#or cream that is a half step away from being butter

[lost-in-lamentation]

💋🥐 - first kiss, baking.

barbatos × gen!reader. fluff + slightly suggestive.

warnings: barbatos gets... real flirty.

content: when your face gets dirty while baking, how else would you clean it up if not a kiss?

back to the 500 follower event: here.

“now, we wait for the butter to melt. once it’s melted, we’ll pour the flour in.” 

“got it.” you peer over barbatos’ shoulder curiously, observing as he stirs the mixture in the pot. “what are you making this for, anyway?” 

barbatos steps away from the stove, reaching for the bowl of dry ingredients on the kitchen island. “the young master requested cream puffs,” he replies. as you hum in understanding, barbatos looks from side to side, lips pursed together in confusion. “you didn’t happen to see where i left my thermometer, did you?” 

after making sure that the pot isn’t dangerously close to boiling, you join barbatos in the search, taking the other side of the kitchen. finally, you see it sticking out of the pile of cutlery that you had set aside earlier. “my bad, i think i hid it from you by accident,” you say sheepishly. with careful fingers, you fish it out of the pile, making sure it still turns on before handing it over to him. 

barbatos gives you a look; one you can’t quite read. “how naughty of you,” he teases, turning back to the stove. behind him, you cover the lower half of your face with a hand, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “the butter is just about melted. MC, would you like to pour the flour in? or would you like to try mixing the dough?” 

pretending that his earlier remark doesn’t faze you, you roll your sleeves up determinedly. “i can mix it!” barbatos casts you an approving gaze, watching as you stride over to him. “is that all i have to do?”

“yes, but i should warn you that choux pastry becomes very stubborn once it thickens.” 

you shrug nonchalantly at the demon, grabbing a wooden spoon off the counter. “i think i’ve got this.”

“very well.” he nods at you, waiting until you’re ready to start pouring the dry ingredients in. 

at first, you stir easily, everything coming together in one smooth motion. however, the stubbornness makes itself known rather quickly, soon forming into a heavy ball that you begin to struggle against. you do your best to scrape against the sides and the bottom of the pot, intent on not allowing any of the dough to burn. but the longer you mix, the more tired your arm becomes, and eventually, you’re shooting barbatos a pleading look. “please tell me this is enough mixing,” you nearly whine, movements slowing as your muscles begin to ache.

barbatos’ shoulders bounce lightly with laughter. “not quite, but allow me to do the rest.” suddenly, he steps behind you, torso pressed against your back. gently, he takes the wooden spoon out of your grasp, your fingers brushing against his own gloved ones briefly. despite it not being skin to skin, the touch is enough to send a jolt through your system. you immediately drop your gaze to the floor, hoping barbatos is too occupied to notice. you don’t know long you stay there for, but you’re pulled back to reality when you hear him speak softly. “we have to wait for this to cool before we do the next step.”

“oh, yeah, okay.” your voice wavers, and you grimace at the sound. “which is, what, exactly?” 

finally, barbatos opens a path away from you, and you quietly breathe a sigh of relief. 

“we’ll add the eggs in. we have to wait until it’s just around 70°C.” he sticks his thermometer into the dough, watching as the numbers shoot up past 80. “where do you have the eggs you beat earlier?” 

with your brain close to haywire, you grab the bowl of eggs wordlessly, handing it over to him. you know by now that barbatos has noticed how flustered you’ve become, but you steel yourself anyway, clearing your throat as you place the bowl down on the counter next to him. “i have it here,” you strangle out.

barbatos murmurs his thanks while he transfers the dough from the pot into a mixing bowl. you fall into silence as you watch him turn the electric mixer on, stirring the dough to allow more heat to escape. every so often, he stops to check the temperature, all the way until he sees the number 70 on the reader. when it does, he stops the mixer periodically to add a bit of the egg mixture each time. you observe him quietly, rocking back and forth on your heels while he works. eventually, you’re the first to break the silence. “how do you know when that’s enough eggs?” 

barbatos has a lopsided grimace on his face, eyebrows furrowed in thought before getting around to answering you. “personally… it’s a gut feeling.”

your mouth drops open at his answer. “how about professionally?”

“... i am not a professional baker.” 

“i can’t believe this.” you chortle at his expression, entertained that barbatos has no set answer for you. despite your laughter, barbatos continues his work, a bit entertained himself that you think the situation is so funny. you leave him alone after that, leaning onto the counter with your elbows. you’ve never made this kind of pastry before, so you leave it to barbatos to do the delicate work and wait for him to ask you to join in again.

“this should be the right amount,” barbatos says to you. he tilts the bowl towards you so you can see it, but you can’t even tell the difference between now and two minutes ago.

“if we ever make this again, i’m counting on you,” you respond in a deflated tone. 

barbatos chuckles at the remark. “you can count on me for anything you need, MC. even if it's for something other than baking.”

"oh-! uh, yeah, thanks." for the third time in one hour, your face flushes red, and you’re turning away before the butler can comment on it. “anyways! you need the piping bag now, right?” 

“yes, if you could, MC.” you rush away from him, scrambling to slide the correct piping tip into the bag before hooking the bag around the edges of a small bucket. once it was ready (and your blush had faded), you head back to barbatos, waiting until he takes it from your hands to make a second piping bag. with measured movements, he pours enough of the pastry into the first bag that it fills up, but doesn’t overflow. barbatos then pulls the bag out of the bucket, twisting the open end so that it doesn’t come back out towards you when you take it from him. he repeats the process with the second bag, this time keeping it in his own hands while he grabs two baking trays from nearby. the demon places one in front of you and the other in front of himself. with a satisfied nod, he shifts to look at you, making sure you’re holding the piping bag properly before beginning his demonstration. he places a round dollop of the pastry onto the sheet, tapering it off with a circular motion.

the piped pastry reminds you briefly of whipped cream. “it looks cute.” 

“i suppose it does,” barbatos muses, leaning down to look at his creation from another angle. “it’s your turn to give it a try.”

you nod resolutely, adjusting your hands to a more comfortable position before attempting to recreate what barbatos had shown you. however, he makes it look easier than it really is. by the time you’ve put five on the baking tray, you notice how none of them are as well rounded as barbatos’. you wince at the sight, but decide to press on anyway since he hadn’t said anything about your strange shapes. but when you try to squeeze another one out, the bag stops cooperating, instead causing you to press harder on the pastry. “barbatos, i think something got stuck.” before he can say anything, you turn the piping tip end towards yourself to look in it, but make the mistake of squeezing the bag at the same time. the pastry explodes onto your face with a splutter, and all you can register is barbatos calling your name out of concern. 

you can hear barbatos gasp loudly before he places his own piping bag down. “in the name of diavolo… MC? are you alright?” 

“fine. yep. just fine,” you mutter. your eyes are shut tight, not wanting to get any of the mixture into your eyes. “do you have a towel or anything?” 

suddenly, his voice is right next to your ear. “stay still for me,” he whispers, sending a shudder down your spine. barbatos takes the exploded bag out of your hands, and a few seconds later, you feel a towel gently wiping away the pastry that had landed on your face. once the area around your eyes is clean, you blink your vision back to normal, only to wish that you had kept your eyes shut. barbatos hovers dangerously close to you, one hand on your chin and the other holding a new towel. “are you really alright? your face is quite red-”

“i-i’m okay!” you take a step back, but barbatos has you locked in his grasp. your heart pounds in your chest like it wants to be anywhere else but inside your body. meanwhile in your mind, your thoughts race endlessly, and you can barely keep your gaze from darting every which way. “barbatos, i-”

“MC, you have some more here.” you stiffen when he brushes his thumb over the corner of your lips- wait, when did he take his gloves off? and your breath catches in your throat when barbatos leans impossibly closer to you. you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin onto yours, but something in you tells you not to pull away. “may i?”

you gather your courage and make eye contact with barbatos, searching his gaze, finding nothing but affection before finally whispering “yes.” 

even with your permission, barbatos treads carefully first. his lips touch where his fingers were just moments before, swiftly cleaning the pastry from your face himself. as he pulls away, you feel his tongue swipe at your lips, and your knees nearly give out at the feeling. barbatos’ hand moves from your chin down to your waist, holding you up while he presses you flush against himself. he scans your expression thoroughly, and when you blink slowly up at him, he plays his next move. barbatos brings you in closer to meet him in the middle, melding into the kiss as though you had down it a thousand times before. unlike barbatos’ usual demeanour, the kiss is sloppy; it's a little bit messy and mixed with traces of the earlier pastry explosion. but nonetheless, you find yourself drowning in his touch, his actions driven by hunger for you. when you separate, you can barely recognize barbatos’ voice as he moans at the loss of your lips on his. 

you’re dizzy with desire, and so is barbatos. but you hold back long enough to tilt your head at the forgotten baking trays. “shouldn’t we finish our original task?” you ask between breaths, but you can’t help bringing yourself closer to him again. 

“the young master can wait,” barbatos practically growls, leaning in to nip at your earlobe. “i would like a treat for myself, first.”

a/n: this isn't a personally inspired story from when i worked under a pâtissière... what are you talking about, i would never explode a piping bag on myself haha you're being crazy!

reblogs are really appreciated (´ω｀) ♡

[1800classiccherries]

Cake! ♡‧₊˚

⚘ Earth42!Miles Morales x black!fem!reader

⚘ Fluff! use of knives for baking, kissing

⚘ summary: Miles and reader bake a cake together.

⚘ wc: 763

⚘ this is my first time writing 42!miles so bare with me 😁☝🏾 (also sorry for the lack of picture, I'm on the fence about changing the way I format these.)

"How hard can it be?" you shrug feeling confident, as Miles reads the strawberry shortcake recipe you handed him.

“mm.. Ion know, this looks kinda difficult, ma…” he flips the paper and reads the rest of the instructions with a squint, “But, hey, if you got experience in this sorta thing…”

“I’m basically a pro, I’ve baked plenty of cakes.” As in plenty, you’ve bakes two and they both turned out less than great, but you chose to leave that part out.

“If you say so…”, he squints at you, “Are these all the ingredients we need?” he asks referring all the stuff on the counter you had set before he arrived.

“Mhm! That should be all of it…” you open a drawer that has a few aprons inside, “Want an apron?”

“you got one of them kiss the chef aprons?” you nod, “then I’ll take that one."

You hand him the apron and then grab one for yourself, yours just being a simple green with faint floral patterns. Once the two of you have tied them on Miles looks at you with an expecting look ok his face.

“What?” you ask already knowing what he wanted.

“Read the apron. I think the chef needs a kiss, don’t you?”

You tilt your head at him with an eyebrow raised, “I think the chef needs to focus on this cake we’re boutta attempt.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, y/n” He pleads, taking a hold of your waist.

With the way he was looking at you, you gave in giving him a short kiss knowing that if you kept going the cake would be forgotten. 

Turning your attention back to the cake it was time to begin, you pick up the paper with the instructions on it and begin reading aloud the first few steps. Whipping the eggs, sifting the flower then combining the two. Miles took care of the eggs and you happily sifted the flour having found it very satisfying.

“Y/n, could you pre-heat the oven? I’m almost done with this part,” Miles requests as he adds the milk and butter into the mixture. 

Once the oven was heated to the right temperature, you place the cake pan inside and set a timer for 30 minutes.

“What should we do for the next 30 minutes?” you ask staring the the cake in the oven.

~

Pulling away from Miles as you sit straddled on his lap, breathing slightly heavy, “Do you hear that?”

“Ion hear anything,” he brushes off pulling you back in by your hips.

You give up on trying to make out the sound and go to back making out with Miles, but you hear the sound again.

“Don’t tell me you can’t hear that?” the sound was driving you crazy and you had a nagging feeling that it was important but you  couldn’t place it.

“Y/n-“ he starts before you cut him off putting a finger to his lips.

“Shh, it sounds like it’s in the kitchen… Did we- Oh! The cake!” you promptly climb off of him and dash to the kitchen.

You grab the oven mitts on the counter and carefully take the cake out dumping it onto the drying rack.

“This actually looks good!” you cheer hopping a bit.

Miles finally makes it into the kitchen, “Of course it does, we made it.”

“I’ll cut this into three, and while it cools we can make the icing. Get the cream and sugar out.” Miles follows your instructions grabbing the necessary ingredients.

You pull a knife out of the drawer and cut the cake horizontally into three shorter cakes. Miles whips together the cream and sugar being sure to not make a mess. 

After the icing is made and the cake is cooled, it’s now time to assemble. You got the strawberries out of the fridge, washing and cutting them in half. Miles spreads and even layer of icing between each layer, pausing each time so you can add the strawberries.

Coating the cake with a layer of icing along the outside and adorning the cake with the last finishing touches, the two of you take a step back to admire your work.

