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najia-cooks · 1 year

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[ID: A sandwich on an English muffin with cheese, a sausage patty, bacon, egg, Hollandaise sauce, and chopped chives. End ID]

Vegan 'sausage' and 'egg' breakfast sandwiches

Soy sauce, maple syrup, liquid smoke, and fresh herbs and spices give savor, depth, and sweetness to these TVP-based sausage patties. A combination of rice flour, all-purpose flour, and coconut milk, inspired by Vietnamese bánh xèo, makes the batter for the egg patties; they are subtly flavored with kala namak, fenugreek, and white pepper to form a perfect complement for the sausage.

A slow cook in an egg ring followed by a quick fry makes the 'eggs' fluffy on the inside and crispy on the outside—a superior solution to tofu, which never quite has the right texture.

This is a delicious, filling option for a weekend breakfast or breakfast-for-dinner; or, make the TVP patties and 'egg' batter the night before and fry them in the morning for a quick breakfast option.

Recipe under the cut!

Patreon | Tip jar

Makes 6-8 small sandwiches.

Ingredients:

English muffins, buns, bagels, or rolls

Hollandaise sauce (optional)

Tomato, tempeh, avocado, spinach, and/or hot sauce as desired

For the sausage patties:

1 cup TVP

1 cup water

1 tsp vegetarian beef stock concentrate or beef pho seasoning

1 1/2 Tbsp ground dried shiitake mushrooms

2 Tbsp total fresh minced sage, rosemary, and thyme, or 2 tsp dried

1 1/2 tsp onion powder

1 1/2 tsp garlic powder

1 tsp smoked paprika

1/2 tsp sumac (optional)

1/2 tsp fennel seeds, toasted and ground

1/4 tsp ground ginger

1/4 tsp black peppercorns, toasted and ground

5 cloves, toasted and ground

Large pinch MSG (optional)

1/4 cup vegan mayo (substitute any neutral oil)

1 Tbsp aged soy sauce (substitute any soy sauce)

1 Tbsp vegetarian oyster sauce

1 Tbsp Caribbean burnt sugar (or substitute molasses)

1-2 Tbsp maple syrup or brown sugar

1/2 tsp liquid smoke

2 Tbsp ground flaxseed

1/4 cup (30g) chickpea flour (or all-purpose flour)

2 Tbsp potato starch (if needed)

1 Tbsp cooking oil, to fry

You could also make these patties with Impossible or Beyond ground beef. Use 2 cups (350g) ground beef; omit the water and stock concentrate; halve the soy sauce, oyster sauce, burnt sugar, and liquid smoke.

For the egg patties:

1/4 cup + 2 Tbsp (60g) white rice flour

3 Tbsp (22.5g) all-purpose flour (substitute more rice flour for a gluten-free version)

1 tsp ground turmeric

About 1 1/4 cup (295mL) coconut milk (canned or boxed; the kind for cooking, not drinking)

1/4 tsp kala namak (black salt), or substitute table salt

1/4 tsp fenugreek seeds, toasted and ground (optional)

1/4 tsp white peppercorns, toasted and ground (optional)

Cooking oil, to fry

Instructions:

For the egg patties:

1. Whisk all ingredients except coconut milk together in a medium mixing bowl.

2. Add coconut milk while stirring until a batter forms, about the consistency of pancake batter. It should be thin enough to flow, but thick enough to coat the back of a spoon.

3. Cover and allow to rest at room temperature while you prepare the TVP patties.

For the TVP patties:

1. If using whole spices: toast each spice for a few minutes in a dry skillet on medium heat until very fragrant. Remove skillet from heat and toast ground spices, stirring constantly, for 30 seconds. Grind all spices in a mortar and pestle or in a spice mill.

2. Whisk 1 tsp of vegetarian beef stock concentrate with 1 cup of just-boiled water in a large bowl until just combined. Add spices, soy sauce, oyster sauce, maple syrup, burnt sugar, maple syrup, liquid smoke, and TVP and mix well. Allow TVP to rehydrate for about 10 minutes.

3. Stir in herbs, flaxseed, and flour and mix until well-combined. Add breadcrumbs 1/4 cup at a time until patties hold together.

4. Form TVP mixture into patties about 4" in diameter (or as desired) and place on a plate. Refrigerate for about 10 minutes to allow to set.

To cook:

1. Heat a cast-iron or nonstick pan on medium-high with a couple teaspoons of oil. Place egg rings (or mason jar rings) in the pan, and pour enough batter in each one to make a patty about 1/2" (1cm) thick. Allow to brown for a minute or two.

