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youhavenocock · 3 years ago

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Return on Investment

Maxim considers his options. Alexander orders Chinese takeout.

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Enjoy, and thanks for reading d=(´▽｀)=b

Alexander was back in his work uniform, washed up like nothing had happened. He appreciated being clean, but it wasn't enough to clear away what had happened earlier. He was being led into Maxim's house by a firm hand on his shoulder, and the sense of dread that had been building in him all day was growing unbearable.

Maxim's plan had been to take Alexander home after work, once everyone else had gone home, but he hadn't been able to think of anything past that. He locked the front door behind him, and turned back to Alexander, standing awkwardly in the middle of the foyer.

Alexander hadn't spoken at all during the car ride here. He cleared his throat to break the tension, and said, "Shoes on or off?"

Maxim laughed in surprise. Yes, perfect, he could treat Alexander like an ordinary houseguest. That, he could do on autopilot, while he worked on the rest of his plan.

"Off," Maxim answered. He took off his own shoes, hung up his coat, and walked into the kitchen. Because his lunch hadn't gone according to plan, the sight of his fridge packed with food reminded him that his stomach was already empty. It was waiting for Alexander.

It would have to keep waiting. Maxim was exhausted--from work, from the self-inflicted overtime, and from worrying about what to do with Alexander all day. Having to work while Alexander had been in the bathroom next door had made it all the more stressful. Consuming prey was tiring, and Maxim found he didn't have it in him tonight.

So, Maxim's autopilot continued, and he called to Alexander, "Can I get you something to drink?"

Alexander peeked into the kitchen. He wanted to believe the context clues Maxim was putting out, but there was still one little question bothering him. "Um, when, exactly, are you going to-"

"Tomorrow," Maxim said with finality. It couldn't be later than tomorrow. This whole scenario was ridiculous, and he refused to grant it any more space in his life than that.

"Oh." Alexander was neither relieved nor disappointed. It was better than 'now', but not by much. He could at least try to enjoy this brief clemency. "I'll take a whiskey, then, if you have it."

"Very nice." Maxim did indeed have a gently used bottle of whiskey in the cabinet above the fridge. "I didn't take you as a fan of the strong stuff."

Truthfully, Alexander wasn't, really. But he didn't know if he'd be able to fall asleep tonight without some help.

"Order some takeout. Menus in the cabinet above the phone." Maxim set one glass of whiskey next to Alexander, and took the other into the living room.

'What do you want?"

Maxim stopped and turned back around. "Your choice. Just get a fuckton."

"Er, how much is a fuckton, exactly?"

Maxim looked Alexander square in the eyes. "About the equivalent of one very annoying temp worker."

Alexander shuddered. "Um, understood."

Maxim nodded, and this time made it to the living room without any interruptions.

It was odd to see Maxim eating normal food. Well, the food itself was normal, the quantities, less so. Maxim hadn't been kidding when he asked for a fuckton. Alexander had watched him eat an entire person earlier that day, and now Maxim was knocking back entire Styrofoam bowls of soup and rice like he was filling a garbage bag.

Meanwhile, Alexander picked at his own serving of sesame chicken. His go-to order, something he knew he'd like, and yet he could only nibble the edges of the sticky outer coating. He'd missed lunch, but he still had no appetite.

"Wa's wrong?" Maxim asked through a mouthful of three different meats.

"Nothing, sir," Alexander mumbled.

"'f you're not hungry, stick it in the fridge," Maxim gestured toward the kitchen. Alexander got up to do so, and Maxim waved his empty glass in the air. "And another two fingers, if you don't mind."

"Sure thing, sir," Alexander nodded, and brought his uneaten food and the empty glass to the kitchen. His stomach was still in knots, and it was getting late. He filled Maxim's stout glass halfway, chugged the nasty stuff as fast as he could, and refilled it with the requested two fingers' worth.

"Thanks, man," Maxim said drowsily, taking a small sip. He'd finished eating, and his armchair was littered with empty containers. His stomach was swollen, not quite as much as it'd been after he'd eaten Grant, but close. The large meal was obviously pushing him toward sleep.

"Would you mind if I turned in for the night, sir?" Alexander asked. The whiskey was starting to work its magic. Even as his mind dulled, though, a part of him panicked, seeing Maxim so full, and still entirely capable of fitting Alexander inside. The sooner he could get away from Maxim, the better.

"Yeah. I could sleep." Maxim heaved himself out of the armchair, stepping over the takeout detritus.

"Couch for me?"

"No fucking way," Maxim shook his head. "You're sleeping in my room, where I can keep a real good eye on you."

Alexander blanched, but the glow of his cheeks mostly hid it. Of course Maxim wasn't letting Alexander out of his sight. "U-understood, Sir. I don't mind sleeping on the floor."

It took Maxim's whiskey-soaked brain a few seconds to figure out what Alexander meant by 'floor'. Maxim's king-sized bed had room for both of them. For whatever reason, Maxim had assumed that's what they'd be doing. In hindsight, he realized why Alexander might not be super comfortable with that.

"Yeah. I got some spare blankets. One sec."

Maxim arranged a makeshift sleeping area to the side of his bed, the side furthest from the door. Alexander quietly laid down in his work clothes, facing the wall. Maxim backed away toward the bathroom, like he expected Alexander to get up and run out as soon as Maxim took his eyes off him.

Maxim brushed his teeth, and when he came back, Alexander was still laying next to his bed. The bastard was already asleep. Maxim grumbled as he changed into pajamas, shuffled into bed, and turned off the lights.

"Good night," he grumbled bitterly.

"You...want to go in to work today?"

"Well. I do only have three allotted personal days left in my contract."

Maxim had planned to lock Alexander in his bedroom for the day. He didn't have any idea how to convert his bedroom into a secure holding cell, though, much less the time to do so before he was due at the office. Winnie could watch Alexander for him, Maxim figured, and could do a much better job than a locked bedroom door.

Alexander smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt as Maxim started the car. This would be fine, Maxim thought. He'd keep himself busy with work, and tonight he'd clean up the loose end currently sitting in the passenger seat. Alexander was quiet, giving Maxim the unnerving worry that he was somehow listening in on his thoughts.

Maxim cleared his throat. "Did you, ah, have any kind of trip planned?" Alexander looked at him questioningly. "Your personal days," Maxim elaborated.

"You know I don't make enough for something like that," Alexander chuckled.

Maxim felt guilty, even though he knew he shouldn't have. For one, Alexander was paid just the same as the rest of the temps. And two, he was going to die today. And since Alexander apparently didn't want to remember that important fact, Maxim would have to remember for both of them.

"It should go without saying, but I want you to stay in the building," Maxim said. They were coming up on the high-rise office complex. The temp agency occupied only two floors, but their key cards didn't work for any of the other floors, so it didn't leave Alexander much room to hide.

"Right." Alexander stared down at his knees.

"Right. Well." Maxim parked in his swanky reserved space near the entrance. "After you."

Alexander got out slowly, like he was being held at gunpoint and not just walking in to work. Maxim watched him go. Best to stagger their arrivals, to avoid any untoward implications.

After giving Alexander a seven-minute lead, Maxim headed into the lobby. On an average day this entryway was empty, aside from the receptionist at the desk facing the stairway and elevators. But today, Maxim walked into a swarm of people--his own employees--gathered around Alexander, all talking at once in an excited, indistinguishable flurry. Maxim caught fragments of "Alex, you're back!" and "-didn't see you leave-" and "Glad to see you still-"

The only person not talking was Alexander. He had become trapped by a swarm of curious coworkers, blocking Maxim's passage like a gossipy blood clot. Neither he nor Maxim could reach the elevators like this.

"Don't you people have work to do?" Maxim challenged. The crowd turned to look at him in unison, then dispersed via the elevators and stairway. The mutterings followed, assumedly spreading into the rest of the office. Alexander was gratefully swept into an elevator and out of Maxim's sight.

One sharply-dressed woman lingered behind her coworkers. She waited for Maxim to approach her, without being too obvious about it.

"Morning, Winnie," Maxim said casually.

"Alexander's back," Winnie answered sternly. Maxim should've assumed Winnie would find out about Alexander before he could tell her himself. A large part of Winnie's job as Maxim's agent was to stay on top of all office gossip. The moment someone whispered that someone saw Alexander walk in, Winnie had likely already been halfway down the stairs.

"Something came up." A lame excuse, but it wasn't Winnie's job to pry into Maxim's private matters, just to ensure that they didn't become public. "I only need you to watch him for today."

"He knows, then."

"Yes."

"And he still-" Winnie looked around the lobby, but it was empty apart from the two of them. Alexander had gone upstairs with the rest. Maxim couldn't remember ever seeing Winnie at a loss like this, and her confusion validated his own.

"I don't know. But I'll handle it tonight," Maxim promised.

Winnie clicked her tongue. "You know I'll be submitting a report about this."

Maxim sighed. "Yes." That was the less convenient part of Winnie's job, snitching on him to the higher-ups. But Maxim supposed it was a fair compromise.

That was that. Winnie began walking to the stairs. She had a classified report to send, a dead man walking to keep tabs on, and her regular work on top of that. She didn't have time for formalities like waiting up for her negligent boss.

Maxim wasn't really her boss, anyhow. Truthfully, they were both insignificant pieces of a much larger, shadier business.

To Maxim's brief surprise, Alexander was still at his desk that afternoon. Maxim noted the empty takeout container in the trash, as well as the cardboard box sitting on Alexander's emptier-than-usual desk. He was partway through cleaning it out.

Technically, it was a couple hours before the end of the workday, but Maxim couldn't wait any longer. "Leave it," he snarled at Alexander. "We're going."

Alexander jumped out of his chair, practically dropping the Pearls Before Swine daily calendar he had been about to pack up. He followed Maxim into an elevator, and waited until the doors had closed to ask, "Sir, would you allow me to stop at my locker?"

"Huh? Oh, sure." Maxim was curious what Alexander needed, but not concerned. Alexander didn't seem the type to keep any kind of weapon in his locker, as that was a breach of company policy, and Alexander was a stickler for the rules. Maxim expected some kind of keepsake, maybe a photograph, something sappy like that.

Instead, in the storage room behind the lobby, Alexander withdrew a change of clothes.

Maxim feared that if he asked a question, it would only lead to him learning more about Alexander, which would only make things harder. But, a glutton for punishment among other things, Maxim asked, "Why do you need...jeans and a sweatervest?"

"Jeans and...oh," Alexander looked at his clothes like he was surprised to find himself holding them. "Well. Since my work uniform needs to be returned, I thought I should wear my spare clothes."

"That...um..." Maxim realized that this whole time, he had been imagining that Alexander would be in his underwear again. They had agreed not to Discus It, but Maxim had figured fantasizing was fine. He had even been considering eating Alexander feet-first this time, which wasn't Maxim's preferred method, but might have...certain benefits.

"Is that okay?" Alexander asked when Maxim refused to either accept or refute his idea. "I have other clothes at home, if that's-"

"Absolutely not." There was no way Maxim could take Alexander home. "We're going straight to my house. No dilly-dallying."

"Understood." Alexander matched Maxim's pace, staring straight ahead without glancing over at the man walking next to him. Maxim tried and failed to do the same.

Another quiet car ride. Another Alexander standing awkwardly in Maxim's foyer. Maxim was getting a strong sense of deja vu, and he did not care for it.

"Are you going to change?" Maxim glared at Alexander.

"Um, yes, sir," Alexander nodded. He adjusted his grip on the bundle of spare clothes, but couldn't decide whether he was supposed to leave or not.

"In the bathroom, temp," Maxim clarified. Alexander gratefully scurried away to change in privacy. Immediately, Maxim second-guessed that decision. That outfit had looked unappetizing and bulky. The work uniform might have worked better after all. Or then again...

"Here, sir," Alexander appeared in front of Maxim, offering his neatly folded work clothes, as he pondered his overlooked options. As Maxim accepted them, he realized how rarely he saw any of his employees outside of work.

Looking at Alexander now, Maxim couldn't imagine how he'd ever thought of this outfit as unappetizing. Bulky, yes, but intentionally so, disguising the curve of Alexander's waist and emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders. Clearly these clothes were more comfortable for him than his work uniform. This was a more accurate Alexander, and therefore, more appetizing.

But, no, Maxim reminded himself, this wasn't a fucking photoshoot. It didn't matter what Alexander did or did not like wearing. No one else would ever get to look at him. Only Maxim, and he didn't care what Alexander wore.

And for the record, sweater vests were dorky.

Beneath Maxim's critical eye, Alexander was getting restless. "Is...there a problem?"

"No." Maxim shook himself out of his fashion critique. He threw Alexander's uniform on the table and walked into the living room. "C'mon. Couch."

Alexander followed. When Maxim settled onto one side of the couch, Alexander paused, staring at the empty cushion beside him. Alexander'd had all day to imagine the kinds of exquisite cruelty Maxim might have planned for him, the monstrous whims he needed Alexander to sate. Because why else bother letting him live this long, if not for some spectacular finale?

But this fell short of even Alexander's gentlest nightmares. The same as before. This time on a couch.

'Disappointed' wasn't really the right word, but it came close to the cold emotion draining the light from Alexander's eyes. He regretted having spent all day needlessly torturing himself with more and more grotesque ways he could die. He felt embarrassed for having asked to stop by his locker for his off-work clothes, as though Maxim hadn't already seen him in his underwear.

And yeah, maybe he was disappointed that they apparently weren't ever going to Discuss It, that he was slated to die like who knows how many nameless prey before him.

Alexander sat down and waited for Maxim to enact the plan he still did not have. Procrastination had again gotten the better of him, and now Maxim was stuck giving a presentation he hadn't begun to prepare.

His prey was sitting right next to him, staring blankly ahead. Alexander was stiff, prepared, but not primed for any kind of escape. Like he had already accepted becoming a corpse.

Maxim leaned over and pulled Alexander closer, almost on to his lap. Alexander leaned in obligingly, and followed along when Maxim shifted him to sit on his knees. Maxim almost wanted to close the short distance between them, pull Alexander into his chest, but then he wouldn't be able to see his face.

Like before, Alexander was looking up at him with cool acceptance. He wouldn't dirty his dignity by something as base as pleading for mercy or cursing at Maxim, like all of Maxim's other prey had.

Maxim was waiting for...something. Whatever it was that had so excited him yesterday, when Alexander had been laid bare and wanting. He had the small, handsome man sitting right in his lap. If there was something more, Maxim couldn't see it.

Was this really what Maxim had been looking forward to all day? Another lonely night on the couch with nothing but a dead weight in his stomach to keep him company?

Alexander gave up on his whole 'get it over with quickly' plan and broke the silence. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Are you questioning my authority?" It came out harsh, but internally, Maxim was glad Alexander had said something. Silly as it sounded, it reminded Maxim that Alexander was still alive. Maybe even had some fight left.