“I won’t lie, it looks great.” Miles admits surprised at how well it turned out.

You grin hearing the compliment “See? And to think that you doubted us.”

“Not too much, for all we know it could be nasty.”

It was very much the opposite and y’all couldn’t help but eat most of it. Being sure to save a piece for your families to try.

Thanks for reading!

I didnt edit much and wrote pretty quick this so if sumn doesnt makes sense, oopsie 😋

[roosterforme]

Just Desserts | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Rooster only has eyes for his girlfriend and her baked goods. 

Warnings: Fluffy Smut

Length: 2000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Based on this fun request from an anonymous friend!

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? but it can be read on its own!

Check my masterlist.

Early Saturday morning, Bradley went out to play a round of golf with some of the guys. He had left you sleeping in bed, just pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he left. He had promised you he would return around lunchtime and spend the rest of the day and the entire night with you. 

He was getting close to his next deployment, and he had initially scoffed at the idea of forfeiting even a few hours of your day off together, but you had got on him about being more social. So he accepted the golfing invitation from Bob, Hangman and Coyote.

Turns out you were a genius, because he ended up having a great time playing golf, kicking back a few 'breakfast' beers and hanging out. Bob was the only good golfer in the bunch, so it didn't really matter that Bradley lost a few balls along the way and that he had to fudge his score on the 15th hole. 

And now he was heading back home to you. When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, he audibly groaned. "Smells so good in here," he mumbled, taking in the sight before him. You were in the kitchen, wearing your I Love Meat apron that he bought for you randomly one day when he saw it. And you were surrounded by cupcakes, muffins, pies and brownies. One of your perfectly curated playlists was playing on your phone next to a stack of cookbooks. 

Then it clicked. You had mentioned you needed time to work on things for the Navy's bake sale with the San Diego Children's Hospital. Apparently you volunteered for this fundraiser every year, and Bradley had promised you weeks ago that he would be your personal taste tester. 

"I'm back, and I'm ready to work!" Bradley said as he kicked off his golf shoes and headed into the kitchen. "Give me stuff to sample."

"Hey, Roo. Did you have fun?" you asked, and he wrapped his arms gently around your waist from behind. He kissed the side of your neck as you unwrapped some sticks of butter. He thought you looked extra cute in your sweatpants and tee shirt with your hair piled on top of your head. And there was a smudge of flour on your cheek that he really wanted to take some time to kiss away. 

You always made him feel like this. He couldn't figure out if he was more horny or more loved up. He wanted to romance you and tear your clothing to shreds at the same time. It was very confusing and oftentimes overwhelming, but he usually just went along with it.

"Yeah, golf was fun. Thanks for making me go," he whispered next to your ear. He didn't want to distract you too much, since you seemed to have a lot of baking to finish. "Can I help at all, Baby Girl? I know how to separate eggs now, remember? Or I'm more than willing to sample what you've made."

With a grin, you turned in his arms slightly and kissed his lips. "Want to try one of the brownies for me?" you asked, nodding your head toward a tray cooling on the island. 

"Yep." He cut himself a large square and took a bite. Of course it was perfect. "So good, it brings tears to my eyes, Sweetheart," he mumbled around another bite. 

"Good. Now try a blueberry muffin," you instructed him as you set two beautiful looking pies in the oven. 

Bradley ate a muffin in three bites and moaned. "Delicious, Baby Girl. Can I try a cupcake?"

"Sure, they're cinnamon spice with cream cheese frosting," you said, but he'd already eaten half of one. And now you were mixing ingredients in a bowl with a wooden spoon, kind of dancing along to the music playing, and Bradley really couldn't help himself. 

He stood behind you and kissed your neck again, letting his hands come to rest on your hips. "And what about this? Can I try a sample? It looks so pretty, I'd love to eat it."

You giggled and then gasped as Bradley slid his hands to the front of your hips, in between your sweatpants and your apron. He rubbed himself against your butt and you moaned, "What are you doing, Roo?"

He grinned into your hair and kissed your ear. "I heard you like meat."

You burst out laughing, and he was so happy he had bought you that apron. He loved making you laugh, and tried to make it a daily priority. 

"I like your meat," you whispered, still laughing. 

"Think you can take a little break, Sweetheart?" Bradley untied your sweatpants and slipped his hand inside the elastic band, caressing the soft skin of your belly. You tipped your head back against his shoulder as he drew little circles with his fingertips next to your belly button. 

He let his fingers trail lower until they toyed with the top of your underwear. Your phone started playing I Only Have Eyes for You, and Bradley sang along.

'My love must be a kind of blind love,

I can't see anyone but you.'

You whimpered and spun in his arms so you were facing him. Now his fingers were kneading into your lower back. You looked up at him, and he was struck by the expression of desire on your face. 

'Are the stars out tonight?

I don't know if it's cloudy or bright. 

I only have eyes for you.'

"Bradley," you moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to kiss you. You and he drifted slowly around between the kitchen counter and the island, dancing to the song. Your languid kisses were making him dizzy. The lazy way you moved him around the kitchen and the softness of your sighs was mixing with the sweet smell of baked goods. 

Everything took on a hazy quality as Bradley untied your apron and tossed it gently aside. "I love you," he whispered before claiming your mouth again. Your fingers tangled gently in his hair, pulling softly on his scalp; Bradley was practically panting at your touch. He wrapped his arms around your waist until you were flush against the front of him. When his mind registered that you weren't wearing a bra, he groaned. He gazed down at you between kisses. A different song started playing, but his brain couldn't tell what it was. He couldn't focus on anything but you. 

He watched your tongue flick out of your mouth, and you licked his chin and then his lower lip, and soon he was devouring you, pulling your lip between his teeth and nibbling. "Good enough to eat," he murmured as you pulled his golf shirt over his head.

You giggled as you ran your hands over his bare shoulders and chest. "I agree," you whispered, placing open mouthed kisses just below his collarbones before licking the scars on the side of his neck. Bradley's head tipped back as your fingers connected with the button of his golf pants, and when you guided them down his legs along with his boxer briefs, he had to bite his lip. You were placing gentle kisses to his thighs and along the length of his erection.

He hauled you up to your feet and wrapped his arms around you, backing you up against the counter. "God, Baby GIrl, you feel better than anything." He kissed you hard as your legs tangled with his, and he held you upright, delving his tongue into your mouth. 

Bradley was dimly aware that you were pulling your shirt over your head, and he watched some strands of your hair fall around your face. You were gorgeous like this, your eyelids half closed as you bit your lip and looked up at him. He shook his head slowly, taking it all in. 

When he guided your sweats and your underwear off, he wrapped his hands around the backs of your thighs and lifted you up, setting you gently on the edge of the counter. Your hands immediately went to his chest, and you yelped, but he wasn't going to drop you. Then you welcomed his lips back to yours as you scooted to the edge. Bradley could feel the warm wetness of your opening pressing against his length when you spread your legs open for him. He adjusted himself so you were perfectly lined up, and he wrapped your arms around his neck before wrapping his hands around your waist. 

He kissed you gently, reverently as he pushed himself inside you. You sighed into his mouth and he moved in a slow, steady rhythm, in time with the sweet melody playing from your phone. He would remember this moment when he was deployed; he'd play it over and over again. Knowing he could come back home to this, to you, made everything okay. 

You ran the tip of your nose along his cheek, kissing him there and whispering his name. Your voice spurred his movements, and he pushed himself into you harder and harder without picking up the pace. He watched your breasts bounce each time he bottomed out, and you tipped your head back, guiding his lips to your neck. He sucked on your soft skin, biting you and nuzzling against you. Then he soothed you with his mustache and his tongue. He only wanted to make you feel good. 

He could feel you starting to squeeze him, so he slid his knuckles back and forth along your belly before settling his fingers on your clit. He gathered some of your wetness and teased you closer to coming. When he wrapped his other arm around your back and pulled you hard onto his length, you cried out, your voice breaking on his name.

Unable to control himself, he fucked into you with faster strokes, nearing his own end as you wrapped your legs around him, riding him to completion. Once you were both panting, and he was just thrusting his cum further into you as his thrusts slowed down, Bradley realized that the kitchen timer was going off.

"Sweetheart, what's the timer for?" he rasped next to your ear, nuzzling against you. He didn't want to pull out of you yet, but he needed to in order to reach the timer. He fumbled with it, distracted as his cum dripped from your pretty pussy and onto the counter. 

"Umm," you hummed, biting your lip and running your hands through your very messy hair. "I ummm... the pies? I think I put pies in the oven?"

Bradley nodded and shoved your oven mitts onto his hands, he carefully pulled both pies out, setting them down gently on the stove burners. He turned to you, and you winced when you saw them. They both had slightly burned edges and very dark tops. 

"I'll still eat them!" Bradley offered when he saw your face. "And I'll love them!"

You cradled your head in your hands and laughed. "This is because you're never quick, Bradley."

"Okay, okay," he said in mock-defense, tossing the mitts onto the counter. "You can complain about a lot of things when it comes to me, but do not complain about that, Baby Girl."

"It was merely an observation, Roo. Not a complaint," you said, giggling as he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you senseless. 

Then after you cleaned up, he helped you bake two new pies while he ate one of the burned ones directly out of the pie pan with a fork. 

--------------------------------

*sigh* Thanks anonymous friend, I really loved writing this one!

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[mangoisms]

i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)

━ chapter nine: what if we could risk everything we have | read chapter eight

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.2k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

The next morning, you find Tim in your kitchen.

You emerge from the bathroom, having already guessed he was here by the smell of food cooking and from the sound of your TV playing the morning news. Well, late morning news. 

Things settled around the city eventually in the wake of the news about Red Robin. Well, as settled as they can be here in Gotham. But you don’t suspect the Bats are spread too thin. They have, like, a team working here. Batman and Robin, of course, then Black Bat and Signal and Spoiler who doesn’t wear the bat emblem, exactly, but is seen with them frequently enough to be associated with them. This is on top of the few others who also work in the city, like Huntress. So, it’s not like there’s a shortage of vigilantes to go around. 

But the news on the TV is talking about the weather for today, not that. 

“Keep your sunscreen on standby as we have yet another sunny day here in Gotham, with partly-cloudy skies and highs in the eighties. We can expect higher temperatures throughout the week as a heat wave from the south hits us —”

You stop by the boys’ tank, privately pleased to see them having just finished their breakfast, no doubt courtesy of your unexpected guest. 

You glance away from them, to the kitchen, where Tim is currently making eggs, with something else on the counter next to him. Wait, is that a…

“I’m not complaining but… where on earth did that waffle maker come from?”

Tim turns, appearing not at all surprised by your appearance — he’s never spooked, not once, but he does it to you frequently — and shoots you a smile. “Hey, good morning.”

“Morning,” you say, drifting closer to him. You’re both dressed down, with him in sweats and a white t-shirt, and you would bet a decent amount of money that he rolled out of bed, half-heartedly fixed his hair, brushed his teeth, and came down here immediately. You did the same, still in your pajamas, which are a pair of old shorts and a ratty softball shirt from high school. 

It’s not the first time he’s done this but like always, it is terribly domestic and not at all good for your heart.

“So… the waffle maker?” you ask, trying to sneak a piece of buttered toast. 

He gently bats your hand away, looking back at the pan, where eggs sizzle. “You said you like the efficiency of waffles.”

You blink. 

That’s… a lot to unpack.

First of all, when did you say that? 

You pause, searching your memory.

Your prolonged silence clues Tim into your confusion. He flips the egg. 

“When we were at Waffle House in April and the cook and waitress got into a fight.”

“Oh! And the waitress —”

“Stopped the chair thrown at her single-handedly,” he finishes.

“Right, right…” You did say something to that effect after your food had arrived. And it remains true. But of course, waffles are only efficient if you have a waffle maker and —

“Tim, you didn’t get this for me, right?”

“I just thought waffles would be fun,” he says, vague, specifically a non-answer. 

You scrutinize his side profile. Something about him right now… With a spatula in his left hand, his right hand drumming on his thigh. It’s not like him to give up a nervous tell so easily. Not like him at all. 

Your curiosity is unbidden and difficult to suppress, but you decide to step back anyway and let him come to you in his own time. He’ll have to, if the waffle maker really is for you. 

“Well, you’re not wrong,” you say, brushing a hand over his shoulder. “Now we’ll just have to see if you can beat Waffle House.”

“Probably can’t. My waffles are being made peacefully. Mostly peacefully.”

You laugh and help him finish. Mostly by pulling out the waffle, then pouring batter for the next one, the one for him.

Garnished with homemade whipped cream, the leftover strawberries from yesterday, and maple syrup, with a side of eggs and toast, your breakfast is a hearty one. Or rather, your brunch is, since it’s eleven. 