2. Turn the heat down to low and continue cooking until the top of the egg patties have mostly solidified and are a shade darker.

3. Carefully flip each patty and remove the egg ring. Pour another couple teaspoons of oil in the pan and return the heat to medium-high. Fry, flipping if necessary, until each side of the patty is golden-brown and crispy.

4. Meanwhile, heat a Tbsp of oil in another large skillet on medium-low. Place patties in the skillet and flatten gently with the back of a spatula. Allow to cook for about 5 minutes on each side, until browned, crispy, and cooked through.

5. Assemble breakfast sandwiches with TVP patties, egg patties, and vegetables and sauces of your choice. Serve warm.

#cooking #gluten free #vegan recipes #what vegans eat #usamerican

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the-solarpunk-activist · 2 years

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Y'all know what's solarpunk? Or at least sustainable? A good sourdough starter. It requires flour, quite a bit of it to get started, but it's healthier for you, and you can use the discard after the initial start phase for all kinds of tasty things meaning no waste and less store bought pancakes, crackers, brownies, breads, etc.

Here's how you make a starter (disclaimer this is how i made it, I've noticed a lot of sourdough purists insisting u need to weigh everything every time you feed and you need a scale for all your recipes, etc i have done none of that and i don't have the energy for all that either)

You need:

Flour, i use unbleached but that's because i had a bag lying around i used for vegan cookies as a gift and i heard it works for starters, Harold (my starter) seems to like it so why change, but I've heard of people using literally any kind of flour

Water, enough to mix into a thick pancake batter consistency

If you feel weird wasting flour you can try the quarantiny starter idea from king Arthur's flour which uses only a tablespoon of flour and some water until it's active and then you bulk it up when you want to bake with it.

You're going to want to add your flour and water and mix until it's a thick pancake batter consistency, i started with a half cup of flour but i left on vacation and my grandma accidentally bulked it up so now it's up to like a cup.

Every 24 hours (not exact measurement and some people swear by feeding it every 12, i do 24 but it varies by person and starter) you are going to want to toss half (in the garbage at this stage) and mix in about the same amount of flour as the mixture you just tossed (ex. You estimate you tossed half cup of starter, add half cup of flour to remainder in jar) add enough water til you reach consistency. I've gotten told this doesn't work but my starter is happy and thriving so I'm sticking with it.

Once your starter is active and consistently doubling within 8 hours after feeding (you will notice it does this in the first few days, that's Bad Yeast do not use. Your starter will hit a slump and then come back to rising, that's good yeast. I recommend putting a rubber band or hair tie where it is after u feed so u can monitor rise easier) experts recommend waiting ten days from initial starter start date to use it, i waited three weeks. Toss all starter at feeding during this time.

ONCE UR STARTER IS ACTIVE then u can save all the stuff u were tossing in a jar in the fridge (i use an old spaghetti sauce jar, and my starter is also in a big olive jar lmao) and use it in recipes that doesn't require yeast, this is sourdough discard and you can find a ton of recipes online for it.

If you want to use it to bake bread, you will use it when it's at its peak rise area, usually double what it was when you feed it. This is the yeast being all active and happy which will rise your bread. I recommend this recipe for beginners:

I reduced the salt to 1 tsp and added probably around a cup and a half of whole wheat flour, i had it lying around and why not. Changes will depend on your elevation and what works for you, it's not a science which is why no recipe will work for literally everybody. Almost everybody's first sourdough bread will fail one way or another but 98% of the time it's still edible and you learn!!!

Feel free to ask questions :)

Edit: forgot to mention that you should keep your jar covered, but don't screw the lid on, i just use the flat part of a canning lid placed on top

#sourdough #solarpunk #practical solarpunk #sustainable #environment #environmentalism #environmentally friendly #sustainability #ecofriendly #eco friendly #low waste #sourdough bread #baking bread #sourdough discard #yeast #sustainable baking #baking #bread baking

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morethansalad · 6 months

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Fluffy Vegan Pancakes with Miso Maple Roasted Strawberries

#vegan #breakfast #brunch #pancakes #miso #plant milk #apple cider vinegar #vanilla #coconut sugar #sea salt #strawberries #maple syrup #vegan butter #blueberries #vegan yogurt