"Just asking, sir." Alexander got a similar vibe from Maxim now as he had in the office yesterday, that Maxim was putting off the decisive action. Yesterday, Maxim had claimed he needed time to digest the first prey, but today, Maxim's stomach was flat. Alexander wondered what his excuse would be this time.

"I'm still your superior, temp," Maxim growled in Alexander's ear. "And if you're not satisfied with your current situation, I would be happy to relieve you of your duties."

"My- are you serious?" Alexander said incredulously. "Are you actually firing me? I thought you were just eating me?"

"Who gives a shit," Maxim groaned.

"I do, I guess. Why, is that a problem? That I care about my job?"

"You are infuriating. I honestly can't tell if you're that deep in denial or straight-up suicidal."

"Neither. I'm realistic. From the moment I walked into your office yesterday, there was no chance you'd let me live. And even if I manage to escape, I'd be living in constant fear." Alexander sighed. "Or, if I did commit suicide, you'd just eat someone else in my place."

Maxim hadn't expected things to get this heavy. "You've thought about this a lot, huh?"

"What else do you want me to do? Work?" Alexander laughed coldly. "Try setting up job interviews when you're on death row. Can't be done."

"You're telling that to me, your boss?" Maxim grinned. "Pretty ballsy of you, temp."

"Am I still a temp? I thought I was fired."

"Doesn't matter. Because first and foremost, you're food," Maxim hissed.

Alexander sensed that that was Maxim's way of ending the conversation, and took a deep breath the second before Maxim lifted Alexander to his lips.

Maxim would work more delicately this time. It had to be perfect. He had to taste everything he could, each flinching contour of Alexander's face. Alexander's free hands moved up to try and push Maxim's mouth away, but Maxim adjusted his grip to pin Alexander's arms to his sides. He swallowed, catching Alexander's head in his throat, and hummed contentedly at the familiar sensation.

Exactly where you want to be, right, little prey?

Maxim could taste Alexander's sweater vest now, but he was hungry for more. He let go of Alexander's arms, but before he could start fighting back again, Maxim grabbed his ass and pushed him firmly inside, bringing Alexander's shoulders past his teeth, restricting his arm movement.

With a firm hold on Alexander's lower body, Maxim swallowed around Alexander's torso, savoring the stretch of his shoulders pressing against the entrance of his throat. Alexander's head thrashed against the inside of Maxim's chest. He wasn't at the stomach yet. That surprise would have to wait a bit longer.

So far, this was familiar to Alexander. The odd sensation of falling, slowly, while pressed from all sides by warm, pliant muscle. His treacherous body was responding to it again, focusing twitching energy at his core. Hopefully the jeans would hide that this time.

He could faintly feel Maxim's tongue pressing against his sweatervest, but the sensation was much duller compared to last time. Alexander couldn't imagine his clothes tasted any good, but Maxim was sure taking his time regardless. Somewhere outside, Alexander's legs were being held to prevent his natural descent. Maxim was drawing the experience out. Alexander supposed he might be lucky and pass out again, so he wouldn't have to witness his messy fate.

But Maxim was cognizant of his time limit, and, hoping to avoid a repeat of last time, swallowed Alexander further inside, feeling his head press against the final section of esophagus and into the relative openness of Maxim's stomach. It was still stretched from yesterday's meal, but no less hungry. It felt like Maxim's stomach knew it had been cheated of a second course the other day, and was eager to right that wrong.

Maxim still had Alexander's legs to enjoy. This tended to be when the prey started to panic, getting their first taste of stomach acid and flailing their legs. But while Alexander gave a kick of surprise as he was pushed into Maxim's organ, he wasn't resisting. Maxim wasn't even restraining his legs. If he'd wanted to, Alexander could've swung his legs freely, maybe even gained enough momentum to rock himself back up Maxim's throat.

So why didn't Alexander want to?

Maxim wished he could stop to talk, but he was halfway through a meal, and he couldn't do anything else until it was finished. He didn't know how to communicate to Alexander that he was serious this time, except to swallow more forcefully, to handle his legs more roughly. He pressed his fingernails into Alexander's jeans until he was sure Alexander could feel it, when Alexander tried twisting his legs out of Maxim's grasp. He tried closing his jaw around Alexander's bare waist, where his sweatervest had hitched up, but found he could bite down only half a centimeter. No way he could break the skin.

The sensation of teeth on his bare skin did make Alexander start panicking, but not in the way Maxim had hoped. The image of his body being torn in half by razor-sharp fangs (which Maxim didn't have, but Alexander didn't have the presence of mind to remember) was among the worst scenarios Alexander had envisioned. In an effort to get his body out of the way of Maxim's teeth, Alexander pulled himself forward, deeper.

Maxim was caught by surprise when Alexander's hips went inside his mouth of their own accord. He felt Alexander rock against his stomach, trying to further speed the process gravity was already addressing. Too quickly, Maxim was up to Alexander's knees, and with one final wrench, the last of Alexander waited at the back of his throat. Maxim's stomach was stretched full. There wasn't enough room for Alexander to finish the job without Maxim's approval.

Maxim's stomach pooled happily over his lap. He felt Alexander's head moving, probably trying to ascertain which direction was up. Maxim was still in the process of finishing Alexander's legs, but he knew it would only take one more swallow to get all of him down. To finally finish Alexander.

Maxim closed his eyes and flexed his throat. He tried to engrave the feeling of Alexander's feet sliding past the base of his tongue into his mind. There was a sick sense of accomplishment, like finishing a project that was already long overdue. Like it didn't really matter. The way the last of Alexander fell into his stomach was just like every other meal.

Maxim felt Alexander testing the walls of his stomach, familiarizing himself. He wasn't kicking or elbowing a way out, just exploring.

"Why don't you hurt me," Maxim grumbled, realizing afterwards that he was talking to no one. He'd tried before, but from what he could tell, prey he'd swallowed couldn't really understand what he was saying unless he yelled, and he wouldn't give Alexander the satisfaction.

A little more probing, and Alexander either got tired or bored. Maxim felt him settle in, held still between Maxim's pelvic bone and his rib cage. Silence from a swallowed prey was normally a sign of triumph, but this time it felt wrong, like Maxim had performed inadequately.

His heart pounded at the terrifying thought that he had overlooked something, and that Alexander was either too weak or stubborn to tell him. Maxim took a few deep breaths, both to calm himself and to possibly give Alexander even the smallest amount of fresh air. From past experience, Maxim estimated he had about three minutes before his prey ran out of air. He had three minutes to think before he did anything irreversible.

Alexander was an asset, same as any other prey, one that Maxim was free to liquidate anytime he saw fit. But what made Alexander different was the value he generated over time. Maxim had never fantasized about any specific prey before. No prey had fascinated Maxim like Alexander did. Those were residuals Maxim would lose if he liquidated Alexander now.

Alexander may have had a point about the cost of training new-hires. Financially, it was much better to retain your current workforce. Better return on investment.

With a satisfied nod, Maxim got off the couch, holding his engorged stomach with both hands, and went to the bathroom to restructure his finances.

The sudden cold forced Alexander awake. He wasn't drowning in spit this time, but he was still unpleasantly damp. He rubbed his bleary eyes and felt around. Wherever he was, it wasn't organic. He was somewhere cool, smooth, and bright.

A rush of lukewarm water landed on his head and ruined the surprise. He opened his eyes to a large, custom-made bathtub, beside which knelt Maxim holding the detachable showerhead.

"I'm not letting you muck up my carpet," Maxim warned. "The janitorial staff take care of my office, not my house." He moved the showerhead over Alexander's head and onto his back, giving him a chance to brush the hair out of his eyes.

"This time, are we going to discus it?" Alexander asked, looking up at Maxim warily. He felt awful, sitting on hard porcelain in sopping wet jeans, every part of his body sore. But he was at least alive enough to feel awful.

Maxim considered. "This kind of discussion should really be had at the office, but fine. Alexander, what would you say to a promotion?"

"I thought I wasn't supposed to care about my job."

Maxim sprayed Alexander in the face with the showerhead, and smirked when Alexander sputtered disdainfully.

"You should care about your job now. Because after some careful consideration, I've decided to hire you on full-time."

#v.ore #vore writing #soft vore #same size vore #willing pred #unwilling prey #male pred #male prey #exit interview #cock writes

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morizoras-cave · 4 years ago

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Weird (Request)

MCU Cast x gn!teen!co-star!reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Request Description: Hello ❤💓could i please request a x teen reader were she has a really quirky and bubbly personality and the cast loves it but she starts getting bullied at school for it and shes acting shy and doesnt talk anymore and there all concerned.⚘💓❤😘

Warnings: bullying, general sadness, insecurity

(A/N): decided to do this request with chris evans, anthony mackie, sebastian stan, scarlett johansson, and elizabeth olsen (as i have previously stated, fitting the entire cast into it is impossible, so i usually have to pick). i hope this doesnt affect the requesters enjoyment of it :)

“I’m considering picking up some lye,” you said bluntly. Everyone that had attended Chris’ I’m-sorry-I-forgot-I-was-hosting-dinner dinner looked up from their Chinese takeout boxes.

“Like, the chemical lye?” Anthony asked, picking at a piece of chicken with his chopsticks. You hummed and nodded, doing the same.

“Why?” Sebastian asked.

“I’m considering getting into the soap making business,” you said, “there’s some real money in that market.”

“Really?” Scarlett said, chuckling along with everyone else at the horrible, scrambling-to-even-be-called-a-dinner dinner.

“Don’t laugh, guys. You might be seeing my custom soaps in The Body Shop soon,” you joked and once more everyone laughed, shaking their heads.

“Good luck with that,” Elizabeth said.

“Thank you, I’ll need it, seeing as lye is apparently very fun to eat and also very toxic,” you sipped your coke, bubbles long gone, leaving the sticky and sweet juice behind.

It was like that every time you were around. You always had something strange you had been pondering about, wether it was soap-making, a career in shipwreck exploration, or investing in a live action Thomas the Train movie. Every single time the cast was with you, they were waiting for the next weird thing to come from your mouth and they were never disappointed.

You were a lovely, outgoing, yet casually blunt young person, and you were simply wonderful to be around. Like a breath of fresh air each time they were around you. Refreshingly happy.

And you loved being weird. You loved being yourself, even if you were a bit of an outsider. Not in the sense that you were better than anyone else, you were just slightly different. You always felt there was nothing wrong with that.

Well, you did. Then things changed. Your schedule working with the movie was lined up, so you had at least two days a week in regular school, often more. You were happy, because it meant you weren’t sacrificing your education to be in a movie.

Then these girls started bothering you. You could always tell that they didn’t exactly like you, which you actually understood. You always knew that you could easily come off as pretentious and snobby when someone didn’t know you, especially seeing as you were a ‘quirky’ movie star.

But then they started talking to your friends. Which was fine. But then when you tried to speak to your friends, everything changed. Those girls were practically bristling at your presence, your friends included.

But you didn’t let that bother you. You still had plenty of friends on set, as you considered all of your cast members to be your friends. And they considered you a friend as well.

But then those girls at school decided that they weren’t done. First, they said things that were very obviously about you, but were disguised as something else. And they’d always make sure you’d hear.

“I think I’d like to be an actor,” one of the girls had said. They had been sitting on a bench a little bit away from your locker, where you were cramming a physics book in.

“Oh my god, Lacey, you’re so quirky and weird!” another one had said, and your mood had crumbled, realizing they were making fun of you. You had just closed your locker and left, but you had still heard their giggles at your obviously upset state.

Then they just started blatantly making fun of you, saying you were ugly and untalented, but what hurt you most was when they said you had an annoying, attention-seeking personality.

You started questioning things about yourself that you never questioned. Were you attention-seeking? Was your personality annoying? Were you even a good actor?

You would tell your friends, but they didn’t seem to like you anymore, and with your new insecurity about your personality, you even wondered if the cast really liked you, or if they just found you annoying like everyone else.

So you told no one, and you decided, determined, that you would be less annoying and more quiet.

“Hey, Y/n! You’re here!” Sebastian exclaimed, as you entered Elizabeth’s rented flat. He was holding a drink in one of his hands and ran to hug you at the door. You hugged back gently.

“Are you ready for an actually prepared dinner this time?” Elizabeth said slyly, smirking at Chris, who had definitely heard enough about that one time he forgot to plan the dinner.

“Ha ha, very funny, Liz,” he said. You watched them in amusement, holding back multiple snarky comments.

Sebastian, Elizabeth, and Chris had all turned to you, and it took you a moment to realize they were expecting you to say something. There was an awkward moment where just watched them, before they snapped out of it, coughing and shuffling uncomfortably.

“Uh, anyway, table’s this way!” Elizabeth guided you all to the large table. Anthony and Scarlett were already there, mid-conversation and bobbing their heads to ‘Anaconda’ played from Elizabeth’s stereo.

“Y/n’s here!” Scarlett said excitedly and you sat down sheepishly.

“Yep.”

You watched everyone around the table exchange glances, before all eyes landed back on you.

“Are you okay?” Chris asked carefully. He was sitting next to you.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, fiddling with your napkin, “just a little stressed about school.” You forced a smile.

“.. Alright,” Anthony said said reluctantly. There was a moment of silence, because if you weren’t happy, there had to be something seriously wrong with the world.

“Uh, I think the chicken’s ready,” Elizabeth said, changing the subject. Everyone mumbled in relief.

The night went on and everyone had conversations and small laughs as they ate, but it was very clear that something was off. Scarlett tried bringing you into the conversations several times, but you immediately clammed up.

It was becoming increasingly clear to the cast, that it was obviously not stress from school (which none of them bought anyway). You noticed the awkwardness too, contemplating if you were being too much of a downer. They would probably have a better time if you didn’t drag them down, you thought.

“I should go,” you said suddenly, making their heads snap towards you. You forked your untouched chicken.

“Why?” Sebastian asked, as you stood up and grabbed your jacket. You stilled.

You were conflicted in that moment, wondering wether to confess to them or suck it up and go home. You just didn’t know how to be less of a bother.

“Don’t lie,” Scarlett said, noticing your conflicted state. You frowned.

“Am I.. Annoying?” you whispered. There was a moment of silence.

“What?” Chris exclaimed, baffled. You looked up at them.

“Am I- Am I weird? Because if so, I-I can just go home-”

There came a choir of whats and nos, and outrage from the table. Everyone spoke over one another for a moment, desperately trying to let you know as clearly as possible.

“Hey!” Anthony’s booming voice shut the rest of the guests up. He looked you in the eyes, “None of us think or have ever thought that you were annoying. And for your information, you’re only weird in a good way. Now, would you mind telling us why you suddenly think this?”

He was calm in a way the public never saw him. Dropping the silliness and handling the situation. It was quiet then.

You felt horribly sad, as you thought about those girls at school. You sighed and blinked away tears. Your cast members’ faces grew even more worried at this.

“Come on, N/n. Sit down again and let’s talk about this,” Elizabeth said gently, patting your chair. You nodded hesitantly, and sat down. You fiddled with your napkin self-consciously. They waited for you to speak.

