#next time just use buttermilk

[jacqcrisis]

Failed so bad at frying chicken tonight that I desperately made chocolate covered peanut butter crackers so I could have 1 (one) culinary win to stave off the Bad Cooking Depression.

#cooking stuff #lesson learned: i dont like chicken brined in pickle juice that much #at least not the way i did it #next time just use buttermilk #also my stove sucks for deep frying #sadness #at least the mashed tatoes and the honey roasted carrots were good #every time i suck at cooking or chopping or anything in the kitchen #my first thought is 'my oc would be so disappointed in me' #and tonight...boy howdy hed be disappointed in me

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

IX ║ Warmblood

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 8: Silver Pony | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: The hardest goodbye you'll ever say.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, flirting, sexual innuendoes, semi-pubic sex, oral sex (F receiving), risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.6k

Notes: Here we are, at the end of the longest packtrip ever, and we did it with only one (1) little meltdown last night 😜 More notes at the end, but I just want to say - this has been a once-in-a-lifetime story for me. If a fic can be a soulmate, Palomino is mine.

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, I love every single one of you ❤️ Last thing, I never do this, but I must insist that you play this song when you get there. You'll know when 🥹

Warmblood: An athletic, agile horse that is noted for its trainability and usually calm temperament, is commonly used in equestrian competition, and typically possesses Thoroughbred, Arabian, and draft horse bloodlines.

Your awakening is gentle, soft and blurry around the edges, as if you’re looking through the lens of a Polaroid camera, tinted in sepia. The morning hour creeps across the ceiling of Jack’s bedroom in equal parts light and shadow, the curtains having been left undrawn last night. A crack in the window lets in the faintest breeze, but mutes all the sounds you’ve grown used to seeking out first thing in the morning, when your eyelids are too heavy to lift.

The hum of flying things, feathered or otherwise, charting their flight paths in your head by the buzz of their wings. The brush of the wind like a hand combing through grass and meadow. Even the sun speaks in the morning, raw energy strumming between constantly shifting air particles.

This stillness comes off as almost - unnatural. Even when straddling the divide between sleep and wake, you feel yourself making tiny adjustments to the physicality of being indoors again. Regret stains the corners of your consciousness, knowing it won’t take you long to recalibrate. Your body will return to what it knows, shedding your once-upon-a-time existence in the mountains like a coat discarded at the turn of the season. 

When the mattress dips behind you, sensation floods your veins like a shock to the system, flushing out the pins and needles in your limbs that you haven’t even noticed. Jack is warm and solid behind you, where he belongs. One leg nudged between yours, his sun-kissed arm across your waist, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the edge. His breath whistles sweetly over the shell of your ear, and you smile. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that his mouth is parted in slumber.

The next time you come to, it’s the rude buzz of metal on wood that jolts you out of sleep. You squeak when Jack follows, almost inadvertently shoving you off the bed as he startles awake. But thankfully, his instincts are fully intact, and he catches you squarely in the stomach, biceps flexing as he pulls you back into his chest with an easy strength.

‘Sorry, darlin’,’ he rasps groggily, burying his face in your neck in an apology. You uncoil in a languid stretch, opening up your throat to the rough scratch of his moustache, wanting to feel the burn.

‘Phone, cowboy,’ you gripe when the vibration doesn’t stop.

With a heave-ho, Jack reaches over you to grab it, before falling back onto the mattress so heavily that the bedframe shakes. Rubbing his thumb and index finger over his eyes, he grouses into the receiver, ‘What?’

Teak’s voice on the other line is clear as day even though he’s not on speaker. ‘Where are you, man?’

You burrow into Jack’s side, and the wide span of his palm on your hip holds you to him possessively. ‘Where do you think I am?’

‘Listen. Poppy made sausage gravy and buttermilk pancakes. Y’all know what that means.’

You venture a peek at Jack, whose lips are pursed thoughtfully. You prompt, ‘What does it mean?’

He smiles down at you. ‘She really likes you, darlin’.’

Teak interrupts with a scoff. ‘Like her? She’s basically adopting you, sunshine!’

Your lips wobble - if you soften any further, you might melt into the mattress.  ‘Oh, Poppy.’

‘Look, I’ve been stallin’ them, but they’re fixin’ to break down her door. You lovebirds best get here quick!’

Tossing away his phone without a goodbye, Jack drops a kiss to your forehead. ‘Listen, we don’t have to go anywhere, you stay here and I’ll make you - cereal in bed?’ He pauses with a wince. ‘Actually, I’m outta milk. And cereal.’

You chuckle, reaching up to run your fingers through his endearingly askew bed hair. ‘It’s ok, cowboy, we should go. I need to pack anyway.’

Your tummy takes the inopportune moment to rumble audibly, and he pins you with a knowing look. ‘And you want that sausage gravy, don’t you?’

‘Shut up,’ you laugh, pushing him off the bed.

When you step out of Jack’s bedroom in last night’s clothes after a quick refresh in his neat ensuite, he’s already outside, warming up the Silver Pony.

The house is even cosier in the morning. Facing east, daylight fills every corner of every room, bringing out the patterns in the wooden panels. Your gaze lingers where you can’t. You want to study the cracked spines of the paperbacks on his bookshelf one by one, you want to press your nose into the shirts hanging in his closet, you want to peer around the door to a second room that is temptingly ajar - 

‘Darlin’?’

You look up, and Christ on a cracker - it’s downright unfair that even after a week of spending every waking minute together, this damn cowboy can still make your heart skip a beat just by standing.

Jack is on the doorstep, in what you assume is his ‘off-duty’ uniform. Instead of a plaid shirt, he’s wearing a simple white tshirt with a round neck that is decidedly not sweat- nor dirt-friendly, tucked loosely into the waistband of dark jeans that look a bit more polished, and if you would believe it, even tighter than the pair he wears in the saddle. While it’s business as usual with the Stetson and work boots, something unfamiliar hangs from the neckline of his top.

Plucking the gold-rimmed aviators from his tshirt, you slide them onto your face, winking at him through the tinted lens. ‘Nice shades. Gotta say, I didn’t peg you for such a snazzy dresser off the trail.’

He grins, all tidy teeth with a deliberately libertine edge, clearly enjoying the attention. Scooping you into his broad frame, he drawls, ‘Gotta look good for the ladies in town, y’know. They’re famished ‘cause you been hoardin’ me all week, darlin’.’

With an exaggerated huff, you elbow past him. ‘I don’t know how you manage to zip your ego into those tightass pants, cowboy!’

‘With lots of practice,’ he retorts, smacking you firmly on the backside.

‘Do you need your sunnies?’ you ask as you climb onto the Silver Pony behind him, pushing the aviators a bit higher on your nose where they’ve slid down.

He shrugs. ‘Keep ‘em. Gives you a reason to come back.’

You smile into his broad shoulders, palms sliding to interlock over his soft belly. The bike revs, startling a flock of birds into flight from a nearby tree, and you realise those six little words are the first to breach the subject of what comes after - which will come to be in a matter of hours, with your flight in the early afternoon, a prospect suddenly so frighteningly real. 

But in the same breath, it becomes blindingly clear that you don’t even need to hear the words.

Because you know there is a space for you in his bed, tucked into his body, curled around you. A spot for you under his arm resting on the back of his couch in the living room, in front of a woodfire when it snows outside. A seat for you at the back of his motorcycle, where you are now, breezing effortlessly downhill towards the ranch, the white fences and red roofs winking at you between the gaps in the trees that line the winding country roads.

When you dream in the months to come, you will always smell pine, white cotton, and well-worn leather as the Silver Pony carries you home.

It’s a shorter drive than you remember. Jack’s watch reads just past half eight when you pull into the parking lot. He kills the engine as you dismount, passing him your star-spangled helmet to be returned to its place in the little cabinet for next time. You’ve turned on your heel towards the ranch when a hand on your wrist grounds you to the spot.

Hands that have made you feel safe, protected, wanted in turn over the past week.

There’s no fanfare, no declarations, as you watch Jack lace his fingers with yours, filling the gaps and the tips curling into the valleys between your knuckles. Palm to weathered palm, calloused from ropework and heavy lifting, you look up to meet his eyes. 

He peers at you, almost shyly, an incomprehensible notion after all that he’s done to you, and what you’ve done to him, across the expanse of the Wyoming wilderness. But there’s a chastity to this simple action, and you find your throat tight when he asks, ‘Is this ok, darlin’?’

Your heart swells, as if it’s going to grow claws and tear itself right out of your chest cavity. Bringing up your tangled hands, you brush a kiss across his knuckles, and his whole countenance lifts with the upward curl of his mouth. 

‘Yes, cowboy.’

The Statesman is putting on a show for your last morning. The sun is out, climbing high into the cloudless sky, with Jack’s aviators bearing the brunt of the harsh glare. It’s déjà vu when you retrace the path you took on the day of your arrival, the same crunch of gravel under your boots, the familiar scent of hay and horse on the breeze. 

The bird’s eye view of the ranch has your breath stuttering just like that first time you cast your gaze on the green pastures and the red roofs. And beyond, like a perfectly painted stage set piece, the Bighorns loom tall and majestic. You’ve seen the mountains in all their incarnations over the past week - they change colour as the sun and clouds move during the day, and sometimes, you swear they morph in shape too. 

It strikes you suddenly that just yesterday, you were but three specks moving across the vast landscape, the realisation almost bowling you over. 

Before all this, it wouldn’t have taken much to convince yourself that you don’t deserve it. That it was the horses doing all the legwork and Jack the navigating, that you haven’t really done anything but sit in the saddle. But something’s shifted, it’s been a baptism by long summer days and the great outdoors - and damn it all, you’re proud of yourself. 

You came on this trip alone, with nothing but a broken relationship behind you, a suitcase full of anxieties and riding gear covered in years of dust and neglect. You said yes, perhaps recklessly, when offered the chance to spend a week alone in the mountains with a complete stranger and the glamour of sleeping bags and portable showers, when it would’ve been easier (and certainly more comfortable) to turn it down. 

Somehow, you’ve come out the other end, long gallops over untouched grassland and starry campfire nights piecing you back together, only to fall so damn hard for this cowboy that you’re sure to break again when you get on that plane this afternoon -

An unexpected tug on your arm has you tumbling clumsily. ‘Jack!’

He arches an eyebrow and remarks, ‘Ain’t heard those cogs in your pretty head grind that loud since the first coupl'a days, darlin’.’

You shrug and, not wanting to sour the mood, deflect his attention with a lighthearted fib. ‘Just realised that I didn’t even come close to falling off once the entire week.’

When he chuckles, the thought comes to you that you’ll miss the way he laughs with his whole body. 

‘You did real good for your first rodeo,’ he pauses, then flashes you a lascivious smirk. ‘You ain’t bad at ridin’ bareback either.’

A rebuke of his crude quip is on the tip of your tongue, but then your nose picks up on the scent of bitter coffee and maple syrup, which is quickly followed by the sighting of the al fresco table set up not far from the grill last night, the singe of smoke and whiskey still hanging in the air.

From a distance, you can see Poppy and Champ engaged in what looks like a heated debate, both gesticulating wildly with fork and knife. On the opposite side of the table, an unbothered Teak mows down his breakfast as if he’s heard it all before, and Ginger is feeding Jameson pancakes under the table.

It’s the younger cowboy who spots you two first. He freezes, brows disappearing under the brim of his Stetson when his eyes flit downwards to your interlocked hands. A huge grin would’ve split his handsome face in two if his mouth wasn’t stuffed full of half-chewed pancakes. The beans are well and truly spilled when Jameson comes bounding over, barking his demands for morning cuddles.

Champ looks up, his argument with Poppy promptly dropped. ‘Aha! There she is! Howdy young lady, we were just wonderin’ where you -’ 

He halts mid-sentence, his head whipping towards his right where the guest lodges are situated beyond the stables, decidedly not the direction you’re coming from. The penny drops as he takes in your hand in Jack’s, eyes wide, and all the occupants of the table seem to inhale a collective breath that stops you in your tracks.

But not Jack. He ignores the gawking with a practised air of been there, done that, and ushers you into the empty seat next to Teak without skipping a beat. Planting a sweet peck on your cheek, he settles to your left and unfolds his starched napkin with a flourished flick of his wrist, which he tucks into the neckline of his tshirt.

‘Mornin’,’ he addresses the silent table in an exaggerated southern drawl. ‘If y’all would be so kind to shut your mouths, you’re embarrassin’ me in front of my lady. Now, pass the coffee if you please, Teak.’

Fittingly, it’s Champ who breaks the silence with a rip-roaring howl of laughter, palms hitting the table so hard you’re convinced everything on it jumps a foot from the surface, the ruckus sending Jameson scampering for cover. ‘Well, well, well! Butter my butt and call it a biscuit!’

Poppy leaps to her feet, halfway to the kitchen before shouting over her shoulder. ‘We’re celebrating! This calls for strawberry milkshake!’

Teak elbows you in the side. ‘Just so y’know, Poppy ain’t the type to make strawberry milkshake for just anybody.’ He salutes you with a crooked grin. ‘Welcome to the family, sweetheart.’ 

It’s a brand of chaos that is distinctly Statesman. Ginger and Champ are fighting each other to load up your plate with far too much food over your protests, Teak pours coffee into your glass and orange juice in the mug, and Jameson is probing your knees under the table for scraps. You meet Jack’s eyes, and he grins back at you with a wink over the rim of his cup.

There’s no reason why you should be this hungry after the barbeque last night, but you don’t stop until you’ve polished off the sausage gravy and biscuits, the welcome richness settling in the pit of your stomach and making you second guess if you have any room left for pancakes.

‘Young lady, I hope this means you forgive me for the strings I pulled to set you two up,’ pipes up Champ around a mouthful of bacon, washed down by black coffee.

‘You’ll hear no complaints from me, sir,’ you reassure him.

He raises a fist in a pantomime of indignation. ‘You wouldn’t believe the grief Jack and Ginger put me through for playin’ matchmaker! I demand a retraction from y’all!’

Ginger raises both hands in surrender. ‘Fine, I take it all back, even if it means you’ll be downright insufferable about it! But I’ll happily live with that!'

Jack slings an arm around your shoulder. ‘It kills me to say it, but you have damn good taste, boss.’

‘Well, y’all know what they say - ain’t a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fit!’ needles Teak.

‘Hey!’ You reach across to slap him on the arm as Jack chuckles behind you. ‘I don’t see you with a lid, you loud-mouthed kettle!’

