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kcrossvine-art · 1 year

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hi friends! :D y'all voted and fought neck and neck for this SO- heres the first entry into our little cooking journey of J. R. R. Tolkeins fictional food for his fictional little guys he puts in fictional turmoils for our enjoyment and awe!

Before we get started i wanna say i owe my heart to all the LotR fans who upkeep the wiki, debate the cannon, and create their own versions of the foods mentioned. Both because of my love for people who LOVE (passionate people)(passion about anything) and because my own knowledge of this series is a little dusty. I've never seen the movies but I did read the books growing up. I'll be learning and remembering things from a fairly newbie standpoint, so no worries if you yourself arent familiar with the series! (and if you are familiar, hopefully youll forgive me!)

We will be making Lembas ('waybread') today! If you've made your own version of this please feel free to share it, similarly if you have any ideas for what we make next!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to Lembas?” YOU MIGHT ASKWell so the funny thing is we kinda dont know. At least not entirely? The elves are dicks like that. But heres what we'll be using in ours-

Butter

Self-rising flour

Granulated Sugar

Raisins

A small dried fruit of your choosing

Almonds OR Pecans

EGG

Whole Milk

Heavy Cream

And if you would like for dipping-

Blackberry jam

To the extent i understand this is kinda like hardtack from the bri'ish military, but a fantastical version of it that actually tastes really good. Hardtack was a military provision with the texture of a brick that took a long time to spoil and could be easily carried with soldiers. So the texture we're going for is super dense, packed full with nuts and fruits (haha just lik-), but perhaps not that dense. We want something closer to a dog biscuit than actual tack.

I remembered something about corn being mentioned, thankfully the wiki clarified that no actually the british just referred to any grain as corn back in the day. Thank Fuck! Although I would like to try a version of this using masa in the future.

AND, “what does Lembas taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Took a few tries but eventually got it perfectly chewy and dense

The raisins cook-in like little beads of flavortown sweetness

Cant speak for other fruits but for dried apple it softened up nicely, kinda matching the raisins in the end

Im a big pecan slut, pecans fuck on anything especially here. Crumble them on top after you coat the dough with the egg-mixture for some visual appeal

Somewhat flakey outside

The jam was my idea, it was nice but might be too sweet for some tastes

Would pair very well with a kiwi flavored drink

Or mead

I can see why this would a travelling provision. Its both sugary (a good thing when expending energy) and filling (also a good thing when youre travelling) while not being overwhelming with flavor (if youre prone to motion sickness. Horse sickness? Do get motion sickness on horses?)

Its like how if you're going hiking you want a good mix of sugars and salts, to balance your intake of water.

. If you wanna make it like the illustrations or the movie, use a cookie cutter for either triangles or squares . If you don't have a cookie cutter, an apple cutter also works ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . try to keep the board you'll roll the dough out onto chilled before you use it, it seems better for the texture of the food though i dont entirely know why

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So from beginning to end, it took about an hour and half for the first attempt. Down to about 40 minutes for the second attempt. These are a real simple recipe because its not like a croissant where the margin for error is nonexistent. Middle-earth be damned my boy can work a grill.

I'd recommend storing in a tubberware container, but if you're deadset on using leaves please rinse and dry them first, and wrap the bread in either wax paper or saran wrap underneath. We dont have mallorn leaves in real life (as far as we know) but most salad greens should work, or as Marie Porter says (linked in the reblogs!) a banana leaf.

I really enjoyed the process of making this recipe, itd be really easy to batch-bake these en masse, and the process of eating said recipe. Like all jokes aside, i think this would be a great substitute for trailmix. Its not going to get smushed and even if it breaks a bit it wont affect the taste. It wont keep you fed for a whole day but pair it with some pickles or a salty snack and yeah itll keep your motor running.

I give this recipe a solid 10/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Let me know if you think I got something wrong, or if you ran into issues with the recipe. We're off to a strong start, lads!

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

6 TBSP butter, chilled

2 cups self-rising flour

1 TBSP granulated sugar

½ cup raisins

½ other dried fruit (strawberry slices, oranges, etc.), chopped

Handful of almonds or pecans, chopped

1 egg, well beaten

½ cup whole milk

4 TBSP heavy cream

Method:

Preheat your oven to 400 f.

Cut the butter into slivers/small pieces. With your hands, combine the butter into the flour in a mixing bowl until the mixture resembles coarse sand.

Chop your dried nuts and dried fruit until it feels right.

Mix in the sugar, raisins, nut, and dried fruit of your choosing

In a seperate bowl, beat the egg until combined, and then mix in the milk until combined. Keep a bit of this mixture to brush the tops of the bread.

Stir while adding the egg/milk mixture and the heavy cream into the flour. Mix just until combined into a soft dough.

Knead the dough until firm on a floured surface.

Roll into a half inch thickness and cut with a square or leaf shaped cookie cutter. (...or in my case, an apple corer).

Place on a lightly greased baking sheet, with about an inch of space between each piece. Brush the tops of the lembas with some of the mixture you saved earlier.

Bake for about 15-20 minutes, or until it turns a soft gold and the inside is chewy.

#cross cooks lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #lotr art

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 3 months

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the brie

buttercup, chapter two

a/n: i was originally gonna go into more detail and dive into and actually write the traumatic moments, but i decided to go a little bit more easy on myself, just focus mostly on the healing part and regaining the good.

summary: “well, we’re going out to our usual watering hole, or it’s not just us, Karen, who works with us, is also tagging along. Would you wanna join? Might be fun… might tear the city up, dance all night and watch the sunrise or whatever kids do these days.”

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, wingman foggy, reference to croissant theft, alcohol consumption, drunk munching on cheese, kissing, crying, retelling of trauma (if it gets too much for you, then please feel free to just skip the last part of this chapter)

word count: 4978

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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Scooping one divided lump of dough closer with the bench scraper in your grasp, you put it down before first folding the bottom of the blob over itself, then the sides and then stretched the top down as well before you rolled it all up to create that much more tension in the loaf. As you plopped the soft mass into one of the nearby dusted bannetons, nippily pinching the seam and giving it a few stitches, the ingrained dance only kept on as your fingers moved on to shape the next loaf of sourdough.

To your left, not at the central table where you worked, stood your uncle Howard, a piping bag of vanilla-flaked cream in his grasp as his rotund frame bent over rows and rows of delicate, flaky little pastries, filling the sunken centre up before he could top them off with little chunks of crimson berries.

“Are you alright, cupcake?” you glanced up to see Walter leaning against the doorframe that led directly behind the counter, “you look like you’re about to nosedive into the dough and use it as a pillow.”

“I’m alright, just didn’t sleep much last night,” you blinked back down at your work, noting how your weary eyes stung slightly from the lack of rest, “I had a nightmare that was really, really not fun, and immediately when I woke up I started crying and shaking, like instant panic attack, so I couldn’t really fall asleep again after that,” you glanced back up at him and offered a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“I just don’t get why it has to feel so real,” you let your hands halt their waltz as you shared, Howard too glancing over in your direction, “why my body needs to remember it so vividly when I fall asleep. It hasn’t forgotten it while I’m awake, so I don’t feel like I need the reminders… sorry…”

“Don’t apologise, it’s–…” instead of uttering the painful truth, Walter instead let a heavy sigh flow and offered, “…do you want me to make you a cup of coffee? Maybe that could be nice, just a little bit?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, “thanks,” before clapping the worst of the flour off your hands, briefly wiping them against the chocolate brown apron that partially covered your t-shirt and jeans, and wandered around the table, shadowing Walter as he fiddled with the espresso machine, making it hum and puff, till he handed you a steaming mug that had a little heart in the frothy foam floating on the top.

“Here you go.”

Bringing it up to your lips, you offered him a genuine smile, “thank you, Walt.”

Staying behind the counter as Walter disappeared into the back, the chime of the small bell above the door brought your attention to the pair that then strolled in. Setting down your latte and expecting it to be just any other customer, your eyes instead went wide as you saw who it was.

“Heya, neighbour!”

“Y/n, hi,” Matthew smiled as both he and the floppy-haired man beside him came to a stop on the other side of the stocked display case, “uh, Y/n, this is my friend Foggy Nelson,” he gestured to the friendly looking fellow, “Foggy, this is my new neighbour Y/n.”

“The pastry goddess!” Foggy exclaimed excitedly, “I bow to the.”

“Goddess?” you giggled, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you glanced over at Matt, secretly in hopes that he’d gotten that nickname from him, “oh, I don’t know about that. My uncle’s the one who oversees most of the pastries. He studied in Paris back in the 70’s, so in other words he’s a bit of a control freak. But, he is getting better! Slowly letting me take care of more things that I’m more than capable of doing… I’m talking a lot, aren’t I?” you sucked in a sharp breath as you noticed

your rambling, “I’ll shut up. The point was just that he is the one who makes most of the pastries here, not me. He’s the goddess.”