He’s quiet throughout it, eating his food, but with a distant look in his eyes. You still don’t push. 

“I think you did it,” you say when you finish, leaning back in your chair, belly full, making you want a nap. “You managed to beat Waffle House.”

Tim snorts, pushing around the last bits of his waffle. “High praise.”

“Only for you.”

He looks at you, seeming to come back to himself, face softening at your words and at the warm smile you allow yourself to give him. Not too much but enough, enough to soothe some of his nerves, maybe.

You know it’s worked when he glances down at his plate and sighs. 

Setting down the fork, he stands, crossing over to the living room, leaning down to dig through his bag. 

You sit up, curious, at the sound of paper. 

He unearths a newspaper, coming back over to you hesitantly, with the newspaper held folded in his hands. 

“Tim?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, grimacing at something. 

With a big sigh, he eventually extends it to you. 

You unfold the paper and can’t help the way your eyes widen as you get an eyeful of the front page.

The front page, with a picture of you and Tim smack dab in the middle, specifically… specifically yesterday in front of the ice cream parlor, the two of you smiling at each other in a way that appears a little less than friendly. So, naturally, the headline is about exactly that. TIM DRAKE AND MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND OUT ON THE TOWN. Written by Vicki Vale. Of course. You expect nothing less. 

You scratch your cheek idly. “Huh.”

“I’m really sorry,” he says, the words seeming to burst out of him as he takes his seat again, face wrought with guilt. “I should’ve known they were there. I was careless. Should’ve had the cap or something, I don’t know, but I… I got cocky about it, since we’d gotten away with hanging out in public. The PR team is handling it, I swear.”

Handling it. Setting the record straight. You are not Tim Drake’s girlfriend. What a laughable concept. Well, you’re sure the elites are laughing. Probably the whole city. 

Your throat tightens uncomfortably and you fold the newspaper and set it down, shaking your head.

Man. What does he have to apologize for? If anything…

“I should apologize,” you chuckle, glancing away from him. “Since you got stuck with me for that. So, don’t worry about it, Timmy. You’re fine.”

Not much about you that is interesting, save for being friends with Tim. Poor Vicki Vale won’t have much to work with, you suspect. Though that will probably be the focus. That you’re just a no-name teacher’s aide, associating with one of the city’s most eligible. 

Whatever. You don’t want to be anyone else. 

That, you know, is true.

But Tim appears upset, bothered, by something, lips tugged in a frown, a deep wrinkle between his brows that you itch to smooth away with your fingers. The way he looks at you… almost like he’s hurt.

You shift forward. Why is he —?

Before you can ask, he is already speaking.

“The waffle maker is yours,” he says. “I don’t need it and if I do, I can come and use it here. I don’t mind. But… you’re wrong.”

Okay. That’s… a lot. The waffle maker doesn’t need to be prioritized, though, you don’t think. So…

“Wrong? What do you —?”

His eyes flicker around the kitchen, thinking quickly, before he huffs and leans around the table to take your chair and drag it closer to his. You let out a squeak at the jostling movement but don’t stop him, confused for the most part about what’s going on. 

“Tim?”

He shakes his head, reaching for you, hands sliding to your cheeks. Your breath catches in your throat, heart lurching in your chest.

“Tim?”

“Stuck with you,” he mutters, disapproval clear in his tone. “With you. That’s… wrong. So wrong it’s not even funny. If anyone is stuck with anyone, it’s me you’re stuck with.”

Wait, is he…

Your heart thuds in your ears, chest ballooning with nervous energy as you struggle to grapple with this conversation. With the way he is looking at you, his expression the softest it has ever been — for you. Directed at you. 

Heat rises to your face, making you dizzy. 

A thumb absently strokes over your cheek as he studies you. “There is no one else I’d rather it be. Even if it’s inconvenient for you, I’m selfish enough to admit that I don’t want anyone else. I just want…”

“Tim,” you whisper, unable to believe your ears.

“You,” he finishes quietly. “It’s you. I’m sorry.”

You both are wrong, then. 

No one is stuck with anyone. 

And you aren’t going to let him think that way, either.

“I’m not,” you say. “So, kiss me already.”

Tim kisses you.

He kisses you hungrily, a shade too desperate for eleven in the morning, in a way that sparks a fire inside you. But not a spark of creation, it’s the kindling of embers that are always burning, singeing through your veins, and you can’t help but kiss him back just as eagerly. It’d only been yesterday you wanted it desperately and now you have it and more.

The truth, reality forced upon you, for you to bear witness to how soft his lips are, the way he holds your face so gently, how he tastes like strawberries and maple syrup and the wish for more, more than that, takes hold of you violently. You press forward, your fingers sliding into his hair, silky-soft, and he lets out a sharp exhale, shivering in a way that makes you feel something dangerous. 

Astounding how you can have this and still want more.

But you’re starting to think you’ll always want more from him. More, more, more. Like you wouldn’t be satisfied until you two were one, cells and atoms intermingling. It’s a lot. A lot. For you and for him, the enormity of all of it, of what you might ask of him. From him. More than he can give, maybe, but if he feels the same as you do, then you know he’ll give you as much as he can, give everything. 

The necessity of air has you two breaking apart, but he just leans his forehead against yours, warm breath tickling your lips with each breath. 

You’re happy to stay there, eyes closed, catching your breath.

After a minute, he leans forward, lips brushing yours again, but softer this time, less hungry, less desperate, something terribly, terribly tender that has your chest exploding with warmth. You almost can’t believe it, that you’re here right now with Tim Drake cradling your face like you’re made of fine china and kissing you so sweetly, so full of honeyed affection, it clogs the arteries of your heart.

But it would be a good way to die, you think.

Especially here in Gotham.

Maybe you should give it some credit, though. 

Tragedy dogs the city constantly but even still, the impossible remains possible and you are all the more grateful for that fact.

You separate again and like before, you just lean your foreheads together, basking in the moment. 

Tim moves first and you suppress a shiver as his lips brush over your cheek.

“I guess we’re both wrong,” he murmurs.

Ah.

Neither of you can say you don’t deserve one another. Even if you feel it, he disagrees. And if he feels it, you disagree, too. And where else should you go with that?

Nowhere good, you think.

You smile. “I guess so.”

“So, then…” he starts, finally pulling away. Your eyes flutter open and your stomach swoops like you missed a step as you see the open affection in his gaze, written all over his face. It makes you feel treasured in a way you can’t quite cope with. Instead you focus on the flush on his cheeks, a tempting rush of blood that makes you want to kiss him again and see how warm the skin feels underneath your lips. 

“Yeah?”

“I know it’s a little backwards,” he goes on, thumb stroking your cheek, the other dropping to the side of your neck. Your hands find themselves on his forearms, muscles and tendons flexing beneath your fingertips. “But I wasn’t anticipating that.”

You nod. “Neither was I.”

Though you should’ve known your luck would run out eventually.

“I guess it doesn’t matter much now, anyway,” he says, then pauses, nervous, bashful energy filling him again. “Unless — I mean, I would like to take you out on an official date but, uh, I get it if that’s maybe too soon to really say —”

“Tim.”

He stops. You smile and it feels horribly honest, full of affection and warmth and with everything else not yet spoken. He softens, but the red in his cheeks darkens again. It pleases you too much.

“If you’re okay with it, then I’m okay with letting the press think we’re together,” you say, squeezing his wrist reassuringly. “Even if I wasn’t certain, it would probably be best to let them keep the rumor, rather than try and say we’re friends. But as it is…” 

As it is, you’ve since realized these feelings aren’t going anywhere and knowing that he reciprocates, that, maybe, he’s felt it for a while, too, it makes you hopeful. This isn’t just something fun to do over the summer, this is you seeing him in your kitchen in the mornings, still in pajamas, and thinking you’d like to always see him like this. This is from a few weeks ago, when you two slept together on the couch and it was the best sleep you’ve ever had and waking up with him still here, still a little sleepy and bleary-eyed, it made you think you wouldn’t mind having this for a really long time. 

For forever, you dare to think. 

“I know,” he says, and you think he really does know. 

He brushes a few strands of hair from your face, touch gentle. 

“So, then, in that case,” he starts, smile warm as he says your name, the syllables that wrap it equally as warm, “will you go out with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you say, then lean forward to kiss him again.

You aren’t going to get tired of doing that anytime soon.

And by the way he kisses you back eagerly, you know he’s thinking the same.

You both agree to have your date on Friday night. 

But until then, neither of you see any point in changing anything. 

You’ll still drop by after school or he’ll come over. You’ll still watch movies together.

Nothing changes. The core of your routines remain the same.

Well, except for the fact that you two can’t really keep your hands off each other and the entire city now knows you two are dating.

Monday morning, you showed up in class at eight as usual, finding Ms. C. She said nothing much about it, other than, You’re lucky it’s the last week of school. Everyone is going to be unbearable.

Not trying to make you feel bad. A simple fact. A warning, even, and it turned out to be true. The amount of teachers and aides that dropped by the class to talk to you — even if you’d never once spoken to them — was ridiculous. 

Most of the kids were giggly about it. A few jokes. A little grossed out. You get that, though. They’re kids. Don’t know any better.

But for your colleagues and the odd parent that manages to corner you? It’s a bit ridiculous the way some of them look down their noses at the thought of you dating him.

Well, Mrs. Hightower who teaches eighth grade science, you’re married and also not in a better position. Like, okay, you… sort of get the icy mothers (and occasional father) who sniff at the thought with their designer clothes and yachts and vacation homes in Monaco; they have money, so they think they are better suited for him. (When that honestly has nothing to do with it, but you’re trying to make a point, so, you know.) But for your fellow aides and teachers? All of you are in the exact same boat. 

The life of a more of less public figure is a tricky one. 

And honestly, Tim isn’t even as famous as he could be. Imagine what it must be like for Bruce. 

Yikes.

Every gossip page in Gotham digs their grubby little fingers into your past. 

Naturally, they don’t get much.

Moved here at eighteen for college. Majored in education and minored in psychology. Graduated with honors (that’s probably the only exciting thing for them). Worked at Gotham Elementary in Burnley, then moved to Gotham Pointe. 

That’s it. 

But when they fail to find dirt, the conversation naturally turns to how you aren’t suited for him, how he should be dating the heiress to a massive company rather than some nobody teacher’s aide. 

You try not to let it bother you.

Tim works hard to assure you that he doesn’t care about that. That he never has and never will. You believe him, but with it shoved into your face at every given moment, you think you’re allowed the occasional moment of insecurity.

On Thursday, though, you’re in high spirits. The kids have let the issue go, focusing on some other thing that’s gotten their attention and today is probably the first day that only a few people try to talk to you about everything, allowing you to focus on doing your job. For the most part.

Tim told you to come by his place after school, that way you two could make dinner and spend the evening together. After showering and changing, you catch the elevator to head to the fifteenth floor. 

The doors slide open. You step out, your eyes on your phone, reading a text from your brother, who, alongside your parents, remain a little flabbergasted that you wound up in a relationship with Tim Drake. Though your brother claims he ‘saw it coming.’ Like hell he did. All he ever did was try and convince you to send him Tim’s debit card info. 

The sound of your name.

You blink and look up, meeting the wide, bright blue eyes of a pretty blonde.

Wait, you’ve seen her face before —

“Steph — I mean, um, Stephanie Brown, right?”

One of Tim’s good friends and an old ex-girlfriend. He said they dated when they were teens but broke up and are still good friends. 

She grins, stepping back out of the elevator, apparently having been waiting to take it back down. 

“In the flesh. I’m a little surprised you recognize me but it’s great to finally meet Tim’s mystery girlfriend.” The last part is a tease from the newspaper from last weekend.

You laugh. “Tim has pictures of you and the others around his place. That’s how I knew. And it’s nice to meet you, too.” 

“I was popping in to see about it,” she tells you, not minding the elevator doors that slide shut once more. “Wondering when he’d finally bring you around. He doesn’t like to share.”

You grin, cheeks warming. Her energy is infectious. You can see what might’ve drawn him to her. “It’s my last week of school and we have our date tomorrow. So, probably after the first date. The whole press reveal thing kinda threw a wrench in our plans.”

She grins back. “Well, the way he tells it, that was the thing that kicked your butts into gear, so I guess that’s how it has to go.”

“That… Yeah, that is true,” you say with an embarrassed laugh.

“Aw, it’s okay. It would’ve happened eventually. Tim’s just the type to really, uh, collect evidence and draw up conclusions before he likes to do anything.”

You laugh, because he is like that. 

“Either way,” she says, smiling. “At least you got me out of the way. Meeting all of us can be… a lot.”

“So I’ve heard.”

