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cuisinecravings · 2 years

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How to Freeze Dry?

How to Freeze Dry? Although freeze-drying food may seem like a futuristic technique, it has been done before electricity. Both with and without a freeze-drying machine, there are several ways to freeze-dry food at home. I'll go through all your options for freeze-drying food at home, as well as the advantages and disadvantages of each approach. More and more home pantries and supermarket stores are carrying freeze-dried food. Contrary to popular belief, most residents of normal suburban neighbourhoods don't store it in back closets or use it as lightweight camping food. (However, 2020 did teach us that it's a good idea to keep some emergency food on hand.)

How to Freeze Dry Unbelievably, the majority of consumers who purchase freeze-dried food at the shop just use it for regular meals since it is delicious. When I was a child, my parents used to purchase me freeze-dried astronaut ice cream at a baseball game because, up until a few decades ago, freeze-dried food was only offered as a novelty. How to Freeze Dry While it was good and everyone enjoyed it, nobody took it seriously. Who else besides actual astronauts requires freeze-dried food? A few decades later, How to Freeze Dry freeze-dried food is hugely popular with everyday home cooks, and parents frequently include portions of freeze-dried fruit as a special treat in their children's lunches. Along with their dehydrated banana chips and raisins, Trader Joe's also sells packages of freeze-dried meals. Additionally, because so many bakers utilise freeze-dried strawberries, raspberries, and other fruits these days, the majority of grocery stores stock them. They enhance baked items' flavour without adding moisture that would make muffins, bread, and cookies soggy. Food that has been freeze-dried maintains its shape and rehydrates rapidly without losing its flavour, texture, or appearance. Food that has been dehydrated, on the other hand, loses its shape and takes on a rubbery texture and doesn't rehydrate nearly as well. How to Freeze Dry Since it is heated throughout the drying process, part of the sugars in fruit caramelise and the proteins in meat, cheese, or eggs alter, making it impossible to recreate. Despite being tasty and practical to have in the cupboard for both regular cooking and emergencies, freeze-dried food may be pricey. I'll lead you through various techniques for freezing-drying food at home, starting with the age-old Andean techniques for freezing-drying potatoes and moving on to homemade alternatives and, finally, compact freeze dryers for use at home. To be completely honest, utilising a freeze dryer is by far the best alternative. Although they require an investment, with regular use, they should pay for themselves in less than a year.

FREEZE DRYING: HOW DOES IT WORK?

Low temperature drying of food is possible by freeze drying. In a home freeze-drying device, the food is first frozen, and then the pressure inside the chamber is lowered by a vacuum pump. How to Freeze Dry Sublimation is the process through which ice transforms into gas at low pressure. Early in the process, the ice serves as a framework to assist in maintaining the food's texture and shape throughout the freeze-drying procedure. The food keeps its shape, size, and texture even after all the water has been drained away. Outside of a vacuum chamber, freeze drying also occurs in nature. Animals that perish in the Polar, such as seals and penguins, are occasionally freeze-dried naturally as arctic winds first freeze and then gradually dry the meat. How to Freeze Dry It is an archaeological phenomenon, yet specimens are indefinitely kept and the preservation process is the same. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QzoHJn1lo_w In the Andes, where potatoes have been freeze dried for at least a thousand years, humans have also practised the freezing and later drying of food.

WHAT SETS DEHYDRATED FOOD APART FROM FREEZE-DRIED FOOD?

Since low temperatures are required for freeze drying, the food's carbohydrates and proteins are unaltered. When you add water, the meal will easily rehydrate and taste almost exactly the same as it did before it was freeze-dried. The process of dehydration depends on the heat-induced evaporation of water, which also alters the diet. Fruit sugars slowly turn into caramel, proteins cook slowly (or overcook if they're already cooked), and the dish shrinks and becoming rubbery. Some foods, such as dried carrots, recover well after being dehydrated. How to Freeze Dry Other foods won't ever be the same because they don't dehydrate well. On the other hand, freeze drying is effective for almost any food. Everything, including freeze-dried cheesecake and fruit as well as freeze-dried fruit and meat, is delectable. Only meals with extremely high fat or sugar content that are already low in moisture don't freeze dry well. things like honey, chocolate, and peanut butter. Since they naturally last a long time, freeze-drying isn't really necessary for them.

HOW LONG DOES FOOD THAT IS FREEZE-DRIED LAST?

Food that is freeze-dried keeps its best quality for decades, but dehydrated food often only lasts two to three years at most. Freeze-dried food should remain unaltered for 25 to 30 years with careful storage, and possibly even longer. When I purchased a few "vintage" cans of freeze-dried food at an estate sale, I had the chance to put this to the test. How to Freeze Dry The freeze-dried apple slices were wonderfully tasty when I opened the sealed No. 10 cans after 17 years of preservation. I rehydrated them and prepared an apple pie that deceived my husband since they were just as tasty as the day they were stored. It would have been challenging to distinguish the freeze-dried version in a blind tasting test if I had made it using fresh apples, in his honest opinion. Where can I find frozen-dried food? If you're curious and have never tasted freeze-dried food, I'd advise tasting it first before attempting to make your own. At least in our neighbourhood stores, freeze-dried food is typically kept close to the dehydrated fruit in the grocery section. It makes logical that commercially produced freeze-dried food has a fairly variable quality; it's only as excellent as the food that goes into it. Underripe or flavourless fruit can be frozen dried to produce those results. How to Freeze Dry I conducted a blind taste test with my children and discovered that Valley Food Storage makes the tastiest freeze-dried food I've ever eaten. They could always recognise the freeze-dried fruit from Valley Food Storage. If you're interested, I conducted a thorough analysis of the top emergency food suppliers in 2021, after the market turmoil of 2020 had a significant impact. They all create freeze-dried food because it is convenient, tasty, and has a long shelf life. Even though the freeze-drying procedure is the same for all foods, some are significantly superior to others. Quality counts whether you freeze-dry food at home or buy it already cooked and dried. The outcome is only as excellent as the food that enters the freeze-drying apparatus.

MODELS OF TRADITIONAL FREEZE DRYING

In South America, specifically the Peruvian Andes, freeze-drying for food preservation has a long history of use. In the late autumn, when it is below freezing in the high mountains, potatoes are harvested. The potatoes freeze if left out over night, and the next day they dry in the harsh high-altitude heat. How to Freeze Dry They have a freeze-thaw cycle similar to what we see in Vermont during the maple sugaring season, with freezing temperatures at night and warm, sunny days in between. The local ladies "dance" barefoot on the potatoes after three days of the potatoes being frozen at night and thawed during the day. This aids in pressing out moisture and removing potato peels. The potatoes are walked or danced on each day in the sunlight and naturally re-frozen at night during the subsequent seven days of the freeze/thaw cycle. The entire process takes about ten days to complete. How to Freeze Dry Chuo, the finished product, can be stored for many years without additional preservation. (Identical to contemporary machine-produced freeze-dried food.) Food Dried and Freezed in a Home Freezer In theory, then, your home freezer is capable of freezing dry goods. When food isn't properly wrapped and is left in the freezer for a long time, this can occasionally happen on its own. During one of my formative years, we discovered a pint of ice cream with the lid missing that had been pushed to the back of the freezer. How to Freeze Dry Without a lid, it had been sitting there for who knows how long before it slowly turned into astronaut ice cream. It does occur… But it takes an eternity. For a long period of time, during which the food both develops freezer burn and flavours from the freezer. It kind of stinks… It's false to claim that you can freeze dry food on a tray in the freezer in as little as a week in certain places on the internet. Dry ice is used to FROZE DRY FOOD. - Now that you've thought about it, have you considered using dry ice to freeze-dry food? - Since CO2 is frozen, dry ice is extremely cold. It normally costs $1 per pound and is offered at big-box supermarkets and party supply stores. - The same thing is stated in every single set of online freeze-drying with dry ice instructions. - None of them, however, have actually done it. - To begin, put the food in a plastic bag with the top left open to let moisture escape while keeping the food away from the dry ice. - Drill holes in the lid of the cooler and place the bag inside it outside. How to Freeze Dry This will allow moisture and CO2 to escape. (Avoid doing this inside; the CO2 in an enclosed space might cause suffocation.) - The meal should be freeze-dried after 24 hours. - Does it operate? No. First off, utilising a vacuum pump and a homemade freeze dryer (that technique is covered next), it takes 24 to 36 hours to freeze dry food. With the use of electricity and much lower temperatures, it is a far more effective procedure. A cooler cannot possibly complete the task more quickly. I gave it a try, and no, it is ineffective. According to online forums, it appears that many other people have also given it a try. While the food did freeze as promised, it was not at all dry. Some items, such as apple slices, genuinely have carbonation because they were stored in a high CO2 atmosphere. How to Freeze Dry That makes sense; some home brewers utilise CO2 to quickly carbonate beer without a kegging equipment, and you can actually carbonate grapes by putting them in a bottle with dry ice. In addition, dry ice evaporates quickly; if you wanted it to slowly evaporate for 24 hours, you would need a lot of it. That suggests a sizable cooler with little food inside. A handful of food must also be frozen dried using at least $20 to $30 worth of dry ice. Not exactly useful.

THE STRUCTURE OF A FREEZE DRYER

If you're very skilled with tools, creating a home freeze dryer is actually simpler than you might think. The drying chamber is absurdly small, and it costs a lot to run (tonnes of dry ice). It works well for scientific applications when you are freeze-drying a small quantity of something for an experiment, How to Freeze Dry but it is rarely worthwhile to put in 24 hours of labour and use a cartload of dry ice to get a cup of freeze-dried strawberries. This video discusses the procedure in full using widely available parts that you can buy online for roughly $300 if you're curious how it works.

A HOME FREEZE DRYER IS USED

You already have a good understanding of how freeze-drying functions if you've read this far. Actually, the home freeze dryers you purchase are rather similar to the DIY freeze dryers demonstrated in the aforementioned movies. They are all combined into a single, attractive device that resembles a washing machine but is actually a freezing chamber with an incredibly effective low temperature condenser that rapidly chills food. How to Freeze Dry The water is subsequently removed from the meal using a vacuum pump, which lowers the pressure in the chamber. You load the food into the machine on trays and then choose the cycle to run. When choosing whether to pre-freeze the food before adding it, as well as whether it is a liquid (like milk or eggs) or a solid (such fruit, vegetables, meat, or cheese), you will be asked to make these decisions. After the cycle completes, sensors will check the moisture content of the food and turn the machine off automatically. Related Articles :- - How to Freeze Butternut Squash? Cuisine Cravings - Can You Freeze Kielbasa? How to Freeze Keilbasa? - Can You Freeze Hot Dog Buns? How to Freeze Hot Dog Buns? - Can You Freeze Danish Pastries? How to Freeze Properly? - Can You Freeze Pizza Dough? How to Freeze Pizza Dough? - How to Freeze Pizza Dough? Step by Step Guide Read the full article

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fanfic-scribbles · 3 years

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Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.

#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #captain america fanfic #reader insert #stucky x reader #mcu reader insert

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princessamericachavez · 2 years

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okay, here it goes

I bring you: A SUPER EASY AND TASTY WHITE RICE RECIPE

This one goes out too the astonishing amount of young adults I’ve met in the past couple years moving our or hoping to move out soon who do not know how to cook.

Imma teach you how to make white rice at home without a ricecooker.

Why rice? It’s easy! It’s versatile! It’s tasty! One bag produces a lot! You can use it to make ‘fancy’ bowls with your leftovers, to eat with beans, to make a homemade poke, to literally go with any protein and add healthy fiber and carbs to ur diet. But really, mostly because it expands when u cook it so half a cup of uncooked rice is at least 2 rations and it’s a life saver.

Okay, so what do you need?

-An onion

-A clove of garlic

-Rice (duh)

-Chicken stock (supermarket bought from a box is totally fine)

-A pan (a regular small pan will do for half a cup of rice, a large pan is usually good for a cup of rice)

WHAT TO DO:

-Chop the onion and garlic (1/4 onion + 1 clove for half a cup of uncooked rice)

-Throw them in a pan (PREHEAT the pan and add some oil to it first, make sure the oil is hot BEFORE u throw the onion in)

-MEANWHILE: wash ur rice. Seriously, wash it. Just put it in a container with water and drain it (x2) or run it through water with a colander.

-ALSO move ur onion and garlic in the pan, dont let them burn

-once ur onion looks transparent, throw the rice in

-Fry the rice with the same oil and the onion and the garlic, stirring constantly, until it stops clumping together so much

-Add the chicken broth (twice as much broth as the rice u used. So 1/2 cup of rice = 1 cup of chicken broth // 1 cup of rice = 2 cups of broth)

-Stir gently, just to make sure the rice is evenly distributed.

-LOWER THE HEAT. And i mean it. Ur rice WON’T cook faster if you put the heat higher, it will just be uncooked and burned.

-Beyonce voice: PUT A LID ON IT

-And —MOST IMPORTANT— don’t touch it again.

-I am serious.

-Don’t move it. Don’t stir it. Don’t fucking move stuff around in there. LET IT BE or it will be clumped and sticky.