“Well, I tasted one of your croissants the other day–”

“Actually,” Matt raised a hand and interrupted his friend, “you stole it.”

“I did not–”

“You came over and I turned away for two seconds and the next thing I knew you’d obliterated the entire bag.”

“That sounds more like your problem,” Foggy joked, managing to keep a straight face as Matt chuckled, “you’ve known me how many years now? You should know not to trust me with baked goods unless you mean for me to enjoy them,” turning his attention back to you, he leaned his folded arms against the tall section of the counter, “anyways, Y/n, that croissant was properly one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”

“Really?” your face lit up with a bright grin.

“Yes, it was so buttery and flaky and urgh!”

“Well, if you liked that, you might like today’s special…” your feet began to carry you further to the left to the very far side of the counter.

“Oh, please do tell me,” he followed along like a magnet.

Pointing down to the pastry row on the other side of the glass, you explained, “it is this rhubarb danish that also has a little base of pastry cream at the bottom to balance out the tart compote.”

“Oh… my… god…” Foggy nearly salivated, his hypnotised gaze never straying from the treat, “you gotta be some angel sent from above.”

Busting out a laugh, you grabbed a brown paper bag, “should I take that as confirmation?”

“Yes, please,” he nodded as you plucked one up with a set of tongs.

“Will that be all?”

“I don’t know if it ever can be all, but slowly but surely I’ll get through your spread, and that is a promise,” Foggy accepted the bag into his waiting fingers, “but for now, yeah.”

“Matt, do you want anything?” you asked, feeling the flutter of butterflies wake up within your stomach as you returned your attention to him, “do you want me to describe the options for you?”

“No, I’ll just have the same as Foggy, as well as–, do you sell coffee?”

“Oh,” the scent wafting off your half-empty mug probably caught his attention, “yes, we do.”

“Then I’ll have a cup as well.”

“Oh, one for me too,” Foggy interjected. When you’d packed up another pastry and filled up two to-go cups, the shaggy-haired man pipped up as they were paying, “hey, what are you doing later tonight?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Properly just head home and rewatch some series for the billionth time,” you said, putting the cash they’d handed you away in the register, “why?”

“Well, we’re going out to our usual watering hole, or it’s not just us, Karen, who works with us, is also tagging along. Would you wanna join? Might be fun… might tear the city up, dance all night and watch the sunrise or whatever kids do these days.”

A laugh then rumbled within Matt’s chest, “we’re not gonna go dancing, Foggy.”

“You never know,” Foggy sang, “I’ve got moves like you wouldn’t believe!” he snuck a small sip of his steaming coffee before meeting your eye, “so, Y/n! Please tell me you’re coming?”

“…and then Karen was like what’s that? Turns out a giant piece of glass had stabbed my side,” Foggy clutched onto his drink as he told his dramatic tale, “I nearly died.”

Cutting her sip of beer short, the golden-haired woman sitting beside him at the round bar table objected, “you did not nearly die.”

“Oh yeah?” Foggy squinted light-heartedly back at Karen, “says the person who barely got a scratch. I single handily rescued both you and Mrs. C from that building and got a sick ass scar to prove it.”

Their voices faded away like grown-ups in a Saturday morning cartoon as you glanced back down at your drink and let the radiating heat of the man next to you seep into your bones. As your fingers brushed down the sides of the glass and played with the condensation, Matt suddenly reached out for his own, though in his search for the stout glass that stood ever so close to your own, his touch briefly grazed against your skin. But if that wasn’t enough to spike your heart rate, when his long fingers enveloped his short glass, the back of his hand pressed up against yours at the proximity.

You weren’t sure how long it persisted before he raised his dark drink up to his lips, but it didn’t seem like he was in a rush to let the contact fade. Your breath managed to grow ragged in the chunk of time you got to stare down at his hand, it looking so massive up against yours. Though the light in the dingy bar was low, you could still manage to make out the dizzying pattern of prominent veins that cascaded off the back of his hand like a calm rainfall rolling down a windowpane.

For a moment there, assisted by the few drinks in your system, you let yourself dream, just for a little while, just until Foggy’s voice cut through your haze and stirred you from your fantasy.

“… I mean, am I right? I’m right. Come on, Y/n, back me up here!”

“Huh? I’m sorry, uhm…” you blinked, in some ways feeling more drunk than you had a minute ago, “wha–what did you say?”

As Foggy then began to explain what you’d missed, Matt leaned down close to your ear and whispered, his hot breath tickling your skin and causing goosebumps to erupt.

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hummed fuzzily.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you glanced down and noticed how rapidly your chest was rising and falling.

“Do you wanna go home? I can walk with you if you want,” he offered quietly.

“Uhm…” you blinked up at him before uttering, “sure, but I don’t wanna end your night before you want to.”

“No, you’re not,” he reassured you, “I’m ready to go home myself.”

“Alright then,” you nodded before Matt turned to the others.

“Guys, we’re gonna head home.”

“No!” Foggy boomed, “really?”

Throwing her hands up, Karen added, “but we haven’t even gone dancing yet!”

“Sorry,” Matt got up from his tall stool, “another night.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” you tugged your jacket back on, “I had a lot of fun.”

To your surprise, they both got up and hugged you in return.

“Thank you for coming!” Karen gave you a tight squeeze before Foggy took over.

“And we’ll be seeing you for the next one, right?”

“Uh, sure,” you gave his back a light pat, “if I have time and stuff the day that it happens, then I’d love to tag along.”

Casting his glance upon the other lawyer, “bye, Matt,” Foggy then yanked him into an embrace, “I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Matt chuckled, clapping his friend’s spine, “I know, buddy.”

“You love me too, right?” Foggy pulled back, though still kept his hands fast on Matt’s broad shoulders, “don’t leave me hanging, it’s bad for a man’s health.”

“Foggy, I started a firm with you. Of course, I love you,” Matt smiled back at his sloshed pal, “good night.”

“Night, night,” Foggy patted his scruffy cheek before letting him out of his gasp, though adding as you turned to exit the bar, “night, Y/n! I love you too! I just met you today, but I love you!”

Soft giggles bubbled out of you as the door slammed shut behind you.

“So, those are your friends...” you smiled into the night, “I like them. They’re nice.”

“Yeah,” the corners of Matt’s lips turned further up till dimples bloomed, “they’re good eggs.”

As the two of you began to move along, the silence didn’t last very long at all.

“This is really nice of you, walking me home like this,” you uttered, “I know it’s just because we’re neighbours and headed in the same direction, but–”

“It’s not.”

“What?” your eyes found him.

“It’s not because we’re neighbours. It’s just, you know, the decent thing to do.”

“Right,” you exhaled, casting your glance back down onto the sidewalk as you momentarily got your hopes up.

“And you know how this city can be,” Matt went on, “it’s not smart for anyone to walk alone at night.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, trying to keep your tone nonchalant, “of course.”

When a street then appeared before you, slicing the path you journeyed on, and even though there wasn’t any traffic in sight, your hand still instinctively shot down to grasp Matt’s forearm before the two of you could cross.

Realising what you’d done, you quietly muttered, “sorry,” though couldn’t find the strength to withdraw your touch just yet.

“It’s okay,” his low voice slid from his lips like silk.

“I just didn’t want you to walk straight out into ongoing traffic...” you tore your gaze away from him and forced yourself to look at the road before you, “but there aren’t any right now, so we can cross the street…”

Guiding his palm up to the curve of your elbow, he accepted the gentle aid as you began to cross the lane.

Once you’d reached the other side and his grasp slowly began to drift back down. When his palm reached the height of your own, you softly caught it before timidly testing, “…do you mind if we–…”

“Hold hands?” with a gentle smile, he filled in before you might wonder if he could even sense your shy touch at all.

“Yeah…”

“No,” you felt him weave his fingers with your own, “not at all.”

His touch somehow felt even better than you’d imagined. Though surprisingly gruff, with harsh calluses all throughout, he cradled your palm with such care, like he’d held it a thousand times before, occasionally swiping his broad thumb over your knuckles, presumably just a subconscious gesture from his end that still caused shivers to trickle down your spine every time he did so.

You wanted the latter part of your walk home to last forever, engulfed in the comfortable silence of endless possibilities. But alas, when you did reach your building’s front door and then climbed the steps all the way up to your respective apartments, you couldn’t get yourself to let go just yet.

“Are you hungry? Because I kinda am,” you weren’t really, but anything to just stretch the night a little longer, “or maybe it’s just my subconscious taking care of me and lessening my hangover by giving me a sudden craving for cheese.”

“I don’t think I have any cheese.”