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chainmailchalamet · 1 year

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Run Rabbit, Run (Dark! Eddie Munson 🍒🪽), Pt. 2

tags: roommates to lovers, modern!metalhead!eddie munson(maybe not a complete face match to ST!Eddie, but his look is up to your imagination), predator/prey dynamic , a lil degradation, impact, knife play, jealousy, possessive behavior + language, dacryphilia, kind of fucked up intense dirty talk, face slapping, choking, morallygrey!eddie, they may or may not be completely human (also up to interpretation), and as usual always!black always!non-binary POV 🌟🍒

————

the tension breaks because of course it does— because eddie, from the moment you move in, seems to be on a one-man mission to pull at every single one of your threads until you unravel at his feet, just so he can put you back together again.

and if you confronted him about it, he’d play dumb about it, because in his defense, he’s not really doing anything he wouldn’t usually do. nothing he wasn’t already doing before you moved in with him — he’d say you were being paranoid, that it was kind of adorable actually.

but you know you’re not, that he’s not just doing what he’d otherwise be doing, that his actions are a targeted attempt to make you lose your mind, to crawl under your skin and live there. that to him, it’s just a matter of time before you snap.

it starts with the cooking thing — he’s always cooking, has been attached to the kitchen since he was a kid, living with his uncle wayne down in virginia — sweet, sweltering hot virginia, where he got his twang and his first tattoos (the stick and poke smiley face on his ankle, the first set of knuckle tats, the bones of his face piece), his love of smoking cigarettes off the top of his trailer on cool, quiet nights with a sky full of stars. wayne, who’s still down in virginia in a cabin that eddie put the money down for with his chef money. uncle wayne, who taught him to gut a fish and skin a deer and whose peach cobbler recipe he’s still trying to get just right. wayne, who he still calls every sunday as he fixes both of you a full dinner spread with greens and sweet potato and baked chicken.

to eddie, cooking is home, and family, roots and heart — it’s more than a love language. it’s a soul language, and he speaks it fluently, teaches it to everyone he lets get close to him.

and it only take a couple of weeks before he’s speaking it to you day and night, until you barely have to lift a finger in the kitchen because he’s got you, because he’s always got you. he’s got you for breakfast, with thick cuts of salmon and fat, fluffy vegan pancakes. with fresh squeezed juice and sausages that he picks up from the polish supermarket in brown paper bags every sunday, because he’s got a plug for that, and a plug for the freshest fruit in-season, for big juicy strawberries and peach preserves and purple kale.

he feeds you, everyday — with leftovers from the restaurant shifts he works until 3 in the morning — he brings you the day’s specials, whatever they are, spoils you with mushroom risotto and grilled eggplant and bucatini made in-house with the most flavorful tomato sauce you’ve ever tasted. if the special is seafood, he brings it home in a freezer bag, with sliced lemon on the side — he serves you your first oyster, your first bite of squid ink pasta, your first full lobster.

he’ll knock on your door at some ungodly hour, and when you invite him in he’s got a plate loaded up for you, bags under his eyes and a tired smile. he’ll watch you take that first bite, make that first satisfied noise, because he knows you’ve been at the drafting table for hours making adjustments to a new garment in time for an editorial shoot over the weekend.

no matter how tired he is, he’ll sit on your bed, looking so out of place amongst your plushies that it makes you bite down a giggle at the sight of him, looking sharp and dangerous surrounded by soft things. no matter how tired he is, he’ll ask you about your day and listen intently, wrinkle between his eyes as he does — and even though you’re shy at first, talking to him about fashion, he’s encouraging, asking you questions until you loosen up a little and you’re talking his ear off about sustainable dyeing practices and bias cuts and the art of the gather. and you know he’s too tired to take it all in but he’ll fight it, yawning in-between questions like you can use onions skins as dye, that’s crazy, what else have you tried and you did that all by hand? so fucking cool — yeah, i mean I can do patches but it’s nothing like that, used to just use dental floss and it wasn’t super clean, nothing like what you do, that’s way more punk, you made a fucking jacket from scratch.

and he makes you shy when he gets like that, when he gives you all his attention, when he keeps track of every bite like you’re suddenly going to hate his cooking, like he’s ready at any moment to fix it for you, to go right back into the kitchen and make you something from scratch, like he wasn’t just groaning about the longest fucking shift of my life, darlin’, you wouldn’t believe — had to hide in the lockup at midnight cuz we just got back to back fucked, substitution after substitution, and i like getting creative, don’t get me wrong, but what the fuck do we have a menu for?

he lights up a little when he talks about the kitchen though, about gareth who does dishes and robin and steve who run the front of house like it’s the navy.