Teak sasses back, ‘Fine, fine, how ‘bout - there ain’t a man that can’t be thrown, or a cowboy that can’t be rode -’

Right on cue, Poppy’s distant shout interrupts, ‘Tequila!’

Jumping onto his feet, the cowboy winks at you. ‘Hold that thought, sunshine - right away, ma’am!’

Unperturbed by the double entendres, Champ brings the conversation right back around. ‘Well, I do declare, this nosy old man gets it right -’

‘For once!’ heckles Ginger.

‘Joke’s on you, m’dear. I only need to be right once!’

There are oohs and ahhs when Poppy and Teak reappear with the decadent milkshakes in retro fountain glasses, topped with whipped cream and strawberry slices, distributed around the table.

‘So, what are we drinking to?’ asks Poppy.

You turn to Jack, holding up your milkshake. ‘To crooked pots.’

There are cheers and laughs up and down the table, and Jack clinks your glass with a grin as he adds, ‘And cowboys that can be rode.’

You think about the cassette tapes that you used to watch when you were young. How at the end of a film, the black tape is all rolled up in the right window, and you were always the one to press the rewind button on the VCR. You still remember the whirr of the film as it went backwards, round and round, right back to the beginning.

When the coffee has gone cold and the morning chores come calling, the breakfast table empties, and you hear the click of that button when Jack offers you his upturned palm to walk you back to your cabin.

The tape rewinds as you pack. The outfit you agonised over that first day or your introductory ride with the cowboy has been laundered, and you slowly fold up each piece - the jodhpurs, the plaid shirt, the socks - and put them into your open suitcase.

The tape rewinds as you close the door to the cabin, and Jack carries your luggage across the yard in one hand, yours nestled snugly in his other.

The tape rewinds as you walk by the stables - you nip in quickly to say goodbye to Whiskey and Bourbon - past the main lodge, and the grazing field next to the parking lot.

Putting your suitcase down, Jack whistles with his fingers, the sound carrying in the wind. You see a familiar golden head pop up from across the field, and your nose prickles with the threat of tears as you watch Scotch canter towards you, ears forward and tail swishing with an attitude you can spot from a mile away. Climbing onto the first rung of the fence, you throw your arms around his neck and bury your face into his snowy mane as he snoops around your pockets, always looking for treats.

You pull an apple out of your travel bag, neatly cut in two. Scotch nickers, his velvety nuzzle tickles as he carefully plucks each half from your palm.

Combing through his forelock, you coo at him, ‘I’m gonna miss you, boy. You behave with your rider next week, you hear me?’

The key is already in the ignition of your rental pickup when Champ puts your suitcase and tote bag on the backseat floor, while Teak and Jack load the Silver Pony onto the back. 

Your arm almost falls out of its socket when Poppy passes you the promised takeaway lunch, packed into a chiller bag. 

‘You’re flying Delta right?’ she asks. ‘I’ll call them up with instructions on how to heat up the food. It’ll be good as fresh off the barbeque.’

‘Thank you so, so much Poppy,’ you say as she pulls you into a warm hug. ‘I hope you know you’ve ruined food for me. Nothing will ever come close to being good enough.’

She winks. ‘You’re welcome, honey. Come back soon, ok? There’s more where it came from!’

Ginger is next, and emotion clutches at your chest as you squeeze her slender frame in a tight embrace. ‘Just so you know, I was furious that you wouldn’t give me a refund when I called you up all those months ago.’

‘What can I say? I’m a tough cookie,’ she giggles, and hangs onto you for just a moment longer. ‘I’m so glad you didn’t cancel on us.’

Champ surprises you, forgoing your outstretched hand and giving you a hug for the first time. His tweed suit is softer than expected under your cheek, and smells like pipeweed and leather. 

‘It’s been an absolute pleasure, young lady. I’m sure we’ll see you again very soon,’ he winks. ‘And I’ll be in touch about the social media.’

Three steps away, Teak is waiting with his arms crossed, and he pushes off the truck to bundle you into his embrace, the hug as big and as bear-like as him, which makes you chuckle.

‘Anything parting Southern wisdom for me?’ you quip.

‘I’m all out, sweetheart,’ he says, giving you a pat on the back. ‘’Cept, y’know, that cowboy’s been grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet ‘tater all week, and it’s damn annoyin’.’

Jack rolls his eyes, one palm on your back as he herds you towards the truck. ‘C’mon, darlin’, we should make a move.’

Saving himself for last, Jameson trots up to you with a bark, tail wagging. The grass is warm and tickles your bare knees when you crouch down to give him one last hug, giggling at the wet kiss he leaves on your cheek. 

The leather of the passenger seat is soft as you sink down into it, while Jack closes the door behind you and crosses to the driver’s side. Inhaling deeply as the engine starts with a rusty rumble, you look up when he gives your hand a grounding squeeze.

‘Ready, darlin’?’

You nod, though not entirely convincingly. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

The Statesman gets smaller and smaller behind you as the truck eases down the driveway, and the four figures waving in the rearview mirror blur into tiny shadows through the mist of your tears. The metal frame of the vehicle squeaks with the movement as it rolls over bumps on the long dirt track, at the end of which, Jack takes a right with a one-handed turn of the steering wheel onto the main road, and the ranch slips out of sight.

The midday sun streams through the windshield, hot on your skin. You’re glad you changed out of the jeans from last night into a lightweight dress, a slightly frivolous last-minute addition to your luggage that’s paid off. 

Staring out of the open window at the rolling landscape, it takes you right back to exactly eight days ago when you were driving down the dusty road - except this time, the Bighorn Mountains are behind you, and next to you is a cowboy instead of an empty seat. 

Unabashedly, you watch him drive. His right hand is woven in yours, disengaging only to shift gears every now and then. Under the brim of his hat, his eyes are on the road, occasionally darting sideways to find himself on the receiving end of your attention.

It’s certainly an adjustment to see him in the driver’s seat after a week in the saddle - Whiskey’s, then the Silver Pony’s. But it doesn’t matter, there’s no mistaking the competence behind his every movement, be it to ease his horse to a slower gait with the lightest closing of his fingers on the leather reins, or to redirect the truck with an effortless palm on the steering wheel -

‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer,’ he drawls, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

‘Not long enough,’ you grumble, shuffling in close.

He half-turns, moustache brushing your temple as he murmurs, ‘Have I told you that you look beautiful in that dress?’

You press a secret smile into his shoulder. ‘You sure you don’t prefer me in jodhpurs?’

Untangling his fingers to slide blunt nails under the hem of your dress and up the inside of your leg, he replies diplomatically, ‘I can see pros and cons to both.’

Your breath hitches with a warning, but the instinctive parting of your thighs gives you away. ‘Cowboy -’

You startle at what sounds like a sudden crack of thunder, but it turns out to be an enormous interstate truck charging down the opposite lane. In a panic, your knees snap shut, trapping Jack’s wandering hand between the soft cushion of your legs. To your chagrin, he makes a point of waving to the driver as he passes by.

‘Jack, he definitely saw your hand up my dress!’ you chide.

He flashes you a knowing smirk, and you shudder when he digs into the meat of your thigh with a firm squeeze. ‘Somethin’ tells me you enjoyed that, darlin’.’

Your mouth opens, ready to object, but a familiar heat warms the back of your neck the same time your throat goes dry. It’s the same thrill from last night, in the cellar, not knowing if you’ll get caught bent over a whiskey cask, jeans pulled down just enough so that this cowboy could bury his cock deep inside you. 

Despite yourself, you shift in your seat, and Jack’s knuckles scrape the fast dampening seat of your panties. Choking on a strangled noise, he turns his wrist so that he can rub the outline of your folds through the thin fabric, his knuckles going white on the steering wheel. ‘Fuck. I feel that, darlin’.’

Another car comes down the opposite lane, a smaller sedan this time, and you’re bold enough to spread your thighs, letting him slip under your panties.

The car swerves sharply as hisses at the wetness he finds, fingertip gliding slickly between the lips of your pussy, smearing the mess all over as your hips rock into the contact. 

Through gritted teeth, Jack groans, ‘Darlin’, you’re soaked for me.’

‘Pull over. Now.’

He does - parking haphazardly behind a tree, barely a couple of yards off the main road before killing the ignition. 

You mount him immediately, throwing your right leg over his lap as if pulling yourself into the saddle, the pain an afterthought when your knee jams into the control panel on the door in your haste. Jack grunts as your hips slot flush against his, his usual composure nowhere to be found as he’s caught between undoing his seatbelt, pushing your dress up and scrabbling down the sides of the driver’s seat for the adjustment lever.

The sudden recline of the seatback pulls a squeak from you while knocking Jack’s hat clean off, and you follow to claim his lips in a messy kiss as he palms the swell of your ass.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he bites out, rocking up against your pussy, head thrown back. ‘You’re so fuckin’ sexy.’

He doesn't question you when you climb over him, taking the chance to scrape open-mouthed kisses down your neck instead - and when you sit back down on your haunches, his pupils blow wide at the sight of you wearing his hat and a flirtatious grin.

‘How about now, cowboy?’ you tease.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing hard as his eyes darken. ‘You’ll look even better sittin’ on my face, darlin’.’

Your jaw goes slack. ‘Jack -’

‘I want to taste you one more time. Need to. Please.’

Something breaks loose inside you, unhinges, and you crawl over the length of his lean body to steal a bruising kiss that has him hot in pursuit when you pull back. The hem of the dress brushes his face when your knees make landing on the backseat, on either side of the headrest he’s lying on. Reaching for the grab handle above, you pull yourself upright, bracing the roof of the truck while you hover over his beautiful nose.

Calloused fingers bunch up your dress to the waist, and Jack hums at the display of your drenched panties, before hooking one thumb around the seams and pulling it unceremoniously to one side.

‘Look at that pussy,’ he groans brokenly. ‘Always fuckin’ soakin’ for me. Just beggin’ for me to taste it, hmm?’

‘Jaaaack,’ you whine on an exhale. Looking down at how he’s so wantonly eyeing you, your back arches with a confidence you didn’t know you have. Thighs splaying wider, you know he hears the slick parting of your folds when he stutters a pained moan.

‘C’mere and let me eat that pretty pussy, darlin’.’

From the moment his lips close around your clit in a sloppy suckle, you know this is a different beast from that first time he took you apart with his mouth, deep in the mountains, under the secret cloak of night. The afternoon sun casts shadows where his brow is creased in studious concentration, his keen gaze flitting from where he delicately holds you open with his fingertips, to your cleavage, to your face, and all the way down again. Every twitch of muscle, every whimper caught in the web of his determination to relish all of you.

In no mood to tease, each measured lick and curl of his tongue hits its mark, your physical reflexes compounded by this show of devastating competence. He draws desperate sounds that you don't even register as your own, your needy cunt leaking all over his face and chin.

‘Cowboy,’ you mewl, reaching down to coil your fingers into his hair, the strands beaded with sweat and sticking to his forehead as he doubles down. Your squirming only makes him tighten his grip on your hips to hold you still, the bite of his fingers bordering on painful. ‘I’m so close -’

The insides of your thighs are cool and slippery, a sensation you’re well used to now, his spit and your slick completely soaking through your panties. His three-day stubble rubs your sensitive skin raw, and the top of his Stetson bumps against the ceiling as you angle your hips to catch his puckered lips where you need him most, chasing friction.

‘Jack,’ you whimper when you feel the first spark of orgasm deep inside you, the spiral instant and relentless. ‘Jack, Jack, oh fuck, - I’m there, that’s it - I’m cumming, don’tstopdon’tstopdon’t -’

Somewhere on the fringes of your scattered mind, you’re aware that the windows are down, not that you can do anything about it now - you thrash and wail and sob his name, all the while he laps at the mouth of your throbbing cunt. The sounds are obscene as he slurps and wrings every last drop of you until you’re pushing him away, nerves firing blindly from overstimulation, choking hoarsely when you catch your breath.

Watching you in a drunken daze, Jack finally draws back with a lewd pop, wiping his thoroughly soaked chin on your knee, which narrowly misses his nose as a violent, full-body shudder ripples through you.

‘Relax, darlin’,’ he cooes. All your joints have capitulated, so Jack has to bodily rearrange you, dislodging your shaky knees from his shoulders down to his sides to pull you in for a kiss. You moan at the sticky release his moustache smears all over your face, the taste of yourself thick and heavy on his tongue.

His brown eyes snap open when you sneak between your bodies to palm his erection through his jeans, voice strained. ‘Darlin’, we ain’t got the time -’

Deftly undoing his belt, that damned flask-shaped buckle that looks as ridiculous as the first time you laid eyes on it, you assure him, ‘Don’t worry, it won’t take long.’

He arches an eyebrow, taking in your face shadowed by his cowboy hat, but stays put otherwise, almost docile as he lets you take the reins. ‘Is that so? And you’re so confident, how?’

Shoving down his boxers and jeans, his cock springs free, hard and ready. With a brazen grin, you sit up and line yourself up to the swollen tip, declaring, ‘Because I want you to cum inside me, cowboy.’

You’re not sure if it’s you sinking down on him, or him snapping his hips upwards. All you know is that by the time your head catches up, he’s driven to the hilt inside you.

‘What are you - fuck you’re so tight -’ he wheezes against your lips, giving you no pause as he ruts into you recklessly, the crude slap of skin on skin filling every space the truck. ‘Whatcha mean by cummin’ inside you?’

‘I don’t know how I can be more clear, cowboy,’ you sass, when a particularly deep thrust almost jolts you off his lap.

‘But you’re not on birth control, darlin’ -’ he tries to reason.

‘I’ll take the morning after pill as soon as I land,’ you promise, holding his unfocused gaze. ‘Do you trust me?’

The wind is knocked out of you when his strong arms pull you flush to his front, his answer immediate and irrevocable. ‘With everythin’.’

There’s too much going on. The coarse scratch of denim on the inside of your thighs, his nails scraping down your ass, the desperate whimpers he leaves in the secret place behind your ear. The air grows humid and thick as Jack feels himself slipping, your pussy gripping him so tightly that his eyes threaten to roll back into his skull.

He gasps in a breathless warning. ‘Darlin' -’

‘It’s ok, cowboy,’ you croon, fingers carding through his dark hair. ‘I want to feel you deep inside me. All of you.’

His bones rattle with a vicious shudder at your words. Snarling, he bucks into you at a pace so unrelenting that you cry out with each snap of his hips. 