“I do,” you said maybe a bit too fast, “do you want some?”

Exhaling lowly, a soft smile twitched at his lips as he then uttered, “sure.”

As you unlocked your door, you finally let go of his hand, “make yourself at home!” you placed your keys down on the slender entry table before kicking your shoes off and peeling off your coat, hanging it up on the row of hooks, “oh, do you want me to, uh, describe the layout for you? Or just plant your down on the couch?”

“Just tell me the direction and I think I’ll be fine.”

Facing him, you haphazardly explained, “alright, the hallway goes on for a few steps and then it’s to your right–, no, wait, my right, that’s your left. It’s to your left.”

Whirling around, you delved deeper into your home till you reached the kitchen. Ripping open the fridge, you snatched up a block of half-eaten cheese before seizing a clean butter knife from the dishrack and a roll of seedy crackers from a cupboard.

Matt was already comfortable on your sage couch as you laid the humble spread out on the coffee table and joined him.

“I hope you like brie because that’s what I got. Unless you want a single slice of american cheese, then this is all the cheese I have to offer.”

“Brie it is then,” he relaxed into the cushions as you unwrapped the snack.

“Here, let me make you a bite,” slicing off bits of soft cheese, you spread it both on a cracker for him and one for you. Gently picking up his hand to place his snack in his palm, you then popped your own in your mouth and nearly melted into the couch next to him, “yep… that’s the spot…” you grinned hazily out the tall windows at the night sky as you chewed, “there’s just something about eating cheese when the moon is out that’s just so right in a way I can’t describe…”

Your murmuring conjured a light chuckle to rumble within Matt, one that swayed your gaze to train on him. Resting your head against the back of the couch, you watched as the moonlight reflected in his tinted glasses.

When the silence stretched on, Matt eventually cocked his head, “…what?”

Not tearing your eyes off of him, you breathed, “nothing…”

“You’re quiet,” his dark brows furrowed gently, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you repeated, feeling almost like you were floating in a calm sea.

“You tired? Do you want me to go so that you can go to bed?”

“No, please don’t, I–…” you reached out and grazed his arm, “could–… do you want to go?”

Letting his body relax once more, he breathed, “not particularly…”

Gazing up at him, your bottom lip snuck its way in between your teeth, “Matt…”

“Yeah?”

“You–… you’re–… I–…” your pulse pounded in your ears.

“Mhm?”

“I really, really wanna kiss you right now…” you uttered thickly before you had the chance to chicken out. Like a wave crashing a shore, you didn’t even think as you let yourself dive in and press your lips to his. The kiss however didn’t last too long as you swiftly drew back as soon as your brain turned back on and you realised what you’d done, an apology hastily rushing out of your lungs, “Oh my god… I am so sorry.”

“Y/n,” hearing your name on his silky tongue did not help matters.

“I didn’t mean to just–”

“Y/n,” he repeated, trying to cut through your fog.

“We can just forget any of that ever happened, I totally get it if you don’t–”

As he brought his hands up to cradle the sides of your face, your nervous ramble fell short. When he ghosted his thumb across your cheekbone, you swore that you stopped breathing entirely.

“…can I kiss you?” he slowly asked, leaving you utterly dazed.

“W-what?”

Drawing in a breath, he repeated for you, “can I kiss you, Y/n?”

Blinking back at him, you hazily hummed, “mhm,” before he leaned in and brushed his lips against your own. The kiss was soft, just as your shoddy attempt had been, but it made your limbs feel like they morphed into jelly. When the pecks soon departed, you filled your lungs with a shaky breath as you gazed back at him in total awe, “holy shit…” only staying there a moment before you had to have another taste.

Slowly growing more confident, the intoxicating kiss gradually grew more hungry. When his fingers then weaved into your hair, you realised that up till now he’d been holding himself back, gatekeeping a kiss that caused your frame to crawl into his lap, starving for more. Your little whimpers vibrated against his tongue as he danced it against yours, growing dizzy as you melted into the heart-stopping sensation.

But suddenly a tormenting flash stabbed your being, and you abruptly tilted your lips away from his, breathlessly uttering, “wait, wait, there’s-, there’s-, uh…”

“What,” he breathed thickly, nose grazing yours before you retracted further, “are you okay?”

“I’m…” carefully crawling off his lap, you kept going till you were a safe distance away on your own side of the couch, “Matt, there’s something I need to–, uhm, tell you…”

Staying silent, he patiently waited as you gathered up the courage needed to jump off the cliff and tell him.

Casting your gaze up to the tall and dark ceilings above, you felt your limbs begin to tremble, “okay, alright… I have no idea how to, uh, say this, so I’m just gonna do it,” and like a band-aid, you uttered, “I-, I was raped,” your eyes squeezed shut, not daring to risk glancing at his reaction, “a little over a year ago… and I haven’t–, uhm, done or tried anything with anyone since… so yeah, I just thought that was a good thing for you to know since even though I hope for there not to be any problems, I just don’t know, I don’t know what it will be like for me, if my body will suddenly freak out, but I just wanted to tell you so that in case something does happens, that you know not to automatically take it personally...” drawing in a shaky breath, you fluttered your gaze open and waited for his response, “Matt?”

“Yeah?” he answered carefully.

“Please don’t say that I’m scaring you away right now…” you shifted your position, turning to face him once more.

“You’re not, you’re not,” his head softly shook from side to side, “I just–… I really, really sorry.”

“Yeah…” you exhaled slowly, feeling tears sting the corners of your eyes, “me too…” staring at him a moment, you then bared your all and uttered, “I really like you, Matt,” a faint smile accompanied the declaration, “I think you might be the only guy in all of New York that I’m not scared of,” every other man you could think of had all had at least a second, a little flicker, of something that over the past year had terrified you, “and I don’t want you to think that I’m made of glass, that’s not what I want, that’s not why I’m telling you this. Please trust me when I say that I want to, I wanna do–…” a weighty exhale flowed from your lungs as your lips remembered his taste, “I wanna do everything with you… if–, if that’s something you’d like as well… but if we do, even though I really, really want to, I think it’s probably smartest to go slow, no pressure, you know, just in case, so that my body doesn’t freak out. Also, I’d really appreciate it if I at any point indicate for you to stop or even just pause a moment, that you’ll do that, that you’ll listen to me,” you briefly glanced down at your fiddling fingers, “and you know, I’m not saying let’s only do PG things, there are so, so many wonderful steps on the way that we can have fun with… I just–, I wanted to let you know now, before, so that we wouldn’t potentially have this conversation when something did happen.”

Only parting his lips when he was sure you were done, he uttered, “thank you for telling me. Are you–… are you okay? Was what happened before too much?”

“No…” you shook your head gently, “no, it wasn’t,” taking his hand in yours, you shared, “and I’m okay, I think… I mean, some days it still feels like it just happened, and others I notice something, something small, that I’ve gotten back, that I’ve regained…” absentmindedly tracing the lines of his palm with your thumb, you asked, “do you–… do you have any questions? Is there anything you wanna know?”

“No, I–… I just want you to tell me however much or little you feel comfortable with sharing.”

“…can I tell you? About it?” you asked slowly and he swiftly offered you a soft nod. Drawing in a deep breath, you began, “It, um, it was a Saturday night… I’d just gotten back from the bakery super late, maybe close to midnight… and when I was getting ready for bed, my roommate came home, he’d been out drinking as he usually spent his weekends. I remember we stayed up a while, just talking about the mundane stuff we always did. It was like any other Saturday, really. That was until I got too tired and went to go to bed, but he didn’t wanna stop talking, so he followed along into my room while I got ready and stuff,” averting your gaze, your bottom lip began to tremble, “we were just talking, it wasn’t anything special and then the next thing I knew, he was kissing me. It just–… it happened so fast… his hands were all over me… I remember he pushed me up against my closet so hard that my back was bruised the next day, and I don’t bruise that easily. He was just so wasted that I don’t think he realised or maybe even cared what he was doing. I tried to say something, tried to make him stop, but he didn’t listen to me. If he heard me, then I don’t think he understood what it was that I was saying… I would have pushed him away, slapped and hit him, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t move my body, not even a little, I just froze…”

“I can still feel what he felt like… like my skin won’t let go of the memory…” tears rolled down your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to ignore how your palm tingled with recollection, “how he forced me to touch him and held his hand over mine, making it move as if he just thought I didn’t know what to do… he was my friend, you know? He wasn’t just some stranger who dragged me into an alley and held a knife to my throat. He was my friend. He would always make offhand jokes about seeing me as just a little sister and how he wasn’t attracted to you at all. Made such a big deal of it that I never thought he’d try anything… I have no idea how long it actually went on… I don’t even remember when it was that I landed on the bed, if it was before or after he–… after he–… did stuff, t-touched me… I just remember I was laying there when it happened. The masked man, the devil of hell’s kitchen, he ripped him off of me…”

“He’d somehow heard… I think maybe if I hadn’t opened the window that night to air out the room, he wouldn’t have saved me… he beat him up... knocked him out… he told me to call the police, but I couldn’t, so I instead asked my uncle to come get me… my body’s never shaked the way it did that night… I remember I was so confused because I wasn’t cold, didn’t get it till the masked man said I was in shock… it didn’t stop till the next night… when he was about to leave, I asked what if Mi–,” you couldn’t get yourself to utter Michael’s name out loud without feeling as if your whole world would crumble around you, “what if he woke up before Howard arrived, and so he just stayed there with me, right till he somehow heard my uncle walking up the stairs and then he slipped out the way he came in, right before I heard the front door unlock.”

