#and i can bake more than just carrot cake | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bunny-jpeg · 5 months ago

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hi my love! love your works. can i have a slice of carrot cake with some tiramisu with a side of a vodka shot for carlos sainz? thanks so much

bakery menu

want to order your own treat? then check out the menu! we're always baking up smiles and accept orders from fandoms other than f1 (like call of duty, bg3, or you can suggest one of your own)! the bakery is for your enjoyment, so please check out the menu! as for this one, i thought it was interesting because i feel like this alluded to oral sex, which i don't get a lot of. so this was fun to write! so thank you for the order and enjoy! <3

carrot cake ("swallow it. all of it.") + tiramisu (“my little slut to ruin.”) + shot of vodka (rough sex) served by carlos sainz jr (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, (rough) oral sex (carlos receiving), dirty talk, degrading language, dom!carlos

when asked the question, tits or ass, carlos would always respond with, "mouth." now mouth wasn't one of the options, but he picked it anyway. he could go without tits and ass if it meant having a pair of pretty lips around his achy cock.

sure pillow-y tits were nice to fuck and it was a sight to see a pretty ass bounce on his cock. but to see his beloved girlfriend on her knees, those pretty eyes gleaming up at him as you took his entire length in your mouth. now, that was better than any tits or ass!

when carlos got your mouth on him, he loved it rough. he loved when his sweet little girlfriend took his cock so pretty. it made something surge in him as he held onto your head and thrust his cock into your mouth.

your pretty lips around the length, sometimes hitting right to the base. your nose in his pubic hair as you drooled all over yourself. he always tried to get a photo of you in that position, but always ended up so lost in the pleasure that he never did.

maybe carlos did have a fetish for your lips. even went as far as to help put on your lipstick for an event with ferrari. your chin in one hand while his other hand worked to get the make up on.

you looked angelic. like a gift from the heavens to him. it made his heart leapt and it lingered on his mind for the rest of the event. at one point he saw you sip a coke zero through a straw and it made him almost bite his first in frustration.

he liked long lasting wear, in dark colours. nothing too unnatural, but in all fairness you could choose how you wanted to look. if you wanted neon pink lipstick, then by all means go at it. but when wrapped around his cock, he liked a good plum colour.

at the event you were wearing a dark red, which he thought you looked beautiful in. even more beautiful when you got home and undressed.

you got on your knees in front of the bed you shared almost every night and kissed at his cock. a few lipstick marks got onto his erection, which made his stomach twist into knots as he held your hair and guided your mouth onto his cock.

“my little slut to ruin.” he said lowly, "my beautiful, beautiful little slut, you knew what you were doing when you chose that colour." he sank his cock into your throat and rocked against you.

you felt like a dream around his cock, as you gazed up at him as you took it almost to the root. you were painfully beautiful, the woman he wanted to be with forever.

you rocked your head against him and felt a bead of sweat down your neck. the room felt hotter as your cheeks heated up. you took him like a champ.

"so beautiful, my beautiful little slut. i love the sight of you on your knees. you are so painfully pretty on your knees." he groaned as he continued to move your head up and down his cock.

you whimpered around his cock and it made his heart flutter.

"i love you so much. i wonder how the others would feel if they saw you like this. on your knees for me, letting me fuck that sweet throat of yours." he groaned as he moved your head faster.

his cock hit the back of your throat and it made your head swim. you were just so painfully adorable. he sang dirty praises as he bulled his cock into your throat.

you whined and whimpers as your nose buried into his pubic hair, you felt the heat in your body. you clawed at his thighs and felt the heart flutter in your chest.

"pretty girl."

you closed your eyes and let him move you to his liking. you took in the sounds of his praise as you rubbed your thighs together.

"swallow it. all of it. you'll be good for me and take it all?" he said, his voice steady but had a bit of gentleness to it, "i know you can, my love." he continued to thrust into your mouth a few more times before he finished down your throat.

he held your head for a few moments, letting your feeling his softening cock in your mouth then pulled out of your mouth and looked down at you. he licked his lips and ran his fingers through your hair.

"beautiful."

you wiped your chin and got up on shaky legs. you were naked in bed with him and you tried not to get your face onto the pillow in fear of getting your make up all over the the pillows. and while carlos could be a 'mean' dom sometimes, that didn't mean that he was a horrible partner.

"you lay on your back, my love. i'll get you some make up wipes." and just as he applied the lipstick onto you, he was just are careful taking it all off of you.

he whispered praises to you as he got all of it off of you. he threw out the wipes then got back into bed with you. he stripped down as well to his underwear and curled up next to you. his arms around you and his lips at your cheek.

when carlos was asked if he was a tits or ass man, he'd respond with 'lips', but not just anyone's lips. your lips. <3

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lanawinterscigarettes · 1 month ago

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Sweet Tooth (Joe Goldberg x gn reader x Love Quinn)

Summary: you're a big fan of the bakery, but Joe and Love are after something sweeter- you

Warnings: obsessive behavior from Love and Joe but that's about it

A/N: my mom made me a carrot cake recently and it inspired me to write this

Everyday you entered A Fresh Tart right after lunch, needing a little something to satiate your sweet tooth before heading back to work. Sometimes it was a cake, sometimes it was a cookie, sometimes a pie, but it was always delicious.

Love quickly caught on to your routine, always making sure she was free to assist you whenever you came in. If another customer needed help, they were just going to have to wait, because you were much more important.

The bell chimed above the door to signal that you'd arrived, prompting her to smooth out the front of her apron before putting on a bright smile. "Hey! I was wondering when you were going to come in."

"I had a meeting that ran a little late, so my lunch hour got pushed back some," you replied with a smile that mirrored hers. The unfortunate bags under your eyes didn't escape her, a sure sign that you were overworking yourself, but the faint dimples that formed on your cheeks quickly diverted her attention. How cute.

"Well, you're here now. So, what can I get for you?"

While you mulled over what kind of confection you wanted for the day, Joe peeked his head out from the back. So that's the person Love always raved about coming in just after noon. You were cute, he couldn't deny that.

"If you're having some trouble making a decision, why don't you try both and see which one you like better?" He heard his wife offer when you clearly became stuck on choosing between two different sweet treats.

"Oh, I can't do that," you began to protest before Love waved her hand dismissively at your words.

"Nonsense! It's my bakery, and I say you can have a sample if you wish," she insisted while cutting a small sliver of cake from the one in the glass display case before grabbing the second pastry you'd been eyeing, placing them both in a paper to go box. "Try both, and tomorrow you when you come in you can tell me which one you liked better."

"That's awfully kind of you. Are you sure I don't owe you anything?" You asked as she slid the box across the counter, already starting to pull out your wallet.

"Of course not! It's on the house."

Despite her words of reassurance and warm smile, you still felt as though she deserved something in return, so you took out a five dollar bill and stuck it in the tip jar. "I'll be back tomorrow at my usual time."

Her eyes twinkled with admiration at the small act of kindness. You were so much sweeter than any of the things she baked, that much was certain. "See you then."

Joe came out from the back as she was watching you leave, slightly amused at the exchange that just happened. Before he could speak, however, she beat him to it.

"I want them."

It wasn't a suggestion or a request, it was a demand, one that wasn't left open for any arguments. Love wanted you, and what she wanted she got. All she needed to do was get him on board, which shouldn't be too hard given just how irresistible you were.

The next day when you came in, Love wasn't there, having taken Henry to a doctor's appointment for a check-up, which meant the she'd left Joe in charge.

"Oh, hey," you greeted in a friendly manner despite never having met him before. "You must be Joe, right? Love told me that she ran the place with her husband."

Immediately he knew why she wanted you so much. Everything about you just screamed perfect, there was no doubt about that. "Uh, yeah, hi. She told me you were having some sort of difficulty choosing between two items yesterday," he casually mentioned, wanting you to think their marriage was much smoother than it really was. They couldn't lure you in successfully if all you saw were their problems.

"I did, you're right," you replied with a soft laugh, one that made his heart leap forward in his chest. God, no wonder Love always dropped everything just so she could see you whenever you came in. He suspected the only reason she'd offered to take Henry today was so he could officially meet you and become just as obsessed with you as she was.

"And were you able to make a decision?" He was curious about you already, curious about your personal taste, your likes and dislikes. He needed to know it all.

"Well, they were both amazing as usual, but I think I'm going to have to go with the cake. Everything about it was delicious, especially the icing," you fondly reminisced, almost beginning to salivate at the thought alone.

"Sure thing," he said while grabbing a knife to cut you a slice, unable to stop himself from thinking about just how sweet your lips must taste after every trip you made to the bakery. He'd have to try a piece of the cake himself a little later so he could imagine it properly.

Your eyes were wide with giddy delight as you observed his every move, clearly excited to be able to eat the cake when you got the chance. You were just about to pull out your wallet when he held up his hand to stop you. "Don't worry about it. Love told me to tell you it's on the house."

"You know, one of these days you're really going to have to let me repay you somehow," you commented while dropping aother five dollar bill into the tip jar, just like you did last time.

Joe was already thinking of ways for you to repay the both of them, but they were far too lewd for him to say out loud. "You have a nice day," was his response instead, giving you a small wave as you left.

Damn it, he was hooked. There was no way he could refuse Love's order, because now he wanted the exact same thing she did: you.

And they were going to have you, one way or the other, no matter what it took.

End notes: I loved writing this and I'd totally be up to making a part two if anyone wanted it <3

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wickerfemme · 15 days ago

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about fantasizing about fattening you up. . .

///

It's the dream—a 3 month artist's residency in an old historical house for the summer, dark wood floors, white-paneled walls, vintage furniture. A staff maintains the home and takes guests on tours, but you live upstairs, sharing the floor with a few other people, including one who cooks every night in the period kitchen for all of you.

But she cooks like she's expecting a dozen dinner guests every night, lobster in cream sauce, alfredo, carbonara, thick soups and chowders, roast chickens and mashed potatoes whipped hard to hold more butter. It starts to show on you before the first month is over, and halfway through the second, a button flies off your dress when you sit under a tree to sketch. Embarassed, you have to ask her for a needle and thread, but she's happy to help, insists on sewing it herself. "I can change up the food if you like," she says, apologetically. "I get too into the grand-old-house schtick sometimes." No, no, you say, her food is great. She smiles. At dinner, your plate is heaped high, but you power through and finish. When she clears the table, there's a knowing look in her eye.

As your gallery comes together, your wardrobe is coming apart, waistbands past snug into embarassingly tight, your fat belly cut in two. She starts bringing you food through the day, little pastries full of clotted cream and jam, little cucumber sandwiches with generous smears of better, heavy cream in all your coffees and teas. A few days before your exhibition, she asks what you'd like for dinner—the night watchman is on vacation, the custodian out sick, so it's just the two of you, and she's happy to cook you a nice little good-bye dinner. Yes, you say, that'd be great.

When you come to the table, you're shocked—it looks like a Christmas feast, bowls of gravy, a roast goose, mashed and scalloped potatoes, two cakes, baked carrots dripping in butter. She watches you eat intently, smiling, not talking much since your mouth is so full. You eat, and eat, and eat, and finally lean back, No more, I'm full.

"But there's so much left," she says, walking slowly to you. "I'm sure you have some more room." She nuzzles into your neck, and when you gasp and pull her closer, she laughs kind and cruel and ties your wrists tight behind the chair. "Let me help you finish. . . and for God's sake, take this off." Your belt falls useless to the floor, your stretch-marked belly pushing your dress—the blue one she mended—to its limits. She brings one of the cakes, orange-flavored sponge layered with chocolate, in front of you, feeds you gently, caresses a chubby cheek. "I worked so hard on this, is that all you can eat?" Another bite. "Hours and hours slaving away." Another bite. "That dress needs a lot more work than just another button." Another bite. Your eyes are closed, your mouth open, when you feel her free your wrists, and you're shocked when the plate is empty. "Thank you," she says, wiping a chocolate smudge from your pretty face.

