay with it. I'm sorry, Negan. I'm so sorry."

"Do you...Do you love him?"

You shook your head.

"No. I'm in love with you."

"Then why are we doing this? If all we need is each other, why are we sleeping with other people?" He asked quietly.

"Because you said it was the only way our relationship would work."

He laughed, a sudden unexpected burst of pent up emotion that lacked humour.

"I thought that kind of freedom was what you needed. You telling me I could have put a stop to it whenever I wanted?"

You nodded.

"Yes."

He came over and put his arms around you, holding you to him.

"From now on, it's just you and me. No one else. Do you agree?"

"Absolutely." You smiled up at him, looking into his whisky colored eyes. "I have wanted nothing else."

You told him how much you loved him and that he was your everything. Negan told you how deeply he loved you and that he always would. You kissed him with all the love you had in you, knowing now with complete certainty that you had both always been enough.

[chronicangelca]

Wildflowers and Dirt Smudges and Sunshine

Link to this fic on AO3. Words: 1427 Date posted: November 9, 2020

Summary: “I was just thinking.”

She pulls the cup away from her mouth and you watch a single droplet of water trail down the side of the cup until it catches on her thumb. She doesn’t seem to notice. “About mommy?” She asks, and your breath catches in your chest. Just like her mother, she’s so smart. So observant. Too observant, you sometimes think, and too eager to observe. She wants to know everything about the world even though she is far too young to learn the answers to some questions. It’s been three years and you still don’t know what to tell her when she asks what happened to her mother, and redirecting her with toys and stories about other things isn’t really working anymore.

“Yeah, about mommy.”

She looks just like her.

Your breath still catches in your throat every time you look at your daughter. She’d looked just like her mother when she was born, but she’s only grown into the resemblance as she’s gotten older and it makes your chest ache.

You’re really fucking trying here.

She acts just like her mother, too, running in circles around your backyard and picking flowers and bringing every single one up to the patio to show you.

She trips on the last stair on her sixth trip back down to go pick another flower and all of the ones she has left in your lap fall onto the wood and get trampled as you scramble to go check on her, your heart pounding harder in your chest than is warranted. Your daughter is crying, big green eyes bubbling over with tears of pain and fear. She’s fallen a million times in her life, a consequence of always being in motion, but it still startles her every time.

When you look her over, her hands are lightly scraped up, but she’s otherwise uninjured-- or so you think, until you see the blood, stringy as it’s mixed with saliva, that trails down her chin from her mouth. You suppose she must have bitten her tongue when she fell.

Seeing her bleeding, even if you know that it is small and insignificant and she will likely be over it and playing again in a few minutes, activates every parental instinct in you that you hadn’t had before she was born and which had only quadrupled when her mother died. She’s bleeding and she’s crying and she’s saying your name over and over again (“Daddy! Daddy it hu-hurts!”) and you should calm her down from her hysterics rather than devolving into your own but you know that you’re far from a perfect father. You clutch her body to yours and run inside faster than you’ve had to run since you were a teenager but you don’t have time to be winded because you’re looking for paper towels and filling up a glass of water for her.

It’s the weirdest trigger for it but Jade’s last words to you are playing on repeat in your head. It’s weird because you didn’t get a dramatic dying speech from your wife. You hadn’t held her hand while she wasted away from a sickness and delivered a speech about how much she loved you and how you needed to be brave for your girl, nor had it been like the movies where she was in a car accident and they’d plucked her out of the car and she spoke to you through her strained breathing. Jade had died in a car accident, certainly, but you had been at the house with the baby and she was dead by the time they got her in the ambulance, let alone by the time that you finally got a phone call.

It was supposed to be her first day back at work. Her alarm had woken you up and you complained about the early hour and she had reassured you that she didn’t want to be up, either, and she was up until four in the morning with the baby, too. “There’s a lasagna in the freezer. Toss it in the oven around 4:30. I love you, Dave.” And then she’d been off.

And then she’d been gone.

That lasagna sat in your freezer for the next four months while you put off and put off and put off organizing her funeral, until finally John practically broke into your house and said that he understood that you’d lost your wife and that you had a new baby but he just lost his sister and he wanted to know if you were burning her or putting her in the ground, and you’d had a sobbing meltdown to your best friend for the first time in the entire time he’d known you because you didn’t know what she wanted. She’d been thirty years old, it wasn’t as though her death was at the front of either of your minds.

That was a little over three years ago. Your daughter, who by the time that you have zoned back into the present reality has stopped screaming and is instead staring at you with wide, watery eyes full of concern that you recognize from long before she was born, has grown from a colicky three and a half month old as she had been then to the most adventurous damn three-and-a-half-year-old you’ve ever met. You sometimes wonder if Jade’s ghost doesn’t haunt your house and whisper in her ear new ideas for exploring.

“Daddy?” She sniffs, and the paper towel in your hand is apparently useless as her mouth seems to have stopped bleeding so you use a pathetically small amount of it to wipe at her chin and clean the blood-spit-combo still there before you offer her the glass of water. When you were her age, you only drank apple juice and Kool-Aid, but she’s a lot chiller about it.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” you murmur as she holds the glass with both hands, and through the clear glass you can see her already-drying scrapes and the way the blood and dirt on them gets against the cup. Jade would have scolded you for not giving her one of her many colorful, plastic, much harder to drop and break sippy cups, you think, but it’s hard to guess since your daughter couldn’t exactly use a sippy cup the last time Jade was around to scold you for anything. “I was just thinking.”

She pulls the cup away from her mouth and you watch a single droplet of water trail down the side of the cup until it catches on her thumb. She doesn’t seem to notice. “About mommy?” She asks, and your breath catches in your chest. Just like her mother, she’s so smart. So observant. Too observant, you sometimes think, and too eager to observe. She wants to know everything about the world even though she is far too young to learn the answers to some questions. It’s been three years and you still don’t know what to tell her when she asks what happened to her mother, and redirecting her with toys and stories about other things isn’t really working anymore.

“Yeah, about mommy,” you answer after a second, because Jade wouldn’t want you to lie to your kid. She could be so naively honest sometimes, to the point of hurting others’ feelings and not realizing why they’d be hurt when all she’d ever said was the truth, and unlike apparently everyone else in the world you’d always loved that about her, loved that you could always count on Jade to be honest about everything. She never spared you a moment of pity, that woman.

“What was she like?” She asks, the same way that she has a million times before, and you think about it because your answer is almost always different. She was endlessly compassionate and curious. She saw the fucking wreck that would one day become your father and she decided to pick up all those pieces and see what order they were supposed to go in probably partially just because she wanted to see the complete picture and partially because she always hated seeing broken anything-- broken toys, broken machines, broken people. It had taken a long time and a lot more patience than you deserved, you know that. Jade deserved better than screaming matches at two in the morning because she got a little too close to the truth, the soft fleshy bits between your pieces of armor, your Achilles heel which was actually your Achilles entire body and you hoped just spinning the myths would be enough to discourage people and you’d never have to put the real work in to be indestructible. But boy did Jade make you put the work in and you know that you were infinitely better for it, that you’re still infinitely better for it. Everything that you are now you owe to her. She was a sculptor and you’re fucking Wonder Woman or some shit, forged by her delicate hands from clay and love.

“Your mom was a walking garden. Wildflowers and dirt smudges and sunshine. And everybody who ever saw her smiled.”

Your daughter pulls a face, clearly confused, and you lean in to press a kiss against her forehead.

“I’ll explain it when you’re older. C’mon, why don’t we go play outside some more?”

She looks just like her.

Your breath still catches in your throat every time you look at your daughter. She’d looked just like her mother when she was born, but she’s only grown into the resemblance as she’s gotten older and it makes your chest ache.

You’re really fucking trying here.

She acts just like her mother, too, running in circles around your backyard and picking flowers and bringing every single one up to the patio to show you.