-The broth will boil and evaporate slowly. The rice will poof. You can check it gently pocking a little bit from the top and tasting it until it’s not hard.

-If it runs out of liquid and ur rice still needs more cooking, add a gentle stream of broth over it and put the lid on again. DO NOT STIR IT IN DEAR GOD.

-How do I know if it still has liquid? You can GENTLY use a fork to poke in, moving a tiny bit of rice in the corner out of the way to see if there’s still any liquid bubbling in the bottom.

-USUALLY you won’t need to add extra liquid at all (that’s what the 1:2 ratio is for!!!) but because water boils @ different temperatures @ different heights (a boiled egg doesn’t cook the same at high altitudes or sea-level) your rice might take a little longer to cook and, therefore, need more liquid. So keep an eye on it every few minutes.

-Once it’s ready, take it out of the heat and NOW you can gently stir it to make it puffier.

-THERE YOU GOOOOOOOO

NOTE: If you wanna make basmati rice, do not use the onion or garlic and use water instead of broth. Basmati rice is already flavorful and fragrant enough.

#sofia's nonsense #adulting #also titled: I AM UR MOTHER NOW

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hizashis-lil-bunbun · 3 years

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BNHA Valentine’s Day Headcanons!

Happy first day of February! Some of my Discord friends and I were brainstorming how different My Hero characters would celebrate Valentine’s Day. So let’s give ‘em a whirl! All characters are adults or aged up to be 18+ in these scenarios.

Big thanks to @varnienne, @emmappelle, @sweet-darling91, @donica95, and @katsontherun for letting me bounce ideas off of them. 💖

⚠️MOSTLY FLUFF BUT THERE IS SOME NSFW AHEAD!⚠️

Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic)

SFW

Gotta start with my blonde bby. And the best way I can describe his ideal Valentine’s is BIG and LOUD!

He’s never been one shy away from telling you how he feels, but he’s especially talkative on V-Day. Going on and on about how lucky he is, how much he loves you, etc.

It’s love songs all day, baby! From blasting modern pop songs while he makes breakfast to sweet, old-fashioned tunes that he makes you slow dance with him to in the living room. He’s a true romantic (and a surprisingly good dancer to boot).

And he might even (re: definitely will) serenade you. The man is a musician after all! In fact, don’t be surprised if Hizashi wrote a song just for you.

As far as gifts go, Hizashi goes all out. He’s a hero and a celebrity, with the salaries to match. So you can expect a few big ticket items. Plus, he’s a good listener. If you ever mentioned something you needed/wanted/expressed interest in, chances are it will arrive wrapped up in red and pink paper on the day.

“Hey little listener! Remember how ya said you might wanna try painting? No? Well I turned the spare room into a studio for ya anyways! Maybe you can make me something to hang up at the station, yeah?”

But just because his gifts are expensive and flashy, that doesn’t mean he devalues your own. Hizashi will blubber and gush over anything you give him, from lavish luxuries to a something as simple as a homemade card. Loudly I might add. Make sure to have earplugs handy.

Unfortunately, one of the drawbacks of having a radio star as your partner is that he’ll most likely have to work on Valentine’s Day. It’s even worse if he had teach that day as well. So don’t count on any fancy dinners until after the 14th.

But if you tune into his station on the day (and you will), there will be at least three or four songs dedicated to “his favorite little listener.”

NSFW

Even if he can’t be with you on the actual night, he’s definitely going to make up for lost time. Mood music, candlelight, the whole nine yards. He wants to romance you. To make you feel as good as you make him feel everyday.

Oral and overstimulation are the name of the game, and Hizashi is a giver through and through. He’s happy as a clam once he’s got his face buried between your legs, making you cum for the umpteenth time that night. Seriously, does he ever come up for air?

Praise is also a big thing for him. It flows from his mouth like the sweetest wine. And with his quirk, every whispered word and groan against your body feels just as intoxicating. Good vibrations indeed.

He also loves it when you’re vocal. No love song can compete with the way you cry and moan under his touch. He’ll make you sing for him all night long and into the morning hours.

“Damn, baby. I love you so damn much. Love the way you look cumming on my tongue. Think you can do it again?”

Eijiro Kirishima

SFW

Okay. This boy adores Valentine’s Day! Like it’s his favorite holiday.

And how can he not? Everything in the stores is red! He can stock up on red merchandise for the rest of the year in the span of a week. And believe me, he does.

This means his partner should expect a lot of the cliché gifts on the big day: teddy bears, heart-shaped boxes, and red roses to name a few. Oh, and he’s definitely got a stockpile of cheesy, punny Valentine cards centered around his and his friend’s hero personas.

His favorite is the one that says “I think you’re a Red Riot! Be my Valentine?” But maybe that’s partially because it came from you.

Kirishima doesn’t just shower you with crimson trinkets; he buys treats for everyone! Especially his closest friends. To him, Valentine’s is all about showing the people he loves most just how much he cares. And it’s honestly adorable to see him practically bouncing off the walls in excitement when he finds a little red treasure for this year’s celebration.

“Babe! Look at that red shark plushie. It looks just like me! So manly!”

*proceeds to buy seven of them: one for him, one for you, and one for everyone in the Bakusquad + Tetsutetsu*

But at the end of the day, once all the chocolates and stuffed animals have been given away, he’ll make sure you know there’s no one he loves more than you. He spends the final hours alone with you, eating a home cooked meal and cuddling on the couch. Times like these are his favorite, just being to hold you close and appreciate your presence in his life.

Fair warning though. You’ll probably end up watching some some cheesy romcom, cuz he loves those too.

NSFW

Of course, the red theme continues in the bedroom: red rose petals, red sheets, even a set of red lingerie he bought just for the occasion. Which he proceeds to rip apart minutes after you’ve gotten them on. Hope they weren’t too expensive.

Kirishima tries to be gentle with you, he really does. Savoring your pleasure and letting your orgasms crest and fall naturally. He wants to see you cooing and boneless by the end of the night.

But sometimes he underestimates his own strength and gets a little rougher than expected. Maybe he gives too sharp of a love bite, or squeezes your hips a little too hard. But it’s all done out of passionate love, so you don’t mind too much.

You might actually prefer it if he gets a little rougher.

However, if you wanna get kinky, there is one thing Kiri’s always down for: pulling you over his knee for a good, old-fashioned spanking. His quirk is perfect for it, hardening the palm of his hand just before it smacks down on the soft flesh. It’s like he has a set of built-in paddles. Trust me, if you let him get into a good rhythm, by the end of the night your ass will match the Valentine’s decor perfectly.

“Not pushing you too hard am I, beautiful? I know I can be unbreakable sometimes, but I never want to break you. I love you too much to do that.”

Mirio Togata

SFW

TBH, before he met you, Mirio was a bit of a player (which is kinda canon). Like “has a different date every year” player.

And can you blame him? He’s a total heartbreaker with that (le)million dollar smile and those baby blue eyes. He got so much Valentine’s chocolate from girls in high school, it was sickening! But with you, things are different.

For starters, he’s not so big on material gifts. Giving or receiving.

“How could I want anything more when I’ve got my sunshine right here?”

No, this sweet himbo is all about making memories with his partner! Sharing experiences and spending as much quality time together as possible.

So he plans everything days, sometimes weeks, in advance. Budgeting his time and money to squeeze as much love into a single day as humanly possible.

The moment you wake up on February 14th, he hits the ground running. Quite literally! He’s practically doing laps around your bedroom in his excitement to get the day started.

Valentine’s Day with Mirio turns out to be a marathon of couple activities. Bike riding to a local café for breakfast. Sight-seeing in Tokyo followed by ice cream in the afternoon. He even manages to sniff out a carnival for you to go to in the evening, letting you run amok on the rides and games. And yes, he definitely spends too much money trying to win you one of those giant stuffed animals.

By the end of the day, you’re thoroughly spent and just want to snuggle up next to him. And maybe have a late night snack of chocolate. Mirio is more than happy to indulge you, even offering to carry you home. Anything to be close to his precious sunshine.

NSFW

Despite your sleepiness and aching feet, Mirio insists he has one last surprise to give you. So he asks you to lay face-down on the bed and wait for him. Naked of course.

Once he finds what he’s looking for, he straddles your tailbone with his thighs and squirts something slippery onto your back. You yelp at the cold sensation and that earns a laugh from Mirio. He tells you it’s massage oil. One specifically designed to relieve muscle tension.

It’s like he knew you’d be sore after his day of non-stop adventuring. Almost like he planned it... What a smooth criminal.

It makes sense though. Maybe it’s because his quirk requires him to pass through things, but physical touch is his primary love language. Nothing grounds him quite like having you in his arms, worshiping every inch of your body.

He works you over, kneading at the muscles in your back, hips, and legs with steady pressure and prescision. He even rubs your feet, making the earlier pains melt away into bliss.

You’re almost too sleepy and relaxed to realize one of his hands is creeping up your body until it’s too late. Next thing you know, he’s curling his fingers into you, amplifying the pleasure of the massage in a new way. Like I said, Mirio’s a smooth criminal when he wants to be.

“Feeling good, sunshine? Yeah, I’ll bet you are. You always look so cute like this... just makes me want to kiss you all over. Maybe I will! But I think you’re still a little tense right... here.”

#hizashi yamada #kirishima eijirou #mirio togata #bnha headcanons #valentines #present mic #red riot #lemillion #bnha smut #mha headcanons #mha smut

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bellafarallones2 · 2 years

Text

Merry Christmas! Here's some NSFW ot4 for @thiswasinevitableid. I've had a great year hanging out on Discord with you!

The lobby of Amnesty Lodge was glowing: a fire in the fireplace, stockings hung on the mantle, and the glow of the lights strung around the roof coming in through the open windows past gently falling snow.

The front door burst open, and in came the peak of an enormous pine tree, followed by Duck, supporting the middle section, and Barclay, carrying the thick trunk. The tree was eight feet tall at least, but the two men maneuvered onto its base with ease. A stream of others followed them into the room, Mama stomping snow off her boots, Dani and Aubrey and Jake Coolice and Moira and Ned “Santa’s Little Helper” Chicane.

“Alright, tall guy,” said Mama, and handed Barclay the star to go on top. Even six feet tall as he was, he couldn’t quite reach the top.

“Can someone get me a stool?” he said, grinning. Aubrey booed. “Alright, alright.” Barclay slipped off his bracelet, grew an extra foot, and topped the tree. Everyone cheered, and he stepped back to stand with Duck as Moira started untangling the multicolored strings of lights.

“When they chose that tree I thought, ‘there’s no way we’re getting that thing back,’” Duck said.

“It was a lot easier with you helping,” said Barclay. He stretched, twisting so his back emitted a series of cracking noises. “You know,” he continued, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “on Christmas Day I can usually convince Mama to put on a Santa hat.”

Duck chuckled. Then, remembering his own Christmas plans, his face fell. “I usually spend Christmas with his sister, but she’s in Brazil this year.”

“Everyone at Amnesty Lodge would be happy to have you join us for dinner.”

“You sure it wouldn’t be any trouble?”

“Of course! We usually have a pretty small celebration, but this year I think Ned will be joining us, and definitely Aubrey, since Dani told her there’d be mistletoe. One more won’t be any trouble.”

“I really appreciate it.”

Barclay hummed. “Are there any foods your family always eats on Christmas?”

“Christmas cookies.”

Barclay looked over seriously. “Who do you take me for, Duck? We’re decorating cookies right after this. Give me something more obscure.”

“Alright, alright!” Duck thought for a moment. “One of my aunts always made really killer potatoes au gratin when I was a kid, but I haven’t had it since she passed.”

Barclay looked thoughtful. “Hm. Well, it’s hard to go wrong with cheese.”

True to Barclay’s word, after the tree was trimmed he brought out trays and trays of cookies and containers of homemade frosting in all colors. Duck felt rather sheepish, glopping green icing onto a tree-shaped sugar cookie and throwing on some green sprinkles as Barclay used a piping bag with a narrow tip to individually accessorize gingerbread people.

“I wonder if Indrid would get a kick out of this,” Duck said, wondering if he was allowed to eat his creation immediately. “His drawings were real good. But maybe he only does it for, uh, for business.”

“Hm,” said Barclay, focusing. Soon he put aside the gingerbread men and started in on a whole ethnically diverse lineup of Santas. He gave them their red suits first, then put them aside and waited for the first layer to dry before adding their smiling faces. They all might be killed by an abomination any day now, but by God, Barclay was going to construct a utopia of sugar and flour.

For some reason some of the sugar cookies were shaped like butterflies, and Duck took one. There wasn’t much black icing - Barclay was just using it for Santa’s boots - but Duck spread it across the butterfly’s wings, then added some red.

“What kind of butterfly is that?” said Ned, leaning over the table.

“Oh,” said Duck. “I meant it to be a moth. Like Indrid.”

“He really is something, isn’t he?” said Barclay softly.

“Yup.” Duck surveyed his work. “Hey, it just occurred to me to wonder - y’all don’t celebrate Christmas on Silvain, do you?”

“No,” said Barclay, “but Mama likes it, and I’ve gone native.”