You end up needing a new dress entirely for your exhibition. She helps you find it, hems it for you, and while friends and colleagues mill about, talking color and composition and framing, she stands near the door, eyeing the way the fabric rounds over the top of your new belly, how it catches on your wide hips, and when your eyes meet you know you weren't the only person with a project this summer.

I'm blushing; I'm swooning 💞💘💫

#ma'am!! hot! cute!! THANK YOU <3 <3 #happy xmas to me

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leighsartworks216 · 3 months ago

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Strawberry Thyme Blondies

Zayne x gn!Reader

I wrote 4 fics today what the fuuuck

Warnings: food/eating, kissing, bakery au

Word Count: 1,943

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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The bell jingles softly as the door opens. It stays open, held by the newcomer to let out leaving patrons who titter happily about the new sweets they scored. As they went outside, Zayne could hear them cheering about getting the “last ones”.

The bakery was small, but passion made it lively and loved. What it lacked in room for tables and chairs, it made up for with lots of displays for the treats, both savory and sweet. There were several constants that never switched out - muffins of all kinds, cookies, slices of cake. But he had his eye on something new, a recipe the owner had gushed to him about being excited to try, telling him to visit when he gets the chance so he can try it, too.

But the tray was woefully empty. It looked out of place among the persistently freshly-restocked trays beside it.

“Are you ready to order, sir?” one of the employees asks from the counter.

Zayne looks up. “Do you have any more strawberry thyme blondies?”

The employee frowns apologetically. “I’m sorry, sir, we just sold out. You’re welcome to wait until the next batch comes out.”

So, the pair he held the door for were talking about the sweet treat he coveted. He shook his head. “It’s alright, thank you.”

As they turn to assist someone else, he peeks back into the kitchen. The muffled clinking of metal trays being placed in an oven, a blender whipping up something airy and light, a laugh or two from the bakers who labor with love in their hearts. A face appears in the window of the door.

You wave excitedly at him. Even from afar, he can see the flour and icing on your cheeks, accentuating your bright smile. He smiles back. And then you’ve disappeared somewhere he can’t see. As the morning begins to mature, more clientele pour into the tiny space.

After the last customer lets themselves in, he catches the door and lets himself out.

Zayne pours himself into his work, barely getting a chance to sit down between consultations and surgeries. It’s late afternoon when he does get the opportunity, but there’s not a second of relaxation before he’s working through medical reports. It’s definitely past his work hours. He can’t find a single reason not to get them done now.

A knock at his office door doesn’t fully jostle him out of his focus. His fingers pause briefly over the keyboard, but continue right where he left off.

“Come in.”

The door opens. He doesn’t look up, trying to finish off this last sentence before he loses it. It closes again softly. The light crinkle of a plastic bag follows the newcomer as they walk toward his desk. The smell hits him right after.

When he looks up, he’s surprised to see you there, smiling coyly down at him as you place the takeout on the corner of his desk. “I knew you’d still be here. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

“You’re right, I haven’t,” he confirms with a nod. He looks from the bag to you. “But this is more takeout than I can eat.”

“Mhm. Coincidentally, I haven’t had dinner either.” You smile like a mischievous cat as you begin pulling containers from the bag, separating his order from your own. He reads the labels; they’re all his favorites. You’ve even requested no carrots on one of them. “Try to save room for dessert.”

He chuckles lightly, collecting his containers as he stands and leads you over to the couch in his office. It’s barely used. “What else do you have hidden up your sleeves?”

You plop down comfortably on one end. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Dinner goes by rather quietly. It’s not uncomfortable in the slightest. In your time knowing the doctor, you’d learned how to enjoy the silence, take in the stillness while you could. When you work at the bakery, you don’t really get the chance to. The quietest it ever gets is 3am, when you’re up prepping dough and pre-baking goods to sell in the early morning rush, and even then, the sounds of working in the kitchen steal it from you.

You idly watch the city through his large floor-to-ceiling wall of windows, studying the towering buildings as evening begins to take hold. Your bakery is relatively close by, so these buildings are all familiar to you, but they look different from way up high. You’re so used to staring up at them, it’s almost surreal to look down at them now.

Zayne sets his container down on the coffee table. You watch him closely now, grin back on your lips. “Do you have any more work to do?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“Why you’re asking.”

You chuckle and nudge his knee with your own. “Dessert, on me. I didn’t want it to get messed up, so I didn’t bring it.”

He sighs. There is work to be done, but it’s nothing so urgent he can’t leave it until tomorrow. “Give me a minute to grab my things.”

While he turns off his computer and gathers his keys, you place the empty takeout containers back in the bag and throw it away in his office trash can. You can’t seem to stand still as you wait for him by the door.

The key in the lock clicks, and that familiar bell jingles once more. All the lights are off, tables wiped down and chairs flipped over on top of them. Any leftover goods from the day have been picked off by your small batch of employees and all else donated to the hospital for the patients. Your generosity was a vital component in keeping everyone’s spirits high. He had to admire it.

You lock the door behind him so no nighttime stragglers try to slip in. The last thing you want is to deal with somebody who ignores the blatant “Closed” sign on the door.

“You disappeared so quickly this morning,” you say as you lead him behind the counter and toward the kitchen. He’s never been back here before. “Didn’t have time to say hi?”

“I didn’t want to get in the way of your rush hour customers,” he corrects. “There seemed to be more than usual today.”

You laugh joyfully at the thought. “There were! They’d all heard about my new recipe and wanted to try it out.” You push the two-way door open with easy familiarity.

The kitchen is about as cramped as the rest of the shop. There are multiple industrial ovens along one wall. What counter space there is has been decidedly dedicated to preparing specific treats. One is labelled for gluten-free prep, with signs reminding employees to take precaution and follow the guide to the letter. There’s a small alcove for employee belongings, with hooks for coats and bags, shelves for other personal belongings, and a separate set of hooks dedicated to aprons. Yours is easily recognizable from the rest, still dusted with powdered sugar and marked with icing.

“Yes, they were sold out when I came earlier. Do you plan to add them to the normal roster of products?”

“That’s the plan! I just have to find a more efficient way to make enough to last longer than they have been.” You lead him around prep tables and shelves of baking trays to a fridge. When you open it, it’s immediately clear it’s meant for personal lunches and drinks for the employees, rather than ingredients for baking. A box with your logo sits on the top shelf. You pull it out and set it on a table. “Anyway, I’d planned to give these to you this morning, but you ran out before I had the chance.”

You pushed the box toward him. He eyed you curiously before lifting the lid to reveal 6 beautiful blondie squares. They were a perfect golden brown, topped with light pink mascarpone mousse icing and decorated with slices of strawberries. The fresh scent of thyme tickled his nose. He looked at you.

“How much-”

“Please,” you cut him off immediately, “they’re a gift. You had to listen to me talk your ear off for weeks while I perfected the recipe; this is just my way of saying thanks.”

He smiles, shaking his head. “You make listening to you sound like a burden.” He delicately lifts one of the bars with two fingers. The brown-butter blondie is still soft and perfectly moist. “I like listening to you talk about the things you’re passionate about.”

He holds the treat out for you, hovering it a few inches from your mouth for you to take a bite. You blink up at him. “They’re for you. You don’t have to share any.”

Undeterred, Zayne steps closer, watching you with calm hazel eyes. “If they’re mine to have, they’re mine to share,” he says softly. The quiet creeps in from the edges. He holds the blondie slightly closer to your lips.

You hesitate, staring up at him like he might retract the offer before you get the chance to accept. This is the most quiet your bakery has ever been. You don’t want to disturb it.

You carefully hold his wrist as you lean in for a bite, eyes lowered to the strawberry thyme blondie you spent a larger chunk of time than strictly necessary baking earlier that morning. You’d wanted them to be perfect for him.

It practically melts on your tongue. Soft and chewy, creamy mascarpone and nutty browned butter dancing together. You look up at him, expecting him to take a bite now. His eyes seem transfixed on your mouth as you chew. You hear your heartbeat in your ears when you swallow.

Your hand follows his as it’s lowered to the box. You can see him rest the bitten blondie haphazardly on top of the rest out of the corner of your eye. His other hand rests on the counter beside you, caging you in as he crowds into your space. His eyes find yours again.

“Can I have a taste?” he whispers. His cool breath touches your warm cheeks, his nose so close to brushing your own that you feel lightheaded.

You nod.

He stares for a moment longer, as if taking in his actions for the first time since he opened the box. Then, he moves in and his eyes close.

The kiss is tentative at first. An unsure press of lips, like teens who had yet to experience their first kiss. You lean further into him, opening your mouth in greeting. His breath hitches in his throat as he accepts the invitation.

You taste sweet. Perhaps unsurprising given your profession, but it burns a lasting mark in his brain, a reminder of this precise moment. He can taste the summertime sweetness of the fresh strawberries, the hint of thyme ensuring that it doesn’t become overbearing. He sighs into the quiet as he tilts his head, seeking out more of you.

His hand finds your hip, pressing you gently into the counter. Your hand slides up his arm, along his shoulder, brushes up his neck, until you’re cupping his cheek. Your other hand rests on the edge of the counter for support, pinky brushing his own hand. It creeps over to hold yours.

When he pulls away, you follow, trying to steal another kiss from him. He huffs a quiet chuckle, pulling you back to your senses as you open your eyes to look up at him. His cheeks are pink with blush, and he shyly looks away to the box of sweets. “These are my new favorite.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads zayne #lads x reader #lnds #lnds zayne #lnds x reader #fluff #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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ikea09 · 3 months ago

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I know a lot of people think Athena was a lot harsher with child-odysseus than she's being with Telemachus but what if she isn't?

What if ,when odysseus trained under her, she was once soft and gentle with him too. She praises him and ruffles his hair and lets him lay his head in his lap when he gets tired and tells his parents they should be proud of him when they reach the palace after she walks him home. To award his progress, she bakes him carrot cake and knits owl plushies for him that even into his 20s he still sleeps with for they remind him of his mentor.

(Only because he's fragile. Only to motivate him. yes she's totally not getting attached to. Attachments and emotions are for the weak. He is only my mentee.)

She doesn't know how much she is tricking herself.

That changes with the trojan war. She sees an opportunity to gain glory, to be known. Her unknown attachment is overridden by her ambition.

With that she truly starts seeing odysseus as just her mentee. no. less. Her weapon to deliver on the trojans for slighting her. Her little warrior.

She becomes harsher and sterner on him pressuring him into remaining the perfect general.

(Does she know? Does she know how he cannot sleep? How the horrific war crimes he committed under her influence keep him up at night?)

The war ends. He spares a cyclops. She is *enraged*

How dare he? How dare he scorn her teachings, she who gave him glory?

(But what's a title that a goddess can lend, if he'll never sleep at night?)

That night she attempts to sleep. And the next. And the next. A horrible, guilty feeling swirls in her stomach and keeps her up, gruesome images of what may be happening to odysseus play in her mind along with those of a bright eyed boy she can't help but feel she failed.

After a few years, she goes through this problem logically.

Why do I feel so guilty about him? Why do I want to run back and fix things?

Ah, I must have gotten much more attached than I thought.

Ok. Now i know the problem, I can apply the solution.

Forget him. Emotion and guilt are for the soft. To remain strong, I can't let these feelings get to me.

Then, she remembers something.

What got odysseus through all those years at troy? Through the guilt and blood?

Penelope.

Telemachus.

He was never fighting for her.