She snickers. “Guess we’ll see you sometime soon. Maybe around his birthday. Bruce’ll want to have dinner or something with him at the manor and I can join them just so you have another familiar face.”

“That would be great. Really. I appreciate it.”

“You really are as kind as he says,” she says, pouting a little. “Now I’m jealous.”

You laugh, flushing at the compliment — both at what he apparently told her and the fact that she agrees with it so much to the point that she’s jealous. Even if it’s just a tease. But honestly, the way her blue eyes twinkle, you don’t think it is. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says, hiking her bag higher over her shoulder. “This homework is calling me to kick its ass.”

Right. Tim told you she was in the grad program for social work at GU. She must be taking summer classes. 

“Good luck.”

“Thanks. You kids don’t do anything crazy, alright?” she says, pointing mock sternly at you as she presses the button for the elevator again. 

You snort. “We’ll do our best.”

She gives you a melodramatic thumbs-up of approval, then steps into the elevator when the doors open. 

The smile on your lips is hard to budge. Steph’s a whole lot of fun, isn’t she? And meeting her now did help some of those budding nerves that rear their head every time you think of the prospect of meeting his family.

But like she said. That might not be until July. Mid to late July, really, since his birthday is on the nineteenth. Speaking of, you need to get back to the rec center to continue working on his gift… Maybe you can do that sometime next week…

Coming up to his door a second later, you unlock it and step inside. 

“Honey, I’m home!” you call out in a sing-song tone, slipping off your slides and locking the door behind you. 

Tim steps out from the kitchen, an expectant look on his face. “You saw Steph on your way here, didn’t you?”

You grin. “Sure did! She’s fun.”

“I wasn’t expecting her today. She wanted to ambush me about you, I think.”

“See when you’ll bring me around? Yeah, she said the same to me.”

He rolls his eyes, exasperated but still fond. “We haven’t even had our first official date. Honestly. They’re all a bunch of gossips, you know? I’m surprised it was just her that ended up coming. I was expecting Cass and Duke, too. Maybe even Alfred. Though he’d come with a much better excuse than ‘I was just on this side of town.’”

You laugh and he shakes his head, extending a hand that you take, not resisting as he ropes you into his embrace. 

“In any case,” he starts, pressing a kiss to your cheek before you sink into the circle of his arms, “how was your day?”

“S’okay. The kids were good.”

“And the teachers?”

You grin into the collar of his t-shirt. “Mostly behaved. They’ve finally grasped some semblance of self-restraint, so, wasn’t too bad.”

He hums, one hand stroking up your back, the other at your hip. You’ve always known Tim was particularly tactile but since everything between you, it’s been turned up a notch. Not that you are complaining. You’re less touch-starved these days, just because of him, but you’ll hardly say no to more of it. 

“How was yours?”

Another hum as he presses his face to your hair. 

“Fine. Lucius asked me to help with some IT stuff and I did that today. Easy work. Cleaned a bit. I sterilized those shells I got for the boys, by the way, and put them in the tank. Don’t know if you saw. Then I saw Steph, as you know. Just started dinner right now.”

“Look at you. All the best qualities of a housewife.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it, honey.”

You giggle, though your face warms at the endearment, and he can tell by being so close to you, chuckling softly as he leans down to finally kiss you. 

You press closer, sliding your arms around his neck while his lock around your waist. The full press of his lean body against yours makes your head spin. Stupid Tim and his stupid muscles…

You’re posturing, of course.

You’re… happy. Glowing with it, according to one of the kinder parents who ran into you at school. You believe it, mostly because some part of you doesn’t believe this is actually happening. That Tim kissed you breathless on Sunday and told you he wanted you. The other part of you basks in the thought, in the realization, in the fact that you get to come home to this. 

You’re so, so lucky. 

Nothing can beat it.

Absolutely nothing.  

━ end notes

1. dc editorial’s worst decision was having steph start wearing the bat symbol. leave her OUT OF IT! let spoiler stand on her own! it’s not like bruce ever approved of her.. or tim for that matter… they did her so dirty… ANYWAY

2. all waffle houses are conduits of gotham energy. thats why they’re Like That. food’s absolutely SCRUMPTIOUS tho

3. pleased to report it is canon that tim uses pet names. that tim is, in general, pretty soft with his s/os. here’s a soft moment with him and steph from robin (1993): page 1 / page 2 (read them consecutively in that order!). then another one with tim being very sweet... and finally, the page where he calls her ‘sweetie’ (and she calls him that too!).

in general, i am not too fond of sweetie as a pet name. however, i am very much appreciative of honey. it has a good balance of domesticity and affection, you know? i wouldn’t be adverse to sweetheart either. or baby. so ;)

4. on that note i continue to push my housewife/houseboyfriend(husband?) tim agenda. thank you.

anyway... about time wasn't it ;)))) we have a little ways to go before the end but i promise it's nothing too extreme. i never really wanted to make their confession a Massive Angsty thing. i mean there is stuff to deal with, particularly what tim said and reader slightly misinterpreting it (because he is apologizing for it being him but also because of what he does that she still does not know about). and no worries, we will deal with that. but ultimately, it won't be made into a Big Thing. this fic isn't really centered around that - i want it to be comforting, you know? but we still have to handle the hangups that come with being a civilian and dating a vigilante LOL

reblogs are appreciated!

[lemons-pears]

"Come, sit down, I'm making-"

2am is a peculiar time in Shadow Company: some are fast asleep to face the coming day, some are staring at their ceiling, and some are still out and about. Of course, some members would hold roles that involve active duties past midnight.

However, some are avoiding the Sandman for different purposes entirely. Depending on the Shadow, some spend their time outside, watching the sky and, perhaps, indulging in a vice - whether that be smoking with the stars, or sharing a drink with past ghosts.

Others remain inside, though their bodies still as active as ever.

Communal kitchen, 2am. Or, he assumed it was communal, anyways.

Half of the ingredients he practically smuggled in himself, the other half he found unopened at the back of the cupboards. Unlike prior occasions, Moth's basically eyeballing it all the best he can with sleepy eyes.

Ingredients he's smuggled in include: glutinous rice flour (it looks so genuinely suspicious underneath his bed - wrapped in plastic, double bagged and it still left some remnants behind), coconut milk (oddly enough they had coconut cream, but not the milk itself) and cheese (cheddar - the fridge had an opened pack of American cheese, and processed cheeseburger slices). They're all spread out neatly and within arm's range.

Everything else - the eggs, butter, sugar and evaporated milk - was located in a couple minutes. To his surprise, he found some frozen banana leaf jammed deep inside the freezer. In case it belonged to anyone else, he took as little as he thought he needed. He'll ask about ownership later.

Sure, the normal recipe would call for more ingredients, but that would involve more smuggling, and Moth isn't in a position to ask Graves about the rules regarding what can and can't be kept in the pantry- turn the music on and start anyways.

'Strangers in the night exchanging glances

Wondering in the night, what were the chances...'

He lets the speaker take over the singing, silence being filled with sound: an old friend got him hooked on the tradition; before him it was himself and the quiet.

The recipe, how he remembered it anyways, was simple to follow. Having preheated the oven, he spent some time cutting up the banana leaf a little to fit the dimensions of the tin he found. Lining it with care, humming along to the music, and generally enjoying his night. This. This is his vice, in a sense.

Rhythmic cracking and whisking of eggs, he barely needs to measure how much flour he needs at this rate. Stabbing open the cans with a knife because he recalls how the can opener was recently broken. No questions about it. Sugar, butter- it all gets mixed in one glass bowl he rinsed in the sink.

It's fine. He'll clean up after himself once he's done. He stands, in his own bubble, whisking away. The batter needs to be rid of lumps, but not too overdone that it turns out wrong.

It's admittedly quite... domestic in the kitchen, a rare mercy when it comes to the culinary sphere in Shadow Company. He pays no attention to the busted up microwave, after all. He could stay there all night and bake if he wanted to-

"Ah! Kinam- er- good evening-" The music was too loud and he wasn't fully alert when the kitchen door swung open. Now some Shadow is standing there wondering what Sergeant Moth must be up to past midnight. Cradling a bowl in one arm and whisking away like a housewife, sunglasses pushed up on his head and mask covering up the microwave. Lord, he has an apron on too.

...Before they could ask, however, Moth's already quick to talk, practically beckoning them, "Come, sit down, I'm making bibingka." His startled appearance only melts away when they take a couple steps inside the kitchen; not a single appliance combusted once during his time inside so far.

Again, it's mostly quiet aside from the music. He's already finished pouring the batter into the tray, readying himself to put it inside the oven for however long it needs to bake for. They're just sat, watching. Almost childlike. There's a curiosity, at the very least.

"...Ading," Wrong- who cares, it's late, "If... if you want to help whilst you're here, then you could help me grate the cheese? Don't have to, obviously."

Still, he's talking them through the steps, winding up some egg timer. Preheat, line, mix, bake, top, broil. And make sure music is on, because: "Music gives the food some soul, no? Good atmosphere gives it a good mood to be prepared with." Understandably, Moth isn't exactly himself - it's late, he's less concerned with appearance or suitable behaviours. He's more casual than anything.

Looking over as he washed up, making sure they don't slice a finger on the box grater, "We'll put the cheese on top once the sides look done, then we'll broil it... You're doing great, by the way." Eyeing up the first aid kit on the wall anyways, just in case. He'll do some of the cheese preparation right before he pulls it out the oven and grate cheese. "...'m very grateful to have you here." That was bad.

A brief flash of heat when the oven door opens, and he slides the tray out a little. Cheese gets sprinkled on the surface of the bibingka, almost in excess. But good co-operation means extra reward, after all. And once it's all back in the oven?

Moth's handing the Shadow the egg timer, twisted up to a couple more minutes, with a proud look on his face. "I'll make sure the food's all out and cooling once this goes off, yeah? If I'm there then you're taking some, and if I'm absent, then you can take as much or as little as you want, alright?...As long as Commander Graves doesn't find out. Go do anything you need to, Ading." Praise. He's happy for having some company that isn't set and speaker-bound.

"...I'll see you around. Have a good night." Waves them off, takea a breather and... appreciates existing a little more.

[luveline]

Hi! I just want to start off by saying how much I LOVE your month of September series. It really just means so much to me. I was wondering if you are comfortable if you could write a sirius x reader where the reader has just reached one year being sh free? Totally okay if your not though!

Hi! Im so glad you love it, thank you for reading, and for your request! fem!reader, tw self harm implied

You wake up to a bouquet of roses. 

Sirius is making something special by the looks of it, elbow deep in pastry and cream cheese and chopped greens. You watch him from the doorway, panicked, eyes flitting between him and the roses. Sirius gets you flowers every now and then, and each time you worry it's an anniversary or special occasion that you've forgotten and he's remembered. 

He's tied his hair up in a bun against his neck haphazardly, one single curl hanging in his eyes. He blows it away. 

"Good morning," you say cautiously. 

He turns to look at you over his shoulder and his expression is pure lightness, a glimmering smile, entirely buffeted by a happiness you can't home. 

"Good morning," he says, pleased, "barely." 

"You didn't wake me up." 

"I had things to do this morning," he says. He quickly finishes what he's doing, wrapping the last of what you think are spinach puffs up tightly and putting them side by side on a sheet of parchment paper. "Two seconds." 

He washes all of the butter and cream cheese off of his fingers and wipes his hands on a tea towel, and you know he's wanting a hug before you've even stepped into the room. You surprise him by going over his shoulders, pulling his face against yours, fingers spread over the soft top of his head. He laughs into your ear and grabs your waist.

"Good morning," he says again, "I'm proud of you. So proud of you." 

You push his face back enough to see his eyes. "For what?" you ask softly. 

"It's a year today, sweetheart. Since you last hurt yourself. That's what the flowers are for, they're a congratulations." He takes a half step back, hands sliding up to your chest, fingers gracing your shoulder blades, palms over the soft dough of your back. "How are you feeling?" 

You're startled. "Are you sure?" 

"I'm sure." 

There's a squirming shameful feeling that arises at the mere mention of self-harm, and it's almost completely derived from the social stigma of it. It's a taboo topic you aren't supposed to talk about, and Sirius saying the words so easily surprises you. Whenever you try to say it aloud yourself the words come out weak and giggly, trying to make light of a serious thing. 

"Oh." Your lips stay apart, brain on catch up. "That's good."

Sirius kisses you swiftly, says, "That's more than good," into your top lip. 

You hold his neck in a daze and kiss him back. He knows your mind is elsewhere and so he gets in one firm peck before pulling away completely. 

"I didn't know how big of a deal it was okay to make. I kind of wanted to get you a parade, because this is… I mean, you're amazing, and I know how hard it's been for you, and I know you're always trying your best all the time." He stops abruptly. He smiles. "I love you, and I see you." 