“Well.. There are these girls at my school. I don’t know- They just.. Started making fun of me, I guess,” you mumbled, ashamed and avoiding their gazes.

“They said you were annoying?” Chris asked.

You nodded. Sighs could be heard around the table. If you had dared look up, you’d have seen several clenched jaws and fists, displeased faces, and frowns.

“Have you told anyone?” Sebastian then asked.

You shook your head. You felt someone grasp your hand and looked up to see Sebastian, sitting across from you, holding your hand gently. He smiled sympathetically.

“First of all, Y/n, you’re not at all annoying. You’re the type of person anyone can love, you’re so refreshing to be around, and you always have something funny to say,” Scarlett begun after a moment of silence. You smiled softly.

“Secondly, this is something you need to tell the principle, and I don’t want to hear anything about how you don’t want to confront them or anything. You shouldn’t tolerate that,” her voice was tough and determined. You knew she was right, so you nodded.

There was a moment of silence.

“So.. Have you discovered anything strange you want to share with us?” Anthony asked then. A large, toothy smile enveloped your face, as you remembered that there was, in fact, something you had been excited to share with them.

“Yeah, so, uhm.. I’ve been playing this game..”

And with that, everything was back to normal. You entertained them like you always did with your bright and bubbly personality, and you felt confident and happy again.

It would take you a lot longer than just that night, to fully understand why you were amazing and exactly why you weren’t annoying, but the most important thing was that you were happy and confident right then and there.

You called the principle, of course, and those girls were expelled. Your friends apologized for their behavior, but you decided not to be friends with them again, not with the way they treated you. You weren’t mean about it, just got some better, more sincere friends.

Although, you were grateful for friends you had had in that time. Your cast mates started complimenting you more, just slightly here and there. And if any interviewer or fan commented on your personality, the cast would get incredibly protective very fast.

They knew that your personality was an easy place for people to pick on you, and they just wanted to make sure, that you knew you were a lovely human being. And with how much they reminded you, it got hard to forget. But that’s only a good thing, because you really are a good person :)

___________________________

Tag List:

@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @lozzypoz321 @allthecreativeonesaretaken @missamericana713 @rororo06 @shady80smusicsingercolor @ireadfanficforfun @deephideoutmilkshake @rae-is-typing @sophs-library @herecomesthewriterwitch

#chris evans x reader #sebastian stan x reader #anthony mackie x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #scarlett johansson x reader #marvel cast x reader #mcu cast x reader #avengers cast x reader #avengers cast x teen!reader #chris evans angst #sebastian stan angst #anthony mackie angst #elizabeth olsen angst #avengers cast angst #scarlett johansson angst

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dreamkidddream · 4 years ago

Note

Hello sunshine, would it be possible for you to write me some headcanons for my beloved Chuuya, Dazai and Atsushi? I was thinking about them having a fragil health s/o? Maybe they work an office job in the ada/pm and they somehow fall for the s/o? I hope this is no trouble and you have inspiration to write this. If you don't like this you can just ignore it. Thank you very much :)

Hi anon! Thank you for the request! So I’m assuming that when you say fragile health s/o is that the reader can get sick easily/overall very weak? I hope that I got the interpretation right, and I didn’t please feel free to send it in again so I can do it over for you. Reader is gender neutral, and hope you enjoy!

TW: Suicide (Dazai’s part, nothing heavy is mentioned, and it’s only in one line) and Abuse (Atsushi’s, nothing heavy is mentioned)

Easily Sick/Weak S/O with: Chuuya, Dazai, and Atsushi

Chuuya

Oh man, he hated this feeling. He already hated you even working in the Port Mafia (even though he was there too), but he hated it even more since you were weak physically

Don’t get him wrong, Chuuya knows that you’re a strong person through and through, but it was so easy for you to get hurt or sick working on the field, it honestly made him worried

What also made him worried was how he was falling for you and quickly. He’s an executive! He doesn’t have the time for romance, and what if (really when if because he wants you so bad you have no idea) someone decides to come after you because of your ties with him? It was already so easy for him to lose you now, he didn’t want to chance things and speed up the process

But, you were just...a really great person. You were determined, always kept your head up, didn’t take anything from anyone (you backtalked Mori once and still walked away with your throat intact, so that was a sign), and it didn’t help that you were really easy on the eyes (he couldn’t help it, you were already attractive, and those things were just icing on the cake for him)

Chuuya didn’t know how you could stand being in a stuffy office all day, so he always stopped by to check on some “information” for some “case he’s working on). It started out genuine, but then it became a daily occurrence, even on his rare days off.

One thing about him is that he’s a true gentleman, he knows how to treat his partner right. Bringing lunch to you, flowers sitting on your desk for no reason with a random note (”Hope you have a good day”, “Saw these when I was out, made me think about you”, “These don’t even compare to how beautiful you are, inside and out”, etc.), driving you home no questions asked, even offering you his favorite bottle of wine to share

He knows that he’s being cheesy but he was pulling out all the stops just for you

He knew it was risky for you to be out all the time, so whenever he did finally ask you on an “official” date (you thought sharing his wine was a date but he said that he wanted to show you off, not just in the office), you guys were either in a fully reserved restaurant or at his place. Seriously the way his place looks was like luxury! Damn you knew his job paid good money but wow! This was better than going out honestly

He confessed when you went over to his house one night. It was a particularly rough day for you both, and you just needed some reassurance which Chuuya was happy to give. It seemed like he went on for hours, but really it wasn’t too long, and you were in tears by the end of it. When he ended it with, “anyone would be beyond lucky to have you (Y/N), and I wish it were me. I wish I would have the chance to show you how much I really do love you, words aren’t enough for me. I’ll take the chance if you let me, and I swear you won’t regret it. Be mine, (Y/N), I’ll treat you like you deserve, and you deserve more than the world.”

You both understood the risks that came with dating you, but he swore that he would protect you with his life. If you did get sick, he couldn’t be there for you during the day because of his work, but he made sure to text you every hour on the hour to check on you and as soon as he got home, it was caretaker mode until you both went to bed

He bought you your medicine, the fluffiest pillows ever known to man, I mean did everything and anything. The dude was loaded, money was not an issue obviously

Chuuya is a great boyfriend, and will honestly do anything it takes to keep you safe and happy. He loves you after all, and he doesn’t mind all the extra work that comes with it (he doesn’t even see it as work, just precautions, which still isn’t a problem)

Dazai

He was not only worried about your health and safety, but also the fact that he was falling for you. Dazai was a very secretive person who didn’t like to show his true feelings, and he was scared of what he’s feeling for you. Him being attached and actually caring about people never paid off for him, as his past would tell you...

But here you were, being a bright, shining light in his cruel, bleak, dark world. He tried to keep his distance at first, but he couldn’t help but be drawn to you. You were so fun to be around, despite your condition! You always helped as much as you could in the office, being the first one to pick up on his work when he was too lazy busy to complete it and having reports ready for any meetings, even on short notice. You looked out for him, both as a coworker and as a caring friend, and he could tell

You even helped him annoy Kunikida sometimes, which just made you even more stunning in his eyes

He felt himself falling for you more and more everyday, finding excuses to stay in the office just to be next to you. “(Y/N), please don’t strain yourself my dear! Let me handle this for you, I would be a terrible suitor if I didn’t.” “Dazai, I just have to staple these- nevermind, thank you my knight wrapped in bandages!”

Kunikida would of course hate this and drag him out every time, but all that it concluded in was Dazai whining and complaining about how it was so unfair that he was being kept from his “precious (Y/N)” and how they must be so lonely without him. It got to a point where Kunikida made a compromise with him: if he actually does some work and help on the field missions, then he can spend more time with you in the office

I feel like they forget that Dazai is actually crazy smart and most likely already knows the culprits to whatever cases that they are handling, and he was definitely waiting for this outcome. No extra work for him and more time with you. It’s a win-win!

When he does eventually accept that he was in too deep, he started to take his advances in a more serious manner (I mean he was always being serious but he was not going to hold back anymore). He’s a great listener, so anything that said wanted that was said in passing conversation, expect it to be on your desk with a little sticky note. You had a strong craving for something? What do you know, Dazai brought just enough for both of you to share (and he gave you the bigger portion of it). You want to go see the stars? Sounds like the perfect date night for you two!

That’s how he actually confessed to you, right underneath the stars. It was perfect, you guys were away from everyone, having an amazing time just stargazing. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this at peace, and you were to thank for that. He knew that while he was risking his life on a daily basis, but you were constantly fighting for yours. You couldn’t even go on a mission with how easy it was for you to get an injury you couldn’t recover from. But he had faith in you and in himself, that he wouldn’t let another person that he cares for perish in front of him. He made that promise to you, and that he would do everything in his power to keep it. He will not fail you

After that night, your dates were usually held at your place, and it ranged from cooking together to having movie nights. You didn’t have to spend money really, you were both fine in the house in each other’s arms. And if you did get sick, you thought he was clingy before, WHEW did it get more intense

You had to push him off of you too many times to count. What part of NO HUGS did this man not get?! You were already suffering, he didn’t need to either. He did try to make this a double suicide opportunity though, and you were not very happy

Was banned from cuddles for 3 weeks straight, it was pure torture for him

You were Dazai’s distraction from this horrible joke he called a life, and he was welcoming of you. He embraced you, never complained about your weakness or anything. You were someone that he can proudly say that he loves, and that won’t ever change

Atsushi

He was so nervous, so scared. He doesn’t even know how to look everyone in the eye, how was he suppose to admit that he started to like you more than a friend?!

Atsushi was in love with you, I mean he was in deep. He couldn’t help it! You’re just so nice, so easy to talk to, always there to give him a pep talk and just keep him in high spirits. It just wasn’t fair what hand life had dealt you. He wanted to spend time with you outside of the office, but due to your delicate situation, he was so scared to. What if the Port Mafia tried to strike and he wasn’t strong enough or quick enough to protect you? He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if you died because of him. He wouldn’t be able to live-

So he tried (keyword: tried) to spend time with you at work. But with Kunikida on his ass about work, and Dazai being Dazai making his life difficult for his own amusement, made it difficult. Every time he got a chance, before he could even speak a word, someone needed him for something. If he did somehow had the spare time to talk to you, he would either choke or say something that he really meant but chickened out last minute and tried to change it (which was kinda your fault, you like to tease him sometimes too)

“So, um, (Y/N). I remembered that you said you liked that one takeout spot, so if you want I can bring you some back?”

“You would do that for me, Atsushi? Wow, it’s almost like you’re like my boyfriend!”

“Yep, I don’t mind! It makes me happy when you’re hap-w-WAIT HU-“

But besides that, he always checked on your whenever he got back from his missions (even if he was the one injured and bleeding), brought you back small trinkets or food, and always walked you home, not caring if it was out of his way

He hated that you were confined to the office majority of your time working, but he was worried that literally anything could and would happen on his watch, and he didn’t want to risk it. With Kyoka tired of watching him in distress and even Dazai showing a sliver of compassion for him, they helped him set up an inside date

But first, he had to ask you. Dazai wanted him to do some elaborate, over the top, proposal for asking you out (which Atsushi was pretty sure that he just wanted him to panic and embarrass himself) and Kyoka suggested that he gets you tofu (which he was also convinced that she just wanted some again). He decided that he was just going to have to suck it up, and do it himself. He has been through Hell and back, and if he survived that, then he could ask you on a date damn it!

So he finally got some courage, and directly went up to your desk. When you looked up, you flinched back. What was with the intense look in his eyes?! But you realized soon enough when he bowed and asked you to come over for a date. And of course you said yes!

The date was marvelous, and the poor boy was sweating so much you thought he was going to pass out! Whatever Dazai and Kyoka did to the place blew his expectations out of the water. Latern lights strung up along the walls, your favorite meals readied, little messages stuck to the wall made just for you, and the biggest/most comfortable blanket fort that you had ever seen. It sounded so simple, but one look into your eyes and you were overjoyed. He really did mean it that it made him happy that you were happy

He confessed with you snuggled into his side, so anxious yet at ease. Despite everything that he has gone through, you were brave too. You were stuck in that stressful environment, had a body that could quit on you after one bad day, yet you still encouraged him every day, every time you spoke to him after he’s had a bad day, or an encounter with Akutagawa. He was so convinced that he didn’t you, that he didn’t deserve anything good in his life after the abuse he endured at the orphanage. But you didn’t let him believe that for a second, and he’s indebted to you for that

He poured his heart out to you that night, and ever since, he’s been a lot more confident, both in his ability and in himself. You gave him that push in the right direction to trust himself more, and everyone could see the change (Dazai was pretty proud to be honest)

Dates after that were spent at his apartment, relaxing. Once in a blue moon, you guys would go to the arcade where he won you guys matching Tiger phone charms (he was a little embarrassed but he loved you and the charms too much to let it affect him)

If you did become ill, he would panic so bad that you had to bring him back down to Earth while hacking up a lung (not literally but it felt like it). He tries his best, he’s a little shaken because of how distraught he would get due to your fragile body, but he does care for you pretty well. If you need anything, he was too scared to leave you so Kyoka would be his go-to (with the promise of tofu afterwards)

(But don’t worry she’s a little worried for you too)

Atsushi knew he could never forget the horrors that he experienced at the orphanage, but you reminded him of the strength he had to not let it hold him back. He was your hero without a doubt, but you were his in the sense of how strong you really are, and how you didn’t know or believe it when he told you. You became an overall positive influence on his life, and helped him see life a little brighter and more meaningful. He loves you more than you could imagine, and he would continue to prove it to you in everything that he does.

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #reader insert #bsd imagines #bsd chuuya x reader #bsd headcanons #bsd dazai x reader #bsd atsushi x reader #atsushi x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #osamu dazai x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #atsushi nakajima x reader #bungou stray dogs reader insert #bsd

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tightwadspoonies · 4 years ago

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The Joy of Raising (and eating) Your Very Own Yeast Child(ren)

I know I am, statistically, late to this bandwagon.

Once a mysterious realm that only seasoned bakers would dare enter, the world of baking with a home yeast starter has become much less foreign to the scores of reluctant public health enthusiasts trying to find a way to use their sudden increase in free time.

It’s also because yeast is both reasonably expensive (like $5 for a jar that lasts a while, granted, but if you make all of your own bread, it quickly becomes the expensive ingredient) and frankly when everyone is making yeasty baked goods and supply chains are disrupted due to a pesky global pandemic, you want to have a backup. Discard also makes the food you eat just a little better for you (see below), and if you’re relying on more starchy things like flour in your diet for budget reasons, why not get everything you can out of all the other ingredients?

I, like everyone else, made like three sourdough starters in the last 12 months. I then let them die because holy crap those things 1, ate way more than I expected them to, and 2, I kept ending up with this stinktastic, slowly-fermenting glob of goo (the discard) in a takeout container on my porch because otherwise my entire apartment would have smelled like it.