He was fighting for them.

They were his strength.

His love for them were his strength.

Maybe, my love can me mine?

Maybe, my attachment to him isn't so bad ?

Maybe, it isn't so weakening.

Yes.

Who would have thought that a goddess of wisdom would be taught wisdom from a mere mortal?

#epic the musical #odysseus #athena #if someone could draw athena baking carrot cake #or knitting plushies for odysseus i would be eternally gratefull #character study #me and my friend came up with the owl plushies headcannon #we also decided ody has a pile of them in his closet #when gets stressed he lies in the pile and sinks into it #sometimes he pranks penelope by dumping the pile on her while she sleeps #so she wakes up being drowned by owl plushies

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deanbrainrotwritings · 1 year ago

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— CLOSER THAN THIS

SUMMARY : part IV of gimme half. something quick. something hot. in between busy tasks. when everyone else has not arrived.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff, p in v, clothed sex, against the wall

WORD COUNT : 2.2k

A/N : jimin song title. this fills the quickie square of my @jacklesversebingo card. I don’t even know what I’m doing 😋 but these can be read as standalone fics 😌 XXX

Dean made cute faces all the time.

It was hard to resist smiling when she was around him. His jokes made her laugh, his faces made her laugh, even his laugh made her laugh, and the way he playfully sang along to the music from his playlist, the faces he pulled in concentration or as he tasted what he cooked made her smile.

He was the embodiment for endearment. Those adorable dimples of his only made him more charming. She swooned an embarrassing amount of times in all those moments.

She was delighted when he called her some time after noon and asked her to come over if she wasn’t busy to help him out with dinner. He spent most of the afternoon cooking and baking for his friends. It was one of the best times she’d spent with him, getting to know him like this, seeing in person as he serves others rather than peeking through the windows of her house to get to know him.

It sounds creepier than it actually was, at least she thought so. She was a nosy neighbour. Oh, God, that’s horrible. To be fair, she was only nosy when it came to Dean—they were enemies. Were.

That phase was over.

Sometimes she woke up in his bed, other times he woke up in hers. And then they’d make each other breakfast. And now they went on dates. And now they babysat his nephew when Sam and Eileen went out on dates—that brought up a lot of thoughts she didn’t have before. Kids.

Seeing Dean like that with his nephew… Using a cute voice and singing him to sleep, messy feeding and messier baths, bedtime stories and playing pretend, soothing him when he cried and teaching him new things.

She wondered if Dean felt the same, if the thoughts of fatherhood haunted him the way they haunted her when he fell asleep in her bed. Or when she woke up with the sun, to Dean’s sleeping face. Or when they were alone at home, cooking, watching movies, sharing stories, drinking… when they went on rides with no destination in mind, on picnics, or even just grocery shopping. Sometimes he’d keep her company as she worked on hobbies and she’d do the same for him, watching him fix anything broken, or tune up his car.

She was too afraid to bring up that conversation. They were retired hunters. It’s part of why she refused to admit that she did want children. It’s like the choice was robbed from her and it hurt for so long, but it got easier to accept when she focused on hunting or her job as a professor.

Besides, she had her cat. Close enough.

When she went over to his place, she focused on helping Dean with chopping up whatever vegetables he needed to use, she washed them for him before using them, she brought the spices and herbs he needed, or the condiments that could be used, and cleaned up the dirty dishes after he was done using them.

Now that they were finished, they sat at the table waiting for everything to finish simmering while talking about things to do after. Watching a movie was the obvious answer, which one to watch was the harder part.

She believed it was Jody, Donna, Claire, Kaia, Alex, and Patience that were coming over. She met them at Sam’s wedding, barely. The only one who could truly answer that question was Dean, but now he was pouty because he wasn’t sure what they’d want to watch, but maybe he could ask them when they came.

He picked up some of the excess shredded carrots for the carrot cake he made for those who didn’t want pie, and dropped them into his mouth. He chewed, the carrots barely touched his taste buds, and he grimaced, but swallowed it anyway.

“Tastes better in the cake,” he grunted, getting up for a beer. She giggled and shook her head at him. “Want one?” He asked from the fridge, getting his open, but she shook her head, so he sat back down with her.

“So… you’re just good at everything?” She asked, scooting closer when he put his hand on her thigh and squeezed. He chuckled, his cheeks reddening. He ahh-ed after taking a sip of the cool beer and thought for a while.

“I’m not good at… designing clothes?” He offered bashfully, pushing the beer far away from him. She stared at it subtly then glanced up at him curiously.

“No, not like that,” she smiled softly, “you fixed my electrical outlet…” she reminded him, leaning forward to tap his plump lip. His mouth dropped open slightly and he exhaled, rolling his eyes shyly. She dropped her hand onto the table and thoughtlessly traced patterns on the surface, watching him get embarrassed.

“It was… nothing,” he sniffled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He leaned back in the chair and took the bottle of beer from the table again, playing with it to avoid her gaze.

“You’re very… John Wick,” she sighed, stretching her arms upward. He hummed softly, leaning back forward with his arms on the table, staring at her with interest. “It’s hot,” she whispered quietly, her eyes holding affection and longing.

“Yeah?” He murmured, staring at her like she was all that was there. It made her turn pink self-consciously, but she continued to gaze into his eyes. She saw his hand move and then it was over hers, warm and comforting.

“Mmm, yes,” she replied quietly.

Being around Dean was like being surrounded by a gas leak, and one kiss, one touch, one right word, acted like the spark that ignited everything. The fire robbed her of breath and stripped her skin away so she was bare and vulnerable to him.

Dean leaned forward, practically lunging to meet her lips, but the timer he set earlier went off loudly at the centre of the table, and made them jump away. They both laughed awkwardly, she extended her hand to turn it off while Dean turned the stove off.

“Wanna taste?” He asked, hummed softly as he took a tiny sip from the metal mixing spoon, and waited for her when she nodded. She stood before him, waiting and watching him blow air against the hot lentil soup in the spoon to cool it down.

She bit her lip and smiled, then he cupped his hand two inches beneath the spoon so it wouldn’t drip onto the floor. She opened her mouth and took the delicious, warm soup into her mouth, savouring it with a pleased hum, her eyes full of surprise and satisfaction. Dean pulled back a little too early, causing some soup to dribble down from the corner of her lip due to the awkward position they were in.

“Oh, my god,” she moaned, too distracted by the flavour. She only looked at Dean while he set the spoon down on the counter, indifferent about the puddle it created beneath. He grabbed her chin and dipped down to kiss the small trail of soup away, his warm tongue gently swiping up and down. Her breath hitched and her face burned hotter with embarrassment.

The embarrassment didn’t last and was replaced by a flush of arousal across every inch of her skin. Dean seared her lips with a hard, demanding kiss that made her breathless and numbed her mind of any thoughts.

He gently manoeuvred her across the kitchen, breaking apart from the kiss to breathe before returning to each other’s lips. She made quick work of the white apron around his waist, gasping at the unexpected bump of her back against the wall.

Dean took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth and trailed his hands slowly down her sides, his palms pressing against her curves firmly. He only removed his hands from the short baby-blue dress when she shoved the thick green flannel off his shoulders, watching him throw it over onto the nearest counter in the kitchen.

Dean grabbed her hips to guide her into the hallway, digging his fingers into the tight dress to create dips into her flesh. She smoothed her hands down his chest and hooked her fingers over his leather belt, tugging him to her so she was pressed into the wall once more.

Dean was short of breath, his cheeks and ears becoming scarlet red when she started to undo his belt, staring into his eyes daringly. He slid his hands down her thighs, and sneaked them up under the mini-dress. The soft cotton rode up with his hands, his fingers hooking against the sides of satin, beige panties, swiftly pulling down so they dropped down around her ankles.

“Fuck, it’s like your horny all the time,” she whispered with a breathy laugh, wasting no time in tugging his jeans and boxers down. Her hand instantly circled around the base of his erect cock to squeeze tantalisingly.

“It’s not me being horny all the time, it’s that you’re always so fucking sexy, I can’t resist,” Dean quipped, dropping down to kiss her pushed up breast over the square neck of her dress.

Dean bent his knees, and stretched his hands down to press his fingers against the back of her thighs, urging her silently to jump so he could lift her up. When she did, she freed his dick, and placed her arms over his shoulders, and her legs around his waist, kissing him once more. Dean ground his hips against her, his hard cock rubbing against her leaking pussy.

“Please,” she whined, squirming when his cock brushed over her clit repeatedly. “They’re gonna be here in less than thirty minutes, Dean,” she reminded him. He chuckled huskily, but unhurriedly guided his cock to her needy, wet cunt, and pushed in at a tormenting pace.

He could feel her gushing around him, hot and wet. Dean moaned, reaching behind her arched back for the zipper of her dress, lowering it down halfway. He bounced her on his cock once with a smirk on his face, and lowered the straps of her dress off her shoulders, slid his fingers across the neck of it to tug downwards until her breasts spilled out from the tight material.

Dean instantly began to fuck her into the wall, his thrusts harsh and desperate, wasting no time in building up her orgasm. His fingers scraped up her thighs to tighten around her hips, blunt nails digging into her delicate skin.

Had the flowery drywall been cheap or damaged, she thought he’d break it down with the force of his thrust. He pounded into her, groaning out with pleasure into her ear before kissing and biting her throat, lovingly licking the red marks he left behind.

Her clit throbbed with each slap of his pelvic bone against her, her cunt felt hot and full stuffed with his cock, and her muscles were somehow tense and mushy all at once. Lust overcome her will, drawing loud noises of pleasure from her lip, mewls and whimpers of his name that made him fuck her faster and harder.

“Say my name, baby… I love when you say it,” Dean panted against her lips, feeling her pussy clenched tightly around his throbbing cock. With a whine she brought him closer with both her legs and arms, the knot in her belly becoming tighter and tighter.

She could barely speak as every rough thrust stole the oxygen from her lungs. She managed a gasp of his name, brought her hands down between their connected bodies to ghost her fingers beneath his shirt. Her hands slipped upwards and curled around to his back, her manicured nails digging into muscular shoulders, causing him to moan.

Every thrust drove Dean’s cock into the deepest depths of her vagina, brushing against sweet spots she forgot she had residing against the velvety, ridged walls of her pussy. She clenched around his pulsing cock, her nails scratching down the skin of his back, the knot becoming impossibly tight before she finally let go. Pleasure ran through her like electricity through a circuit, blinding her to the point of seeing an entire galaxy behind tightly shut eyes.

She screamed his name, the way he swore he’d make her scream the first night they were together. He slowed the thrust of his hips as he climaxed almost immediately after she reached hers, his cum spilling into her. Then he started up again, fucking her through her orgasm, until he softened inside her, his cum dripping around them.

“I think that’s the fastest I’ve made you cum,” he laughed, his voice gravelly. She laughed with him, grateful for the slowness in the way he pulled himself from her, and lowered her weak legs to the wooden floors.

“I need to pee,” she whispered, leaning against the wall with a smile while he fixed her dress, kissing and licking her nipples until they were tight before covering her back up, and zipping up the dress.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll get your underwear and meet you there,” he smiled softly and kissed her forehead lovingly before she left, pulling his jeans and boxers back up as he observed her very sexy behind.

She turned around with a knowing grin on her flushed face, sending a wink in his direction before she made a turn towards where the bathroom was.

“I’m fucking you slower tonight!” He shouted after her.

“Still rough, yeah!?” She called out teasingly, her voice echoing louder now that she was in the bathroom.