he’ll grin when you scrunch your nose up because he’s smoked through another pack in one shift, flash his teeth and say beats the alternatives, glad you didn’t meet me all strung out and 21, would’ve been vibrating around your room, rearranged the kitchen, lit a real fire in the fireplace.

even on his worst nights, after an actual hell-shift, when his texts get short and a little snappy, when he stops assaulting your chat with emojis, when he spells out every single word and doesn’t reply for hours and all you get after that is a “don’t wait up x”. even when you hear him come in, dragging himself through the apartment like his body is dead weight, even on the worst nights — you’ll wake up in the morning to a spanish omelette on the counter and a sticky note that says “getting some air, sorry about last night x”, as if he has anything to apologize for, as if he’s not allowed to be human.

it’s all so domestic — he makes your home a warm cloud to lay in. he makes you feel so at ease, like he’s got you, like he’s a safe place to land.

which is where the problem comes in — because your roommate eddie, your sweet, doting, sensitive eddie, who cries when he says “love you, g’bye” to his uncle wayne without fail every single time they talk, who has taken in one of the neighbors cats (cerberus, sweet and soft and definitely using him for his top-shelf tuna connections) as if it is his own, and calls his guitar sweetheart and shimmies his way around the kitchen on sundays humming let’s hear it for the boys.

that eddie — sweet, darling doting eddie — is a fucking deviant.

he doesn’t show it too often, keeps it tucked away with impressive self-control, maybe even tries to hide it from you until he’s sure you’re settled, until you start to wonder if you just imagined that glint in his eyes the first day you met him — until the mask slips, until you catch a glimpse of his shadow once more and you think to yourself “there he is”.

it happens because of a bottle of tequila — because it always does. you go out drinking with him and his work friends, because you lost all of yours in the breakup, and eddie says he’s already told everyone all about you, that they already love you, c’mon sweetheart, it’s my night off and i wanna celebrate, know you got that shoot coming up, barely been drinking water you’re working so much, don’t think i haven’t noticed. come dance with me, just one night, i promise i’ll get you back in one piece.

and when he puts you on the spot like that, makes you feel exposed like that, looks at you with his bambi eyes all wide like that, you can’t really say no.

so you get all dressed up (change your outfit three times, because it’s been a long time since you’ve been out and you wanna make a good impression, damn it), and you might be freaking out a little. but then eddie yells out “c’mon honey, bet you look perfect, lemme see you”, and you swallow that anxiety because you like the way his voice curls around the words like that, that honey-twang he’s got cuz you’ve both been pre-gaming a little (him with a homemade margarita, you with a glass of red wine). it makes you brave, makes you take a deep breath and step out into the living room. and you both see each other all dressed up for the first time and — something shifts.

something tilts on its god damn axis — it’s the start of the end.

his hair is wild. big and dark and wild and sparkling through like he’s sprayed glitter in it. he’s got the most delicious black leather jacket on, fit perfect to his body and aged just right. he’s got this sheer fucking fabric stretched across his torso — it’s barely a shirt, just a scrap of something dark that lets you see the cut of his hips and the ink in his skin and the silver rings in his nipples.

his pants are low cut, ripped jagged across both knees, like he busted them open skating — and his boots are obscene, steel-toed shit-kickers, red-laces cutting through them like veins. he looks so good you want to stomp your feet and whine “not fair, who gave you eyeliner, that’s cheating”.

he looks like a young god, like hell on legs, like a flashing neon sign that says “i am going to fuck your life up and you’re going to thank me for it”. you suddenly can’t read.

the way he’s looking at you makes your mouth dry up, makes your thighs press together, makes you want to fall to your knees and worship. it’s all that desire you forgot that he possessed, that you only catch flashes of in the quiet moments — when he’s giving you a taste of something new and his eyes travel down to your lips wrapping round the edge of the spoon, when you hum low and pleased with your eyes closed and you open them up and he’s giving you that look again, that “run, rabbit, run” look.

for the first time in weeks he’s not hiding any of it from you — runs his gaze over your face and down your neck, across your shoulder and down your stomach, to your hips and both your thighs (he takes his time right there, sees you twitch, darts up to meet your eyes real quick, almost-smiles, like he’s saying “got you”)

and then up, up, up again. he takes his time. he runs his tongue across his lips, comes up real close and tugs on one of your braids with a scrunch between his brows, looks down at you and blows out a quiet rush of air and says “we should go, right now” like he means “before i do something i regret”.

that night, something inside you snaps.

his friends all clearly know something you don’t, and they are varying degrees of subtle about it. chrissy hugs you and smiles big and bright and says aren’t you the prettiest god damn thing i’ve ever seen but she’s looking at eddie when she says it, and it makes your face heat up.