Letting out a long and unsteady breath, you raised a trembling palm up to wipe your cheeks.

For a while, the silence got to encompass the space completely, your left hand still shaking in Matt’s as you eventually heard him ask.

“Did you ever go to the police?”

“No. In the small window that I had to do one of those kits, I was just way too overwhelmed and confused and I just couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t do anything but relive that moment over and over again, so I didn’t do anything in time. But the longer time that passes and the more it sinks in what he did and the ways that I’m still paying for it, the things he ruined inside of me that I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to get back, the more I wish that I had gone to the police. But it’s too late now.”

“No, it’s not,” his fingers squeezed slightly around yours, “I could help you, I’m a lawyer after all.”

“No, Matt,” you said firmly, “it is. I don’t wanna sit there and hear them go oh, it’s your word against his, sorry, and have them think that not enough happened technically for them to take it seriously. Enough happened, trust me. I’m eternally grateful that Daredevil saved me from whatever else he could have done to me that night, but enough happened. Just because he didn’t stick it in me doesn’t mean nothing happened. That is the kind of belief that only belongs to people who think that the only sexual act that counts as sex is when a penis is in a vagina, and that is just so incredibly wrong,” an enraged laugh tumbled out of you as you fumed, “they are the kind of people who think that someone queer, disabled or just someone who isn’t into that sexual act isn’t actually having sex when they are. Sex is about connection, it’s about pleasure and there are endless amounts of things that can give a person pleasure,” clenching your jaw, you let out a heavy sigh, “I wish it could be different, I wish many things, I wish it hadn’t had happened at all, but it did, and I hope that at the very least he learned something from it, that he changed, that he wouldn’t do it again to someone else.”

#lea’s writing #buttercup series #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matthew murdock imagine #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #matt murdock series #matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #matt murdock hurt/comfort

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bonesandchalamet · 1 year

Text

lessons in french- t.chalamet

pairings: timothee chalamet x reader

warnings: google translated French

a/n: first post on this account 😁 my main is @thatsdemko 🫶 feedback is always appreciated xx

“and how do I say ‘I love you’ again?”

“Je t'aime.” he says, mouth full of a buttery croissant you fetched from the bakery across the street. it’s your morning ritual, the boy who lives across town comes to your apartment and you get him “New Yorks finest croissants”— at least that’s how he puts it as.

your recent discovery was of his ability to speak a different language, French that is, and ever since you’ve been begging for lessons due to your upcoming trip to Europe. you could say New York public school systems failed you, as you barely remember a lick of the words he makes you repeat.

“and what about stop making a mess of my sofa.” you scowl brushing the pastry crumbs that scatter the cream colored seats. he mumbled a sorry as he finishes his last bite, a delighted moan escapes his lips.

“why the sudden interest in the language again?” he asks brushing his hands on his pants rather than using the crummy paper napkin that’s already wadded up and disintegrating from the butter of his hands.

“because I’m going to Europe in three weeks! I can’t look like an idiot.”

“certaines choses ne peuvent pas être changées.” he lightly giggles shaking his head watching your face scrunch up trying to dissect the sentence, but you fail. some things can’t be changed

you huff an annoyed sigh, arms crossed over your chest, “I wish I never bought you that croissant years ago.” you joke watching his acting skills come to life as he pretends to be hurt.

“now you’re just being straight up rude, amour.”

—

“so when a nice guy offers me a drink at the club what should I say?”

“J'ai un petit-ami.” the same buttery croissant fills his mouth, he watches you saunter across your tiny New York City living room. he admits, you not knowing any French is fun for him. it means he has all control of what you repeat back and what you write in your journal for the trip. this one might’ve just been the icing on the cake. I have a boyfriend

“J’ai un petit-ami? doesn’t that mean something else?” you question, head cocked to the side watching him shake his head in response as he swallows the pastry.

“nope.” he replies, reaching for the hot coffee you’ve provided him, he slurps the contents watching your pen move vigorously across the page. he thinks it’s cute how focused you are, he loves how close you hold the notebook to your face and how you spell out the words in a way only you will know what they mean.

“so are all French people assholes? I’ve been reading up on your people.”

he laughs, “my people?” he watches the red hue light your face, hands up in defense, “that’s what the internet says!”

he laughs once more telling you to never believe the internet, although he did play you into thinking the words “I have a boyfriend” mean something completely different, so maybe he is apart of that collective group.

—

“repeat it to me once more, amour.”

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?” do you want to sleep with me tonight

he chuckles a little to himself trying to find a serious tone, “that’s exactly what you should say to the cab driver.”

you chuck an orange at him watching his hands go up in defense as he allows the fruit to hit him the arm, two of you laughing, “this isn’t funny, Timmy! I leave in twenty-four hours!”

he watches you collapse against the cream colored sofa beside him, legs extending into his lap, “how am I supposed to order croissants for you across the world?” you bat your eyelids in an affection way, it’s your last hope to get help— the pastry was already the key to his heart. it gets him to do anything.

“what a dilemma that is.” he shakes his head, fingers tangling through his curls that fall in front of his eyes, “just don’t forget your notebook and you’ll be fine. do you remember how to order?”

“un croissant š'il vous plaît.” a croissant please

“tu est parfaite.” you are perfect

—

his phone buzzes in his pocket, it hasn’t even been a full day since you landed in Paris and you’ve been buzzing him like a mad woman. it’s his first time being in your place alone, he’s in charge of watering your plants. he notices you’ve left him money for his croissants and an extra key in case he misplaces the one you already gave him.

“bonjour mon ami how is Paris?” he picks up the phone plopping down onto your cream colored sofa and pressing speaker so he can listen and eat.

“did you know j’ai un petit-ami is I have a boyfriend?! you lied to me!”

he laughs, the familiar sound spreads a smile on your face despite your angry tone, it’s nice to hear him. even if you’ve been texting him, his voice is what you miss right now, “I guess you’re right my people are assholes.”

“damn right, chalamet! and I learned a little something from the bartender last night, tu es un connard!” you are an asshole

“Je t'aime!”

#timothee x reader #timothee blurb #timothee chalamet #timothee fanfic #timothee imagine #timothee chamalet #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet x you #Timothee chalamet x y/n #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet fluff #timothee chalamet fic #timothee chalamet fanfic #timothée chalamet #timothée x reader #timothée fanfic #timothee x you #timotheé chalamet #timothée x you

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ceilidho · 9 months

Text

prompt: Soap being a funny, goofy flirt with his barista whenever he's on leave back home….super cocky and charming, then a couple months go by …. and he comes back sort of rougher around the edges after Las Almas. less trusting. a bit meaner when he talks to her….. [soap/reader] 2.5k; nsfw (on ao3)

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

He’s back again. It’s not a usual occurrence, but when it happens your heart kicks into overdrive. He appears like clockwork every couple of months, and then back to back over a quick succession of days. Like he’s in town one week and then gone the next.

You look up from where you’re organizing the muffins in the display case to find him grinning down at you from the other side. His hair is freshly shorn on both sides, the stripe of hair down the middle likely barely long enough for him to work his thick fingers through it. He’s got a cocksure grin spread across his lips. A fresh cut over his right eyebrow, a butterfly bandage over it.

“Hi John,” you say. It’s almost a struggle to say the words. Your hands shake a bit where they’re extended out amongst the pastries, fingers pressing into a carrot muffin a bit too hard. It dents beneath your fingers. You pull them out, rest the tongs behind you on the countertop.

“Hi kitty cat,” he purrs, folding his arms over the pastry case, leaning as close to you as he can. If it were anyone else, you might be tempted to scold them for smudging the glass. It’s you that’ll have to clean that up later. “Not Johnny anymore? Have I been gone for too long?”

Charm like butter spread thick over freshly toasted sourdough, already melting into the bread, dripping onto the plate between the pockets of air. You know he could ruin you if he wanted to, if you let him in.

You know it won’t be long until you fold. He hasn’t been subtle about it. “Sorry, Johnny, we’re all out of scones.”

