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blkgojo · 4 years ago

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The Kitchen is Home | Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Wanda is grief-stricken over the death of her brother. She’s far from home and reclusive. All you want to do is make her favorite foods. Fluffy.

Word Count: 2.096

Make no mistake. You weren't an Avenger. You were their cook. The job was a simple one, prepare the meals (if need be) and stock their fridge. No riff raff. Nothing fancy. Honestly, the most exciting thing was when Wanda and Vision arrived. You thought she was quite pretty if a bit reserved. She barely left her room. Didn't go on many missions. 'Give her time,' Steve had told Tony.

None of that was your concern. You just wanted to know what food she liked.

Most of the Avengers filled out a form or told you themselves what they enjoyed. When Bruce was around, he liked it when you made him protein and fiber rich dinners. Steve was a simple guy who made his own meals, always apologized before asking you to grab him something from the store. Natasha liked the fruit parfaits and pelmeni you cooked. Vision was quick to tell you he didn't exactly enjoy food.

Wanda? Nothing.

"What're you making?" Natasha walked into the kitchen. Her boots clicked against the rough tile.

You looked up from your bread. There was blood on her cheek. "Back from a mission?"

She nodded and rounded the island to stand next to you.

"Struuji," you said slowly. Apple dumplings. A desert common in the Balkans.

"Struklji," Natasha corrected. She grinned at the food. That little knowing half-smirk she always did. "They look good. I'm guessing you're making them for our newest Sokovian."

"Well, she hasn't exactly filled out the form or gotten back to me-"

"Mhm."

"- so I thought I'd just make some food. Make her feel at home."

"Uh huh."

You paused. Natasha wasn't even listening. She was just staring at the food.

"I'll make you some, too."

Her face brightened. "You're too sweet. Thank you, Y/N."

When the struklji was done, you made the plate pretty, topped off the pastries with a sprinkle of icing, and walked over to Wanda's room. The door swung open the moment you raised your hand to knock.

Wanda was there. Sitting on her bed. Staring at you with one brow lifted.

"Does that mean I can come in?" You asked.

"What do you think?" She replied.

You stepped in and the door promptly shut behind you. She cocked her head to the side, nodded at the plate in your hand.

"What's that?"

"Struklji," you said, stumbling over the word. You walked over and placed it on the empty spot next to her. "I made you some."

"Because I'm Sokovian." She didn't give you time to reply. "You can go." And then, as an afterthought. "Thank you."

You knew you were dismissed by how her head swivelled back to the TV. You hesitated, wanting to see how she liked it, but ultimately, left, closing the door behind you.

"Wanda liked your cooking."

"Really?"

She still hadn't approached you, hadn't even said thank you, but you wouldn't be swayed. The Avengers were in a meeting debrief while you were in the kitchen, finishing up the last touches on the mekitsa. You counted 12. Enough for everyone even Tony who always managed to have something to say about your cooking.

" Oh? I didn't know this was a buffet." And there you go. There was Tony. Always talking.

You ignored him and placed the food down.

Tony pointed at the plate. "And what is this?"

"It's mekitsa," Wanda interrupted. Her eyes met yours.

"Is that Sokovian?" Steve asked.

She shook her head. "No, but it's common to eat it for breakfast or find someone on the street selling it. It's like a donut."

"Well, if Y/N made it, I'm sure it's good," Steve offered. He grabbed one and took a bite, nodding slowly as he ate. One by one the Avengers followed. Wanda being the last one.

She grabbed one, still eyeing you, and took a bite. The powdered sugar poofed, bits of it falling to decorate her hands and shirt. You looked at her. She was the only one you really cared to see their reaction.

"Is it good?"

Her expression was hesitant. Her eyes far away as if trapped in some memory. To your surprise, she frowned, eyed the pastry as if it had committed some crime.

Slowly, she nodded. She didn't smile or say thank you. She ate it and when she was finished, she took another one. You didn't know what to make of that.

You delivered food to Wanda for the next few weeks. Anything and everything remotely Sokovian or Balkan. Salma. Baklava. Rafioli. Gozleme.

"I don't know, Y/N," Natasha leaned back against the chair. Her feet kicked up on the desk. "It's like ever since Wanda came you forgot the rest of us eat, too."

The funny thing was that she was eating. You made the whole compound stuffed peppers for dinner. You were half on your way to bringing the plate to Wanda when Natasha, mouth half full with a pepper, began commenting.

You rolled your eyes. "That's not true."

Tony nodded. "It's true. You're slacking on your duties."