➥ my you

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months ago

Note

WIBTA if I asked my mom to stop keto-fying recipes?

this is either gonna be a complete non-issue or get people mad at me, i can tell lmao. unfortunately this has been bugging me for weeks. :D

To be clear, I'm almost 25, but I and my adult/teenage siblings still live with my parents bc the economy is ass. Also, Mom hasn't been doing it to every recipe…yet…but the ones she has changed have been recipes where a carbohydrate is an important part of the main meal.

For instance, replacing the potatos in a beef-carrot-potato stew with a rutabaga.

Mom's been on a modified keto diet for a while now, and while Dad is the only one intentionally doing it with her, the rest of us are aware of her diet and are generally chill about it. For a while, we would have nights where the parents would have Thing A, which was diet-compliant, and the rest of us would have Thing B, which was not. Those of us who are not dieting are all old enough to make things for ourselves, by the way, and that's usually what happens. For most of these "split meals," one parent usually doesn't wind up cooking two meals, one of which they can't even eat.

The stew is usually a "split" meal that gets made by one person who does most of the prep just by virtue of knowing the recipe, then one person who peels and chops the potatoes, and then one who wrangles the peeling and chopping of the rutabaga. The rutabaga then gets combined with a proportionate amount of The Rest, and those of us who aren't dieting are welcome to taste-test it. I've tried it, and the rutabaga's okay, I guess, but quite a bit too sweet and non-safe-food-y for me in the context of the stew, especially when I'm so used to potatoes. Wrangling the rutabaga is a bit more fun than eating it.

…except the most recent time we had the stew, Mom and Dad made an executive decision and just made a full-family pot of rutabaga stew without really seeing if everyone else was on board with it. Two of my siblings seemed fine with it, one is an enigma on a good day so I don't even know how they felt about it, and I hated it. I didn't get the chance to say so, however, between everyone else complimenting the altered stew and the conversation quickly switching to something else.

Unfortunately, our parents have decided that we will be making the stew with rutabagas only going forward.

Not "the family has decided."

The parents have decided. For adults and a teenager. Not for little kids.

Since then, in other conversations where recipes come up, such as conversations about the teenager's recent baking kick, Mom has been mentioning keto versions of whatever's being talked about in the nonspecific way that I'm pretty sure is her hinting/telling us that we should make it. In the context of teen baking, a keto chocolate cake, or keto cookies.

Look, I'm not here to debate the worth of a diet or lack thereof. I have plenty of those opinions and I'm not going to change them or let them distract from the core of the matter: when any of us are making food for the others, why are we letting two people's diets dictate what the rest of us should eat? If we're making something specifically to align with the keto diet, then that's a parent snack/meal. If we're not, it's a "kids" snack/meal. It should be as simple as that. Why make a full-family-sized meal if it's going to be pushing low/no carbs onto people who, historically, have not wanted to or needed to drop carbs? (It's me, I'm people. I know, I'm not really subtle, am I?)

I'm considering, the next time the stew comes up as a dinner plan, asking what a single-sized portion of the potatoes would be and just making it for myself. Given I have the spoons to do so that night, anyway. However, I really don't want to insult Mom's family recipe (which…she's already altered…and I would be reverting to its previous state…) or her cooking skills (which haven't lessened, even if I personally think her ingredient choices are a bit lacking lately).

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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luvrsux · 9 months ago

Text

“Sweet Treat”

word count: 3.9k

summary: you’re a professional baker and someone who you liked in your past, ace, is infatuated with your skills

contents: fluff

a/n: my bad for the over 4 month hiatus. so much has happened but pls don’t expect fanfics as frequently. i just wanted to post this because i missed writing 🤍

The day was as bright as a solar eclipse. The weather was just perfect that it’d wrap around your shoulders like a soft blanket on a cold winter day. The air brushed your scalp and behind your ears in just the right way—as you were speedily sprinting your way to work.

The “perfect” day would’ve been actually perfect if you hadn’t mistaken your day off for today instead of tomorrow. You would’ve been trotting along this very sidewalk, breathing in the fresh air and smiling at pedestrians with that sweet smile you’d use at your job—but no. Your lungs might as well be coming out your mouth with how much you’ve been hyperventilating.

To your rather small amount of luck, the bakery wasn’t far. It would’ve been a 10 minute walk but it turned into a 5 minute run which felt like eons. You lived in a rather compacted, populated city, so your body crashed and ran through innocent pedestrians, causing multitudes of ‘sorry!’ and ‘my bad!’

You finally met with the glass door of your small bakery you used your talents on. Your baking skills made this small bakery turn into one of the most famous ones in this city. Well, you and your equally amazing co-worker, Pudding.

You swung open the door with the last bit of energy you had left in you. Your legs were wobbling and the floor seemed to be as equally as comfortable as your bed. Pudding, who was wide eyed and holding a serving tray to serve the only table there. You gulped, trying to moisturize your dry throat from your heaving. You carved her an embarrassed smile while your eyes watched her serve the table.

“Pudding, I’m so so sorry! I thought today was Thursday” You excused and Pudding just absorbed it like a dry sponge. She murmured her polite gestures to the consumers after placing their desired order. You watched her brown big tails bob as she trotted towards you.

“No worries! I’m sure you’ll make it up to me by restocking any missing treats on the front desk” She smiled, a hint of sarcasm behind her chocolate eyes. You peered behind her shoulder to see more than half of the front glass missing. Pudding knew she could bake and stock but chose not to because that’s your job at the end of the day. You sighed.

“Of course. Write down anything I need to bake” You hang up your bag on the coat rack beside the door. Pudding smiled innocently and hummed but you knew it was fake. Pudding was black and white, and can easily go dark in a blink of an eye. Luckily, though, you two do get along rather well.

You walk past her to burst into the double doors leading into the sleek, silver kitchen. Everything was cleaned and freshened up, prepared for your talents. You washed your hands, pumping the bright colored soap gel into your palms and rubbed them together. You shook off your dewed hands and looked behind you to the steel table. A sticky note.

“Way ahead of me, I guess”

Your body moved mindlessly and aimlessly as you baked and baked and baked. A dozen lemon bars and fudge bars, A dozen and a half of croissants, some drizzled in chocolate and some with matcha, ten muffins of different flavors, refilling the large cookie jar, carrot cake cupcakes and macarons. Your apron was lathered with flour, chocolate and remanences of sweet filling. Despite all of that, you still had one more order to go. You threw the tin tray of unbaked strawberry cupcakes in the large oven.

The kitchen smelled entirely of sweet baked goods, and that may sound good but it made you nauseous. You needed to step out for fresh air, even the smell of coffee sounded better than all this yeast. You picked up the tray of now cooled cinnamon sugar muffins to stock up.

“I told you, we’re all out! Now leave!”

You heard puddings scratchy, angry voice even before bursting out the doors. There before her stood a tall, brunette guy with a smug grin. Seemed like the mere presence of this stranger irritated Pudding beyond belief. You blinked, tray in hand as you watched Pudding try to shoo off this customer.

“C’mon, you don’t have any in the kitchen or somethin’? I’m starving” His voice was like butter, as soft and smooth as the ones you’d plop into your mixture to make. Not only that but it was *awfully* familiar.

“Do I have to spell it out?” Pudding scrunched her nose up only to receive a hearty chuckle from the man himself. You took in a deep breath and quickly stood beside your angry pastry chef friend.

“Hey I just finished making these” You smiled. Pudding averted her angry expression to you, immediately softening up when she laid her agitated eyes on you. She made eye contact with the smoking muffins that were calling the attention of this person before her. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle this” You whispered.

Pudding pouted at the customer and strutted off, flipping one of her pigtails as a ‘fuck you’ while she snaked into the kitchen to most likely bake her anger out. You opened the glass fold to restock the section the cinnamon sugar muffins belonged and the guy before you widened his eyes.

“I knew they had some in the back!” He exclaimed, leaning over the desk to snatch one off the tray. You gasped and tried to retreat but stopped when you made eye contact with his face.

“I’ve been craving these since forever!” He took a hearty bite out of it, carefully unfolding the wrapping. You watched him chewed and chewed, his freckles lying upon his inflated cheeks. His eyes were closed shut, as if he was envisioning the flavors through his eyelids. He moaned like this was his last meal on Earth.

“Portgas Ace” You blurted. His trance was interrupted. He flickered his eyes open and stopped chewing momentarily. His sudden awkward eye contact caused your cheeks to flair out of sheer embarrassment.

“Oh I-… That’s your name right? I think we went to the same high school” You explained. He raised an eyebrow and swallowed. His expression then beamed once he recognized your face.

“Right, right! You were in the culinary club and you’d always make the best food! Uhhh (F/N), was it?” He snapped his fingers while he pondered. By now you were finished with restocking and the tray was tucked under your arm. You smiled.

“Yeah, that’s me! Everyone in the club hated you for always eating our food with your younger brother but personally I didn’t mind” You explained. You typed on the register for the amount of money Ace owed for his now bitten muffin he stole from you. “Made me appreciate my talents” You continued.

“I remember your cooking and baking were my favorite. My bad if I ever disrupted you or anything. Hey, did you make this?” He pointed at the muffin. The cinnamon sugar muffin is your own special recipe. It was the first baking recipe you learned on your own just by experimenting. You nodded bashfully.

“It’s my own recipe” You smiled. Ace blinked for a moment. No wonder he loved these things so much, he thought. “Anyway, your total is 2-“

“I want a dozen of these”

His request almost made you choke on your saliva. You blinked for a moment and realized that his request was almost the entire stock you had left. You opened your mouth agape to say something before he continued.

“I remember having one of these months ago before I moved and never forgot about em’. I’m going to a get together tonight and I need nothing but the best for the guests” He explained with a smile on his face, all while eating the muffin in his own hand.

Your temporary halt came to an end and you began rapidly typing in the register to calculate what it’ll all come to, including his own.

“26.55…” You murmur, still stunned that this one guy was so amazed by your recipe that he’d wanna buy a dozen. Not only for himself, though. For other people.

“Here” Ace’s fingers held a sleek card in between them to pay for his order. You took it, gently brushing your fingertips against his. You swiped his card to reveal a successful transaction for his sweets.

“Thanks, really” You saw, gushing like a little girl while giving his card back. Ace just chuckled upon taking it back. His smile was beaming and happy, like he had no care in the world.

“Keep makin’ those! I’ll be the ones keeping you in business just for those babies” He joked. You giggled, grabbing a dozen box for the muffins. The box was a soft pastel pink with white polka dots. The bakeries logo was printed on the middle in cursive. You placed each and every muffin delicately until all twelve were placed. You closed the box and stretched your arms to drop them into Aces hands.

“Thanks so much! I’ll be coming here more often”

Ace left with the pretty box in hand as well as a pretty smile plastered on his face like he just saw a unicorn. You watched in awe. Back in high school, you remember everyone having a gawking crush on the boy. He was attractive and tied every girl with a thread by their hearts just by his charm. You weren’t one of them, though. At least not like that.

When Ace would compliment your cooking, it’d warm your heart better than any oven you’d use to bake your goods. You never knew if it was romantic or not, but you’d look forward to Ace disrupting the clubs time just to taste your cooking or treats. You felt that all over again. Nostalgia kissed your cheeks like a long loss lover.

“Hate that guy…”

Your trance was disrupted by your co worker. Pudding watched him disappear with folded arms. Her aura and expression was devilish despite her sweet, pure appearance. Her tone against Ace might as well shoot him through his chest. You raised an eyebrow.

“Why?” You pondered. You felt embarrassed even thinking about being flattered by Ace considering one of your closest friends seemed to chew his head off. She scoffed and cleaned the cashier counter of crumbs.

“He comes in here and just eats all of our samples and says—ahem” She cleared her throat only to attempt to lower her voice to sound masculine, only to not really work as much. “It’s only samples, they’re meant to be free” Pudding attempted to mock Ace’s voice, only to cause a snicker from you.