–

After all the cookies were decorated, Barclay loaded up one plate for Duck to take home, and another plate for Duck to bring over to Indrid’s place. Duck stopped over on his way, finding the Winnebago strung with lights.

As usual, Indrid opened the door a moment before Duck knocked on it and looked at him.

Duck realized suddenly that he didn’t know quite what to say. “I brought you some Christmas cookies.”

“Thank you,” said Indrid. “Would you like to come in?”

“Uh, sure,” said Duck, and followed Indrid inside. Indrid took the plate of cookies from him, unwrapped it, and froze.

“Are these supposed to be me?” he said, sounding amused. The cookies on the top of the pile were black-and-red butterflies.

“Yeah, everyone at the lodge got together to decorate them, and I just, I don’t know.” Duck gestured vaguely. “I’m not much of an artist.”

“Oh,” said Indrid. “Well, I’m happy to be your muse.”

“Uh, yeah.” Not wanting to dwell on just how often his mind wandered back to Indrid’s more monstrous body, Duck changed the subject. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around the park.”

“I’m afraid I don’t get out much.”

“That’s a real shame.”

“Maybe you could, ah, show me around sometime.”

Duck smiled. “I’d like that a lot.”

–

Barclay had cleared off two shelves of a bookshelf in the lobby of Amnesty Lodge, one over the other, and was setting out the ceramic nativity. The top shelf had a chorus of angels, all of whom looked very juvenile, and Jesus, Mary, Joseph, the three wise men, the innkeeper, a shepherd, and a selection of animals were on the bottom.

“Hello, Joseph,” said Barclay, without looking around at the FBI agent who had appeared at his shoulder.

“Hey. What’re you up to?”

“I can’t get the nativity to look right.” He swapped a wise man for a goat. “Some of them always look like they’re looking the wrong direction.”

“Can I try?” said Joseph.

“Sure,” said Barclay, and stepped aside. He watched Joseph study the display for a moment. “I know this isn’t your holiday.”

“I could feel you stressing about this from the other side of the room. If it’s important to you that it looks right, it’s important to me.” Joseph rotated the shepherd about fifteen degrees counterclockwise, so his gaze was aimed at Jesus rather than the goat. He moved Mary and Joseph from Jesus’s left side to His right. Then he stepped aside. “How’s that?”

Barclay moved a cow out of biting range of the Christ child, and stepped back too. “Perfect.” He could feel Joseph’s hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, Joe.”

–

Every year Joseph got overtime for working on Christmas Day. It almost made up for the fights he went through to get time off for Rosh Hashanah. When he was younger he’d seen some really horrible things, being the one on call when a local police department didn’t know what to do with an entire family’s apparent Christmas Eve murder-suicide. Now that he was in Kepler, though, looking for bigfoot, there wasn’t much he could do besides wonder whether bigfoot might celebrate Christmas. Every business was closed, and everyone he might have interviewed was busy celebrating.

It was almost dinnertime when he pulled into the Eastwoods Campground and RV Park, wondering about the odds of breaking his ankle if he tried to take a walk in the dark on one of the hiking trails there.

The only vehicle in the lot was an ugly brown box of a Winnebago with stained sides and a string of blue lights around the roof. While Joseph was sitting there, the front door opened and disgorged a figure Joseph guessed to be Indrid Cold, though the heavy winter coat made it difficult to tell. Maybe-Indrid carried a garbage bag down the steps of the Winnebago and tossed it into the dumpster at the edge of the lot before detouring to Joseph’s car on the way back.

Joseph rolled down the window. Yes, this was Indrid alright.

“Found bigfoot yet?” Indrid said. There was less mockery in his voice than most of the residents of Amnesty Lodge used.

“Nope.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to come in and warm up?”

“I don’t want to interrupt your Christmas.”

“What?” Indrid looked around, the blue glow of his lights illuminating the sharp planes of his face. “Oh, I don’t celebrate. I just like the lights.”

“Alright.” Joseph rolled his window back up, took the key out of the ignition, and got out of the car. He double-checked that he’d locked the doors, as though someone might be interested in grand theft auto on Christmas in Kepler, West Virginia, and followed Indrid up the steps of the Winnebago and inside.

It was roughly the temperature and humidity of a greenhouse inside, and as soon as the door was shut Indrid stripped off his heavy coat to reveal a thin white tank top, sweatpants, and fuzzy socks. A floor lamp looming over the couch illuminated the lap desk and sketchbook lying on the cushion in incandescent-yellow. Sure enough, there were no Christmas decorations to be seen.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Indrid said as he put a new bag in the kitchen trash can and washed his hands.

Joseph settled on the couch. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything strange since we last spoke?” He’d interviewed Indrid about bigfoot before.

Indrid moved the lap desk and the sketchbook to the floor and sat down next to Joseph, folding his legs. “Hm. I saw a display of gingerbread-flavored Mountain Dew at Leo’s last week; that was pretty strange.”

“Blech.”

“If you mean in the way of bigfoot, though, no. Nothing strange.”

Joseph nodded. A thought occurred to him, of Christmases past. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“No,” said Indrid.

“Want to go get Chinese food?” Joseph asked. “I’ll buy,” he added hurriedly, when he realized he didn’t know what Indrid’s budget for eating out was like.

“Agent Stern, are you asking me on a date?”

Joseph hadn’t intended to, but Indrid’s voice was as pleasantly teasing as it always was, and he did have a very striking face. “Yes. Although if we’re that familiar you should just call me Joseph.”

“Joseph. You seem like a Joseph.”

“How so?”

Indrid thought for a moment. “Sturdy. Very reasonable.”

Joseph didn’t think he’d ever been called those things before. Sturdy made him think of Barclay, who never seemed sleepy serving breakfast at six o’clock sharp, who seemed strong enough to carry anything. And reasonable… he’d always thought of himself as rather neurotic. “Thank you,” Joseph said, and then realized that it might not have been a compliment. But Indrid was smiling.

“I would love to eat Chinese food with you.”

The nearest Chinese restaurant was a twenty-six minute drive from Amnesty Lodge, which Joseph knew because he went there at least once a week.

“You’re a big fan of accordion music?” said Indrid, amused, after five minutes in the car.

“I don’t keep a lot of music on CDs,” Joseph admitted. “But a few years ago I was in a restaurant and there was this performer with CDs for sale and I bought one, and I guess it’s been in my car ever since, and since there’s no radio in Kepler, it’s what I’ve been listening to.”

“Perfectly understandable.”

They sat at a table for two just inside the front window of the restaurant. Beyond the edge of the parking lot there was only darkness. Indrid was looking out at the stars, chin tilted up. “It’s like being in a spaceship.”

“Have you ever been in a spaceship?”

“No,” said Indrid. “Well, except in the sense that every planet is a vessel traveling through space, in which case I've never not been on a spaceship.”

“That’s a fun way of thinking about it.”

“Thank you.”

For a while they ate in silence. Then Indrid put down his fork and spoke again.

“Can I ask you about work, or is that classified?”

“Classified,” said Joseph apologetically. He was well aware of how much avenue for small talk his situation precluded. “You’ve never said how you spend your time, though.”

Indrid grinned. “That’s also classified.”

By and by they finished their dinners, and Joseph snagged one of the fortune cookies and cracked it open. “New loves are approaching,” he read out loud. “Huh.”

“What would you say is your love now?”

For some reason Joseph was more honest than he would have been with just about anyone else. “Finding bigfoot.”

Indrid laughed. “Maybe it’s telling you to get a new hobby.”

“What does yours say?”

“Today is a good day to buy stocks.”

“It does not.”

“It does!” Indrid pushed the scrap of paper across the table. Joseph picked it up and read it.

“Oh my god.”

“Maybe you got the one that was meant for me,” Indrid suggested. “And you’re supposed to be buying stock and I’m going to be finding new loves.” He popped the cookie into his mouth and crunched.

“You actually eat the cookie?”

“Yeah,” said Indrid with a mouthful of crumbs. “You don’t?”

Joseph shook his head. “Feel free to have mine.”

Indrid took it. “I like them. They’re uncomplicated.”

They finished eating and headed out. Indrid climbed into the passenger seat of Joseph’s FBI-issue car, and Joseph drove.

“Do you believe in fate?” said Indrid.

“Well,” said Joseph. “Different moments in time are just different locations in spacetime, right? So everything that is going to happen already exists, just not in a place that is accessible to us. You can call that fate, if you like.”

“Seems like it,” Indrid murmured.

“Do you believe in fate?”

“Yes. But if you don’t know what your fate is, then it amounts to the same as free will.”

Joseph pulled into the parking lot of the Eastwood Campground and RV Park and shut off the engine. Indrid didn’t move to get out, and Joseph didn’t say goodnight, or any of the other things he could have said to cue that the evening was over.

“I confess,” said Indrid. “I don’t know what to say to make this go further. But I do find you very handsome.”

Joseph touched Indrid’s face, gently. And he leaned over the console, holding Indrid’s face in both hands so he knew exactly where he was, and Indrid leaned forward too, and kissed him.

At this angle Joseph could see beneath Indrid’s glasses, but his eyes were closed.

Indrid pulled back. “Thank you,” he said. “This was a very nice date.”

“I agree,” said Joseph. Impulsively he kissed him again, and Indrid’s mouth slipped open easily under his.

“If you’d like you could come inside,” said Indrid breathlessly, when he finally pulled away enough to speak.

“I would,” said Joseph, not caring the least bit whether it was fate or not.

–

While Joseph and Indrid drove to get Chinese food, the other residents of Amnesty Lodge, plus Aubrey, Ned, and Duck, were just sitting down for Christmas dinner.

“Where’s the secret agent?” said Aubrey, looking down the table after everyone had filled their plates. “I thought he’d be here.”

“He’s Jewish,” said Barclay.

“Well, Havah Nagilah!” said Ned. “Just so long as he’s not here.”

Barclay still looked rather sour. “We made latkes last week. You don’t think he feels excluded, do you?”

“Barclay,” said Mama. “You know he’s hunting you, right?”

“He doesn’t know it’s me,” said Barclay. Then he smiled. “Anyway, Jake, weren’t you going to tell us what happened at the mall yesterday?”

After the dishes were cleared away, Barclay brought out a pecan pie.

“Any of y’all happen to like pecan pie?” said Mama.

“I do!” said Aubrey. “It’s kinda nauseating, but in a good way!”

“None of the sylphs like it,” said Mama. “Used to be just Thacker and me, and then for the last few years just me. I tell Barclay he doesn’t have to make it, but he knows it’s my favorite.”

“Well,” said Aubrey, “when Thacker comes back it’ll be the three of us!”

Sometime after New Year’s, Indrid and Joseph lay together in Joseph’s bed at Amnesty Lodge, Indrid’s hands tight in Joseph’s undershirt.

“What are you thinking about?” said Joseph finally.

“Duck Newton,” said Indrid. “I find him… terribly attractive.”

“Me too.”

Indrid giggled. “In that ranger uniform, he can punish me for breaking campground rules anytime.”

“Do you break a lot of campground rules?”

“No,” said Indrid. “Do you think I should? Would that get his attention?”

“I don’t think he’d scold you sexually.” Duck Newton seemed very committed to his job.

“Hmm.” Indrid was quiet for a moment. “What do you fantasize about?”

Joseph squeezed his eyes shut. “Both of you. And Barclay. Is that dirty?”

“Incorrigibly,” said Indrid, but he was smiling.

“I bet they both have big dicks. Not that you don’t seem like you do, but…”

“I know what you mean.” Indrid shifted, turning so his back was to Joseph’s front, and nestled up against him again. In this position Joseph wouldn’t be able to see him get hard.

“I never felt attractive when I was in college, but I wanted to be one of those people who could go out to a bar and have multiple people hit on me. Having threesomes, and all that wild stuff.”

“You are attractive. The only reason not to hit on you is because you’re intimidating.”

“You don’t seem intimidated by me.”

“You asked me out first.” Indrid breathed for a moment. “Do you think you could take all three of us at once? Duck, Barclay, and I?”

“Yes. I’ve never been accused of being an underachiever.”

Indrid squeezed Joseph’s hand. “You aren’t.”

“Hey,” said Joseph. “I’m glad you’re chill about me being into them. Doesn’t mean I’m less into you.”

“It’d be rather hypocritical of me, in any case.”

Joseph took a deep breath. “I know we haven’t done anything like that, but if you want me to jerk you off or something… What I mean to say is, I want to touch you.”

“Oh,” said Indrid, and drew Joseph’s hand downwards to touch where he was half-hard through his sweatpants.

“Turn around so I can see your face?”

Indrid moved so they faced each other on the pillow. “Thank you.” Joseph pushed his sweatpants down below his dick and laughed. “Do you always go commando?”

“No,” said Indrid, but he was blushing. He was cute when he blushed. His dick perked up right away in Joseph’s hand, and he honest-to-god whined when Joseph licked his palm before getting back to it.

“I would be up for something more than this,” Joseph said, “but you look so relaxed lying there I’m not going to suggest anything athletic.”

“Thank you,” said Indrid. He grabbed Joseph’s wrist and kicked off his pants entirely so he could spread his legs wider, on his back now. “Please kiss me?”