If he wasn't your boss, you'd remind him that tending to Wanda was your duty, but Tony didn't like being corrected. Again, you rolled your eyes. This time, sighing as well. You pointed at the pepper in his hand.

"It'd be easier if I didn't have an extra mouth to feed."

"You mean, me?" He pointed at himself. "The one who signs your check?"

You began walking again. Wanda's food would be cold if you continued to dilly dally. Like always, the door opened when you stepped up to knock. Wanda was sitting on the bed, facing the television as she always was when they weren't trying to get her acquainted with the Avengers lifestyle.

She nodded at the plate. "Stuffed peppers?"

You walked over and placed it beside her. "How'd you know?"

She pointed at her head. "Stark. He's loud."

"I stuffed them with lamb."

Her eyes met yours. She was fond of prolonged eye contact. Unafraid of it, but you would be, too, if you were a telepath.

"I can hear your thoughts, you know?"

You stumbled over your words. For the first time, you thought you saw her grin. Just a bit. A lift at the corner of her lips.

"It's hard keeping track of all your superpowers." You shook your head, turning to the TV. Modern Family was playing on the screen. "You like sitcoms?"

"It's funny."

"Have you seen Living Single? It's another sitcom," you smiled faintly. "Probably not as distributed abroad."

She shook her head, picked up the remote and pointed it at the screen. "Is it online?"

"Oh. Um," You pointed at the bed.

"You can sit."

You sat next to her, scooted the food between you two. It took perusing through multiple streaming channels for you both to realize Living Single is nowhere to be found.

"Maybe, it's only on DVD," Wanda said, turning towards you. Up close like this, you noticed how her eyes had a rim of red around the green iris. Even when her powers were presumably not active.

"Probably." You shrugged.

An awkward silence settled between you. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, her eyes looking down at the ground, deep in thought. You slowly began to feel as if you overstayed your welcome. You stood up and rubbed your hands on your jeans.

"Well, I should probably-"

"Why are you so nice to me?"

"What."

She looked up at you. Her brows furrowed. "Why are you so nice to me?" She repeated slowly.

"You're far away from home," you said entirely too fast. Almost like a question. You continued in a slower voice, averting your gaze to calm your nerves. "I just- " You shrugged. "It's not fun being somewhere where no one is like you. Not really like you."

She stared at you for so long you turned to leave. "It's not," you heard her say behind you.

You turned.

"Thank you," she smiled. A genuine smile with her teeth and all. She pointed down at the plate. "For everything."

"Yeah, of course."

"Y/N."

You turned, jumped, to see Wanda coming at you down the hallway. She'd been there for two months now and just returned from a mission. When you turned, she waved a DVD, too far away for you to make out the title.

"Whassup?"

She held up the DVD.

"How'd you find it?" You half-shrieked.

"Being an Avenger has perks." She smiled. "Do you want to watch it?"

"Um," you looked towards the kitchen. There was stuff to get done, but there was always stuff that needed to get done. It could wait. "Yeah. Sure."

There was only a bed in Wanda's room which wasn't normally an issue because normally, she sat criss-cross on it, and you could sit a little farther behind. This time she was more relaxed, scooting to the side so you had space. Barely. When you sat down, your leg touched hers.

She pressed the 'play' button on the remote control and you began watching the first episode. She didn't move her leg. You didn't either.

"Y/N! You gonna go back to being our cook or are you still content with just being Wanda's?" Tony asked you.

He sat at the meeting table as he always did. Only this time the other Avengers were present save for Thor. You rolled your tongue in your cheek. He was your boss, you reminded yourself. Despite yourself, you peeked at Wanda. She didn't like Tony much, but her expression is carefully blank.

"Leave Y/N alone," said Natasha.

"I make food for everyone." You placed a plate of beef patties on the table.

Tony grabbed one off the table and inspected it. "So, this isn't a Sokovian dish?"

"It's Jamaican," you deadpanned.

"Hm." He took a bite. "Did Wan-"

"No, I did not request it."

It was beginning to feel like everyone knew something was up with you and Wanda. You and her had pledged to watch all the American sitcoms she hadn't seen, ranging from Living Single to Moesha, and there were many nights where you honestly just stayed up with her. Vision would join sometimes, too. It was your thing.

But, maybe, they all saw more than you did. For you, it looked like a friendship. Of course, there were times when you two lingered with one another - your hands touching the shared popcorn, your knees bumping and not moving away - but that was just it. These were moments in time.

You were in her room again. You leaned back against the pillow cushion, she laid next to you, a bowl of popcorn between you two. You didn't want to say anything. You didn't want to assume, but there was a palpable tension between you. One that had you avoiding her gaze, sitting closer to the edge than the center.