I know I’m not doing a great job of selling it, but I wanted to make a post that showed it really was possible to not only sustainably and economically grow and maintain your own edible bacteria-and-yeast colony in an old jam jar, but really make it a part of your family.

1- How to Make a Starter:

Before we can really get into the joys of raising a pet sourdough starter, you have to actually get your hands on one. It’s actually way, way easier than I thought:

First, you get the following:

A jar with a lid (preferably glass- my first one was a pasta sauce jar from Aldi, but anything that’s clear-ish and around a pint/500ish ml will work great)

A half cup or so of whole wheat flour (if you don’t use whole wheat flour often, it will only be a few cents if you buy it in the bulk section)

6-7 tablespoons of tap water

A clean spoon

A rubber band or dry erase marker (optional but recommended)

All-purpose white flour to feed

Second, you put the flour and water in the jar and mix until it forms a thin, sticky paste

Third, cover loosely with the lid, and mark the level of water-flour paste either by putting the rubber band around the jar or marking it with a dry-erase marker.

Fourth, wait like 24 hours for bubbles to appear. These are CO2 bubbles released as the wild yeast and bacteria that is naturally present in whole wheat flour eats the wheat starch.

Fifth, once your flour-water-yeast goo doubles in size, scoop out half of it and discard (it should be stretchy, sticky, and bubbly in texture and smell pleasantly yeasty and ferment-y), place a quarter cup of all-purpose flour and 3 tbsp of water in the jar and mix with the remaining starter. Repeat every time the mixture doubles in size.

Note: if you go too long without feeding your yeast baby, it will form a watery layer and start to stink. All you have to do to save it is get as much of the watery stuff out as possible, discard half, and feed it until the smell and texture return to normal.

Once you start having to do this multiple times per day, congrats! You have a live and active sourdough starter!

2- What to Do With All That Goo (or ”discard”):

So basically now you have a boring, hungry toddler that really likes flour and outputs a lot of gooey discard.

First, don’t think of discard as a waste! You should think of your starter as a yeast farm and the throw-away portion (the “discard”) as the product.

Using discard in recipes not only lends a deeper flavor and chewier texture to baked goods, but helps partially digest the wheat starches (making discard slightly lower in quick carbohydrates than traditional flour), acts as a prebiotic (the fiber in discard-laden baked goods is better for feeding your gut bacteria, which helps you digest things more thoroughly), decreases the amount of gluten, and the lactic acid bacteria in discard increases the amount of nutrients like folate, potassium, and magnesium that the body can absorb during digestion. Basically, it lets you get more out of the food you eat and makes baked goods (slightly) better for you!

Here’s how you can use it (remember that measurements shown below are “stirred down” discard, meaning you have to stir the bubbles out of your discard before measuring):

Bread/bagels/english muffins- replace the active dry yeast portion of the recipe with a quarter cup of discard, and let the dough rise 12 or more hours after kneading. This longer rise time is required because the wild yeasts are not quite as active (or voracious) as their cultivated cousins, and you want time for the whole thing to get nice and sour from the lactic acid bacteria.

Crackers/thin-crust pizza dough- replace half the flour in a cracker/pizza dough recipe with discard and omit yeast.

Crepes/pancakes/waffles- replace up to 3/4 of the flour in a crepe, waffle or pancake recipe with discard, and omit yeast.

Quickbreads- replace up to 3/4 of the flour in a quickbread (pumpkin, apple, zucchini, banana bread, etc...) with discard and adjust liquid to desired consistency.

Brownies- replace as much as all of the flour in your brownie recipe with discard and adjust the liquid to the desired consistency.

Granola- replace the binder (usually honey or sugar) in granola and granola bar recipes with discard, and sweeten to taste.

Pie crust- replace half the flour in your pie crust with discard, add the discard when you would normally add the water, and omit the water.

Batter for fried fish/chicken/potato wedges/veg, etc...- water down the discard with some beer or water, dip your fried things, and fry.

3- Preserving Your Starter Colony When You Have More Bread and Crackers Than You Can Comfortably Eat:

As much as you’d like to think you’ll use discard for every recipe, you might find that your creativity (or just your tolerance for discard-flavored things) gets stretched a little thin over time.

That’s okay!

Here are a few great ways to save your starter without needing to feed it every 12 hours:

Fridge it- If you just want less discard, put your whole starter colony in your fridge- the cold slows down the yeast’s digestion so you only have to feed it once per week.

Freeze it- if you have a few days that you don’t have anything to do with your discard or want to save up for a bigger recipe, portion it into greased ice cube trays, freeze it, and then pop the discard chunks out and store in a ziploc or jar. Thaw it to use in larger recipes down the line.

Dry it- spread your discard on parchment paper-lined baking trays and let it air out at room temperature for a few days, then chop it up and store in an airtight container (with some burnt flour in a little cloth envelop if you live in a humid climate).

Gift it/sell it: You’d be surprised at how many people feel the need to buy an existing starter. Feed your starter and then portion it into small jars (baby food, etc... with labels removed), then freeze the jars. Gift or sell these frozen portions by tying a little ribbon around them (feel free to name them and write the parent starter’s date of birth on the ribbon) and sending them off with a little printout of how to care for them.

#sourdough starter #starter #discard #tightwadery

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salt-and-spice · 3 years ago

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Homemade Pizza

Pizza -- it’s filling, it’s delicious, and it’s kinda fun to stuff with since eating the whole thing is a nice concrete goal. It’s also pretty simple to make from scratch, and because homemade pizza less greasy than takeout pizza, maybe you’ll be able to fit an extra slice or two. ♡

[Recipe under the cut]

The Method:

1. Combine 3/4 cup of warm water (it should definitely be warm, but still cool enough to comfortably touch) and 1.5 tsp of white sugar in a large bowl. Stir to dissolve.

2. Add in a 1 packet (2 1/4 tsp) of active dry yeast*. Stir in with a fork, then leave for ~10 minutes until the liquid is foamy.

3. If you desire, add a dash each of garlic powder and dried basil. Then add 2 tbsp of olive oil and stir.

4. Add 2 cups of flour, mixing between each cup. You can use a wooden spoon, but I often find that at a certain point it’s better to just get in there with your hands and knead the dough together in the bowl. The dough should eventually begin to form a sticky but cohesive ball. If it doesn’t form a ball, add a bit more flour. If it feels too dry -- tbh it’s probably not, just keep mixing! But if you’re absolutely sure it is, add a tiny bit more water.

5. Brush the inside of another large bowl with olive oil and transfer your dough ball into it. Roll the dough around to coat it with oil, then cover with plastic wrap. Leave until doubled in size, about 30-40 minutes. During this time, preheat the oven to 425 F.

6. Lightly dust a clean patch of countertop with flour. Tip the risen dough out (it will deflate -- that’s fine!) and knead it a few times. It should feel smooth and elastic.

7. Now it’s time to roll the dough out. Ideally, you’ll have a rolling pin for this, but in my day I’ve used wine bottles, cans, sturdy glasses... just make sure it’s clean. The dough should roll out to be about 12″ in diameter, but no need to be precise. Just roll to your desired crust thickness.

8. Poke a few holes in the crust with a fork. Now transfer the dough onto your pizza pan or baking sheet. If you wanna be real fancy, you can dust the pan with a little corn meal before you do this -- that gives the bottom of the pizza that lovely texture you find in some restaurants.

9. Time to decorate! Add your favorite sauce, mozzarella cheese, and toppings. Some recommendations:

tomato sauce with sausage chunks/slices and diced red pepper

tomato sauce with pepperoni and pineapple

pesto with cherry tomatoes and cooked chicken breast

fresh basil on literally any pizza (add to the pizza when it’s just about baked, so it’ll only be in the oven for a few minutes)

my brother swears by adding a drizzle of barbecue sauce to the top of his pizza ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ maybe you’ll like it too

10. Bake your pizza for ~15 minutes. Honestly I never time the bake, I just check it when I start to smell delicious pizza and remove when the crust is golden brown.

11. Enjoy!

* If you have instant yeast rather than active dry yeast, you’ll start your dough a little differently. Mix all the dry ingredients (yeast included) together, then add the water and oil. Continue from step 4.

#re.cipes

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delicious-tube · 3 years ago

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Crispy chicken coated with delicious sweet, tangy, sticky orange sauce! | Crispy Orange Chicken

Takeout favorite Crispy Orange Chicken recipe!! Crispy chicken coated with delicious sweet, tangy, sticky orange sauce. With our simple instructions, you can make crispy orange chicken at home, way better than your local takeout.

Watch The Recipe Video Here!

#Orange Chicken #Chicken #chicken recipes #chicken nuggets #fried chicken #recipe #dinner

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

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Only the Light Ch. 4

Description: Missy and Scully’s girls night gets interrupted by an uninvited guest.

Read on Ao3 here. Tagging @today-in-fic.

A long--and fun!--part. Hope you enjoy!

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

The elevator doors part, releasing Scully into the tranquility of her hallway. She steps out, glad to be away from the bustling FBI building and the noisy street and the elevator so squeaky that she’s pretty sure she’ll find herself trapped in it one of these days. That’s a problem for another time. For now, all Scully wants is to take off her shoes, pantyhose, and bra. The simple pleasures.

She sticks her key in the doorknob and turns. The deadbolt clicks. She’s locked it. She sighs. Missy left the door unlocked again. She twists the key the other way and it opens. She enters and drops the key, her purse, and her badge on the side table.

“It’s me!” Her voice echoes through the place.

“I’m in here,” Missy responds from the kitchen.

Scully enters the kitchen. Her sister’s still in the hostess uniform for the restaurant job she just got. She flips mindlessly through an issue of Better Homes and Garden.

“You left the door unlocked again.”

Missy flips a page of the magazine so hard she almost tears it. “Oops.”

Scully sighs and sits down at the table. Her sister has always been the dramatic type.

“How was training?” she offers.

Missy sets down the magazine as if she’s thankful to have an out.

“Pretty standard for an upscale eatery that calls itself casual but charges twenty dollars for a bowl of soup. Turns out, the East Coast isn’t actually that different from the West Coast.”

“Wow. Who’ve thought?”

Missy chuckles. “I know, right?”

“Speaking of the West Coast…”

Melissa groans. Her sister’s been trying to get information about her whereabouts ever since she moved in. She’s under the impression that everyone’s life is as interesting as working for the FBI, and while Melissa tries to make hers so, there’s just not much to report. Except for the one thing she’s specifically avoiding. She will tell Dana at some point, she has to, but for now she doesn’t want to add to the cacophony of things her sister has to worry about. Besides, it’s not anything bad. If anything, Melissa is looking forward to telling her. It’s their mother she’s worried about.

“I told you, it’s nothing juicy. I was out there doing odd jobs. Waitressing, mostly. There was a stint as a gas station attendant.”

Scully laughs. “A gas station attendant?”

“In Oregon you’re not allowed to pump your own gas.”

Scully raises her eyebrows. “Seems like it wouldn’t be a very safe job for a young woman late at night.”

Missy shrugs, then, with the dedication of an Oscar-winning actress, says, “It was a male dominated profession, but I made do.”

Scully smiles. She knows the feeling. She steps out of her heels and carries them into her bedroom. She shimmies off her pantyhose, then sits on the edge of the bed and presses her thumbs deep into the arches of her feet. Heaven. After a moment of bliss, she takes a pair of pink fuzzy socks from her drawer and slips them on.

She returns to the kitchen--“Have you had dinner?”

“Just a bowl of salad,” Missy replies.

“Am I to assume by your pitiful tone that you’re up for something else?”

“If you order something and tell me I can have it, who am I to say no?”

Scully chuckles. “How courteous.” She pulls out a drawer full of take-out menus in various conditions. Some of them Scully has had since her Academy days.

“The ones on the top are Mexican, the middle is Chinese and Japanese, after that is Italian, and the bottom ones are Indian.”

Few things that Dana has said have surprised Melissa as little as this organizational structure. What she doesn’t expect is the sheer volume of her sister’s collection. Her eyes widen as she approaches the drawer. There’s literally hundreds of menus stacked in there.

“Um, may I ask for the chef’s recommendations?”

Scully pulls a couple menus out like it’s nothing.

“Well, if you’re in the mood for curry, this one is great,” she slides a colorful menu toward Missy. “But this is the best Chinese takeout in the city.” She sets down a menu with the Chinese symbols for good fortune on it (yes, Missy knows some Chinese). Missy figures they could both use some good fortune, so she picks up that one.

“Do they have hot & sour soup?”

“I’m sure. I always have the fried rice and orange chicken.”

“Oh, that sounds good too. Can we do a bowl of hot & sour soup and two portions of rice with orange chicken?”

Scully picks up the phone. “Of course.” She dials the number from the menu. As it’s ringing, Missy whispers, “And fortune cookies?”

“They always give you some. They’re not very goo-” The restaurant picks up. A fast-talking voice buzzes in Scully’s ear.

Melissa laughs at this slip. As her sister’s about to recite the order, she adds, “I don’t care, I just want to read them.”

Scully tells the woman the order, confirms that it’ll come with fortune cookies, and gives them her address and unit number. She thanks the woman, hangs up the phone.

“It’ll be 25 minutes,” she tells Missy.

“Perfect.” Scully can tell from the sound of her voice that she’s up to no good.

“Perfect for whatever villainous plot you’re about to drag me into, you mean?”

“Perfect for us to get ready for the girl’s night we’re about to have,” she replies matter-of-factly.

Scully opens her mouth to protest, but Missy beats her to it. “I know, I know. It’s Thursday, you have work tomorrow, you’re tired...but it doesn’t have to be anything grand. Just a little self-care and relaxation, okay?”

Scully frowns in her funny, ‘I’m not actually upset, I just can’t think of a good comeback’ way.

“And besides,” Missy continues, “you don’t wanna be a party pooper, do you?”

Scully frowns for real this time. This unearths some childhood insecurities she had forgotten she had. It conjures up the image of teenaged Missy with a pack of cigarettes--their mother’s--begging her to sneak out the window and smoke them together, that it would be fun. How she said no until she couldn’t bear her sister’s juvenile belittling anymore. It figures that she has to be guilted into having fun. She bets that her parents would never have imagined that their little girl smoked a cigarette younger than their free-spirited daughter ever did.

“Come onnnnn,” Missy drawls. “We can get in our pajamas and slippers, and I have some avocado face masks we can do. Plus, I brought my box set of Golden Girls.”

Scully can’t help but smile at that. On nights before big exams in medical school, she would put Blanche, Dorothy, Sophia, and Rose on in the background to keep her company as she studied. She called it her golden good luck charm because she passed every test she did this with.

“Fine.”

Fine. The Dana stamp of approval! Missy leaps into action. “Go get dressed, and I’ll grab the face masks.”

Scully does as she’s told (per usual). She chooses her silkiest pajama set because this feels like an occasion to go all out. A few minutes later, she’s sitting on the couch letting Missy spread the avocado paste across her face.

“Is this just mashed up avocado?” she asks. “Could we eat this?”