“Aw, that’s how you apologize for tossing up my morning?”

You twiddle your thumbs. “Sorry.”

“‘Have to do better than tha’, kitty cat,” Johnny says, lips drawn into a faux pout that has your heart skittering in your chest like it’s been let loose from the stables for once. “I was waiting for those scones for near a month."

“We have cream buns,” you offer. He snorts.

“Not in the mood for anything cream filled just yet.”

There isn’t a shade of red deep enough to describe your face. “Pardon?”

“Ye fancy going for a bevvy tonight?” Johnny asks instead, evading the question.

You probably look as gobsmacked as you feel. It’s not like you haven’t been asked out on dates before, but Johnny is leagues away from any of the men you’ve dated. He’s cockier, back straight and chest out, flaunting the muscles strapped across his chest and arms. You think it’s reasonable that you’ve chalked his flirting up to habit, something he does with everyone; whatever distance you’ve put between yourself and your inevitable nervous breakdown has been built on assuring yourself that Johnny surely didn’t mean for you to take his flirting seriously.

Apparently, you were wrong.

“You want to take me out?” you ask, sounding a bit dumb.

“‘Course I do.” He cocks an eyebrow, leveling you with an obvious look. “Haven’t been shy about it; s’a bit tough when I’m all over the place these days, but I’m in town for the next two weeks, so we’ve got some time. When you getting off today, kitty cat?”

Johnny leans farther over the countertop, towering over you now that you aren’t standing on the raised platform by the pastry case. Palms spread wide over the granite; when your eyes flit down, you can’t help the way they’re drawn to the dark, livid tattoos crawling up his forearms. Dark ink like they’re new trophies on his skin.

His attention is always like the sun; your whole body burns under his gaze. There’s something about being stared at so intensely, blue eyes raking down the front of you, that makes you unsure.

He buys a croissant instead, tenner pressed gently into the palm of your hand. You're tempted to deflect, tell him you aren't interested.

“Seven,” you whisper instead, hands shaking when you hand him his change.

His hand closes around yours, callused fingers rough against your skin. “Got it. Pick you up seven sharp.”

When he leaves, you barely hear the jingle behind him, the blood pounding in your ears. You have a date.

Your chest is tight for hours, thinking about your date later that evening. He picks you up after your shift, just as you’re locking up; you thought you’d have a couple minutes to head back to your apartment and freshen up, but you find him waiting outside the coffee shop for you, clad in a black hoodie and the same jeans as earlier.

He’s as slick and gentlemanly as you might’ve anticipated, walking you to the pub with a hand nestled against your low back. You talk for what seems like hours tucked away in the corner. Johnny makes good conversation, but sometimes it feels a bit like an interrogation. He’s talkative, but there’s a faint edge underlying everything he does; he makes you wait for him at your table while he orders for the two of you at the bar, taking the seat facing you so you’re ensconced in his shadow, hidden from anyone else in the pub.

He insists on walking you back to your place, boots splattering through the puddles accumulating between the cobblestones. He makes sure you walk on the dry side. Every light you pass under sweeps across his face in a golden arc, illuminating the corner edge of his jawline, the plush spread of his lips, the furl of his ear like a nautilus shell. Brows that slope over deep set eyes.

When he leaves you off at the door, Johnny’s hand curls in the hairs at the back of your neck and tugs you up for a kiss that goes scorching hot. Fingers tangled in your hair, other hand coming up to cup your cheek, holding you in place. You feel trapped, helpless against the onslaught of him; a hot tongue flicks into your mouth and he groans, making your head spin. You feel it resonate through you.

“Johnny—” you mumble when he pulls away for a second, cut off when he leans back in to suckle at your bottom lip. His beard is bristly against the soft skin around your mouth.

You feel him smirk against your lips. He nips at the lower one. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, a’right, kitty cat?”

Johnny only looks the slightest bit disheveled when he pulls away. A thumb traces your lower lip. He briefly looks regretful, like he wants to bend down again for another one—you feel the intention when he presses his thumb ever so slightly past your lips—but then he pulls back, walking backwards down the street away from you. A hand raised in goodbye.

Then the next day, he’s gone. Vanished into thin air. You glance up whenever the wind chimes over the door jingle, but it’s never him, always someone with a different hat, a different face.

You thought he promised you two weeks this time. Your chest collapses when the door opens and someone else walks in. Apparently he spoke too soon.

Two days go by; you’re fighting the desperation to know. It oddly never crosses your mind to think that he’s ghosting you. Maybe it should. You hardly know him outside of the brief interactions you have every other month when he’s back from wherever he works (and you know that it’s all top secret, hush hush, you’ve seen the military tattoos and kept your questions to yourself), but it doesn’t feel—and you think this with no small degree of irony—like something he’d do.

On the walk home, you often catch yourself looking for the familiar shape of him. Wandering past the shops closing up for the night, people piling into the bars, raucous voices tumbling up into the smoky sky; you stand on your tiptoes on the other side of the street and peer in, looking for the broad shape of his back.

You never spot him. There is a cold gap in your life that goes unfilled. It smarts at the root of you; you didn’t think you could miss Johnny. You thought you could feel a twinge of regret every now and then for not indulging his flirting a bit more, but you had honestly shelved him higher than you could reach in your desires. Until he took you out and listened to you ramble on, listened deeply with his attention rapt, his cheek pressed into his fist as he leaned against the table towards you. Until he whisked you safely back home and held you in place while he sipped kisses from your mouth until your lips were swollen.

It’s months later when you hear it.

“Hi kitty.”

Your blood goes hot at the sound of his voice. When you whip around, Johnny’s on the other side of the counter like he never left. Black shirt that clings to the curve of his biceps, old jeans with fades around the knees and thighs stretched around his thighs.

When you meet his eyes, they seem charged, steadier than usual. Flat lips turned up just at the corner, one side only. Johnny’s not usually so still, so grounded on his feet; there’s usually a frenetic undercurrent to him, like catching a live wire. You don’t know what he’s like out in the real world, but in your world he looks like he paces and runs to work himself free of all the extra energy. Maybe other forms of cardio.

“Johnny, you’re—” You catch yourself before the words tumble out, before you make it known that you’ve been tossing and turning late at night wondering where he went. Blue eyes sparkle like they hear it anyway, the faint note of desperation seeping into your voice like a hoarseness.

“Fancy going for a bevvy tonight?” he asks you again. Less of a question this time.

You feel pulled to him on a string. He doesn’t leave you in peace this time. He waits you out, sits at a table in the coffee shop facing you. Customers you’ve known for years seem entranced by him, and how could they not? They don’t make them like him often—tall and blue eyed, roguish; ruggedly handsome when the mood strikes. Pretty boy until he turns the full weight of his stare on you and you’re forced to contend with the fact that he is, in fact, all man.

Your amity turns to enmity when someone stares at him for too long. Placated only because Johnny never so much as turns their way.

Dinner is a long, drawn out affair. His conversation is rougher than usual, punctuated by bouts of silence. His eyes are murky waters. Something’s changed, you think, salad speared on your fork, hovering just in front of your mouth, studying him. Something happened in the months that he was away. Whatever it was, it’s left Johnny a bit more calculating, less trusting. He sits facing the door this time, eyes flicking up whenever it opens on the other side of the restaurant.

“Sorry, angel, don’t have it in me to be sweet and gentle anymore,” Johnny says when he walks you to your doorstep. “‘Fraid it’s gonna be rough for you from now on.”

His words make you tremble.

The kiss at your doorstep doesn’t end there this time. Maybe this is all an extension of that moment months ago, the natural endpoint. You were never going to end up anywhere else but flat on your back under him.

“Pure gaggin' fer it, aren’t ya, kitty?”

Johnny’s voice is rough, barely a rumble over the sound of your own keening. Your whole body slides up the bed every time he ruts into you, thick cock spearing you open. Your hands slip over his shoulders where a layer of sweat has built up; your bodies slide together like you’ve been at it for hours, rather than just the thirty minutes since Johnny bodied his way into your place and made you guide him to the bedroom, shucking his clothes the whole way there.

“No, I would’ve—” You gasp on a particularly rough thrust, teeth clenching together, “—I would’ve w-waited. Oh god, oh god.”

“Haud yer' wheesht, bonnie, quit whining,” he grunts. “Dinnae act like you weren’t asking for a big cock in this cunt. Could hear her purring behind the counter. Needed it for months, didn’t ya?”

You knew this was in him somehow, this penchant for dirty talk. He’s always moved like it was in him. You feel swept away by it, scorching under his hands and tongue and dick. Tightly wound. Only capable of holding on, one hand clenched now in the lowest part of his mohawk while he ducks his head to suck your nipple into his mouth. When he gives it a mean bite, you squirm and cry out.