‘Gonna stuff you so fuckin’ full,’ he vows in between slippery kisses. ‘Been wantin’ to since the first time. Gonna fill your pussy with my cum, darlin’, you’ll be drippin’ with me for days -’

‘Yes yes yes do it cowboy, please -’ you beg, voice cracking.

‘Look at me,’ he orders, nostrils flaring as you knock foreheads. ‘Look at me while I fuck you full, darlin’.’

Choking on a whine, you feel him swell inside you until he teeters right on the brink. The raw need in his eyes robs you of your breath, and you grow faint on empty lungs as you sway with him -

And then his neck strains, his hips jerk, and you feel his abdomen cave in on itself when he lets go with your name on his lips, and his on yours. A primal roar fills your ears as he pumps you full of him, spilling into you again and again until all you feel is his cum hot and deep inside you, flooding your cunt, his whole body spasming as he pants raggedly for air.

A carnal musk hangs ripe and sweltering in the confines of the truck. Floating on a lazy stupor, you draw soothing circles on his quickly rising and falling chest through the aftershocks, his tshirt clammy with sweat, heart pounding under your palm.

Jack reaches up to push off his hat so that he can see all of you before pulling you in for a lingering kiss. When he softens, his spend dribbling slow and hot out of you, two thick fingers nudge between your thighs, and your back arches when he tenderly pushes it back inside.

His plea is a hoarse mumble into the side of your neck. ‘Keep me in you, darlin’. Take me with you.’

You nod, and smile, ‘Always.’

The airport is tiny, and Jack seems to know everyone you cross paths with. From the security guard at the carpark (previously a groom at the Statesman) to the staffer at the car rental counter (Champ’s nephew), he’s busy tipping his hat and dispatching howdy’s left, right and centre.

‘Small town, huh?’ you quip.

He hums, ‘Welcome to cowboy country.’

And he definitely knows the brunette checking you in at the airline counter, all the while glowering at you over the top of your driving licence.

‘Ain’t seen you 'round town much lately, Jack,’ she says, affixing you with a none too subtle glare.

‘Y’know how it is in the summer, always busy,’ he replies a touch too politely. As soon as he drops your suitcase onto the baggage belt, he wraps one even less subtle arm around your waist and pulls you pointedly into his side.

You bite your lip as the woman’s eyes narrow and she aggressively punches your details into the computer system, surprised that the keyboard doesn’t break. Once your suitcase is on its merry way, Jack wastes no time spiriting you away from the counter without so much of a fare-thee-well.

You burst into laughter, elbowing him in the ribs. ‘Brrrrrr. That was cold!’

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, admitting, ‘To be fair to her, she didn’t catch me at my finest moment.’

‘Do I want to know?’

‘Let’s just say there ain’t enough of this ol’ cowboy to go ‘round for the ladies in town,’ he winks.

‘Well, I hope they know there’s about to be even less of you going forward,’ you sniff primly.

Preening at the possessiveness in your tone, Jack ribs, ‘A tragedy, some might say.’

You huff, but can’t help a smile. ‘Well, aren’t I lucky to have roped you in, cowboy.’

‘And she can’t even lasso!’ he teases, leaning down to steal a kiss.

Feeling eyes on you, you duck your head, protesting, ‘Jack, people are looking.’

‘Let ‘em,’ he counters, prompting a gasp from you when he brazenly squeezes your ass through your dress. ‘I’m stakin’ my claim, darlin’.’

‘You already did in the truck, cowboy,’ you remind him, instinctively rubbing your thighs together, feeling the weight of his cum wet in your panties.

He hums, as if he knows, the sound deep and satisfied. His lips linger at the crown of your head, and he holds you close with his whole body, wrapping himself around your soul.

All too soon, the old-fashioned Solari board you’re sitting under whirrs into action. The retro split-flap display spins and flips with a mechanical staccato to spell out ‘final boarding call’ next to your flight number, one of five scheduled for that afternoon. 

Stubbornly, you turn your face into Jack’s shoulder, inhaling him. He smells like horses and dappled sun filtered through leaves in a tree - you wish you could distil it into a bottle and take it with you.

You’re in denial, that much you know. You’ve warded off the thought of leaving too well, compartmentalised it and pushed it down somewhere it wouldn't be able to resurface.

But that’s the irony - even if you can keep it buried, it doesn’t change the fact that your suitcase is in the belly of the plane parked on the runway, that you’re about to leave Wyoming behind and put thousands of miles between you and this cowboy, who has gone uncharacteristically quiet as the minutes tick down.

Eventually, he murmurs slowly into your hair, as if the words are physically weighing him down. ‘C’mon, darlin.’

Your feet are heavy, dragging, and Jack has to practically strong-arm you out of the airport terminal and onto the tarmac. He holds you as you loiter at the back of the queue, until the crowd disperses, and the stewardess at the top of the boarding stairs gives you both a knowing but firm look.

That’s when the tears spill over the seams of your lashes where they’ve been teetering, held back by sheer willpower and clenched teeth. Ugly sobs bubble out of your throat, and Jack pulls you into him, his own voice thick as he rocks you soothingly. ‘It’s ok, darlin’. I’ll see you before you know it.’

‘But when?’ you wail, almost petulantly.

He answers with no hesitation, and it’s obvious to you that he isn’t just thinking on his feet, that he’s been making plans, but kept it close to his chest. 

‘We have back-to-back pack trips the next three weeks, so I can’t get away. But next month, after the Kingsman’s rescheduled bookin’, I’ll take a whole week off.’

‘That’s an entire month away,’ you grumble into the soaked front of his tshirt.

‘I know, but you’ll need time to plan all the things we’re gonna see,’ he jokes, recalling your fireside conversation. ‘You’re gonna take this country mouse to all the museums and art galleries and all kinds of big city adventures, ain’t that right?’

You give him a watery smile. ‘I stand by the sex and Thai takeaway in bed plan.’

‘Even better,’ he answers, and you hold onto the way the crease of his smile lines bring out the soul in his eyes. ‘I’ll call you, darlin’, ok?’

Somehow, you muster the good humour to tease, ‘The cool kids FaceTime nowadays, and I hear your phone doesn’t have a working camera.’

He laughs, and you can’t quite tell if it’s tears clinging to his lashes, or if it’s a trick of the light. He thumbs away the wet streaks from your cheeks, nose brushing yours in a solemn promise. ‘I’ll get a new one.’

‘Just for me?’

And then he’s kissing you, plush lips slanting across yours, dragging slow like honey. When he pulls back, he breathes, ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

Jack has to physically unclench his fingers to let you step back. When your hand slides out of his, it takes him everything not to pull you back, or run after you up the stairs. He grasps the railing so hard his knuckles go bone-white as you turn back to him one last time at the aircraft door.

You blow him a kiss, your smile brave but wobbly. ‘Goodbye, cowboy.’

He swallows hard, wanting to be strong for you, but still, his voice wavers. ‘I’ll see you, darlin’. So soon.’

You nod, your tears catching the afternoon light as the stewardess ushers you into the cabin.

Then it hits him. 

You’re not going to be in his arms when he wakes up tomorrow. You’re not going to be there when he reaches around for you - your face, your neck, your voice.

You’re not going to be there.

Jack watches your tear-streaked face appear at one of the windows, and he tries to smile at you, wishing he’d insisted on one last kiss. The heat from the jet engines and the sun is bouncing off the tarmac, but he’s cold, so cold, that his fingers have gone stiff. Nothing feels real, as if he’s been wrapped in cling film and dunked underwater, and he almost doesn’t hear the voice to his left.

The air traffic controller says apologetically, ‘’Mfraid we gotta clear the runway, sir.’

He fumbles over his words. ‘’Course. Sorry.’

Pressing his index and middle fingers to his lips, he waves the kiss at you, which you catch with your palm against the glass. Determined not to miss one single second, he slowly walks backwards with the controller beside him as he waves the batons.

He says sympathetically, ‘It’s always hard, but it gets easier.’ 

Jack glances at him with a questioning look.

He chuckles good-naturedly. ‘You ain’t the first lovelorn cowboy I seen on this runway sayin’ ‘bye to his city girl.’

His lips quirk despite himself, eyes still on you even as the plane slowly taxis away. He says, ‘I sure hope you’re right, man.’

With one last wave, the plane pivots, and you disappear around the bend.

Empty. He feels empty.

The sadness is helium in his chest, inflating between the gaps of his ribs, and he feels himself drift even with each footfall of his heavy boots on the concrete, while a dull ache ricochets in the hollow spaces of his skull.

Grappling for an anchor, Jack forces himself to focus, one thing at a time. Key in the ignition, twist, the whirr of the engine. Switching on the radio, it cackles between the frequencies as he straps his Stetson to the backseat, then swings one leg over the saddle and puts on his helmet.

The static starts taking on shape, lyrics and guitar riffs cutting through the white noise and catching his attention just as he wraps his fingers around the rubber grip of the handlebars.

I want to ride off on a palomino

Feel the fire in my breath and the breeze in my hair as I go

Why the hell am I even looking back for?

For I know, where you go my love goes

For I know, where you go my love goes

He misses the ghost of your arms around his waist, the slope of your nose tucked into his nape. He misses you. He wants to see your face the minute you get off that plane on the other side of the country. He wants to hear your voice before he goes to bed tonight. He wants to tell you mornin’ first thing tomorrow when he gets up. 

As the 737 roars overhead, the shadow passing over him, he wonders if you can spot him from the clouds. 

He’d better crack on and get to the shop in town before it closes.

Steering smoothly out of the parking lot, Jack takes a left, the Silver Pony kicking up dust with a purr as she cruises down the country roads -

The same country roads that brought you to him.

Fin

More notes: I've been writing fanfiction on and off for the past 17 years. Corny as it sounds, it feels like everything I've ever written has been leading up to this fic. I put my heart and soul into Palomino, and it's repaid me tenfold. It gave me the chance to write about my love for horses, to fall in love not only with cowboy Jack, but with Darlin', Teak, the entire cast and the horses, this whole universe that I built in my head. And it gave me all of you - the most wonderful, supportive friends and readers I've had the pleasure of writing for.

I hope I will have the chance to revisit the Palomino universe one day. But for now, I'm ridiculously proud for finishing this series and for giving it the ending it deserves. I don't think I will ever write a fic that I love so deeply again. Palomino was it for me, and I'm forever grateful that I got to share this incredible journey with all of you.

There are some special people I need to thank, please forgive me if I leave anyone out, I appreciate each and everyone of you ❤️

LJ @prolix-yuy: The wonderful friend and writer who made me fall in love with cowboy Jack in first place with her epic Westworld Whiskey series, which is also coming to an end next week. I've said this many times and I'll never stop saying it - there would've been no Palomino if not for LJ. Thank you for being my inspiration bestie, you are the literal best.

Ash @mandoblowmybackout: My OG bestie and fellow cat mum, one of the first people I screeched about cowboy Jack to, I treasure our friendship so much, thank you for your support.

Maddie @imaswellkid: Maddie, thank you for being in my corner throughout Palomino and for holding my hand when I need it (which is often). Talking to you about Palomino in person - well, talking about anything and everything to you in person - was one of the most surreal moments of last year, and I'm hoping it won't be long before I see you again.

Sil @psychedelic-ink: Sil, light of my life, thank you for always being there for me, for listening and talking me down from the ledge many times. I'm so lucky to have you, and to have you love cowboy Jack as much as I do. Talking to you is always the highlight of my day!

Peaches @ohsomightypeaches: Screaming at you/being screamed at by you about anything cowboy Jack is always so much fun, and not just Jack, but also Teak, Champ, etc.. Your love for this series is beyond infectious, thank you for your support and for always making me smile!

Skye @iamskyereads: Skye my love, I believe I was admiring you from afar when you popped up in my notifs with a reblog of the first chapter, and I remember how excited I was! So grateful that Palomino brought you into my life.

Heidi @wildemaven: Thank you for gifting Palomino with not one beautiful video edit, but also a gorgeous moodboard! You are an angel!

Jules @julesonrecord: My fellow cowboy aficionado, your enthusiasm for s'mores and Jack always makes me smile. Thank you for your support, truly.

Jo @mvtthewmurdvck: Thank you for listening to me rant and rave and holding my hand during my meltdown. I'm so grateful for you!

Snowsuit anon: It's always a joy to hear from you, and I will hold you forever responsible for sparking the snowsuit craze (affectionate) 💙 Thank you for your support my lovely!

A special shoutout to my lovely readers who have followed Palomino from the very beginning. Thank you for sticking with me, I really feel like we went on this trip together, all of us: @lola-lola-lola, @harriedandharassed, @witchisenpai, @miss-mandalorian, @fireproofmarta, @dreamymyrrh, @inkededucatednnerdy, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @freakrenaissance, @axshadows, @damnyoupedro, @thosewickedlovelies, @peridotsparadox, @radiowallet, @sherala007, @shirks-all-responsibilities

And needless to say, thank you for every single one of you (I wish I could tag everyone but we'll be here all day!), every comment, reblog, ask, tag for Palomino. You have been an absolutely joy to write for, your love and encouragement kept me going, I really don't know how I've been so lucky, y'all have my heart forever ❤️

Last but not least, thank you @saradika for these adorable dividers!