She trips on the last stair on her sixth trip back down to go pick another flower and all of the ones she has left in your lap fall onto the wood and get trampled as you scramble to go check on her, your heart pounding harder in your chest than is warranted. Your daughter is crying, big green eyes bubbling over with tears of pain and fear. She’s fallen a million times in her life, a consequence of always being in motion, but it still startles her every time.

When you look her over, her hands are lightly scraped up, but she’s otherwise uninjured-- or so you think, until you see the blood, stringy as it’s mixed with saliva, that trails down her chin from her mouth. You suppose she must have bitten her tongue when she fell.

Seeing her bleeding, even if you know that it is small and insignificant and she will likely be over it and playing again in a few minutes, activates every parental instinct in you that you hadn’t had before she was born and which had only quadrupled when her mother died. She’s bleeding and she’s crying and she’s saying your name over and over again (“Daddy! Daddy it hu-hurts!”) and you should calm her down from her hysterics rather than devolving into your own but you know that you’re far from a perfect father. You clutch her body to yours and run inside faster than you’ve had to run since you were a teenager but you don’t have time to be winded because you’re looking for paper towels and filling up a glass of water for her.

It’s the weirdest trigger for it but Jade’s last words to you are playing on repeat in your head. It’s weird because you didn’t get a dramatic dying speech from your wife. You hadn’t held her hand while she wasted away from a sickness and delivered a speech about how much she loved you and how you needed to be brave for your girl, nor had it been like the movies where she was in a car accident and they’d plucked her out of the car and she spoke to you through her strained breathing. Jade had died in a car accident, certainly, but you had been at the house with the baby and she was dead by the time they got her in the ambulance, let alone by the time that you finally got a phone call.

It was supposed to be her first day back at work. Her alarm had woken you up and you complained about the early hour and she had reassured you that she didn’t want to be up, either, and she was up until four in the morning with the baby, too. “There’s a lasagna in the freezer. Toss it in the oven around 4:30. I love you, Dave.” And then she’d been off.

And then she’d been gone.

That lasagna sat in your freezer for the next four months while you put off and put off and put off organizing her funeral, until finally John practically broke into your house and said that he understood that you’d lost your wife and that you had a new baby but he just lost his sister and he wanted to know if you were burning her or putting her in the ground, and you’d had a sobbing meltdown to your best friend for the first time in the entire time he’d known you because you didn’t know what she wanted. She’d been thirty years old, it wasn’t as though her death was at the front of either of your minds.

That was a little over three years ago. Your daughter, who by the time that you have zoned back into the present reality has stopped screaming and is instead staring at you with wide, watery eyes full of concern that you recognize from long before she was born, has grown from a colicky three and a half month old as she had been then to the most adventurous damn three-and-a-half-year-old you’ve ever met. You sometimes wonder if Jade’s ghost doesn’t haunt your house and whisper in her ear new ideas for exploring.

“Daddy?” She sniffs, and the paper towel in your hand is apparently useless as her mouth seems to have stopped bleeding so you use a pathetically small amount of it to wipe at her chin and clean the blood-spit-combo still there before you offer her the glass of water. When you were her age, you only drank apple juice and Kool-Aid, but she’s a lot chiller about it.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” you murmur as she holds the glass with both hands, and through the clear glass you can see her already-drying scrapes and the way the blood and dirt on them gets against the cup. Jade would have scolded you for not giving her one of her many colorful, plastic, much harder to drop and break sippy cups, you think, but it’s hard to guess since your daughter couldn’t exactly use a sippy cup the last time Jade was around to scold you for anything. “I was just thinking.”

She pulls the cup away from her mouth and you watch a single droplet of water trail down the side of the cup until it catches on her thumb. She doesn’t seem to notice. “About mommy?” She asks, and your breath catches in your chest. Just like her mother, she’s so smart. So observant. Too observant, you sometimes think, and too eager to observe. She wants to know everything about the world even though she is far too young to learn the answers to some questions. It’s been three years and you still don’t know what to tell her when she asks what happened to her mother, and redirecting her with toys and stories about other things isn’t really working anymore.

“Yeah, about mommy,” you answer after a second, because Jade wouldn’t want you to lie to your kid. She could be so naively honest sometimes, to the point of hurting others’ feelings and not realizing why they’d be hurt when all she’d ever said was the truth, and unlike apparently everyone else in the world you’d always loved that about her, loved that you could always count on Jade to be honest about everything. She never spared you a moment of pity, that woman.

“What was she like?” She asks, the same way that she has a million times before, and you think about it because your answer is almost always different. She was endlessly compassionate and curious. She saw the fucking wreck that would one day become your father and she decided to pick up all those pieces and see what order they were supposed to go in probably partially just because she wanted to see the complete picture and partially because she always hated seeing broken anything-- broken toys, broken machines, broken people. It had taken a long time and a lot more patience than you deserved, you know that. Jade deserved better than screaming matches at two in the morning because she got a little too close to the truth, the soft fleshy bits between your pieces of armor, your Achilles heel which was actually your Achilles entire body and you hoped just spinning the myths would be enough to discourage people and you’d never have to put the real work in to be indestructible. But boy did Jade make you put the work in and you know that you were infinitely better for it, that you’re still infinitely better for it. Everything that you are now you owe to her. She was a sculptor and you’re fucking Wonder Woman or some shit, forged by her delicate hands from clay and love.

“Your mom was a walking garden. Wildflowers and dirt smudges and sunshine. And everybody who ever saw her smiled.”

Your daughter pulls a face, clearly confused, and you lean in to press a kiss against her forehead.

“I’ll explain it when you’re older. C’mon, why don’t we go play outside some more?”

[theliterarywolf]

Drop a dish recipe, and I can share my absolutely thrilling recipe for non-specific Scandinavian fish soup.* *I'll be honest, Idk if it's even in any way Scandi, but I cooked it here, so it counts... there's no banana. Fuck bananas.

Oh, Banana!anon! It's been a minute, how have you been?

Anywho...

Stew and Rice

2 pounds of fresh tomatoes 2 large red onions 2 cans of tomato sauce 1-2 pounds poultry (chicken, turkey, whathaveyou) 1-2 pounds beef (or goat or lamb) 1-2 pounds of a white fish (cod or pollock) 4-6 Habanero peppers Maggi cubes Curry powder Thyme Cooking Oil (either Canola or Olive) Liquid Aminos to taste (more conventionally this would be salt, but my mother has high blood-pressure so I'm used to not using salt-to-taste anymore) Rice (typically Parboiled rice but Jasmine or Brown work well too) Optional: Broccoli Mixed Vegetables Plantains

First, after rinsing them, cut the tomatoes into large chunks. Then blend them until smooth with a combination of ½ one of the tomato sauce cans and water. This may take several rounds due to having to pour out a full blender into a pot and starting over. However, when you're on your last round of tomato chunks, make sure to blend in the Habanero peppers as well.

At this point, the tomato/tomato sauce/Habanero mixture should be in a large pot. Cover it and set it to boil on low heat. Your main goal is to boil off the excess water.

While the tomato mixture is boiling down, cut your white fish into large portions. Place them on a baking sheet (or a baking pan lined with foil) and place them into the oven at 400°. The goal here isn't to make the fish crispy but to make it so that the fish won't fall apart when introduced to the stew, so keep an eye on it.

While that's going, chop up your red onions. Set them to the side.

At this point, cut your poultry and your beef/goat/lamb into chunks. Put them into a pot with a handful of your cut onions and 4-5 crushed Maggi cubes. Let them boil, covered, on medium heat until the proteins break down and the meat is tender (around an hour or so).

Check back in on your tomato/tomato sauce/Habanero mixture. It should have boiled down a bit but not all the way. Add in the rest of your tomato sauce (the leftover can and a half) and half of your onions. Stir before covering the pot back up.

NOTE 1: Whenever you uncover the pot, be wary because the mixture is volatile and will splash quite a bit. And the splashes burn no matter how experienced you are.

NOTE 2: Occasionally scrape the bottom with a rubber spatula to prevent any of the stew from catching and burning on the bottom of the pot.

By this point, your fish should be removed from the oven (remember, the goal is to firm it up, not to crisp it up). Once your poultry and beef/goat/lamb are tender enough, you can begin the process of putting everything together.