“I think there’s honey in it too.” Missy scraps a dot off where it spilled over to Scully’s headband and licks it. “Not bad...Are you that hungry?”

Scully chuckles. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Well, if it does to your insides what it does to your face, then watch out.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that,” Scully remarks.

“Good choice.” Missy finishes Scully’s face and turns so that Scully can do hers. Scully dips a finger into the green paste. It’s cold and sticky, not exactly a desirable combination.

“Do you do this a lot?” she asks Missy.

“Usually once a week, if I think of it.”

Scully wouldn’t have the time to think of it, let alone do it. “That’s nice,” she says wistfully, realizing there’s not much farther she can take the subject.

“I brew some tea, light some incense, and boom. My own personal nirvana.”

“Mmm.” Scully’s feeling increasingly isolated by this conversation. Missy reads her mind in the typical way.

“You don’t take much time for yourself.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“I just don’t have much time in general,” Scully replies on the defensive.

“And you certainly don’t allot what you do have to yourself.”

Scully lifts her finger off Missy’s face, dips it back into the paste. “I take care of myself,” she says.

“But you don’t spoil yourself.”

“Who am I to be spoiled?” And there is the fundamental ideological difference between Missy and her sister. Missy, who wants life to be overflowing with joy, bereft of nothing. Dana, who believes that nothingness gives her strength, and strength gives her character.

The delivery man's knock on the door eclipses any response Melissa was planning to make. Probably for the best. This is the rift the sisters cannot manage to pave over.

Missy grabs the food and pays the man. She knows her sister would be embarrassed to be seen with the mask on, and she’ll do anything to make Dana’s life that much easier.

They dig in, eating straight from the cartons. Missy insists on using chopsticks, which works great for the chicken but not so hot on the rice. She doesn’t bother trying them with the soup. Scully doesn’t have the patience for any of it, so she sticks to the plastic fork that came with it all.

Between bites of chicken, Scully reaches for a fortune cookie. Missy swipes it out of her hand, sending it catapulting toward the floor.

“What was that for?” Scully exclaims.

“Haven’t you ever heard that it’s bad luck to read your fortune before you finish the meal?”

“No?”

“Well, that explains a lot then.”

Scully smirks, sets the cookie back on the table with the others. “I think you just wanted that one.”

Missy feigns innocence, then shrugs. “I have a good feeling about it.”

-----------

A few minutes later, the girls have settled on the couch, empty cartons of take-out strewn on the table in front of them. The four fortune cookies they received are all wrapped up. They’re too full to bother with them just yet. They chirp bits of commentary about the Golden Girls episode they’re watching back and forth between each other.

“I see some Blanche in you,” Scully comments, “but mostly I think you’re Rose.”

“She’s my favorite, so I will gladly accept that,” Missy replies.

The episode’s laugh track nearly conceals a slight rap on the door.

Scully looks toward the door. “Did you hear something?”

Missy clicks the volume down on the remote. “Maybe. I’ll check.”

She heads for the door, peeks through the peephole, then unfastens the chain and lets the door swing on its hinges.

“It’s Mulder!” she exclaims after Mulder has already stepped through the doorway.

It is, in fact, Mulder. Still in his work clothes and holding a manila folder. His eyes widen in surprise.

“Oh. Melissa.”

She smiles slyly. Evidently, he did not expect her nor her face mask.

“Hello, Fox.”

Scully pulls her feet up onto the couch and crosses her arms protectively over her chest, hoping that somehow, maybe, he won’t notice her here in her own apartment. Her first thought is that she’s not wearing a bra. She realizes that this is an unproductive thought to have because it’s not like she’s naked or anything, she’s wearing a pajama top, and he’s seen her in a pajama top before. Hell, he saw her in her underwear on their first case! Not to mention that he’d seen her on her deathbed, and is there anything more naked than that? Still, she hadn’t expected him, and she feels caught off-guard by his sudden appearance.

For what it’s worth, Mulder is caught off guard by her too. She looks...soft. Relaxed. He very rarely gets to see her in casual circumstances. Even in the assortment of motel rooms he’d sat with her in, she was always keyed up, her mind trying to piece together the puzzle of whatever case they were on. This was new territory.

“Hi, Scully,” he croaks.

“Hello,” she replies sheepishly.

Mulder can’t take his eyes off her. He’s endeared by the green face mask and all of its components. The headband pulling tendrils of her hair tenderly away from her face, the stray locks that have slipped out and stuck to the paste, the extra youthful look it gives her...he never realized how much he missed out on. How much she keeps from him. Suddenly, he’s certain: the woman sitting on the couch isn't Scully. It’s Dana, and there's nothing he wants more than to get to know her better.

Remembering what he’s there for, he holds the folder out to her.

“Uh, I just came to give you these toxicology results. I thought you might want to review them before tomorrow.”

She takes the folder while keeping one arm stationed in front of her chest.

“Thank you. I will.”

She plops the folder with the mess on the coffee table and returns both arms to her chest.

Feeling like the intruder that--in Scully’s mind--he is, Mulder glances at the TV.

“Golden Girls. That’s serious business, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Melissa mutes the TV. “Actually, we were just discussing what Golden Girl we think we are. We agreed that I’m Rose, but we’re still trying to figure out Dana.”

This is a challenge Mulder is more than happy to accept.

“Dana…” He looks at her with a lop-sided smile, letting the word roll off his tongue in a teasing way.

Scully blushes. Oh how she wishes her body would not so easily give her away. Figuring there’s nothing to lose, she takes this opportunity to catalogue the colors in his eyes. She has an ongoing debate with herself about what color they actually are. She’s seen green, brown, and blue with such certainty that she’s pretty sure he has the ability to change them like a mood ring. She’s not sure she would want to know what each color means.

She decides that they’re looking quite green tonight (is that good?) and breaks eye contact with him out of necessity. Call it self-preservation.

This silent exchange pleases Melissa, maybe even more than it does Mulder. She loves being right as much as her sister does.

“I was thinking she’s a Dorothy,” Melissa pipes up. “What do you think, Fox?”

He flinches. Melissa scoffs. “Sorry--Mulder. What is it with FBI agents and insisting on being called their last name? That’s got to be some sort of psychological phenomenon.” Then, because she can’t resist--“You should open a x-file on that.”

Scully chuckles. Mulder just purses his lips.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

“I know,” Melissa claps back in jest. “That’s why I said it.”

Scully looks toward the window. She could have sworn she saw a flash of lightning outside, but no thunder follows it. When she looks back, Mulder’s eyes are trained on her once again. Yep, still green. He pushes some of the cartons aside and perches on the table in front of her and Missy. If Scully put her legs down, their knees would touch.

“Dorothy is the obvious choice,” he says. “But that’s too easy. Scully’s not easy.”

Scully flicks her gaze toward Missy, who bites her lip to keep the sarcastic comment in her mind from slipping out.

“So what is she then?” Melissa challenges.

Scully’s eyes meet Mulder’s. She’s not sure what he’ll say, and she’s not too worried about it. What matters is that she’s looking at him, he’s looking at her, and her skin feels like it’s been warmed by the sun. This is not a normal reaction to another human being looking at you, she knows. She made a pact with herself early on not to think too hard about it. It’s moments like this that make her question the point of that.

She feels sated...she so rarely feels that way. Realizing that there is nothing worth keeping from him, not right now, Scully lowers her hands into her lap.

Feeling like he’s done something right, Mulder smiles. He answers Missy’s question without taking his eyes off his partner. Scully’s burning up.

“Well, she’s smart but not pretentious, curious but not unconventional, reliable but not naive, honest but not a curmudgeon, and diligent but not intense...so I don’t know.”

He looks to Melissa.

“Are any of the Golden Girls as interesting as that?”

Scully’s breath catches. This is quite possibly the most romantic moment of her whole life...What does that say about her? She lowers her feet so that her silk pajama bottoms nuzzle his coarse slacks. Call it a gesture of goodwill. Meanwhile, Mulder wonders if Scully notices that their kneecaps are touching.

Missy smiles. She’s engineered a moment, and what a wonderful one.

“I suppose not,” she replies lightly. “Dana’s one of a kind.”

“That’s for sure.” Mulder clasps Scully’s hand, and for a second, she thinks he’s going to kiss it. His fingers slip away and grab a fortune cookie off the table instead.

He rips the plastic off it, then snaps it in half. He sets a half in Scully’s open palm as if on instinct. She didn’t even realize she had turned her hand up. Her fingers close over the cookie. She couldn’t possibly eat it now that he’d touched it. Or was that all the more reason to eat it?

Mulder pulls the paper from his half, pops the cookie in his mouth, and crunches as he reads the fortune. “Depart not from the path which fate has you assigned...huh.” He crumbles up the plastic and sticks it in his pocket. “Never seen that one before.”

“Me neither,” Scully remarks dreamily. Melissa looks on, feeling like she’s watching a movie play out in front of her.

Mulder rubs his hands against his pant legs to extend the moment, then stands up, bumping Scully as he does.

“Sorry,” he says, resting a hand on her shoulder. She shakes her head to indicate it’s nothing. “You’re fine.”

As she looks up at him, Mulder finds himself struck with the desire to swim in those blue eyes of hers. He knows that his feeling for Scully--whatever it is--is different from the girls on his magazines and tapes. His thoughts about Scully are somehow both innocent and ridiculously gratifying. His thoughts about the other girls are neither.

“Well, I’ll get going,” he says, stepping around Scully and Melissa’s feet. He turns back to meet Scully’s glance one last time--

“See you tomorrow morning.” He winks.

Scully is so charmed by this all she can muster up is, “Uh-huh.”

Missy bursts into laughter as soon as Mulder closes the door. Scully lets her. She looks down at her palm and realizes that she has put so much pressure on the fortune cookie that it crumbled. She won’t read into this either.

#missy and scully fic #only the light fic #the x-files #the x files #fan fiction #fan fic #mine

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macbookpro-hard-drive · 5 years ago

Text

control [jeremy h. x squipped!reader] pt.7

wow it took 30 years didnt it. i did it, fuckers. please give me attention-

anyway, heres the final part :) do i know how to proofread? no. thats it thats all i was gonna say, i just dont know how to proofread.

warnings: uhhh none i dont think

In the middle of August, the Ninja Sex Party dropped their newest album “Cool Patrol” and the two of you were in love. You were in Jeremy’s room, lying on his bed beside him sharing headphones as the album played, and it all felt so teenage rom-com that Jeremy was half-distracted the entire time by you and lost different lyrics because of that. “Orgy for One” played and you nudged Jeremy before mouthing “you” to him with a playful look in your eyes and a smile that set his heart racing. He laughed, and nudged you back just as playful before the beginning to “Danny Don’t You Know” brought the two of you back into reality. He was emotional, and so were you, and there was something about sharing an emotion with someone that was intimate enough to make his heart skip a beat.

Your phone buzzed after a while, and you sat up, pulling an earbud out. “Fuck, Jeremy-” You stood up quickly, scrambling to get your things together, “-my cousins were coming over to do that picture thing since we didn’t get a chance before - I gotta go, alright? I’ll text you in a bit.”

He wouldn’t remember what he said to you, or the dumb joke you made as you were leaving his room. He would remember how the minute you left, he added “Heart Boner” onto your playlist with a devious little smile as if he were getting away with something. Just a little joke between friends. After all - you had that little moment together, how could he not not?

An hour after you left, Michael showed up with a plastic bag filled with Chinese takeout for three - eyes widening when he saw your absence. His smile fell as he looked towards the bag in his hand, frowning slightly as he began to delve into his thoughts. For what felt like minutes, the two boys just sat there in silence as Michael finally untied the bag to pass his friend his portion of their meal, frustration evident in the way he furrowed his brow and refused to look him in the eye.

“They had a family thing,” Jeremy said. “Didn’t [y/n] text you?”

“No,” Michael said, “they did not. I said I was coming with food and-”

“It’s tradition,” Jeremy countered. “Y’know? It’s that little... sign-picture-thing. Some sort of family tradition their parents started when they were little.”

Michael rolled his eyes at the sappy expression crossing his best friend’s face as he placed what had been your meal on the dresser, before collapsing back onto his bed - tilting his head back to maintain eye contact. “That’s cute and all, but what do I do with their orange chicken?”

He shrugged, turning back to his computer to close out Spotify. “I dunno - we can go by their house later and see if they want it.”

He heard his comforter shift and assumed that Michael rolled over onto his stomach. “But I have egg rolls for them,” he whined, voice muffled slightly by what Jeremy could only guess was Michael laying his face in his hands.

A quick booting down of his computer. He shrugged again, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Just don’t eat them?”

The moment of silence could have killed a man. “Jeremiah.”

He spun to face him. “Michael.”

They maintained eye contact for a moment, before Michael shifted so that he was now sitting up - pulling the plastic bag closer to him. “So did you two fuck yet?”

A thousand broken words slipped past his lips as Jeremy struggled to say something - a question, a swear, something that didn’t make him look stupid. “Why would you ask that!?” he tried to ignore the way his voice raised an octave.

Meanwhile, Michael seemed to have no problem with disregarding his panic. “So you haven’t.”

“Uh. No? We’re just friends?”

“You sure?” Michael asked, not even giving him the chance to answer as he looked away. “I don’t know, dude, you’ve been pining for a fuckin’ while now. Why don’t you just ask them out?”

“I don’t like-” he paused, before shaking his head. If Michael knew, then he knew - there really wasn’t any point in denying it any further. “I don’t know, I like Christine still-”

“You can like more than one person at a time, Jeremiah.”

“I know, but...” “I don’t even know if they like me still.”

“Dude. Bro. Homie. Broseidon. Buddy. They wanna fuck.”

“Michael!”

“They’re at least interested in you,” he said with a mere shrug of indifference, “do you just not see how they look at you?”

“I don’t-” Jeremy started, and then he stopped, the words he wanted to say sticky and catching in his throat like honey. “I don’t think-” He paused, shutting his eyes, “Michael, I don’t know why they’d still be into me. Like... they did the whole...” He tapped at his temple, “thing because of me.” He hesitated. That wasn’t entirely true, was it? “Or... they did it slightly because of me. I just - I don’t think they’d, uh, y’know... want anything to do with me like that.”

There was understanding in Michael’s eyes, lit up before he looked away to the carton in his hand. He dug through it with chopsticks, letting out a sigh, “Dude, I get that, but... they like you, dumbass.”

Jeremy laughed it off. “Yeah, sure.”

“I mean it!” Michael countered, before dropping the topic, “I’m gonna eat your food if you don’t.”

“What-” Jeremy popped open his order, “fine, okay - but this conversation isn’t over, Michael.”

“Mhm. You’ll accept it later.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“You really suck at hiding your feelings, y’know?”

“Michael!”

Two weeks later, and Jeremy wasn’t sure how to feel.

