#i toast the bread first in the pan

[amethystsoda]

nothing beats grilled cheese “croutons” with tomato soup on a fall day 🥵🍅🧀

[sherrymagic]

Hi Lana 💜💜 I read your tags on that pizza poll reblog and ... Italy really seems like gluten-free/coeliac heaven. One day soon I'll go there again (last time I went I wasn't yet diagnosed so I wouldn't know). Until then, Schär is the best I have access to atm. I've had two other brands and they were even worse. I miss (good) pizza so much. 😭

Jane 💜💜💜

heaven... not really, you still have selected options and basically can't eat outside your house, but thankfully we are past the times when Schär was the only gluten free option in supermarkets 😭 taste aside it also has so many weird ingredients i literally had an unspecified allergic reaction to something in their bread once lmao. i guess since we are literally the hometown of pizza we have some better options in this sense in general, and still i was shocked to find out last december big cities have restaurants that have gluten free stuff that literally has no difference in look and taste to the gluten one? nothing similar to where i live *sigh*

i feel you, that restaurant where my friend took me was the first time in about... 8? years i have eaten actually good, real-looking/tasting pizza. why do we have to be denied one of the greatest joys in life, who did we slaughter in our past lives to deserve this 😭

[frascospecimen]

My egg in the hole is delicious and you’re all jealous of me for it

[sofiawritesstuff]

Platonic

part 1

summary: When Lando’s “playboy” image is setting a bad reputation for him. He’s turns to the person he trust most in this world for help.

pairing: landonorris x bestfriend!reader

warnings: none (i don’t think)

This is my first time writing, I hope you all enjoy and if there’s any advice you guys can give me to improve please do!!

“Please, please! You’re my best friend. I just need this one favour!” Lando begs following you around at a quick pace.

“Exactly Lando” you sigh before continuing “I’m your best friend and as much as I love you I just don’t think it would work or be realistic” you shrug, taking a bottle of cold water from his fridge

“Why? Why don’t you think it can be realistic! Fans accuse us of being together all the time because of how close we are! The only thing that would have to change would be not denying it…and maybe kissing” he whispers the last part

“Kissing!” you shout choking on the water “We’ve done it before!” he defends “Yeah when we were like 11!”

“And 14, and 17!”

“You’re not helping yourself Lando”

“Please, it would just have to be for a few months then we could say we were better off as friends. Please. I don’t want to be in a PR relationship with some random model who’s looking to gain attention for a brand” Lando sighs, visibly upset

“Can you give me time to sleep on it? You know I love you but I don’t want this to come between our friendship”

“We’re strong, think of everything and everyone that tried to separate us before we never let them come between us”

“Which is why I can’t risk loosing you, there a difference between a girlfriend not liking me that tries to separate us and faking a relationship Lando”

“I understand” he nods “I promise you, you will have an answer before the start of the race weekend. I’m gonna head to bed now okay. I love you” you hug him tightly before heading to the spare room in his apartment.

It wasn’t the first time you had turned down Lando, in fact he had asked you out every year from the age of 14 until you guys were 18 before he finally realised that you wouldn’t work.

It’s not thst you didn’t like Lando, you loved him and maybe you did have feelings for him. But the thought of loosing your friendship because of relationship scared you.

For most hours of the night you lay in the bed of Lando’s spare room at his apartment in Monaco, that was quickly known as your room, thinking about what Lando said.

You supported him before his career even started and Lando’s reputation with girls certainly wasn’t the best. The media painted him to be a “playboy” and “unloyal”, which in some senses he was. He had never cheated on his previous girlfriends but he did date his ex’s friends and colleagues.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a harm to pretend for a few months? But what if your feelings began to grow stronger and you may not be able to go back to the way you were with Lando?

Lando was the same just through the wall, his feelings for you never left him. All the girlfriends he had he never felt for them what he felt for you, which was terrible but also why he was now single. He wanted you to say yes, he wanted you to agree but he didn’t want his feelings to get in the way, especially when he didn’t know that you felt the same way.

The next morning, you woke up to the usual clatter of plates from the kitchen. Which never meant anything good.

“What are you attempting to make this morning Mr Norris?” you laugh watching him by the pan “French toast but it’s not going well” he answers not taking his eyes of the food

“Well for starters, you’ve completely burned the bread. Would you like some help?” you ask holding back a loud laugh “Please”

The two of you started over, putting the uneatable food in the correct bin. You focused on the food while Lando focused on the coffee.

“There you go Lan”

“Thank you, how’d you sleep last night?” he asks putting the food in his mouth “To be honest, not great i’ve been thinking about what you said”

“You have?” Lando asks dropping his food “I will help you, if you promise me that we will still be best friends at the end of everything”

“Pinky promise”

part 2

[quarterlifekitty]

cooking was mentioned but I kind of wonder how the cod men would react to reader bringing them cookies/some sort of pastry they know they like. Ive also had the idea of price getting turned on watching reader knead bread dough stuck in my head for some reason.. or ghost coming home to the smell of freshly baked pie (or something similarly wholesome) with blood still caked under his nails.... wrapping those large hands around my waist while i'm making the crust.. ughhh..sorry just- housewife reader who bakes treats and takes care of and dotes on a big military man and gets fucked senseless in return is so stuck in my head.

So I’m going to use this opportunity to speak gratuitously about Ghost’s relationship to food. Others have spoken of it at length before, but hopefully I will be able to add something new!

So we all know that Ghost did not have a happy childhood. He did not grow up in a secure home. He did not grow up with means. He was not nurtured, nor was he nourished. He enlisted at the first opportunity, and I think he nearly cried from being able to eat three, full meals a day that weren’t even that bad.

The next section of his life is a bit better in regards to eating, but not great. He knows where his next meal is coming from, and he doesn’t have to worry about there being enough to eat. He’s a grown man with a paycheck, he can buy food if he likes. But we all know the cafeteria food and MREs are demoralizing. They’re edible, but nothing more than that.

The first time he has leave, has to stare at the walls of his own empty studio and live for himself with the means to go grocery shopping as much as he likes— he’s at a total loss. No one ever taught him what he should be eating. No one ever showed him how to wash mushrooms. How to cut against the grain of a cut of beef. How to separate an egg yolk from the white. How to reduce a sauce. How to make sure scrambled eggs don’t overcook by taking the pan off of the heat.

So he starts very small. Eats like a college student. Lots of microwave shit. Works up to cooking himself some eggs. Almost moans at how good they are when it’s freshly cooked, on toast, and there’s no eggshell in it, and no one is yelling at him while he eats, he doesn’t have to hurry and get moving— it’s a really beautiful feeling he’s never gotten.

And maybe he had a neighbor at this time. Some older woman who noticed that the apartment that sat dormant most of the year had an occupant. One that still looked like a kid. Wore fatigues. Clearly didn’t have a family to go home to, if he was hanging around here on his shore time.

So she starts feeding him. Giving him a portion of what she makes for her own family. Casserole, cakes, stroganoff— anything. And Ghost will never forget that. The unparalleled joy of being given food from someone’s own home. Something they made. Something good. The food always tastes better when it isn’t mass produced. It always tastes better fresh. And it always tastes better when it was made by someone who cares.

The trajectory of his life and career don’t afford him much time. He spends most of his leave time cooking. Experimenting with recipes and learning. But that’s still such a small minority of his life.

When you, the fresh face in the 141 start bringing in food regularly, Gaz jokes that you’re buttering them up— trying to get in their good graces. You’re warned that Ghost is a hard won man. The truth is that no one has really tried home made lemon bars on him before. And they work like a charm.

Maybe a year or two later, you’ve gone on leave for maternity. You’re moved in together. It’s his first deployment without you working at his side. His first time coming home, and actually having someone to come home to.

And the house is alive. He can smell the currant and blueberry pie in the oven. You’re playing music in the kitchen. The house is so warm. There’s an unfolded blanket on the couch. The couch has a spaghetti stain on one of the arm rests.

And you. In loose pants and an even looser shirt with your bump visible. There’s blood under his nails. He smells like sweat and hot old dirt. But here you are, making the perfect nest for him. Not minding when he lays his head on your shoulder, embracing you from behind while you idly check the sauce simmering on the stove.

So are you getting fucked tonight? Baby, you’re getting fucked while that pie is on the cooling rack. You are getting railed after dinner and then you’re getting railed after dessert. And then you’re getting pounded in the shower and then he’s taking you in your fucking bed. And if you weren’t pregnant before, you definitely would be now.

[vaspider]

If you have celiac or otherwise can't eat wheat, btw, and you like bread, I highly recommend investing in a breadmaker. Even the best store-bought gluten-free bread does not hold a candle to the stuff that comes out of our breadmaker, and it's cheaper per slice even when we buy bread mix in single-loaf bags.

This is our breadmaker. Evie got it on sale, but it is an investment. I'm not going to pretend it isn't a chunk of change up front. There are cheaper ones, but the reason I like this one and think it's worth the money:

It has two smaller paddles, where our older bread maker that my mom got us and got destroyed by getting construction dust in it had one big paddle in the middle. This leaves a big hole in the middle of the finished loaf, which makes the bread much less useful for, like, sandwiches.

Zojirushi is not as well-known a brand in the US, but it's a Brand Name in Japan for good reason. Evie's had our Zojirushi rice cooker for over a decade & we had to replace the inner bowl once bc someone used metal utensils in it and scratched the non-stick coating. We expect to use this machine for at least a decade.

You can program your own cycles, which we found really useful. Evie built a custom cycle that removed the punch-down sections (gluten-free bread tends not to rise as much) and that made our perfect loaf.

A lot of bread machines produce very tall, square loaves, which are awkward to slice, store, and make sandwiches with. This produces loaves that make good sandwiches and toast, and the French toast slices don't crowd the pan.

The top heating element on this gives a really amazingly browned top crust that we definitely didn't get on our old machine.

It's so pretty.