When the tomato/tomato sauce/Habanero mixture has boiled off all of the excess water, retrieve another pot (seriously, if your stove doesn't look like the Battle of Waterloo by the time you're done, you're doing it wrong) and pour in half a cup of cooking oil. Once heated, add in the rest of your chopped onions and cook until tender.

Then, pour your stew mixture into the pot with the oil and onions to essentially 'fry' the stew mixture (you're really just trying to temper everything to the same temperature and consistency). Carefully add in your fish, poultry, and beef/goat/lamb. Stir while adding in healthy amounts of curry powder and thyme. Depending on the consistency, you may have to add more cooking oil at this point.

Allow this to cook for a few minutes while you grind up more Maggi cubes (5-6). It's preferable to use a mortar and pestle, but if you unwrap several cubes, put them in a bowl, add a tablespoon or two of warm water, and wait for a few minutes for them to crumble, that works too.

Pour that into the pot and stir. Add in a few healthy splashes of Liquid Aminos (or a few pinches of salt-to-taste) and cover. Let this cook on it's own for ten minutes before cutting the heat.

Boil yourself a pot of rice (or use a rice cooker, they are better than sex after all). When the rice is up to snuff, plate out several scoops. Uncover your stew and ladle out one or two scoops (you don't want to drown your rice in stew; keep things balanced). Plate with cooked vegetables (broccoli is my preference but mixed vegetables are another option) and fried plantains.

Grab a glass of wine, a bottle of beer, or a responsible beverage and enjoy!

NOTE: Depending on what part of Nigeria someone's from, they may have a strong appreciation for Ponmo (otherwise known as Kanda). This is basically cow skin. And I fucking HATE IT because eating it is just constant chewing and cooking it is a neverending balancing act of 'if I don't cook it long enough, it's going to be hard and if I cook it too long, it's going to turn into jelly'. I mention this because sometimes people like to add this to stew and rice as well. And the adjustment to the recipe in that case would be as follows: While your poultry and beef/goat/lamb are boiling, clean your Ponmo/Kanda (remove and stray bits of fur or unsavory bits). When your Ponmo/Kanda are clean, just before your poultry and beef/goat/lamb are done boiling, add in the Ponmo/Kanda to make sure it gets some good initial cooking time without going gummy.

[theluckyr]

So! As Isaid I am OBSESSED with your idea, and I was wondering. What if the reader was taking care of them? Like yk, really good a cooking, checking up on them, etc. Like how would they react? If its not too much, which it probably is, it would be nice with everyone :) but if it is, which it probably is, just Yoru, Sage, Fade, Jett and Sova.

(Also please dont make it too romantic, just kinda like nice siblings :))

Sorry if its too long lol 💀

My very first request?! What a joy!

Comfort

Yoru

When y/n found out that his diet consisted of instant spicy ramen and energy drinks, they immediately hopped on the net searching for some recipe ideas.

So right when he enjoyed his usual meal, they quickly swapped his meal with their home cooked meal.

He was about to get angry until he noticed some piles of pots and pans on the kitchen sink (so you did make this yourself) , he decide to calmed down and grabbed the spoon to take a few bites.

His stoic expression doesn’t tell much but (y/n) was anxious for a feedback.

“So, how is it?”

“It’s good. You can have my ramen”

As you took a bite of the ramen that he made, you immediately went on a coughing fit. Turns out he put more chillies in his ramen. He had a good laugh for a few minutes before handing (y/n) some water.

Jett

Found herself bored all day, no work. Just stay in HQ all day. As she laying on the couch, y/n while take their apron off asks.

“What’s up with you, Jett?”

“Just bored, nothing else to do y’know. Ugh…..”

“I know something that could cheer you up”

“What?”

(y/n) head back to the kitchen and bring a plate of fresh hand rolled kimbap for her. Jett was surprised, she didn’t know that (y/n) could make some Korean food.

"It's not much, but i hope you like it" then (y/n) handed her a pair of chopsticks. When she tasted the kimbap, she quickly pulled (y/n) for a hug.

"It's fucking good, i want more!"

"I put the rest of them on a fridge and there’s kimchi as well"

“THERE’S KIMCHI TOO?!?!!??”

She thanked the universe for letting her not to work on that day.

Fade

Prowler is a manifestation from her own mind and not a lot of people greeted her other than to talk about work. It was no brainer that she needs a company.

So game night it is!

Or manicure

Or watching some movies while bundled up in a blankets

Or making a henna designs for (y/n)'s hands.

Basically every night is a fun night for these two

At first, she was very skeptical with (y/n)’s sudden attention and only to find out that one of their nightmares was seeing fade as a mere tool. To witness it first hand really made her realize that (y/n) genuinely cares about her.

So there are times that Fade would give her own ideas as well. It would be no surprise to see (y/n) and her playing a lot of card games or teaching (y/n) how to make people lose their composure in poker games.

On the good side, you have a coffee buddy every morning.

Sova

Sometimes he really missed having dinner with his family and some light conversations instead of having his casual dinner in solitude.

But right after he got back from practice, he heard some noise in the kitchen. He saw everyone were hand in hand helping (y/n) with dinner.

“Can somebody pass the salt?”

“Got you, Y/n”

“Brim, We need more bowls”

“Do we have enough utensils for this?”

“Is it too much seasoning?”

“It’s pretty balanced to me”

“Where’s the bread? You said it’s in the oven”

“Um…..I'm scraping the burnt parts on the bread?”

“What’s the perfect wine to pair with the food? Red or white?”

“Red and Get out of the kitchen, Chamber!”

When Sova asked what’s going, Sage while untying her apron she explained when (y/n) was trying some recipe but turns out the recipe is for 20 people. So Brim decided to hold a dinner party. Forced everyone to help (y/n) or no bonus pay. Sova was delighted and chimed in to help out as well.

After a few minutes of chaos, all of them finally sat down including (y/n). Brim thanked everyoe for making this happen and enjoyed the feast. Everyone really enjoyed the food that (y/n) made including Sova. To enjoy this warm atmosphere once again, was something he held dear to his heart and he really thanked (y/n) for this to happen.

Even someone warned (y/n) to be more careful next time which they replied "At least there's enough for everyone right?" Which made everyone laugh in glee. That night was beautiful.

[itwasthereaminuteago]

¦¦ The Deep Cut ¦¦

Rating: M

Pairing: Matt Murdock / gn Reader

Tags/Warnings: Blood, tears, ANGST, breakup, heartbreak, omg why did i write this, established relationship, 

Authors notes: my good dudes, I have no idea where this came from, I’m perfectly happy with no sad feels at all, this just came pouring out! Please reblog if you enjoyed it, and please comment if you would like a Part Two and if it should be filled with more ANGST or make it a fluffy resolution.

A03 Link

Part II - Lover, You Should Have Come Over

A crash followed by what sounded like someone half falling down the stairs was what jolted you from sleep.

"Matt?"

You leapt out of bed, following the groaning and scrabbling noises of the devil knocking almost everything off the kitchen counter trying to stay standing. You put the lights on and saw the drips of red on the floor behind him.

"Jesus," You lurched forward to support him, scanning his suit for tears as you guided him to sit down on the chair. You helped him lift off the mask, wet with blood that you hoped wasn't his own. You pushed his damp hair out of his eyes that were flickering back and forth. Holding the sides of his face gently in your hands, you checked him over. He had a slash on his brow and the skin around his eye below was pink and starting to puff up.

"I'm ok..." He wheezed, crumpling in the chair.

"Like fuck you are."

"Sh- should see the other guys..." He coughed, some blood leaking from his mouth, but from the burst lip or something internal you couldn't tell.

"I'll call Claire." You said, looking over at the oven clock. It was 3am.

He feebly put up his hand to grab your wrist as you stood to retrieve your phone. "No." He gulped for a breath. "It's nothing you can't handle, just... cuts and scrapes. I'm fine."