You step toward the table and cup a white rose in your hand. It's pristine, petals firm and soft and smelling stonefly of that natural rose perfume. He follows you like he's on automatic, hand falling to the space between your shoulders. 

"I love you more," you promise. 

You aren't sure if you're right. You love him more than you can explain, but he loves you enough to support you through the very worst part of your life, and to count the days after them, to be thankful for them. 

"Thank you, Siri," you murmur, turning back around. You drop your face into his chest and cling to his torso for dear life. He strokes your hair, lips pressed to the top of your head. 

[butmakeitgayblog]

What i wanted more than anything at canon loo (besides lexa living) was clexa being cute and coupley with each other. Sigh

I really wanted moments of solace together.

I wanted the moments when they'd had a hard day, a hard clan meeting, a day of particularly heavy losses on a battlefield, and they could just come together and find strength in the other.

I wanted moments when Clarke would walk up to a Lexa slumped down in her throne after the other leaders had filed out, seeing her looking so exhausted and annoyed with the general state of affairs, and wanting to soothe it by slipping her fingers around the back of Lexa's bowed neck and scratching there. Kissing her forehead because it makes Lexa feel cared for. Neither saying much cuz they both know they're having the same thoughts, but it's still nice to feel that connection.

I wanted moments of then eating meals together. Strategizing and planning weeks, months, years in advance for their people as they mindlessly pass the butter and jam. Clarke cutting Lexa's toast how she knows she likes it while Lexa reads over the morning's scouting report and mindlessly pouring the exact right amount of cream into Clarke's tea.

I wanted the moments after duty had dragged them away from each other. The moments when Lexa would trudge into Clarke's tent, almost too tired to do much else as she visibly sways on her feet with each step. But still, she just silently walks over and rests their heads together in hello. Knowing Clarke is the only one she can even begin to share her burden with. I wanted time apart so they could have happy reunions. Subdued publicly of course, but very enthusiastic when they reach the sanctuary of one red-eared Heda's chambers. Clarke looking so pleased and smug with herself while Lexa smiles for the first time in weeks.

I wanted the squabbles because they can't help but constantly butt heads but it's FINE because at least half of them are just so they can make up anyway. I wanted goodnight kisses and good morning pillow talks and hugs before they split apart for their days.

You had these two immensely powerful women who were leaders and shouldered burdens no one else ever understood. But they understood each other, and they were a safe space to be vulnerable with each other, and goddammit we should've gotten more of that 😤

[corporatefrog]

╰┈➤ Welcome Back to the Channel part 16; free ice cream

✧.* featuring kyle and yn walking to an unknown (and probably fine, totally not murderous) location : ̗̀➛ notes - here's your daily reminder to why i don't write serious things lmao tags - college au, superhero au, smau

series masterlist previous | next

Kyle didn’t tell me where we were going. 

“We’re going to talk to the doctor.” He’d say as if it weren’t the most infuriatingly cryptic thing ever. What kind of superhero noir film does he think we’re in?

Rule number 1 is don’t follow men into unknown dark places. Granted, the men in those situations are built like a Jostar and super scary. Compared to that, Kyle is more of a pomeranian off his leash. I could tell him that Donald Glover leaves Community in the fifth season and he’d be out of commission for long enough to kick his lanky legs and take him down. 

Why are we thinking about the specifics of physically restraining our friend?

You can never be too prepared.

Now you’re being cryptic. We aren't even in a sketchy area. Isn’t that literally craig’s house?

My focus returned to my surroundings as I noticed the houses lining the street. I’d only seen craig’s house once when Butters shared a picture of a bear standing in his driveway, thinking it was a dog, but that was enough to solidify the house to memory. 

Without realizing, my steps slowed as I became lost in my thoughts again. 

I’m in the neighborhood where Craig’s family lives. Clyde told me he lived in the same neighborhood with the guys for most of their life. That means Kyle probably lives in the same neighborhood too. Kyle knows about Butters.

And we’re diving in this hole, WHY?

Shut up, I’m onto something... I think.

Kyle knows about Butters. Butters is Chaos. We’re in Craig’s neighborhood. Craig. Butters. Kyle. Superheroes. Craig. Fucking SUPER CRAIG. 

Holy shit. I forgot about Super Craig.

“KYLE!” I snapped back to reality. Kyle had gotten a half a block ahead of me. When he turned back, his own nervous gaze met mine. He held up a finger to his lips, gesturing to the dark street as a reminder that this isn’t the place to shout this late at night. 

I pressed my lips together to hopefully hold back any other impulsive shouts and speed walked to catch up with him. 

“Kyle we’re so fucking stupid. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it-” Kyle cut off my rambling.

“What? Is something wrong?” He asked, voice matching my own panic as his nerves bounced off of mine. 

“Of course something is wrong. Craig’s a superhero too! Don’t you see it?” I asked, looking up at Kyle. Panic radiated off both of us, air growing electric as our thoughts bounced off of each other in a silent amplification of anxiety.

Kyle opened his mouth to respond but no words came out. He paused, then closed his mouth, swallowing the words. He turned away from me, continuing down the sidewalk as though I didn’t just drop a friendship altering bomb.

“Come on, we’ve got to get to Timmy’s house.” Kyle said over his shoulder, turning to walk up the steps of a house at the end of the block. 

Who the fuck is timmy?

"Are we not going to address this? Or do I only get one theory confirmed every 24 hours?" I questioned, jogging to catch up with Kyle on the doorstep.

He didn't look in my direction. Instead he rung the doorbell and kept his eye trained on the entryway. "All of the above."

“This free ice cream better come with a month of therapy after this bullshit.” I muttered to myself as the door swung open revealing him. The one who is meant to answer all of my questions. The one who had the power to keep Kyle Broflovski silent.

Dr. Timothy.

taglist [reply to be added]: @sula0kin @lacuna-at-dawn @anglettecolours @cocolena@sukisprettyface @feverish-dove @sweetadonisbutbetter @hand-writxen@mishstuff@sophtophie @triphovia  @lacunaanonymoused @inkedintothepaper @toodeepintofandoms@mmmaackerel @sillybilly-123@n0tangeliccc

[niallsgoldhoop]

Chapter Eight

Niall

“Are you here alone?”

My fingers drum across the bar top as I look at the woman standing next to me.

Her blonde hair is done in long waves down her back, a perfect red color painted across her full lips as she smiles at me, waiting for me to answer.

She’s gorgeous, truly.

“I am.” Lifting my Guinness to my lips, I revel in the taste of the dark beer as it dances across my taste buds. “I’m sorry though, I may be alone— But I have someone waiting for me back home.”

Sure, Wren and I aren’t in an actual relationship, but I was committed to the act.

I left town a week ago on a work trip, one that had me all the way in London. Just because there were miles and miles away from me and the list of rules I signed, I wasn’t about to disappoint her.

“Well that’s too bad.” Giving me one last smile, the woman turns on her heels and disappears into the crowd.

A little over a week and a half ago I sat across the table on a date with one of the most enigmatic people I had ever met.

Wren wasn’t an open book like I was, she was more like a poem written in a language so grand that I needed a masters degree to be able to even begin to understand.

It was beautiful, much like she was.

Of course it was awkward, sitting at a table trying to get to know someone who you’ve already supposedly been with before. If it was going to work between us, we would both have to put our best foot forward.

Give acting a solid try.

What Inrealized at the end of the night was how much I liked being around her. Really that wasn’t a surprise to me though. Just from the interactions we had before I found her in that closet led me to believe she was polite and kind.

But now I knew more about her and saw a glimpse into the person she was— the small details that I was trying like hell to remember.

The way we lip barely lifted at the side when she was trying not to laugh.

The way she asked for extra oreos in her ice cream.

The way she hugs her arms to herself when she’s unsure of something.

Each small thing I picked up that night went on a list of things I needed to remember to make this work for her— It had to work for her.

Buzzing on the counter next to me, my phone lights up with a reminder to check in for my flight in the morning, the one that would take me back home to the house I worked so hard for years to be able to live in.

The house that had room after room on a sprawling property with gardens and walkways, everything I'd always wanted.

A house that would be only one thing when I got home.

Empty.

________

The only sounds heard throughout the house are the wheels of my suitcase across the hardwood floors as I walk past the floor to ceiling windows that look out over the immaculate property that I get to call mine.

From the heated pool and built-in jacuzzi to the covered part of the patio with a grill and soft, oversized outdoor seating— it was everything that I could have ever dreamed of. When I retired and bought Willow Lakes, this house fell into my lap and I had my realtor put in an offer the moment I stepped inside the front door.

Stepping into my bedroom and lifting up my suitcase onto the bench at the end of my bed, I do what I always do and unpack everything before rolling the suitcase into the back of my closet before carrying the heaping pile of laundry down the hall.

Once everything is loaded in and started, I do what I always do when I get home from a work trip…

I work some more.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator that has a couple bottles of beer and maybe a stick of butter, the home office that looks out over the pool calls my name.

Working kept me busy and it distracted me from the fact that my life only felt like it existed when I was around the golf course or doing something that related to it. I was proud of myself and had been for quite some time— but at the end of the day, that’s all there was.

My achievements and me.

There wasn’t anyone that I was sharing it with or even children to pass it on too.

I’d never thought I would be where I am, much less as alone as I feel the majority of the time. Yeah, there were friends and people I spent my time with but those people weren’t here when I came home.

Those people weren’t there when the lights went out at the end of the day.

A reminder pops up at the bottom of my screen, one that has the date and time along with an address not far from here, a black tie event held every year to raise money for Make-A-Wish.

Reaching for my phone, I pull up the contact that shows my last text as read— but with no answer back to me.

Typical.

Niall

How do you feel about another date this weekend?

Unlike the last message, her reply comes almost instantly.

Wren

Instead of telling you how I feel about it, I’ll just go ahead and agree to it.

Niall

I can sense your excitement all the way from here.

Niall

I’ll send you the details, Birdie.

Wren

You can just call me Wren, Niall.

Niall

It’s a black tie event so I’ll leave you my card so that you can get yourself something to wear that you like.

Wren

I don’t need your money.

Niall

I never said you did.

Niall

See you soon, Birdie.

With that, I turn my phone on do not disturb and get back to my emails.

Doing my best not to think of what she might pick out to wear.

Or how pretty I know she’ll be no matter what she chooses.

__________

Saturday.

A day where I could be doing anything without feeling buried in my work, but not today.

Today Wren and I would walk through the french doors of River Links Golf Club in front of people I considered my friends, doing our best to sell the very relationship we were faking.

It was all fake— So why did I feel nervous as my fingers worked over the buttons of my shirt before slipping the black fabric under my collar and tying the knot at the base of my throat?

The watch on my wrist tells me that it’s almost time for her to be here. No matter how many times I saw her around the clubhouse over the last week and told her that I would pick her up… She insisted that she just meet me here.

That we could just ‘ride together’.

Stubborn.

You could use that word to describe her for sure.

One final look in the mirror as I pull the black jacket over my shoulders, the sound of Wren’s arrival chord through the house and with one last breath, I know that I’ve prepared as best that I can for tonight.

Only when I open the front door and see the way the last bit of the setting sun catches her chestnut colored hair do I realize that maybe I’m not prepared at all.

Not one bit.

“Niall.” Wren gives me a single nod as her lips press into a thin line.

My eyes can’t help but take her in, the black fabric of her dress calling to me like a siren drawing a ship to a rocky shore.

Without even thinking, I run my hand through my hair as I swallow the lump in my throat. “Wren, hi. You look— You look stunning.”

Flattening her hands across the tulle that creates a tiered effect, heat blooms across her cheeks at the same time she looks down to the heels in her feet. “Thank you, um… You look nice as well.”

When those dark eyes finally meet mine again, I have to count backwards from ten to try and get a grip on my own composure.

Thin straps rest over her shoulders and down to the front of her dress, the deep cut of the front exposing the delicate bone along her collar as well as smooth skin accompanied by a few freckles.

I don’t know what kind of dress that I had expected her to choose, but I know that I’m fucking glad it was this one.

“Come on in.” Stepping to the side, I let her pass me and have to restrain from reaching out to her as she moves past me, giving me a view of her exposed back. “I just need to grab my wallet and my keys and then we can get going.”

“Sure, yeah.” With a half smile, Wren steps to the side as I head over to the kitchen.

My things sit neatly on the corner, accompanied with the velvet box that I almost forgot about. “Oh, I got you something— I almost forgot.” Nerves shoot up my spine as I grip the box in my hand, crossing the space between us. “I figured if we’re doing this, I might as well do it right.”

Handing her the box, the soft pink of her nail polish looks perfect against the black velvet as she flips it open, expressive eyes going wide as she looks at the pendant paid across the flat surface.