So how is it cheaper in the long run if the machine costs $300+? A little like this:

We use Pamela's Bread Mix bc it's really consistent and easy - you need the bread mix, water, yeast, 3 egg whites, and oil. (We use avocado oil and find it best and most consistent, but regular vegetable oil works!) We buy Pamela's in bulk, and without any subscription discounts or whatever, the $48 pack of 3 bags makes about 11.5 loaves. With the cost of yeast and eggs and stuff, it ends up costing about $4.50 a loaf. (If you buy your yeast in larger bags & store it in an airtight container, you can create less waste and it's also cheaper.)

By comparison, a loaf of Franz GF Bread costs $7-8, and Canyon Bakehouse usually runs about the same.

However, that's not an apples to apples comparison because the Franz loaf is an 18 oz. loaf, whereas our breadmaker makes a 2 lb. loaf. Assuming even the lower-end cost for getting a Franz loaf at the store, an equivalent amount of bread would cost $12.42, and it's not nearly as good.

(Yes, gluten-free bread is fucking expensive. That's part of why I'm writing this post in the first place.)

Anyway, assuming you eat 2 lbs. of bread a week in your house - a breadmaker loaf, basically, to make the math simple - you'll end up spending $7.92 less on bread every week. That means that even at the most expensive cost for the Zojirushi, if you buy it at its highest price (don't do that! wait for a sale!) it'll take 50 weeks - about a year - before the breadmaker pays for itself. If you manage to get it on a 25% off sale (which we did), it pays for itself in about 9 months.

Nine months, I must stress, in which you are eating much more delicious bread.

We tend to go through a couple of loaves a week because toast, sandwiches, and melts are great food for people with low spoons.

Evie and I perfected the Pamela's mix recipe for this particular machine - I'll get it typed up when I'm downstairs next, along with the quasi-babka recipe. (Really, it's like a marble cake and babka and bread had a baby, and it's a family favorite.)

Bread good. The end.

[theoxenfree]

DARK POOL

aquatic monster x reader | 2.8k

you're mystified by the strange noises coming from the basement. despite your uncle attempting to thwart your concerns, you make your way downstairs into the basement one night and come across an appalling sight, and soon enough, a blooming infatuation.

warnings; 18+, double penetration, explicit sexual details, imprisonment (not mc), some unsettling details, roughly proofread, repost from my old blog 2kmps.

this is a concept piece for a potentially long one-shot! pls answer the feedback questions at the end + reblog!! it really helps to develop a well-rounded story for y'all!

Uncle told you that the rats in Cape Tellis liked to swim and when they were in search of food, they didn't care how long they'd have to paddle through the water to find it. Some would simply drift with the current for days; black-gray fur rotted off, skin peeled off bone, little faces disfigured by sea and salt, but they would keep going until their bodies nudged the rust-red walls of the lighthouse and found the energy to scale upward to a window and squeeze inside.

He mentioned this anytime you had something to say about the ruckus down in the basement—sometimes scratching, sometimes powerful, erratic thuds that you felt pulse through the floorboards, through the rubber soles covering your feet, and into your skin. That place was sealed behind a rusted metal frame and door, deadbolted and locked with a key he always carried on a chain through a belt loop.

It always jangled when he walked because he had a limp so bad that his entire leg always dragged a pace behind him and took a great amount of effort to haul forward. When you had asked of it, as memory dictated a handful of years prior he didn't have such trouble, he first claimed it had been a bad sinus infection that got into his brain and disrupted something neurologically. In another instance where he had stopped for a third time on an evening stroll together, he had said he scuffed with one of Cape Tellis’ formidable rats and the mangy bastard had won and taken a chunk of meat out of him before scuttling back into the walls.

“Just ignore it, it's normal that they're active this time of year,” he was saying while scraping fried eggs out of a pan onto your plate. Meanwhile, you winced to the usual commotion downstairs. “They get real flighty this time of year. The rats do. They get frisky and chase each other all around. I don't know nothin' about them besides being persistent, ugly things, but it may well be their special season.”

You ripped a sharp edge in your toast and prodded the egg yolk until the sunny orb burst, oozing out across your plate before you could scoop it all up in the bread.

“How long does it take for the rats to go away?” you asked with some interest in his answer, if for no other reason to know what sort of yarn he'd spin next. The bread was buttered, the eggs unseasoned, but you ate it all anyway while watching him. “Are they permanent residents or do they come and go? You must be feeding them if they stay here.”

Uncle took a long time to situate his bad leg under the table, longer to arrange his silverware and the direction of his food. “Oh, they have no interest in leaving, I don't think. If they really wanted to, I imagine they would've jumped back into the water and swam somewhere else.”

Each time the noises rose up between the wood slats under your feet during breakfast, Uncle told you not to worry about it, but you quieted every sound in your head to better hear rattling metal, reverberations of some sort—like having a man’s deep, anguished moan pressed right against your ribs. You weren't sure what you were looking for when you listened, only that you knew they were rats.

Uncle looked at you, his appetite pushed away towards the center of the table with his plate. “Let's go for a walk, yes? The rain won't come back for a few hours.”

When you did walk after a meal, granduncle would often have to lie down with his dead leg propped up on a short stack of pillows for a long while. It became something of a habit of yours to exert him too much after dinner, forcing him to keep up with your youthfulness—your merry prances and unburdened soul.

For what it was worth, he did the best he could to never be a hindrance. He didn't seem to fully understand his own limitations either, making it quite a simple thing to steal the key from his belt loop while he slept—deep and silent, so much so that you needed to drop a tissue over his face from make sure he was still breathing—and unfasten the lock to descend a set of slick, stone stairs.

There wasn’t much to at the bottom; a space half-flooded from seasonal rains raising the sea-level, old pieces of ship equipment hanging like ornamentation, an old folding chair that had yet to rust despite damp air, and a large hole in the ground that was dark like the throat of a nightmare envisioned in the most precious hours of night.

You held a plate of raw meat, freshly thawed from the freezer, outstretched with a flickering lantern in your other hand. Anywhere else, you'd have just brung a flashlight—but, he didn't like the bright lights, had ripped the last one out of your hands and smashed it against the wall. Oil lanterns were better tolerated, but he still seemed to cower from the gentle flickers.

So, you placed the meat on the seat of the folding chair and walked closer to the hole, wading a hand through seawater until touching braids of cold metal, chains pulled taut as though weighted down by an anchor. You gave the closest one a tug, always with the same caution as a child gripping his mother's clothes in uncertain times, and backed away.

He never made noise when he surfaced, always frightfully quiet, only indicated by a trail of bubbles that followed after where he roamed underwater. The first thing to emerge was a dorsal fin flared proudly from the middle of his head until midway in the deepest curve of his back. His eyes were on you, abysmal black things with a luster you likened to a landbound fish, and skin and scales that moved stiffly with his facial movements.

“You,” said the creature, toneless and in a voice far too raspy and deep to have an equal match amongst human men. “You have come. You are here.”

Months ago, he hadn't been capable of simple speech such as this. The noises he made were incompatible to anything you had ever heard—perhaps mere vocalizations he utilized underwater, possibly something long gone and archaic—but he had started mimicking you when you'd speak, and eventually you started slowing down, giving him the time to feel how the sounds vibrated in his own throat.

“I brought you food, again.” You gestured towards the seat with raw meat with your lantern, prompting his passing glance of interest before he was back on you. “Not hungry? He usually doesn’t feed you that well. I haven't been down here in a week or so, so I figured you'd be ready to scarf it down.”

“No.”

He came closer and the size of him grew, a towering figure with strong, broad-shoulders and a chest built to withstand the friction of the sea he used to own. His face, although hidden in darkness and flickering shadow cast from your lantern, gleamed as the light struck his iridescent scales. The shape of his lips were human-like yet taut, helping to comfortably fit his sharp teeth inside his mouth.

You'd wondered at times what exactly he was, what your granduncle believed him to be and feared so much to hide him away, chained to a wall. You fantasized that he could be the lost prince of some underwater civilization, or the offspring of several thousands of years of evolution between humans and something else.

He never seemed to understand you when you asked him what he was.

“Come,” his reach was limited by the chains that bound his limbs, keeping him shy of touching your body. “Come to me.”

With the lantern set aside, a distance you hoped wouldn't turn him petulant, you walked in his arms and the shackles and made home there as he surrounded you. His embrace was not the sort you could escape, nor was the kiss he pressed against your mouth.

There were parts of him you were too scared to touch, where his scales were like serrated teeth and he had much less control to retract at will like the dorsal find along his back. His lips were smooth and cold, however, a safe place for you to be on his body along with the hard flesh on his chest.

He pushed himself into your touch as your fingertips traced the shape of his torso, rose with the sprawl of his breasts and shoulders, molded into the ridges of his lower abdomen that you felt pulse and tense the further downward you roamed.

The sheath around his groin had swelled significantly and seemed to twitch when you smoothed your hand across it, kneading it gently to see what would come of doing so. You'd seen this only once before several months ago, a time where you'd been more frightened of him and fled from the basement for weeks when he'd acted more aggressive than usual.

It was one of the many things he had taken notice of that were perceived negatively—with fear and distance and shutting him away in this deep dark until you found the courage to feed him again, because your uncle was petrified along with being restricted in his ability to navigate the stairs with his lame leg.

So, he had learned to behave at the worst of times to keep food supplied, for you to stay wrapped up in him like this and so curious to challenge the extent of his self-restraint.

His kiss had grown full-bodied and restless and gone elsewhere on your body to a great expanse of skin. His face nuzzled into the fabric hiding your warmth from him, teeth tearing and fraying the threads that kept your clothes together until you stopped him.

“Stop—wait, wait, wait.” You walked back out of his arms once he was able to recognize the words. He reached for you despite the clattering bonds around his wrist, but you took your time to shuck the clothes from your body and fold them.