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x f!reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #Spotify

[judgementdaysunshine]

May I please request headcanons for Bruce, Damian, Dick, Jason, and Tim With an s/o who is a cat lover? <3 🐈💗🎀 ( When you can or have time :3 )

Omg of course anon ♥️

Tim

He grew up with a dog and cat for years until his parents died and the animals were given away

He knew right after meeting you how much of a big animal lover you were after you found a cat and despite some of the team being cautious mostly because some of them had never seen a cat up close or knew what they were until others explained it to them

Slowly with time the orange cat you found became the team pet and you all named him Alfredo and he was everyone's furry friend always going around for pets and sounding like he talked to everyone

Not too long after the two of you started dating you had thought about getting a pet to help not only with your depression but for both yours and tim's anxiety but you waited for awhile and soon you both got a white cat you named milkshake from her love of ice cream

The two of you would lay on the floor or one of your beds reading or watching tv petting her while she purrs gently making biscuits on the blanket or one of you feeling the quiet bliss

Dick

He was a natural animal lover for as long as he can remember trying to bring home every stray he found and take care of them even when bruce found out and reluctantly let him have the animal or keep it for a few days before taking it to the local no kill shelter

He immediately fell in love with both your cats Buttermilk and Cookie who you had for years since you were 12 cookie being given to you as a Christmas present from your grandparents and buttermilk from your older sister on your birthday

The two of you both found strays and would take them to the shelter after nursing them back to health or give them to friends or your family members

He soon surprised you with a small kitten he found that the two of you named Kagome from your love of japanese animes

Jason

He always had a soft spot for animals having his own dog Ace who always helped him with life and his own mental state after all he went through

He also developed a bond with your calico kitten named Mitten who always liked to sleep on your chest or belly under the covers and soon she started sleeping in jay's hoodie sleeves and beside his neck

The next thing you knew that sometimes you would get pictures from Dick or Tim with him holding a stray cat or asleep on a roof with a kitten in his jack making you smile saving every picture

Damian

He had quite a bit of pets growing up and still had some of them including his dog Titus who he had ever since being under Bruce's care and training

He immediately had a bond with your orange cat Pancake and was always petting or holding the cat or even sharing abit of his food with him whenever you weren't looking

After awhile of the two of you being together and moving in to a house you surprised him with a new cat you got from the shelter that he ended up naming Iris due to one eye being brown and the other being yellow

And both of the cats got along well even sleeping on your pillows when the two of you were asleep one sleeping beside you and the other beside him

Bruce

He liked animals he just never really had any growing up he can say that he only had 3 pets throughout his life all of them when he was younger

The first one being a hamster his parents got him for his birthday that he had two years before they died,the second one was from Alfred a couple of months after his parents died and that one was a rabbit that helped him quite a bit,and the last one was when he was a teenager that used to be his friend's pet but couldn't care for it anymore and the last one was a rat

You decided as a surprise for his birthday even though you had only been together for 4 months to get him a cat that you thought would help him

When he saw the fluffy brown cat in your lap he was confused but over the next while he soon was holding the cat and even named it brownie

Soon the cat was stuck to him from sleeping next to him,rubbing his leg in the batcave,or even just playing with his cape which made you giggle

#damian wayne x reader #bruce wayne #dick grayson x reader #jason todd #batfamily #tim drake #bruce wayne x reader #damian wayne #jason todd x reader #batfamily x reader #dick grayson #tim drake x reader

[courtingchaos]

Butcher Knife

Gutterballs

This is a late follow up to my fictional self in @dr-aculaaa amazing little Valentine’s Day fic. This is just self indulgent nonsense so like, don’t read it if you don’t want to I don’t care 😂

18+ No Minors

Eddie met you when you worshiped at the altar of Bourdain and read Kitchen Confidential like it was a holy text only given to the worthy. Anyone with the wits and smarts and balls and idiocy to rock up into a kitchen 6 days a week and sweat for 10 hours each night.

He met you when you abhorred brunch because it’s what Anthony told you (and like, he was fucking right it blows) but you had just perfected that pancake recipe. With the buttermilk and separated eggs with whipped whites not at stiff peaks and the good flour mix you’d made.

But you’re stuck on this fucking brunch shift and that asshole Rich is a no call again and-

You shake your head with a laugh at the memory. You’d met Eddie that night after one of those long shifts where you’d been on sides and expo because of Rich being hungover again. A dingy little dive bar in the worst part of town, Keep Your Hands to Yourself weakly trickling through the old jukebox. This is when you still lived in Florida and Corroded Coffin was kind of on tour, kind of just like, doing their own thing man.

"A butcher knife, for Meg." Says the smooth Mrs. H.

"Heheheh... Fuckin' Meg." Says Eddie fucking Munson. You’d put off listening to this particular podcast because it was still a soft spot for you. Tender and pale like a lot of other metaphorical wounds left by various lovers but Eddie was…Eddie.

"I love that you have a whole theme going on: knife, cheese, a sugar cookie's next, an olive-"

"Hummingbird! And what can I say? I'm a simple creature, food is my comfort."

"Is it a love language for you then?"

Yes you think to yourself. You know it is. You remember that first morning after how he’d watched you move around your stupidly small kitchen in your stupidly small apartment like it was a range at the restaurant. Almost like he held his breath for fear of breaking your concentration, but little did he know you worked through most shifts hoarse from yelling over fryers and the busted boombox that crackled overhead on a metro.

"Ohh. Damn, yeah. Food is a love language."

See, you knew something after all this time.

"So what about Meg?"

What about Eddie, huh? Would he talk about your hair? Now bereft of deep auburn but shot through with silver your mother never had. Mention your piercings that you’d let go of after one too many lost screw on balls. Maybe he’d bring up that tiny sliver of scar tissue on your ass that came from him biting you awake. Red tinged laughter while you slapped his arm and he commented on your ‘natural blush’ and he’d somehow ended up with a fistful of his hair in your fist.

"Heh. Fuckin' Meg. She had cheeks like pancakes. I just wanted to eat them. Nom. Bite into her cheek and watch how red she gets in the face. I loved it when she yelled at me. I loved it when she wore heels and was just a smidge taller than me. When she pulled my hair

-what? What? Why are you laughing?”

You can’t help but laugh along with Mrs. H, that lifelong ailment of red cheeks flaring at the mention of any of this to the public. You’re too old to be embarrassed about something as trivial as this but you can’t help the knot that loosens a bit in your chest. He maybe had a tender spot about you too, something covered in flower petals now.

“Ohh..” You hear Eddie pause and realize something in real time. “You know what I just realized? I still use her pancake recipe. Like.To this day, this morning. Waking up at the fuckin asscrack of dawn to make Brock and Hunter pancakes."

He liked when you yelled at him except for that last time. You remember how fucked the night had been at work and there was the band in the dining room suddenly. Lost in the shadow but Eddie saw you running expo and couldn’t read a room for shit at that time. Stuck his head through the window to try and kiss your bangs and you’d snapped. Shoved. Yelled. It’d been happening a lot more recently when he’d roll back through town and it wasn’t him and it wasn’t you.

It was probably the vices and midlife fast approaching you both but he’d left with a goodbye and then you’d gotten a slim box in the mail with simple little E.M. note. It was one of those really nice Wusthof utility knives you’d mentioned in passing one night, flashing him the catalog between a shared beer.

"That's love, Edward."

"Shit. That is love."

You look to the window and see the darkened restaurant. Yours now. New building. New city. The street lights still on outside even as the sun starts to break over the horizon between the buildings. You imagine Eddie walking through those doors, not the skinny 30-something who did questionable drugs with you in dark dive bars after your 12 hour shift over hot pans, but the almost 60-something with the greying hair and the worn in warm smile. He’d walk into your restaurant and lean into your expo window and watch you carve into these vinyl red strawberries, making them little works of art to be buried around your crafted deserts. He’d watch you wield that little German made knife around with dexterity like it was just another finger on your hand.

You could make him those pancakes again. Layer these soon to be syrup soaked strawberries between the fluffy layers. You could make that vanilla bean whipped cream that was basically room temp ice cream. You wouldn’t snap at him this time when he stuck his arm through and wiggled his fingers at you in greeting.

You split the strawberries and carve your notches in them, slide them into the container of cooled lemon syrup and tuck it back in the fridge for later. In your office you connect to your little bluetooth speaker before everyone else starts filtering in and put on The Georgia Satellites and bring up the Instagram for the podcast, hovering over the message button with pink stained thumbs and grin.

#My Fic #My Work #Eddie Munson Fic #Eddie Munson x Reader

[anandrettisimp]

It’s that time of year again, the milk selection for the Indy 500.

I’m gonna preempt you lot by answering some questions:

Do they offer lactose free/alternative milks?

Yes, the American Dairy Association are on record saying they will offer alternatives if requested.

Of the field that I’m aware of Scott Dixon is vegan (though this is since he won his only 500) as is Conor Daly while Will Power is lactose intolerant (but he’s colourblind and says his favourite drink is chocolate milk, survival skills is none with this man). As you can see, none have select it.

Why Milk?

Back in 1936 Louis Myers asked for a glass of buttermilk after his victory as he had always been told by his mum it was a refreshing drink to have on hot days. He’d also had it after his 1933 victory but he hadn’t actively asked for it them. It faded for a while, in fact for a couple of years it was instead a silver jug in the style of a water bucket filled with iced water as "Water From Wilbur" and given by track president and three time winner Wilbur Shaw. In 1956 with the dairy sponsor (including money towards the winner purse) a bottle of the white stuff was back and has been ever since.

Now they use to still have buttermilk as an option until quite recently. The reason it was dropped is that rather than it being the drinking kind they had, it was rather cultured buttermilk which is more of a baking ingredients.

Has anyone drank something other than milk?

Yes, in 1993 Emerson Fittipaldi, wanting to promote his grove back home drank orange juice.

It went down badly.

Even though he did drink the milk after (at team owner Roger Penske’s insistence), it was during an ad break for tv watchers. He would apologise and donate $5,000 from the Dairy Association to charity.

He still got booed at the next race in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, aka America's Dairyland.

….

If you have any more questions then just reblog with them and I’ll try and answer~

#indycar #indy 500 #milk

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Please for all things holy - more wife reader introducing doting!bruce to working class things/food. I want my man to experience the joy that is hamburger helper after a hard, cold day. Bisquick chicken? BREAKFAST CASSEROLE DUDE?!

"What in god's name-"

The cacophony in the kitchen was enough to wake the dead. But it was the giggling that made Alfred pause and say a quick prayer. Please don't let them be having sex in the kitchen.

The relief when he shouldered the door open was short-lived. Everyone was thankfully clothed. And even if Bruce was trying to get handsy- why on earth were you making breakfast? And what in the hell were you cooking?

It smelled good. Even if he couldn't identify it. Some mix of sweet and savory.

"I couldn't sleep," you explain, gesturing at the mess.

"And I haven't been to bed yet," Bruce added.

That at least, Alfred thought nodding, explained why he'd only recently heard rattling around. Working around Bruce was probably like trying to avoid a particularly amorous octopus. "I see," he hummed, "And what did you decide was on the menu this morning?"

"Well," you explain gesturing. "I started cleaning and found a crockpot- so I did a french toast thing my grandma used to make and then I figured I should probably put some protein in there somewhere. So. Egg bake thing. Also biscuits and gravy but that's just because I had the time- and there was buttermilk in the fridge."

"Why were you cleaning?" Alfred asked, helping himself to a cup of coffee and pulling up a chair.

"Not that there was much to do," you snort, "But it helps me think."

"Ah." He added cream and sugar and watched for a moment as you smacked the back of Bruce's hand when he started to stir something that evidently didn't need it. And he made a mental note to inform the staff that if you were cleaning something they likely weren't in trouble.

You'd apparently made enough food to feed a small army and as people filtered in you cheerfully told them to take a plate. Odd and unorthodox as it was, he could see it winning friends. Even if there'd be grousing later about the amount of dishes to be done.

Competent, was how Alfred would describe it. Out of the corner of hs eye, he watched Bruce take a couple experimental bites and come to the same conclusion. Dick was much more enthusiastic. Declaring that he wanted your French Toast concoction every day. And that the Biscuits and Gravy were almost as good as the ones the sword swallower would make.

"Thanks, dude," you manage around a stifled yawn.

"Can you make Chili?" he asked.

"Do the Backstreet Boy want it that way?"

"Who?"

"Oh my god."

Bruce snorted, "Your social Security check will be in the mail next week."

"Bite me," you tell him, sticking your tongue out.

"I bet you're bitter," Dick mused. "Or Salty."

#Bruce Wayne #bruce wayne x reader #doting husband!bruce #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert

[lokis-army-77]

Wiled Hearts Pt.2

Cowboy!Eddie Munson x female reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Meeting the new farm hand isn't exactly as glamorous as one might have predicted.

Warning: Nothing in this chapter except the reader calls her dad "daddy" a few times, but obviously not in THAT way, and some cursing.

Masterlist 

<<previous || next>>

Morning came all too soon. The bright rays of sunlight filtered in through my window and I groaned as the light hit my eyes. Grabbing my pillow I shoved it over my face to block out the morning but removed it just as quickly when it became stuffy and hard to breathe. Slowly, I stretched myself out and sleepily threw the covers off my body. 

The alarm clock on my bedside table flashed the time, 8:15 a.m. I sighed, realizing my hope of sleeping in late would not happen with my internal clock being so used to waking up early for classes. Groggily I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and made my way out into the hallway where the smells of breakfast hit my nose and my stomach began to growl. 

The bottom of the stairs opened up into the kitchen, so when I made my way down I could see Mama and Daddy and my baby brother in the room. Although, my baby brother wasn’t a baby anymore. 

I stood just out of sight for a moment, admiring the family I hadn’t seen in forever. Mama was in the middle of cooking her world-famous buttermilk biscuits, Daddy had his glasses on looking at what I could only assume were bills, and Tucker was shoveling bacon and grits in his mouth like he had never eaten before. 

Looking at them made me a little sad. I’ve been gone for a few years and so much can change in such a short amount of time. I mean, the last time Tucker and I were in the same room he had the chubby baby face of a thirteen-year-old, and now… now he was more muscular and had a full face of facial hair. If I didn’t know he was almost sixteen, I would have thought he was older. I can’t help the feeling that I have missed so much. 

I’m pulled away from my thoughts when I hear Mama call out to me. “Morning sugar bear, go have a seat and I’ll bring you some breakfast.” 

I shake my head clearly and smile. “Mornin’ Mama, Daddy,” I say as I descend the last few stairs and find my seat. “Morning to you too turd.” I push an elbow into Tucker’s side. 

“Shut up.” He elbowed me back and I laughed as I threw an arm over his shoulders, bringing him in for a hug. “Missed you,” he laughed as well.

“Missed you too. Although I'm pretty upset you didn’t come to graduation.” I teased.

“Hey, I was sick. I couldn’t help it.” 

“Were you sick or did you not wanna come to see your one and only sister on her big day?” 

Mama shook her head as she placed a bowl in front of me filled with buttery grits and a plate with two sunny-side-up eggs and three strips of bacon. “You two stop it.”

Tucker ignored her. “Oh crap, you caught me. In fact, I didn’t want to go so I decided to get a fever of 101 just so I could stay home in bed.” 

“Oh well, I guess that means you don’t get to have the little present I bought for you,” I stated smugly as I began to eat my food. He sat there mouth agape if foux shock.

“Son, close your mouth when ya got food in it,” Daddy hit Tucker’s shoulder with an envelope. 

“Sorry, Sir.” Tucker apologized and bumped me with his shoulder, making my spoon fall into the bowl. 

“Yep, definitely not getting your present now.” After a couple more bites I turn to Dad and ask, “So what’s on the agenda for today?” 