“Niall— I can’t accept this.” Shaking her head and shoving the box into my chest, she takes a step back. “That’s like, probably worth more than my entire outfit.”

Taking the gold chain between my fingers and plucking it off of the insert, it glimmers in the light through the floor to ceiling windows as I hold it between us. “Turn around.”

Wren looks at me for a few seconds that feel like years, eventually turning and giving me her back.

As she looks out of the windows that frame the rolling hills and sunset drenched clouds, I undo the clasp and slide the piece into place, letting my fingers travel over the way the gold contrasts with her skin tone like it was made for her all along.

“This is— You didn’t need to do this.” Turning to face me, bottom lip captured between her teeth, her gaze comes from under thick lashes. “I’ll just wear it for tonight.”

“Wren, that’s yours.” Reaching out and picking up the tear shaped diamond, my thumb travels over the top of the faceted cut. “Like I said, I want to do this right. Everyone knows that there wouldn’t be a way in hell that I wouldn’t spoil the woman of dreams.”

A soft laugh falls from her lips. “Only I’m not that.. The woman of your dreams.”

“But you are at least for a little while.” My gaze falls to the diamond before meeting hers again. “Right?”

“Right.” I can almost hear her thoughts as she takes a step back from me, gripping her small clutch in her hands. “For a little while, yeah.”

With a nod, I turn in my heel and listen for the sound of her heels along the hardwood floor as we head out to the grave and climb into the car, the scent of her perfume filling the space almost as much as the silence.

Just for a little while, I remind myself.

Only a little while.

________

“I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.

Turning to my side, I look at Oliver who stands next to me and nurses the drink in his hand. “Yeah, well, you know me— I’ve always been pretty private.”

“Mhm, if that’s the story you’re going with.” He laughs.

Ignoring the words of one of my long-time friends, my eyes find the star of the show standing in the middle of the room, her head thrown back as she laughs at something Oliver’s wife says.

There’s a tug deep in my chest at the sight of her fitting in and laughing with a group of my own friends.

Surely it just has to do with seeing her with people who make her smile.

Surely.

Almost as soon as we got here, I watched as Wren fit in with everyone as they all welcomed her with open arms.

“There is no story.” Giving him a smile, the rest of my drink goes down smoothly as I shrug my shoulders. “Wren and I are together. We met at the store and then it turns out she ended up working at Willow Lake.”

Words fall from his lips but I don’t hear a thing when Wren looks at me over her shoulder, those full lips pulled up on one side. “She looks at you like I look at Harper.”

“Like you have something between your teeth?” I joke.

“You’re such an ass, Horan.” His own laugh mixes with mine as she turns back around and jumps into the conversation with Harper and a couple of other people. “She looks at you like you’re the only other person in the room besides her.”

I remind myself that she’s just acting— Something I should be doing. So as Oliver starts to make his way towards his wife, my feet follow along.

The skin along the open back of her dress is soft beneath my fingertips, eliciting a gasp that only I can hear just before they slip just under the edge of the black fabric, my thumb swiping back and forth across the smooth surface.

“Niall.” Turning to me, her beautiful features shine under the low lights just as goosebumps fly across her skin under the burning tips of my fingers. “Hi.”

I swallow thickly, caught off guard by the sweet smell of her perfume and the depth of her chocolate eyes. “Hello, darling.”

And as if that wasn’t enough, I lean forward and don’t think twice before my lips press to hers.

Delicate fingers instantly cup my jaw as she presses her lips to mine, everyone else within a hundred mile radius disappearing at the same time that my tongue finds her bottom lip for only a second before she opens to me.

She tastes sweet like champagne and strawberries.

My new favorite.

A small cough draws us apart and I can feel the heat in my own cheeks as she reaches up to cover her lips, a dimple carving into her cheek as she tries to hide the smile that delivered it.

That’s the moment that tells me everything I need to know.

Just how how truly fucked I am.

__________

hiiiii!! how do you like it so far?

-alex 🍀

[morteamore]

Yes, Chef!: Second Course - Rough Scene Draft

I was feeling fairly inspired from finishing season 2 of The Bear. Life has been pretty messed up for me this past month. I've been barely getting by with my sanity intact. But I am getting by somehow. I managed to bang this very rough draft of a scene for my Yes, Chef! continued AU.

===============================

Looking over his shoulder as Jack waved him on, Rhys acquired a short stool and pulled it over to the opposite side of the station Troy was standing at. Currently, Troy had a standard sized pan on the stove top in front of him, and to his right lay his ingredients. A half sphere of butter, a bowl of jumbo eggs that had yet to be cracked, shredded pale white cheese. 

“Jack said that I should come over and try to help you out,” Rhys said as he sat down on the stool. He was placing his ECHO on the counter top as Troy tossed his head to shift the hair out of his eyes and looked at him. “I’ll see what I can do. No guarantees. So, show me what Zane’s been teaching you.”

With a nod, Troy straightened up. He scooped an egg up between his thumb, middle and index fingers and subtly cracked it into another empty bowl. 

“We’ve started with just making omelettes for now,” he told Rhys as he cracked the remainder of the eggs. A dash of cream and a few fresh herbs were added then whipped with a hand whisk. “Haven’t quite perfected it yet. But I’m getting there. 

Troy added in the cheese and then spread the around the pan, watching it melt to oily liquid. He carefully poured the egg mixture against the greased surface once he’d tested the temperature with a few droplets of water. As he went to grip the pan handle in his cybernetic, Rhys hummed, as if anticipating what would unfold next. As he lifted, the pan wobbled in Troy’s grip, the contents sloshing back and forth. The cookware clattered to the stove top as the weight strained the strength in Troy’s artificial wrist, its contents nearly spilling over in one precarious moment.

“Can I show you something?” Rhys gestured towards Troy’s cybernetic.

Huffing, Troy waved in approval and spun around on his heel, fists going to his hips as refused to face Rhys. The tension in his spine was evident in the confines of his black t-shirt, which was too tight and small for his frame to begin with.

“For one, if you want me to take you seriously in my kitchen, maybe get some clothes that fit.” At Troy’s silently raised middle finger, Rhys added, “I’m being serious. Tattoos are great. But flashing them during service is just unprofessional. And you’re going to need to get a haircut or wear something over your head.”

“Jack never had a problem with it.”

“Jack didn’t have a problem with a lot of unprofessional things. But Jack is Jack, and he’s put me in charge of you guys now. So we cook by my standards.”

“Fine.”

“No makeup, either. We don’t need guests complaining about mascara running into their chowder. Nail polish, any color, is okay. Neckwear under the clothing. Ear stuff is fine just nothing that dangles. No wrist accessories for mobility reasons. Visible body mods at a reasonable volume. I'd prefer no lip or mouth stuff. It messes with taste testing too much. But as long as it's not going to be excessive, it's fine.”

Turning around, Troy was shaking his head. “Anything else, your majesty?”

“Yeah. Sarcasm is A-okay in my kitchen. In fact, I encourage a little saltiness every now and then. Keeps us all in the moment and on our toes. But no fighting on the line during service. And you should be calling me chef.”

“Sure thing, chef.”

Rhys just shook his head. “Take two steps back from the range.”

With a shrug, Troy walked himself backwards until he was a seizable few inches away from the stove.

“Great. Now you’re not crowding your station. At your size, you’re going to need the room. And I bet you didn’t have a whole of range of mobility with that old prosthetic model you had.”

“Are you ragging on me?”

“Why would I? Use your noggin. I know you’re not half as stupid as you seem.”

“Debatable, chef.”

Without acknowledging the quip, Rhys went on. “Extend your arm towards the top of the range and cock your elbow slightly. Like this.” Rhys held up his gloved cybernetic arm and demonstrated a slight bend at the elbow. “Use your thumb to guide your grip on the pan handle. It’s going to be tricky at if you’re not used to the articulation in your fingers yet. Now lift the pan about a half inch off the range.”

Regarding Rhys’ demonstration with a quick flick of his gaze, Troy’s movements were careful and precise. 

“Good form. Feel that tension in the wrist? Focus on it. Adjust your grip if you feel uneven distribution. You need to teach your mechanical parts what to expect. It’s harder when the muscle movements aren’t natural. There’s always going to be that moment of delay unless you train the response.”     

“That the way it were for you at first?”

“Definitely. Used to call me botch back in my early culinary days. And you know the story of how I lost the arm to begin with.”  For a moment, Rhys pursed his lips, rubbing the back of his neck. “But you can see that I learned. I think you’ll be able to, too. Try this way: let the elbow joint straighten then pull it back towards you. But don’t extend too far over the range or pull too close to your body. You’ll probably overcompensate at first.”  

As he did as instructed, Rhys watched. At first, Troy demonstrated Rhys’ warning about overreaching. His arm struck out extended too far over the range and when he pulled back the movement was jerky, his grip nearly slipping. Egg mixture sloshed around in the pan, nearly spilling in a tide down Troy’s shirt front. Troy managed to correct the course last minute, extending his arm back out sharply. On the reel in motion, Troy managed to keep the trajectory smoother this time. There was only a slight wobble to it.

After Troy had demonstrated the movement several times with minimal issues, Rhys gestured for him to stop.

“Raise the pan another half inch,” he said, his gaze not leaving Troy’s technique.

Troy looked on expectantly as he did so.

“I’m not going to hit you with sauté technique <em>just</em> yet. I want you to get the basics down first.”

“We doing the flip then?”

“We’re doing the flip.”

A brilliant grin spread across Troy’s face, his chrome grill gleaming in full display. “Flynt has actually been practicing this with me. He gave me some real thorough instruction on it.”

“Real hands on I bet, right?”

As he was beginning to shift the pan in a wave motion, Troy jerked his head up, his jaw hanging open as he stared at Rhys. Unfortunately, this relegated all his focus to that one act, and he flipped the pan too hard nearly tossing it from his own grip. The partially liquid contents rose high overhead, an arc of egg sailing over to the other side of the station. It slopped down on to the counter in front of Rhys with a dull wet thud, splattering pale yellow ooze all over him. Rhys yelped and leaped back at the pain as the fiery hot contents came in contact with his bare skin, turning it ruddy pink.

“Fuck!” This from Troy, who immediately dropped his pan on to the range and scrambled towards where the fire extinguisher was kept. “Fuck, where the fuck is the fucking burn kit? Do we even have a fucking burn kit yet?”

“Troy, calm down,” Rhys managed to whistle out between hisses of breath.

“Goddam motherfucking stupid fucking shitty piece of fucking slag ass—”

“Calypso,” Rhys said more sharply. “Get back on the line.”

Where he stood scrambling through drawers, Troy froze. He didn’t turn to face Rhys, his body trembling with tension.

“I’ll handle myself. It’s just a few burns. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before during service hours.” Rhys’ voice was strained. He had to swallow to continue. “You’re a professional chef assigned to a station. You need to tend to it.” 

Troy finally turned to face Rhys. The man’s face was contorted in pain and he was breathing through his nose. But his gaze wasn’t cruel and he nodded towards the gas range where Troy had been practicing.

“You got this, Calypso.” 

The hinge of Troy’s jaw worked a few times, never quite closing. For some time, he looked at a loss for a response. Then he straightened his shoulders and walked himself back to the station.

“Corner,” Rhys called out as Troy walked around the edge of the counter.

“Chef!” Troy responded without hesitation.

A small smile finally played over Rhys’ lips. “Do you really think I’m going to sit and judge you for that of all things?”

“What’re you talking about?” Troy asked as he cleaned the mess at his station without looking up.        

“Troy, you remember when you found out I was sleeping with Jack?”

There was no response from the other chef. Rhys sighed.

[obsidiancreates]

I'm Tryin' Out 1987 TMNT, First Episode Liveblog

Awwwww dorky lil' theme song- PFFFT WHICH ONE JUST INTERRUPTED TO SAY "WE'RE REALLY HIP"

HEROS IN A HALF SHELL AND THEY'RE GREEN WELL YOU DON'T SAY XD OH THIS SI ALREADY AN ABSOLUTE DELIGHT

THIS IS SO FUN ALREADY AND I LOVE SEEING HOW MUCH OF THE 2012 THEME HARKENS BACK TO THIS ONE BUT WITH A TWIST

I'm ready for this. BRING IT ON 80'S- SHIT IS THAT BEEBOP ALREADY OH MY GOD THEY FUCKING- THAT CAR IS JSUT BONES NOW

APRIL VOICE OVER???????

Yeesh how much spray paint did those Troubled Teens use on that guy to make the noise of his walking away so loud

HI APRIL

Oop hi Rob, voicing side characters in this one too, huh?