Once he had you back, he led you to the edge of the pool of endless depths and sank down inside of it. Your toes touched the very edge of darkness, stirring a rabble of butterflies in your gut that did not dissipate even once he resurfaced.

"Sit.” He gestured right at where you stood. “Sit down.”

The idea of having any part of your body submerged in the black water left you with little desire in continuing this, but you obeyed and slowly lowered your rear to the rim of the pool, legs speckled by goose pimples as the cold water gripped up to the inside of your thighs.

“Yes, good.” He was close enough to push your thighs wide apart and stick his tongue inside of you. You took in a great sucking breath, startled from the suddenness of it and the long, articulate appendage massaging a part of you in a way no one ever had before.

You leaned back on your arms when they weakened and shook from the sensations, eyes flicking towards the drab ceiling, wondering just how far under the living quarters of the lighthouse you actually were and whether granduncle would hear any lewd sounds that were beginning to hum in your throat.

“Keep going.” He said when you moaned, tongue retracted from your body to mimic the ministrations you made with your hand and fingers while you stroked yourself. “Keep doing it.”

He nudged your hand away to put his mouth over that stimulated spot instead, sucking and licking along you with such fervor that you dissolved into hard pants and whimpers, tempted to close your thighs around his head and push him away as the tight warmth inside of you flushed out with a kaleidoscopic burst of color and cool air following the trail of something slowly oozing out of you.

It took a second orgasm and chanting turned to cries to get him off of you. That brief respite ended when he took you by the waist and dragged you into the pool with him. By that point, you were too far spent to have anything but unshakeable indifference to the depths and the cold.

His kiss was as it had been before, rough and restless, forceful in a way that left you malleable and melting against him. Even when he had your front wedged between the rim of the pool and his chest, you couldn't bring yourself to react much.

You felt his thighs mold to the back of yours before the slim tip of his cock pushed into you, the girth of it thickening considerably at the base. The friction of the water wasn't an obstacle for him to fuck into you with greedy thrusts that threw your hips forward, knocking skin and bone against the wall of the pool.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh—” the ridges of his cock were an unusual feeling, catching your walls in spots, spreading you wider when he'd withdraw part way and plunge back inside. “Oh, shit—feels good. Harder. Harder. Harder!”

There was truly never any way to know how much he understood when you said it, something called into question when his thrusts slowed to a stop, but he stayed hard inside of you. For a moment, the water settled along with your heavy breaths and blood gushing through your ears.

Things slowly came back into focus—the dancing lantern light, the room temperature meat, the wicked water in which you were immersed to the waist while the rest of you was braced by him.

He shifted behind you, adjusting his thighs so yours went even wider. Before you could ask the things you wanted to, a new sensation stole your breath—the swollen head of a second cock, different in shape and size from the first, pushed into you and lay flush atop the other.

“Don't—don’t move.” You were struggling to do the same thing with such an enormous stretch you'd never had to accommodate before. Tension built in your throat, whether a sob or a scream or your own anxiety, and stayed there to cinch your voice into silence.

He soothed you with lips and teeth all over your flesh; the back of your neck, the cartilage of your ears and the underside of your jawbone. His large hands left the shelf of your hips and felt along your front side, nipples, chest, stomach, and groin where he tried to recreate the same pleasure on you now as you had done for yourself earlier.

“Good?” He nested his cocks deeper when he heard you moan. The pain of it was beginning to subside, but the strangeness of it remained. “Is it good?”

“Just—just don't hurt me.”

His hands were back on your hips to keep you seated on his thighs while he thrust into you. It wasn't as easy for him to move as it was before, perhaps realizing the limitations of a human companion, but continued in snappy pulses that made the water lap at the skin on your back and turned your thoughts into senseless, garbled things.

Soon enough, you were riding a sloppy, savage rhythm to which you had no control of whatsoever as he chased his end. In moments where he seemed to regress into a natural state, almost animalistic in the way he rutted into you and buried his cocks, one would slip out and go forgotten for a time. The length of it glided against your groin, a smooth motion underwater that prodded your sore spots before he was able to fit it back into place with the other.

Amid your luscious sounds were those of his own; labored, air-sucking rasps that rumbled from places more than just his throat. They were probably never meant to be heard above the surface of water, just as he didn't belong fucking a human while being chained to a wall.

You thought about that fact while the last thrusts he took seated his cocks so deep that you ached, hard surges of warmth flooding your insides in a way unexpectedly delightful. He clung to you with his arms and shackles even well after he had emptied himself in your body and retracted both cocks into their sheath.

After a while, he hoisted you out of the water and followed you to retrieve your clothes. He stopped short of the chains pulling in the wall, watching while you wiped away the remnants of him oozing down the backs of your thighs and redressed.

“Don't go.” He kissed you and let his cold lips linger over yours. “Stay here.”

You returned the affection as endlessly as he gave it, only thinking that sunrise would soon come to pull you apart.

a/n: so, this idea has unfortunately never been able to fully develop from a lack of ideas. with starting this new blog, I'm hoping to get enough interest and feedback to actually commit to this and bring a completed project eventually!!

are you satisfied with how the aquatic monster was written in this piece? what would you be interested in having added/taken away? what do you think could be improved upon/expanded? is there anything you're particularly curious about?

what sort of setting would you like to see this story take place? 19th century, the 90s, or modern e.g. 2010+? are you satisfied with the setting being in cape tellis? a location inspired by lighthouse coastlines with predominately dreary/cool/wet weather? if not, what type of setting would you prefer to see?

in terms of the storyline, are you more interested in seeing: 1) a relative goes missing, so you arrive at the lighthouse he owned to solve the mystery 2) mc being an underwater mechanic to fix a damaged dam 3) mc being part of a small group trying to capture proof of a "creature" lurking around cape tellis. 4) something else???

[darklydeliciousdesires]

John Shelby Vs. Breakfast - A John Shelby/Reader Short.

I haven't written for any of my Peaky lads in a hot minute, so I thought I'd do a little fun, fluffy piece for my fave ginge <3 Enjoy!

Words - 792

Warnings - None, just John being John!

Clattering. Swearing. Burnt toast. Those are what greet you after descending the stairs, coming into the kitchen to see perhaps the most unnatural sight in the world; John cooking. Or rather attempting to.  

“Bastard, bloody thing!” Yes, the cast iron pan handle heats up while cooking eggs and bacon in it, not that he’d realise, being a man. Naturally, he’s had a woman perform these tasks for him all his life, so why would he know that? “Oh, shit, shit, shit, not again!”  

At least this time when he reaches for hot metal, he has the sense to cover the end of the toasting fork with a kitchen towel, pulling the slices of bread from in front of the fire. “Fuckin’ hell!” 

You stand and watch it, the sexy, ginger ball of stress whirling like an agitated tornado around the space, John much too predisposed by messing up the preparation of breakfast to notice you there, his entertained audience of one.  

“Alright, I can save that. Scrape the burnt bit off. Right, kettle’s almost done. Sodding hell! How the fuck do women do this and make it look so bloody easy?” 

“Because we’re magicians,” you finally speak, watching him jump before he spins around, pointing at you through the chaos of his own making. 

“You should be in bed, still!”  

Shrugging, you approach, stroking his bare forearms, his sleeves all rolled up. “I was wide awake, so I thought I’d get up.”  

He bustles, waving his arms. “No, no. Ain’t supposed to be like this. I had a plan! Bring you breakfast in bed and now it’s all bloody going wrong!” 

Casting your gaze over his shoulder, your eyebrow flutters upwards. “I don’t think that has anything to do with me coming down the stairs, John. The pan is smoking, by the way.”  

His face falls. “Fuckin’ hell!”  

“Do you want a hand?” you offer, watching him move it from atop the range, scraping the slightly overdone eggs and bacon out onto two plates. 

He waves his hand towards the table. “No, you sit down.” 

“I can do the teapot, at least?” 

More hand gestures are directed. “Sit down, bab!”  

He’s adamant to do this, so tucking your dress, you take a seat, picking up the morning paper as he butters the toast. Finishing plating up the breakfast and pouring the tea, he brings it to you, everything a little crispy and haphazardly presented, your new husband looking at you from under a few furrowed brow.  

“Don’t look nothing like when you make it, but I hope it tastes alright, at least.” 

Digging your fork in, you take a first mouthful. “It’s lovely, darling. Thank you. What made you want to cook for me in the first place, though? You always denounce it as woman’s work. Not that you should. We’re in the twenties now, us women are to have our equality.” 

“Oh, not you an’ all!” he groans, rolling his eyes. “You and bloody Pol and your women’s lib!” His little wink indicates he isn’t a hundred percent serious, picking up a slice of toast and taking a huge bite, crumbs collecting at the corners of his lips. “And I did it because I wanna make amends. Ain’t proper that we’re married and I can’t take you on honeymoon. Nah. Even a weekend up the seaside would have been nice. Got all this fuckin’ shit round me neck, though.” 

Indeed, he has. You know well who you married, and the life of a prolific gangster is seldom easy. Or, in this case, flexible enough to allow for time away from Birmingham with his new bride.  

Reaching for his hand, you stroke the freckled flesh, cocking your head. “You’ve no amends here to make, love. I know, I understand. It is what it is.” 

“Yeah, but it bloody shouldn’t be, cos’ you deserve more!” he fumes, forehead creasing. “And I can’t give it to ya right now. Feel like a right bloody joke of a husband, I do.” 

“You know what you can give me, though?” you tease, John not immediately picking up on the connotations. “A bloody good seeing to.” 

He pauses his chewing, an eyebrow arching. “Get that scran down your neck sharpish, bab. I might not be able to take you away even for a weekend, but I can take you to bed instead.”  

To be honest, is seeing a lot of time pressed against a mattress beneath your new husband not the point of a honeymoon? You’ve always thought so, at least, therefore it matters not where that mattress happens to be. Whether further afield or Birmingham, as long as John is there, it’s all the honeymoon you need.  