Joseph leaned over to kiss him, and kept stroking him off until his moans reached a peak and he came all up his own chest.

Joseph leaned back again. Fuck, Indrid looked good like this, breathing hard with his skinny legs spread.

“I’m not that good at handjobs,” Indrid said, pulling his shirt off.

“That’s alright.” joseph knew his anatomy was unfamiliar to many gay men. Something to work on.

“Sit on my face?”

Joseph blinked. “Really?”

“Didn’t you just say how relaxed I looked lying here?”

“I did. And I do want to see what you can do with that mouth besides flirt.”

Indrid squeezed his hand. “Then pants off, Agent; what are you waiting for?”

Joseph’s pants joined Indrid’s rumpled by the foot of the bed. Then he straddled Indrid’s head and gingerly lowered himself down, holding onto the headboard for support. Indrid groped his ass hungrily and went to work. Joseph cried out at the first touch of Indrid's tongue to his dick - he hadn’t done this in a long time, and he’d forgotten how good it was, having a hot wet mouth to grind down on while he held onto the headboard for dear life.

Indrid said something unintelligible, and Joseph lifted himself up. “What was that?”

“Want fingers inside you?”

“Oh yes please, start with one -” Indrid’s fingers were narrow, but they were long, and somehow he unerringly found the perfect spot to press. “Another one. More - oh right there yes!” Joseph pressed his hot forehead to the cool wood of the headboard and rocked his clit against Indrid’s tongue with three of Indrid’s fingers inside him and came, so hard it took him a moment to peel his fingers from the headboard.

Finally he collapsed down on the mattress again. Indrid was breathing hard, and smiling contentedly. His glasses were still on. “That was fun.”

“You never take those things off, do you?”

“Nope,” said Indrid, giving Joseph a kiss that tasted of himself before settling into Joseph’s arms. (Indrid was much cuddlier than most of the cis guys Joseph had been with.)

There were strange things in Kepler. This Joseph knew very well. “Are you bigfoot?”

“No,” said Indrid. Something in his tone made Joseph stay quiet. “But you’re not far off.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not up to me. I’ve promised, to other people, it’s not just me, it’s, it’s complicated.” A deep breath. “I can’t tell you.”

“Can you show me?”

“I can’t let you see me. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t have to take pictures or tell my supervisor or even write it down at all. I’m just curious, I want to know.”

Indrid breathed. “If you let me blindfold you, you can touch me.”

“Yes. Indrid, please.”

“I could use your own tie.” Indrid got out of bed to look, and Joseph watched him, his long legs and soft penis, the sinewy lines of his chest. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes.”

Indrid found a tie in the closet. “If you want this off at any point just tell me, I need to… put my disguise back on.”

“I don’t want you to have to disguise yourself around me.”

Indrid leaned down and kissed him, and Joseph took the blindfold out of his hands and put it on himself. Indrid exhaled and adjusted it, so Joseph was plunged into complete darkness. And then Joseph couldn’t feel Indrid touching him anymore. “Indrid?”

“I’m right here.” His voice was the same, which was a relief. And Joseph groped forward and felt something warm and soft, and buried his hands in it and rubbed the fibers between his fingers. Feathers?

He ascertained that Indrid’s body was much, much, bigger like this, his torso turned barrel-like, all covered with thick feathers except for the hard joints at his elbows. “Put my hands on your face,” Joseph demanded. “I don’t want to stick my fingers in your mouth too hard by accident.”

“But hard enough is just fine,” Indrid teased, and Joseph felt claws on his wrists as Indrid guided him. A long, thin tongue came out to lick his fingers as Joseph felt his lips. Not much of a nose. And Indrid’s eyes, when Joseph rested his fingertips on the lids, were huge.

“May I touch you too?” said Indrid. “If you’re not too alarmed by me.”

“I’m not alarmed by you, but I’m not any different than I was.”

“No, but I still enjoy touching you.”

“Alright, then.”

Indrid rested his hands at Joseph’s hips. And… more hands, on Joseph’s thighs. On a hunch, Joseph reached around Indrid’s torso and found that his form extended in the back, and Indrid gasped a little when he touched the feathers there. Then he rounded the top of Indrid’s head and found two delicate protrusions.

Joseph’s hand stopped. “Can you see the future?”

Indrid laughed. “Clever thing, you are.”

“You aren’t going to distract me from this with compliments.”

“Fair enough. Yes, I can.”

He was going to have to ask questions about that. Many questions. But maybe not right now. “What’s your dick like?”

Indrid laughed, surprised. “Would you like me to get it out?”

“If you’re going to fuck me with it, I think you’d have to.”

“If I’d known this would excite you I’d have taken you like this sooner,” Indrid teased, taking Joseph’s hand in one of his and rubbed Joseph’s knuckles against a place low on his belly, so Joseph could feel a seam in the flesh and then the member emerging, already slick. Joseph could only barely get one hand around the base.

“You’re big.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I ride you?”

“Yes.”

Joseph lifted himself up, and Indrid helped guide him back down again, until the tip of Indrid’s cock brushed his hole and he gasped. Only because he was still wet from Indrid’s tongue earlier did he have any hope of fitting it in. But he was wet, excited by the strangeness of the creature beneath him and the thrill of being right that Indrid wasn’t human after all, and so he sunk down onto a cock so big it seemed to knock the breath out of him.

“Good?” said Indrid breathlessly, keeping his hips relatively still.

“Yes,” said Joseph, already rubbing his clit. “If you’d like to fuck me properly, go right ahead.”

Indrid growled and Joseph found himself flat on his back, claws pricking his inner thighs as Indrid spread his legs and fucked him. “If you don’t cum from this you can find out what my tongue feels like in this body,” said Indrid, before swiping said tongue down Joseph’s cheek.

Joseph very much wanted to, but he was already touching himself, he couldn’t help it; he whimpered and came anyway, his orgasm rolling over him before he could stop it. “Oh, Joseph, yes, tighten up around me,” Indrid gasped, the same voice Joseph knew so well, before he was coming too, the volume of his spend more and better than anything Joseph had ever felt.

It was past eleven, which was basically 3am by Barclay’s standards, and he was drinking eggnog spiked with rum.

The kitchen door opened and Duck came in, freezing when he saw Barclay standing there. “I think I’m in love with him,” Barclay said by way of greeting.

Duck closed the door behind him.

“I’m in love with Joe.” Barclay’s hair was loose around his shoulders and he was wearing a bathrobe over his undershirt and boxers. “I normally don’t fall for the humans who want to shoot me.”

“You don’t know he wants to shoot you,” Duck pointed out.

“Mama thinks he does.”

“She might be overly cautious. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

The door opened again, and Indrid slipped inside. His hair was an absolute mess. “Hello,” he said. “Can I have some eggnog?”

“Yes, your excellency,” said Barclay hollowly and went to get a glass.

“I can fix it for myself,” said Indrid. His hand stopped Barclay’s on the handle of the cabinet door. “And you don’t have to call me that.” He poured himself a glass of eggnog from the carton on the counter and drank. “Now I’m on Earth, you can treat me however you like.”

“Yeah?” said Barclay. He advanced on Indrid, backing him up until his hips hit the kitchen counter.

Barclay, alone among the residents and visitors of Amnesty Lodge, had seen Indrid as court seer. The other sylphs were too young, or too old, and the humans had never even been to Silvain, not seen the grand staircase with a huge red stained-glass rosette in the wall behind it, not seen Indrid Cold’s dark head looking like the dark center of the flower as he descended the stairs. Not heard the click of his gold rings on the handrail, the whisper of his spreading wings. Barclay had only ever glimpsed him from a distance, as part of a crowd of plebians the court seer had no reason to remember. Indrid’s human disguise, skinny and unimposing, was almost unrecognizable as the beast he truly was.

As Indrid tilted his head, though, and the light glinted off his glasses, Barclay saw him.

“You’re drunk,” said Indrid after a few moments of silence.

Barclay backed up instantly. “Yes, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“No, no, it’s alright.” Indrid reached out for Barclay’s hand and caught it, folded Barclay’s fingers between his own, the glass of eggnog forgotten on the counter. “I don’t mind. Really. Here, here, I know what’ll cheer you up – I can tell you – Joseph likes you. Very much.”

Barclay pulled away and laughed.

Duck spoke up. “’Drid, what are you even doing here? Did you –“

“-walk? No. I, ah.” Under the pressure of Barclay and Duck both looking at him, he buckled. “Joseph picked me up. We, ah, we’ve been sleeping together.”

Barclay pushed down his jealousy. The cup of eggnog he’d been drinking was empty, so he went to the sink and washed it. The familiar motion made him feel a little more like himself. He dried the cup with a dish towel and returned it to its place in the cupboard. “I’m going to bed,” he announced, and swept out the door.

“I didn’t know you went for humans,” said Duck once it was just him and Indrid standing in the kitchen.

“Occasionally,” said Indrid. “I’m going to go check on him.” He refilled his cup of eggnog and took it with him as he went to Barclay’s bedroom, though he’d never been there. He knocked on the door. “It’s Indrid.”

“And this is Barclay.”

“I know. I’d like to come in and talk to you, if that’s alright.”

“Go right ahead.”

Indrid went inside. Barclay’s room was dark and narrow, dominated by a bed that had to be huge to fit Barclay’s body on it. The man himself was lying face-up beneath the sheets, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling.

Indrid put his cup of eggnog down on the side table and lay down next to Barclay, on top of the covers.

Barclay’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Why did you make your disguise look like that?” he said, finally. “And why do you live in a trailer? You could be rich. You could be clearing out casinos. You could be back in Silvain!”

“I like it better here,” Indrid said simply. “I have enough money not to have to stress out about money, and I don’t need more space than a trailer. It’s easier to clean than a whole house, anyway.”

Barclay sighed.

Indrid reached across the blanket, almost to Barclay’s hand, and Barclay closed the distance. Indrid rubbed his thumb across Barclay’s skin.

“Thank you for sharing your eggnog with me,” Indrid said softly.

“Of course,” said Barclay.

Then Indrid breathed in, sharply, and squeezed his eyes shut. Barclay looked over, and his first guess as to what the seer was seeing was correct. The end of the world.

–

The apocalypse may have been halted, but dinnertime would march on, and so Joseph found Barclay in the kitchen. “Hey,” he said cautiously, shutting the door behind him.

Barclay dropped the spoon and rushed over, taking both of Joseph’s hands in his. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said.

Joseph looked up at him. At bigfoot. “Can I kiss you?” Barclay kissed him, and he could feel the scratch of Barclay’s beard against his face, and it was perfect. “I’m also glad you’re okay. Did I say that?”

“No, but I got the idea.”

“You’re bigfoot.”

“Yes.” Barclay did not flinch away.

“Indrid did a very good job of keeping that secret. He did let me, uh…” Joseph looked away. “I know that he’s mothman.”

“He let you see him?”

“No. But he fucked me. I was blindfolded.”

Meanwhile, Indrid was sitting on the floor outside the kitchen door, back to the wall, knees folded up to his chest. The sound of footsteps made him look up. Duck Newton was standing there, looking down at him.

“It was close, wasn’t it?” said Duck.

“Very.”

Duck sat down next to him, with all the noises one would expect of a middle-aged man getting himself down onto the floor. Gingerly, Indrid leaned his head onto Duck’s shoulder, and Duck tugged Indrid into his arms properly. Duck’s hand slid up into Indrid’s hair, Indrid’s hands closed in Duck’s shirt, which was warm from his skin.

“There are some futures where you kiss my forehead, and I’d like it if you did so,” said Indrid.

Duck laughed a little. “Alright, magic eight ball,” he said, and kissed Indrid on the forehead.

The kitchen door opened, and Joseph and Barclay came out hand in hand. Indrid felt Duck tense.

“It may be helpful to say at this juncture,” Indrid said, “that sylphs are generally not monogamous.”

“And neither am I,” said Joseph.

“Oh thank god.” Duck looked up at Joseph, and then back at Indrid. “Does that mean I can kiss you?”

#ot4: government men and their cryptid boyfriends #sterndrid #trans joseph stern #jewish joseph stern #ot4

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kerikaaria · 3 years

Text

Where You Belong

Vampire!Jungkook x Reader (Oneshot)

Genre: (PG15) Fluff with a bit of angst

Warnings: Mentions of death and blood

WC: 5.6k

Description: It took Jimin three weeks to convince Jungkook to spend the holiday break at his family’s house. Why he conceded at all, he had no idea because Jungkook knew it was a bad idea not only with what he was, but also since he had the biggest crush on you, Jimin’s sister. He had a feeling that whatever happened, he wasn’t going to make it out of this quite the same.

A/N - Written for the Secret Santa exchange with @thebtswritersclub for @jungkooksbroski! I really wanted to have this done by Christmas so I’m sorry it’s late :( But I had a goal to at least have it done before the deadline tomorrow, so at least I succeeded with that! I’m sure if you’ve kept an eye on discord you probably know why I wasn’t able to get this out sooner. And it might be a little more angsty than you hoped for, and I also apologize that I don’t write smut XD And I hope you don’t mind it being mostly Jungkook-centric :) But I hope you still like it! Merry belated Christmas!