“Never thought you were s-serious,” you admit, whimpering when he nips again at the tender spot there.

Johnny draws back onto his haunches, still deep in you. There are scars across his chest that you didn’t notice before. New skin frosted over, deep gouges across his arms; what you think looks like a bullet wound. Your eyes go wide. It’s impossible to think what he must have been through.

He looms over you, hand coming up to curl delicately around your throat. Just enough to let you know that he’s there, that he’s got you right where he wants. Johnny smiles wide, wicked, white teeth stark in the darkness of your room.

“Oh, I’m very serious, kitty,” he laughs, deep and throaty. He thrusts languidly into your heat now, drawing it out.

He makes a show of it when he comes, fingers tightening around your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat. It strikes you in the moment that you let him in bare, trusted him despite months of absence and no real excuse for it. When he pulls out, you feel it leak from you. Frustration boils under your skin because you haven’t come yet; you feel almost betrayed, a whiplash reaction that has tears welling up in your ears.

“Don’t worry,” Johnny coos at the sight of your pinched face, “you’ll get yours, bonnie. Gonna treat this kitty real nice.”

You struggle against his hold when he forces your legs wide and slots himself between them, making his way down the bed. He tongues deep into your cunt to lick his own spend out. Your thoughts dribble out of you, head empty; there’s nothing left in you except bone-deep exhaustion and the feel of his bearded cheeks scraping against your inner thighs.

You flinch like you’ve been shocked when he sucks at your clit, hypersensitive. He laughs when you do, doubling his efforts. His hot mouth on the place where he still drips from you might make you lose it completely. The most wounded sound bubbles out of you. Your hand trembles in his hair, torn between pulling his mouth closer and pushing him away.

He doesn’t relent until you’ve come twice, your face flush with blood. When his tongue flicks over your clit again, it’s for the pleasure of seeing your legs spasm.

“Johnny, please—can’t anymore,” you beg, trying to press your foot against his shoulder to push him away.

His chin glistens with your juices. When he runs his tongue across his bottom lip, plump and swollen, you drag in a harsh breath. Maybe you could go again.

“Kitty, I’ve had a rough couple weeks,” he says, voice light but for where it descends into a memory, deep and dark. “Just let me eat your cunt and we’ll talk about everything later, okay?”

Your fingers tingle like they’ve fallen asleep in his hair. When you give in, it feels inevitable.

#cod mw2 #ceil writing #cod soap #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap/reader #soap mw2 #soap cod #cod x reader #soap call of duty #soap mactavish

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xuchiya · 1 month

Text

baker's secret ingerdient {k.yeosang}

cafe love m.list || k.hongjoong || p.seonghwa || j.yunho || k.yeosang || c.san || s.mingi || j.wooyoung || c.jongho

The rhythmic thwack of Yeosang's whisk against the metal bowl was a familiar soundtrack to his mornings at Cafe Love. Flour dusted his apron like a badge of honour, a testament to the countless pastries he'd brought to life within these walls. But lately, the melody of his baking had a discordant note – the growing number of disappointed sighs as customers learned his signature croissants were sold out yet again.

Seonghwa, the manager along with the food decor, were concerned about the head baker and the pressure. Seonghwa approached the flour covered man, “Yeo …”

“I don’t need help hyung …” Seonghwa feels bad that Yeosang can’t express his burden yet he understood from the dark circles underneath his eyes, the hunch of pressure on his shoulders. Seonghwa glanced at the lady at the corner, looking at them with a frosting on her cheeks.

Seonghwa sighs, “I’ll look for a way.”

Yeosang prided himself on his creations, each croissant a delicate masterpiece – flaky, golden, and bursting with buttery goodness. But the demand had become overwhelming, for days that turned into weeks that it became too much for him that he finally broke down with Seonghwa about his pressure and in need of help.

He needed an assistant, someone who could share the burden and the joy of baking.

The double door of the kitchen chimed, announcing a new arrival. Yeosang glanced up, expecting Seonghwa with another piece of bad news. Instead, a young woman with eyes as bright as blueberries stood hesitantly by the counter. Her hair, the color of melted chocolate, was pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.

"Can I help you?" Yeosang asked, his voice cold despite the flour dusting his nose that makes him soft and warm.

The woman stammered, "I, uh, saw the sign about the baker assistant position. Your manager told me to head here since today will be a little more crowded than usual, and don’t worry, I love to bake!"

Intrigued, Yeosang wiped his hands on his apron, approaching the woman with left eyebrow raised, "Love to bake, huh? Let's see what you've got then." He led her to another table, just across his, a haven of flour sacks and the intoxicating aroma of sugar and butter. Your eyes widened as you took it all in.

"This place is amazing!" You exclaimed, her enthusiasm infectious. Yeosang gave her a neutral look. "Tell me that, when you can handle 24 pieces of croissant, 20 pieces of brioche and 10 blueberry muffins."

You grinned, placing your shoulder bag down, rolling your sleeves up to your elbows; tying the complicated apron around you, "Challenge accepted."

The following hour was a flurry of activity. Flour flew, butter creamed, and the air filled with the comforting scent of baking. Yeosang watched intently as you handled the dough with surprising dexterity. Your movements were quick and confident, belying her initial nervousness yet there was something itching on Yeosang as he watched you knead the dough.

“You’re hurting your wrist if you keep doing that.” Yeosang shakes his head, approaching the woman. You move to the side to watch him knead the dough easily before removing to the side again to recreate his actions but Yeosang sighs in disappointment making you look down; you were so confident about the things you've been doing and the moment you heard that made your confidence deflate but you have to keep up with the professionalism and continue kneading the dough.

You heard Yeosang sigh once again before you felt presence on your back and a soft grip on the back of your hands as it led you to kneading on his pace. You felt his breath fanning your nape, “This is how I do it so I wouldn’t hurt my wrist.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch, paralyzed, with the close proximity of your warmth against your head baker. Your heart wasn’t also helping with the situation.

“... understood?” Your eyes widen, looking to your left; having an intense eye contact with Yeosang. Both of your hands halted, just resting each on top of each other. Yeosang had admitted the moment he was kneading the dough with you, your sweet perfume lingering in his nose and your face that was covered in flour.

You both pulled away, looking away from each other as the redness so evident on your faces. Yeosang cleared his throat, clearing the awkwardness, “Continue doing your job.”

They worked in comfortable silence, the only sounds the rhythmic kneading and the satisfied sighs escaping the oven as a new batch emerged. Finally, Yeosang pulled out a golden brown croissant, its layers impossibly thin and perfectly risen. He held it up for inspection.

You look closely at the croissant, “How is it?” You look at him– at the same time– Yeosang glance at you. Once again, you find yourself in your own world as his eyes trails on your eyes, down to your nose then to your cherry lips then back to your eyes.

You were doing no better as you took notice of his birthmark on his left eye, his lashes resting so perfectly that it made his eyes big and sparkly that you wouldn’t get tired looking at them.

“If you both are gonna kiss, please do it after the rush hour.” You and Yeosang pullaway to see Wooyoung leaning on the door with his arms crossed and playful smirk on his lips. Yeosang nodded, a hint of red on his cheeks, “Yes, of course.”

The day ended with a success, your smile was brighter than the fresh pastry, turning to your head baker, "We did it!"

Yeosang couldn't help but return the smile. He'd found his assistant, someone who not only shared his passion but also possessed a talent that rivaled his own.

The afternoon rush was a whirlwind. Customers who'd previously left disappointed walked away with bags filled with warm, flaky croissants, their faces beaming with satisfaction. The pressure lifted from Yeosang's shoulders, replaced by a newfound sense of camaraderie as he and you worked side-by-side, a well-oiled baking machine.

By the time the cafe closed, exhaustion mingled with a deep sense of accomplishment. Leaning against the counter, Yeosang looked at you, another set of flour dusting your cheeks like a baker's badge of honor.

"Welcome to Cafe Love," he said, a genuine smile gracing his lips. You grinned back. "Thanks for having me. This is going to be fun."

As they cleaned up, they talked about baking dreams and favorite pastries, their laughter echoing through the quiet cafe. You were wiping your table when you realised how this customer always comes back ordering his pastry with so much adoration.

You spun on your heel, “Uh Yeosang?” Yeosang was busy placing back his utensils but still managed to acknowledge you, “Yes?”

You twist the towel as a sign of nervousness, “Every baker in town has its secret ingredient … Do you happen to have one?” Yeosang pauses, silently placing the last utensil inside the drawer before closing it. He looks up, wiping the cloth on his fingers as he approaches you with big strides.

Your breath hitch as you watch Yeosang lean on your ears, “It’s something you wouldn't believe even if I told you." He stops just short of your ear, his voice a low murmur sending shivers down your spine. You can feel the warmth of his breath tickle your neck."But maybe, I can show you sometime."