robin and steve are all wry and knowing, bitchy in a fun way, exchanging little smiles with each other, all he’s finally let you out the dungeon, huh? thought he was gonna keep you all to himself.

jon is quiet but he gives eddie this little nod like “i see you” and his boyfriend argyle is already two-thirds into a bottle of casamigos so he just says the quiet part out loud, somehow makes it sound so chill, like it’s not a big deal that he takes one look at you and goes holy shit, eddie wasn’t lying, you’re like — what the fuck, i’d write songs about you too. doesn’t even give you a second to unpack all that before there’s a shot in your hand.

and then the drinks keep flowing and you start to loosen up and enjoy yourself and eddie doesn’t seem phased by any of the teasing, sits close to you and takes sips out of his drink (fruity, staining his tongue red as punch, sickly sweet when he lets you have a taste of it), keeps his eyes on you all night, just takes it all in stride — like he was expecting this, like he’s made his peace.

and you’re too drunk now to let it go, so you turn to him while steve and rob are busy bullying everyone else and you slur out something like so you’re obsessed with me, huh? and he smiles sharp and dirty and goes you don’t wanna go there with me honey, and you say why not, you’re all talk, don’t pussy out on me and his eyes go pitch black.

he nods his head, hums to himself. “noted.”

and it just goes down, down, down from there. because now you’re worked up, feeling bratty, feeling mean. you nod too, and he’s just taking you in, sitting too close, watching you like he’s curious, like he’s just delighted at the thought of what you’re gonna do next. bet, you think. let’s go, then.

steve seems like your best bet, so you ask him if he wants to dance, sugary sweet and wide-eyed, and he grins like he’s been waiting for this all night, says later losers, time to have some actual fun and takes your hand, cutting eddie a look like the cat that got the cream as you climb over his lap on your way out.

eddie’s just looking, looking, looking. quiet storm brewing across his face. leans in close before you’re gone to whisper “careful, baby” in your ear, like a warning.

you just smile at him, shrug. come get me, big bad.

dancing with steve is easy, his arm across your back, your hips pressed close. he says “your boy’s watching, wanna give him something to look at?” and you pout, tell him “he’s not gonna do shit, stevie, he’s all talk”.

steve smiles at you like you’re so dumb, just delightfully stupid, so you ask him what he knows and he says “i know he’s real sweet on you, but you better watch it, honey — eddie’s not the one to play with.”

and then he leans into your ear and tells you a story about a wolf who walks like a man and talks like a man and acts like a sheep — but he’s a wolf, honey. he likes to bite, likes to play with his food — keeps his prey tied down in his lair and takes them apart, piece by piece, until they’re crying, begging, until the fight leaves them all at once and they go empty between the ears, until they’re just gone. and then he just keeps taking, taking, taking. until they’ve got nothing left to give him.

and the music is so syrupy sweet that you’re lost in it, lost in the roll of your hips, lost in steve’s voice rumbling in your ears, low and hypnotic, lost in the drinks flowing through your veins — until steve has to hold you by the chin and force you to look up at him and say “still with me, little lamb?”

your throat is dry when you ask him how he knows what he knows, and he just looks over your shoulder (you know who he’s looking at, you feel those eyes across your back, he’s always watching, he just never stops looking) and tilts his chin up and goes why don’t you ask him yourself, honey?

and then eddie’s right there, pressed up against your back — leaning down to your ear to ask if you’re having fun, and for a second you’re pressed up between them both, letting steve rock you back into eddie, letting eddie grip you by the hips and pull you back, back, back, guiding you into a slow, filthy grind. your eyes fall close, you barely notice steve pressing a kiss to your temple, trilling have funnnn before he’s gone into the crowd again.

you still with me, eddie asks, at the same time you spin round and ask him “you fucked steve?”

he laughs a little and hums i see y’all been getting acquainted, pulls you close again and says jealous, honey?

you say you wish, and then you did, didn’t you? said you act like a sheep, but you’re not, are you? you’re a wolf.

he looks down at you, runs his hands under the straps of your top, presses his palms to the skin of your back, dips his head down. you know, i wanted to do this right — wanted to woo you and shit. feed you, keep you warm, treat you sweet.

and you know, you know, you know. what are you gonna do with me now, eddie?

he just looks at you. looks and looks, pulls you closer, let’s his hand creep down, down, down, makes the heat in your body swoop down low in your tummy when he grips you hard over your skirt, sweeps one hand in your hair and gets his fingers tangled in your braids, all the way down to the root and tugs, real mean with it.