A slightly cremated breakfast is an added bonus, too.  

[harrycinnamonbun]

christmas day - oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

word count - 1.2k

summary - opening presents on christmas morning with bf oscar

warnings - kissing, mostly fluff!

a/n - this is short and super late but merry christmas to those who celebrate! I feel like bf oscar is great at gift giving, lily sure is lucky :)

everything was perfect.

you got up early to make breakfast, unable to contain your excitement for the day. you've loved christmas ever since you were a little girl, and this year was no different. but this year, you got to open presents with your boyfriend. 

he was perfect. sweet, kind, attentive, passionate– everything you’ve ever wanted. you'd been dating for a little over 6 months now, right in that sweet spot of newfound love and genuine commitment. for your first christmas together, you agreed on small gifts. nothing fancy or extravagant, you had your entire lives for that. this first christmas was meant for something meaningful, a testament to your relationship.

you flip the eggs over, frying them the way oscar likes, squinting as the sun shines through the windows of the spacious monaco apartment. your bare feet padded across the tile floor as you grabbed some slices of bread to toast. the only other sound you could hear was the crackling of the eggs in the pan. 

this was much unlike the christmases you were used to, which were usually blanketed in snow, but it was a welcome change. it was still quiet out, the city still waking slowly to find presents placed under their trees. the tree in oscar’s apartment had been a bit sad before you spruced it up. its branches were occupied by just a few homemade ornaments from oscar’s childhood, but that was it. it was still low–key by all means, but more worthy of being called a christmas tree now with the addition of some ribbon and shiny ornaments. and of course you added a star, one of your grandmother’s heirlooms that had finally made its way to you. it now sat perched atop the tree like a regal crown. 

the bedroom door opened with a low creak, as a sleepy oscar stepped out with a smile.

“good morning love, merry christmas!” he said sweetly, walking over to the kitchen to place a kiss on your cheek. you leaned into his warm touch as he wrapped his arms around your waist and embraced you from behind, inhaling his scent. oscar radiated warmth, and creases lined his cheeks, evidence of his deep sleep. 

“eat first, then we open presents.” you slid a plate filled with bacon, eggs, toast, and a croissant over to him as he sat down at the table. 

“presents? i already have everything i want.” he looked up at you cheekily, already digging into his breakfast. “mmm wow this is good. thanks babe,” he moaned out as he chewed his food, a  stupidly big smile on his face already.

you rolled your eyes and brought your own plate to the table, sitting across from him. your feet touched his innocently under the table, your fluffy socks meeting his as you sat eating in comfortable silence. anticipation was palpable between the two of you, oscar making it glaringly obvious by shoveling his food in his mouth as fast as possible. you took it a bit easier, knowing there was no rush to get the day started. 

you took your last bite and oscar snatched the empty plate from under you, taking the dirty dishes straight to the sink. 

“okay okay time for presents.” he yanked your chair out from the table and pushed you off it, scooping you up to carry you to the tree.

“oscar! let me down!” you giggled as he set you down in front of the tree, placing a pretty gift bag in front of you. you gave him a look as you handed him two gift wrapped boxes, raising your eyebrows as you beamed. 

“okay baby, open yours first.” you say and look at him expectantly. he eagerly ripped open the wrapping paper of the first box, clawing it off excitedly. a flat white box remained, but as he opened the top, a picture frame sat inside.

inside the picture frame was a few pieces of confetti from his first win in hungary earlier this year. a small gold plaque as the bottom read “osc’s first win 2024”. 

oscar looked up at you, clearly at a loss for words. his eyes conveyed an intense love and gratitude, which was then confirmed with a bear hug. 

“i love it baby, this is perfect. thank you so much love i can’t wait to hang it up.” he breathed out as he suffocated you in his arms, clutching so hard you could almost see stars. 

you pulled him back the moment he let go, immediately kissing him on the lips sweetly. he held you close, kissing you softly until you both had to break away to breathe. 

“i can’t believe you kept the confetti,” he whispered.

“of course i did. we needed something to remember that special day.” you pulled him in for another hug and then sat back down across from him. “you have one more thing,” you gesture to the second box. 

he ripped the paper off just as fast as the first, and inside the box was a variety of australian candies and snacks, the good stuff you couldn’t find in monaco. oscar’s eyes widened, and so did his grin, a childlike wonderment and joy taking over him. 

“i can’t find these anywhere here!” he exclaimed, holding up a box of tim tams. he leaned over to hug you again, kissing you on the cheek. “what a great surprise.” 

“open yours now…” he said, setting down the box of treats to watch you intently. you pick up the bag and take out the tissue paper. inside was a rabbit stuffed animal, and a small velvet box. 

“you got me a jellycat!” you squealed with joy, taking out the plushie first. “its adorable baby, how did you know ive been wanting one?”

“you talk about it every single day.” oscar deadpanned, as smile threatening to break his facade as he teased you. you rolled your eyes at him and went to hug him, but he put his hand out to stop you, “open the next one.”

you set the rabbit plushie down and gently grasped the velvet box, opening the top of it. inside was a golden heart shaped locket, with yours and oscar’s initials engraved in swirling script on the front. your mouth fell open in awe, tears threatening to spill from your eyes at the sight. it was beautiful and dainty, exactly something you would wear. you opened the locket to find a note in oscar's handwriting inside which read, “i love you.”

when reading that, you started to cry softly. it was the most lovely present you had received in a very long time. “I….i love it…i love you…” you stammered out breathlessly, unable to keep a stupid grin off your face. 

oscar pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your forehead to comfort you. “I mean it, i love you so much,” he said sincerely, taking the locket from you and fastening it around your neck. 

you embraced each other warmly, soaking in the memory of your first christmas together in monaco. it had turned out better than you could ever imagine, and you were more in love than ever now.

it was perfect. the moment was perfect. this christmas was perfect. 

[shadowdaddies]

Wings of Desire

Azriel x Reader

based on this request

Summary: meeting your mate’s family for the first time doesn’t go as you hoped

This can be read on its own, or as a part three | Part 1 | Part 2

Your body hummed with content, a soft smile gracing your lips as you savored the moment. The cup of tea in your hands spread warmth through your body with each sip, its spices filling your nose with a pleasant aroma as the sound of Azriel frying eggs on the stove echoed through the quiet cabin. 

Biting your lip, you admired how your mate’s exposed muscles moved, his large dark wings relaxed half-open at his back as he swayed slightly over the pan. Nearly a week had passed since you had recognized the mating bond, and while you hadn’t known Azriel long, you were already certain there was no one else you would rather spend your life with. 

Memories of the past week flooded your thoughts. From finding ways to show his tender affection towards you in the cabin - cooking for you, picking out books he thought you would enjoy, affirming you with his words - to being your fierce protector whenever you were training at the Illyrian camps, Azriel was a constant source of both excitement and security that you were shocked you had ever managed to live without.

A shadow curled around the spymaster’s ear, Azriel turning over his shoulder with a knowing smirk, hazel eyes darkening as they raked over you. 

“See something you like?” Azriel teased, his gravelly morning voice causing you to clench your legs instinctively. Flushing under his gaze, you licked a drop of tea from your lip, moving to rest your chin on your hand as you gazed up at your mate.

“I like everything I see,” you replied, your own tone breathless as Azriel turned, his tattooed chest bared to you as he scraped the eggs onto each of your plates. As he held a plate out towards you, you popped up in your seat, leaning across the table as you grabbed it. With a kiss to his lips, you whispered a “thank you,” the both of you taking your seats across from each other to eat.

Humming quietly, you spread strawberry jam across a piece of golden toast, grinning at the tart smell of the fruit as you raised it to your lips. Just as you crunched down on the bread, Azriel cleared his throat, drawing your gaze back to his.

Hazel eyes honed in on you, a thick swallow working down the Illyrian’s throat before he reached a scarred thumb to the corner of your mouth. It was a challenge to focus your breathing as you watched Azriel draw his thumb away, his tongue flicking out against the jam he’d collected from your lips before wrapping his own around the digit and sucking.

Seemingly oblivious to what he was doing to you, Azriel cleared his throat once more before speaking. 

“I would like to take you to Velaris.” He spoke so casually, leaning against the counter as he used the side of his fork to cut through an egg, scooping it onto a piece of his toast.

He had told you of Velaris last night - his safe haven, treasured home where he lived with his family. It struck you then, what a monumental moment this was for him - for the both of you - as the spymaster of the Night Court offered to bring someone from another court to his home. 

But you both knew that you weren’t just ‘someone.’ And you both knew that what was happening between you two was not a fling. This was Life Altering, World Tipped on its Axis, Head over Heels, Love.

You must have been quiet for a moment too long, because Azriel’s relaxed demeanor vanished in favor of widened, anxious eyes and a stiff back. 

“I just mean that I would like for you to meet my family... And, if you are comfortable...” he trailed off, searching for words. “I would just like to show you my home.”

You couldn’t hold back the bright smile that took over your face, the joy that could not be held back as you imagined it. So far, your relationship with Azriel had been limited to your stay at the cabin and spy work. But this, this was real. This was confirmation that this incredible, beautiful male was not a dream, but your mate, and you could have a future with him. 

Leaping up from your seat, you ran to embrace Azriel, his warm chest relaxing in your hold as he returned it. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to your hair, murmuring against you. “So, is that a yes?”

You giggled against him, noting the rapid thumping of his heart at the sound as you said, “Yes. Of course I would love to, Azriel.” 

An overwhelming sense of bliss flowed through the bond as you felt Azriel’s lips curve into a smile against your hair before tilting your head to look up at him. “We will go there for dinner tonight, then, if that is alright. Rhysand and Feyre are having dinner with the family at their home.”