You were relieved in a way. He was relying far too much recently on Claire always being able to come running whenever, she had her own shit to deal with and you felt he was using her.

You gingerly unzipped his suit, carefully peeling it down until his was in just his shorts, revealing an assortment of imaginatively coloured bruises on his ribs. There was a deep looking gash on his left side that definitely took priority. You grabbed the well-stocked first aid kit and began cleaning away the mess of blood so you could see what you were doing. He took a sharp intake of breath as you disinfected the area and set about putting in a few stitches before applying a bandage. As you pulled it together it felt like a deeper cut was opening up inside you.

He leaned back in the chair, his breathing gradually slowing to a normal rate as you worked.

"Sweetheart, I don't know what I'd do without you."

You opened your mouth to say something. Nothing came.

He slept through until the afternoon. But you couldn't sleep, busying yourself tidying up the wreckage of stuff on the floor, wiping up blood, cleaning his suit with gritted teeth and your heart feeling like a lead weight in your chest. He couldn't hear it's heavy beat, he was out like a light. Somehow the thought of that made you hurt.

You rested on the couch with the bedroom door open so you could see and hear him. Hours passed as you just watched him sleep, the rise and fall of his chest, taking in every detail of his relaxed face.

When you saw he was waking up you took him a glass of water and a couple more painkillers.

"How are you feeling?" You asked as you checked his dressings.

He winced as he pushed himself to sit up in the bed, taking the glass from you. "Well, I'll survive. It's been worse, thank you for patching me up."

You scoffed. "Yeah, I know it's been worse, and it'll be worse again. When will you stop?"

He found himself surprised at your sudden change of tone, but it wasn't entirely unexpected.

"I'll stop when people like Wilson Fisk face the justice they deserve. You know that."

"But there are others out there, doing what you do! You act like the responsibility of the whole world is on your shoulders and that you have to do it all on your own but it's not and you don't. You're being reckless and it's going to get you killed."

He sighed. "I love this city, it needs me, and I have to protect it. And by doing that I can protect you..."

"But when does it end Matt, huh? When- when one night I'm waiting for you to stumble in and you just... don't? I can't take this anymore, it's like you're setting yourself up to be a martyr."

He huffed, incredulous.

"You can't even see it yourself Matty, everyone's yelling it in your face and you're just... you're not listening."

"You don't feel safe with me? Is that what you're saying? Do you want to leave? Is that it?"

You laughed bitterly, hating yourself for it, but you couldn't believe he didn't understand. If you were honest you didn't know if putting distance between you would be a wake up call or just serve to drive him further into darkness, but you couldn't take it anymore. He acted like this was just a graze he could slap a bandaid on and keep going when it was a gaping chasm of a wound, and it wasn't new, haemorrhaging old black blood. No matter how much you tried to hold it together it was much too deep, you just didn't have the strength any more. The stitches were ripping apart, blood flowing over your fingers and if you let it be it would start to fester with anger and resentment. You loved him too much for it to get that bad.

"Leave? Like it's a choice? I didn't choose to fall in love with you Matt, but here we are, I'm not choosing to go, you're making me go."

"You don't understand..." His voice was soft and quiet. After last night he just didn't have the strength to fight for you. This was the hardest thing you had ever done, but if you weren't kicking him when he was already down it would have been so much harder.

"I've been trying to! But I can't make it make sense. You're determined to save this city by destroying yourself."

He was shaking his head, his eyes shining with unshed tears. A force was pulling you to him, you wanted so badly to give over to it, to hold him in your arms and tell him to forget everything you just said. But you couldn't, you had to be cold. It was the only way.

"I love you." His voice cracked then, tears fell. "I need you, please..."

"I need you Matt, but I don't need... this." Your eyes stung and the lump in your throat wouldn't go when you swallowed, but you couldn't allow yourself to break. The deep cut was yawning wide open now, raw with fresh new pain pouring out of it.

"I called Foggy while you were sleeping. He knows. He's on his way." You shrugged on your coat. "Maybe when you've figured it out, let me know, but until then... please don't follow me, don't listen for me." You left your copy of his key on the bedside table.

"Sweetheart..." His heart was breaking. You didn't need heightened senses to be able to hear it falling to pieces around you.

"I'd say be careful but... I'm not sure there's any point."

As you turned towards the door Matt scrambled to get up, to come after you but the pain proved to be too much and he collapsed back on the bed. You screwed your eyes shut. Oh god. You could kiss it all away.

No.

"I can't- I can't do this without you!" You could hear his sobs but you wouldn't look at him.

The words were almost caught in your throat as you opened the door, uttered so quietly only he could ever hear them,

"You already are, Matt."

[cafedanslanuit]

♡   —   pairing: kazutora x reader

♡   —   summary: after a long day at work, you want nothing but to spend a calm night with your boyfriend. however, you have no idea this is the night were all his demons finally get the best of him.

♡   —   tags/warnings: female reader, angst, breakups, hurt feelings everywhere, mention on mental illnesses and nightmares, based on ben platt’s song ‘carefully’, mention of tora’s job in one of the future timelines.

♡   —   a/n: i enjoyed writing kazutora so. damn. much. also, i’m quite proud of this one and the small details i added~ thank you @ofoceansandtombstones​​ for being my lovely beta <3

♡   —  masterlist

And all this time you've had a gentle way of holding me

So could you please release me that way too?

— “carefully” by Ben Platt

“It’s open, come in!”

The first thing Kazutora sees when he opens the door of your apartment is you, kneeling on the kitchen floor and picking up pieces of a broken baking dish. Red sauce has splattered everywhere and his mind betrays him for a second, imagining an accident far worse than what has truly happened. He blinks twice and starts to notice the small details that finally slow down the fast beating of his heart. There are pieces of chicken breasts next to the open oven door and what he thinks are sliced carrots next to your right knee.

You hiss when you pick up a piece of the shattered glass, the sharp end pinching your finger. Kazutora comes back to his senses, widening his eyes as he realizes he’s just been standing there.

“Hey, let me. You’ll cut yourself,” he warns, walking up to you. Grabbing both your hands, he eases you into your feet and then guides you to the living room. “I’ll take care of it,” he promises as he goes back to the kitchen and starts cleaning up the mess.

You let yourself fall on the sofa with a loud thud and let out an exasperated sigh.

“I just had the most awful day,” you whine, taking off your apron and leaving it on the arm of the sofa.  “Work was hell, I got scolded by something that I didn’t do— like always, only this time my boss was all like: ‘You gotta be more careful, we wouldn’t want to lose such a valuable employee’. Like he was going to fire me over someone else’s mistake?!”

Your voice is getting louder by the minute and you take advantage of the fact Kazutora is in another room to keep the volume. You have been waiting the entire day to see him and vent about what a trainwreck you day had been. Just as always, he listens intently, the only noise coming from the kitchen being a soft scraping sound as he picks up everything and throws it to the trash. 

“Then, I went to the store and of course they had run out of basil. Tell me, how does a store that big run out of basil?” you ask. There’s no answer from the kitchen so you continue. “I mean, yeah, I could have gone to another store but my feet were killing me. I’m just not meant to work in heels the entire day,” you sigh tiredly, swinging your feet.

You reposition yourself, now sitting cross-legged on the sofa. Putting your right hand on your left shoulder, you stretch your neck, feeling your sore muscles releasing a bit of tension with a small ‘pop’.

“I ended up preparing something entirely different than I had planned for dinner. I tried to let it go but just as I was going to put it in the oven, it slipped my hands and—”

“I think we should break up.”

Words die in your lips the moment you listen to your boyfriend speak. The silence becomes loud and abrasive as you struggle to understand what was happening. Why was Kazutora breaking up with you with such a small voice? What had triggered him to come to that conclusion? Why had he decided to bring it up now? You turn your head to the kitchen door and watch him slowly make his way towards you, doubtful steps as he takes a seat on the other side of the sofa, avoiding your eyes at all costs.

“What?” you ask, your voice hoarse. His lips form a tight line and you see him swallowing nervously.