he makes you bare your neck to him, makes you gasp, makes you wanna beg. for his teeth in your neck, for his hands between your thighs, for his mouth on you. you gonna hurt me, eddie?

he shrugs. i don’t know yet, honey. you gonna ask me nice for it? gonna ask for what you want instead of being a rude little brat, making me think you wanna fuck my friends?

your mouth goes dry. i wasn’t tryna —

nah, you just wanted me to think it, didn’t you? his voice drops low, mean, dark. dumb bunny, you didn’t actually think that was gonna work, did you? steve likes em big and bad, and you’re fucking nothing like that, are you? pretty little doll, he’d eat you alive.

he’s all inside your head, barely leaving you any space for yourself, and the way he sneers dumb bunny makes you squirm, makes you ache. he’s got you pinned in place like a fly in amber, nowhere else to run. and you wouldn’t?

he tilts his head, hums, says it again, wanted to do this right, wanted to lay you out on my bed and make you feel good. he mouths a kiss across your neck, traces his tongue across the skin, just the tip, just a tease. asked me if i was obsessed with you. stupid fucking question, baby. knew you were mine, first second i saw you, walked into my house and made it all strawberry and honey, seeped into everything, kept me up at night with it — and now it’s all over our home, our fucking home.

he uses his teeth, opens his mouth wide like a beast, like he can’t just smell you, like he needs the taste of it too, needs to feel the flesh between his teeth. and you can see right though me, can’t you, baby? the others, they think they see it, think they know what i think when i look at you, but you know, don’t you? you’ve always known.

you know. you’ve known. he wants inside your skin, wants to worm his way deep and build a home there. wants to keep you fed, keep you full, make you happier than anyone could. wants to own your happiness and your hunger, greedy over it. fucked up over the thought of anyone taking care of you better than he could, knows in his soul that no one else could. it makes you scared, makes you warm, makes you feel insane. you should run, should find a new apartment and start over because you’re so raw, and vulnerable, and he could hurt you, he wants to hurt you —

you tilt your head back, you run your hands across his shoulders, over his back, up into his hair, and you grab a handful and pull. he makes a noise like a wounded dog. he pants for it, folds forward like he got the breath knocked out of him — you think he’s mine, he’s mine, he’s mine, feel him kick up against you, big and warm and hard against your hip and your head swims with the thought. over and over, the same thought — mine, mine, mine.

yeah, sweet thing, m’yours, all yours, all of it, all yours, he whines, just for you. must’ve heard you, must’ve said it out loud. he sounds hollowed out, like you’ve let all his air out, and you’re wild for it.

tell me how, you say. you tug his head down so you can speak into his ear, and he goes down easy, so easy. when i let you take me to bed, when i let you have it, what will you do to me? what first?

a knife, he says, like a man possessed. toys with all your straps, slips his fingers underneath and tugs. wanna cut you out of this pretty fabric. look like an angel, wanna rip it to shreds, lay you down in the ribbons.

to ruin me, you say.

to make your heart race, he sings. he sways into you, sounds so consumed with desire it makes him drunk, makes him slur his words like his teeth are too big for his mouth. make you scared, make you wanna run so i can catch you. hold you down, press the blade up against your skin and play.

he wants to play. with a knife to your neck. fucking freak.

yours, yours, yours, he says. pulls back to look at you, hisses when you follow him with your hands in his hair, eyes rolling up and then back down, eyes half-shut, lights going out until it’s all a stretch of midnight without a star in the sky.

beautiful boy, you think. terrible, terrible, gorgeous boy.

wanna spit in your fucking mouth, he confesses. wanna hold my hand over your nose and watch your throat work as you swallow. wanna make you wet all over.

you’re already wet all over, and he knows that. can probably smell it, the wolf.

you’re still dancing, somehow. still swaying, still pressed up against each other, no room for common sense. his friends are nowhere to be seen — the crowd of bodies around you have all blurred away. you want to be home, in his bed, his lair, at his mercy. you tell him as much, and he smiles at you like he’s proud. love it when you tell me the truth, he says. love it when you show me.

better make it worth it, eddie, you say. better make it hard to leave your bed in the morning.

and then, he sings. and then, and then, and then.

greedy boy, you think, never gonna let me go, never gonna let anyone else touch me ever again.

you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, red and sweet and sharp. and then, you say, then you’re gonna feed me, like you always do.