You had met the High Lord and High Lady twice now, both in meeting with Tarquin and at the camps. Their kindness had surprised you, the Night Court’s leader nothing like his reputation. With an eager nod, you suddenly found yourself anxiously awaiting this evening, overcome with the excitement of meeting Azriel’s loved ones. 

~~~

Adjusting the straps of your gauzy periwinkle dress, you thanked the Cauldron for Emerie. Dressing for a nice dinner was not something you had planned when you left for Illyria, but neither was Azriel. Your wings twitched in excitement as you took in your appearance in the mirror. Gowns weren’t something you wore often, and you were astonished at how beautiful you felt.

Boots scuffed, rubber soles hitting the wood harshly as the sound of liquid sloshing and splattering perked your ears. Turning over your shoulder, a gasp escaped you at the sight of Azriel, one hand on the floor in front of him as the other held a nearly-empty glass. 

While you had not known Azriel long, you were certain that tripping was an uncommon occurrence for the spymaster. “Azriel, are you okay?” you breathed out, rushing forward to kneel next to him on the floor. 

His cheeks flushed a now familiar pinkish hue that made you melt. Az simply gaped at you, awestruck as his eyes shone with emotion. “You are the most beautiful sight. I am not worthy of your presence,” he admitted, almost more to himself as he stayed dazed in front of you.

The sound of your laughter, like morning bells that awoke his soul, brought Azriel back to reality. You shook your head, standing as you offered your hand to help him stand with you. 

“I will have Feyre paint that image one day. You, standing in the mirror - a female so ethereal that everything around her is abhorrently ordinary. You are incredible,” Azriel breathed the last words, a scarred thumb rubbing your cheek as he pulled you in for a kiss. Lightning shot through your bones, as though his kiss was an effervescent light that gave you life. 

Reluctantly, the both of you pulled away, catching your breath as Azriel wrapped his arms around you. With a nod from you, he wrapped you both in darkness, carrying you away to the City of Starlight. 

Darkness faded away, Azriel pulling back slightly as he took your hand in his and turned towards a large mansion. It was understatedly beautiful, clearly a modest home where the High Lord and High Lady often hosted family. Behind the home, you could see the mountains upon which you stood moments ago, now playing the part of a backdrop in a stunning painting. 

Azriel led you forward, hand sliding to the small of your back as he held you close in a protective, claiming manner that made you smile with pride. As though she sensed your presence, the High Lady swung open the front door, a smile on her full lips as she greeted you. 

“Hello! You look beautiful, please come in,” Feyre greeted, catching you off-guard with a warm hug before moving to greet Azriel the same. Rhys came up behind her, the lack of power emanating from him making the male seem almost normal. It was jarring to see them like this - so domestic and comfortable, a true family. 

The couple guided you and Azriel down a grand hallway, the home simple in decoration with the exception of grand, beautiful paintings that lined the walls. “Those are all painted by Feyre,” Azriel whispered in your ear.

“They’re beautiful,” you whispered back. Raising your voice slightly, you gushed to Feyre as you passed a picture of Rhysand on the balcony of the Summer Court palace. “Your art is so beautiful. I didn’t realize how talented you are.”

With a small laugh, Feyre waved off your compliments. “It’s a nice outlet. I like to commemorate moments with my family that way,” she explained, ushering you into a dining room where several people stood around a table. 

You weren’t usually nervous when meeting new people, but finding yourself face-to-face with your mate’s family, you suddenly became very conscious of everyone, intent on making a good impression. Cassian greeted you first, the war general much more jovial than he had been when you’d met prior in training. He introduced you to his wife, Nesta, who greeted you with a polite, knowing smile. “I’ve heard much about you from Azriel... and Emerie,” she added with a wink, her eyes moving to Azriel as the stunning Valkyrie pulled him in for a hug.

You laughed at her comment, gesturing to your dress. “Emerie lent me this dress for tonight, actually.” Nesta opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted.

“It is a beautiful dress,” a small voice sounded from Azriel’s other side. You stepped around your mate to see a petite female, similar to Nesta and Feyre but breathtakingly striking as her brown doe eyes assessed you. Her stiff form betrayed her kind words, tension building in the room as everyone turned towards her.

Fae instincts took over, your need to claim your mate guiding your hand to grip Azriel’s arm more firmly than necessary. “Thank you, very much...?” you replied, a polite but questioning look prompting the gorgeous fae for her name. 

“I’m Elain - Feyre and Nesta’s sister,” she explained with that same strained politeness that had your hackles rising. You didn’t miss the scathing look Rhys shot towards Azriel, everyone else seemingly oblivious as the High Lord bode everyone to take their seats.

Azriel pulled out your chair, placing a kiss to your hand before taking the seat next to you. The muscles in his hand stiffened slightly, alerting you to look around him where you saw Elain taking the seat on his other side.

While everyone else continued to eat their meals, enjoying the casual conversation, you could hardly breathe as Elain continued whispering to Azriel, giggling at everything he said. Rhys watched you with caution, sending an encouraging smile as Nesta attempted to make conversation with you about the books you had been reading. 

The world stopped turning when Elain put her hand on Azriel’s thigh, your vision red as an animalistic growl left your lips. Everyone in the table turned towards you in alarm, surprise on their faces as they took in the situation. 

The usual dark power that Rhysand emanated returned, bringing a chilly air to the room as he spoke in a deathly calm voice. “The three of you,” he nodded at you, Azriel, and Elain, “come with me.” Like ashamed children, you left your seat, yanking your hand from Azriel’s when he attempted to reach for it.

Fists clenched, you stormed from the room and followed the High Lord into his office, his eyes matching yours in their glowing fury. Azriel timidly clicked the wooden door shut behind him, just in time for you and Rhys to shout at him in unison.

“What the fuck, Azriel?” You screamed, both regret and pleasure snaking through you at how he and Elain flinched at your anger. 

Rhys put a placating hand on your arm, stepping forward as his power granted him a raw authority over the room. “Azriel, it appears as though you did not inform Elain,” violet eyes flicked towards you, “or your mate, of the situation.” 

Elain’s jaw fell slack, brown eyes lining with silver as her long curls whipped around her face. She glared at Azriel. “I thought that mates didn’t to you, Azriel. At least, that’s what you let me believe when you pursued me despite my having a mate.”

It was as though you had been shoved in ice water, floundering for breath in the shock as you began to comprehend the situation. Your voice cut through the air like a knife, Azriel flinching visibly as you spoke. “You are in a relationship?” 

It was Elain and Azriel’s turn to speak in unison. 

“Yes,” she spoke.

Just as firmly as he said, “no.”

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, hatred shining in their eyes before Elain broke into tears. “Of course not,” she whispered. “I should have known. I’m a pretty face, but not worth fighting for. Isn’t that right?” Her voice broke on the last words before the beautiful female ran from the room, leaving heavy hearts behind.

Rhysand only paused for a moment before following Elain from the room, closing the door behind him in a silent request for you and Azriel to speak alone. A long moment passed as you stared at the door, half-ready to walk through it yourself when Azriel sounded next to you.

Daring to turn your head, your heart cleaved in two at the sight of tears running down your mate’s cheeks. His eyes never left yours, body angled fully towards you as he stayed determined to remain with you. He spoke slowly, carefully, in a measured tone. “I did not have a relationship with Elain. There was mutual interest, and she clearly thought it was more than I did. We never even kissed.”

Hating how your heart softened hearing that, you began to pace back and forth. Thoughts formed, and you stopped in front of Azriel with anger and sorrow in your voice. “She has a mate. So clearly you don’t care about what that - what this - means in the same way that I do if you were with her.”

“NO.” Azriel spoke louder than you had ever heard the quiet male. He sighed, walking towards you cautiously, reaching out a hand before dropping it cautiously. “I didn’t care about mates, because I didn’t think I would ever have one. I have been labeled as ‘different’ my entire existence - mocked, ridiculed, tortured for it. I settled for what was in front of me because I thought I would never find someone so perfect. Not just perfect for me, but the most incredible, kind, clever, ethereal female I have ever met. I still do not know how the Cauldron could bless me with you, but I will fight until my dying breath to keep you happy. I am sorry that I hurt you. I promise to spend the rest of my life loving you.”

A tear fell down your cheek at his words, sniffling through a small laugh as you replied. “And I promise to spend the rest of my life showing you how worthy you are of extraordinary love, Azriel.”

A burning sensation at the tips of your wings drew a gasp from you - your eyes searching Azriel as you saw dark swirls of ink appear on the tips of his wings. “That makes a bargain,” he whispered. You looked up, seeing swirls of black decorating the tips of your white wings, a beautiful contrast to their color. “I’ve never seen a bargain mark left on wings before,” he murmured, his finger lightly tracing the marks on your feathers.

You bit your lip, head growing dizzy with pleasure at the feeling when Azriel pulled away, smirking. Stepping closer to him where you were now chest to chest, you brought your fingers to trace the marks on his wings, reveling in his reaction to your touch. “Well, there’s never been anyone like us,” you whispered, pulling him in for a passionate kiss, breaking apart as you both smiled too broadly to continue.

“You need to speak with Elain, and apologize,” you stated. Azriel nodded in agreement, taking your hand in his as he opened the door to leave the study. You were shocked to find Azriel’s family all standing around, turning towards the two of you and your matching tattoos with intrigued looks. 

With a glance back at you, Azriel broke the silence. “I need to go speak with Elain.”

Amused smiles filled the room, knowing glances being exchanged. Feyre let out a small, almost choking laugh. “Maybe another time, Azriel. Lucien stopped by. He and Elain went for a walk.”

You didn’t miss Cassian’s especially broad grin at the mention, but dismissed everyone else when Azriel turned towards you. “I will talk to her another time, love. For now, let me show you Velaris,” he promised, and you gave his hand a loving squeeze as you nodded, following him outside towards the city and your future.

[copperbadge]