“I’m not doing okay— haven’t been for a while. I— it’s been two years since I left prison and I still haven’t— I don’t— I don’t know what I’m doing,” he explains, looking down at his hands.

You nod slowly, trying to comprehend where he’s coming from. Turning your body towards him, you take a deep breath before speaking.

“It’s okay not to know,” you assure him in a soft voice. “Just… take it slow. One day at a time and then I’m sure you’ll—”

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” Kazutora confesses and you notice his voice wavering a little. “I— I keep having nightmares about— about that day and— and also about the motorcycle shop. Those two mix up and…” he takes one of his hands to the side of his head, his fingers grazing his temple. “And I’m hitting Baji in the head. And there’s so much blood— so, so much blood and—”

Leaning forward, you take his hands. They’re shaking and extremely cold and you rub your thumb over his knuckles, trying your best to soothe him.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now, Tora, you’re—”

Kazutora pulls his hands away hastily, leaving a tingling sensation on your palms.

“I can’t!” he says as he shakes his head. You spend a moment looking at your empty hands, never before having felt your boyfriend’s rejection. “I feel like I’m drowning and— You know what? I think relationships just aren’t for me,” he shrugs, his hands moving in exaggerated gestures. “That’s why I never cared for dating, never got myself involved in that kind of shit, not until—”

He finally looks at you and, fuck, you wish he didn’t. You’re not sure if you have the strength to deal with such hurtful discourse. You lick your lips and take yet another deep breath, deciding to ignore his hurtful remark.

“I’m… so sorry you’re feeling this way,” you say, slowing down your words, trying your best not to show how hurt you were. This isn’t him, you tell yourself. So no need for that tightness in your throat. “But you have to understand it’s not because of me. It’s because of everything that you’ve gone through and how hard it’s to deal with them. I don’t blame you, it is hard. But this… us,” you gesture to the both of you. “This is a good thing. Despite all the pain and hurt we’ve both been through, we—”

“Please, stop,” he says, raising his hand and pressing his eyelids together. “I can’t be with you anymore. That’s it, that’s all—”

“So you don’t love me anymore?” you counter. You scoff in disbelief, shaking your head. Kazutora’s eyes shoot open and you notice his pupils shaking in fear, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I love you,” he breathes out, and for a moment you see the boy you fell in love with in his amber eyes that are quickly filling with tears. “I do love you but it’s killing me. I feel like I’m dying,” he chokes out. He looks away from you once more and starts tugging at his fingers. “I’m rotting inside and I don’t know what to do to make it better. I just want it to stop. I want it to stop and— I don’t want you around when I’m like this. I want to figure out what the hell is happening and—”

“But if you love me and I love you then why—”

“I’m not happy with you!”

Kazutora widens his eyes, scared by his loud outburst. He parts his lips, silently muttering nonsense as he tries to come up with words that can make it better. You lower your head and he wants to punch himself over it. He doesn’t want to make you cry, not after everything you’ve done for him. Is he really going to be the person that hurt the one that made a home for him in her embrace? Is he going to hurt the only person that was brave enough to pick up the pieces of his shattered soul?

“I’m…” he babbles, in a soft voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

You snort. “No, you really did mean it, Tora.”

He can sense the hurt and sadness in your voice, even if now you’re the one that won’t look at him. He watches helplessly as you stand up and walk towards the living room window in complete silence. The apron you took off is still on the couch and the vast memories of all the times he embraced you while you were wearing it quickly fill his mind.

He wishes there was a way he could keep you. But no matter how much he wants to, he knows there really is no other way. He’s thought about this countless times. He has gone to work without getting proper sleep, stared at his blank tv screen for hours on end, trying to come up with a plan where he could keep you. Was staying with the person he loved the most too much to ask?

No matter in how many shades of light or with how much care he handled the memory of you, the only way he could spare you the greatest amount of pain was to leave you— even if he knew he’d end up shattering your heart as well.

Kazutora notices the way your fingers tightly close around the edge of the window, your knuckles turning white. He had come to terms that he’d lose you today, yet he never expected for it to be this way. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. If hating him would mend your wounds faster, then he’d take it. Anything that would make the heartache he was causing you a little bit lighter. He knew you were the last person on Earth that deserved to go to bed carrying that much pain in her soul.

Looking out the window, you focus on a small girl walking her dog on the street. It’s a brown labrador and by the size of it, it’s barely a puppy. Rather than walk, it jumps on its four legs, his little head looking back at the girl every chance he has as he happily wags his tail. The pet shop Kazutora and Chifuyu work at immediately comes to mind. Would it be like this from now on? Small things eliciting memories of your days together without your consent and leaving a sour taste in your mouth?

You will need to find a new commute, you think, as you had been stopping by the pet shop on your way home for the past year. Is there another bus that you could take? As you try to remember the lines and their respective routes, you’re engulfed by the memory of the first time Kazutora dozed off with his head resting on your shoulder as you rode the bus together. You close your eyes and you can clearly see his peaceful expression and slightly parted lips as he slept, his fingers tightly intertwined with yours. His breathing is slow and his hands are cold and you wish you could go back, even for a minute and place a kiss on top of his head, since you wouldn’t be able to do so from now on.

Where exactly had you failed? You had just been complaining about your day when he dropped the bomb. Did you complain too much? Did you talk too much? Or was it you the one that was too much? You tried your best and supported him as much as you could but as it turns out, it hadn’t been enough. Good intentions were nothing but useless as you were now saying goodbye to the man you had loved the most.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt Kazutora’s cold knuckles against your cheek, wiping your tears. You gasp, startled by his touch and take a couple steps back until your back hits the wall. It takes a few seconds for him to bring his hand now, unsure on what to do next.

He looks so scared and small— it fills your heart with frustration. Your whole body is screaming to take a step forward and comfort him, cradle him in your arms like so many times before, assure him he’s safe with you and that he doesn’t have to worry anymore. That, if you can still go home to each other at the end of a bad day, you can take anything life throws at you.

But that’s the thing. You’re not each other’s home anymore. You don’t get to bury your face in his neck and hum happily when his perfume reaches your nose. You don’t get to have him take a nap on your lap as you watch a series or feel his lips ghost against yours seconds before colliding in a kiss.

You hate it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking down at his feet. “Please, don’t cry.”

“You know what, Kazutora?” you say, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. You taste venom in your words, yet that doesn’t stop you. “If you’re not happy with me, then what are you doing here?”

He flinches at your words. Biting his inner cheek, he nods, still incapable of holding your gaze.

“Yeah, okay,” he mutters. “I’ll go. I really am sorry.”

Kazutora turns on his heel, walking towards the door. Maybe it’s the way you know he’s not coming back this time that makes your desperation afloat. You don’t want him to go and you also know you can’t make him stay. And even if somehow you could find a way to keep him by your side, it would be worthless.

He’s just not happy with you.

“Are you happy somewhere else, though?” you ask, your words leaving your mouth before your head has time to process them. He stumbles on his feet and stops. “Because if you just can’t manage to be happy, then it’s not on me.”

Kazutora doesn’t have to turn for you to know he’s second guessing himself. The next seconds feel like years as he just stands there, mid-way to the front door, thoughts so messy and loud you can almost hear them.

“That doesn’t matter,” he finally says with his back to you. He closes his fists and you see his shoulders rising and falling as he takes a deep breath. “This way you don’t have to deal with... with the mess I am and—”

“Oh, please, I knew what I was getting into when I started dating an ex-convict.”

The weight of your words fall onto you the moment they leave your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, muttering a curse. It takes no time for you to walk towards Kazutora, standing between him and the door.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Tora, I didn’t— you know I didn’t mean it that way. Fuck, I’m so sorry,” you whimper, tears flowing free down your cheeks. Your wave your shaky hands, desperate to make your point across. “I just wanted to say I knew things would be difficult but I loved you— I love you and I—”

Kazutora shakes his head, a gentle yet sad smile on his face as he takes your hands in his. He holds them in front of his chest, squeezing them gently as they don’t stop trembling.

“Stop, it’s okay,” he assures you. “That’s what I am.”