“He seemed to really like the cinnamon sugars. That’s all I care about” You replied, shrugging your shoulders bashfully. You felt Puddings eyes pierce through you.

“Don’t tell me you actually like him?” Pudding judged. Those words made the hairs on your body spike up. You peered toward her and just scoffed.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to. You just brushed past her to place the tray you’ve been clenching on back in the kitchen where it belonged. You heard Puddings small heals crack behind you like firecrackers.

“If you actually like him I wouldn’t… Entirely judge you”

Pudding rolled her eyes as she followed you to the kitchen. The room was filled of the smell of fresh vanilla cake. Pudding must’ve made it after her tussle with Ace. You carved a smile.

“I don’t like him. I mean I guess I did in high school, but I dunno” You place the tray into the vastly large sink to cleanse it from the residue of the muffins. Cleanliness is everything in the cooking industry after all.

“He probably has a girlfriend. He always has back then” You projected your voice over the loud sink. You scrubbed until the tray sparkled.

“And you wondered why I didn’t like him” Pudding remarked. You flicked off the metal sink from pouring out fresh water. You whipped your head back.

“Don’t you like that chef? Sanji? From culinary school?” Your words made Puddings face turn the same hex as a tomato. You giggled in amusement.

“N-No! He’s such a— Low life loser!” She frantically explained. She sure convinced you. She puffed her cheeks and began aggressively taking our ingredients to make yet another dish out of her emotions. You took it as a sign to just stay at the register for the day…

ʚ♡⃛ɞ

Weeks pass and Ace came in almost every day just for the same order. It started off with the cinnamon sugar muffins. Then it evolved to a cinnamon sugar muffin with a cup of black coffee. Then it evolved to just him staying at the bakery table just to study and occasionally talk to you while you were at the register. Ace might as well be an employee with how much time he’d lounge there.

Ace would sometimes bring a group of friends, sometimes consisting of his two brothers. They, too, would compliment your baking as much as Ace would but it didn’t feel the same. The way Ace said it and how’d he appreciate it on a regular basis made your heart flutter every time.

But there he was, approaching your register ready to order the same thing. You gave him a sweet smile and snaking your hand to the cinnamon sugar glass cabinet. Your hand movement made Ace carve that same smile you’d crave every time.

“Nice to see you again, Ace” You giggle, bagging his muffin and preparing his coffee. You heard his smooth chuckle from behind, like he was wrapping those toned arms around your waist.

“You too, (F/N). Can’t wait to start my morning with your baking” He winks. You turn and snap the lid on his molten coffee. You caught a glimpse of him biting his lower lips and furrowing his eyebrows, like he was pondering something.

“Hey uh-… Actually I came to ask you something” He blurted out. You just barely finished typing his order on the register to pay. You blinked your eyelids a few times.

“What is it?” You murmur, ready to expect the worse. Ace inhaled, scratching the back of his neck and using the same hand to massage his chin.

“Well uh-… Jeez this is hard” You heard him stammer. You raised an eyebrow, wondering why such a cocky, confident guy like him was struggling to talk to you.

“Are you—… Tired of the muffins? I can actually show you a new recipe you may like instead-“

“No, no!”

His freckles were drowning in his own blush. His cheeks were a bright red and you couldn’t hold in a giggle for much longer. He continued to breathe in and out until he leaned over the counter before you.

“I was wonderin’ if… Maybe you’d like to come over? We’ve been talking for a bit I figured I’d— Y’know—“

You put him to a halt by finally letting out your flattered giggles. Ace felt even more embarrassed and looked up at you with folded lips. You waved your hands.

“Sorry, sorry It’s just—.. Are you asking me out right now? Like a teenage girl?” You tease. Ace let out a bashful chuckle, feeling oddly naked that now he’s doing the asking.

“Yeah, I guess so” His response made you giggle even more. You died down and eyed him up and down with loving eyes.

“Yes, I’d love to. Better have a nice dinner planned for an experienced chef and baker like me” You mimicked Aces confidence only to make him laugh with you. You both had bright cheeks and felt like teenagers again.

“Okay then. I’ll see you there” He winked. You heard a swish come from the counter. He moved his arms off to walk off without his average order. He didn’t care about his regular, he cared about asking you out. You gushed. Especially when you read his address name and number written on a sticky note he may or may not have pre-written on the counter.

“Remember when you said you don’t like him?” A squeaky voice from behind spoke. It sent shockwaves throughout your body and you hitched.

“Pudding…”

ʚ♡⃛ɞ

You made sure to wear your best yet appropriate outfit. Nothing too fancy but nothing like you just rolled out of bed. You patted down your clothes, adjusted your hair and made sure you looked presentable as you stood before Ace’s front door. Once you finally gained the confidence to knock, you heard swears from beyond the door. A frantic, brunette swung open the door and you were startled, to say the least.

“Uh— Are you alright?” You asked, peering behind his shoulder to see a small gust of smoke. Did he just come out of a raging fire you didn’t know about, you thought.

“Hey!” He sang, carving an awkward smile. He stepped aside to open the door for you. “Yeah Im uh— Great! Come in”

Ace was nervous and struggling to make a good environment for you. Usually, this would be easy for him since he was a harem himself but he genuinely liked you. Something about you feeding his stomach in just the right ways and you being sweet and generous about it.

Ace’s kitchen was full of smoke upon arrival. There laid a baking tray on his kitchen counter and you eyed it for a moment. Had Ace been… baking?

“I uh— Made you something” He closed the door and scurried to the kitchen. He tried picking up the tray but scorched his hand. He winced and shook his hand to erase the pain. You almost let out a snicker.

You quickly dropped your bag to approach your date to analyze his creation. They looked like rocks shaped in muffins. Seemed like Ace kept them under the heat for too long…

“You can tell I’m not quite the best baker” He chuckled while running his fingers through his locks to massage his scalp. You picked up a “muffin” and scrunched up your nose as you took a bite.

It was awful.

But somehow you can enjoy it regardless since this guy went out of his way to enter your hobbies and talents to impress you. You carved a smile. The best ingredient for any dish is love.

“How about we bake something together” You suggested. Ace’s eyes went wide and bright, like you spoke heavenly words that melted in his ears.

You tied your hair to get it out of the way, scrubbed your hands and rummaged around Ace’s house for ingredients. Ace had just enough to make a simple vanilla cake with buttercream icing. You mainly instructed Ace to grab the ingredients and measure them out for you to mix and mix.

You let Ace lick and eat the spoon you used to mix the cake batter. He moaned and smiled like a child and it made you blush. You poured the cake batter into a baking tin that was doused in butter. You splashed a bit of batter on your face on accident. You felt Ace’s thumb pick it up effortlessly and lick it off. You swore you’d melt right there and then. You left it up to Ace to place it into the oven as you began to prepare the frosting.

“So what made you wanna bake?” You ask in the midst of your mixing. Ace had been leaning against the counter on his back and licked his fingers of any excess batter.

“I guess… I wanted to impress you?” Ace looked at you with pleading eyes. You felt your body temperature rise into the clouds just by his look. “I um-.. Never really felt this way about a person before… Sorry If it’s so awkward”

You made sure to test the icings texture until it was to your liking. You smiled in delight.

“So you’re saying you like me?” You blurted out, taking a sheet of plastic wrap to cover the bowl of icing while the cake finished baking in the oven. You saw Ace’s face plaster in pigment.

“Yeah”

His voice was low and genuine. You both made direct eye contact for a moment before you looked down to avoid the overwhelming amount of embarrassment. Ace carved a smile, already knowing you won’t object his confession. If anything, you felt the same way.

“Do you?” His voice was low and soft. He caressed you without even touching you… yet. You let out a small giggle and sigh.

“I can say so, yeah…” You reply. Ace’s chuckle hugged you. You fondled with your fingers, twisting and turning them before opening your mouth agape. “So…”

You caught a quick glimpse of Ace biting his lip before he laid a hand on your cheek. You hitched before you felt his warm, tender lips on yours and quickly synced against yours. You hum, sending vibrations throughout his face. You felt him smile against your lips and it was only contagious. You couldn’t help it.

You pulled away and fluttered your eyes open. You looked up and down at his face and he smiled like a dope. You giggled.

“Your lips taste like cake” You gush. Ace chuckled and licked his own lips for a taste. Your bodies were pulled close, like just one slight move could end up in a kiss again.

“Guess that made the kiss more enjoyable” He winked. You sarcastically rolled your eyes and pushed his face away. You can only take so much flattery.

Once the cake was done and cooled, you and Ace giggled while you lathered it with the frosting. It obviously looked like a mediocre, homemade cake but that didn’t matter. This wasn’t just your cake. This was you and Ace’s cake. It meant more to you than anything that you didn’t even wanna take a bite. Ace waved a fork full of the cake in your face.

“No you try it first!” You reject. Ace shook his head and folded his lips.

“No, no. You’re the guest, c’mon” He encouraged. You sighed, knowing that you’d get nowhere if you didn’t oblige. You open your mouth wide to let Ace drop the cake into your mouth and chewed.

It tasted better than anything you’ve tasted before. The ingredients were generic, but this cake tasted more magical simply because you made it with someone you felt intimate with. You smiled.

“It’s amazing…”

“I know”

You giggled helplessly and swallowed. Ace took a bite himself and shook his head. Of course it was amazing to him. He could taste anything you’d made any day of the week and appreciate like it was his meal on death row.

“Now, here’s the billion dollar question” Ace spoke, liking off the excess icing off the fork. You hummed.

“Which is sweeter? Me or the cake?” He smirked. You giggled and shook your head. You took it upon yourself to wrap your arms around his neck and you felt his arms secure your back.

“Let’s find out”

Those three words made Ace latch his hungry lips against yours. Your mouths were as sweet as the bakery you worked at. All you could taste was vanilla and buttercream. This was, by far, sweeter than the cake. You both made out in sync for what seemed like years. Ace pulled away, leaving a small connection between your lips via saliva.

“So..?”