Your latest bread success made me wonder if you've tried or had much luck making gluten free bread? I'm so tired of most commercially available options, they all seem to dissolve instantly. Awful for burgers or anything with sauce. I miss sourdough.

I'm afraid I haven't done much work with gluten-free baking; the problem is the gluten tax. As I'm sure you know, gluten-free anything, even just ingredients, are more expensive, and the process of baking is more labor intensive and time-consuming for a product that isn't the same. Even the best gluten-free bread, lacking gluten, is lacking one of the defining characteristics of the thing it's emulating.

Since I can eat gluten and am not regularly responsible for feeding anyone who can't, there's no real motivation to do it. I try to always have gluten-free options when I'm hosting, but that's usually stuff like crudite and dip, charcuterie, or fruit -- things that can also avoid other allergens, and depending on the item be eaten by vegetarians or vegans.

Now, all that said, I can recommend King Arthur's Cup For Cup GF flour for baking; it makes the process fairly smooth and the final product seems pretty sturdy, although admittedly the flour is about twice the price of their normal bread flour per pound. I haven't encountered Bob's Red Mill GF flour in a while, but partly that's because when we stopped using them they hadn't really reformulated in a few decades and their GF flour was pretty coarse, and sometimes made from beans my family members couldn't tolerate. They may have advanced since, this was like 10-15 years ago at least.

The King Arthur website has a variety of GF baking recipes as well as mixes and I do have some experience making their GF bagels, which are pretty good, although I think they're actually better if you halve the size (easier to manage, easier to store, since they really need to be kept cold, preferably frozen, and eaten warmed). I baked those regularly for a while for a colleague's kid who was allergic to wheat, and they weren't much more work than baking regular bagels, just required more delicate handling pre-bake.

I realize this is basic and you've probably tried it, but just in case, any GF product you're going to be saucing (as you say, like burgers), you might try griddling first -- little scrape of butter, toss it in a hot pan for a few minutes. In regular bread it helps to both create a flat barrier so the sauce doesn't sink into the bread, and it also dries it out a little so that it can take more moisture to begin with. This is theoretical though, I've never done it with GF buns. I do know that generally King Arthur recommends toasting GF products baked with its recipes.

Readers, feel free to chime in with recommendations! Remember to reply in comments or reblogs, as I don't post asks sent in response to other asks.

[jsbluu]

left on seen | chapter 21: a long overdue apology

➨ chapter 20: plan a | left on seen masterlist | next

➨ chapter 21.. i cooked on this one idk about you guys but i think this might be the best chapter (so far) anyway i can’t believe it’s already december!! hope you guys are ready for that christmas chapter..

TAGLIST: @yizhrt @bococostree @sunghoonsgfreal @dinonuguaegi @ddolbyong @4chensungs @vixensss @jirsungs @luffysprincess @nosungluv @akunoeyebrows @sinsgaybutthatsokay @joyzluvr @n0hyuck @mrsbyun-baek @queenrachelpink @botchedbrat @livingdoll-hara @minkyuncutie @gomdoleemyson @17ericas @cookydream

the next morning, you woke up bright and early (aka 2 hours before you usually did) and immediately went to the kitchen armed with eggs, bread, and a whole lot of guilt. you had never been much of a baker, but how hard could making french toast be?

the first batch of bread burnt almost instantly, the pan smoking like a chimney and ended with you frantically waving a towel in front of the smoke detector in hopes it didn’t go off. 

the second batch falls apart in the egg mixture, leaving you with a nasty looking mix that looked more like oatmeal then whatever the hell you were trying to make. you throw it in the trash and put your head down on the table, mumbling random things to yourself in frustration. “why did i think this would be a good idea?” but as you wipe your hands on your apron, you think about leehan. you think about the way he avoided you, the way you made him feel, and that gave you one last push to try to make it right between you guys. 

by the third and final attempt, you finally started to find a rhythm. low heat, don’t let the bread soak for too long, flip correctly. slowly but surely, the toast piled up beside you. they weren’t perfect, but it was gonna have to do. by the time you’re finished, the kitchen looked like a battle zone. flour was on your cheeks, cinnamon was on the floor, and there was a small splatter of batter on the ceiling which you had absolutely no idea how it even got there, but you done it. you move the toast to a different container, adding a little bit of syrup and powdered sugar in hopes to make it look a little bit more appetizing, along with a fork on the side.

class felt like a punishment. you sat on the far side of the classroom, way too far from your friends to be comfortable. you’d spotted leehan when you’d walked in, seating with his head down scrolling on his phone. he hadn’t looked up, not once. 

it’s your fault, and you know it. the guilt that you’ve carried the past few days sits heavily on your chest, weighing you down and making it physically impossible for you to be able to focus on anything else. you wished you had said something when you had the chance, told leehan you weren’t interested in seeing him again and this all could’ve been avoided.

this time, though, you’re prepared. you glance at the container in your backpack and feel your heart start to pound, you’ve rehearsed what you’re gonna say to him so many times in your head, but it never made it easier. when class ends, the students start filing out the door, including jisung and kazuha, but you stay still in your seat. leehan stands to leave, grabbing his bag before making his way down the rows of seats. before he can get too far, you rush to stop him.

“leehan” you call out.

he freezes mid step, slowly turning around to face you. his expression is unreadable, you can’t tell if he was happy you were talking to him or if he wanted to continue leaving. “..yes?”

you swallow hard and step a bit closer towards him. “can we talk for a second?”

he nods and you lead him towards a corner of the room, where it’s quieter, and you feel your nerves becoming worse and worse each step. when you finally come to a stop, you tightly grab your bag and look at him, all the guilt you had adorned the past few days coming up to the surface.

“i’m really sorry.” you start, your voice quiet and shaking. “for everything.” he crosses his arms in front of you, his expression slightly softening. “you didn’t have to—“ “no, i do.” you cut him off. “you’re allowed to be upset. i bailed on you and didn’t even tell you why. i just.. got overwhelmed, and i didn’t know how to handle it. but that’s no excuse and im just as upset with myself as you are. you didn’t deserve that.”

his brows knit together as he watches you, the tension in his shoulders loosening.

you fumble with your bag before pulling out the somehow still warm container of french toast and holding it in front of him for him to take. “i made this for you. it’s french toast. well.. an attempt i should say. i know how disappointed you were last time you had it cause you got sick, so i hope this one doesn’t give you food poisoning again..”

your words trail off as you gesture towards the container, “i thought it could be my apology towards you. and a promise to do better.” leehan slowly blinks at the container, before a small smile starts to form on his face. “you made me french toast?”

“it took forever” you admit, awkwardly shifting in your shoes. “i burned it the first time, then the 2nd one looked like.. well it doesn’t matter. but i kept going because..” you hesitate before making direct eye contact with him. “because you’re important to me and i really don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

for a second, he just stares at you. then he sighs, setting the container on a nearby desk.

“did you ditch me because you like jisung?” he asks suddenly, his voice quieter than you expected. 

“i..” you swallow hard, your face burning and you don’t know how to reply.

“that wasn’t a no” he points out, though there’s no anger in his tone; just curiosity.

you let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightly gripping the strap of your bag again. “i’ve had a crush on him for almost 2 years now.” you admit quietly. “but it’s not.. i didn’t mean to make you feel like you were second place or anything. you’re my friend and i care about you. i just..” you trail off, your voice becoming thick with frustration. “i’ve been a mess lately. even my best friend ningning is upset with me.”

leehan watches you for a long moment before grabbing the container of french toast again. he opens it, grabbing the fork you provided and takes a bite.

“you’re not good at this, are you?” he says letting out a soft laugh.

“what?” you ask, startled.

“at handling people.” he says, his tone teasing. “you overthink to the point where you make it worse for yourself. you should’ve told me from the start, i would’ve understood.”

“i know.” you mutter, full of embarrassment. this is not the first time you’ve been told that, and you know that it won’t be your last.

“but this,” he continues, pointing at the food. “this is a start. it’s actually really good.”

you blink at him in confusion, completely caught off guard, “wait.. you’re not mad?”

“i was mad.” he admits, leaning back against the desk. “but you’ve always been honest with me every other time, even when you’re not at your best. and you gave me the truth today, and that’s all i needed.”

“leehan..”

he waves you off with a small smile, the one that you loved so much. “we’re fine, y/n. just don’t burn yourself out trying to make everybody happy, okay? including jisung.”

your face flushed at the mention of jisung’s name, but there’s no hidden meaning or condescending tone in his voice, just genuine worry.

“thank you.” you murmur, relief almost instantly washing over you. he hesitates, then speaks again. “just next time, talk to me?  you don't have to figure everything out alone.”

“i will.” you promise.

he smiles at you one last time before closing the container and putting it in his bag. “you’re forgiven. but you owe me more french toast if this happens again.”

you manage to give him a weak laugh, “deal.”

his smile lingers as he looks down at the container. “thanks for this by the way, means a lot.”

you nod, too worried that whatever you’ll say after will just make it worse and it’ll be awkward again. you watch as he waves to you goodbye before leaving the classroom. you stay back, giving yourself a few seconds to recuperate your emotions before leaving. 

as you leave the classroom, your mind is already racing ahead. you may have made things better with leehan, but you’re not done yet. one person remains at the top of the list. now to talk to ningning.

© jsbluu | please do not copy, reupload, or translate my work.

[gallaghersgal]

Mags is back! Mags is back!! Can u write something for Carmy x Fem!Reader where she tries to get all dressed up and cook for him but fails miserably 😚😚 missed you!!

hiiii this has been rotting in my inbox for ... months. but this is adorable i love it <33 no warnings, just some tears and cursing.