“Fucking Jimin,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath as he stood outside the front door to the Park residence. “Why did I let him talk me into this?”

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself before entering, but realized too late that that was a mistake. You must have been close to the front door, seeing as he could practically taste your sweet scent. Which of course only made him berate himself once more for letting his best friend get his way.

“Yo, Jeon!” Taehyung called from behind him, dragging his own suitcase as he approached the house. “What are you doing just standing there? Knock!”

At least Jungkook wasn’t the only one Jimin somehow convinced to spend the holiday break at his house. Granted he was sure that Taehyung only needed to be offered once before happily agreeing, while Jungkook took weeks of convincing to come around to this.

Jungkook raised his hand to the wood, giving it a few knocks before Taehyung could complain again.

“Coming!” you cheerfully called, footsteps approaching the door.

Jungkook’s heart would probably feel like it was jumping out of his chest, were it still beating.

You opened the door with a big smile on your face. “Welcome!” you happily greeted your brother’s friends, stepping aside for them to enter.

Taehyung nudged Jungkook from behind when he didn’t move, still feeling all too nervous about spending the holiday break here. But he quickly gathered himself and finally walked through the door.

Christmas was just a few days away so your house was already littered with holiday-themed decorations, which Jungkook happily noted included extremely few religious items. You could blame mostly your mom and brother for that—they went crazy every year, super excited for the holiday. The only thing that was left to do was decorate the tree, which was purposefully held off until everyone had arrived so you could do it together. "I know Jimin is around here some-" you started before said boy came running down the stairs.

"Taetae! Kookie!" he exclaimed, throwing himself into their arms. "I'm so happy you guys are here!" The way he acted, you would have thought it had been years since they last saw each other.

It had literally only been two days.

Taehyung's deep voice rumbled in a chuckle. "Of course we're here, Chim! How could I pass up the chance to spend Christmas with the family who knows how to celebrate it right?"

Jungkook was much less enthusiastic in his response, which was of no shock to you. You knew (because of how often Jimin would complain to you about it) that it took a lot of convincing to get him to come. But even so, he didn't look miserable. From what you gathered, he just wasn't nearly as excited about the holidays as your family tended to be.

"Come on, let me show you guys to the room!" Jimin said, practically dragging them toward the stairs.

They barely had enough time to react, let alone grab their suitcases, so you took them instead, following behind the three boys. You knew your brother, and you had seen the antics the trio had gotten up to together, so you could only expect that this holiday break was going to be one of the most interesting ones you'd had yet.

"I still don't get why you were so adamant about not wanting to come," Taehyung said to Jungkook when it was just the two of them in the guest room, going through their suitcases.

Jungkook looked at him blankly. "Seriously? You should know why."

"What?" Taehyung pouted in confusion.

"Well, I don't exactly want anyone to know about what I am, do I?" Jungkook whispered.

"Spending a few days at Jimin's isn't going to get you caught," Taehyung said, shrugging. "Unless you think it'll be harder to control or something when you're around Y/n."

"I don't know, it might be." Jungkook sighed. "You know how flustered I tend to get around her. And I guess it's probably instinct or something that sometimes I just have an urge to-" he cut himself off and took a steadying breath, trying to not already get himself worked up when he had been here for barely ten minutes. "And besides, remember how quickly you found out about me? We were roommates for only a few days before I slipped up."

"Yeah, but you have me to come to if you have any problems. I'll keep you in check, don't worry!"

Jungkook eyed the other suspiciously, unconvinced.

"What? I will. Promise. If your fangs pop out or something and you don't notice I'll tell you."

"Don't say that so loud!" Jungkook whisper-shouted.

Taehyung chuckled. "Hey, stop stressing out so bad, huh? It'll be harder to keep it under control if you stress."

Jungkook closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "Yeah, you're right. I'll try."

Silence fell between the two for a few moments before a thought occurred to Taehyung. "Oh! Did you bring some with you, by the way?"

"Some what?" Jungkook asked, more than used to Taehyung's vagueness and random questions, but still confused nonetheless.

"Blood," Taehyung specified, making sure to keep his voice low this time.

"Of course I did." Jungkook even pulled out the small bag where he was keeping his stock to show him. "I wouldn't be dumb enough to go on a vacation somewhere without bringing enough with me."

"Just wanted to check. You know I can always help if you need it."

"We've talked about this, Tae. I'm not drinking from you."

"I just mean that it's an option if you ever need it is all. I trust you not to hurt me."

"Well, that won't be necessary. But thanks, I guess."

"Anytime," Taehyung said, and Jungkook would almost think he was naïve with that big smile of his and what he had just suggested, if he didn't know any better.

The first time Jungkook should have noticed Jimin was up to something was when the four of you were decorating the Christmas tree together. Apparently it was family tradition for the "kids" to be the ones to do it, something Jimin was more than ecstatic about but you seemed to be doing more or less to make your brother happy.

Not that you hated it by any means. No, Jungkook may have been Jimin's friend first, but he knew you well enough to be able to tell you were enjoying yourself. You just weren't as enthusiastic about the holidays as the rest of your family it seemed, merely riding the flow that they set for you.

Jimin was basically instructing you on where to place each ornament, where he felt they would fit the best with the array that had already been placed. It was of no surprise to Jungkook that you followed along with his directions with no complaints. You not only were more than used to Jimin's personality, but also found your own enjoyment by making sure your brother was happy.

He wouldn't have paid it any mind normally, if it wasn't for the fact that everywhere Jimin pointed out for you to place one of the decorations seemed to be dangerously close to Jungkook. The amount of times your arms brushed together, or you bumped into each other during the time spent adding ornaments to the tree was probably more physical contact than he had ever had with you before.

And that was absolutely not doing Jungkook any favors. He was already nervous enough coming here as it was, being this close in proximity to you for so long and in a much more personal setting than usual.

But maybe he was imagining it. Maybe, it really was just a coincidence.

One look at Jimin and the triumphant smirk on his face proved otherwise.

The second time was the next day when you and Jimin were supposed to be baking cookies together. It was your mom's homemade recipe that she had taught to both of you years ago when you became old enough to make them without her help.

Jungkook recalled Jimin mentioning before that it was one of the things both of you loved doing together this time of year. So he found it rather odd when Jimin ushered Jungkook into the kitchen and insisted that he be the one to bake with you.

"But isn't this your thing?" Jungkook asked.

"I have something I need to take care of today, so I thought you could take my place this year," Jimin said. He wasn't a very good liar.

Jungkook turned to look at you, silently checking if you seemed okay with this. When you smiled at him and lightly shrugged, he relaxed. While he was starting to feel suspicious that Jimin was up to something—although he couldn't quite place exactly what just yet—he knew it was pointless to fight it. Even if being alone in your kitchen, baking gingerbread and sugar cookies with you made him feel extra nervous.

You really knew what you were doing, easily instructing Jungkook on each step. There was a reason this was your favorite holiday tradition, and it was because you really enjoyed baking. Doing it with your older brother was an added bonus, but there was just something about all the ingredients coming together to make something delicious and sweet that was so fun and satisfying.

So you focused on that instead of how much you wanted to strangle Jimin. He just had to overhear you telling your friend about how frustrating it was to be crushing on your brother's best friend a month ago. And now he was doing everything in his power to get the two of you close, trying to play matchmaker.

Which to be honest was completely the opposite of what you expected to happen. You thought he'd be mad, tell you that Jungkook was bad for you and you should just forget about it. But instead he was thrilled. Not only did he get more material to tease you with, but he also decided he was going to try to set the two of you up.

He felt like he was doing you a favor, and you felt like he was making you suffer.

Although, you had to appreciate that Jungkook was a complete gentleman. Even though working together to bake required staying in close proximity with each other a lot, he was being very careful about keeping a comfortable distance between the two of you. And if you were being honest with yourself, you couldn't deny that this was actually really nice.

"This stuff smells so weird," Jungkook said as he measured the molasses. You had already put the sugar cookies in the oven after cutting and chilling them so they'd keep their shape, and now you were preparing the gingerbread mixture.

"Yeah, it does," you chuckled. "But gingerbread cookies wouldn't taste the same without it. I promise it'll all come together."

"If you say so," he said before his nose scrunched in displeasure when he got a particularly strong whiff of the sickly sweet yet sour smell.

You laughed at his reaction, taking just a moment to admire Jungkook's handsome looks while he was distracted with scraping as much of the thick liquid from the measuring cup as possible.

For a moment you let yourself think that maybe, just maybe, the reason Jimin was trying to push you two together was perhaps because Jungkook felt the same? But then again, would he have even told him that? You were sure that any conversation that included, "by the way, I have a crush on your sister" would have been just about as awkward as if you admitted to your brother that you had been crushing on his best friend.

Maybe you should just ride the flow of whatever your brother had planned. If something came of it, then that would be great. And if not, you could put this crush behind you and move on.

You decided at that moment that you would just trust your brother this time around, even if his track record wasn't that great.

The third time was so painfully obvious that Jungkook could no longer mistake what it was Jimin was up to.

Jungkook was sitting in the living room on Christmas day. It was the afternoon, having already opened all the gifts that morning. Which was a rather interesting ordeal. Despite knowing their personalities, seeing Taehyung and Jimin act like literal five-year-olds on Christmas morning who were overly excited when opening their presents was still incredibly amusing. Now that it was the afternoon, things had calmed down to a pleasant buzz and Jungkook was actually feeling really happy that Jimin had convinced him to come.

It had been a long time since he had last spent time with other people like this. The Parks were nothing if not welcoming, and he could almost fool himself into believing that this was normal, that he belonged somewhere—with people.

But he had to reel in that thought and remind himself of who he really was. The fact of the matter was that he didn't belong with people. He was a monster, and people were his food source. He couldn't let himself believe anything other than that, even if it was something that he wished were untrue with all his being.

So when Jimin came into the room, dragging you behind him and getting you to sit on the couch right next to Jungkook and then sitting next to you, he kept that reminder ringing through his head. He had to ignore that light feeling you just naturally gave him. He couldn't let his non-beating heart run away with fantasies.

And then Jimin was up to his tricks again, keeping you distracted from what he was doing by chatting up a storm about his thought process behind why he bought you the gift you received from him today. But Jungkook saw it plain as day.

Jimin was attempting to discretely place mistletoe that he must have stolen from another room's decorations on the wall behind the couch, right between you and Jungkook.

That was when Jungkook realized what Jimin had been doing the past few days. Making you constantly bump into each other when decorating the tree, baking cookies together when it was usually something Jimin did with you, and now putting mistletoe above you?

Park Jimin was trying to set you up with Jungkook.

And it almost made him want to smack him upside the head because Jimin was being an absolute idiot if he thought trying to set Jungkook up with his sister was a good idea. It wasn't. it was a stupid, stupid idea.

But then again, he couldn't blame him all too much when Jimin was clueless to Jungkook's true nature.

He realized, that was something he was going to have to amend—right now.

"Jimin, can we talk for a minute please?" Jungkook asked, completely interrupting Jimin's spiel.

"What?" he asked, eyes going wide when he looked over and realized Jungkook noticed what he was doing. "I mean, yeah, of course. What's up?"

"In private," Jungkook emphasized, trying to sound as stern as he possibly could.

"Why would you need to talk to me in priva-" Jimin was cut off when Jungkook quickly got up, yanking him off the couch and dragging him upstairs to the guest bedroom, leaving you behind on the couch and very confused.

After shutting the door behind him, Jungkook firmly stared down Jimin. "What are you doing?"

"Huh?" Jimin asked, his heartrate increasing—whether out of fear or nervousness Jungkook couldn't tell. "W-what do you mean?"

"Are you trying to set me up with Y/n?" Jungkook asked more directly.

It was then that Jungkook realized it wasn't just the two of them in the room, when he heard a very surprised Taehyung almost comically scream, "What?!"

He took a quick look around to make sure there was no one else in the room who couldn't hear what Jungkook was about to admit, what he thought he would never purposefully tell anyone. Once confirming that it was just the three of them in the room, Jungkook continued.

"Is that what's going on?" he pressed. "You're trying to push us together, aren't you?"

"Wh- I mean," Jimin started, clearly very flustered. "What's so wrong about that, huh? I could have sworn that you were into Y/n by the way that you look at her with those googly doe eyes of yours."

Jungkook sighed. He didn't realize he had been that obvious, and especially in front of Jimin of all people. "Jimin, I can't. You don't want me to date your sister."

"Well it's not up to me, is it?" Jimin asked, starting to get defensive. "I don't get to dictate what she does and who she dates. So what if I'm trying to help her out? And what's wrong with dating my sister? What, is she not good enough for you or something?"

"No! That's not what I mean." Jungkook ran a hand down his face, pacing for a moment while he gathered the courage he needed to tell Jimin who—what—he was. "Jimin, you don't understand. I'm the problem. I can't date your sister, even if I wanted to. I'm-"

Jungkook was cut off when Taehyung leapt off the bed and stood next to Jungkook, firmly digging a hand into his shoulder. "Kook, what are you doing?" he harshly whispered.