“Your lips, for sure”

all credits and characters belong to eiichiro oda

#one piece #fanfic #x reader #portgas ace x you #ace x fem reader #portgas ace x reader #ace x reader #op ace #one piece ace #portgas d ace #portgas ace x y/n #portgas ace fluff #ace fluff

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demeterdefence · 10 months ago

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Thinking about your "Rachel bashing og greek myths" post, methinks she believed herself to be making greek culture a favor similarly to the author of The Phantom of Manhattan, the unofficial sequel to The Phantom of the Opera

In the preface, the author begins by saying that Phantom, unlike Frankenstein or Dracula, barely made a dent in world culture until Andrew Lloyd Webber came along to make the musical, which he considers the "true" version even tho like...it wouldn't exist without the novel! He bashes Gaston Leroux and basically states that his attempt at writing failed miserably and it's like DUDE, again, the musical and your problematic sequel wouldn't even exist without it, and just because it was bigger in France than in the usa it doesn't mean it had zero impact in culture

But of COURSE unless it's usa-approved then it doesn't count and isn't worth anything *sarcasm*

PHENOMENAL point, FANTASTIC point, absolutely true and correct

i can't be a total dick and say this is an issue solely created and implemented by rachel, because we've seen non-western cultures and religions absolutely whitewashed to hell and back - like, people have been drawing jesus of the bible as white for centuries when he was a middle eastern palestinian jewish man, and good god look what the west has done to the religions of india, china, and japan. but it's the way these kinds of stories drip with a sort of smugness in removing the original culture, in depicting it as backwards and broken.

rachel wants to claim she's making a feminist retelling, but the original myth was already feminist. ancient greece didn't pretend their society was not fiercely male dominated and patriarchal, and hades stealing persephone was absolutely in line with the traditional myths - the twist is that demeter wins. demeter punishes the male gods who stole her daughter, and the ferocity of her rage and grief forces hades and zeus to give in. if persephone hadn't eaten the pomegrante seeds, she wouldn't be in the underworld at all! this is a story that is so clearly a triumph for the mothers and daughters of ancient greece, of many worlds over, because it depicted explicitly that a mother's love was more powerful than even the gods. and rachel pisses all over that.

literally even going beyond that, looking at the society that is olympus and the underworld - all the technology they use, all the innovations they have. who exactly is making these??? where exactly is the material coming from??? you can handwave away most of the inventions by saying it's magic, but we've seen demeter talk about algebra, which was invented in the ninth century by a muslim scholar from persia. in speedrunning to this so called perfect modernized world, rachel actually erases the cultural offerings and developments of dozens of other ancient worlds, and kind of just gives the credit to the underworld, which is run by a slave driver.

persephone constantly bemoans the dullness of the mortal realm, and prefers to literally lounge around doing nothing, when the mortal realm is inventing the olympic games, the democratic forum, FOOTBALL. you have thousands of things to show the gods involved in - largely because the gods were the patrons!!! why do we never see zeus looking over the olympic games??? they happen in his sanctuary!!!

like the disdain rachel has for ancient greece is insane. she can't even bother to research the food typical of the time period, seeing as she writes persephone being looked down on for being vegetarian when vegetables were a key and staple diet of ancient greece. one could argue that a vast majority of ancient greece were vegetarian by general habit. she's baking cheesecake and french desserts and having fast food and carrot cake and maybe - maybe - she'll mention baklava. the ancient greeks are FAMOUS for their art, but we sure wouldn't know that from lore olympus. the only character who even references ancient greek music is apollo, with his lyre, and that's not exactly a ringing endorsement.

and this is not to say that an adaption has to follow the ancient text to a t - that's just not feasible and no one is expected to do so. but there's really something to how rachel does dismiss or ignore the canonical importance of so many of these stories to replace them with a western interpretation. even the therapy speak is grating. in episode 227, when persephone is talking about the concept of virginity, she's absolutely correct in pointing out how that's largely a social construct - but in light of the world she lives in and the world she helps control, the same idea could have been reached through means other than americanized psych talk.

so often, people will look back at the ancient world and think we are morally superior because we do not have the same views, or we have seemingly "developed." that is a view i abhor, because it removes the very act of learning and developing and understanding. rachel really talked big about how removing the incest of ancient greece made the story better, but incidentally, she managed to also take out the feminism, and literally the entire lgbt culture of ancient greece. apollo was even considered the patron of homosexuality! he was called to bless same-sex unions! zeus had DOZENS of male lovers; ares, hephestus, and hermes had known male relationships, and several of the ancient heroes and gods of greek mythology were described in terms we would refer to as transgender in modern times.

if rachel had gone "i'm writing a love story that's originally inspired by the myth of persephone and hades but it's very much modern and removed from the myths" that would be one thing, and i would not be bristling at that; myths have inspired countless stories over the centuries and will continue to do so for centuries to come. the problem is rachel wants to claim a rooting in these myths with zero understanding of how they work or why they work, and absolutely lets her contempt for the ancients shine through in every single aspect of her comic. it's gross and it's petty and she deserves none of the self-appointed "mythology expert" she's given herself.

#answered #anti lo #anti lore olympus #oh this is so long im so sorry anon i got heated lmao #me adding yet another run on sentence: AND ANOTHER THING -#i basically crammed six different essays in this reply anon forgive me i am so sorry #me going back to proofread this now that i'm slightly calmer: why did i use so many fucking commas

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caddyheron · 10 months ago

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Mean Girls food preference hcs

I have a fun time making silly mundane hcs. I copy and pasted these, then changed a little, from the discord server.

Cady: Enjoy chicken wings so much more than anyone would assume she does. They’re so messy, but they’re so good. Other than that, she mostly enjoys anything. Preference for meat with a meal and really likes cake, not the biggest fan of vegetables of any kind, but will eat them if she Has to. Hates buffets. Fucking hates buffets. Also loves the most random insane candy Janis can find for her to try, unless it’s sour, won’t eat sour food.

Janis: Favourite food is burgers with everything on them, really likes salad vegetables on the burgers and sauces. She loves diner-style food, so milkshakes and fries too. Enjoys very sweet drinks, says she likes black coffee but her favourite is frappes that barely have any coffee in them. Probably drinks an excess of monster energy too. Also cannot cook even a little bit. Unless it’s noodles.

Damian: Loves pizza but will mostly eat anything. He and Janis go to a specific diner all the time and it’s theirs and they always order the same thing. He’s similar in preference to Janis with drinks, but doesn’t like coffee and chocolate together. Often has candy bars or granola bars or little bags of candy in his bag at any given time for either himself, Janis or Cady.

Regina: Canonically likes cheese fries. These are the only things she’d eat in school. Mostly sticks to salads when she’s out with other people for a long time until she’s more comfortable. Enjoys yoghurts but not Greek yoghurt because it just doesn’t taste right. Drinks iced coffees with occasional sugar free vanilla syrup. Enjoys frozen fruit over non-frozen fruit as a little treat. Struggles a lot with eating enough and never has good food in the house because of her mom.

Karen: Very sensory seeking when it comes to foods and loves things that have texture to them. So she eats a lot of salads with iceberg lettuce, baby carrots etc. Enjoys candy a lot too, but nothing that’s too sticky or sticks to her mouth like caramel. Hates pastas that aren’t al dente or rawer and cannot stand lasagne ever at all. If the sauce is too much, she won’t eat it. Doesn’t really enjoy coffee or any hot drinks, but sometimes might drink a milkshake.

Gretchen: Really loves pasta. Loves pasta so much. She especially loves white sauces over marinara type sauce and eats it with garlic bread or breadsticks. Gets cesear salads often, but isn’t actually the biggest fan of them, she just eats them. Not a big drinker of sweet drinks and coffee makes her more anxious, but she still drinks it if she has to. Probably enjoys iced herbal teas when she gets around to trying them. Snacks mostly on plain nuts and bland chips, foods with too much flavour make her feel too much sometimes.

Aaron: Bland. He eats soups a lot, they’re easy to make and easy to eat. As well as grilled cheeses, sometimes some plain pasta and cheese, and he orders lasagna when he’s out. Quite good at cooking, but not great at baking, but he will make chocolate chip cookies sometimes. Mostly drinks water and occasionally coke or hot coffee, doesn’t drink it cold. Much like Gretchen, too strong of flavours make him feel too much. Sticks just to crackers if things are really bad because other food will make him nauseous.

Idk why I haven’t posted these before, it’s not solid hcs, it’s just the general vibes of what they enjoy. Feel free to ask for elaboration!

#mean girls #im not tagging each character individually lol #I do have justified choices of why for all of these btw :)

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lynaferns · 8 months ago

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Homemade Yogurt Sponge-Cake SPA/ENG

@cannibal-in-a-can requested the recipe for this so here it is. (I was already planning on sharing it but I got excited that someone asked for it :] )

Additionally to what's in the recipe, there are elements that you can change (you could do this with almost any baking recipe), for example: you can use candied fruits instead of chocolate chips, or use brown sugar instead of the common sugar. You can put a little bit more of sugar than what the recipe indicates if you prefer it more sweet or on the contrary put a bit less.

The important elements of this cake (and most cakes) are the yogurt, eggs, yeast, flour, oil and carrot. You can add extracts, if you are celiac you perfectly can change the wheat flour with cornflour or rice flour (the rice one's a little better but with corn also taste good).

Text only version under the cut

ESPAÑOL/SPANISH

Bizcocho de Yogurt

Ingredientes:

Yogurt (limón/ natural) - 1 (usar recipiente para medir ingredientes)

Huevos - 3

Impulsor (levadura) - 15g

Harina - 3 medidas

Azúcar - 1 medida

Aceite de girasol - 1 medida

Ralladura de zanahoria - 2 medidas (o solo échale una zanahoria)

Pepitas de chocolate (opcional) - 1 medida

Elaboración:

Batir los huevos con el azúcar.

Añadir el yogurt y mezclar.

Añadir el aceite y mezclar.

Añadir la harina tamizada con el impulsor y mezclar bien.

Añadir la ralladura (y las pepitas) y mezclar.

Engrasar y enharinar el molde, verter la mezcla en el molde.

Precalentar el horno 180º C (360º F) hornear 30-40 mins.

Nota adicional:

Puedes usar yogurt griego, pero recomendaría añadir 1-2 cucharaditas de limón o extracto de vainilla.

INGLÉS/ENGLISH

Yogurt Sponge-Cake

Ingredients:

Yogurt (lemon/natural) - 1 (use the recipient to measure the ingredients)

Eggs - 3

Yeast (leaven) - 15g

Flour - 3 measures

Sugar - 1 measure

Sunflower oil - 1 measure

Grated carrot - 2 measure (or just one carrot)

Chocolate chips (optional) - 1 measure

Elaboration:

Beat the eggs with the sugar.

Add the yogurt and mix.

Add the oil and mix.

Add the flour sifted together with the yeast and mix well.

Add the grated carrot (and chocolate chips) and mix.

Grease and flour the mold, pour the mixture into the mold.

Preheat the oven 180º C (360º F) bake 30-40 mins.

Additional note:

You can use greek yogurt but I would recommend adding 1-2 teaspoons of lemon or vanilla extract.

#lyna stuff #recipe #sponge cake recipe #receta de bizcocho #bizcocho #sponge cake #I spend the whole night awake making this because I thought it wouldn't take too long :')#I haven't gone to sleep yet #lyna arts #Lyna Ferns

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wambsgansshoelaces · 1 year ago

Text

Something Sweet; Chapter 7

Kendall Roy x Reader

a/n: I’m sorry I suddenly became so inconsistent lovies :( I promise I have so much in the works <3 as always, please let me know what’s on your mind in the replies + reblogs and enjoy x

Word Count: 3.421k

The next morning, you’ve convinced Kendall to go home and rest. At least, you’d thought you did, until he showed up at your front door.

“I told you to go home, Ken. Take a nap.”

“This is better,” he murmurs back, dragging you to bed and curling into you after pulling the covers over him. “I didn’t sleep at all, and Marcia wouldn’t let anyone go sit with Dad…”

You sigh, sitting up, and he readjusts, settling into your stomach. Your fingers comb through his hair in an attempt at being soothing. “Have you eaten at all? Since last night, this morning?” His breathing evens out. “Ken?”

You peer down. His eyes were shut, lips parted, the beginning of a snore falling from his lips.

જ⁀➴

As horrible as you’d felt doing it, you had to leave Kendall asleep in your bed with a kiss on the forehead. You’d made your way downstairs and unlocked the bakery’s front door and waited for Connor and Willa to arrive. In a lazy haze, you’d thrown the sweater of Kendall’s you’d clung to the night before. When the bell finally tinkled, you pasted a smile onto your face and waved the couple over. Surprisingly enough, you can see why they both work together well. Connor is loud, outspoken, and Willa balances him out with her quiet thoughtfulness. She flips through a catalog of desserts that you offer to cater, soft smile on her face while Connor rambles about how the flower vendors won’t respond to him about overseas work.

“Maybe just hire a Croatian vendor,” you suggest. “I’ve heard it’s cheaper anyway.” Willa hums approvingly at the thought, while Connor frowns.

“It needs to be perfect, though.”

“Who’s to say Croatia won’t be perfect?” Willa asks, continuing to look through the catalog. “I really don’t mind, Con. They’re only flowers, and as long as I have a bouquet I like…”

“We’ll talk about it later,” he says stiffly.