You were slightly confused until Wooyoung came barging into the kitchen with his enthusiastic smile, “Hey love birds! Seonghwa wants to have a drink for another successful week for us, so if you guys are finished come outside.” You nodded, placing the rag inside your apron, “Of course, thank you Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung winks at you, “Anything for you, darling and anything for this Cafe Love.” You did not question his last statement as you helped Yeosang on the cups before Wooyoung returned back inside again, just sticking his head, “Ahh .. you guys can kiss now.”

“Wooyoung!” Both you and Yeosang exclaimed, making Wooyoung cackle loudly before exiting the kitchen, “Oi~ Benvolio, take this chance man.” Yeosang chuckles at Wooyoung, hushing him.

“Benvolio? From Romeo and Juliet?” You question, Yeosang nodded, “He named me after Romeo’s cousin, for no reason.”

You pouted, thinking about the tragic love story, “From what I remember, Benvolio is like someone who tried to mediate the conflict between the families, and he was also the reason Romeo and Juliet got together. He's the nicest character that I have observe, he deserves someone to be love, you know.”

Yeosang looks at you, intrigued. He does not know much about the tale but it somehow matches what he did to Wooyoung and to his lover though, Yeosang helps Wooyoung to do the first move in talking; he and Wooyoung aren’t close as being blood related hence cousins.

But Yeosang didn’t mind much of it and continued doing his work. Yeosang knew then that Cafe Love wasn't just about the delicious treats; it was about the connections forged over shared passions and the joy of creation. And with you by his side, the symphony of baking at Cafe Love was about to get even more beautiful.

Yeosang glance at the old worn out book, it was closed but he knew inside those were the secret ingredients of creating a pastry full of love. It was a book given by Wooyoung’s significant other, Wooyoung’s long lost Juliet.

Yeosang had seen how his best friend fell in love and experienced love. So he made an oath that not every single soul will experience love not only through emotions but through food.

Yeosang smiles, looking over at you, his smile brightens and extends, “Benvolio is indeed a nice person to deserve himself a beautiful lover in this life.”

#ateez x reader #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez soft hours #ateez soft thoughts #ateez yeosang #kang yeosang x reader #kang yeosang scenarios #kang yeosang fluff #8 makes 1 team #kang yeosang fanfic #ateez atiny

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st7rnioioss · 7 days

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HES ACTUALLY CRAZY FOR YHIS STOP

GOOD GRACIOUS I MIGHT MOAN

till he creates a dent in my cervix, till my lips deform (both), till my cervix is the shape of his tip, till the bed breaks and we continue on the floor, till his name is my only vocabulary, till every bone in my body breaks, till all the cum is inside me filling my up like a croissant with cream cheese, till the epidermis of my skin tears, till the whole neighbourhood knows what our names are, till police handcuffs us and puts us in different cells, till the inmates complain about us touching ourselves and moaning each others names across the jail, till we are sent into an asylum and resume our session there, till the psychiatrist gives up and watches us in defeat, till i get pregnant and give birth while still doing him, till he gives me his last thrust and last pump🥰

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff

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newtkive · 3 months

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sweet tooth | luca drabble

just thinking about luca w a partner who has a crazy sweet tooth (like i do) and you never asking for a sweet treat but mentioning it nonchalantly but still not expecting luca to make you something.

first of all, your nickname would probably be sweet tooth or smth similar, let’s be so real. it would start by luca calling you that affectionately, but then it catches on w friends and family and you’re just dubbed sweet tooth.

in general, if you saw some type of dessert on a commercial or a tiktok that had you going ‘oohhh’ luca would scrunch his brows and almost seem jealous. “they used meringue, they should’ve used icing sugar.” he’d scoff judgingly and just see it as a challenge. after he would deem it doable, he’d store the information in his brain and literally make it better at work the next day.

just say the word and he will make it. telling your friends on the phone that macaroons sound good? cool, he wants to practice his piping technique with the biscuits anyways.

a japanese fruit sando? awesome he can make the sweet bread so fast, and the cream is no big deal. in fact he can just whip it up for lunch.

want a hersheys bar? first, that chocolate is trash don’t ever mention it to a european, especially your european chef boyfriend. second, he’ll make you the best stack of milk chocolate, dark chocolate, white chocolate, and cookies n’ cream bar you’ve ever had (the cookies n cream one is so good, and you’d always say that and it would piss him off). anything to get hershey’s out of your brain.

you see those viral crunchy chocolate and pistachio filled croissants in new york on your phone and groan abt them? he can research the recipe and workshop it for a day or two in the restaurant kitchen, find a cute take out box to present it to you with to give you that full experience you’d get from the real bakery—you just gotta wait. even if it’s a couple days later, it’ll be waiting for you on the table, or pulled out from behind luca’s back as he walks through the door.

to be more specific, maybe at midnight when he doesn’t have work the next day, you guys are up watching a movie or just having pillow talk. saying smth nonchalant abt your cravings like “cookies sound so good right now luca.. don’t they?” your cheek is smushed against his bicep (which you’d much rather eat) so your voice is all cute and mumbled making his heart race.

“mhm.” he’d say. he’s got a lazy smile n a deep chuckle, voice laden w sleep since you’re the night owl and he’s just staying up to spend time with you. “you wan’ me to make some right now? that what you’re saying?” he’s clearly amused, knowing that you don’t expect him to but teasing you nonetheless.

“nono, it’s too late. you’re not allowed to leave anyways.” you would mumble again, arms tightening around his own in a hug. humming happily, a kiss from the chef would land on your head and you kinda forget about the dessert you want but luca doesn’t because he’s a chef and his literal profession is making desserts so why wouldn’t he?? when you want something he can easily make?? like his love language is giving, especially if it’s baking something for someone he loves.

the next day you’d still be asleep and wake up to the smell of cookies. savory was your forte in the morning most times but who could say no to starting their day with a yummy sweet when it’s presented to them, right?

it would take you a second to realize that 1. luca wasn’t wrapped around you like usual, etching a frown into your face, and 2. luca had to be the one making cookies. and he made the best cookies. you’d waste no time in grinning and hopping up to drag yourself to the kitchen. even more of the smell would welcome you, transporting you into some kind of dreamland—and if you really were dreaming you’d be so pissed bc the cookies being pulled out of the oven by your blond messy haired boyfriend look so fucking good right now (aside from the aforementioned boyfriend who is just as, if not more scrumptious than the cookies with only his flannel pants on).

arms would wrap around his waist from behind and luca would laugh muttering “hot pan” but you don’t give a fuck because you want him and those cookies now. if anything your arms tighten and you rub at his stomach sweetly from behind, a sign of affection.

“you made me cookies!” the grin would be so evident in your voice and so infectious that luca beams as he transfers the said cookies onto a pretty dish.

“and who said they were for you?” the tease is obvious and earns an eye roll. you don’t fall for it and he doesn’t expect you to, but you gently nip at his shoulder nonetheless. a dramatic ‘ow!’ comes from the tall man, laced with laughter. you snicker evilly, standing on tip toes to rest your chin on the same shoulder (no matter your height you still gotta do tiptoes bc that man is tall).

soon enough he’d plate the perfect chocolate chip cookies with a dash of sea salt that you spotted, and turn around. it would be your turn to be wrapped in a hug by strong arms, even lifted up a little just to hear your laugh. luca also likes to hear how surprised you get that he can lift you, even though to him you’re weightless.

it wouldn’t be long until you’re begging for a cookie even if he sets you on the counter, stern look as he assures you they’re still cooling off. like hellooo?? who cares?? but he distracts you with soft kisses on your cheeks, leading down to your lips until he pulls away and leaves you wanting more. the mumble from him that, “the cookies are probably cool enough now” has you forgetting your desire for him and replacing it with the golden saucers just waiting for you to demolish them.

hands on his shoulder, you’d firmly push him to the side and hop off the counter. the roll of luca’s eyes would be affectionate and endeared, since you were this excited for his cooking. you were his best customer after all.

your feet would have a mind of their own, floating towards the cookies like a cartoon man levitating towards a pie, lured by the aroma. you start ravaging like a hungry creature. one turns into three as you face your boyfriend, moaning with closed eyes at almost every bite inbetween telling him about what you two did in your dream (he baked you brownies laced with a golden syrup in your dream so you accredit your subconscious to manifesting this).

he would just stand there with a grin, hands on the edge of the sink behind him while leaning on it. usually dreams would be so boring to talk about, but luca swore he could stand there for an eternity just watching you eat his creations and talk about any dream you wanted to share with him.

of course, those cookies would be gone in two days. and in place would be brownies drizzled in a golden syrup that luca took home from work. the surprise would earn him a watery eyed smile, and he’d just shrug and say he had extra time to kill on the evening shift.

