made sourdough and it's so moist and springy that's it's actually hard to cut without squashing the whole loaf. and yes it tastes amazing. in case anyone was wondering if I'm still baking bread the answer is yes and frankly I'm crushing it
[Image ID: A round loaf of bread, cut in half on a wooden cutting board. The two halves are angled so that the inside of both pieces is visible. End ID]
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Salty and Sweet | Sleepover Fic #7
Pairing: Mingyu x gn!reader
Prompt: every time you taste my cooking you just say it's amazing does it need more salt or not I swan to John
Rating: M
Word count: ~600
Notes: food mention, swearing, suggestive, making out, biting, mentions of sex
Mingyu bounces on his toes as he waits for you to come into the kitchen. You’re taking forever and he’s almost at the point of just saying fuck it and plating dinner up, but he’ll get you this time, he swears. Tonight is the night.
The night he gets your honest opinion, the night he’ll get you to tell him the truth, the night he finally gets you to give him a straight answer.
It drives Mingyu nuts, honestly, that every single time he asks you to taste whatever he’s cooking and tell him if it needs more salt, you just say ‘it’s amazing’ and squeeze some part of his body.
Okay, the body squeezing, he does like, because Mingyu will never get enough of your hands on him - his ass, his shoulders, his pecs, his hips, hell, you’ve even squeezed his bottom lip between two fingers before, and he loved that too. Loved it enough to forget about the food on the stove and haul you to bed (Mingyu ate something else for dinner that night, and it was wonderful).
But he needs to know if he should add more salt or not! Your palate is different than his; he doesn’t eat things with much sodium so it’s hard for him to tell if a dish needs it, and that’s where you should come in, as his life partner and former roommate, but noooo you just have to be difficult and tell him it’s perfect. So tonight, he intentionally undersalted. He’d tasted it already, and it needs a bit more seasoning even to him, so there’s no way you won’t notice. If you say it doesn’t need anything this time, he’ll be able to call you on it and figure out why you insist on sparing his feelings.
He’s about to turn the stove off, go find you, throw you over his shoulder, and bring you to the kitchen himself when you appear, fresh from a shower.
This is very distracting for him, and Mingyu curses you, knowing he won’t be able to be mean when you’re all dewy and soft and delicious smelling. It must be part of your plan, and step two must be smiling at him with all the love in the world, and walking over to pull his head down into a kiss. His hands fly to your waist, fingers digging into your robe and the flesh underneath it, tongue brushing against your bottom lip until you open for him.
You’d put on that one lip mask Mingyu loves, he can taste it on you, and he sighs into your mouth, digging his canines into your lip until you whine. He never makes you bleed, never bites hard enough to bruise (your lips, anyway), but he loves testing the plush flesh with his teeth, loves the sound you make when he nips just a little too hard. Mingyu loves when you arch into him too, like you are now, and he slides his arms around you, pulling you up against his body so he doesn’t have to crouch.
He can feel your heat against him, through your robe and the thin fabric of his shirt, and when he squeezes you even closer, he can feel the hitch in your breath as your ribs expand and then stutter against his. You moan a bit when you brush over his cock, hardening already in his sweats. You grind over him again and Mingyu wonders if step three is making him fuck you on the dining table.
He doesn’t really need to know if his food needs more salt, anyway, Mingyu thinks, shutting off the burner and carrying you into the dining room.
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The one time I remember baking with my former best friend... She lived alone, and she could make whatever food she wanted, whenever, and that freedom was so unimaginable to me... I loved making that cake with her. And I begged her so we could make more in the future. But we never did. And I miss it so so much - so unbelievably much - even if it was just one cake we fucked up anyway. I want a kitchen. I want a kitchen and an oven. A microwave and electric kettle. I want my own little baking dish with strawberries printed all over it, like the one I've seen at the store few months back. I want two dozen glasses, each different than the other, choosing a special one for whenever a guest comes by and asks for tea. I want to fail at cooking. I want to make the world's worst scrambled eggs and feel no shame over it at all, no fear of being scolded for wasting food. I want to undersalt and overpepper vegetables on my own. I want to leave butter on the counter to warm up. I want to be in no rush ever again
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loving dust so far but he feels a little undersalted??? i mean you could probably argue that he lost his memory and his soul is fragmented so hes gonna be a little bland. but hes got a personality, hes a playful silly guy who cares deeply about people and wants to do the right thing. he has "fluent in sarcasm" written in his grindr bio or whatever the fuck. its like hes got all the spices and aromatics but the chef put too little salt to make those flavors stand out. i dont know
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peep my curry :) everything homemade except tha poppadoms, once again posting bread. sourdough starter makes pretty good naan!
undersalted the bombay aloo but otherwise was tasty as fuck, josie took the leftovers to work today
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Cooked for the first time in a while, and I-
Probably overcooked the tadka.
Burned the bhaji while standing right next to it.
Forgot to taste everything, and now it's overspiced and undersalted.
At least I can fix the last one😅
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