ONLY HAVE BEEN MADE WITH A SAMURAI- NINJA ROPE- MADE IN JAPAN- WHATTTTTTTTTTT IS HAPPENING THIS MAN JUMPS TO MORE CONCLUSIONS THAN ME ON A MATH TEST

WHO'S WANT TO HURT THE NEWS MEDIA- APRIL-

Oop, Rob again- oh that one was Leo's VA though, totally sounded like the Heath Burns voice he does in Monster High

So this is like a 90's kinda streetgang leader Shredder?

HELL YEAH APRIL I LOVE YOU ALREADY OH YES SHE'S ELATED BY THE MURDER ATTEMPT BECAUSE OF WHAT IT MEANS FOR THE STORY I LOVE HER

HECK YEAH THE TURTLE BOYS

lol "Whoever you are you are dead" wrong bad guy, wrong

SHEESH RAPH GIVE HER A BREAK XD RIGHT OFF THE BAT HIS SASS LEVELS ARE SET TO LETHAL

April can deal with Attempted Murder like it means nothing but Turtle Mutants? Nah that one is too much.

Pfffff "She's no fun, she fainted." Mikey sir not the time

PFFFFFT "WHAT THE DEVIL" SHREDDER IS JSUT CONFUSED NOT EVEN MAD

AWWWWWWWWW THIS SPLINTER IS SO FRIEND-SHAPED LOOK AT HIM, HOW'D SHE PASS OUT HE LOOKS LIKE A LIL' BUD

Sheesh Donnie "Come on, Lady" you've just always had bad skills with women, haven't you?

TOUGH TRYING TO CARRY ON A CONVERSA- RAPH

I love this Splinter already.

PEPPERONI AND ICE CREAM?????? JELLYBEANS AND MUSHROOMS?????? ANCHOVIES AND PEANUT BUTTER??????? OH GOD THEY ALL EAT LIKE 2012 MIKEY

They're so chill about a human finding them lol

PET RAT???????? APRIL THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING-

GOD HE'S SO FRIEND SHAPED

Oooooooooooh backstory!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yoshi lead the foot? SAKI WAS HIS STUDENT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Did he stab Yo- oh no he prevented his bow- SORRY THIS MAN'S JUMPING TO MORE CONCLUSIONS THN THE NINJA ROPE GUY

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW BABY TURTLES AWWWWW- he lived in The Sewers already? Huh. Oh he's having a good time! Yay!

OH NO THEY GOT INTO- uh. Energon from Transformers G1? Why's it pink?

HE STEPPED IN THE PINK

YEAH THERE IT IS- oh that seemed pretty painless, good for 80's Splinter

"Got a mind like a steel trap, lady" GOOD LORD RAPH WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN XD

Four young wards lol I love that they named him Splinter

"Yeah I knew the outside world would think they're freaks but you know what fixes that? Lethality."

NO SWORD ON EARTH CAN WITHSTAND HIS SAI- HOW DID HE PRONOUNCE LEONARDO JUST THEN- AYYYYY FRANCHISE NAMEDROP

Wait wait wait "Force them to turn our master human again" dude Splinter raised them for REVENGE XD

APRIL I'M SORRY WHAT YOU THINK THEY COMMITED THE ROBBERIES- I TAKE IT BACK RAPH WAS RIGHT TO INSULT YOUR BRAIN WHAT THE HELL IS THAT CONCLUSION ALSO DON'T TELL THEM YOU THINK THAT YOU JUST LEARNED THAT THEY'RE SUPER TRAINED NINJAS AND SPLINTER GAVE YOU SUSHI

Lol they accidentally assigned Raph's voice to Donnie, very G1 of them and very Foreshadowing

"The thieves were turtles, pal!" "Well yeah, but, were they turtles?" MIKEY MAKES A GOOD POINT

THEY KIDNAPPED HER WAIT

NOT LIKE APRIL WAS IRREPLACABLE- OH GOD A MISOGYNIST IS SPOTTED

They're all pretty chill about kidnapping- oh Mikey no- AH Leo is smart- APRIL YOU'RE IN NO PLACE TO NEGOTIATE

SHREDDER KNOWS?!?!?!?!?!?! WAIT WHAT IS HAPPENING-

COULD HAVE BEEN TURTLES?!?!?!?! WHY MUST YOU KNOW???????

Yes Raph they probably did leave evidence just lying around. Mikey stop being a pessimist WHOA never thought I'd say that

AH why'd Raph's face do that

NINJA PIZZA PARLOUR?????? Oh shit he broke the fourth wall DONNIE NO PLEASE I'M UNSHOWERED AND GREASY DON'T LOOK AT ME

AWWWWWWWWW THEY'RE ALL SO SMALL

Oh hello Old Lady- FUCKING HELL THAT GUN

OH goodness she got them lil' hats and clothes SO CUTE

LEO WHY'D YOU BREAK THAT GUY'S TABLE

April it's not hard, they're color-coded

WHYYYYY ARE THERE SO MANY NINJA BUSINESSES- YEAH I'D SAY IT'S SUSPICIOUS TOO

She's making points. She's making points.

SHREDDER DID YOU THEME ALL OF YOUR MONEY LAUNDERING BUSINESSES AROUND BEING A NINJA

Sashimi pizza and whipped cream pizza? "Eat it in good health?" Sir you can't serve pizza like that and then wish them good health. That's like feeding someone a bunch of cyanide and wishing them a long life.

Of course Raph got the sashimi one, just gotta be the alternative kid

WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THOSE FOOT GUYS WHAT WHY DID THEY WALK LIKE THAT oh they got April

Is this a tra- it's a trap. Oh Raph said it too

SOMETHING WEIRD ABOUT- BOY I'LL SAY

"CLANG?! DID YOU SAY CLANG?!" RAPH WHY ARE YOU OFFENDED BY THEM BEING ROBOTS

2012 did the animation and color palettes of '87 dirty in the crossover based on this pilot ep

YEAH BITCH HAMATO YOSHI LIVES- WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT WHY DO THE FOOT BOTS HAVE TALLER FOREHEADS THAN RISE DONNIE

HOLY FUCK HOW STRONG ARE THESE TURTLES THEY COLLAPSED A WHOLE DAMN WALL ON THESE GUYS

Oh god Leo that is NOT SECU- they all slid down it anyway

ACME TECH ACME TECH ACME BABEY

YOU KNOW ABOUT HAMATO YOSHI'S TURTLES?!?!?!?! SHREDDER HAS THE TECHNODROME?!?!?!?!?!?! WHAT

Yeah I love 2012 but it did these boys dirty.

Awww Raph saved April, that's nice! He's a sassy bitch but he's caring.

HOW IS THE WATER GOING UP

Raph not the time for double puns

EW EATING SOUNDS- BANANAS AND SAUSAGE????? WE END EPISODE ONE ON THAT???????

This show is a fucking delight and I DO adore it however I will only watch as long as Rob Paulsen is voicing Raph once the VA changes I'm out because TBH he's like 2/3s of the reason I'm watching (I have a fucking problem)

[evermoresversion]

Baking with nick cookies even though half the time he'd be eating the chocolate chips

THE BEST PASTRY CHEFS, NICK LEISTER.

A/N Thank u for ur request, nonnie. <3

PAIRING Nick Leister x Fem!Reader

TW/TAGS Pure fluff, established relationship.

SUMMARY You and Nick decide to make chocolate chip cookies, only he won't stop eating the chocolate chips.

NICK'S MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

"Okay, so according to the internet we need flour, egg, butter, salt, chocolate chips, sugar, vanilla extract, aaand baking powder." you indicated and as soon as you stopped talking Nick looked up all the ingredients for the chocolate chip cookies you had proposed to make.

"And now?" he asked making sure no ingredient was missing.

"We mix it all in a bowl." When you saw that he was about to add all the ingredients for one, you stopped him by taking his hands.

"But in parts, love." you laughed at his behavior, and saw his cheeks flush a little.

"Sorry." you denied giving a kiss on his cheek.

You wore a blue apron with little capybaras on it, while he wore a pink barbie-like one.

"First, we melt the butter." You took the bar of this one, filling up half a cup.

"In the microwave?" he asked taking the cup, walking towards it.

"Yeah, I think so."

30 seconds later the microwave began to beep, Nick took the cup out of the microwave, waiting for your next command.

"We have to mix the sugar, the egg and the butter." You poured the sugar and he the butter while you broke the egg to put it in the bowl. You took your phone to see what else was next.

"Let's see..." you muttered looking at the recipe you had taken from the Internet and saw Nick take the bag where the chocolate chips were. "Hey! Drop that." You gave him a slap on his hands, taking the bag away but he already had a lot of chocolate chips in his mouth.

You smiled in denial and he had an innocent smile as he ate the chocolate chips that were in his mouth.

You mixed the ingredients that were already in the bowl making sure Nick didn't get the chocolate chips again.

"Okay, now we add a drizzle of vanilla." You took the vanilla by opening it. "Look, it smells good." you brought the little bottle up to his nose so he could smell it.

"You're right. Can I put it on?" he asked like a little kid, you nodded giving him the bottle.

And he poured in enough of the liquid that was needed.

"Now we add flour, a pinch of salt and the chocolate chips." You looked for another cup to be able to accurately measure the flour already with baking powder and by the time you turned around, Nick already had another handful of chocolate chips in his mouth.

"Nick!" you exclaimed taking the bag with very few chocolate chips.

He laughed kissing the side of your head.

"There's more in the cupboard, I think."

You saw him with amusement following the steps, mixing all the ingredients with the leftover chocolate chips.

"It's your turn to make the balls with an ice cream scoop."

He did as you asked, eating from time to time a little bit of the chocolate chips of the dough. You hit his arm with amusement.

"You don't get tired?"

"Get tired of chocolate chips? Never." He shook his head as he portioned each cookie.

"I believe you." You both laughed as he finished making the balls.

You put each ball of dough on a tray with waxed paper so that they don't stick, you crushed them a little and you put them in the oven that you had preheated before.

"Okay, now we have to wait…" you trailed off as you watched Nick pull out another bag of chocolate chips, looking at you wide-eyed, like a little kid being caught eating candy before breakfast. "Are you serious?"

"Wghat?" he asked with his mouth full and you couldn't help but laugh at your boyfriend's antics.

"Come, let's see what we do in fifteen minutes." You took his hand walking into the living room.

"I have an idea." He proposed seductively.

"No."

"Oww." he complained walking behind you.

When the fifteen minutes, and a game of UNO later, where you clearly beat him, passed, you both walked towards the kitchen so you could see your creation.

You turned off the oven with an oven mitt on and opened the oven door, removing the tray and placing it on the counter.

"We are the best pastry chefs." He sentenced hugging you from the side and you giggled nodding.

"Yes of course."

disclaimer ── evermoresversion © 2023.

[thedisneychef]