There were strings of these little... moments between the two of you. He realized how much time he was spending over at your house after Michael teased him over it, how often the two of you studied together and how flustered he’d get when you were close to him, how many times he found himself grabbing your favorite candy from gas stations just to make you smile. One Sunday night, he was sitting at the end of your bed with a pillow hugged to his chest, spending another night at your house while Michael was off spending time with his family (not that Jeremy wouldn’t have been there otherwise - he stayed over every now and then just because he wanted to. Movie nights were good. Dinner was good. Being around you was good). You sat at your desk, legs crossed awkwardly in your chair in a position that looked uncomfortable to him but you showed no signs of discomfort as you continued to draw. The two of you had been talking, and Jeremy had just sat there fascinated with watching you draw after years of not recognizing your progress.

A question hit the air, heavy and loaded. “Would you have taken it?” You didn’t move to face him, the soft sound of your tablet pen tapping back against the surface as you scroll out and fumble giving away any nerves. “The... the SQUIP,” you went to clarify.

But he understood, and he spoke quick: “no.” He shifted slightly, holding the pillow closer to himself, “not after what it did to you.”

“But if you hadn’t known,” you said, pausing for a moment to gather your thoughts, “if... if it had been you, would you have done it?”

“I mean... I don’t think-”

“You can say yes, Jeremy,” you finally looked back at him. “I’m not gonna be mad or anything.”

His shoulders slumped slightly, a bit relieved of the thought. “Okay, then... yeah. I mean, yeah - who wouldn’t?”

You turned back to your work. “Yeah. Yeah, right? It sounds good. Like... you have a pill that’ll solve everything and tell you the right moves to make... who wouldn’t want that?”

That’s when Jeremy realized you’d been doubting yourself. Blaming yourself for saying yes. “I think a lot of people would have taken it.”

“Yeah... I think so, too.” You stopped drawing after a moment, turning around fully to face him, “can I confess something?”

He nodded slowly. “Oh. Uh. Yeah, sure?”

“I don’t keep the Mountain Dew Red because I’m scared it’ll come back and destroy everything and leave me fucked,” you said in a rush of words, shutting your eyes for a moment. “Sorry. I just needed to get it off my chest but... I think it’s better this way.”

“Hey, no,” Jeremy reached out, fingers brushing over your shoulder. “Michael and I would find more.”

You fumbled with your pen, it falling to the floor as you swore softly under your breath. Jeremy reached for it just as you did, foreheads clashing in cliche fashion as you immediately push back. A moment later, he offered your tablet pen back to you.

He spoke after you took it. “Hey, uh, c’mere for a minute.”

So you dropped your pen onto your desk and pulled your chair over to the bed. Uncharacteristically calm and soft, he took one of your hands in a motion less Jeremy and more... you... you weren’t sure. It wasn’t entirely Jeremy, that much was confirmed.

“There was this stuff that mom used to way when I was a kid,” he said quietly, dragging his thumb over your knuckles. “It was this whole...thing about how the ‘loudest voice has to be yours’ when you’re doubting yourself and shit - I don’t know, it just kinda stuck with me and... I’m glad I’ve gotten to know you, because you’re... different? Like - you keep going, and, uh, you’re a big nerd who laughs at my stupid jokes and... I’m glad you’re you, I guess?”

You cracked a small smile as you pulled back from him. Before he can question whether he crossed a line, you answer, “I’m saving this. I can’t focus on art with your sappy ass saying shit like that.” You stood, tucking your chair under your desk as you sat on your bed. “Fuckin’ sweet dork,” you mumbled as you pulled Jeremy into a hug.

He stiffened up for a moment, only to wrap his arms around you after a moment. He smiled into your shoulder, saying a muffled “Shut up” into it as you giggled.

You pulled away with a smile. “Why don’t you make me, Jeremy?”

One of his biggest regrets was not asking to kiss you right then and there.

Days later, you were in his room for once, sitting on his bed beside him. You were tired, far more than he was, looking at math problems that were blurry to you as you stifled back another yawn. Jeremy had stretched out, awkwardly leaning against his headboard as he tried to stay away until you finally resigned for the night - shutting your notebook and tossing it towards your backpack with a noisy clamor. You leaned against him, mumbling words long forgotten into his shoulder - likely about hating numbers - only to whine when he sat forward a moment later. Soon enough, he returned to be your pillow once more, laughing softly as you curled into his side contently and making some joke about how you only wanted him around for this reason.

“Nope,” you had hummed, “too bony. Bad pillow.”

He snorted a little, reaching up to tuck back a strand of hair out of place. “You seem happy.”

“I am,” you hummed. “Since it’s you.”

He reached up, gently tugging you closer to him in order to worm an arm around you. “You’re tired.”

“Mhm.”

“Sorry I kept you up.”

“That’s okay,” you mumbled into his shoulder, shifting slightly to be closer to him. “Math is stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” he countered, “you just aren’t good at it.”

“Thus making it stupid, Jeremiah.”

Eventually, you went quiet. At first, Jeremy thought you’d fallen asleep, but you sat forward slightly, looking up at him and it was almost like there had been magnetism between you. You had leaned forward, and he gently reached up to guide your face to his, and the two of you kissed for a soft, quiet moment. Soon enough, you had drawn away and cuddled back up to him. He wasn’t sure if he fell asleep first, but he remembered how warm you felt against him and he remembered feeling nothing but warmth in his chest as he eventually dozed off.

There were a few things that hit Jeremy when he woke up. The pain in his back from falling asleep half-sitting against the headboard of his bed, the weight on him that confused him for a moment for a millisecond before he felt your hot breath tickling his skin, face buried in his neck. Then the memory of the night before - of a clumsy kiss he’d been craving for so long, and the way you kissed back and maybe that was his imagination? He wasn’t sure, but the thought was enough to nearly make him jolt - but you were enough to keep him as still as he could be. He looked at how peaceful you looked, and he felt his heart swell at just how warm you were against him and the memory of your lips haunted him as he felt his skin grow hotter. If remembering kissing you was enough to make him completely flustered, anything more would probably kill him.

Eventually, you woke up, groggy and sleep-ridden still at first as you sat forward and rubbed at your face. “Jeremy, I hate to break it to you-” You paused, yawning, “-but you aren’t a great pillow.”

He chuckled at that, sitting forward. “Hey, uh... sorry to, uh, ask, but, uh, do... do you remember anything about last night...?”

You stared at him, uncertain at first before you thought back on what had happened. You threw your notebook at your bag. And then... It came back to you, striking you hard and fast. “Oh.”

“I- I’m sorry,” he stammered, “I just - I was tired and I wasn’t thinking and I shouldn’t have...”

And he slowly trailed off when he saw the way you were looking at him, voice caught in his throat as your gaze flickered from his eyes to his lips and then back. He heard you whisper something - “fuck it,” he was pretty sure - before you started going in for another kiss - and he leaned forward to meet you halfway, a hand sliding into your hair as you grow closer to him. The night before had been gentle, sleep-ridden and warm - and now the two of you are awake and clumsy and so wonderfully alive during this messy kiss. His teeth had clashed against yours, your forehead bumped against his, but you correct. A little less force, a little more gentleness, a changing of an angle - the tiny ways to make things better and less awkward.

In a bold move you definitely didn’t expect, Jeremy’s hand falls to your hips, pulling you closer to him by your belt loops (a cruel reminder that you were asleep in jeans). His kisses grew slightly more frantic, more hungry, more needy - the tiniest little whimper slipping past his lips once you finally pull yourself back, breathing softly as you stared at him. His hand slipped back to your jaw, thumb grazing your jawline slowly and gentle.

“Jeremy?” you whispered, staring at him, “wait, you-”

“I... I know we were gonna try to be friends, but... I think I like you.”

You stared at him, flustered as he tore his gaze away from yours - a pretty rosy hue decorating his skin, blotchy and creeping up his neck to the tips of his ears.

“I, uh, I mean, I didn’t... I never planned on, uh... I just - I don’t - I, uh, I think you’re... a big nerd. You... you laugh with me and you, uh, you care about things - and you... you remember things about me - and, uh, other people do but... you’re just... you’re different.” He trailed a thumb across your skin. “You... feel like home. Even, uh, even if this... doesn’t really go anywhere, I - I’m glad that I know you and- I understand if you don’t, uh, don’t actually want this to go anywhere but-”

And you laughed. At first his stomach dropped, anxiety taking over as he grew nervous over the thought of you rejecting him - but something about the way you laughed made his heart flutter, one hand steadying yourself on his shoulder while the other hid your face.

“I... I don’t really know how to explain it better, but... can I, uh, can I kiss you again?”

And you laughed again, reaching up to brush back hair from his face. “Yes, Jeremy. You can kiss me again.”

#mj's writing corner #be more chill x reader #be more chill reader insert #jeremy heere x reader #jeremy heere imagine #bmc imagine #bmc reader insert

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sunflowerbi · 5 years ago

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The Way to a Woman’s Heart

Eve/Villanelle

Rating: T

1.79k words

Eve cooks traditional Korean food for Villanelle, and Villanelle cooks traditional Russian food for Eve. They both refuse to admit they like it, because they're dramatic. Plus they kiss because they're gay.

ao3

“It is not that I do not trust you, it is just that I do not trust this… black goop.” Villanelle was perched on a counter in the small kitchen of their apartment, trying to convince Eve to just order takeout.

“It’s not goop, darling. It’s chunjang, bean paste. It’s good, I promise you’ll like it.” Eve continued chopping the zucchini in front of her, throwing it into a bowl with cabbage she’d already cut. She grabbed a pan from the cabinet next to Villanelle, dropping a kiss on her lips in passing, before grabbing the goop, as it’d been titled, and pouring it into the pan. “You fry it with oyster sauce and sugar.” She noted, adding in the ingredients as she named them. While it was cooking, she pulled the cubed pork from the fridge, smiling as she added the marinade of ginger, rice wine, salt, and pepper. The kitchen had filled with the smell of home, and Eve realized just how much she’d missed cooking the traditional food her mom had managed to teach her. Between late nights at work and Niko’s interest in cooking, she hadn’t done it in longer than she could remember.

“It does not smell horrible, but I still do not think I will like it.” They’d been having this discussion all day, Eve insisting there were a few things she actually could cook, and Villanelle refusing to believe her. When Eve announced that she would be making jajangmyeon, Villanelle argued that they could always find a restaurant that served Korean barbeque. When Eve turned around to fill a pot with water, Villanelle smiled fondly, Eve looked wonderful, in their kitchen, in their apartment. She was beautiful, and she was happy, which filled Villanelle with a slightly unfamiliar feeling, something like pride but happier, like love but bigger. Instead of mentioning any of this to Eve, she rolled her eyes when the older woman looked at her.

“I think you will. Can you grab the noodles for me?” Eve asked, mostly ignoring the assassin’s complaints. She took the noodles Villanelle dutifully handed to her, dumping the package into a boiling pot of water. “It shouldn’t be long now; the pork is almost done and then I just have to mix the stock in with the chunjang.” Eve smiled, she knew Villanelle would enjoy it, although something told her she’d never admit it. She pulled the strainer out and dumped the noodles, grabbing one and offering it to Villanelle to test. Villanelle took the opportunity to suck the noodle into her mouth, taking Eve’s finger along with it, smirking.

“Is it done?” Eve asked, attempting to ignore Villanelle’s tongue rolling around her index finger, eventually pulling it out before her breathing betrayed her.

“Yes. Although I was not.” Villanelle pouted, trying and failing to catch Eve’s wrist again. Eve laughed and served the noodles into two bowls, pouring the simmering sauce over top. She poured two small glasses of soju, handing a bowl and glass to Villanelle before taking her own and heading to the table.

As soon as they sat down, Eve took a bite of her food, the sweet and savory mixing perfectly in her mouth and reminding her of happy evenings with her parents, of her first week of college, eating prepared meals her mom gave her. She looked over at her girlfriend, her brain still tripped over that word sometimes, girlfriend, it made her feel like a seventeen-year-old on her way to prom. She watched her girlfriend take a small bit onto her fork, looking at it like it might be poisoned. Eventually, though, she took a bite, cautiously putting it into her mouth. Ever the mystery, she kept her face neutral, taking another bite as if she needed more to make her judgment.

“It is fine.” Is all she said, taking another bite, holding her face very carefully. It was hard for Villanelle, eating slowly, feigning disinterest. She ate like she did all things, with zest, passionately going after any and everything she wanted. This time, she put small bites into her mouth, she didn’t vocalize her feelings. She refused to admit to Eve that it tasted wonderful, tasted how being with Eve felt, new but perfectly familiar, like the universe meant it that way and was so entirely happy to see it finally come to be. Instead she nodded, avoiding Eve’s curious eyes.

Thirty minutes later, they worked with each other to put the leftovers away, packaging it all and rinsing the dishes off. “Did you really not like it?” Eve still had trouble reading Villanelle sometimes, trying to figure out when she was lying.

“I told you, it was fine.” Villanelle smiled, leaning down to distract Eve with a kiss, her hands finding their place in Eve’s hair. “I will make you kotleti tomorrow, you will love it.”

“Can you hand me an onion, moyo sladkaya?” Villanelle asked, placing small, colorful potatoes into a bowl. Eve handed it over, watching Villanelle move through the kitchen like she’d been cooking in it for years, not just the two months they’d been hidden away here. She chopped the onion expertly, dumping half of the pieces in with the potatoes and tossing it all with oil and various herbs. After being spread onto a pan she stuck them into the oven and set to work on the kotleti. Villanelle had mixed feelings about Russia, and everything attached to it. She hated being there, hated the people she’d known there, the life she’d lived. The food though, still made her warm inside, reminded her of the few good points in her childhood, learning to steal from street vendors and hiding in a dark alley with warm food settling into her stomach.

“It is important to soak the bread in the milk first, otherwise it will be shit.” Villanelle explained as she tore up the bread and placed it into a bowl of milk, mixing it around a bit.

“I still don’t see how this is any different from a bad chicken meatball.” Eve stretched, raising her eyebrows at Villanelle, who only rolled her eyes. Honestly, it smelled amazing, but Eve refused to let Villanelle win. She had insisted on pretending she didn’t really like the jajangmyeon, but when Eve woke up the next morning, she noticed the leftovers were gone, and when Villanelle kissed her, she tasted like ginger. If Villanelle was going to play this game, Eve would too.

“It is not a meatball. Nor is it bad. So, that is how it is different.” Villanelle said plainly, beginning to mix the rest of the onion with the bread and the ground chicken, adding in various spices. She loved food, the way it could make people feel, the way a woman sounded when she ate something she really loved, the face someone made when they saw their favorite food. She spooned the meat into the pan, forming it into oblong patties. The pan sizzled loudly, the oil jumping around as the meat began to cook. She knew Eve would never admit to liking the food, but she would be able to tell, Eve was not as good at lying as she was, she wouldn’t be able to hide it as much.

“The table is ready, are the potatoes done, sweetheart?” Eve’s hand slid across the small of Villanelle’s back as she walked behind her, a kiss landing on her shoulder. She grabbed the medovukha Villanelle had picked out and poured it into their wine glasses, swirling the amber liquid around a bit.