"I'm telling Jimin what I really am," Jungkook replied, voice still at normal volume. "I can't exactly let him think that I'm a good idea for Y/n."

"Are you sure you want to do that? You don't know how he'll react."

"What is going on?" Jimin asked, getting more confused by the second. "What do you mean, Jungkook?"

Pushing Taehyung's hand off his shoulder, Jungkook braced himself to potentially lose one of his best friends. "I'm not human, Jimin." When Jimin very rightfully just stared at him confused, Jungkook added, "Well, I mean I used to be. But I'm not anymore."

"What the heck are you talking about? That doesn’t even make sense,” Jimin said, taking a step back from him. “You sound crazy right now, Jungkook.”

“I know how it sounds. But I can prove it to you. And if you don’t want anything to do with me afterwards, I understand. That’s a risk I’m willing to take. But I just can’t- I need you to understand that your sister shouldn’t be with me, or even interested in me. No one should be.”

While Jimin still couldn’t understand what his friend was talking about, he had enough respect for him to hear him out so he remained silent while Jungkook grabbed a small bag from his suitcase.

“I used to be human,” Jungkook repeated, voice small. “But sixteen years ago my life ended, in more ways than one.” He unzipped the bag, pulling out an even smaller pouch of what Jimin could have sworn looked like blood.

"I had been on my way home alone late at night after going out with some friends," Jungkook continued. "I was dragged into an alleyway, and it was so dark I couldn't see anything. Except for a pair of bright red eyes. Next thing I knew, there was a sharp pain in my neck and I could feel my body going cold as he drained all the blood from my body."

When Jungkook paused, Jimin couldn't help but interject. "Wait. Are you telling me that you got attacked by like, a vampire? Vampires don't exist, Jungkook."

"I didn't think they did either, until I was left for dead by one." The sadness in Jungkook's eyes over recalling the memory felt like it was piercing into Jimin's soul. "I had to piece this part together later since I obviously don't remember it, but I was found the next morning. Buried just a few days later. Before they had covered my coffin though, I had woken up. But I wasn't human anymore."

By this point, Jungkook looked on the verge of tears. Taehyung was still next to him, now comforting Jungkook with a gentle hand on his lower back. "I don't remember much about my first moments as a vampire. All I know is that I was so hungry and I just went wherever my feet took me. I don't think I ended up hurting anyone, at least. When I started to come to, I was in the woods near the cemetery with a deer lying beside me and blood dripping from my mouth."

Jungkook paused, letting Jimin absorb the information.

"Wha-" Jimin stumbled over his words. "But you were dead? I thought- I mean- in stories or whatever, people don't die before they become vampires, right?"

"In some, I guess," Jungkook shrugged. "I've met other vampires since and have asked about how that worked. And from what I've been told, if a vampire feeds off of a human but doesn't drain too much blood, the human will be fine. When the human is completely drained, then obviously they die. But sometimes, the vampire doesn't completely kill them. They think they've drained all their blood and leave them, but there's actually still a little bit of life left in them. That's what happened to me.

"I was so close to death that everyone thought I was dead. But there was still barely that tiny sliver of life left in me. That's how a human becomes a vampire. Kind of messed up if you ask me, that it's usually unintentional."

"So, what you're saying is that you're a vampire," Jimin very smartly summed up. "And you're telling me because I was trying to set you up with Y/n and you think that's a bad idea because you're a vampire."

Jungkook nodded. "Yes, exactly."

"And you knew about this, Tae?" Jimin asked. When Taehyung nodded, he further asked, "How long have you known?"

"I found out the first week we were roommates at school," he responded. “Jungkook hadn’t fed in too long and I saw it.”

Jimin’s gaze snapped back to Jungkook. “Show me.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened, a bit taken aback at the sudden command. He expected Jimin to want proof, but to be asked so suddenly was unexpected. Once he gathered himself, Jungkook nodded. He opened his mouth just enough before letting his fangs extend, making sure Jimin saw it happen. Once they were fully extended, his eyes turned an unnatural bright red—a warning of danger.

Jungkook could sense Jimin's heartrate speed up once more, a natural reaction to being so close to a monster like him. But in true Jimin nature, he was quick to control himself, forcing his heart to calm down.

"You really are..." Jimin marveled as he slowly stepped toward Jungkook. The latter stood as still as possible, not wanting to make any moves that would scare him off. "I can't believe vampires exist."

"We do," Jungkook said, sounding almost solemn. "I don't belong with your sister. I don't belong with anyone. I haven't for sixteen years and I never will ever again."

"Aren't there, like, vampire communities?" Jimin asked, remaining a lot calmer than Jungkook expected.

"There are," he confirmed. "But I haven't found one that I'm willing to be a part of. The ones I've come across all enable each other to be violent and not fight their instincts. I don't want that. I've been told I'll grow out of it, that most vampires are like that at first but they all give in at some point."

"And how long do they say it takes other vampires to do that?"

Jungkook shrugged. "Usually by ten years or so."

"But you still don't want that," Jimin clarified.

"Not at all. I can't even imagine hurting someone. And I have met one other vampire who is like me. Seokjin-hyung has been around far longer than me and he has a way of getting blood safely, without hurting people. He's how I get these." Jungkook lifted the packet in his hand, which Jimin could no longer question what was contained in it. "Others say it's unnatural, that there's nothing like getting food from the source, but this satisfies me perfectly fine."

"And Tae, you've never been scared of him?" Jimin asked.

"I mean, at first I was a bit sure," Taehyung answered. "I didn't know what was going on and I kind of freaked out. But I've never once thought he would hurt me. I trust him."

Jimin locked eyes with Jungkook. a serious expression on his face. "Then I trust you," he said.

Jungkook's eyes widened in surprise, a tentative smile growing on his face. "Really? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Jimin assured him. "And I know what you mean about Y/n, I understand why you wanted me to stop trying to set the two of you up. But you do like her, don't you?"

Jungkook broke their eye contact, too embarrassed to admit something like that while looking at her brother. "I mean, I do," he whispered. "I couldn't help it. But, you don't have to worry about that! I won't try to pursue her or anything, I swear."

Jimin walked toward the door as he said, “I did mean what I said earlier. I don’t have any say in what she does or who she dates, even if I am her big brother and want her to be safe. So as long as I trust that she’d be okay, I wouldn’t stop her from doing anything.”

Your eyes widened when your brother opened the door in front of you.

“Why don’t you come in here instead of eavesdropping from the hallway, yeah?” he asked.

You looked at the ground as you stepped forward, embarrassed that you had been caught. You really hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but when you had passed by the door on the way to your own room, you heard them talking about you so you stopped. And then Jungkook started talking about not being human and... Well, before you realized it you were listening in.

Your thoughts were all over the place after hearing Jungkook's story. You were overwhelmed with the idea that vampires existed, angry at that man—vampire, you corrected yourself—for what he had done to Jungkook, and sad for Jungkook and what he had gone through. You could only imagine how lonely he must have felt. How lonely he was still feeling.

One thing that he said kept repeating itself in your head. 'I don't belong with anyone. I haven't for sixteen years and I never will ever again.'

Once you were inside the room and Jimin closed the door, you lifted your head and met Jungkook's gaze.

His fangs were visible and you could see a red hue to his eyes, but only for a moment before Jungkook seemed to realize that he hadn't hidden them yet and quickly retracted them. In a split second he once again looked like the Jungkook you were familiar with.

But should you have been worried that seeing his other nature didn't scare you one bit?

"Y-Y/n," Jungkook stumbled out. "I didn't know you were listening... How much did you hear?"

"I'm sorry for eavesdropping," you said. "I didn't mean to, I just- when I passed by you guys were talking about me and then you started talking about your story and I just-" you bowed your head in shame. "I shouldn't have listened in. I'm sorry."

"So you heard everything then?" Jungkook quietly asked.

"I think so," you admitted.

"I can leave tomorrow," Jungkook suddenly said, making your head snap back up.

"What? Why?" you asked.

Jungkook's brows furrowed. "Why would you want something like me here? Knowing what I am now, why would you want me staying in your house?"

"Jungkook," Taehyung whined, a frown on his face.

You saw Jimin glance at you out of the corner of your eye. "We never said we wanted you to leave," he said. "It'd probably be best not to tell our parents, but there's no reason you should have to go."

Jungkook looked even more confused. "But, I-"

"Deserve to enjoy the holidays with people who care about you," you finished for him. He looked at you, clearly shocked. "It sounded like you've felt so lonely. I could only imagine how you feel. Not fitting in with others like you and feeling like you shouldn't belong with people like us. But there's no reason you shouldn't be here. When was the last time you spent a holiday with someone before today?"

Jungkook was speechless for a minute before his expression softened. "Not since I died. I couldn't exactly go back to my family after that. I haven't seen them since and have always reminded myself since then that I don't belong."

"But you do," you insisted, taking a step toward him. "Just because you're different than us doesn't mean you can't belong."

"I could hurt you! Why aren't you afraid of me?”

“Because we know you wouldn’t hurt us,” Taehyung said. “If you wanted to, you would have a long time ago. And you wouldn’t have been so hesitant in coming here.”

“And you wouldn’t have admitted a secret that could have ruined our friendship just because you were concerned about my sister’s safety,” Jimin said. “Out of everything you’ve said today, there’s one main thing that I understand—you’re still the same exact Jungkook I’ve known for the past few years. None of this changes that.”

Tears brimmed at the corners of Jungkook’s eyes. “It should," he almost whispered.

“I can’t understand how you feel,” you said. "I couldn't even begin to try. But I think you're scared because you've been telling yourself that you don't belong anywhere for so long. You could belong here if you wanted to. Do you want to?"

His eyes met yours, tears now falling down his face. He took a moment to think before softly nodding. "I do," he admitted.

"Then you do," Jimin said, stepping up next to you to place a hand on Jungkook's shoulder. "You don't have to leave. Not now, and not in the future."

"If I haven't abandoned you yet, you can expect I'm not ever going to," Taehyung added.

After a moment of silence between the four of you, Jimin gave Jungkook's shoulder another squeeze. "Tae, I think you and I should probably leave so these two can talk," he said.

Taehyung nodded. "Good idea." He gave you a knowing smile as he followed your brother out.

When the door closed once more, Jungkook was the first to talk. "You don't have to-"

"I like you too, Jungkook," you said.

He looked at you in surprise for a moment before saying, "Y/n, you know what I am now. You really shouldn't."

"I don't care." There wasn't an ounce of hesitation in your voice, and Jungkook didn't sense any change in your heartrate, assuring him that you were telling the truth. "When I heard you talking, I felt a lot of things. But fear wasn't one of them. Even when I saw your fangs and your eyes, I wasn't scared. Not one little bit. You're still Jungkook, my brother's best friend who I've had a crush on for an embarrassingly long time," you chuckled.

Jungkook's gaze on you had softened to something much more tender, a sparkle in his eyes that you were now realizing you were strangely familiar with. "Do you realize what that means though?" he asked. "A crush is one thing, but what if it becomes something more, Y/n? I'm not going to age with you. We couldn't stay together because before long, I'm going to look more like your son than a friend or boyfriend. And I'm for sure going to outlive you, unless someone does me in before then. Is that really something you want?"

"I think that's something that we should have the chance to decide together," you said. "If this continues to something more and we want to keep going with this then we can decide what we want to do from there. If we care about each other enough to make it worth it, or not. All I know is that right now, I really like you, Jungkook. And if you like me the same then I want to give this a shot. I trust you."

Jungkook felt like he was about to cry again. He had hope at one point soon after his death that he might get lucky to find people like Jimin and Taehyung, maybe even possibly someone like you, but he had quickly lost that hope. That feeling coming back, even in the smallest amount, was overwhelming and it made him want to go along with what you were saying.

Before he could let himself think too hard and talk himself out of it, he carefully nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "If you think you can handle being okay with making a decision like that in the future, then I trust you too."

The smile you graced him with was blinding, and it made all of his insecurities about the situation fade away. He managed to smile back at you, but only for just barely a moment before you placed your lips against his.

It was the first of many kisses that the two of you would share for many, many years to come.

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

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Dreams, Chapter 3

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 3

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2344

Summary: It’s Christmas in Wisconsin for Sam and the reader.

Warnings: angst (sensing a theme here), alcohol, slow burn

Christmas Eve was a Thursday, which meant you were working. You’d predicted it would be slow, but there were big chunks of time where no one was in the bar at all. Christmas carols on the radio helped pass the time, and you drank a little more of the almost-coquito you’d thrown together in the back at the beginning of the shift than you needed to. It reminded you of your aunt and the way she’d smell of coconut through Boxing Day every year when you were growing up; welcome nostalgia you could tolerate like pressing a thumb into a bruise and distracted you from the evisceration of thinking of Dean. The day shift had left the bar understocked, so Sam spent a good amount of time going up and down the stairs refilling refrigerators and cutting fruit for drinks. Around 10 or 11 the people who didn’t want to wrap up the night when their in-laws went home straggled in, a handful of regulars that you generally liked but had a tendency to get a little rowdy when left alone together. It didn’t help that they showed up a few drinks in.