He takes a sip of coffee and clears his throat before speaking. “Well, you’re brother, Randy, and I are going out to the eastern pasture over the hill and herding all the cows back this-a-way so they have some fresher grass to feed on. Munson’s sposed to be fixing the fence down by the creek and as for Mama, what are you doing today hun?” 

Our heads turn to her as she places the biscuit dough in the oven. “Well, I was gonna work on the garden before heading into town to the farm supply store.” 

“So I’m free to do whatever?” I ask. 

“You can tag along with any of us, just thought you might want some time to settle in before I start making you work again.” Daddy smiles at me before going back to his papers. 

“Wow, a free day on the farm.” These were rare and to be treated as such. Summer was coming and the heat was a testament to that, maybe a day spent at the pond or the creek was just the thing I needed. I could also use the time to go and introduce myself to the new guy. 

I had almost forgotten about him until he was mentioned again. The vision of those biceps flooded my mind and I shook my head, blushing. If his silhouette was anything to go by, he would be absolutely devastating to look at. 

Once I finish my food, I clean off my dishes and bound upstairs to get showered and dressed for the day. By the time I come back downstairs at a quarter to ten, everyone is already gone doing their own thing and I am left to my own devices. 

First things first, I need to go down to the barn. I had grown up riding horses and the moment I went to college I was so upset that I couldn’t have that anymore. 

There was an almost giddy pep in my step as I raced over the dirt driveway and through the grass and into the large open breezeway of the barn. The stalls were empty which prompted me to make my way to the back of the barn, where the breezeway opened into a two-acre fenced-in area. 

As I was rounding the corner I ran face-first into something, or rather someone who was coming out of the feed room. 

“Shit.” The person's aggravated voice sounded as it was accompanied by the sound of a bucket clambering to the floor. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” I reached down for the bucket only to hit my head against the person. “Ow.” I stumbled backward, hand on my head.

“Fuck, can you watch where you’re going?” The unfamiliar male voice groaned with a slight northern Appalachian accent. 

“I didn’t mean to, you came out of nowhere.” I looked up at the man and boy was I right earlier. He was devastatingly handsome with his large brown eyes and hints of brown hair sticking out from under his black, straw cowboy hat. 

He stared at me, eyes going from wide open to squinting in a matter of seconds. Shaking his head he bent down to pick up the spilled alfalfa hay. 

I twiddled my thumbs for a moment before I realized he was finished talking. “I really am sorry.” 

“Mhum.” He hummed in response, which aggravated me a little. 

“I said I was sorry,” I started again a bit louder. 

He looked up at me and gave a shrug. “What do you want? A fuckin’ medal? I heard you the first two times.” 

I scoffed. “Well excuse me, ya don’t gotta be a dick.” 

The hay was now all back in the bucket and the guy stood to his full height in front of me. He was tall and frankly intimidating, which also added to the fact that he was gorgeous. My eyes traveled to his rolled-up sleeves and dear god, those biceps were just as amazing up close. 

I tried to reason with myself that I should not be ogling the new farmhand, especially since he was being a grade-A asshole. 

“Whatever you say, Princess.” He pushed past me and into the first open stall. 

I followed, never knowing when to let something go, always having to have the last word in any argument. “Don’t call me Princess.” 

He never stopped what he was doing, only replied to me over his shoulder. “Oh dear, please forgive me, Your Majesty.” The new name was said with more venom than it should have for a person who I had known all of five minutes. 

“I have a name and it’s not that.” I stood there, arms crossed and head high. I was not going to let this guy get to me. 

He hummed again before walking out of the stall toward me. “I don’t actually care. Now, you can either leave me alone or find a way to make yourself useful.” 

I scrunched up my nose in distaste. “Fuck you, asshole.” I turned on my heel and headed out of the barn and to the fenced-in area. 

What was his deal? All I did was say sorry, is it that much of a problem to acknowledge me? I can’t believe Dad would hire someone so unpleasant. 

My thoughts were jumbled as I thought over the interaction and if anyone were to be close enough to me, they would think I’m crazy the way I’m talking to myself. “How dare he call me princess, like I’m some spoiled brat. I’m neither of those things.” I huff. 

I look over my shoulder to see if he was still in the barn and low and behold, he was staring at me. I glared back at him. I was not going to be the one to look away first. 

He seemed to glare back before turning to walk further into the barn. A small sense of triumph washed over me like I had won. 

As I internally celebrated my victory, I heard heavy footsteps coming closer and the swish of a tail. I smiled. The brown snout of the familiar horse entered my field of vision and my hand reached out instantly to pat its strong neck.  

My fingers twirled mindlessly in the dark, coarse hairs of its mane. Kota had been my horse since middle school. She had been a birthday present from Mama and Daddy. 

I still remember them setting me down and Daddy saying, "She's your responsibility. You fed her, you water her, you take care of her." 

That had been one of the best days of my life. I was so excited to have my own horse so I could ride wherever I wanted to, I could be free. Going to college several states away and almost never coming home had made me sick with longing for her. If I could have, I would have packed her right up and brought her with me. 

“Hey, girl,” I whisper to her and she lets out a puff of air. “You wanna go for a ride?” It was almost like she knew what I was asking when she nodded her head over and over. 

The grin that overtook my face was wide and toothy. I had absolutely missed this. We were close to the wooden slatted fence, so I lead her over to it and stepped up to the second slat before swinging my left leg over her back and getting comfortable. 

I nudge my legs into her side, encouraging her to walk forward and to the gate. Once it’s open I nudge her a little more, and then we're off in a canter. It was like all my thoughts left once I could feel the breeze flowing past me. All the world just faded away until it was just me and Kota and the wide-open pastures. 

It took an hour or two but we explored many places I had missed when I was gone. The tallest oak tree on the entire three-hundred-acre property, the old barn out in the woods where my friends and I would party and get drunk in high school, the clearing in the middle of those same woods I used to sneak out to in the middle of the night to clear my head. Now, we were headed back closer to the house, maybe a mile or so out, where the creek widened out into a pond. It was hot and if I was in need of a cool down, so was Kota. 

The pond was near the edge of the pasture and the bobwire fence ran out about twenty feet from the back side of the water. Trees covered the area on three sides and on the side that wasn’t shaded, it looked more like a beach, with sand and a dock that went a little way into the water. The sand and the beachy vibe had been Mama’s idea several years back when the yearly trips down south to Orange Beach had been canceled due to money. It was cleaner than the other areas of water on the property since the cows rarely came to this spot, as they preferred to be more downstream and closer to the larger pond.

Pulling on Kota’s mane a bit, I get her to stop. I if didn't she probably would have happily carried us both into the water. I jumped off and landed in the sand. Since I was no longer stooping her, Kota trotted her way to the water. I shook my head as I watched her. 

Before I could even begin making my way to the dock to take my boots off, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye, in the woods. It was almost hard to spot but the sun had caught the mirrors of the black Chevy Silverado. Never having seen the truck before, I wandered my way over, not worrying if Kota ran off or not, the house wasn’t that far of a walk. 

As I came closer to the vehicle I peered inside its open window. The red upholstery looked a bit dirty, like any farm truck. Nothing out of the ordinary caught my eye, and neither did anything that could tell me whose truck it was. That's when I heard a frustrated cry. 

"Fuckin' fence!"

I whorled around to face the voice and there, knelt down by the broken bobwire fence, was the new guy. Then I remembered what Dad had said at breakfast, that Munson would be out here working.

He had new wire tangled in a heap to his left and a couple of tools to his right. Not wanting another interaction with him, I tried to back away slow and quiet, and yet whatever controlled the universe decided that I wasn’t getting out of this unnoticed when my heel made contact with a tree root and I tumbled to the ground with a yelp. 

“Well, if it isn’t the Princess.” He said smugly from where he knelt. 

I glared at him as I stood to my feet and brushed the dirt and leaves from my legs and hands. “Screw you.” 

“I know you want to but unluckily for you, you aren’t my type.”

“Oh yeah, and what is your type? Whore?” I spit out.

He smirked. “Anything except spoiled brat.” 

Anger was bubbling inside me as I looked at this guy’s smug and unfairly handsome face. It took everything in me not to launch myself at him, to scream in frustration. So, I kicked a plume of dirt in his direction and griped, “I’m not a brat, and you’re never gonna get that fixed if you don’t have the wire stretcher… Asshat.” And with a roll of my eyes, I was gone.

...

Cowboy!Eddie taglist: @munson-blurbs @munsonology @my-malachai-stilinski @tiannamortis @chrissymjstan @chelebelletx @breathinfive @lma1986 @poguestyleskye

#cowboy!eddie munson #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #female reader

[muav99]

Strawberry Pancakes Pt.2 🩷🤍 pls read pt.1 first! 🫶

I kinda just wrote & didn’t edit much but I hope you enjoy!

Hyunjin smut- Hyunjin X reader female, roommates to lovers, switch/soft dom hyunjin & sub reader, daddy kink, unprotected (use protection 🩷✨), PinV, oral sex female receiving

10am…

You look over at your alarm and groan. Probably time to get up and find something to eat

But then standing up flashbacks of you and hyunjin in the kitchen last night rush through your tired mind

You gasp way too loud

“Are you okay hun?” Hyunjin calls from the outside of your door

“Oh yeah I’m good i….i’ll be out in a minute” you mumble back at him embarrassed

“I made breakfast so don’t let it go cold hm?” He says as you hear his footsteps leave the door and near the kitchen

Fully overthinking it now, you try and pull yourself together. Brush your fingers through your hair glancing in the mirror. Throwing on your flannel bottoms. Why do I suddenly care so much? Its just hyunjin. But the thing is. He isn’t just. He’s…….him.

“No this is weird calm down and eat” you think practically splitting your mind apart

*loud sigh*

you walk out the bedroom door to a kitchen with wonderful smells of buttermilk, strawberries and creme. I suppose he did finish making the pancakes after all

You scan his figure. He looks like a dream even in the morning. Fluffy unkept hair, tired but warm eyes, a very loose tee and. He’s only wearing boxers. You have to get out of your head but…

“Look up look up look UP” you think

You walk to him trying your best to keep eyes on his upper half. He pulls up a chair at the counter and pushes one out for you. You sit next to him admiring the little set up he made.

“You like it?” He asks lightly

He’s placed big fluffy pancakes stacked with strawberries on the side, covered in rich whipped cream. The orange juice in cute little cups. Its adorable.

“I love it! Thank you hyunjin” you say smiling at him

It really was sweet and thoughtful and oh you tried to forget last nights events but they stuck to your mind and you feel it all over your skin.

“Eat, you seem distracted y/n” he says casually (not casual to you) placing a strawberry covered in whipped cream in your mouth

“Oh okay” you reply shakily eating the strawberry you’ve been offered. Why is he looking at you like that? That fucking tease. Its what he does best.

“So um are we going to talk about last night hyunjin or just pretend it didn’t happen?” You manage to say looking down at your plate trying to avoid his glance.

“Unless you want to continue” he mumbles

“What um…..what did you say i didnt hear you” you blurt out in shock unsure what to do with him being so direct.

“Y/n you know what I mean. I like you, and I know you like me too..” he whispers in your ear leaning over

His hand caresses your thigh stroking it lightly with his long slender fingers. His eyes looking right into yours, god he’s irresistible. Puppy dog eyes but still so seductive. He needs to stop before you give in.

“I……hyunjin….” You start but he cuts you off

“Can I show you what i mean?” he says

He grabs your waist and places you off of your chair to face him. He spins you around. Touching and feeling slowly all over your body. You gasp. You melt into his touch unable to deny this feeling he’s creating.

“Tell me to stop and I will” he whispers in your ear

“I…..” he squeezes your breasts in his hands

You whimper, he chuckles at this “Oh y/n”

“Speak up”

His head dips into the right side of your neck engulfing you in soft kisses. His lips plush and soft. Nipping and biting and kissing all over. Leaving marks darker then you’d ever imagine. You moan but muffle yourself wanting to give in fully. Lord knows why now..

“Oh I see how it is sweetheart” he says

He spins you around and pulls you in by your waist and presses himself against you. Looking right into your eyes.

“I want you, will you let me have you” he pleads stroking your cheek with his gentle fingers

“Yes just yes” you breathe out letting completely loose and letting him take over. You cant deny hwang hyunjin.

He slides his hand down your cheek and pulls you in for a soft kiss. Passionate, going deeper with each movement. Tongue swiping your bottom lip for permission which you grant gladly. He lifts you up by your ass grasping you in his hands and walks you to the couch never leaving your lips. He lays you down on the couch softly and climbs over top of you.

“Stop looking at me like that or we’ll be here all night” he groans becoming more desperate

As if you weren’t a desperate mess yourself. Trying to rub your thighs together for any friction, anything to help the aching you feel. He hasn’t barely touched you and he has no idea how wet you are.

You wrap his shirt collar in your hands and pull him in. “Please hyun, I need you too” you whimper

“Thats all I wanted to hear princess” he groans. “Keep on using your words and see what it gets you” he presses his lips to yours again in a sloppy desperate kiss

As you wrap your legs around his waist he grinds his cock against you trying to feel you. You moan into each others mouths feeling pleasure wave over you.

You pull apart from his lips but only for a moment to discard your pajama pants. He rips off his white tee and throws it to the floor. Its stereotypical you think but you cant help but drool. Hyunjin standing in front of you, hard, panting, and the lighting makes him look more angelic then usual. You walk up to him and trace his chest. He grabs your ass and squeezes then pecks you on the lips

“Aren’t the pancakes going to go cold?” You say continuously tracing the circles in his chest, your nose running up and down his neck heavily breathing. He picks you up and lays you down on the couch again. Slowly, seductively crawls in between your legs and you giggle.

“Y/n, i want you, not the pancakes” he breathes out dipping into your neck kissing the bruises as he rolls his hips into yours. You moan feeling relaxed and taken care of.

“I wanna hear you pretty girl keep it up” he smirks and you can feel it in your neck

“All I want is to feel you” you whine

“Then be patient for me” he replies

He slides your black lace panties to the side groaning at the sight of you. “You’re beautiful” he says inching closer, kissing on your thighs, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

You’re usually not this submissive but god are you a mess for this man. You’re on cloud 9. Its like you’re living a lana del rey song.

He kisses, sucks, and licks your folds keeping his thumb circling your clit. Your hands are in his hair. His breathing heavy and you’re screams fill the air.