“It’s not,” you protest. “I mean— yeah, but you’re more than that. You’re so much more than that. You’re caring, you’re noble— you’re so tender with the animals at your shop. You’re so sweet with me, always checking if I’ve eaten and offering to help me out if I have chores I need to do. You always come pick me up if I’m working late. You— you’re so fucking special to me.”

Kazutora’s lips form a tight line. “I wish I could see that,” he whispers.

“Then just— let me try. Let me try until you can look at yourself the way I do,” you almost beg. You let go of the hold he has on your hands to gently cradle his face. “I’ll do anything, but... don’t patronize me. I’m not a little girl. Whatever life throws at me, I’ve always been able to handle it. No— we’ll handle it. Together. Like it’s always been, you and me, I just— please, I don’t want you to go,” you cry. “We were going to be happy together, you were going to live with me and I’d give you half my drawers and half my closet and half… half everything. Please, don’t go. Don’t go, Tora.”

The sadness in his amber eyes only confirms what you’ve been fearing this whole time. You sob, your thumbs softly stroking his cheeks as you feel the world crumbling around you. This time, he doesn’t stop you, letting you cry as you hold his face, coming to terms with the fact he’s really leaving after all.

Your hands move to his hair, gently threading your fingers across his long, dark locks. Tracing the outline of his face, you push one of the dyed streaks away, only for it to fall back right where it was before. You can’t help the small smile that forms on your lips. He’s so pretty, you think, as the pads of your fingers gently caress his face. Your thumb grazes the space between his bottom lip and his chin and you dream of a world when he’s not saying goodbye, but rather falling asleep under your touch on your shared bed. You never knew loving someone as much as you loved him was possible-- yet the way your heart was crumbling in pieces was evidence of how much your soul was aching by being separated from the person it belonged to.

Sniffling, you rub your cheek against your shoulder to wipe your tears. You swallow before raising another question.

“Is this a… temporary thing? Or for good?” Your voice comes out in a whisper as you place down your hands on his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he answers. He wants nothing more than to put his arms around your body like so many times before, but he’s aware that it will only make things more difficult. “But I don’t want to keep you waiting in vain. You should move on.”

Kazutora realizes how much he hates the idea as it leaves his lips. The idea of you starting over with someone else rots in his tongue. He doesn’t want you to hold anyone’s face the way you were just holding his. He wants to keep you all to himself, to go to endless visits to the grocery shop, to watch you fall asleep during movie night and then pretend you didn’t, to massage your hands as you tell him about his day.

But you don’t deserve the guck that’s forming inside his mind. He knows it’s only a matter of time before it comes out pouring and reaches you. And he’ll be damned if he lets himself ruin the one good thing he’s had in his life for many years. He promised to himself he wouldn’t let his ill state of mind touch his loved ones. Never again.

He watches you nod and feels his heart shattering, even if everything is going just the way he intended. You rub his shoulders and look into his eyes, a sad smile on the pretty lips he would never get to kiss again.

“Okay,” you sigh. “We’ll end this but… when you leave, never doubt how loved you were. No— how loved you are. I don’t know what is coming for either of us but… I do know a part of my heart will always belong to you, no matter who I hold hands with. I will always love you, Tora.”

Your words are enough to finally break him. Kazutora clutches your body tightly against him as he loudly sobs against your shoulder. You hold him, tears flowing free once again as you try and soothe the man you love, leaving small kisses on the side of his head and whispering soft reassurances that it’s okay. It’s not, you tell yourself. It’s never going to be okay. But it has to be.

Carefully, you move him back to the sofa, helping him sit down while he refuses to let go of his hold on your body. You lean on the back pillows, both your arms cradling him while he whimpers like a small child. Kazutora clutches the fabric of your sweater with desperation, wishing there was a way he could stay with you.

Why does he have to give up the person that had put a smile back on his face? He can’t quite remember a time when his stomach had hurt out of laughter before he ever met you. Or when he’d experienced such peace as the night he stayed at your apartment and got to see your sleeping face first thing in the morning. He’s never loved anyone as much as he loves you and, for all he knows, he may never love like this again. 

But he could never risk tainting you. He would never be able to forgive himself.

Kazutora softly pulls away from your embrace. His eyes are blotchy and red and you’re sure yours look the same or even worse. His nose is red, like it always does when he cries. It’s endearing, you think. Everything about him, from his hair, to his eyes, his hands— you’ve come to love every part of Kazutora. And that’s exactly why it’s so hard to let him go.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says in a whisper, resting the side of his head on the back pillows of the sofa.

“Like what?” you ask, gently pushing his hair away from his face and behind his ear.

“Like I matter to you. Like I’m making a huge mistake.”

You take a deep breath. Imitating him, you rest your head on the back pillows as well, so you’re both facing each other.

“I don’t— I don’t fully understand what you’re going through,” you admit, your eyes locked on his. “But if you need to… get away, then you should. You’ve been nothing but loving to me. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy, whether it’s with me or not. You deserve to fully experience all the beautiful things life has to offer.”

Silent tears fall from both your cheeks and his.

“I should be thankful I got to love you for this whole year. Because even if it ends this way… God, I loved you so much,” you sniffle, letting out a small laugh. “And I felt so loved. Isn’t that magical in itself? That we got to love each other at the same time?” you wonder with a sad smile.

Kazutora parts his lips, yet the doorbell interrupts him before he can even speak. You look at the front door, your eyebrows furrowing for a moment before you realize who’s probably there.

“Food’s here,” you say, wiping the tears from your face.

“Food?” Kazutora asks, confused.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Didn’t I tell you? The baking dish broke so I called that restaurant, the one with the burgers we like.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t really listening back then,” he admits with a pang of guilt. He sits up on the couch and turns his head at you. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

You sit up as well. “I ordered for the two of us. C’mon, stay for dinner. Let’s… remember us this way, okay? Without so many tears and sadness,” you offer, tilting your head towards him. “I even ordered your favourite one.”

Kazutora rubs his face with his sleeve, erasing the trail of the tears he just shed. Looking at you, he nods, drawing a small smile on his lips.

“Okay. I’ll get it.”

He only walks a few steps towards the door before he feels you tugging at the back of his shirt. Turning around, he notices you’re standing right behind him. Your eyes look up to him, biting your bottom lip and not even a ghost of the smile you previously offered him.

“Before that, uh— I want you to know I… I mean it,” you firmly say, taking in all his facial features, loving how they soften every time he looks at you. “I’ll always love you. No matter how many years go by or if I ever stop being in love with you— I’ll still love you.”

“I’ll always love you too,” he replies, taking your hand and squeezing it softly. “I don’t think I could stop even if I wanted to.”

You finally let out a soft chuckle and squeeze his hand back. The doorbell rings again and you walk around Kazutora to get to it. This time, he’s the one that stops you, not letting go of the hold of your hand. Looking back at him, you notice the soft pout in his lips and how they softly tremble, looming more tears.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, and you know you’re saying it to yourself as well. “Who knows, we might get together again someday. Have our own Casablanca moment. We’ll always have the pet shop,” you joke, trying to fight back to tears that threaten to fill your eyes as well.

It’s Kazutora’s turn to chuckle, only this time he does it along with you. You let go of his hand only to hold his face tenderly, a soft smile as you look at the man you love. Standing on your tiptoes, you press your lips against the beauty mark under his right eye. You feel his hands setting on the small of your back and watch his smile widen when you fall back on your heels.

Locking your fingers with him once more, you open the door.

[ineffablecooking]

Ineffable Cooking Presents:

Lavender Thyme Cake w/ Lemon Glaze 🍰🌿🍋💜

From Garden Project

By Snae_b

So clearly I have a thing for lavender as this is my second lavender dessert. So when I saw it in Garden Project, I knew what my next project was.

Thyme is fragrant and awesome in food. And I was eager to see how it would do with lavender in a dessert food. Ultimately there was a lot of lemon zest because I knew it would taste really good with the thyme and lavender and I was right. It was amazing. This cake is all about the sugar. That's how these flavors are incorporated into its ultimate tastyness.