“They are, yes. I just have to put them into a bowl so we can take them to the table. Then we can eat.” The potatoes and onions fell easily into the bowl, Villanelle using a spoon to help them along. “Will you bring the drinks? I assume the kotleti is already on the table.”

They ate quietly, Villanelle watching Eve carefully as she took the first bite of her kotleti, looking for any indication, positive or negative. She found Eve was better than she’d expected at keeping her expressions neutral, but little smiles gave her away, even as Villanelle inquired as to how she was enjoying her meal.

“It’s fine.” Eve smirked, impressed with herself, probably more than she should’ve been, giving Villanelle’s answer back to her. She took another bite, holding her smile back best as she could. The food tasted warm, filling, like the kind of food you bring to a friend to cheer them up. She watched Villanelle eat, quickly gathering bites of meat and potato into her mouth, pausing to savor the taste before getting more. She looked content, more so than she usually did when she ate, which said something. She had her usual passion but there was something else there too, and if Eve had to guess she’d say it looked like nostalgia.

“That is all? Just fine?”

“Yes, it’s fine.”

Eve ate the leftovers as soon as Villanelle fell asleep.

“You know, if you want me to make hoddeok again you could just ask, you don’t have to casually leave the recipe on the counter.” Eve smiled fondly at Villanelle, who was lying on the couch, reading some book she’d picked up at the store across the street.

“That would ruin the fun of our little game, rodnaya.” She didn’t look up, flipping the page as she continued to read. She really tried not to push it; she didn’t say anything when she bought the ingredients at the store, but it’d been a week and all she could think about was the honey and cinnamon filled pancake Eve had made her, fluffy and sweet, slightly sticky. So, she’d left the recipe out, hoping it would inspire Eve to cook them again without being asked,

“Hm, I suppose it would, yes. Although I think it’s well past ruined, and I could really go for some solyanka tomorrow, but you won’t cook it unless you pick out the meat yourself, so I can’t just sneakily buy it all.” Eve noted, taking the book from Villanelle’s hands and straddling her. “I think maybe we can just admit defeat, call it a tie, hm?”

Villanelle rested her now empty hands on Eve’s hips, slipping them under her shirt. “I suppose that could be acceptable, but only if I can have some sujeonggwa as well. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. You make solyanka for dinner and I make sujeonggwa for dessert.” Eve leaned down, kissing Villanelle gently, trying to express the enormity of what she felt. She wasn’t sure there was a way to do that, to convey how much she adored the blonde.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

That would have to do, for now.

#villaneve #killing eve #killing eve fanfic #villaneve fanfic #killingeveedit #killing eve s3 #killing eve s4 #killing eve spoilers #i think about you all the time #my writing

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egoabsolvovos · 4 years ago

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Kipróbáltam ezt a receptet innen:

egyszerű, fini, ajánlom ☺️

utólag jöttem rá, hogy ez tulajdonképp egy fancy variáció a csirke-rizs-brokkolira

#ez lesz ma az utolsó #perszonál kontent #meg lehet a kövi fél évben is who knows

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caffeinatedtimdrake · 6 years ago

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3 Words 4 You

A/N: sorry this took so long! still unsure about how i feel about this piece as a whole, but there are parts i really love. also, i still have a few requests from that prompt list from ages ago, but i can’t tell you when i’ll be able to get to them - if at all. this summer is keeping me busier than i thought it would and i don’t want to write something of poor quality for you :(

About 1.8k of Jason Todd fluff because apparently I can’t stop writing about Jason and declarations of love.

The first time Jason tells you he loves you, you do not hear him, for your soul rests upon a soft cloud of deep slumber.

Your head rests upon his chest and he inhales slowly. Your hair and the scent of fruity shampoo tickle his nose. You sigh his name in a gentle whisper, as if each letter peeks out shyly behind your slightly parted lips before floating through the air and up to his ears.

Your voice is sweeter than the music of any songbird.

For so long, you were a only dream; a hazy hopefulness that bloomed in his chest when you smiled, a reticent reverie buzzing in his fingertips when you passed him a pencil, a far-off fantasy that left his head in the clouds and his heart in the sea.

Yet now, you were here – dreaming in his arms.

“I love you,” Jason croons these three words like sun and satin across your skin.

You don’t hear him with your ears, but you must hear him with your soul because you shift and nuzzle closer to him.

A smile graces his features, sticky sweet and stretched wide across his mouth, and his arms tighten around you.

The second time Jason tells you he loves you, you think you’re hearing him incorrectly.

You two sprint down the block towards the parking lot beneath a torrent of rain; sloshing through puddles, squinting through the downpour, and squeezing past throngs of people seeking refuge beneath awnings.

Jason had surprised you with an afternoon at the art museum. A Renoir exhibit had just opened up; you rambled about dreamy Impressionism while Jason watched you with a dreamy smile.

The sudden deluge is rather nightmarish, but you squeeze Jason’s hand; religiously, he believes that your presence in his universe is a form of salvation.

It’s your peal of sunny laughter that wrenches the words from his mouth once more.

“What’s so funny?” He barks through the rain, braving a glance over his shoulder at you.

You’re grinning, hair matted down, and skin painted with raindrops. “I just need a basket and I’d be like the lady in The Umbrellas without an umbrella.”

Jason’s “I love you,” that promptly follows gets swallowed up by a bus zooming past and a threatening sheet of water sprayed across the length of the sidewalk.

Again, you do not hear him with your ears, but you easily read his lips and come to a halt, still holding his hand.

“What?” You yell above the roaring traffic in disbelief. For a few moments, your eyes are glued to his mouth – they are the longest moments of his short life – and he soon finds your warm mouth glued to his.

You have yet to tell him that you love him, too, but he feels it; in your amorous words and heated kisses and that saccharine smile personally reserved for late nights with Jason.

You come from opposite sides of the same river. He knows that when you are ready, you will swim to meet him in the middle with your sacred declaration.

For now, he is content to float.

The third time Jason tells you he loves you, the words blossom between hiccups and inebriated giggles.

“Can we please listen to Jesse McCartney?” He drapes himself over the empty cupholders to pout directly in your face.

The scent of expensive tequila and ripe guava clings to his breath and his lips, puckered and red, look remarkably kissable.

You inhale once, shakily. The salacious smile that spreads across his mouth unravels your tightly knotted self-control and you gently use your elbow to shove him back into the passenger’s seat.

“Yes, but only if you put your seatbelt on.”

Jason makes a happy noise in the back of his throat and complies. “You’re so good to me. I love you a lot. Are you gonna play Beautiful Soul? I will sing it to you. You have a beautiful soul.” He declares, watching you with adoring doe eyes.

Drunk Jason gifts you with cheesy compliments and sappy smiles. He had begun the evening with a sour grimace, grumbling about how he abhorred these galas, gripping your hand tightly beneath the table. You always squeezed back just as hard; the warm pressure of your fingers against his skin grounded him. Once you got a few appetizers and bubbly drinks into his system, he was floating pleasantly in the clouds and asking you to dance.

You scoff, flustered, but it’s too late – he’s earnestly belting a love song from two decades ago like he could sing it to you for centuries.

The fourth time, you beat him to it.

First, you have to beat down his walls.

You are unsure of the painful details, but based upon his terse behavior and dispassionate responses lately, you deduce that his most recent mission had been unsuccessful.

Jason normally invites you into his heart; at first, he had bloomed cautiously, sharing the pain fluttering against his ribcage as if he was blindly traversing an icy pond. With time, he had grown comfortable seeking solace in your gentle embrace and earthy words. Now, it wasn’t unusual for him to send you a distraught text about stubbing his pinky toe against a wall or spotting roadkill while on patrol.

So, you invite yourself over to his place, armed with his favorite Chinese takeout for dinner and chapstick for potential consolatory make out sessions.

When Jason answers the door, his sapphire eyes are bleary and his ebony hair is unfairly, stylishly mussed from the gentle hands of sleep. A five o’clock shadow adorns the handsome expanse of his jawline and his mouth is pulled into a mild grimace, but even drowsy and grouchy, he still gives Adonis a run for his money.

There’s a spark of light when he meets your gaze, though, one that has your toes curling in your sneakers.

“I brought dinner. And, uh, moral support.” You announce, suddenly bashful beneath the weight of his gaze.

Jason blinks at you for a few seconds before the corners of his mouth twitch and pull a dopey smile across his lips. “You shouldn’t have.” He chastens you softly, opening the door wide and beckoning you inside.

The apartment smells like Jason – some addicting combination of aged leather and flourishing jasmine and summer evenings.

He helps you unload the large brown bag. The aroma of fresh spring rolls and kung pao chicken clings to the silent air. Jason wordlessly grabs utensils and bowls and he’s about to dig into the steaming container of rice when you squeak, “Wait!”

Jason arches a thick, dark eyebrow. “Waiting.”

“I-I wanted to tell you something.”

Gentle curiosity ripples through the sapphire ocean in his eyes. “Please do.”

Your mouth fills with cotton and harrowing hesitation. “There’s hot sauce for the spring rolls in the bag.”

The corners of his mouth droop minutely.

“A-and you know that you can talk to me, right? About anything? I’m always here for you. Whether you need a hug or chocolate or takeout…I’ve got you. I know something’s been bothering you, and I can’t stand the thought of you navigating rough waters on your own.”

He locks eyes with you evenly and he knows you know; he’d been unable to completely bust a trafficking ring centered in his old neighborhood and it was eating him alive. This monstrous sense of guilt incessantly gnawed at his stomach because he was unable to dismantle the ring – he messed up and he couldn’t forgive himself.

He loves you unconditionally, but he does not grace himself with the same seamless, unadulterated love and it leaves your heart aching despairingly.

“I really fucked up, Y/N. And it looks like it’s going to take ages to remedy this, but it’s something I have to do on my own. I’m sorry I’ve been distant, but I know you’re there for me. You’re more than I could ever ask for, could ever dream of.” He pauses, brows furrowed thoughtfully.

You know he’s going to tell you he loves you when he tilts his head slightly to the left and the line of his mouth softens. He parts his lips and you place your palm gently over his mouth.

“Jason, I love you.” You speak the phrase clearly and it is burned into his mind; but something about the way the words roll off your tongue is familiar, as if they were born of an eternal flame that has always warmed him.

Jason inhales sharply and you find yourself swimming in the sweet sapphire of his gaze.

You splay your palms across his broad chest, easily finding the soft thud of his heart, and keep him grounded with a solemn look. “I get that you’ve died more than the average person, but you’re still human. You’re still going to make mistakes. And it sucks, but it’s not the end of the world. You, of all people, understand that. When things go wrong, you can learn from them and make things better for next time. And I know ‘next time’ isn’t always guaranteed, but what is?”

You wind your arms around his torso and lay your head near his heart, squeezing him to you. Instinctively, he curls around you, tilting his head to rest his cheek atop your hair.

“I’m in love with everything about you, but do you want to know what I love most?”

“Yes,” Jason breathes, curling his fingers into your shirt. His voice is so quiet, as if too much noise would ravage this cloak of deep intimacy.

“You’re always working to be better. You know there is no limit to growth and knowledge.” You shift, tilting your head up to meet his eyes again. He’s so close, your noses brush. When he exhales, mint and citrus fan across your face.

“But you are doing good now, too, in this very instance. Appreciate that about yourself, okay? I wish you would fall in love with the moment.”

“Moments are fleeting.” Jason rasps, blinking slowly.

“Moments are all we have.”

This silences him, and he leans back to survey you from a distance. He remains wordless for a little while, soaking up the glimmer in your soulful eyes, the slight arch in your brow, the tight seam of your mouth.

He can’t answer you with words, so he answers you with his lips.

His kiss melts you like chocolate left in the sun and echoes with delicate sweetness – in his kiss, he tells you everything he cannot say in this moment.

But above it all, you hear a mantra, like waves crashing against the shore.

In each exhale, in each tremor; I love you, I love you, I love you.

@damned-queen-of-gotham

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queencarolinemikaelson · 5 years ago

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A Bunch of Justs

Bit of iso content for myself, and my fellow klaroline fans. As usual, only had my poor, lazy brain proofing it, so hopefully only few mistakes.

xxx

Caroline skipped about her house, happy as a clam, because she had food on the way.

It was such a rare treat she ordered takeout.

Under normal circumstances it wasn’t really in her budget - she allotted that splurge-type money to things like social work drinks, or the occasional lunch with friends.

But these were not normal circumstances.

Not yet anyway, since a bunch of justs had happened in her life.

She had just moved into her very own apartment. No roommates clogging up the sink with their gross hair, no partner complaining about how you drank the last of the milk (even though you’re really the only one who uses the milk, except on the very very odd occasion they want a dash of milk to make scrambled eggs, because ‘duh Caroline it’s egg day?’).

She had just started a new job, which gave her the option to work fully from home. And, as a writer with the option of always working from home, as you would imagine, Caroline was working from home.

She had just moved to a new city. She felt like a change from the semi-boring nature of life in Richmond, Virginia, and decided Chicago would be a nice change. If she was working from home, why not have home in a different place

And finally, she had just been hit with her first Chicago snow storm. For the better part of a week now, Caroline was snowed in – the advice from the authorities being stay home, only go out if absolutely necessary, and if you do go out, for the love of god, no driving.

Needless to stay, between freshly living alone, working from home, in a new city, and the snow, Caroline hadn’t seen anyone but the clerk at the supermarket down the street in nearly four weeks, and it was driving her barmy.

Thus, on the fateful Sunday night, just as the roads were getting mildly safer, Caroline decided to treat herself takeout delivered straight to her door, from her favourite eatery in all of Chicago.

How, you may wonder, can one have a favourite food place if they are so new to a city?

Now, that question, had Caroline asked herself, would have changed to course of the evening entirely.

But alas, or perhaps a-luck as the case may be, Caroline did not ask herself that question, opting instead to beam at her reflection, because social interaction was also on the menu that evening.

Yoga pants took place of ratty pyjama bottoms, her hair restored to its shining glory. Even the somewhat-stained, oversized sweatshirt, she couldn’t quite remember when she first started wearing, was replaced by a squeaky-clean, oversized sweatshirt.

She couldn’t help but feel more alive than she had in days and days.

Caroline certainly took this furore about seeing one person for the fleeting moment of delivery as a signal to actually get stuck into her social life in Chicago, lest she lose her sense of self completely.

She whizzed round her house, scooping up every little bit of solitude-sadness mess that had accumulated, and whisked them back to their homes. She was having visitors after all!!

Just as the vacuum made an appearance, the doorbell rang, and like a bullet, Caroline shot to the door.

With her widest smile stretching her face, Caroline swung open the door to reveal…

“Hello, love.”

Oh my.

“Fancy seeing you here on this fine night.”

See, this was the first time Caroline properly considered her history with the eatery she so eagerly ordered from.

“Klaus!”

“Yes, well spotted.”