“Hyunj….mmm daddy” you moan

“Sweetheart, call me what you like. I can be whatever you want” he looks up at you from his lewd position between your legs

“Call me daddy baby.” He breathily moans diving back into you

You hold on to his hair for dear life. Pushing his tongue deeper and further. You’re on the edge. He couldn’t be any harder, if you were around him he’d bust right now.

Right before you can come he pulls away

“Hyunjin” you whine missing the feeling of his tongue

He comes to face you “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” He caresses your hair softly looking genuinely into your eyes

“I am. I really do like you, I cant deny it” you whisper still a little afraid to admit it so blatantly

“I like you too” he leans in to your kiss

His hands reach up under your shirt removing it

“God” he says

His cock throbs at the sight of your bare chest. God you were so perfect.

He kisses you again but then gets up to remove his boxers hastily. He rips them off and climbs back up on you beyond ready to just fuck you.

At this point you just give up. You have to look. You look down and my fucking god. Like you thought. A god. Everything about him is pretty. And quite……big.

He chuckles at your awe of him. He sits you up and you’re confused. Is this not happening? But hyunjin has other plans. He pulls you into his lap, hovering you slightly. He lines himself up with you and slowly eases in. You both moan loudly

“You’re going to kill me”

“More hyunjin, i mean daddy please”

You ease fully on to his cock and sit in his lap. You’re both so close and wrapped in each other’s arms. He moves and you’re already a moaning mess in his neck. Rocking and circling your hips. He’s bucking up and rolling into you with his dancer hips. The sounds from your apartment is sure enough to concern the neighbors. Screaming and moaning, skin slapping. But you both don’t care.

You bounce on him feeling yourself about to climax. He holds your body close, grabbing at your tits and moving your hips

“Fuck y/n….”

“Hyunjin im…”

You both scream in ecstasy as you ride the high. Still moving and grinding into each other like animals. Screams and slaps of your ass fill the room. His back covered in long scratches from your acrylic nails.

“I’m” you scream

“Me too baby” he groans as you both release

You both collapse into each other’s arms, he lays you both down exhausted. Breathing heavily as he looks into your eyes

“Y/n, I really really like you”

“I’d hope so” you smirk sarcastically

You both crack up laughing

“I like you too.” You peck his lips affectionately

“How about I get us cleaned up then we cuddle?” He suggests

“What about the pancakes?” You say

“Nah they’re definitely cold by now” he responds with a wink walking to the bathroom

You laugh, oh how you loved this boy.

Thanks for reading!!! Feel free to request or ask any questions🩷

#Spotify #smut #skz scenarios #hyunjin #hyunjin smut #skz fanfic #straykids smut #hyunjin x reader #lana del rey

[angelkin-food-cake]

Bird's Milk Cake

Chocolate Cake:

2⅔ cup granulated sugar

1 tsp. salt

¾ cup dutch cocoa powder

1 tsp. baking soda

1 cup boiling water

1 cup canola oil

2 tsp. vanilla extract

2 tsp. instant espresso powder or 2 Tbsp. ground coffee

1¾ cup all purpose flour

4 large egg yolks

2 large eggs

¼ cup sour cream or buttermilk

Custard:

1 cup granulated sugar

1 cup hot milk

15 egg yolks

1¾ cup butter

1 Tbsp. vanilla extract

Lightened Custard:

1 cup custard

8 oz. whipped topping or 1 cup whipped heavy cream

Ganache:

1 cup heavy whipping cream

½ cup semi sweet chocolate chips

Make the custard first. Combine 15 egg yolks and 1 cup sugar in a medium-sized pot and whisk until smooth. Slowly add 1 cup hot milk while continuously whisking. Cook over medium heat, constantly stirring until it begins to thicken and covers the back of the spoon. When you run your finger over the back of the spoon, the custard should not run into wiped space. Add 1 Tbsp. of vanilla extract & stir. Do not overcook or the custard will curdle.

Add the butter to the custard and stir until butter is completely melted and incorporated into the custard. Cover with plastic wrap, touching the custard (to prevent forming of skin) and allow to come to room temperature.

While custard is cooling make the cake. In a cup whisk together 2 eggs, 4 egg yolks & 1/4 cup of sour cream. Set aside.

Make the espresso: If you have espresso powder, combine the espresso powder with the boiling water. Or brew 2 tablespoons of ground-up coffee with 1 cup water. Drain coffee and make sure there's 1 cup of liquid. If there's not, add enough to make 1 cup. Set aside.

Combine 2 3/4 cups sugar, 3/4 cup cocoa powder, 1 tsp salt & 1 tsp baking soda with the espresso boiling water mixture and stir until almost no lumps appear. Cook over medium-high heat, constantly stirring until it comes to a boil. This step will make the darkest chocolate color it can be. Remove from heat and allow to cool for 10 minutes.

Add the chocolate mixture to the mixer and with beater blades, beat on low speed for 2-3 minutes to remove additional heat from the mixture. Add 1 cup oil & 2 tsp vanilla extract and beat until combined and smooth. Add 1 3/4 cups flour and beat again until smooth. Add the egg mixture and beat until just until combined.

Pour batter into two 9 inch round cake molds lined with parchment paper & sprayed with non-stick spray, or if you do not have the non-stick spray, butter the pan, add 1 Tbsp. flour then shake around to cover the pan, shake out the excess.

Put on wet cake strips around the pan.

Bake in preheated 350°F oven for 25-30 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. If using an 8-inch cake mold, add 5-7 minutes to the baking time.

Once baked, remove from oven and allow to cool for 5 minutes. Then, run a knife around the inside of the cake mold and unmold the cake by turning it over onto a cooling rack. Remove parchment paper and allow to cool completely. Cut each cake horizontally into 2 layers with a long serrated knife.

To assemble, line edges of the serving platter with 4 strips of foil for each cleanup. The pieces must be wide enough to go about 1/2 inch under the cake and cover the edges of the platter.

Take away about 1.5 cups of cream before you start to layer the cake with the remainder of it.

Place the first cake layer into the middle of the platter and tighten the adjustable cake ring around the cake. Add a couple tablespoons of the cream and spread it around.

Put the second cake layer on top, press it in, then alternate cream and cake until both are used up. You want your last layer to be the cake. Refrigerate the cake overnight.

The next day, combine the reserved 1 cups of custard with 8 oz of whipped topping or 1 cup of whipped heavy cream. Carefully fold both together until just combined.

Cover the outside of the cake in this cream in a thin layer, smoothing the top and sides. Refrigerate the cake for 15 minutes.

Fit a pastry bag with a french star tip. Fill it with leftover lightened custard. Refrigerate until ready to use.

Make the ganache by melting chocolate by pouring hot whipping cream over and stirring continuously. Pour the ganache over the cake carefully brining some of it close to the edges, allowing for it to drizzle down the sides.

Pipe stars all around the top of the cake going in rings starting from the edges and working towards the middle. Drizzle some ganache on top of the stars.

#angelkin #food #dessert #cake #vegetarian #chocolate #vanilla #coffee #egg #sour cream #buttermilk #milk #butter #whipped cream #cloudkin #dollkin #galaxykin #ghostkin #kitsunekin #plushkin #succubuskin #tricksterkin #voidkin #winter

[aquagirl1978]

Wheeeehehehe hiya Aqua!

I have a request for Spring Showers Spring Flowers!

Could I have Theo+5+🌸?

Hi @yarnnerdally - so nice to see you in my inbox! And of course you can glad someone requested something other than Prince! I've had this idea brewing in my head ever since I got your request, so I hope you like this.

A Walk in the Park - Theodorus van Gogh x Reader (Ikemen Vampire)

A/N: Part of the Spring Showers Spring Flowers event I am co-hosting with @violettduchess

Pairing: Theodorus van Gogh x Reader

Prompt: new beginnings + fluff

Tags: fluff

You paced around the hallway nervously, glancing far too often towards the grand staircase.

"He's going to come," you told yourself, "he's just busy talking to Vincent."

Your palm clammy, you rubbed your stomach in an attempt to quiet the fluttering butterflies, you ran through in your head the day you had planned for with Theo. He had been working so hard on an exhibit for Vincent's artwork, you had hardly seen him the past week, understandably so. But Theo had promised that today would be yours to spend together, and you wanted it to be special. Very special.

Frantic footsteps running down the stairs interrupted your thoughts; turning, you saw Theo, a sweet smile on his face.

In a few long strides, he was by your side, his arms wrapping around your waist. "I'm all yours, hondje," he whispered, greeting you with a kiss.

He slipped his hand in yours, and allowed you to lead him to the carriage awaiting you outside.

"What do you have planned for us today?" he asked as you settled yourself in the carriage next to him, your knees touching.

"Nuh uh," you replied, tilting your face you avoided his as he tried to steal a kiss. "We agreed today would be a surprise for you."

"I do like surprises," he said, smiling softly as he gazed lovingly into your eyes.

Patting his thigh, you decided to give him a hint about your first stop. "I'm feeling a bit hungry, so I think we should stop for a bite to eat."

Satisfied with your answer, Theo held your hand for the remainder of the carriage ride, stealing the occasional kiss.

Once the carriage stopped at your pre-arranged destination, Theo, like the gentleman he was, stepped out of the carriage first, offering his hand to you to assist you climbing out. With a smile, he offered his elbow to you, which you slipped your hand through.

"Where to first?"

You looked around, your eyes lingering on the awning of Theo's favorite cafe, the one that he mentioned many times served his favorite pancakes. Theo's eyes followed yours, immediately figuring out where you were taking him.

"In the mood for something sweet, huh?"

"Yes, that, and I know it's one of your favorite places to go."

"One of? They only serve the absolute best pancakes in all of Paris!" This time, he led you, practically pulling you down the narrow street, eager to fill his belly with a stack of fluffy pancakes.

You lucked out and were able to be seated at a table outside; with the beautiful spring weather, it was the perfect spot for an afternoon meal.

Theo ordered his usual, a tall stack of buttermilk pancakes, covered in lots and lots of syrup, and for you a short stack of blueberry pancakes. Theo was about a third of the way done with his when you were scraping the last bites of blueberry off your plate.

“Wow, hondje. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you loved pancakes just as much as I do!”

You stared at your plate, a bit embarrassed with the speed you ate at. “I guess I was hungrier than I thought,” you replied with a shy smile. “Theo, I…” You nervously twirled the fork in your hand, the words you wanted to say on the tip of your tongue.

“Pardon, is everything ok? Can I get you anything else?” 

You glanced up at the waiter who had perhaps the worst timing in the world. “No thank you, I’m good.” And thanks for interrupting, you said to yourself. 

Oblivious to everything but the pancakes before him, Theo mumbled “it’s so good” in between heaping forkfuls of pancake.

As soon as the waiter left, Theo put down his fork and looked at you. “You were about to say something before he interrupted.”

Fearful that the waiter would come back and interrupt, you felt your moment had passed. “It was nothing, I don’t even remember what I was going to say.” Theo shrugged, accepting you answer as truth, and returned to shoveling pancakes into his mouth.

After the bill was settled, Theo escorted you down the street, off to your next destination.

“We’re going to turn right up ahead…” you said, pointing up ahead.

Theo turned to look at you. “Your favorite park?”

Nodding, you smiled at him; he knew you so well, having taken you to this very park numerous times before. Being that it was such a gorgeous, sunny day, the park was quite crowded; much too crowded for yours taste to be honest. You suggested taking a stroll down a meandering path, knowing that it led to less crowded areas of the park.

Walking hand in hand, you took your time, your steps slow as you strolled in silence, simply taking in the sights around you - children playing, families enjoying picnics, a mother holding her newborn child.

Walking a path dotted with trees, their pink blossoms about to burst, you found the crowds thinning, to a point where you were almost secluded. Squeezing Theo’s hand, you slowed your pace.

“Theo…”

He looked at you, his bright blue eyes shimmering, reflecting the love you had for him, his smile soft and sweet as he cupped your cheek in his palm. “What is it, hondje?” he asked, his thumb stroking your cheek.

You took his free hand in yours, and placed it on top of your belly, your eyes gazing into his knowingly. Theo stared back silently, waiting for you to continue. When you didn’t, he dropped his gaze to your linked hands on your belly.

“Is this what I think it is?” he whispered.

You nodded, a bright smile spread on your lips. Theo dropped to his knees and pressed a chaste kiss to your navel. And then he whispered words that made your heart burst with unconditional love.

“Hello, I’m your papa.”

Tagging: @redheadkittys @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @atelier-the-sleepy @ikehoe @kpop-and-otome @lucyw260 @queengiuliettafirstlady @kisara-16 @lordsisterxotome @violettduchess @jet-ivory @bellerose-arcana @crypticbibliophile @yarnnerdally @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @wendolrea @randonauticrap

#spring showers spring flowers ccc #ikemen series #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #theodorus van gogh #ikevamp theo #ikemen theo #ikemen fanfic #ikevamp fanfic #otome #otome games #otome fanfic

[spooniechef]

Gluten-Free Chocolate Mug Cake (0 Spoons)

I've been quiet here for awhile, at least in part because it's been a long month or two. There's been overtime at work, which I should not have been doing but because we're understaffed and half the office got sick, I had little choice. Also I went to what will probably be my last convention a couple of weeks ago, which was objectively hellacious but I got autographs from the entire cast of Critical Role so I regret nothing. But of course I came out of that with a serious pain flare and what might have been con crud but was also quite possibly the flu, so that kind of murdered any chance of my being productive the last couple of weeks. But I have this week off and I have some plans. Mostly because I got cookbooks and very much intend to use them.

Side note - I've been contemplating doing a thing to raise money for Fibromyalgia Action UK, and weirdly, my main thought about something sponsored has been "cook through an entire cookbook in 12 months", like The Julie / Julia Project. I came up with that idea least partly because Julie Powell died a couple of weeks ago, which ... I mean, she was barely older than me, what the fuck? But also because cookbooks don't exactly give a chronic pain-friendly rating to its recipes, and part of it would involve doing an adjunct-document with spoon ratings like I do on the recipes here. Still toying with the idea, at least partly because butter and eggs are expensive as fuck. Don't even get me started on the pecans I need for a recipe I got my mother to bring me Jell-O pudding from North America especially to make. Also there's too much that needs buttermilk and that's not so much a thing over here.