#eddie x black!reader #dom eddie munson #eddie x y/n #eddie munson #eddie x reader #dark!eddie munson #dom!eddie munson #mean dom eddie munson #black!oc #black!y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson smut

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softieekayy · 1 year

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Serenity

Marc spector x desi!oc

Word count: 1.8k

Shivangi living next to Steven and Marc was a blessing. Each day they’d have breakfast together at Shivangi’s as she supplied them with the most fluffy pancakes Steven has ever had and a tall glass of orange juice. All vegan of course. When Marc would have breakfast with her it would be some eggs and pancakes with a tall cup of coffee as Shivangi drank Chai. She’s lived there for six months now yet London was still covered in a forecast of constant clouds. Not that she had minded, maybe a little. There were rare moments in the middle of the night when Shivangi missed the warmth of the Cairo sun on her skin and the smell of sandalwood that encompassed her home. That was it, she missed home. Although it wasn’t the place that she called home, it was the people. Like the old lady that lived next door and would more often than not try to marry Shivangi off to her various grandsons.

“You’re not getting any younger habibti. My grandson is a good man with a good job. You will be taken care of well.” Aya, the old woman would often tell, stressing on the fact that Shivangi would be well taken care of. Of course the young woman knew that Aya meant no harm and just worried for her. Shivangi and Layla were young when they lost their parents and ever since then Shivangi took the role of being a mother for a year younger Layla. Aya knew that Shivangi was a daughter to her and she wanted her to be taken care of, if not by her grandsons then someone else who would. She missed Aya. A small yet sad smile placed itself on Shivangi and Marc, the one who had the body this morning, looked up at her, setting down the paper that he was reading. More often than not he was called an old man by Shivangi and not once did he mind it. It was still early hours of the morning but duty calls and both Steven and her had work. Marc reached out his hand to her tentatively, brushing the back of his knuckles against hers. Shivangi looked up at Marc only to see a worried face peering back at her.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Marc asked and that was all it took for Shivangi to break her resolve. Marc, worried and panicked, stood up and pulled Shivangi into his chest, letting her clutch onto his t-shirt as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. His cheek atop Shivangi’s head as he gently caressed her hair, letting her cry out whatever it was that bothered her. A few moments later her sobs settled into hiccups and sniffling.

“Shivangi, are you okay?” Marc asked again. This time turning her chair so she faced him. The young woman looked up at him, eye bloodshot red and she wiped her nose with the sleeve of Steven’s grey shirt that she wore. Her bottom lip wobbled and she took a couple deep breaths before speaking.

“I miss Aya.” That was all Shivangi said, bringing her hand up to her nose bridge, trying to massage the forthcoming headache away. Marc pulled her into his chest, rubbing her back slowly as he muttered comforting words to her.

“Aya, she was my mother Marc. Not by blood but by bond, always there for me when Layla left and I was alone. She always made sure I didn’t die or that I was well and taken care of. She was my mother while I was Layla’s.” Shivangi explained as she pulled back.

“Being here, in London, countries away and in a different continent makes me feel as though I betrayed her. Left her in the wind with no explanation.” Shivangi explained to Marc as her voice cracked.

“Oh sweetheart. You didn’t leave her in the cold. She knows that what you left for was better than what you had. She knows, even if you didn’t tell her. She knows that you’re okay and you will be okay.” Marc comforted Shivangi, taking her smaller hand in his, noting down the fact that she was freezing. Shivangi still had a kicked puppy look on her face as she looked at him, clearly doubting his words.

“Okay come here. Lay down for a while and take a small nap. We have four hours before we have to be at work.” Marc advised and Shivangi just let him pull her down to the worn out blue couch. She laid down, her feet in Marc’s lap as he pulled the blanket on top of her. The morning cold and her dull headache lulling her to sleep slowly alongside the way Marc’s hands rubbed up and down her legs and before she knew it, Shivangi was asleep.

Marc waited a while before she stood up slowly, not wanting to awake the sleeping girl, he gently took her legs down from his lap and placed them on the couch before making his way to the kitchen. The kitchen was left as it was, one cup of chai that was now cold along with Marc’s coffee. Shivangi finished her pancakes although Marc’s were still lukewarm, he sat down and finished them, pouring an ungodly amount of syrup over them, gulping down the cold coffee. After finishing the food, he did the dishes and put them in their place and an hour later he was done, the clock showing 7:30 am.

Marc made his way over to Shivangi and stirred her awake. She opened her eyes and looked up at Marc before looking around. Her mind still a bit hazy from sleep.