Desperate for a change of subject, you ask, “Anything catch your eye?”

Willa smiles up at you. “It all looks amazing.”

“Any favorite sweets? I’m sure I have them. And if I don’t, I’d be more than happy to write out a recipe.”

Willa flips back to a bookmarked page. “I love red velvet cake…”

At that, you get up and bring back a tray of sample cakes from your kitchen. “Try as much as you’d like! Do you happen to have inspiration photos for your cake? Just so I can start practicing.”

Excitedly, she pulls out her phone, and the two of you pore over her Pinterest boards. Connor doesn't involve himself in the conversation, seemingly dazed. She tries bits of all the cakes you’d baked for her, forcing her fiance to take bites with her.

“I don’t know how you do it, Miss, but you’ve made me like carrot cake.”

“You can call me Y/N, really. And I’m glad you enjoy it! That’s the goal. It’s your wedding- choose a cake that makes you happy.”

“I still think my favorite is red velvet,” Willa says, turning to eye Connor, who just nods. “And that one design I showed you… the three tiers? Can you do that?”

You jot down a description of the cake she’s talking about. “Of course I can. I’ll make a bunch of prototypes and have you come in and see them over the next few months. You can also just make a list of other desserts you want, and we’ll be good to go.”

“Oh, and don’t even worry about flying yourself out. We’ll cover all of that.

“You don’t need to-”

“No, no, we will,” Willa insists, nudging Connor.

“I’ll pay for your flight and hotel,” he says, snapping out of his trance. “It’s the least I can do. And I’m including Kendall in that.” He pauses. “Is he alright?”

“Sleeping,” you say carefully. “Why, what’s the matter?”

“I mean, I know you know. About Dad.”

“I was sorry to hear about it. Let me know if you ever need anything, okay?”

“We got into a massive fight, about me proposing. I don’t… I don’t know if he wants to see me.”

You chew at your lip. “He’s… not conscious, that I know of. I think it’s best you go see him, the doctor, your siblings.” You catch Willa’s eyes.

“I’ll make sure he goes,” she says. “Thank you. I’ll email over the menu?”

“Of course.” You clasp her hand in a loose shake, then Connor’s, in a much firmer one “Feel free to stop by whenever. You’re always welcome.”

They leave, and you make your way back upstairs, locking the bakery back up. You peer into your room, Kendall still sprawled out in your bed. You think he’s asleep until he calls out to you.

“Where’ve you been?” His eyes are still closed, head buried in his pillow. You go to sit by him.

“Connor’s consult.” Without opening his eyes, his arm reaches out to you, searching. You scoot closer, and he finds your waist, pulling you closer and settling his head into your stomach, just like this morning. “Come on, you should eat something.”

“Mm, I’m okay here.” The tension in his shoulders and back eases when your hand goes to sit in between his shoulder blades. You scratch gently, and he sighs. “Actually, do you have breakfast?”

“I made eggs, but I think they’re cold. I can reheat them, though. Or, I think there’s tarts in the fridge?”

“Tarts for breakfast?” he asks, pushing himself up and giving you a kiss.

“Why not? Life is short.” Sitting next to you now, he tugs on the fabric of your sweater.

“Thief,” he says, grinning.

“What? I was cold.”

“I like it. Looks good on you.” He kisses your neck before getting out of bed, tugging his shirt off and tossing it to you. “Keep that one, too. I’m going to take a shower. I think I was drooling.” You watch, not even suppressing your smile, as he makes his way into the bathroom. Regardless of how much he downplayed himself, the slight ripple of the muscles in his back made you giddy. “Quit staring.”

જ⁀➴

The next few days, Logan doesn’t get any better. To his dismay, Kendall has to get back to work. Roman and him had sat in a booth in your bakery as you worked, trying to figure out how things would run without Logan. The two seemed to be butting heads over who’d be CEO, but you didn’t want to hear it.

You’re working today, too. You figure that you should spend as much time in the bakery as possible before Croatia, just so you didn’t create any issues for yourself. Kendall texts you throughout the day, complaining about Roman or some douche kissing his ass. You zip the ‘K’ around on your necklace absentmindedly as you work.

You’re set to go to his apartment after you’re both off. You feel giddy, You realize, now, that this isn’t your usual giddy- butterflies aren’t terrorizing your insides, you don’t feel like you can’t breathe, you just feel happy, excited.

Once you finally do get off, Kendall’s already sent you a text.

Some associate brought a box of cinnamon rolls to try and kiss Dad’s ass. Looking at them reminded me of you.

You’re smiling stupidly to yourself as you read it, and another text comes in.

They were ass, though. Was thanking god I know you.

aw, you had shitty cinnamon rolls and thought of me? how sweet

Get your ass over here. Please.

i’m coming, asshole

I missed you, too.

You make the drive over, and by the time you’ve gone up to his door, he’s opened it and beckoning you inside. Kendall kisses your brow when you walk in, murmuring hello.

“Are you alright?” you ask softly, his arm coming around you naturally and pulling you close. He drags you to the couch, hoisting you into his lap and relaxing once he sits, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“Just need you right now.”

You give his chest an affectionate rub. “What’s going on?”

“Fucking chair battle. Nobody knows what to do or who to put where. Connor’s fighting tooth and nail for CEO, but that’s the only thing Roman and I fuckin’ agree on.” He sighs. “I don’t even know why he’s involving himself. He hasn’t come to see Dad since… you know.”

Your hand continues it’s journey back and forth across Kendall’s chest. “Do you know why he hasn’t gone? Willa said she’d get him to visit, but I guess not.”

“Dad doesn’t approve of Willa. At all. It’s… insane.” He stops your hand in its path, lacing your fingers together.

“He said something about that today. It sounds like he talked to your dad before he actually proposed.”

Kendall hums thoughtfully. “Shiv said she heard it from the yard when she stepped out before dinner for some work call.” He brings your clasped hands to his lips, brushing them against the tops of your knuckles. “It’s going to cause problems. It is causing problems.”

“Take a break, then.”

“Can’t. The press is on our asses. You know how fast that’d sell? Logan Roy, multi-billionaire, incapacitated, leaving Waystar Royco a mess! God, stocks would fucking collapse, the shareholders would step in, and everything goes wrong and we lose the company.”

“So, what’re you going to do?”

“Waystar needs to stay in my control, with Roman and Shiv. I don’t know how to keep Connor out of it.”

“This is going to make me sound like a bad person…,” you begin.

“Don’t stop there. You have my attention.”

“Well…” You look up at him. “Why don’t you just tell the media that you, Roman, Shiv are taking the reigns, Connor sitting out because of the wedding…”

His fingers twist a lock of your hair around themselves. “Evil genius,” he murmurs. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of it.” He litters kisses along your forehead. “Let me ring a journalist I know.”

He gets up, and after a short while, he’s back, grinning ear to ear. “Fucking ate it out of my hand. But enough of that. I have more than enough time to mull everything over in my head.”

You let out an airy laugh when his lips trail down your jaw and find the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “Do you make french toast?” he asks into your collarbone.

“’Course I do. What kind of chef would I be if I didn’t?” You gently stroke the back of his hand with your thumb. “Want me to make you a slice?”

“What? No, you’re not moving an inch. Can you teach me?”

You grin up at him. “I thought you weren’t interested in the kitchen.”

“I mean, I’m not, but you bake for a living. I want to learn. It’s something you love, so I love it too.” Kendall can’t help the tiny smile that graces his handsome face.

“Tell you what. I’ll lay out the ingredients and walk you through it, okay?”

“Okay. Off you go.” He nudges you off the couch, grinning now. Happily, you oblige.

Since you’ve been together, you’ve brought him any extras from shipments of ingredients for the bakery. Now, his pantry and fridge were consistently stocked- he also made sure to call you any time he went grocery shopping. He had no clue what he was doing.

“Do you have any maple syrup?” you ask, peering in the pantry.

“What would I need maple syrup for?”

“French toast.” You can practically hear him roll his eyes. “Fine. You’ll just use cinnamon. Come here, Ken.”

You sit up on the counter, watching him as he comes over to you and gives you a peck on the lips.

“French toast is easy. Eggs, vanilla extract, and whole milk in a bowl. Salt and cinnamon, then dip the bread into the bowl. Fry the bread and caramelize brown sugar on top. Easy peasy.”

He scoffs. “I’ll light myself on fire.”

You turn him around and gently push him towards his work space. “Get to it. Chop, chop.”

He choppily follows your directions, asking questions as he goes. When the bread fries, it makes a few scary sounds, but in the end, nothing’s burnt. He hesitantly brings you the plate when he’s finished.

“They look good!”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” He makes a face at you, setting the dish by your side. “Try a bit?”

You break a piece of toast off and pop it into your mouth. It’s flavorful, buttery, sweet. It’s certainly not the best thing you’ve ever had, but it’s good.

“I’m proud of you, Kendall.”

He smiles up at you, bracing himself against the counter, his arms on either side of you. “Really?”

“Really.” You kiss his head. “You did great.”

He takes a bite from the same piece. “I still like yours better,” he mutters after he swallows.

“Well, that’s going to be the case for every dessert you come across that isn’t mine.”

Kendall gives your cheek a peck. “Egotistical asshat.”

You laugh. “Sounds like you, not me.”

You squeal when he hoists you off the counter, exits the kitchen with you in his arms, and tosses you back onto the couch. You lose your breath laughing, burying your face in one of the cushions. He settles in next to you, swatting your legs away from him. “Fuckin’ deserved.”

You spend a few hours just talking. You feel so at home with Kendall, like you don’t even need to try and everything will just work out anyway. He’s much looser with you than he was when you’d first met. He had no problem touching you, kissing you, making eye contact. And thankfully, you hadn’t seen him high since when he’d taken you to Logan to see if he’d hire you.

“Do you know what you’re going to wear to the wedding yet?” he asks nonchalantly.

“No clue. You still want to do the matching thing?”

“Of course I do. It’d be cute.”

“I’ve never heard you describe anything as cute before. Are you feeling okay? Hit your head?” you ask, teasing.

He ignores you. “I’m going to go see Dad. Do you want to come?”

“I don’t want to intrude-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. You’re so kind and soft you couldn’t intrude even if you were criminally trespassing.” You laugh as he pulls you to your feet. “You can stay in the lobby, if you’d like. Nobody would mind if you came up with me, though. It’s probably only going to be me and Marcia, anyway.”

“I’ll drive,” you murmur, fishing your keys from your bag.

Kendall doesn’t complain.

He stares out the window as you go, the city lights passing by in a hazy blur. He grips your hand the entire ride there. “Feeling nervous?” you ask quietly

“A bit,” he whispers back. “I’m… I’m worried he won’t wake up.”

“Don’t worry, Ken.” You give his hand a squeeze. “He will.”

You don’t really know if what you’re saying is true.

When you arrive, the receptionist waves you both off, seemingly already familiar with Kendall. Your heart aches for him. You know his relationship with his father is complicated, which makes this entire process even more difficult.

You let him go in by himself to sit by his father.

You sit outside, practically on your own, but you don’t mind. You know he needs the time to sort through his thoughts. Marcia sits by you, eyes soft, but inspecting.

“You bring out the good parts of Kendall,” she says bluntly, after a long period of silence. “There’s been no breakdowns or issues since you.”

You’re not exactly sure what that’s supposed to mean, but you’re fairly sure it’s positive. “I’m glad.”

She gives you a soft smile before making her way to her husband’s side. Now you’re truly by yourself. In your head, you’re organizing Connor’s wedding menu. Despite the such short notice, it was coming together nicely. You’re even going to print everything out on pretty stationary to put out at the dinner tables.