carmy walks into his apartment and is greeted by the smell of burnt... bread? he cocks an eyebrow, shrugging off his winter coat and shaking the snowflakes from his hair. his fingers itch for a cig as he takes in the sight of you, apron covered with mysterious stains, pulling a smoking pan out of the oven. "baby," he croons, and steps forward.

your chest tightens and suddenly there are tears in your eyes. "fuck! carms, i'm so sorry-" you set the pan down on the stove and fan the smoke away with your oven mitt. "dunno what i did, must've got the heat wrong, or the cook time or- fuck." you sigh in defeat, the heel of one hand digging at your teary eyes in frustration.

"hey, hey," he says to you, fingers curling around your wrist, pulling to down so he can look you in the eyes. "don't- don't cry, jesus, c'mere." while he gathers your frame into his arms, tucking your head under his chin, he can't help but chuckle at the state you're in.

you frown, your face hidden against the fabric of his shirt. "don't laugh," you say with a whine, and of course carmy chuckles again. one large hand curls around your jaw, bringing your watery gaze up to meet his eyes.

"baby. how 'bout we leave the cooking t'me next time, yeah?" the pad of his thumb wipes at the tear track on your cheek for a moment before he mushes a soft kiss to your temple. "what were y'makin' anyway?"

you sniffle, hiding your face in embarrassment. "jus' some garlic toast. i was tryin' t'make pasta but..." you nod towards the counter, where a sticky and inconsistent dough lays in a sad little lump.

carmy first sucks in a gasp through his teeth, then he's outright howling with laughter. "f-fuck, baby 'm not laughing' at you, promise," he says sweetly, pulling you back into his side when you try to maneuver away. "i think we can fix this, alright? lemme help."

end.

[glamatron3000]

The Unofficial Malto Family Cookbook

I was inspired by the longing of @ihatebrainstorm for Alex's cooking to do a deep dive into just what Earthspark's best dad was making, so here it is! The Unofficial Malto Family Cookbook!

Just a note, I am in no way familiar with Filipino cooking (I mostly cook American, European, and Japanese-inspired food in my day to day) but I'd like to think I am a skilled practitioner of Google-Fu, so here's what I was able to find!

These dishes were either shown or mentioned, sometimes both, in season 1 and the first half of season 2. I believe I got them all, but I did pan through the episodes pretty quickly, so let me know if I missed any!

Embutido

First up is the main dish from episode 1, which already sent me on an adventure trying to identify because it was never named. After poking around a few Filipino recipe sites I managed to identify it as embutido, which is described as a Filipino meatloaf. Dot mentions that it is her favorite dish.

Lumpia

The side dish of Dot's celebratory new job meal is lumpia, Filipino egg rolls! This dish appears regularly in the Malto family's meals, seen twice again in the first half of season 2.

Pandesal

Okay, so technically this is probably just a store-bought dinner roll, but why not try to find if there's a Filipino recipe it could be? Our boy Alex seems like the type of guy to pull out all the stops when it comes to feeding his family. The closest I could find is pandesal to round out our episode 1 meal.

Breakfast Burrito

In episode 2, we see Robbie lure Alex out to the barn with a picnic of breakfast burritos. Now surely there's also a Filipino style recipe for this, yes? Yes!

Longganisa

In episode 3, we see Alex frying up a pan of sausage for breakfast. Could be store bought, but it's also possible that it's a traditional Filipino pork sausage called longganisa.

Tortang

Here's our first one that was only mentioned and not shown. In episode 4, Alex tries twice to coax Bee into frying tortillas with his stingers. At first I thought he meant just regular flour or corn tortillas, but the way he was talking made it sound like a main dish and not just an ingredient. So after a bit of digging I found a dish called tortang, which is sometimes referred to as tortilla from what I can gather (citation needed -- I am a dumb American). Unlike the sort of tortilla you would use in a wrap or burrito, this dish is closer to an omelet. Those with more knowledge of Filipino cooking please feel free to correct me if I got this wrong.

Bibingka

Another only mentioned in episode 4, this is the dish Robbie would have picked to have for dinner for a week if he'd won the weekly chore race. Of course a child would pick a sweet dessert for dinner if he could.

Spam Steak

Okay, this was another mystery for me, particularly because of the way everything is stylized in the show. In episode 5, we see Alex frying up another breakfast food. I thought maybe it was a kind of french toast, but the browning texture didn't look quite right for that. So I browsed through the breakfast section of the recipe website I've been using and the closest I've found is this crispy spam steak recipe. Apparently spam is pretty popular in the Philippines, so it's possible! Again, if anyone more knowledgeable has another option, please correct me.

Snickerdoodles

In episode 7, Alex makes bagged lunches for Mo and Robbie's first day at school. While we don't know what's in those lunches, Alex did mention that he included his homemade snickerdoodles. Snickerdoodles originate from Dutch/German immigrants who settled in New England, and since there's a lot of Dutch/German heritage in Pennsylvania where the Maltos live, I'm fairly confident this is something Alex picked up in America. But just for fun, I did find an interesting Filipino/Mexican-inspired variant of this classic cookie, so you get a two for one deal with this one!

Unfortunately, Tumblr won't let me post more in a single post, so the rest will have to be in a Part 2 reblog!

[tlou-reid]

You Are In Love ❆ Spencer Reid

☃︎ SUMMARY: spencer makes a promise before he has to leave for a case right before Christmas.

☃︎WARNINGS: 2.5k words of unedited ooey gooey Christmas fluff, reader is shorter than spencer

.｡❅⋆⍋∞｡∞⍋⋆❅｡.

Morning, his place. Burnt toast, Sunday. 

Spencer’s hair was the messiest you’d ever seen it. It took everything in you to not bring your hand to smooth it, but the cup of coffee was heavy enough in your hand as is. You didn’t want to risk falling from your comfortable spot on his counter. The chill of the marble under your thighs was in sharp contrast to the warmth in your heart.

“Crispy bacon?” Spencer asked he laid four pieces in the nonstick pan. They sizzled, mimicking the sparks between you and Spencer. They never left the air when you were together. “Mhm,” You nodded, taking another sip of your coffee. Spencer was convinced you liked yours the same he likes his, extra cream and extra extra sugar. You had mentioned you liked your coffee sweet, to which Spencer was excited about your matching orders, and you never had the heart to tell him you didn’t mean that sweet.

“Want me to start the toast?” You asked, hopping down from your cozy corner. He nodded, reaching up to open the cabinet where the bread was. Your hand slid across his slim waist as you passed behind him. His lips quirked up in a smile, suppressing the laugh from the tickle of your touch.

“I like when we make breakfast sandwiches,” You informed him as you slid down the knob on the toaster, dropping the bread into it. “Yeah?” Spencer asked absentmindedly, too focused on flipping the bacon without spilling grease on himself. “We can make them however we want!” You cheered as you sliced up an avocado.

Time passed quickly, as it does when you’re having fun. Both of you were caught up in both your tasks, and each other, that neither of you noticed the lack of the toaster popping until the smell of burnt bread flooded Spencer’s kitchen.

“You burnt the toast?!” Spencer squealed, making his way to the smoking toaster. You couldn’t help but laugh at the way his voice raised an octave. It was too hot to pull the bread out, so he resorted to completely flipping the toaster, shaking it to get any burnt crumbs from the bottom. You were a mess of laughter behind him. “This is not funny!” His voice sounded angry, but the wide smile on his face betrayed his act.

“It definitely is,” You said through laughter, moving to help him sweep the crumbs from the counter into your hands. He shooed you away, exclaiming, “Go assemble the sandwiches while I clean up your mess.”  With one last bout of laughter, you made your way back to the plates, putting the sandwich on regular bread, not wanting to bother with toasting it again.

You keep his shirt, he keeps his word.

You’re putting the last bite of your breakfast sandwich in your mouth when Spencer’s phone goes off. You can’t help the way your stomach falls, knowing it means he’ll have to leave again. There were always tough emotions that came with him leaving, but with it being so close to the holidays, you just wanted him to be home.

It’s your first Christmas being an official couple and you wanted to spend it cuddled up around the tree, exchanging gifts and calling his mom. If he wasn’t going to be home for it, you were going to be quite disappointed.

With a sigh, Spencer went to retrieve his phone from the coffee table in the living room. You saw him reach between two stacks of books to get it and read over it quickly. He drops his arm in disappointment, throwing his head back a bit. It must be far, you thought. Spencer turns to you, remorse all over his face.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says when he stands in front of you, “I have to go.” All of the energy in his voice from earlier had dissipated, leaving him just a shell of who he was this morning. “Where?” You asked, pretending he didn’t notice the tears in your eyes as you looked up to him. “Washington State,” He tells you as he bends down to your level, placing his hands on your cheeks. One of his thumbs comes up to wipe away the tears that were starting to fall.

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, eyes scanning over your disappointed face. “I’ll be home in time for Christmas.” Spencer’s voice is so assured that you almost believe him. If he had control over it, you would. He can see the doubt all over your face, so he speaks again, “I promise, I’ll be home. I’ll leave the case early if I have to.”

You’re immediately shaking your hand, taking his hands with you. “You can’t do that,” You say as more tears slip down your cheeks, “You gotta catch the bad guy.”

“I will,” he rushes out, wanting to say anything to stop you from crying. He’s doing his best to catch all of the tears that are falling. “We’re the best at what we do, we’ll catch him. I’ll be home.” All you can do is nod and pretend you believe him. Spencer has no choice but to accept this.

He doesn’t move his hands until the tears stop. “I have to leave, but you can stay. You can stay here the whole time I’m gone if you want.” You glance around his apartment, taking in all of the things that were just so Spencer, and the colorful Christmas decorations you'd put up together. Your eyes land on the book he’d been reading to you last night, knowing that you’d prefer to be in the comfort of your home, but wanting to take a piece of him with you.

“I want to go home if that’s okay?” You ask, meeting his eye once again. “Of course,” he assures you. “Can I take this?” You ask, moving to grab the book and holding it up to him. Strangers on a Train, one Spencer had read multiple times. “Yes!” He beams, loving that you want to continue reading his novel.

“And this?” You point to the sweater lying over the back of the couch. One that you knew smelled like him. “You can take anything you want,” he promises, taking a few steps toward you.