Which brings me to today's bit of cookery notes. See, I have new cookbooks, and I've been trying to decide what I want to make from them. I'm having serious executive dysfunction about so much of it, so for the most part I've been sticking with chocolate chip cookies. But I didn't want to do that this time, but there are so many cookies to try. Eventually I got tired of indecision and just really wanted a sweet treat, and one of my cookbooks (Quick + Easy Gluten Free by Becky Excell, which I heartily recommend) had recipes for mug cakes. I'd never tried one, so I figured, why not? I went for the chocolate one instead of the jam doughnut one because I didn't want to use an egg for just the yolk until I found something to do with the white. (Which probably means the next recipe you'll see here is gluten-free cinnamon roll sugar cookies, but anyway.)

So! Chocolate mug cakes! Here's what you'll need:

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

4 tablespoons milk

2 tablespoons caster sugar

1 tablespoon unsweetened cocoa powder

3 tablespoons gluten-free all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon gluten-free baking powder

1 tablespoon chocolate chips

I imagine you could replace both the all-purpose flour and the baking powder with gluten-containing versions and have it be fine. But note - no xanthan gum, no egg. You could probably add the tiniest drop of vanilla extract, though.

Here's what you do:

Put all the ingredients in a microwaveable mug; mix well

Cover the mug with plastic wrap; poke a few holes in the plastic

Microwave on high for 60-70 seconds

Let cool for a couple of minutes (the mug will be really hot)

FEAST (they recommend topping it with ice cream and / or chocolate syrup, so maybe do that and then FEAST)

There is no earthly way I could make this any easier. You could probably add various bits of additional flavour - replace the chocolate chips with fudge chips, a drop of vanilla or orange or mint extract, maybe a pinch of cinnamon - but it's pretty well fine on its own. The only thing I can add is that the cookbook says microwave on high in a 900W microwave, but mine is 800W so I just put it in for 70 seconds and it was fine, so maybe add an extra 5-10 seconds if your microwave is lower wattage than that.

So yeah, this is the perfect spoonie dessert, really. If you're having a bad day and are tired and you just want something nice that requires no effort and isn't a £3 brownie? This is the way to go.

#the spoonie chef #recipes #gluten-free #sweets #baking #(sort of baking anyway)

[willkatfanfromasia]

A Matter of Chance - 8

Aditha thought he’s been feeling a lot of guilt lately. His presence only causing problems for her, her injury and so on....

He had just calmed her and laid her down to rest. He admired her peaceful slumbering form when guilt struck him again.

This time though, it was because he was shamelessly admiring an injured patient. Her face was still as soft and glowing as before. If anything, passing years only refined her.

Her sweet eyes whose expressions were only understood by him.

The pouty full lips that he’d earned to caress since boyhood.

Her legs, that he touched to check for injuries, had grown stronger with hardwork while her skin remained soft.

This day seems to have messed his morals more than any war.

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

“Anna (older brother), how can you take her side? How could you leave your own sister and support that orphan?” Kundavai raged.

Aditha immediately froze. The retort he had prepared wasn't uttered. He could only think about comforting her now

He very well understood how Kundavai’s last word would impact Nandini.

Soon enough, the person in question immediately fled out of the courtyard with him hot on her heels.

Her feet carried her across the temple pond, the grasslands and into the woods. The woods were her only refuge – even her beloved Krishna temple she had to share sometimes.

She slumped against the thick tree bark and waited to catch her breath. She sat down and rested her head against the bark as her tears silently flowed.

“Why did mother leave me? Was I truly so great a burden?”

“Why would God punish me thus?”

“Why did they tell me about my birth?”

As she bitterly perused these questions, she felt a gentle arm rest upon her own and pat her knee.

She didn't want apologies on behalf of his sister or cajoling about how she's better off than others. The boy seemed to understand.

He moved closer to make her lean on him as she wept.

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

Nandini woke up again, feeling just as sore as before. Every attempt to move only hurt her muscles more. Yet she felt a little less miserable, as warm hands lovingly supported her efforts.

Her groggy eyes adjusted to the lantern light and saw a smiling face. “Ah well, better this one than some stranger” she thought.

“Thank goodness you've risen. I’ve made supper” Aditha proudly said, pointing towards bowls of wild berries, millets cooked with spices and tamarind, charred vegetables and a pitcher full of buttermilk.

She blinked twice at the feast before her. She was reminded of the dinners she shared with her foster family before their exile.

Her mind quickly readied a taunt about princes and their cooking knowledge, but she swallowed it as her stomach grumbled.

Aditha placed a plate below her hands and poured water over them. They both sat on the floor next to each other. They closed their eyes in prayer before they tucked in.

Nandini was famished and couldn't be bothered to hide her appetite.

“Huh! I certainly don't eat like the elegant noblewomen his family wishes for him to marry- if it scares him - then so be it! he was never worth the trouble” she tried to convince herself.

Aditha gleefully relished the sight of her tucking in and inwardly praised himself.

“You seem to like what I’ve made. I’m glad” he said cheekily

“Yes” was her only answer before she continued munching happily.

“Remember the tamarind rice served as prasadam when we were younger? It was your favourite, right?”

This elicited a smile from Nandini “Yes, I worked all day in the temple. I’d wake up at the break of dawn, bathe in the temple pond before praying and doing chores at the temple throughout the day and retire after dinner. My only respite was in the evenings, where I’d eat tamarind rice by the pond” she reminisced fondly.

Aditha was relieved at the change in mood “Pious though you were, you’d still use your influence to sneak me some extras of the prasadam! Only because I was your dearest friend, right?” he teased

She huffed impatiently “you were one of my few friends who didn’t judge my birth. Besides, I only felt sorry for you! You’d always look so weary after your sword fighting lesson”

Aditha knew the depth of her affection but didn’t want to push it. A mere word from him and the priests would’ve delivered pots of prasadam to the palace!

“Well, they say happy patients recover quicker and what better joy than good food” he said and served more onto her plantain leaf, receiving a glare in return.

Nandini was unnerved by how peaceful she felt. Aching body, sprained ankle and back, mental unrest due to seeing a former lover- all seemed to be little hurdles now. And it was the very same man whose presence she hated until this noon, that was easing her circumstance.

He had cared for her the whole day, completely devoting himself to her comfort and even stopped his romantic overtures.

Aditha gently moved her onto the mattress and changed her bandages. He gently applied a new layer of herbal paste before tying the knot.

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

It's fluff o' clock coz I felt like it 🙈

@vidhurvrika @nspwriteups @thatacademic @thelekhikawrites @whippersnappersbookworm @hollogramhallucination @chiyaanvikram @love-ps1ff @ragkee @kovaipaavai @nashibirne @babayagahunt @dr-scribbler @yehsahihai @nirmohi-premika @vibishalakshman @sowlspace

And all else !

#ponniyin selvan #aditha karikalan #nandhini #ponniyin selvan fanfiction #nandini x aditha #nandini x karikalan

[candied-boys]

Long Hot Summer

Luke Randolph x fem! Reader

Part one of two

Themes: small town country life, cowboys & ranching, childhood friends to lovers, separation and reunion, modern AU

Warnings: Implied underage sex (but sixteen seems fair to me because country life). Mentions of neglect and abuse, poverty. This story follows the themes of Luke's route. If you haven't read it this could spoil it and or be very upsetting.

He was a problem child.

Your parents warned you to stay away from him and his family when they moved into the little pink house next door, but in a town as small as yours, a new kid was a rare sight no six-year-old could resist.

Kicking your boots off on the back porch of the antebellum mansion you follow the familiar aroma of a hearty breakfast through the screen door. Just like every morning on the ranch, you're greeted with plates upon plates of home-smoked bacon, buttermilk biscuits, sausages with gravy, grits, steak, and eggs done six ways to Sunday.

The master chef behind the fabulous spread stands in the grand kitchen humming to himself dressed in his perfectly starched and ironed pink gingham apron.

“Mornin’ Yves,” you chirp and he turns to welcome you with a big hug. “Y’ miss me?”

“Did I ever! I oughta try leavin’ you alone for a week to fodder and clean up after seven cowboys! Well, eight now. Lawdy, I had one hell of a time, I'll tell you! Good to have you back, buttercup.”

“Whaddya mean eight? Last I counted there were only seven of y'all,” you query in confusion as you fasten your apron strings.

“Well! You'll never believe what that ol’ muleskinner brought home while you were out of town!!” the blond cook exclaims, one arm akimbo and the other waving a wooden spoon at you.

You raise a brow. “The only thing that snake eyed lawyer brings home is paperwork and lawsuits.”

Switching to flipping two rows of hotcakes across the length of the griddle Yves scoffs, “Oh, this ain't no libel. Not this time. Aw naw. This time he's done gone and found another one of us! Like seven weren't enough!”

“You're not serious?” you counter incredulously.

“Believe me, honey, good as money in the bank; if he ain't that old cow rustler’s son, none of us are. He's the spittin’ image of him when he was our age — strappin’ redhead and tall as all get out, he is."

You never did meet the tycoon who inherited the Rholodite Ranch. By the time you had started working at the ranch after high school he was already in a care facility. But the one thing you do know is that he — for lack of a better phase — had a way with women. More wives than you care to count and a few too many mistresses. It shouldn't be a surprise that there's another offspring, but still. Eight.

You shake your head in wonder. “Why'd nobody know about him all this time?”

“Well, you know Sareil’s been tryin’a settle the estate since the ol’ man kicked the bucket? Turns out that the will was changed at the last minute to include a potential unnamed eighth recipient. All that was written was the first name of the mother, so Sariel's been on a wild goose chase ever since.”

“And now he's found the kid?”

“He did. And sure ‘nuff it's another brother. Would you believe it? Eight of us. What I'd give to have just one sister like you, peaches.”

“Awww. You're sweet, Yves.”

“Not as sweet as you. Now run along and set the table for me, will you?” he insists and loads up your arms with as many plates as you dare to carry.

While you busy yourself arranging heaping platters of hot vittles all around the boys start filing in. Chattering on or proceeding in silence, they each greet you in their own way as they take up their usual seats. By the time you're on your third round laying out dishes most of them are seated and you've started pouring coffee.

“There she is!” a boisterous voice rings from beside you as your shoulders are wrapped in a one arm hug by the oldest. “We sure missed you, doll. Grub just don't taste the same without your purdy face ‘round.”

“It's good to be home,” you smile as he kisses your cheek.

“Oh, Luke, got somebody for you to meet,” he calls behind you over his shoulder.

You flinch at the name — a million memories passing through you as swiftly as a breeze in the boughs of a willow tree — but just as quick you fix your smile and turn around to greet the stranger.

It's been five long years, yet you remember that gentle, verdant gaze like it was yesterday.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

He was a problem child.

Your parents warned you to stay away from him and his family when they moved into the little pink house next door, but in a town as small as yours, a new kid was a rare sight no six-year-old could resist.

Wary, and unsociable, the redheaded boy was skinny and unkempt. Try as you might, you couldn't wring a word out of him while you waited side by side for the bus in the mornings.

Still, for some reason you never quite figured out, you were always catching yourself looking at him. Checking over your shoulder on the bus to see which seat he took, side glancing in class to check if he was paying attention, peeking out your bedroom window to watch him poking around in his backyard.

It didn't take more than a week to realize he never brought a lunch to school. You didn't have the vocabulary to put a name to the abuse at your age, but you could sense it. Between his neglected appearance, silent and solitary behaviour, and how boney he looked under those baggy clothes, you just knew something wasn't right.

While your mama was busy getting ready for work after breakfast, you started sneaking into the kitchen to fill another brown bag with whatever you could and shove it in your backpack before she caught you. Yet the boy was no friendlier for your unsolicited offering.

Stubborn as a mule, you weren't discouraged. At some point, something changed, though you can't remember what anymore, and by second grade you were best friends. You spent your afternoons playing with him and his baby sister in your backyard, building sandcastles and pushing her on the baby swings in your playset.

Years passed like this. The next distinct memory you can recall is from when you were both finally old enough to go to the county fair together without your parents. You must have been about ten or eleven because you remember Leyla wasn't in school yet.

You pet the baby goats and ponies and ducks and sheep and looked up at the llamas in awe as if they were giraffes. If it weren't for him hauling you off and promising to make you a better bear, you would've got roped into those lousy carnival games and lost all your pocket money. Instead you spent it all on the kiddy rides watching Leyla squeak in delight and strawberry candy apples that were as red as his hair.

There was so much laughter then. Comparing whose tongue was the brightest colour, gleefully watching the kids entertainment shows where dogs and pigs to tricks, beaming in amazement at the wonders the face painters could do with so few colours.

Those were the best days — when you could spend all day in and after school together. High school was different. Kids get vicious. By thirteen the others had figured out why he looked so different. They called him a bastard, said his mother was a whore, and took turns mocking his oversized clothes and lanky physique. He didn't give a lick, but they got him good when they started talking shit about his little sister. It didn't take long before he got expelled for knocking out a few teeth.

After that, he was working all the time. If it wasn't full-time he'd be working two jobs. He grew a lot taller for finally being able to buy his own food, filled out a lot too for eating well and stocking shelves all day.

You missed hanging out at school, but he seemed happy. He often told you how he loved spoiling Leyla with goodies he could now afford, or how much she loved his cooking with all the new ingredients he could buy. Once he confessed he had started putting away what he could for her to go to college. He figured with more than ten years to save he'd make it work.

His first goal though was to get a better job and for that he needed a truck.

It was the year you both turned sixteen. A hot day in mid August. The crunch of gravel in the driveway wasn't the familiar roll of the sedan. You knew without looking through the window what it meant and rushed out, letting the screen door bang shut in your wake.

“Luke! You got it! You finally got it!!”

“Sure did. ‘94 Dodge Ram half-ton with a V8 engine. Older than both y’ or me, but she still runs good,” he tells you with pride as he hops down out of the driver's seat. “Wanna take ‘er for a spin?”

“Can I drive it?” you ask, eyes alight and pleading up into his verdant gaze at least a foot above.

He chuckles with that soft smile he only shows you and his best girl.

“When we get out on the backroads I'll teach y’ to drive stick. This ain't y’r mom's station wagon, sugar,” he teases and easily picks you up by the waist to put you in the cab before he climbs in after you.

Riding shotgun you watch as he shifts into reverse and backs out of your driveway. The way he throws one arm across the headrest to look over his shoulder is candid, unposed, and yet…

The concentration in his face, no longer as round and boyish as it was even last year…

The sharp angle of his jaw where it meets his shaggy, rust-red locks…

The line of carved marble guiding your eyes down to the neck of his faded t-shirt…

Each one has your heart beating in your throat, but you're a second too late to avoid getting caught staring when you glance at the dashboard. As he pulls out onto the road, you glimpse his lazy smile tugging a little wider from of the corner of your eye and hunt for anything else to pay attention to.