See, Caroline had briefly resided in Chicago once before. One winter, about three years earlier, she was bored and freelancing, so decided to live on the couch of her high school best friend for a few months.

Stefan worked at the eatery then, working himself through law school.

Caroline, who would otherwise have found a hipster looking bar to freelance from, made herself a comfortable regular at the café, and promptly became one of the favourites of a bartender.

Klaus.

Oh, Klaus.

Caroline had lost a lot of sleep over Klaus. She had lost a lot of sleep while with Klaus too, for that matter.

He was wildly irritating, and incredibly infuriating. But was also whip smart, hilarious, and charming.

Caroline was pretty sure those short months found her falling in love with him.

But, even though they shared so much, so intensely, they were never more than a thing.

Not a fling, not a relationship – just a thing. A thing that held only memories. A thing that made no pledges or promises to the future, nor even any resolutions of contact.

Maybe he was the one that got away. Or maybe the one she let get away.

“Klaus,” she said again, the meaning layered beneath the word not lost on either of them. “You look good.”

He smiled. It wasn’t a calculating quirk of the lip, nor an infuriating smirk. It was just a warm, genuine smile.

“Since when do you do delivery?” Caroline asked, pivoting away from the mood that had become just too much.

“Lots can change in three years, love,” Klaus replied. “But how could I resist this delivery? Cheesy mushroom fries, add bacon; the comfort pasta with no chicken, add extra bacon; and a slice of sticky date pudding? Such an intriguing order...”

“Hey!” Caroline said, indignantly swatting at him. “Don’t judge my order!”

“No judgement,” he said, with just a hint of insecurity. “Perhaps intriguing isn’t the right word. Perhaps it is familiar I’m looking for.”

“You remembered my order?”

“How could I not, love? You ate it in front of me three or more times a week for months!”

“Aww, you remembered my order.”

On the threshold of opportunity, the former lovers stood, just waiting for the other to reach out a hand to jump with.

“Would you like to join me?” Caroline whispered, the invitation laced with promise.

“I would love to.”

xxx

I ordered dinner to be delivered to my house last night, and realised about 15 minutes later that an ex of mine works at the place. And I imagined a scenario where they showed up on my doorstep. I wouldn’t have invited them in given that I AM BEING A GOOD SELF-ISO LADY, but I wondered what our two faves would do in a similar sitch. Although, Caroline was not trapped inside because of this blasted virus - I would never do that to our sweet angel.

Also, would love your iso-prompts. I have lots of time, and want lots more distraction.

#klaroline #klaroline fanfic #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline drabble #klaroline drabbles #iso #iso drabbles #cheeesecake's chook scratchings

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nat-roman0ff · 5 years ago

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i. the first 45 seconds of your life

the here and now; sequel to another certain time and place (read the full series in my masterlist)

i. the first 45 seconds of your life the one where they begin wc: 2,776 warnings: smut (oral), burnt chicken & fading time

---

“I’m in love with you.”

Her whole body freezes in place, and she isn’t quite sure what to say or do or any of that because her mind is too busy short circuiting over the words that just came out of Shawn’s mouth.

She continues to stare blankly at him while Shawn’s eyes search her face for any kind of recognition of his words. He’s only met with a blank stare in her eyes, and the color systematically draining out of her face. She tilts her head, and he thinks she’s about to say something but she stops herself. Finally, her brows furrow, and it’s the first sign of life he’s seen in her face in the last forty-five seconds since he dropped those final words.

“I’m in love with you too,” she says. And the world is right again.

---

Their world had been a cotton candy cloud of happiness, making their friends vomit at their disgusting love for each other, and spending a lot of time in the bedroom (and the kitchen, and the shower, and the sofa…).

Being in love, rules, Shawn thinks while he watches her precisely put on her mascara in the bathroom vanity mirror. He smiles when her mouth opens ever so slightly in that little O-shape that he knows she can’t help. She leans back to stand up straight and blinks twice, dabbing away an imprint of black on the tops of her cheek.

“If you keep standing there and staring I might press charges,” she says, turning her head to him and smiling.

“Yeah?” he says, folding his arms across his chest while he leans against the doorframe of the bathroom, “What kind of charges are we talking?”

She pops her lips, swiping a bit of gloss along her bottom lip, “well, definitely for being a creep, and slightly obsessed with me.”

“Not at all a lie,” Shawn grins.

She twists the tube of her gloss tight, “and probably being super hella cute and a giant fucking cheeseball.”

She trails across the bathroom on her tiptoes to him, leaving a sticky, shiny, strawberry scented lip print on his cheek, “and for definitely having the best dick in Toronto.”

Shawn’s sloppy smile widens across his face and then fades, “wait, how many dicks in Toronto have you seen?”

His girlfriend shimmies past him and into their shared bedroom. She’s more or less moved in with him over the past few weeks. He swears it’s a quicker commute for her to work (it’s not) and that his coffee shop is better than hers (maybe it is, but it also costs double the price on this side of town). She always keeps two extra work outfits in his closet, and a spare toothbrush, just in case. He even bought the same shampoo and conditioner as her so she can always be ready to spend the night.

Shawn watches her dress, observing as her hands smooth out the wrinkles in the skirt of her dress, turning in the mirror to make sure it falls the right way. She tucks on a pair of heels and stands in front of the mirror, taking in a deep breath to hold herself high and proud before releasing it and relaxing her shoulders.

“I don’t want to go to work today.”

Shawn stands and wraps his arms around her from behind, “too bad, one of us has to pay the bills around here,” he kisses a bit of her exposed shoulder and then rests his chin on it to look at her through the mirror, “just know if you do need to quit your job, I can help you out in the meantime.”

She rolls her eyes and slithers out of his grasp, “not everyone gets to do what they love at twenty-one, Shawn. Just because I hate my job now doesn’t mean I’m going to hate it forever. It’s a good stepping stone, I have to pay my dues before I can get to where I want to be.”

“I know that, babe,” he leans against the dresser beside them, “I just don’t like seeing you miserable.”

She rolls her eyes again, “I’m not miserable Shawn. Far from it. But I will be miserable if you don’t get me a bottle of wine and some takeout tonight,” she gives him a peck on the lips, “now I really have to go.”

It’s a pretty mundane Friday for Shawn when she leaves. He goes to the gym, eats breakfast, drinks his coffee, takes a shower, does some laundry. It’s mundane and everyday and routine But it’s so fucking nice to be bored every once and a while. Although he was never bored with her. Sure, they could be bored, laying on the couch scrolling through their phones and not saying anything, but so long as she was there, he was never bored.

Mundane was a nice sort of calm between being in a different city every night and sleeping on a cramped bus with three other people. But time was getting away from them, he thought about the last weeks they had together, alone. They had four more days before the next leg of tour started and he had to leave her behind. Neither had spoken about it, they just watched as the sand in the hour glass dwindled and they weren’t ready for the next two months apart. Sure, they’d done it before as friends, but it was different now. Shawn had never felt such a cosmic closeness to someone before, his body was different when she wasn’t around.

On the other side of Toronto, she drags her feet into the office building she regrets to call work. It’s not all bad, except for her bitchy boss and coworkers who love nothing more than to make her feel inadequate. But she constantly reminds herself how lucky she is to be here, and that this situation isn’t permanent.

At lunchtime, a deliveryman stops at her cubicle with a sunflower floral arrangement. She plucks up the card and of course they’re from Shawn. She giggles at the message he’s written her and blushes when she thinks about the poor person at the florist shop that had to write it.

Hey sexy!

I hope your Friday is as wonderful as you are. I already miss you even though you just left. I can’t wait to see you tonight and eat you out like four times. See you soon.

Shawn (aka love daddy)

She covers her mouth to stifle a snort and arranges the flowers on her desk. The rest of the day comes easy with the promise of coming home to Shawn. What she wasn’t looking forward to was his departure in four days. He’d finally (sort of) given up on asking her to come with him on tour. It was terrible timing and would put too much of a dent in her life right now - it just wasn’t cohesive. It was the last leg, so the worst of it was over and she had to remember that there were only a few more months to go until he was home in time for the holidays.

Of course, there would be more tours, award shows, promo, trips to the studio, music videos, and everything else that came with being Shawn that would keep them away. But their cotton candy cloud was too big and sweet right now to burst.

---

Her insides scream sweet relief when the clock stikes 5pm and it’s time to go home to Shawn. She mutters obscenities to herself as she wrestles with the oversized floral arrangement on her walk home. Luckily it’s not far and when the elevator door opens to his floor she’s met with the smell of something burning and a smoke alarm blaring.

Shawn tried to cook again.

“Oh honey you’re already home!” He coughs as he tries to clear the smoke in the kitchen by waving an oven mit and dish towel around.

She chuckles and sets the flowers on the counter as the scent of burnt chicken fills her nostrils. She sees the sizzling, smoky pan in the sink with what looks like charcoal stuck onto it.

“You really didn’t have to,” she laughs, “in fact, please don’t ever do it again.”

His arms stop waving and he pouts. The alarm finally silences and Shawn shakes his head to clear the ringing in his ears, “I was just trying to do something nice.”

She hops off the chair of the kitchen island and saunters towards him, placing a hand on his chest, “while I appreciate the effort, you are completely helpless in the kitchen. But I still love you for it.”

“I guess I can’t be good at everything,” he says, swishing a layer of invisible hair over his shoulder.

She punches his shoulder, “so what should we have? Pizza or Chinese?”

He gets that look in his eye, “I’d rather have you first.”

She squeaks when the cold granite countertop hits the backs of her thighs. Shawn’s mouth is on her before she has a half second to process what’s happening. He’s been waiting for her all day ever since he came across a pair of her black lacy underwear while doing laundry. He couldn’t get the image of the way they sit across her hips out of his fucking head since lunchtime and now that she was home he couldn’t wait to devour her.

His lips are fast and hungry against hers. She contorts her body a little in an attempt to pull off her heels, Shawn’s hand grabs her wrist, “keep them on,” he says with a bite to her ear, he kisses down the hollow part of her throat and across her chest to just where her dress crosses her breasts in a V-shape, “and lay back.”

She moves slowly to ensure there’s nothing behind her. Her head barely stays on the counter, her hair waterfalling over the edge. She lets her arms fall back too and relishes in the feeling of Shawn taking control. He wastes no time reaching under her dress, letting his fingers tiptoe the thin straps of her underwear before hooking them around his index fingers.

Shawn slows down for a second, taking his time as he tugs the fabric down her soft thighs. He thinks of how much he’s going to fucking miss this on tour and there’s no amount of FaceTime and handywork that will make up for the feeling of her skin under his. He’s obsessed with the way she feels, with every dip and dimple, every tiger stripe of faded stretched out skin - everything that made her uniquely for him.

He finally pushes the fabric past her manicured toes and slingshots it into the living room, she watches as it flies over the couch and behind it to that lost space between the sofa and wall.

“Hey!” She says sitting up, “you’re gonna fish those out later, buddy.”

Shawn just smiles and holds her face in his hand and gives her the softest kiss. He breaks away and walks to the fridge to pull out the wine she’d requested this morning. He opens the cork with ease and takes a sip from the bottle before handing it to her.

“Oh so it’s a drink straight out of the bottle kind of night, huh?” She asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand after taking too big a sip.

Shawn just replies with another ferocious kiss, his mouth tastes like the grapes of her favorite wine and she rests her hands low on his hips. He places a palm on her sternum and nudges her back. She gets the hint and lays back flat against the granite countertop. Shawn’s hand works slowly down her front, cupping her heat and letting the fabric create some much warranted friction.

She lets out a breathless moan at the contact and bites down hard on her lip. He does it again, and makes sure to hit her sensitive bundle of nerves and she bucks her hips up into him. When he moves his hand away from her she pouts and he wants to kiss that pout right off her face but resists doing so, the alternative is much better.

He bunches the fabric of her dress in his fist and pulls up, revealing her bare half to him. His tongue involuntarily swipes over his bottom lip and he feels his pants tighten. She can feel the cold air hit her in the most devine way. Shawn drops to his knees and places each of her legs over his shoulders.

“Missed you,” he whispers.

She laughs, “are you talking to me or my vagina?”

“I’m not going to answer that question.”

He feels her body shake with laughter, but calms it the moment his lips hit her knee. Shawn kisses slowly up the inside of her leg, past dimples and faded stripes of rippled skin. He places a single kiss above her heat before working, moving to work up the other side, he wants to leave no patch of skin unloved, un-worshiped.

Her fingers thread through the curls at the top of his head when he nears closer to her center and he knows she’s more than ready for it now. He slides her forward just a bit more on the counter (he’d almost chipped a tooth on the granite when he tried this last week). She tugs at his hair to encourage him, her whole body shivering the moment his tongue takes the first lap of her core.

She lets out a breathy fuck to disguise the moan as he picks up the pace. He starts with his usual figure eights, the condo silent except for her gasping, muted moans and the sound of Shawn’s tongue against her soaked center.

The sharp of her heels dig into his shoulders as he adds two fingers to enter her. Her hand leaves his hair to grab at anything she can, her nails scratching against the hard surface of the countertop when she’d normally ball a fist of sheets in her hand. Shawn watches her chest heave as he steadies his rhythm; lips sucking at her tender bud, long fingers curling inside of her to reach that one spot.

A warm spot in her lower body begins to boil over and burn her skin from toe to fingertip. She can feel it crawl up her chest and into her cheeks, painting them his favorite shade of pink. The lower part of her body twitches under him but he’s quick to hold her down with the palm his hand, tutting her along the way.

“Shawn I’m so so so so so close,” she breathes, digging her heels even harder into his shoulders but he’s too into it to care about the searing pain.

He releases her with a wet pop of his lips, “just let go whenever you’re ready.”

She takes a deep breath but it’s cut off when his tongue does overtime on her. Too sensitive to take it, she lets her orgasm crash over her with an arch of her back and a moan that echoes throughout the condo.

Shawn stands and leans over her body to kiss her forehead, “stay here, I’ll be right back.”

She nods, too fucked to even think straight about it. He gives her time to recover while he runs to the bathroom to wet a washcloth with warm water. When he returns, he runs it softly up her inner thighs, cleaning up the dampness from her arousal mixed with his spit. She quivers when he runs it gently across her sensitive core and covers her back up with the skirt of her dress.

“I need some help up, you destroyed me,” she groans, wiggling her fingers at him.

Shawn chuckles and grabs her hand to sit her up straight. Her hair is a mess, and her cheeks are still prickled with his favorite pink and he’s not sure how he managed to live this long without telling her he’s in love with her.

“So, pizza or Chinese?” He asks, repeating her question from earlier.

She grabs him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him in between her legs, “oh no, you’re next.”

---

heyyyyyyyyy! so this is the first chapter to the sequel of a certain time and place! i love all the beautiful responses i got from the last series. this chapter is moreso of a drop in, we have a LONG way to go with these guys and i’m excited to share it with y’all! drop a reblog, reply or ask if you enjoyed :)

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