He stops when he’s close enough to put his hands on your cheeks again, pulling you in for a deep kiss. Spencer’s lips taste sweet from his sugary coffee, but feel like home. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. “I’ll be home,” he repeats one last time. He uses his grip to pull your face down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then makes his way to his bedroom to get dressed for work.

And for once, you let go of your fears and your ghosts.

You had thought it was Spencer who had no choice but to believe you when you agreed to him making it home before Christmas, but it turns out it was you. You held on to his sentiment while he was gone, repeating ‘he’ll be home’ in your head when you looked around the sparse decorations in your home. Knowing you both wanted to spend Christmas at Spencer’s, you barely bothered to decorate your own.

It didn’t help that your job had given you off for the holiday, so you didn’t have much to busy yourself with. You caught up on shows you had been missing, finished the book you’d brought from Spencer’s, and finished up last-minute Christmas shopping.

Most of all, you kept telling yourself to believe him. No matter how scorned you’d been by lovers in the past, all you had was his word and you needed to hold onto it. 

There was nothing Spencer had ever done that would indicate he would intentionally lie to you, but he couldn’t control the unsub or the trails they left behind. Part of you felt selfish, wanting Spencer to wrap up the case to get home in time to open presents and watch Christmas movies instead of wanting Spencer to wrap up the case because of any potential victims, but the other part of you was too excited to care.

You curled up in your bed, where Spencer’s sweater was lying across your pillow. As cheesy as it sounded, it was easier to sleep when you knew there was a piece of him next to you. You flicked through channels, hoping to find some kind of Christmas-related thing. Being two days before Christmas, it was quite easy to find. You landed on some cheesy movie, titled A Christmas Prince.

One step, not much, but it said enough.

You were almost at the end of the movie and starting to dose off when your phone vibrated next to you. You checked the time before answering the call, 11:48 pm. “Hello?” You asked, still trying to wake yourself up enough to be coherent for this conversation.

On the other side of the line, Spencer called your name. “Spence?” You asked again, sitting up. “Hi, honey,” His voice was light but tired. He was clearly in a good mood. “Are you okay?” You asked, wondering why he was calling so late. “I 'm wonderful,” his smile was wide, even if you couldn't see it, “I have good news.”

“Yeah?” You were awake now, able to guess what he was about to say. “I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon, in time for Christmas, just like I promised.” Now, you could hear both the smile and smugness in his voice. Spencer didn’t get boosts of confidence often, but holding a promise to his girl was definitely one of them.

“I knew it!” You cheered, unbelievably happy that you didn’t succumb to the negative thoughts you had previously. You had held your faith in him, despite the way you’d been lied to and cheated on in the past.

You couldn’t see it, but Spencer’s smile grew tenfold. Even across the country from you, you found a way to make his heart race and his hands shake. “You believed me?” His previous confidence had dissipated, turning into a form of awe. He’d never had someone trust his word like you did, even if it was only a Christmas promise.

“Of course I did, Spence, I always will.” You assured him. His smile somehow grew bigger, lighting up the dull police department he was in. “We have a few technical things to wrap up before we get home, but I’ll treat you to lunch and we can figure out what movies we’ll watch on Christmas day.” He promised. “Sounds like a date,” He could hear your smile now. Spencer’s heart was pittering in his chest, hard and fast. He was really falling for you

You kiss on sidewalks. You fight, and you talk. 

Your hand was held tightly in Spencer’s as you excited the cafe together. “You think Elf is better than the Grinch?” You exasperated, throwing up your other hand in disbelief. He laughed, pushing you to get even angrier, “Obviously, Will Ferrell’s in it.”

You let out an even more dramatic sigh, stopping in your place on the sidewalk to turn and face him. You looked like you were about to lose it as you said, “You think Will Ferrell is better than Jim Carrey?!?!” This sent Spencer into a fit of laughter, doubling over and holding his chest as they escaped from him.

“Spencer!” You called again, stepping forward and putting your hand on his chest to make him stand up straight. “Please, tell me you’re messing with me.” He was smiling stupidly and his eyes were sparkling as he stared down at you. He didn’t answer, instead, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

You deepened it by placing your hands on the sides of his face and holding him closer to you. You two stood for a few seconds, in the middle of the sidewalk, and so, incredibly, deeply in love. Spencer pulled away when a car passed by, reminding him that you were out in public. The previous argument was quickly forgotten, for a moment.

You let out a sigh of contentment, reaching for his hand again. “I’m so glad you made it home.” He dragged his thumb along your hand, tickling your palm, “Me too, this way we can watch Elf together.”

He let out another laugh as you dropped his hand and stomped a couple of paces away. “Oh my god,” you huffed.

One night, he wakes, strange look on his face. Pauses, then says, “You’re my best friend.”

You two made it back to Spencer’s with full bellies and cold hands. You knew Spencer was tired from wrapping up the case this morning, so you didn’t complain when he collapsed on the couch. “You wanna change?” You asked, hanging up your coat. He shook his head and replied with a “uh-uh.” You giggled at his childlike demeanor as you sat down next to him.

Spencer moved to rest his hand on your shoulder, pulling you close to him by your waist. “Thank you, Spence.” You said into the top of his head before pressing a kiss into his hair. “For what?” He asked, closing his eyes at your touch. “Making it home in time.”

“I promised you I would,” he reminds you. “I know, but I also know you can’t control it sometimes.” He nods, both agreeing with you and encouraging you to keep playing with his hair.

He falls asleep quickly in the position, loving the scratches you’re leaving on the back of his neck.

The sun sets as you make yourself comfortable next to him, trying not to wake him up. You pulled a random book from one of the stacks on his coffee table to busy yourself, and try to make yourself as tired as he was, so you could go to bed. But, the excitement of Christmas was keeping you awake.

You were finishing up the third chapter when he stirred. To your surprise, Spencer sat up. His eyebrows were furrowed, but there was a fond smile on his face as he brought his hands up to sleepily rub at his eyes. He blinked a few times, adjusting his vision to the darkness of the room. He was only being illuminated by the glow of the white lights from the Christmas tree.

Spencer turned to you, the corners of his lips quirking up in a bigger smile. He only looks at you for a few seconds, before cuddling back up next to you. “You know you’re my best friend, right?” Spencer slurs, too tired to string together a completely coherent sentence. “You’re mine too, Spence.” You assured, not knowing if he was awake enough to hear you. You pressed another kiss to his head, whispering a quiet, “Merry Christmas,” to him.

And you knew what it was, he is in love. 

[crystalsoobin]

burnt toast! ➤ c. beomgyu

#. pairing bf!beomgyu x reader

#. synopsis gyu tries to cook you breakfast in bed and fails… miserably.

#. genre romance, comedy, fluff

#. warnings mild swearing, gyu almost causing a fire 😃

#. author’s note i’m back??? im taking a creative writing class in uni this fall so i thought id get some practice in lol

a small smile lays across beomgyu’s face as he admires your sleeping frame one fine morning. he had woken up quite early that day, eager to surprise you with breakfast in bed.

he gets up silently as to not wake you, and makes his way to your small apartment kitchen. not sure what to make, beomgyu opens the fridge and stares inside as if the idea would just present itself in front of him.

he finally settles on making eggs and toast, an oldie but a goodie. only problem was, beomgyu never cooks.

it can’t be that hard to fry an egg, right?

at least he knows how to toast bread, so he starts there first. grabbing some bread from the pantry, he walks to the toaster where he suddenly stops, a little confused on how to work it.

shade?? hmm, i think 8 is good.

he drops two pieces of toast in the slots and pulls down the lever, stepping back to the fridge to pull out some eggs. he grabs a pan and puts some oil on, maybe a little too much oil.

beomgyu cracks the two eggs, one by one. satisfied, he puts it on high heat so that — in his mind — it’ll cook faster and he won’t have to wait too long.

he then reaches over to the cabinet and pulls out your favourite mug, which was a gift from him. then going over to the coffee maker, listening to the loud crackle of the eggs on the pan.

when he’s done making the coffee he turns around to find the toaster smoking, and a nasty burning smell coming from it. in panic, he runs over to it and tries to take out the toast, almost burning his fingers.

“dammit!” he exclaims, disappointed by the burnt toast and realizing 8 was way too high. he finally succeeds in pulling out the burnt toast, the smell remaining throughout the kitchen.

as he returns to check on the eggs, his eyes widen, also finding them burnt and smoking, a lot. he panics, trying to blow away the smoke with his hands as to not set off the fire alarm. in his panic, he obviously forgets to turn off the heat, making it worse for himself.

and as if the morning couldn’t possibly go more horribly wrong than he imagined, the fire alarm does in fact go off.

“no no no! fuck!” is the first thing you hear as you walk into the kitchen after being woken up by a loud beeping noise and your boyfriend not in bed.

you watch as beomgyu finally remembers to turn off the stove, sighing disappointedly with his face in his hands as his back towards you.

“what. the fuck. did you do.” you finally speak. beomgyu yelps and turns around, surprised at your presence in the kitchen.

“i- i didn’t mean to baby, i swear! i was just trying to make you breakfast!”

“gyu, i really appreciate the sentiment but you know you can’t cook!”

“i know, i’m sorry,” your boyfriend leans into you for a hug, saddened that he couldn’t surprise you with a nice breakfast, “i thought i’d at least be able to make eggs and toast.” you wrap your arms around him and give him a small kiss, suddenly you bursting out into laughter as you look around at the mess your poor boyfriend made.

“why are you laughing?” he asks. “i actually wanted to surprise you, im serious.” he pouts.

“i’m sorry,” you chuckle, “it’s just so funny when i think about it.”

beomgyu hits you playfully on the head as he steps back and stares at his mess.

“hey, at least i made the coffee right?” he handed you the mug. you grimaced as you tasted it.

“i think you forgot milk, and sugar.” setting down the mug, you get an idea, “you know what, why don’t we clean this up and the i teach you how to cook eggs and toast.” you smile.

beomgyu chuckles in agreement, “sounds like a good idea.”

© crystalsoobin / do not steal