“Morning' sweetheart.” Marc greeted her with a small chuckle as she glared at him. She sat up and pulled her hair down to tie it up again.

“How long have I been asleep?” Shivangi muttered, asking Marc while squeezing her eyes shut.

“Couple hours.” Marc replied as Shivangi got up while nodding and making her way to her room.

“Gonna go get ready for work.” She told him, exhaustion seeping through every word.

“Me too. Gotta make sure Steven doesn’t have Donna on his ass again. God knows he’d cry if he misses dinner with you again.” Marc snorted and Shivangi laughed a little. The two bid each other goodbye at the door with Shivangi giving Marc a tight hug and telling him he’d better come in for dinner.

Shivangi took her time getting ready for work. Her body was a temple and deserved to be treated like one. First she took a shower with the jasmine and sandalwood soap bar that Steven and Marc loved oh so much. Not that they’d ever admit it to her. Her once long hair was still long, but styled differently, something to suit the London girl persona that she’d taken on, along with smoking cigarettes. Shiva did not like that, he claimed that her body was a temple and it should be treated like one, however smoking was quite addictive but she tried her best to quit. Getting out of the shower she dressed herself in her favored long sleeve crème turtleneck and a pair of grey pants with a grey coat. The weather outside was brutally cold, especially for her.

Shivangi made her way out the building, Marc long gone. Steven’s shift started before hers but they always managed to have lunch together.

“You’re quite fond of him aren’t you? Hm, I suppose human is good for you.” Shiva’s voice rattled in Shivangi’s head, giving her a slight scare. Luckily no one was in the book shop this early to witness her speaking to herself.

“He is a complicated man, my lord, but you and I both know how much I love puzzles.” Shivangi teased, and Shiva just laughed. This young girl who had become his avatar, his human form, was his daughter.

“Of course my dear. This path that awaits you both, it was inevitable that you’d cross. It was written in the stars, long before any of you were created.” Shiva informs Shivangi and she smiles, mindlessly arranging the flowers on the counter.

Their conversation ended shortly after and before the young woman knew, it was time for lunch.

“Going out with the handsome fella are you now dearie?” Maya, an older woman with grey hair starting to come in yet still living with a youthful soul asked Shivangi who simply blushed and nodded before noticing Marc waiting for her outside.

“Hi Marc.” Shivangi said soulfully, wrapping her arm in Marc’s as the two walked down and through the bustling city of London.

“Hi Sweetheart.” Marc responded, pulling Shivangi into him, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as they walked. While Steven was vegan, Marc was not.

“How’s your day been?” She asked, sitting down from across from him and Marc just looked at her. The way her red brown hair fell onto her shoulders and down her back, the way her kohl lined eyes made them look as if she was staring deep into your soul, reading each piece of you.

“As always. Donna banging in about things I could care less about. Putting on a fake accent and selling candy, with khonshu talking in my ear of course.” Marc rambled and Shivangi listened, looking at him with stars in her eyes, as if he plucked them and put them there himself. She laughed a laugh that made Marc want to drop everything he was doing and drown himself in it.

“How was your day so far?” Marc asked, taking a huge bite of his burrito.

“It was good, I arranged books and flowers and talked to Maya and Shiva about things. My day has been very slow so far.” Shivangi said, taking a bite of her own burrito. Their lunch was slow, Marc and Shivangi talked about useless things and Marc made her laugh, he wanted that sound to be the last thing he heard before he died. Unfortunately for them, time was never kind and lunch ended far before they’d like it to. It didn’t matter that they came to work together, ate together and left together, not seeing each other for just 8 hours a day was disappointing.

“I’ll see you at home?” Marc asked, dropping Shivangi off to work. The younger woman looked at him and nodded.

“You’ll see me at dinner Marc, like always.” She laughed, reaching around to give him a quick hug. Marc laughed with her, feeling a little embarrassed that he even asked her that question. He made his way back to work, the slight scent of sandalwood and jasmine sticking to his clothes, a reminder that Shivangi would be there with him always, whether it be physical or not, she would always be by his side.

A/n: This is like a year too late.

Tagging my loves: @shawty-writes-a-little @chchchcheni @jake-g-lockley @brekkers-desigirl @rantingsstuff @guzaarysh @imarvelatthestars @tocoi @idkwtfimdoing2

#marc spector x you #marc spector #Marc spector x reader #Marc spector fluff #moon knight #moon knight x reader fluff #steven grant x reader #steven grant fluff #moon knight fluff #om namah shivay #shivji #desi!reader

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