Thyme Lavender Sugar

Lavender Sugar

Set 1 Tbsp. lavender. Grind and comine with 2 cups of sugar. Use this to make some lavender sugar for topping.

Cake part:

½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature

1½ cups all-purpose flour

¾ teaspoon kosher salt

¾ teaspoon baking powder

¼ teaspoon baking soda

2 teaspoons lavender

A lot of thyme. However many you can tolerate de-stemming

2 cup sugar

2 tablespoons lemon zest

2 large eggs, room temperature

½ cup milk

3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Directions (suggestions):

Preheat oven to 350°. I used a Bundt pan for this and greased with cooking spray.

Whisk flour, salt, baking powder, and baking soda in a medium bowl; set aside.

Place sugar, lavender, and all that thyme you exerted a fuck ton of effort extracting from the stems (unless there's some tik Tok trick Idk about), and lemon zest in a food processor. Pulse until lavender is finely chopped.

Using an electric mixer (or whatever you use)beat lavender-thyme sugar and ½ cup butter in a large bowl until very light and fluffy, 5–7 minutes (don’t shortchange yourself here; the long beating time aerates the cake and yields the finest texture).

Add eggs one at a time, beating to blend after each addition and scraping down sides and bottom of bowl as needed.

Combine milk and lemon juice in a small bowl (we're making buttermilk).

Reduce speed to low and add dry ingredients to lavender-thyme sugar mixture in 3 additions, alternating with buttermilk mixture in 2 additions, beginning and ending with dry ingredients.

Stop mixer just before all dry ingredients are incorporated and finish mixing by hand, a guarantee against overmixing the batter, which can cause the cake to be tough. Scrape batter into prepared pan and smooth top with a spatula.

Bake cake until a tester inserted into the center comes out clean, 55–65 minutes. Transfer pan to a wire rack; let cake cool in pan 20 minutes before turning out and peeling off parchment. Let cool completely.

Lemon Marscarpone Glaze

The story called for lemon verbana cream. I would have had to grow my own lemons to achieve this. Since I wanted to get this recipe done within the next 5 years, I used a Iemon marscarpone glaze.

4oz. Mascarpone cheese, softened

2 cups powdered sugar

1 teaspoon can sub pure vanilla extract

4 tablespoons lemon zest

4 tablespoons of milk Tablespoons whole milk (adjust to whatever consistency works for work)

Throw it all in a bowl and mix. Then put it on the cake.

Topping

Lavender Sugar

Sprinkle some on the cake.

Edible Flowers

Are these edible? Probably not. But for the purposes of meeting the story requirements we're gonna do it for the photo.

I was so surprised and delighted by this! If you're a person that grows their own thyme or wants to try something new I definitely recommend this. It was earthy and sweet and light and wonderful 💕

I can't wait to make this again (the marscarpone cream set this off. Holy shit🤤❤️)

It was also really easy to make. If I was a certain new Anthropology Professor wondering if I was on a date with a Botany Professor, this is what I imagine the cake they made would taste like!😇😈

[hollandsmushroom]

Cum and Cookie Dough

Synopsis: Late night sloppy and sweet encounters. 

Masterlist

Send Me A Request

Word Count: 2,841

(Not my Gif)

Your phone brought you out of your sleep, its constant buzz for the past few minutes on your night stand, reaching out. The first thing you saw was the time, in big white text it said '3 A.M.' Below that was the contact photo of your boyfriend. You swiped across, answering the call and bringing it up to your ear.

"Why are you calling at 3 a.m?" You groaned, scrubbing a fist into your eye to try and remove the sleepy fog.

"Can I come over?" Cals shockingly perky voice responded.

"I mean, I guess, I'm fucking tired though, and I look terrible, why do you wanna come over?"

"I just wanna see my baby, is that illegal? And I'm sure you look stunning" You mumbled a no in response to the first question, although it was rhetorical, a blush spreading on your cheeks at the compliment. You listened to the silence before You heard a door click closed in the background of the call, alerting you to the fact that he was already getting in his car. "Can we bake cookies?"

"Sure, I'll get the stuff ready" you mumbled, pulling back the covers and shaking your head, trying to wake yourself up. "I'll see you when you get here, love you, bubba" you hummed

"I love you too, Bubbaloo" he responded in a sing-song voice before hanging up.

Your bare feet slid against the cool hard wood, sending a shiver up your body causing goosebumps to spread on your skin, you suddenly missed the comfort of your bed but you were excited to see your boy in a couple minutes.

Stepping into your kitchen you opened the cabinets, grabbing the ingredients for gooey chocolate chip cookies and setting them out on the counter and setting the oven to preheat. You put the kettle on to boil, digging through your cabinets to find your most caffeinated tea, knowing how Cal was and that you were not going to sleep for a long time. As you waited for the water to boil you started to doze off where you stood.

The click off of the kettle brings you back to the world, tearing the tea sachet open and putting it in the cup, pouring the boiling water over it tugging on the tab, watching as the water changed to a darker color as it sloshed softly at the side of the mug.

The sound of knuckles on wood made its way to your ears, shaking your head to perk yourself up again as you reached to the door handle, flipping the lock and opening the door, on the other side stood your boyfriend, loose sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a plain black tee shirt gracing his toned torso. You were wearing one of his shirts that you had stolen months ago and a small pair of sleep shorts, nothing underneath either piece. His soft chocolate eyes drank in your appearance before stepping over the threshold and engulfing you in his muscular arms. His lips met yours messily, sleep evident in both your beings. He pulled back, breath fanning across your face, brushing the hair out of your eyes.

"I've never seen anything more beautiful," he mumbled making you smile and giggle softly holding him close. The oven beeps from the kitchen alerting you to the fact it was now preheated.

"Ooh, the oven is ready!" He spoke excitedly, pulling your hand and guiding you to the kitchen.

"Here is the recipe," you giggled at his childlike demeanor, handing him the cookbook that you had set out earlier. The two of you began to bake, you chose to measure the ingredients because you didn’t trust him to do it right and him sifting them altogether in the bowl. When it came time to mix the wet ingredients in with the dry you put your hands in the bowl as Cal chose to stand behind you, hands slipping under your shirt and cupping your breasts as you worked. You moaned softly at his cold rings on your hot flesh, but the moan got louder as he tweaked your nipples between his fingers, lips going to your neck and sucking gently at the skin, you knew that he was going to leave marks but you were enjoying it too much to tell him to stop. You felt his teeth scrape over the marks he had just made as you started to form the dough into balls and place them on the baking sheet. 

“Cal” you groaned as his hand slid down your body and into the front of your short, dipping the calloused tips of his fingers into your rapidly dampening heat, he began to rub slow circles on your clit, your knees buckled under you as you gripped the counter, but Cal took your hand, sucking your fingers clean of all the cookie dough, his mouth was warm and wet, his teeth gently bumping into your knuckles, a slight pain rapidly soothed but the gentle suck of his mouth. You imagined it must be how his cock feels in your mouth. He took your fingers from your mouth, his lips returning to your neck, biting your earlobe. 

“You gonna cum? You gonna cum on nothing as my fingers grind your clit, let it drip down your leg?” 

“Fuck, Cal!” you screamed, as he ground his bulge into your ass, sucking harshly on your sweet spot and moving faster against your clit, your orgasm rapidly building. “Cal, more” you needed just a little more to send you over the edge and he immediately obliged, his free hand sneaking back underneath your shirt and tuggin on your nippled, rolling it between his fingertips and that was it for you, you came with a scream, your fingers gripping on to the counter as your legs shook, Cals hand between your thighs held you up as your legs couldn’t. Your abs clenched, body lurching slightly forward as his rough fingers kept you at a high for longer than you thought you could. 