Turning the dial on the stereo and popping in the cassette you relax into the seat as he drives out of town, but by the third song in your heart is racing again.

“Is this the mix tape I made you a couple years ago?” you ask during the silence when the tape needs flipping.

One arm out the window he hums, “Mmhmm,” in his slow drawl. “There’s more in the glovebox if y’ wanna listen to sommin’ else.”

As fast as the breeze whipping through the rolled down windows, you crack the box to discover every tape you ever gave him over the last ten years and nothing else. Closing the compartment and gazing out over the corn fields coming into view you hide the smile stealing across your lips.

Half an hour later you're in the driver's seat, hip to hip with him where he keeps one hand around your waist and the other on the shift stick so he can handle switching gears until you get used to the clutch.

“Gettin’ purdy good, sugar. Think y’ can do it by y’rself now?”

You shake your head, wanting to keep him close just a little longer. But Luke's a tease, and next thing you know he's dropped his grip on the drive shaft and refuses to take it back even as you squeal in panic.

“C’mon. Y’ can do it. Just keep one hand on the wheel and the other on the knob,” he coaxes next to your ear in that ever-calm tone.

When you’re forced to reach out and change gears at a crossroads you find his hand over your own as you make the switch down two speeds until you stop, then back up with each press of the clutch. Even at full throttle his hand doesn't leave yours.

The sky has donned her gold and vermillion chiffon by the time Luke takes the wheel again, but just as quickly she's doffed her gilt embellishments in favour of shimmering silver stars.

The silence of the stereo is soon interrupted by the rush of a river when he pulls up at the end of a dirt road and shuts off the engine. Darkness thickens as the headlights fade until the moonless sky is cut in half by an ephemeral streak of glitter.

“Luke! Did you see it?! There was a shootin’ star!” you chirp and eagerly hop out of the truck for a better view.

He jumps out too, but doesn't seem to share your enthusiasm. After spotting another and still getting no reply, you go around back of the tailgate and find him busy laying out sleeping bags atop a roll of foam in the bed of the pickup.

“This is just the beginnin’. There's a meteor shower tonight.”

You can hear the gentle smile in his voice better than your unadjusted eyes can see it, and you can't resist the way its warmth draws you in. Climbing up and kicking off your shoes, you flop down on the makeshift bed with a giggle.

Before he has a chance to do the same you snatch his sleeping bag and unzip it all the way, then do the same with yours and zip them together.

“It'll be warmer this way…” you mumble at his quirked brow and “What'd y’ do that for?”

“Yeah, a’right,” he murmurs back and slips into the space next to you, but he keeps his distance unlike the way he kept you so close this afternoon.

Maybe the driving lessons gave you a confidence boost, or maybe you're just a little tired of waiting for him to make a move. Either way, you know you want the years of flirting, bashful glances, and this crush going nowhere to end. Tonight if you have any say in it.

“Um, hi?” he breathes when you manoeuvre his arm over your shoulder and under your head to nuzzle into him.

“You forgot pillows…”

It's a lame excuse but it's true.

Tentatively you lay a palm on his chest, and just as hesitantly his free hand covers it. You snuggle in until there's no space between your bodies. The arm around your shoulders tucks your crown under his chin. His pulse racing beneath his ribcage echoes in your ear and your sure yours is pounding just as hard.

“Maybe I shoulda just brought one sleeping bag, huh?” he makes an awkward attempt at conversation.

Hopeful and nervous you choose your words carefully. “Next time.”

He only nods. There in his warm embrace you watch the stars fall to the soundtrack of your beating hearts and the crickets singing.

“Aren't they pretty, Luke?” you whisper after a while and reach out a hand to the heavens.

“I'll catch y’ one some day if y’ want,” he whispers back and stretches out his arm to entwine his fingers oh so gently in yours.

“Put it on a ring where it can shine real bright…” he says as he finds your gaze.

His name hardly makes it past your lips for the emotion welling in your throat.

Even under the midnight sky his pale green eyes are as captivating as sparkling dew caught in meadow sunshine.

“I know they say we're just kids, but I don't think I'll ever find somebody else I could care ‘bout like this…”

His gaze is coloured with the lingering pain of sixteen years of neglect and rejection.

“Y're the only one for me…”

The truth you've known for a long time now bubbles up easily with a smile as you lean in to kiss him.

“I love you, Luke. So much.”

Soft, tender pecks quickly gave way to deeper and deeper kisses as if he longed to make up for all those love-starved years he'd suffered. Yet he was so gentle, worshipping every inch of your body, never letting his eyes stray from yours as you drowned in each other's love.

In that warm afterglow, he held your trembling form beneath him so tight you were pressed cheek to cheek. Looking up over his broad shoulders, you made a wish on a shooting star that this love would last forever.

The next day he was dead.

Part two

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen luke #ikemen prince luke randolph #luke randolph #ikemen prince luke #ikepri luke #ikemen prince x reader #ikemen prince fanfiction #cybird ikemen #ikemen cybird #ikemen fanfic

[dicphanous]

[ zoey deutch, cis woman, she/her ] — whoa! WENDY CARSON just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for ONE YEAR, working as a WAITRESS AT STARDUST. that can’t be easy, especially at only TWENTY SIX YEARS OLD. some people say they can be a little bit AWKWARD and CRITICAL, but i know them to be SUNNY and SENTIMENTAL. whatever. i guess i’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to THE BRONX! 

BASICS:

Full Name: Wendy Rose Carson Nickname: Wen, Wendy Rose Age: 26 Birthday: March 1st Sexuality: Heterosexual Relationship Status: Single (open to potential ships) Occupation: Waitress at Stardust + Aspiring Singer/Songwriter Birthplace: Chattanooga, Tennessee Accent: Southern American Height: 5'5" Hair Color: Dark Brown Eye Color: Hazel

PERSONALITY:

Sign: Pisces Alignment: Neutral Good Fears: Rejection, being embarrassed Habits: stopping to check for stars when going outside, snacking all the time, humming when there's too much silence, listening to music at super loud volumes, starting TV shows in the middle instead of the beginning, collecting too many blankets, changing her phone wallpaper every day, baking when depressed, leaving notes for her roommates, needing things repeated twice. Aesthetics: a bundle of daisies in a woven basket, dancing in the dark, clothes drying on the fire escape, a friendly greeting at the local deli, scribbles in a used journal, comfort food, herbal tea and cinnamon buns.

THE STORY (tw; death of a parent):

Chattanooga was your kingdom and you its princess. Dad played in marching bands and orchestras, famous just in their own little town for his bellowing trumpet. Mama was a school librarian and was very particular about what books you read before bedtime. Beauty and the Beast was your favorite, and so was mama's. In fact, she gave you the middle name Rose for that reason, and she always called you "Wendy Rose". There were plans for you to have little siblings once you got to be old enough to help around the house, but mama got sick and died before that could ever happen. Everyone in town thought you would lose that ever-growing sunshine in your spirit, but it was your dad's steadfast care and love that kept your light alive. He became your best friend that day. With mama gone, dad started taking you everywhere. He made a habit of calling you "Wendy Rose", just like mama did. He drove you to school, picked you up, and took you to his concerts. That was how you fell in love with music. Your favorite album he played in the car was "Rumors" by Fleetwood Mac, which lead you to country music. You'd write poems about your broken heart after getting picked on by the other kids in middle school. You'd write poems about your first dates when you were in high school and your first heartbreaks thereafter. Your dad showed you that you could set those to music and make something really special. So you went to Bellmont University in Nashville to hone in on your skills. Of course, they let you in for creative writing, at first. You had to sweet-talk your way into the songwriting program, and you even baked them a homemade buttermilk pie. You graduated as a song-writing major, and it was not without its heartaches for inspiration. Granted, pining after a boy for years and never having the courage to tell him how you feel doesn't exactly have its merits. Of course, it didn't work out, and you left with an empty heart and carried it all the way to a new apartment in Nashville. You only lived there for a few months before releasing an EP that did so terribly that you gave up and went home to dad's house. To your surprise, your dad was seeing someone new, after so many years of being alone. That was when your world turned upside down. It was there that you learned that you needed to get out and take these feelings in your suitcase to New York City in hopes that you'll live a little more life of your own. You found a roommate whose soul practically reflected your own, though you still need motivation to get up off your couch when it's not for work. Maybe one day you will overcome that fear of being rejected that's been bubbling under the surface ever since high school, but your over romanticization of life could never let you take that risk, not when there are safer things out there to explore.

Similar Characters: Elizabeth Bennett (Pride and Prejudice), Princess Fiona (Shrek), Diana Berry (Anne with an E), Charles Boyle (Brooklyn Nine-Nine), Mirabel Madriagl (Encanto), Anna (Frozen), Jessie (Toy Story), Lucy Gray Baird (TBOSAS).

WC's:

(don't take these as like solid connections, I hope these can mostly be inspo for you and we can go from there!)

The 1 by Taylor Swift. I guess you never know, never know / And if you wanted me, you really should've showed / And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow / And it's alright now (maybe an ex-boyfriend/ex crush turning into something platonic) Mean by Taylor Swift. I bet you got pushed around / Somebody made you cold / But the cycle ends right now / 'Cause you can't lead me down that (enemies) Don't Stop by Fleetwood Mac. All I want is to see you smile / If it takes just a little while / I know you don't believe that it's true / I never meant any harm to you (unlikely friends, enemies to friends) Best Day of My Life by Jesse McCartney. Just another day / That started out like any other / Just another girl / Who took my breath away / Then she turned around / She took me down (potential ship/potential friendship, has a crush on her) Long Live by Taylor Swift. I said remember this feeling / I passed the pictures around / Of all the years that we stood there on the sidelines / Wishing for right now (fellow singers, music lovers, friends, ride or die) Waiting For You by Jordan Pruitt. No, I'm not the type / To move in too quickly / Whenever you're near me / I just can't deny / The way that I'm feeling / I don't know what happens to me (past crush. enemies to friends. awkward friendship) Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift. I run my fingers through your hair / And watch the lights go wild / Just keep on keeping your eyes on me / It's just wrong enough to make it feel right (potential ship, potential enemies, bad boy meets good girl vibes) the last great american dynasty by Taylor Swift. Rebekah gave up on the Rhode Island set, forever / Flew in all her Bitch Pack friends from the city / Filled the pool with champagne and swam with the big names / And blew through the money on the boys and the ballet / And losin' on card game bets with Dalí (bad influence friend, friend that gets her to go out)

#boroughs.intro #muse ; 𝕎𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕪 ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟

[hot-take-tournament]

sorry i'm kinda lost and the posts on this blog are a lil all over the place (not negatively it's just really confusing to work out what's going on with the tournament and what's going to happen when for someone who hasn't been following from the start), when does the tournament start and when will consistent polls be posted?

ah, i meant to update the master post, but i forgot

basically, due to a series of events that directly led to me drinking expired orange joe buttermilk from that game in the bomb-threat callout tweets, we've all been trapped in a time loop since mid-september

in the meantime, we've been running preliminary brackets!

last month we did one on the highest ratioed takes, and in the end "m&ms should be eaten like cereal" was voted to be an objective fact, and now i'm cursed to drink chicken smoothies twice a day because i betrayed hatsune miku

that's the short version anyway

as for where we're at right now;

due to stuff going on in my personal life (college pressure mostly) i won't be able to post polls consistently for the next couple weeks, and making a bracket just isn't feasible for me right now, also i've been having some major tech issues

even making one poll takes an extremely long time, a lot longer than you might think, and it's really just not possible for me to post them as consistently as i used to, at least for the time being

i promise, i'll try to post them when i can! so i hope you can all bear with me for a little longer <3

#asks #not a poll #<3

[thebakeologylab]

Chapter 1: Tiers of Joy

Hi! My name is Shakira Daniel, I'm 19 years old and I study psychology. Some of my hobbies are reading, listening to music, writing poems and baking. My blog will mainly focus on baking because cooking for others is my love language. I just love the smile on people's faces when they receive baked goods. It lets them know that you are thinking of them and that they are special to you. It is also psychologically proven that when you give others a sweet treat, they associate you with being a sweet person as opposed to being salty or bitter. To me, baking is very calming and therapeutic. It is an activity that I love doing whenever I feel stressed (unless someone else is in the kitchen with me) and at the end you also get a sweet treat. Overall, it's a win in my book. Also, a little fun fact, the word 'stressed' spelt backwards is 'desserts'. The way in which you have to follow a recipe exactly in order to get your perfect cake, the same 'recipe' should be applied to life. Just like how other people follow different paths in life to achieve different goals, different recipes provide different cakes and desserts. With that being said, I would like to take you all on this special journey with me while I try to figure out what is my perfect 'cake'.

For my first post, I'm sharing with you a red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. Honestly I'd make this cake mainly for the frosting because it's just THAT good!

Red Velvet Cake:

1 ¼ cups all-purpose flour

2 tbsp cocoa powder

2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/4 tsp salt

1/2 cup buttermilk

2 tbsp red food coloring

2 tsp vanilla extract

1 tsp vinegar

2 eggs

2/3 cup white sugar

1/2 cup vegetable oil

For the frosting:

1 block or 8 oz cream cheese

1/2 cup softened butter

1 tsp vanilla extract

2 cups powdered sugar

Instructions:

In a bowl, combine flour, cocoa powder, baking soda and salt. in another bowl, combine buttermilk, food coloring, vanilla and vinegar. in a third bowl, whisk the eggs and sugar with an electric mixer. Next, alternate between adding in the wet and dry ingredients. Whisk until smooth. In a greased 8 inch pan, add in your cake batter. Bake for 30 minutes at 350 degrees Fahrenheit or until a toothpick comes out clean. Allow to cool for 2 hours.

While the cake is cooling, mix together the cream cheese, butter and vanilla using an electric mixer until smooth. Then slowly add in your powdered sugar until combined.

Once your cake is cooled, cut off the top so that it is leveled. Crumble the top that was cut off to use for later. With your leveled cake, cut it into 2 layers. Now it's time for icing! Spread icing on your first layer of cake then place the second layer on top. Ice the entire cake with the remaining icing and sprinkle with the cake crumbs from earlier.

A little tip: you don't have to ice your cake perfectly because the crumbs hide all the imperfections ;)

Hope you enjoyed this recipe, see you next week <3

#baking #cake #recipes