Eventually, Kendall comes out to sit by you. His eyes seem a bit more sunken, his mood duller. Wordlessly, you take his hand.

Neither of you say anything. He brings your hand to his free one, and now your palm is sandwiched between both of his. His grip is tight, and you see his knuckles whitening. You use your other hand to gently rub your thumb over his knuckles.

While all your silences were comfortable, this one was strained, as if something was hanging tersely in between the two of you. You feel it’s a product of his sour mood. You’re not sure what he saw when he went to his father, but you’re assuming it’s not good.

The silence stretches on- you don’t want to speak before he doesn’t want to. It ends when a nurse gets his attention, Marcia trailing behind her. She tells Kendall she just would like to brief them both on some things concerning his father’s potential diagnosis.

He turns to you. “Could you stay with him? Please? Just in case something happens.”

“That would be very appreciated if you could,” Marcia adds.

You agree, assuring him you’ll cause a scene if any single viral falls below normal. You go into Logan’s room and sit in a chair by the window. Close enough to interfere if needed, and far enough away for it to not be weird.

You awkwardly sit there for a while, not really sure where to look. You keep an eye on his vitals, his heart rate steady and blood pressure seemingly normal.

You scroll absentmindedly on your phone, only half focused, ‘just in case’, like Kendall said.

Logan shifts a bit. You don’t know much about comas, so you don’t really know what to think. You decide it’s too trivial to bother someone with right now. You’ll just tell Kendall when he gets back.

You’re scrolling through a few different mood board Willa has sent you when it happened.

“What the fuck?” Logan’s voice is rough, raspy. It has a grainy quality to it, like it’s clogged.

“Oh! Mr. Roy- let me get someone,” you say quickly.

“No, no. Sit down. Fuck.” He surprisingly manages to sit up, struggling, but sitting up. “Jesus Christ. Don’t get anyone yet. I don’t want to fucking hear it.”

You keep your mouth shut and your ass in your chair.

“You and Kendall serious enough that you come to visit his old man?”

“He’s just with the nurse right now,” you manage. “He’s coming back.”

He waves his hand, as if dismissing you. “Whatever. Is Connor still doing it? Marrying that… that girl?”

“If you mean Willa, then yes.”

“Fuck off.” He wipes a hand over his face. “Haven’t even been awake ten minutes and shit’s hit the fan.”

Thankfully, you’re saved by Marcia and Kendall rushing back into the room. You take this as your chance to make an exit and you retake your seat outside of the hospital room.

Kendall takes you back to his apartment ages later, a large weight seemingly lifted off of his shoulders. His mood has been lifted, but you notice his glum mood was replaced by a discreet tension across his muscles.

“I told you everything would be okay,” you tell him. You’re both laying in bed, his arm wound tightly around you.

“Thank you. For everything,” he murmurs back.

The next morning, you both have a few hours to spend before getting to work. After a shower, you have to help him with the clasp of his necklace.

“Can’t fucking get it,” is all he tells you when he hands you the chain. Smiling to yourself, you fasten in around his neck, liking the way the initials sit on the fabric of his shirt. You smooth your palms over his shoulders once you’re done.

While you’re slipping on your shoes to go home, Kendall’s phone rings. He drifts away from you to speak to whoever it is on the other end. You don’t mind, waiting for him by the door. When he comes back, he’s harried. He traces the line of your jaw with his palm, cupping it once he hits its end, and gives you a long, needy kiss.

“I can’t take you back, I’m sorry,” he says, voice tense. “I’ll come by later, okay?”

You press another lighter kiss to his lips. “It’s alright. I’ll save you a cookie.”

He kisses you one last time on the head before hurrying away.

#kendall roy x reader #kendall roy x you #kendall roy #succession #succession hbo #succession fic #wambsgansshoelaces #succession x reader #something sweet

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necros-writing-stuff · 1 year ago

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I'm sick and could use some fluff, sooo... Whichever on you're feeling, Eden or Darius. They come home early and catch their s/o working on a special surprise for them. Maybe an extra special meal, or a gift. They don't strike me as guys who get thoughtful gifts often.

I'm going with Eden because I'm in my forest husband mood today.

Warning - I go into describing Eden hunting and butchering a boar. But hey, it's Eden, it's the reality of what he does. And it's Eden POV, so some angst when it comes to his self image. But it's the angst before the fluff.

It had been a labour intensive day for the hunter. He'd had to spend more time than usual looking after his crop - some parasites had begun to nibble at the carrots - so he'd had to remove them before they could spread.

Then when he'd gone out to hunt he'd come across a rather territorial male boar in rut. Breeding season, his least favourite time of year. The damned beast had almost gored him, but he'd luckily gotten off a shot just in time.

His heart had dropped to his stomach as the hog had continued on its path before stumbling and falling, but then relief had flooded his veins instead. That was a lot of meat. It would be a while before he'd have to hunt again.

The downside, of course, was carrying the damn thing back home. And butchering the meat so that it wouldn't leak literal shit on the good stuff in transport left him open to wolves and bears. He'd managed to bag up the insides and haul the rest without an attack, though he'd been looking over his shoulder the entire time.

When he'd made it back to his familiar clearing, he'd been covered in sweat, his hands still stained with the blood of the boar despite him having rubbed them in the river for a few minutes. Not that it mattered, he'd only get more on him when he finished the preparation. A hot bath would be ready after. You always took care of that.

He vaguely remembers having smelt something sweet in the air, but had disregarded it as another baking experiment of yours. You'd been on a kick with it lately: cookies and cakes and pastries. He'd cherished every one of them.

The hide would have to be rid of hair - boars are too coarse to use for bedding or clothes. The dried hide could be sold to tanners to make leather though, and pay for his next supply run. Even if he dreaded going to that damned market in town.

Anxiety built the more he got in his head about the market. He didn't want to make you go, he'd seen enough people try to pay through illicit means and he didn't want to subject you to those perverts. At least they left him alone now, with his ugly damn face and ogre-like body.

God, it was a wonder you touched him. Someone as beautiful as yourself, so kind and generous, stuck with him. A man not much different than the beasts he shared the forest with. You even had the kindness - or perhaps, pity - to look at him as though you did like how he looked. Kissing his scars, playing with his hair that he doesn't take care of like he should.

Truly an impressive act you put on. Not that he blames you. The alternative is to tell the truth about his hideaousness and be stuck with him being more miserable than usual.

Eden doesn't notice when you approach, some lunch ready for him. When your gentle hand brushes his shoulder he almost jumps, hand grasping his butchering knife tighter until it registers that its just his darling spouse.

"Some roasted chestnuts, Love, we're running low on fruit again."

And there it is, that damned almost angelic smile and look of love in your eyes.

"I'll see what I can find next time I'm out," he grumbles.

He tries to hide the sour mood he's in, kissing your forehead before grabbing a rag and moving to the washing basin he keeps to clean up. With soap this time.

You don't comment on it, instead taking the meat he'd already cut up to cure in salt, jar, or smoke for storage. He didn't even need to ask you. He never does, you just know what needs done and when.

And the chestnuts are great. Everything about you and everything you do is just amazing. Even on your off days when you crawl into his lap and cry, you're just perfect. And he's... Competent, he guesses.

All of his muscles ache by the time he's done with the boar, you fetching the cuts in between filling up pails of water for the bath. He still has to chop some more firewood, though, and he forces himself to do enough to last three days so he can recover. Some of that salve you make will help with the aches and pains. Again, you being perfect.

The hunter is exhausted when he stumbles into the cabin, but not so much so that he doesn't notice that food is already being prepared. You've cut steaks from the back meat of the boar and they're in a pot, the fragrances delicious as they slowly cook. He can even scent the herbs you rub the cuts with.

You wait for him in the bath, shuffling forward so he can join and nestling close when he's situated. Those wonderful hands waste no time in rubbing his skin clean, massaging his scalp and thumbing over the callouses on his hands.

He's so tired, ready to just fall asleep as you pamper him, but it wouldn't be fair. You deserve more. So he returns the favour with heavy eyelids, and joins you as you leave the tub instead of staying in longer as he usually does.

"I'll drain it," he yawns after drying and putting on his evening wear. "You cooked dinner when I was meant to, I'll drain it."

He really should get around to putting in some pipes just to make draining the tub easier instead of having the push it to the porch and tip the damn thing. Eventually he'll get to it.

Dinner is plated when he comes back in, you waiting for him to sit so you can climb in his lap and the two of you can take turns taking bites. Sure, you could just get two plates. But then he'd miss out on this intimacy. And he needs this. He needs to hold you close. You had made some banana bread to eat after.

Your baking and cooking almost made the trips to town worth it for the extra ingredients.

"I've got the dishes."

You take them as he moves to his chair in front of the fire, the hunter sighing deeply as he sinks down into the chair and stares into the flames. He almost lets his eyes rest when something catches his attention, the fire's light reflecting off of it beneath a drawer in the corner of his eye.

Eden makes his way over to it, a piece of metal sticking out from under the drawer. He doesn't remember putting anything beneath there.

He pulls it out and only faces more confusion. It's a gun strap - one he doesn't remember making himself - the metal being clasps to secure it. Along the leather is an intricate embroiderd pattern only half done. Leaves and flowers, painstakingly threaded through the leather. A very tough job.

"Shit! You weren't meant to see that yet!" You call out from the kitchen area, obviously alarmed.

"... you've been making this for me?" Eden clears his throat, self-conscious about how high his voice was. Like a child.

"Yeah, it's been taking forever but I really wanted to do something special as a surprise since we've almost been together for a year now. You came home earlier than I thought you would have, so I must have messed up hiding it in a panic."

He doesn't like how sad you sound that your gift was found this early. His cheeks heat up, he can't look at you. Instead, he focuses on the foliage on the holster.

"They're, ah. They're all the herbs and flowers I put on your favourite meal. Sort of like a good luck charm that you'll get a good deer for it, I guess?"

New warmth blooms in his chest, his thumbs stroking each plant with reverence. When was the last time he had received a gift? He couldn't even remember. Especially not one this thoughtful.

"You don't like it, do you? I'm sorry, it was stupid, I'll-"

His stupid grumpy face making you sad again. As always.

Eden holds it away from you as you come to take it away, instead dipping his head down and kissing you deeply. You melt into his kiss, hands resting on his chest and body pressing against his as his free hand circles your waist.

"I love it," he mutters against your lips, "has it really almost been a year already?"

Your gorgeous laughter returns. "Time flies, huh?"

And yet it also feels like you've never not been here.

"You want me to finish it for you?"

"Please," he almost sounds like he's begging. He doesn't quite mind this time.

Your nose scrunches up in an adorable way. "Yeah your old ones starting to grow mold."

"It's not mold."

You silence him with another sweet kiss. It's really not mold though, just some really bad freying. He'd always taken care of his things until they fell apart.

"I don't know what to get you. I'm not the best at giving gifts," he sighs as he guides you both to the chair, once again settling into a comfortable embrace once you'd fetched your tools.

Your head cocks as you consider your answer, the light from the fire illuminating your face and somehow just highlighting every feature he loves.

"Oh I have everything I need already," you smile as you use wax to place a guide for the thread. "I have a comfy home away from all of the bullshit, a warm bed at night, great fresh food to eat, brilliant sex, and on top of it all the one who I do the brilliant sex with is the hottest piece of ass there is."

Well now he's back to blushing. Though happily, for an entirely different reason.

"And you better not argue about that mister."

"If you insist," he pushes back. He can't help it, really. It sounds so genuine but. How? How can you think that?

"I do insist," you shoot back, tone deadly serious as you look him in the eye.

And for the first time he can remember, he believes you.

#spill your guts #fae friend #eden the hunter #gn reader #cw hunting

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