“Cal, fuck, Cal” you spat out as you finally came down from your high, your breath coming in pants. Cal took his fingers from your pussy, they glistened with arousal in the low kitchen light, catching your eye, you watched his movements intensely.  He reached for the cookie dough bowl, scooping the final bit of leftover dough onto his two fingers and splitting them apart, cum and cookie dough on each finger. He brought one finger to his own mouth, sucking it clean and releasing a satisfied noise before offering you his other finger which you gladly accepted. It tasted of chocolate and sugar but there was the slight tang of your cum mixed in with the uncooked ingredients. 

You turned around in Cal’s arms, looking him in the eye as you felt his dick press against you, you felt the need to have him, nearly insatiable, the way his pubes tickled the tip of your nose and how soft he felt in your mouth. You held up a finger, signalling him to give you a moment as you slipped from his grasp. Grabbing the baking sheets and placing them in the intensely hot oven before turning back to your wonderfully horny boyfriend who had jumped up and was now sitting on the counter, legs spread and bulge evident as his eyes devoured every inch of you, the rapidly darkening marks on your neck that he had given you, the glisten on your thighs from where you had began to drip, god it all made him want you more. You positioned yourself between his thighs, nails scraping along his sweatpants covered thighs as you got nearer his cock. You looked up at him from between his thighs, eyeing his lip caught between his teeth, holding in moans that built in his throat. You stood up, his face covered with confusion as you tugged his lip from between his teeth. 

“I wanna hear you moan, baby” you whisper, your eyes boring into his, leaning in to kiss him gently, eyelids fluttering closed as your lips meet. “Never hold back again, okay?” you hum as you fell back down so you were mouth level with his cock. You felt the heat radiating off of the warm ove, the cookies baking inside releasing a delicious smell but all you could think about was Cals cock in your mouth. You ran your hand over his bulge, a small whimper coming from the back of his throat at the tender touch. You bit him gently through the cloth, eliciting a moan from him, encouraging you to do more. You reached for his waistband hooking your fingers and pulling down, letting his cock spring free in front of you. Reaching for his hard on, you traced a gentle line up one side, following the pattern of his veins before getting to the tip, you felt as he squirmed under your touch. Without warning you took him into your mouth, tongue swirling around the tip before you went deeper, his tip touched the back of your throat causing you to gag, the sudden contraction of your throat around him made his hips buck upwards, cock going even further down your throat. Your fingernails dug into his hip bone as you saturated to bob your head up and down, his dick hitting the back of your throat with every downward movement. 

“Fuck, Y/n you feel so good, so fucking good,” he moaned, his head falling back and hitting the cabinet, but he didn’t care, his fingers going through your hair. You felt him twitch against your tongue, alerting you to the fact that he was close to cumming. You pulled back, wiping the built up spit from around your lips and look at Calum through your eyelashes. 

“I want you to cum in my pussy” you groaned.

“I want that as well” Calum hummed and just as he was slipping off the counter and grabbing your waist you jumped back. 

“FUCK” you screamed making Cal freakout

“What? Are you okay? What happ-”

“The cookies!” you yell grabbing the oven mits and opening the oven, a cloud of smoke exiting the oven and tainting your vision. You reached in once you could see well enough and pulled the tray of charred treats out. 

“Did you set it on fire?” Cal asked, trying to look over your shoulder. 

“No, they aren’t on fire, they are just burnt to all hell,” you mumble, greatly disappointed at your failed baking endeavor, “Also it wouldn’t have just been me who set them on fire, this” you gestured between the both of you and then to the cookies “was a team effort.” Calum laughed as you set the cookies down, turning the oven off. His hands found your waist, squeezing your hips and pulling upwards signaling for you to jump, which you did. 

“I can think of another team effort I want to do with you” he spoke, leaning into your lips.

“That wasn’t as hot as you thought it was but I love you anyway” you giggle, crashing your lips to his swollen pink ones. His hands on your ass, squeezing the supple flesh and holding you tight to his chest, he walked you both to your bedroom, never leaving from the fight between lips, teeth, and wandering hands. 

The both of you fell onto the bed, Calum hovering over you as his lips stayed on yours, fingers slipping underneath the fabric of your shirt and pulling it up to just above your breast, as soon as the mounds of flesh were uncovered he ducked his head down and took a nipple into his mouth while you finished removing your shirt, as well as awkwardly wiggling out of your shorts, while treasuring the feeling of his lips sucking your pebbled nipples. He pulled back, taking in your naked state, his cock somehow getting even harder as he took in your swollen lips, dazed eyes, and hickey covered neck. He quickly removed his pants, leaving him in just his shirt and you couldn’t help but think of Winnie to Pooh, you giggled as his eyes looked at you to as if he was asking what was funny but instead of answering you stuck your foot out, bunching the fabric between your toes and pulling upwards, effectively removing his shirt from his body. 

“I didn’t know you could do that” he mumbled as he leaned down reattaching your lips with his. 

“I am full of surprises” you mumbled against his full lips. You felt his cock press between your lips, the head teasing your entrance and a moan escaped your lips. His hips eased slowly till you were hip bone to hip bone, every inch of his cock sheathed inside of you, you could practically feel his cock pulsing against your walls as you clenched around him. 

“Fuck, baby, so warm and wet,” he groaned against the shell of you ear as he drew his hips back before pushing forward and into you again. It almost felt like it was too much, how his skin felt slick with sweat as his body gilded against yours, how hot his breath felt, how your walls stretched around him as he pulled in and out of you. You felt like you were on fire, every nerve in your body aware of his gentle touch as he continued to thrust, a familiar heat developing in the bottom of your belly, right where it met his, where your gentle flesh touched. Your toes curled as you dragged your nails down Calum’s back. 

His hands explored your body, running up and down, feeling every curve and bump of your soft body beneath him, there was exhaustion on your tongue and the faintest taste of cookie dough. He felt your nipples rub against his chest, their hardness tugging against his taught flesh as he felt muscles in his lower belly clench. 

“Baby, I’m close” he hummed, continuing to thrust in and out of you, his rate picking up ever so slightly as he felt your pussy clench around him more rapidly. 

“Cum with me, Cal,” you cried as you arched your back into his chest, your fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of Cal’s neck. You felt Cal cum within you, it felt warm and in an odd way comforting, you felt closer than you had ever been. After you had both rode out your highs Cal rolled off of you, both of you in silence as you caught your breath.

As you both lay exhausted in your bed, the smell of burnt cookies still wafting throughout your house but it mostly reeked of sex now. Reaching out you intertwined your hand with Calum’s, turning your head to look at him and finding him already looking at you. 

“Hold my hand and don’t let go” he said in nearly a whisper, squeezing your fingers between his.

“I'm going to have to go to the bathroom at some point, Cal” you giggled, his face mocking extreme hurt. 

“Why can’t you promise me forever?” he cried dramatically, pulling you into his chest and laying on leg over both of yours so you were fully engulfed in his embrace. You laughed at his dramatic antics, enjoying simply existing with him. His fingers traced up and down your back gently soothing you into a nearly asleep state. 

“Baby,” Cal whispered into your hair and you hummed in response. “We have to get ready for bed” he reminded you, pulling you up into a sitting position. You nodded your head slightly before standing up, reaching out for Cal and he grabbed your hand standing with you. You stood in front of the mirror when the dark marks on your neck caught your eye.

“CAL!!” you shouted as you spun to look at him, your hand on your neck touching the tender flesh with the tips of your fingers. 

“Yes babe?” he asked sheepishly, as though he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“How am I supposed to cover these up? There are so many of them and they are so dark!” You exclaimed, slightly exasperated but also very entertained. 

“I'm sure you will figure out a way” he spoke, wrapping his arms around you, continuing to look at your reflection in the mirror. 

“So when can I see you again?” he grinned at you through the mirror, you turned around to meet his gaze, raising your hand and covering his eyes with your palm.

“Right now.” you giggled as you pulled your hand away causing him to laugh at your childish antics. You finished brushing your teeth in silence, Calum using the toothbrush that he kept at yours, the occasional glance to one another making you both smile widely. Once you were both ready, you wandered back to your bed, the sun peeking from beneath the curtains as you finally settled down, falling asleep in each others arms right as the world began to wake up.

Hope yall enjoyed!

@major5sosstan​