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teenidlegirl · 3 months

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꣑୧ ݁.﹒𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘 .ᐟ

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ┆ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ miguel o’hara 𝓍 fem!civilian!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

˒ ♡ ៸៸𓂃 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 ˖ ׁ ⁩ .ᐟ it was a regular, normal day for you until you fell victim of the infamous green goblin. a familiar suit of red and dark blue comes to your rescue but his attitude completely catches you off guard.

˒ ♡ ៸៸𓂃 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 ˖ ׁ ⁩ .ᐟ fluff, angst, violence, swearing, mentions of death, mentions of blood

꒰ masterlist ꒱ ⋅ ꒰ next chapter ꒱

another normal day of life.

another normal day in nueva york.

another normal day of work.

the irritating sound of your alarm wakes you from delicious slumber. a groan of annoyance escapes your lips, resting a hand on your forehead as your eyes adjust to the sunlight illuminating your room. reaching over to your nightstand, the alarm finally stops at the touch of a button on your phone. you stare up at the ceiling, indulging in a moment of solitude before resuming to the routines of life.

inhaling and exhaling deeply, you finally get out of bed and begin your morning routine. since you take showers at night, getting dressed and breakfast are the only things you have to do. after getting dressed in one of your favorite outfits and doing your makeup, you decide to snack on leftover pizza from last night as breakfast. the last bit of your routine was brushing your teeth. once that was taken care of, you packed your tote bag with personal items and headed out the door to start your day.

most days prior to heading to work, you visit the local café for your usual coffee and croissant sandwich. flying vehicles soar in the sky as you walk over to the café. although you live in a futuristic society with heavily advanced technology, including transportation, a bit of exercise doesn’t hurt. the clicking of your heels echos amongst the crowd of people on the sidewalk as you walked.

you finally arrived at the café and entered. the moment you stepped inside, the barista recognized you with a smile and starts working on your order. after paying your order and waiting a few minutes for your coffee, one of the employees calls out your name. you thank him with a soft smile as you take your coffee from his grasp. standing off to the side by where the little counter of creams and sugar are, you take a small sip to test the flavor. a soft hum of approval and delightfulness escapes your lips at the delicious taste of your coffee. “perfect.”

after saying bye and thanking the barista and the other workers, you exit the café and start walking. while walking and sipping coffee, a sudden loud noise of explosion erupts from behind. a loud gasp erupts from your throat as you covered your head with your arms, protecting yourself from the sudden impact. the smell of fire and smoke fills your senses. blinking your eyes a few times to regain focus, you turned around and looked at the source of the explosion. it was the café, now demolished.

a gasp of horror spills from your trembling lips. unfamiliar faces run past you, desperately escaping the chaotic scenery. adrenaline flows through your body at a wild rate as panic takes over your now fragile mind. what the fuck just happened? your glossy eyes filled with panicked tears scan the area, your body shaking and chest heaving due to heavy breathing. your body desperately tells you to run but your apprehensive and selfless mind wants to help those who are injured. without hesitation, you bolted to the café, disregarding your coffee by tossing it to the floor. fires and smoke erupts from the now demolished café, the sounds of painful whines and coughing echoing in your ears. not only there were fire and debris, a few lifeless bodies lie on the ground with puddles of blood oozing from underneath them. oh your heart aches at the unfortunate sight. those poor innocent souls. carefully avoiding the small pits of fire, you help survivors get out to safety.

a manic laugh echoes the around the building. glimpses of green can be seen flying in the air from the windows and holes. those features seemed very familiar, especially that laugh.

the infamous green goblin.

your eyes widen in realization; another one. as you assist the last survivor out of the café, a small gold ball with a green light flickering at a rapid speed lands on the floor close to you from outside.

as you braced yourself for the inevitable by covering yourself with your arms, you felt a pair of muscular arms securely wrapped around you. the sensation of wind blowing in your face was a sign that you were no longer in danger. very slowly, you opened your glossy eyes and looked up at a familiar figure in red and dark blue. the famous savior of nueva york.

once you were from a safe distance, the tall hero carefully sets you down on your feet. “thanks, spidey.” you flashed him a soft smile.

“¿estas tonta? why the hell did you go back there?! you could’ve gotten killed!” spider-man hissed with annoyance and frustration laced in his tone, the eyes of his mask narrowing at you with a definite pissed off expression underneath it.

well damn — he’s got an attitude and you were not expecting him to be rude right off the bat. definitely not a charming knight in shining armor. well, it was pretty stupid of you to wander into danger but your selfless spirit said otherwise.

“well sorry for wanting to help others. they were trapped and scared.” you hissed back, placing your hands on your hips in a sassy manner.

you two are arguing like you know each other or like a married couple. to be honest, it feels kinda weird but you decide not to comment about it since he’s pissing you off right now.

the acclaimed hero looks at you with a dumbfounded expression underneath the mask, astounded by your sassiness. great, you’re stubborn, he thought. he scoffs, you can tell he rolled his eyes under the mask. “help yourself before others. dying by your own stupidities is embarrassing.”

jeez — this guy is a real asshole.

before you could say something in return, that familiar manic laugh echoes the area, causing the man dressed in red and blue to turn around in the direction of the laughter. three other spider-people swing after the green goblin variant.

spider-man turns back facing you. “stay out of trouble, idiota.” he states sternly, murmuring that last part before swinging away, joining the other spider-people afar to deal with the villain.

a scoff of offense escaped your lips, jaw dropped. how dare he call you an ‘idiot.’ what an asshole. how the hell is that guy the hero of this city? honestly, you rather die by a villain’s hand than be saved by that asshole. hopefully you won’t run into him again, but if you do, you’ll give him a piece of your mind.

━━━━━━━━ ִ ۫ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ۫ ݂ ━━━━━━━━

it was one hell of a battle but they captured the goblin and the multiverse is still intact. however, for some unexplainable reason, his mind retraced back to the ridiculous interaction with you from earlier. how stupid were you to walk straight into danger? got a death wish or something? sure, you provided the basic excuse of helping others in need. very selfless and caring of you, proving you’re a decent person with a kind heart. but what bothers miguel so much is that you were willing to sacrifice yourself to help others. he doesn’t even understand why it bothers him so much. he doesn’t know you, nor you do him. miguel is spider-man, performing his duties as the hero of nueva york. tackling and collecting villain variants and anomalies for maintaining the multiverse. acting as leader of the spider society. ensuring the safety of the people.

yes, he has saved numerous lives in various situations. so why were you any different? you’re just a regular civilian who was in need of saving from danger, even by your own stupidity.

sure, your sassy attitude completely caught him off guard. miguel was so dumbfounded that he didn’t believe you were being serious, arguing with him of all people. himself arguing with you of all people, a random civilian he doesn’t know.

“all caught up in that big grumpy head of yours?” lyla interrupts his thoughts, magically appearing in front of him with arms crossed and a playful smirk.

miguel groans in annoyance, rolling his eyes. “funny.” he deadpanned, ignoring her presence by looking at the various orange screens in front of him.

the ai’s eyes narrowed, examining his expression. “you seem strange. what were you thinking of? or i should say, who were you thinking of?”

he can sense the smirk on her face grow wilder, making him internally groan. “no one, end of discussion.” his crimson eyes remained glued on the orange screens, still ignoring the ai.

she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “oh come on, big guy. you were thinking about her, the sassy lady.”

that finally made him look at her, lightly glaring with those crimson eyes. “cállate before i shut you off.” he threatens with gritted teeth, fangs showing.

lyla raised her hands in the air in defense. “what? i’m simply stating facts. it’s just i’ve never seen you cared so much for a civilian before with all that yelling and basically reprimanding her.” she lowers her hands before lightly shrugging.

“lyla.” miguel said in a warning tone, shooting a light glare at the ai assistant.

“just saying, boss.” she offers a smile before vanishing in the air, leaving him with his thoughts.

well, she isn’t wrong. you are just a regular civilian yet he reprimanded you like a child, arguing with someone like he knows. hopefully you actually listened to him and try avoiding trouble in the future. the last thing miguel wants is saving you from your own stupidity once again. and to deal with your sassy demeanor. hopefully that’ll be the last time he’ll see you, but if he does under stupid circumstances like today, miguel will give you a piece of his mind.

ᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁. 𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˖ ࣪ ༘ @loser-alert @keepitreal001 @iamperson12280 @nostalgicdaira @flordelalunas @oharasfilipinawife @cho-coquette @lavenderslemonade @palesatan @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @lilscast @beanieboy23 @dorck26 @kakabskbskdnd @4crew

#꒰ ˖ ࣪ . 𐙚 ⊹ ꒱ — 𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘 .ᐟ #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #across the spiderverse #fanfic series

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