The merriment was infectious, and it was sweet to hear grown men proud of the gifts they’d gotten their loved ones. One even brought a few bottles of homemade maple syrup to give to the others, sliding one sheepishly across the bar to you. You were pouring out a round of coquito when Sam came up from the basement with a towel tossed over his shoulder.

“Everything should be good,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t cut it in months and the ends fell gracefully around his shoulders. A piece fell oddly across his forehead and you reflexively fixed it for him.

“What did you two get each other?” a regular, Steve, asked with a relaxed finger pointing between you and Sam. His cheeks were ruddy with whiskey and winter air.

“Oh. I—uh, we don’t really do gifts,” Sam offered placatingly.

“Man, where did you find this girl? Listens to classic rock, drives a stick shift, and doesn’t ‘do gifts’?” another, Joe, added.

“You better be buying her some presents or someone else will.” Jake, a customer you’d always felt safe around since he tossed out a rude guy for you a month back, chimed in.

You and Sam had never explicitly said that you were together. People just assumed, and it was easier to go along with it than explain the truth, especially because you didn’t look similar enough to be siblings and you still couldn’t shake your need to cling to him from time to time. It was almost never an issue aside from periodic mild teasing. This Christmas talk was a departure from the non-explanations you and Sam usually gave and you found yourself waiting for a cue on where to go. Sam seemed to be having the same thought, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

You spoke before the moment had a chance to become too pregnant. “You know how hard it is to buy presents for a guy who doesn’t like having stuff? If he buys me something, I’ll have to get him something too!” You hoped it sounded smooth, your lying out of practice in the months since you’d had a cover on a hunt. Sam smirked gratefully at you.

Joe shook his head wistfully. “Seriously, where did you find her?”

“She’s pretty great, isn’t she?” Sam’s voice sounded sort of soft around the edges, almost like he was tired but not quite. When you looked up at him, that pebble of self-consciousness you’d felt at the hardware flipped in your stomach again and you glanced away in favor of a one-armed hug you intended to look affectionate. Sam did the same, encompassing your entire shoulder with his hand.

When you drove home that night, warm and full of coquito, Sam played Christmas carols.

“I think we should do gifts.”

It was the first thing you thought when you woke up, and you said it into Sam’s chest as you laid there before you opened your eyes. You could tell from the rhythm of his breathing that he wasn’t all the way asleep.

“Hmm?”

“I think we should do gifts. We should really do Christmas if we’re going to do it, and that means presents. What do you think?”

You felt as much as you saw out of the corner of your drowsy eyes that Sam raised his unpinned arm to rub the sleep out of his. “Mmm, okay? I mean if that’s what you want.”

“Thank you,” you said as you nestled deeper into him.

“‘S already Christmas though.” Sleep pulled Sam’s words together like taffy.

“It can be goofy stuff; I just think we should open presents under a tree and everything. Seems like the kind of thing we should do, you know? Like trying to be normal.” You couldn’t bear saying out loud what you meant, that Dean would’ve wanted presents and stockings and eggnog and Santa hats and a big roast if he could’ve, to fall asleep after watching the stars glitter off of falling snow.

Sam heard anyway.

“You’re right,” Sam murmured. He rubbed your upper arm absentmindedly.

“I’ll wake you back up when the bathroom’s free,” you offered, carefully rolling over him to get out of the bed. He nodded with closed eyes and flopped over onto his stomach.

About an hour later, a wet haired Sam slid into the Impala’s driver side and rubbed his hands together to warm them up. You could tell from the puffiness around his eyes and his overcompensating casual tone that he’d been crying. He set his phone to pipe Your Inner Fish through the stereo and backed down the driveway over snow tamped down over the last week.

It had been years since you’d gone Christmas shopping, as much as this could be considered Christmas shopping. The town you’d settled in had exactly 7 businesses on a tiny main street, including 1 small inn, a grocery store, the hardware store, a coffee shop (the most reliable internet in town, much faster than your place) and 3 different places to get a burger. You met Sam in the grocery store after grabbing what you wanted from next door in hardware, catching him just as he came out carrying a bag with a long pipe of wrapping paper stretching far past the top. When you left, there were only two other cars in the parking lot grabbing their own last-minute things.

You wrapped your presents on the bed. It wasn’t like riding a bike as you’d hoped it would be, and your sloppy corners started you down a mental spiral. What a completely asinine thing, wrapping hardware store presents to put under a stolen tree. This wasn’t the Rockwell painting you wanted to present as sacrifice to Dean’s memory. It was cheap and stupid, a sloppy high school production when Dean deserved Broadway. He always had. As much as the three of you had never really done Christmas, Dean knew how to make something special while maintaining the air of not caring. You remembered waking up on his made-up anniversaries: six months from the first time you kissed, three years since he realized he loved you (three years minus 53 days before he said anything), 14 months since you’d figured out how to put a gun back together in the dark. Even in the most podunk little towns he’d find gorgeous bouquets and put together great meals in tiny kitchenettes; drive miles away to pick up a cake for Sam’s birthday or pepper motel rooms with festive streamers and silly string. Two quick, hard breaths through your nose to collect yourself and you finished the wrapping. That would have to be good enough.

Sam was crouched in front of the fireplace with a bellows, a plucky little fire kicking into gear with his help. “All yours,” you called out, grateful your voice didn’t crack.

“Thanks. It’ll only be a second.”

He was right, and came back to you on the couch in only a few minutes with two wrapped bundles. You shyly handed him what you’d wrapped and took his.

“Uh, Merry Christmas I guess,” Sam said. You noticed the edge of discomfort in his voice and were sickly grateful not to be alone in your tentativeness as you popped open the scotch tape holding the paper on the rectangular package. Before you’d uncovered it, Sam had his first gift unwrapped.

“Nice! They had these at the hardware store?” he asked, snapping open the clamshell package on the cheap purple noise-cancelling earbuds you’d picked up.

“I’m sure they’ll sound like they were made underwater, but I figured you could hide them pretty easily if you wanted to wear them at work, listen to your podcasts while you restock or whatever.”

“That’s a really good idea.” He looked down at the headphones considerately for a beat.

You pulled the paper off your present to reveal a notebook and two ballpoint pens. It had a leatherette flexible plastic cover that felt smooth under your fingertips and was about the size of a standard hardcover novel. You opened it to see inside, and a few photos dropped out.

“I just—you didn’t have any—I can take them back if you want,” Sam stammered, but you heard him as if through those checkout-aisle headphones while your eyes blurred. These were pictures you hadn’t seen for years. The one on top of the loose stack in your lap was outside Bobby’s house. It felt like a lifetime ago, leaning over the railing of the small porch to kiss Dean as he stood on the ground in a sweaty t-shirt covered in engine grease. Under that was one you remembered used to be the background of an old phone, where you, Sam, and Dean huddled together in a booth at some bar you’d forgotten the name of in Montana that had girls dressed up as mermaids swim around in big tanks, part of the same theme that explained the blue fishbowl drink partly out of frame in Dean’s hands. There was one you didn’t recall with you and Dean stretched out on a nondescript motel couch, his arm protectively covering you as you coiled up into his side, both clearly asleep from the closed eyes and slightly parted lips. The last was a picture you hadn’t seen since the last time you went to Jody’s house; it had touched you then to see it hanging up on the wall, you carrying Dean piggyback while Sam clutched his knees laughing. It was the same day Claire had turned 16 and you had no idea why you’d needed to convince Dean you could carry him, but the whole thing had ended up with everyone rolling on the ground, grabbing at laugh-opened rib pains for what felt like blissful hours.

You weren’t surprised at the silent tears that were pouring gently down your face, but wiped at them harshly with your sleeve so they wouldn’t drip. “Sam—” you croaked. “I don’t…I didn’t—thank you. How did you find these?”

“They had an instant photo printer at the grocery store. I’ve had a flash drive with some stuff on it for a while.”

You passed through each picture again, studying them like the gospel. It was almost hard to match the photos to the memories, memories having been replayed and multiplied and color-saturated in your mind over and over again, too big to fit into these little pieces of cardstock. But Dean was so beautiful, and you all looked so happy.

“It’s supposed to help to write about how you’re feeling, so I thought…” Sam trailed off.

“It’s perfect. I—thank you, Sam.” You met his eyes, stormy blue-green and taking on an amber reflection off of the fire. He looked nervous and almost guilty, like he had miscalculated and hurt you. Carefully slipping the photos back into the notebook, you set it on the table like it was made of crystal and threw your arms around Sam to tuck into him, knowing you were crying through his shirt but unable to stop. You realized you were murmuring thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou into the crook of his neck at the same time you felt the wetness of his tears onto your shoulder. Pulling him in tighter, you slunk back into the arm of the couch behind you. Sam slotted into the curve of your body, wrapping around your torso with powerful, gentle arms. His hair was silken when you began to stroke it, feeling his wracking sobs against your chest. It was impossible to gauge the amount of time it took for both of you to stop crying, skin slick and hot against each other on the old couch as your bodies hardened together like a mold. You felt dried out and sore and wouldn’t have pulled away from Sam if you’d had a gun to your head.

“Man, and we were doing so well,” you hummed into Sam’s hair.

“Were we?” Sam asked, and it was all you could do to laugh. Sam laughed too, the emotional and physical fatigue of it blending between you in the air. He adjusted his arm and you could feel the span of his hand across your lower back. The two of you sat there for a few more moments before you gathered up enough courage to let go of him.

“Want to open the other one?”

Sam nodded against your chest and slowly extricated himself, running a hand through his messed-up hair and rubbing his neck as he reached for the other present you’d gotten him. He tore through the paper unceremoniously and smiled down at the shoe repair glue and new boot laces. “You saw they split, didn’t you?”

You smiled back at him. “Would’ve just gotten you a new pair of boots but, you know, late notice. Maybe this’ll buy you some time.”

He handed you his second gift from the coffee table. Inside the foil-adorned wrapping paper were three bags of gummy worms.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 4

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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joonie-beanie · 4 years

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The OM! Characters as Retail Workers/Positions from my old job

Full disclosure: I’ve only had 1 retail job, and it was at a Homegoods. I worked there for 3+ years during college. Because I’ve only had this one experience, my below hc’s for the boys may be a little...specific to my previous job, and not universal traits that come with all retail jobs.

Also I’m not including Luke because thattttt is child labor.

This is probably a very self-indulgent headcannon. Oh well.

Lucifer:

(One of) the store managers. Specifically the assistant manager.

Nice to customers to their face, but will fantasize about stabbing them once they leave.

Asmo once walked past the manager’s office and witnessed Lucifer professionally apologizing to a bitching customer over the phone, only to slam the receiver down moments later, sighing and mumbling “what an idiot.”

Very watchful of his staff. Do not slack off while he’s working....unless he likes you. In which case, he will take a moment to chat with you and give himself a much needed break.

If he doesn’t like you, well...make yourself busy, or else you’ll get a stern talking to, and likely written up. Lucifer already has too much work to get done--he doesn’t want to babysit his staff.

Quietly schedules the people he likes to work during his shifts whenever he can, since he knows he can trust them to do their work. Not to mention, he enjoys their company a lot.

His favorite crew to have is Beel, Asmo, and Satan (and MC). Their schedules, of course, don’t always line up, but when they do he seriously thinks that he has the dream team.

Mammon:

Cannot be trusted to actually organize the store, so he gets stuck at the registers.

However, the managers quickly realize that he's shit at anything front-end related aside from counting money (the man likes his money), and that he's prone to pulling out his phone when no one is around, so Lucifer forces him to work the floor.

They start trying to give him more backroom shifts (because if he's not doing his work, they'll be able to tell easier).

HOWEVER--because Mammon is such a money lover, he’s very aware of every piece of expensive merchandise in the store. So if a customer attempts to switch tags, or peels the price tag off hoping to pull a quick one on the cashier, his coworkers always call him up so he can take a look.

Seriously, the amount of people that try to buy the $100+ gem rocks for $9.99 is crazy.

He feels very proud of himself whenever he manages to stop a customer from getting away with it.

He’s not the best worker in general, but the mangers would be lying if the said they didn’t appreciate his knack for remembering the expensive items.

Levi:

Cash office.

Prefers to sit in the locked office by himself, listening to music on his phone as he runs checks the register balances from the previous day.

If he's not doing cash office, he's probably out gathering carts, or compacting boxes in the back.

Whatever keeps him away from the bulk of customers.

Whenever the managers need him to go help out on the floor, he gets permission to not wear his apron.

He seriously does not want anyone to talk to him. He just wants to work in peace.

Of course, if he’s seen organizing, or stocking shelves, customers tend to assume he’s an employee anyway--even without the apron.

Levi legitimately jumps anytime someone calls out to him and asks if he works there, and if he can help them.

Oh, and he always brings his Switch to work and plays games on his lunch break. Do not talk to him if he’s playing his game--he will get mad at you.

Satan:

Flow & mark-downs.

He's basically an all-rounder, but is superior to the others in putting out new merchandise (flow). He knows where things go, and how they should be organized.

Secretly gets annoyed when customers ask him for help when he's in the zone, but is very good at faking a smile.