Can Peach Cobbler Recipe Be Easy? Tips for Delicious Results

Hi everyone, I'm super excited to share my favorite peach cobbler recipe with you today! It's so easy and delicious that it has quickly become one of my go-to desserts for potlucks or family gatherings. This classic Southern dish is made from simple ingredients like canned peaches, butter, sugar, and a few pantry staples. With just a little bit of effort, you can have an amazing dessert on the table in no time at all. I've been making this same peach cobbler recipe for years now, and every time I make it someone new falls in love with it. The combination of sweet peaches and crunchy topping makes it hard to resist - plus it looks gorgeous when served up fresh out of the oven! So let me show you how easy it is to whip up this tasty treat - you won't regret giving it a try! Ingredients Needed For Peach Cobbler I'm so excited to share this easy peach cobbler recipe with you! It's delicious and can be made in no time. All you need are a few simple ingredients, most of which you likely already have stored away in your pantry or fridge. The star ingredient of this cobbler is, obviously, peaches. You can use fresh peaches if they're available at the store or farmers market; just remember to peel them before using them for the recipe. If not, canned peaches work great too! Just make sure that when you're draining them from their syrup, reserve some of it as it will add flavor to your finished dish. To get started on making your own yummy peach cobbler, gather up all the ingredients listed below and prepare yourself for an amazing treat! Prepping The Peaches Now that you have all the ingredients needed for peach cobbler, it's time to prep the peaches. The first step is choosing your peaches. You want them to be ripe and juicy with some give when lightly squeezed. If they're too hard or mealy, those are not good choices for this recipe. Once you've selected the perfect peaches, you need to remove their pit. Cut each peach in half then twist each side of the halves away from one another until they separate and expose the pit inside. Carefully scoop out the pit with a spoon and discard it, being sure not to take any of the fleshy part of the peach along with it. Finally, slice each peach into thin slices for use in your cobbler. With these simple steps, your prepped peaches will be ready for baking! Making The Cobbler Topping I'm a huge fan of the classic peach cobbler recipe. The topping is just so delicious and really complements the peaches! Making it may look intimidating, but I promise you that it's actually quite easy. To make the cobbler topping, begin by using butter to create a crumbly texture with flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and spices. You can use whatever spices you like – cinnamon always does the trick for me! Once everything is mixed together nicely (it should be crumbly), spoon it over your prepared fruit mixture in your baking dish. It's now time to bake your cobbler! Place it in the preheated oven and let it cook until golden brown on top – about 30-35 minutes depending on how hot your oven runs. Enjoy this tasty treat warm or cold - either way will taste amazing! Baking And Serving The Cobbler I'm so excited to talk about baking and serving this delicious peach cobbler! The most important thing for any recipe is choosing the right ingredients. For my cobbler, I always make sure to get ripe yet firm peaches – they should be fragrant and juicy but not too soft. Make sure you pick out good quality fruit that will add a fantastic flavor to your cobbler. Once your peaches are ready and your batter is made, it's time to put together the dish! Layer the bottom of your baking pan with the fresh peaches then pour your batter over them evenly. Bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit until golden brown on top – usually around 40 minutes or so depending on how deep the pan is. When done, let it cool before digging in! Serve warm topped with vanilla ice cream or whipped cream – yum! You can also sprinkle chopped nuts for added crunch if desired. Enjoy this tasty treat in all its glory - no matter how you serve it up, I know you'll love it! Variations And Topping Ideas I can almost smell the sweet aroma of a freshly baked peach cobbler wafting through the air. It's an easy recipe to make and there are many variations you can try for a unique twist on this classic dessert. One way is by adding additional fruits, such as apples, blueberries or strawberries, for a burst of flavor in every bite. If you want something more savory, consider adding spices like cinnamon and nutmeg to give your cobbler that extra kick of warmth. And don’t forget about topping ideas – crumble oat streusel over top or add some crunch with chopped nuts! With all these options, it's easy to find a variation that fits your tastes. Frequently Asked Questions What Is The Approximate Cooking Time For Peach Cobbler? When you're making peach cobbler, the approximate cooking time is around 45 to 50 minutes. To ensure your cobbler comes out juicy and delicious, make sure to use a generous amount of sugar content – about 1/2 cup for each 4 cups of peaches – and preheat your oven to 375°F before baking. While it's not exactly an easy recipe, with some patience and effort, you can enjoy a tasty peach cobbler in no time! Does The Cobbler Need To Be Refrigerated After Baking? When it comes to refrigerating your peach cobbler, you don't necessarily need to do so. It can be stored at room temperature for up to four days; however, if you want it to last longer than that, then it should be placed in the refrigerator. Be sure to cover the cobbler with plastic wrap or aluminum foil and store it in an airtight container. This will help keep the moisture and flavor of the cobbler intact while also preventing any other foods from affecting its taste. What Is The Best Type Of Peaches To Use For This Recipe? When making a peach cobbler, the best type of peaches to use are either fresh or canned. If you decide to use canned peaches, look for ones that aren't too sweet and have been preserved in natural juice. You can also add spices like cinnamon and nutmeg to enhance the flavor of your cobbler. No matter what type of peaches you choose, using them will make it easier to prepare this delicious dessert! Is It Possible To Use Frozen Peaches For This Recipe? Yes, you can use frozen peaches for this recipe! In fact, it is a great option if fresh peaches are not available. When using frozen peaches for the cobbler, thaw them and drain off any excess liquid before adding to the recipe. This will ensure your finished dish isn't too watery. For serving suggestions, try garnishing with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or whipped cream. As far as baking techniques go, make sure to place foil over the top of the dish while in the oven so that your topping doesn’t burn. Enjoy! Does The Recipe Work With Other Fruits Besides Peaches? Yes, you can definitely substitute other fruits or combine different fruits in the peach cobbler recipe. If you don't have enough fresh peaches on hand, try using canned peaches instead. You could also use a combination of different berries for a more tart flavor profile - blueberries and raspberries work great! There are lots of options to choose from when it comes to substituting fruits in this easy-to-make dessert recipe. Conclusion The great thing about this peach cobbler recipe is that it's so easy to make. It only takes around 45 minutes of baking time, and you don't have to worry about refrigerating the finished product since it can be served right away. For optimal flavor, fresh peaches are best; however, frozen ones will work in a pinch. And if you're looking for a change from peach cobbler, the same recipe works just as well with other types of fruit like apples or berries! All in all, this simple yet delicious dessert is sure to please any crowd. Enjoy! Read the full article

[littleliongirllost]

grace is a bad actress. chrissy was her only good performance. she;s gonna lose so many fans after her next movie

Sticky Toffee Pudding

Ingredients

For the pudding

225g whole medjool dates

175ml boiling water

1 tsp vanilla extract

175g self-raising flour, plus extra for greasing

1 tsp bicarbonate of soda

2 eggs

85g butter, softened, plus extra for greasing

140g demerara sugar

2 tbsp black treacle

100ml milk

cream or custard to serve (optional)

For the toffee sauce

175g light muscovado sugar

50g butter, cut into pieces

225ml double cream

1 tbsp black treacle

Method

STEP 1 Stone and chop 225g medjool dates quite small, put them in a bowl, then pour over 175ml boiling water.

STEP 2 Leave for about 30 mins until cool and well-soaked, then mash a bit with a fork. Stir in 1 tsp vanilla extract.

STEP 3 Butter and flour seven mini pudding tins (each about 200ml/7fl oz) and sit them on a baking sheet. Heat oven to 180C/fan 160C/gas 4.

STEP 4 While the dates are soaking, make the puddings. Mix 175g self-raising flour and 1 tsp bicarbonate of soda together and beat the 2 eggs in a separate bowl.

STEP 5 Beat 85g softened butter and 140g demerara sugar together in a large bowl for a few mins until slightly creamy (the mixture will be grainy from the sugar). Add the eggs a little at a time, beating well between additions.

STEP 6 Beat in 2 tbsp black treacle then, using a large metal spoon, gently fold in one-third of the flour and bicarbonate of soda mix, then half of the 100ml milk, being careful not to overbeat. Repeat until all the flour mix and all the milk is used.

STEP 7 Stir the soaked dates into the pudding batter. The mix may look a little curdled at this point and will be like a soft, thick batter.

STEP 8 Spoon it evenly between the tins and bake for 20-25 mins, until risen and firm.

STEP 9 Meanwhile, put the 175g light muscovado sugar and 50g butter pieces for the sauce in a medium saucepan with half the 225ml double cream.

STEP 10 Bring to the boil over a medium heat, stirring all the time, until the sugar has completely dissolved.

STEP 11 Stir in 1 tbsp black treacle, turn up the heat slightly and let the mixture bubble away for 2-3 mins until it is a rich toffee colour, stirring occasionally to make sure it doesn’t burn. Take the pan off the heat and beat in the rest of the double cream.

STEP 12 Remove the puddings from the oven. Leave in the tins for a few mins, then loosen them well from the sides of the tins with a small palette knife before turning them out.

STEP 13 You can serve them now with the sauce drizzled over, but they’ll be even stickier if left for a day or two coated in the sauce. To do this, pour about half the sauce into one or two ovenproof serving dishes.

STEP 14 Sit the upturned puddings on the sauce, then pour the rest of the sauce over them. Cover with a loose tent of foil so that the sauce doesn’t smudge (no need to chill).

STEP 15 When ready to serve, heat oven to 180C/fan 160C/gas 4. Warm the puddings through, still covered, for 15-20 mins or until the sauce is bubbling. Serve them on their own, or with cream or custard.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

SAM | SAMHAIN (trick r’ treat)

—

“I Scream” (Sam & Platonic!Reader)

| Getting Sam to try some new treats when he comes back around for Halloween.

| Reader is always black unless I say differently

| SFW, trying new things, this lil demon has grown attached to you, sweets!, light playful scolding

| 1k+ words

There’s a little inconsequential tug on the bottom of your shirt and you look down to see Sam standing beside you.

Once you’re at Sam’s level Sam doesn’t do anything but point to the left, towards the sink. Even without words you can feel the tiny impatient pout it’s no doubt leveling at you.

You chuckle a little. “You really want that milkshake, huh?”

Sam gives you a small thumbs up (with both thumbs) and nods rigorously.

You laugh again before straightening back up and taking two shuffling steps to reach into the sink. In one of the mixing bowls you cleaned, after whipping up the cornbread that was now baking away in the oven, was a kids sized milkshake being defrosted in hot water.

After confirming that Sam would indeed eat anything personally deemed sweet enough you’d asked the little entity if it’d ever had ice cream before. At Sam’s confused head tilt you’d decided that getting it acquainted with frozen sweets was of top priority, and so this Devil’s Night you’d made sure to stock up on all sorts of frozen treats to taste test with Sam in between handing out candy and cooking dinner.

Unsurprisingly whatever hell he crawled out of once every year wasn’t big on sugar.

Unsurprisingly whatever hell he crawled out of once every year wasn’t big on sugar.

You shake the excess water off the cup before pulling on one of your drawers and taking out an orange silicone straw for the demon. You made extra sure that everything would be as soft as possible (while still holding its frozen treat integrity) in order to not startle Sam too much. Sam, who promptly snatches the milkshake from your outstretched hand, moves its napsack up to expose its mouth, and then takes the longest drink of the milky peanut butter cup substance that it possibly can.

You cringe lightly.

“Uh, Sam I don’t think that’s a good id - ah shit!”

The bugger’s already growled and threw the cup down before you could get to it. You stare forlornly at the small mess the milkshake is making before looking back at Sam. Just by Sam’s stance alone, arms limp at its side and mouth twisted into a sneer, you can tell the demon is less than pleased with its first try.

Sucking your teeth you pull a dish cloth from the stove handle and get to cleaning the cup after exchanging a disgruntled look with Sam.

The Halloween entity has taken to pouting at you, and so in turn you roll your eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that, I damn well know we talked about frozen treat edicate and the risks of brain freeze.”

Sam’s expression doesn’t change as you put the half empty cup on the counter and throw the dirty towel in the sink, but the entity does cross its arms with a little huff.

You give Sam the same energy right back.

“You could keep pouting or we can try that again. I promise if you actually listen to me, you’ll love it. And you love chocolate, which is in all the stuff I got, so if that doesn’t sell you I don’t know what will.”

A contemplative silence settles over the two of you before you start puttering around again. Sam quietly trails behind you as you cut off the stove and oven, throw the soiled towel in the washing machine for later, and answer the doorbell after it rings.

It’s a group of teenagers that begrudgingly say, “Trick or treat!” at you but you don’t do much but greet them with confusion as you hold your cauldron of candy close to your chest and lean against the doorway. Sam peeking at them from behind your legs obviously catches some of their attention but most of the kids are pretty caught up on the way you haven’t given them any sweets yet.

You hum.

“Is this like a group costume thing? Cause I’m trying to figure out what I’m seeing and it’s looking grim.”

“Oh!” A blonde boy off to the right of you exclaims, his hair is so badly dyed it’s painful. “We’re supposed to be the lost boys!”

One of the girls off to the side nods her head. A spiked choker and rosary glint off of her due to your porch lights as she excitedly takes over.

“Jake, Samson, Angel, and De’shawn are David, Marko, Dwayne, and Paul. While me,” she waves between her and two other similarly dressed girls. “Caymie, and Talia are the Bitches of Eastwick.”

Your eyes light up and you move to high-five all three girls. A grin splits across your face.

“Okaay, that’s what’s up. Here,” you dig into your pale and give each kid a good chunk out of your candy collection.

Behind you Sam’s giving them all really quiet but enthusiastic applause and the kids nod slowly back at him in thanks with awkward little upturns of their lips. They’re sweet kids, you hope Sam doesn’t end up going after them because they’ve broken one of the night's rules later. Truly.

“Be sure to respect the lit Jack o’ Lanterns you see! It’s bad luck to put them out!”

At the end of the walkway they laugh at your warning before you wave them goodbye then close the door. When you turn around Sam’s already watching you.

“How about we try again?”

The demon makes a small noise, shakes its head, and then pulls two chocolate bars from behind its back. You purse your lips, but well, chocolate bars are tried and true. With a vague shrug you take the offered treat and allow Sam to grab the curl of your fingers and lead you back to the couch.

You don’t bother arguing with him, instead settling back and then knocking your bars together in a toast. Clearly the demon wanted to watch The Invisible Man one more time before he left to peruse the streets more. You weren’t gonna argue.

NOTES: please excuse any typos and as per usual I hope you enjoyed.

Also - WOW- 100+ followers? Thanks y’all!! I know followers are pretty fickle, but I’m glad you like my random work enough to engage with it and my blog🧡.

[mothric]

hello once again tumblr I can't honestly say I missed you