Will do what’s asked of him without any lip in return.

However, rude customers should beware of him, because his anger tends to flip on like a switch. If a customer is badmouthing him, or one of his coworkers--he has no issue telling them they’re a fool, and that they should just leave instead of causing issues.

He gets in trouble with management for doing this, but honestly has no regrets.

Definitely has regular customers that he is enemies with.

Gets left in charge of the store if the managers ever need to step away for their lunch break, or otherwise.

Asmo:

Lead cashier.

Super charming, great customer service voice.

Always gives a good impression on the phone, and manages to make peppy announcements.

If there’s ever a fundraiser going on, and the cashiers are supposed to ask for donations, Asmo is guaranteed to rake in the most.

He is very good at calming a customer if they're upset--apologizing and and being so sweet and polite that it’s nearly impossible to stay mad.

However, if they're rude to him, or his apologies go on deaf ears, he has no problem politely telling them to fuck off.

If he’s not at the registers, he’s probably off in the bath section--smelling soap--or the candle section--sniffing literally every candle in existence.

He’ll also be sure to get a whiff of whatever candle/soap a customer has brought to the register to purchase.

Runs off to visit other stores in the mall/strip when he’s on his break. (Aka. he spends way too much of his paycheck shopping).

Beel:

Back room - heavy lifter.

Dude spends most of the day in the stock room emptying the truck and building furniture.

Seriously can move big things with very little effort. He once carried an entire couch out onto the sales floor buy himself.

While other coworkers may need to use carts or flatbeds to move larger items, Beel can legit just throw them over his shoulder and continue on his way like he’s not carrying anything at all.

He looks intimidating but is actually super friendly.

Will always work extra hours if you ask him to. Will also come in for extra shifts if you ask him to.

He always feels so guilty if he can’t accept, or needs to call off.

The type of coworker that goes out to buy snacks on his break, and ends up buy snacks for the rest of the staff. He just leaves them on the break room table with a note that says “Eat up :)”

Belphie:

Closer - Sales Floor.

The managers tried to work him on morning or midday shifts, but he was continuously too groggy, and ended up knocking things over on accident.

Hes more energetic at night, so they put him on the sales floor (since he’s honestly...not the best at the register. Don’t get me wrong, he can work the register as well as anyone else, but...he just...doesn’t sound friendly. (Lucifer: “Belphie...at least try to sound like you’re not working here against your will when talking to the customers. You applied for this job.”))

He honestly doesn't mind organizing merchandise, but gets annoyed if he ends up doing the bulk of the work. (Whether it’s because they’re short staffed, or because his coworkers are slacking).

Has no problem telling customers to gtfo when it’s closing time.

If people are still in the store 5 minutes after closing, he’ll follow them around until they finally take the hint and leave.

Always stops for fast food on his way home after work because making himself a meal sounds like too much effort.

Diavolo:

Store Manager.

Is very kind to all of his employees, but will also have hard conversations with them if there’s an issue regarding their performance that needs to be addressed.

However, he always does his best to maintain good relationships with everyone he works with.

Will buy lunch for the staff on busy weekends, even if he has to pay for the food himself. He wants to let his employees know that they’re appreciated, and while he’s the type to give verbal affirmation of a job well done, a luncheon doesn’t hurt either.

Even if customers are bitchy, he never raises his voice, or yells. He handles complaints like a champ.

If the customer physically or verbally abuses one of his workers, however...he will threaten to call the police. Do not fuck with his work children.

If his employees ever find him sighing, or looking like he’s stressed, then they know he’s definitely having a rough day. Please work hard, and help him out, and he’ll very much appreciate it.

Barbatos:

The 4th key. (Basically a manager)

Some workers are scared of him because he always seems to be in a good mood--even if the store is packed, and things get overwhelming.

A very by-the-book type. While Lucifer and Diavolo may allow for some things to get overlooked, or for there to be a lapse in proper procedure, Barbatos is not like that. Rules are rules, and they shall be followed.

Honestly is a very nice guy, but working a closing shift with him can be the worst. Especially if Diavolo is the opening manager the next day.

He will keep his staff there after closing as long as he needs to for the store to be in an acceptable condition. (The worst part is that Diavolo honestly is so easy going that if Barbatos had just opted to say “we were very busy and didn’t have the time to get everything done”, Diavolo wouldn’t blame him. Shit gets crazy).

Alas, Barbatos wants to please Diavolo and takes his role very seriously.

At least he brings in homemade baked goods for the staff sometimes. (His good cooking usually makes up for all the times he has kept them late).

Solomon:

Another all rounder. Usually get scheduled on midday shifts to bridge the gap between the openers, and closers.

Is very good at keeping up his “customer service” facade.

However, once there are no customers around his smile will fall, and he’ll mumble complaints under his breath.

“Why does one couple need 15 candles?” “Lady, I don’t care about your chihuahua’s sleeping habits--just buy the pet bed already.”

Will always tease his coworkers if he gets along with them. Bickering with Solomon can become a very entertaining past time if he likes you.

Whenever new crystals, or rocks come in, usually he’ll spend a while inspecting them. Apparently he can tell which ones are real, or fake. (And he always ends up buying the real ones).

He’s the type of coworker that will sneak up behind you and scare you when you’re not paying attention. Just because he can. (Fight him, he loves it).

Simeon:

One of the sweetest staff members, but he’s prone to getting flustered and making mistakes.

If he’s on registers, he’s so busy trying to start a conversation with the customer that he’ll short them on their change.

Luckily, the customer is either patient in waiting for the manager to come up and open the register, or doesn’t care about the 22 cents Simeon forgot to give them.

He loves reorganizing the towel section of the store the most. Getting to stand there and refold towels almost feels like meditation to him.

Always goes out of his way to ask the customer if he can help them with anything, or if they’re finding everything alright.

Is prone to accidentally cutting himself when something sharp breaks. (It has literally gotten to the point where if a ceramic plate or something glass breaks, the managers have instructed Simeon to call someone else to clean it up, rather than doing it himself.)

Honestly, in the end, he’s a fabulous worker tho.

#i have so many stupid stories from my retail job lmao #om!#obey me #obey me headcanons #lucifer #mammon #levi #leviathan #satan #asmo #asmodeus #beel #beelzebub #belphie #belphegor #diavolo #barbatos #simeon #solomon

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pattern-recognition · 3 years

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How does the stuff you make look so tasty? Makes me jealous.. I can cook basic stuff if barely (Stew, soup rice etc.) but even if I season it just doesn't hit

for the record all of my cooking is still really amateurish and there's nothing that I can tell you that couldn't be explained much more thoroughly by a chef with actual experience. That being said, here’s my novice opinions:

By “doesn’t hit” I feel like you’re probably not layering flavors very thoroughly. You can make a lot of really basic stuff hit completely different by riffing a bit with each component. For example, one of my staple foods is just a bowl of buckwheat or rice noodles, usually like a 15 minute or less meal but with countless ways to deepen flavor. You could start by making your own stock the day before, stock is the source of all good food, and already in the first ingredient you have a near infinite number of methods to make it rich and deep with flavor. From there you could make a homemade chili oil, perhaps some picked vegetables. You could choose what type of noodle you want, cook an egg in one of its dozens of forms, garnish with fragrant aromatics, ground (in a mortar and pestle and toasted beforehand, of course) spices, and fresh herbs. You could also incorporate many different premise condiments, like soy sauce, cooking wine, or black vinegar, into the final dish. Within every one of these components there lays the possibility to find flavors that compliment each other well, purposefully contrast in a satisfying way, or, perhaps most importantly, using the same ingredient in multiple incarnations to reveal its various shades. Garlic, for instance, is fantastic for this. Fried garlic tastes distinct from boiled garlic, and thus fresh, grated, pickled, aged, and roasted garlic as well. Many dishes will use multiple adaptations to reiterate one specific sensation from a variety of angles. Just like in every other art form, nuance is everything. It’s the subtext, the way the themes intermingle, the chords you can barely here under the bass and chorus that are what really culminate into an interesting whole.

Mucho texto aside though, use more butter. Seriously, restaurants use butter in fucking everything and way more than you think. Also, add a pinch more salt, most home chefs significantly under salt their food. Never be afraid of MSG, either, glutamates are what make everything taste good.

#anonymous #I don’t mean to insinuate you need to make everything by scratch tho I’m not a fucking food youtuber #nobody has time to be 100% extra

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tinymonsterlover · 2 years

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Halloween with Sylvie

She loves Halloween. You don't understand. Sylvie was bullied a lot in high school before she moved to Maple Grove in her senior year and Halloween gave her that one night of feeling like she was somebody else.

Now that she's older, the magical feelings and mischievous tendencies are still there, though she no longer feels the need to hide away behind costumes but rather steal the spotlight for a moment instead, and she's very happy to share it with friends, family and you.

She's the first one to the store when they start stocking up on decorations. She's the first to grab styrofoam pumpkins to paint herself and an armful of craft glitter, after all, it's not a Sylvie masterpiece if it isn't so sparkly it's practically visible from space.

Will practically beg you to join in on making the decorations, she loves seeing what you come up with and will display your work with pride, no matter if you're the crafty type or not.

Seriously strong for her size which comes in handy for picking pumpkins, she usually goes for the biggest ones to carve with you and the pack. Really loves making cute cartoon character faces like Hello Kitty, Isabelle from Animal Crossing and Jiji from Kiki's Delivery Service.

An amazing carver, she's got some serious talent and will spend all night getting the details just right, after all, she's got the rest of eternity to really nail her pumpkin carving just right.

Sylvie loves to dress up, her typical costume is Marilyn Monroe, but now that she's got you, she's willing to wear almost anything.

She loves to match with you, if you let her, she will pick out the cutest and most expensive couple costumes she can find, nothing cheap or low quality, she insists on getting as close to the real deal as possible and insists that she treat you to whatever you want in the store.

If you manage to persuade her, she's not above a DIY or homemade costume either. With a little help from Monica, Thorn, Jenny and Granny Lawrence, there's nothing the pack can't whip up for you, even if it's on short notice.

Expect lots of pictures and selfies, Sylvie loves to show you off and being able to print off and display photos of you together would thrill her to bits. She's all about the posing, the angles, the right lighting and filter, cute stickers, etc.

She does her nails up every year. They're usually pastel colored with little ghosts, but she's been known to do a darker themed manicure from time to time if it matches her costume. She'd be happy to take you to get yours done too if that's your thing!

Utterly giddy about watching scary movies with you. If you agree to a horror movie marathon, she will sit by your side with the biggest grin on her face, shoveling popcorn in her mouth and getting wide eyed at the gore and guts.

Will show you off to everybody, even if it's just her girls. She loves letting everyone in Georgia know that you're hers and only hers. Really into taking you out to parties or murder mystery dinners or the Haunted Carnival that rolls around every fall. She likes to treat you and indulge her own fiendish tendencies.

She will gladly eat any candy or treats you end up with that you don't want. Granny Lawrence and Nana Gilbert insist on sending you baked goods and candies even though you're definitely not a child anymore. If you buy any candy from the store and find your least favorites mixed in, she will scarf them down at light speed with glee. Sylvie never met a sweet that she didn't like.

Definitely has a massive sweet tooth, so expect to see her all too happily buying sugar cookie batter and apple pie ingredients during your grocery trips together. She'll also use any leftover or unwanted candy to come up with sugary concoctions for you both to try.

Absolutely will rail the ever living shit out of you. Expect her to have on a cute lingerie set or to change into one the minute you get home. She usually hides it under her costume and waits patiently for the right moment at a party or under a dinner table to flash you.

Has cute Halloween themed toys she's desperate to use on you. She's got a collection and she's not afraid to expand it if she sees a cute new mold shape or coloring.

Will turn the lights down nice and low and ask if you're in for your real treat before strutting into the room and climbing on top of you. Will also tie you down, break out the waxplay candles and riding crop if you let her, after all, Halloween is for tricks and treats.

Will hold you nice and tight in her arms all night and readjust the idol in the window, insisting that she and the high one will keep you safe from any threats.

Definitely dressed Lucie up and took like, a million photos of her, insists on taking her out for a walk on her leash to show her off and let her get some fresh air.

Decorates a photo frame for Halloween with a picture of the three of you inside.

Will beg you to help her and Jenny pull pranks on Mason, John and Carson, as per prank-war tradition that takes place every year. It's all harmless fun, but she still gets a kick out of seeing their faces when they realized they were bested.

Loves making cinnamon and brown sugar pumpkin seeds and will inhale them at the speed of light if you don't stop her.

Will put pink LED lights in every Jack-o-lantern you carve with her as well, or at least one of the cool color changing ones.

#my writing #ns/fw #oc: sylvie

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cuisinecravings · 2 years

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How to Freeze Dry?

FREEZE DRYING: HOW DOES IT WORK?

WHAT SETS DEHYDRATED FOOD APART FROM FREEZE-DRIED FOOD?

HOW LONG DOES FOOD THAT IS FREEZE-DRIED LAST?

MODELS OF TRADITIONAL FREEZE DRYING

THE STRUCTURE OF A FREEZE DRYER

A HOME FREEZE DRYER IS USED

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