"There's a lot of singing in this one," she said.

"You sound disgusted."

"I am."

Under normal circumstances, you would've laughed. Now, you didn't know what to do. A laugh would be forced. Ignoring it would be weird. You decided on looking at her. She looked healthier now. Sadness still existed in the corners of her eyes, but she looked like she was eating well. Beautiful then and beautiful now.

She turned to look at you. Her lips curled up in a slight smile.

"I can hear you."

"I'm not- Oh." You could feel your face warming up. You averted your gaze to the popcorn. "Do you always hear me?"

She turned her body entirely, away from the movie to face you. She nodded.

"That's awkward."

"It's not." Her eyes lingered at your lips. "I enjoy it."

You two lay there, staring at one another. You turned towards her, mimicking her position. If you could see yourself, you'd know that you looked like a mix between apprehension and happiness. All you had to do was move forward. Kiss her. It'd be so simple.

"I think you're beautiful, too," she said quietly. "And I like it when we touch."

Her hands hesitantly reached out to touch yours. First, the fingertips and then, palm to palm.

"I do, too," you whispered.

Your kiss was a hesitant one. She wasn't the one to lean forward first. You swallowed your fear and did it. She met you. Her lips trembled. Yours did too. You pulled back to look at her, analyze if you were doing the right thing, your eyes searched hers for some confirmation. What you were met with was a bit of fear. A longing.

You kissed her again.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #marvel imagine

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superhero--imagines · 3 years ago

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Fill out an interest form for my Haikyuu Zine here! | Buy my Batman zine here!

A/N: Gender neutral reader with Best friend!Sakusa

Sakusa taps his foot once, then twice. His fingers reach to pinch the bridge of his nose, lifting the black mask covering his face slightly.

“Why are we here, again?” He leans back, his feet stretching until they rest an inch from yours. A thick eyebrow rising until it disappears behind his trademark curls.

You smile while sipping your milkshake, covering your mouth with your hand while you swallow.

“Because I’m hungry obviously”

‘I can see that’ he wants to say, but bites back the remark. Instead his eyes roam over the tray full of food; two burgers, three large french fries, two apple pies, and a milkshake. His gaze flicks from the buffet of food, silently comparing it single cup of black coffee he has in front of him.

“Again, why are we here?” He repeats, and when you ignore his question, instead focusing your entire attention on the burger in your hand, he adds:

“I thought you already ate dinner with your date” Sakusa doesn’t miss the way you flinch at the word ‘date’, the way your mouth pulls into a fine line and you set the burger aside. He feels a smirk twitch onto his lip.

“That bad, huh?”

He almost feels bad when he sees you sigh, your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose and your eyes close shut.

‘It must have been terrible’ he thinks, and feels a twinge of guilt at the relief that he feels.

“It wasn’t so bad at first,” you mumble behind your hand, elbow resting on the table as you look outside the window, flickering lights reflected in your eyes.

‘So dramatic’ Sakusa thinks while rolling his eyes. But he can feel the grin curling onto his face at your usual antics.

“It was going pretty well until-“ your words abruptly end, gulping hard and averting your eyes once more. Sakusa scoffs.

“Oh come on. It can’t have been that bad” Really, how much worse can it have been than the others? Sakusa’s been here since the beginning, before getting on professional al volleyball teams or sophisticated office jobs, before college scouts and scholarships, before awkward haircuts and unrequited love.

‘Well, technically not the last one’

The point is, he’s seen it all. Heard the tawdry details about every rotten date you’ve had, every degenerate lover, every fruitless love.

So he’s not sure why you’re gaping and stuttering as you try to explain what happened.

“H-he, look, I-“ Your mouth snaps shut, and he watches with both eyebrows raised. You meet his gaze head on, your eyes boring into his. It seems to calm you, the heat from your face receding. You take a deep breath and lean back, your sneakers brushing lightly against his.

Sakusa doesn’t pull away.

“So, we were going to get takeout and have a picnic at the park” your arms fold over your chest, mouth pursed so tight he can’t see your lips.

That checks out, you love picnics. He should know, the two of you have one every other week.

“I’m driving, and so I give him the food - I thought he would put it in the backseat or something yknow? But he-“ you purse your lips again, averting your gaze. “He put it between his legs”

Sakusa feels his eyebrow quirk, is that all? You’re getting awfully picky these days.

You huff when he doesn’t seem bothered by this, his fingers tucking his mask down.

“You know, between his legs,” he takes a sip of his coffee, he’s still not seeing what the big deal is-

“Against his crotch”

It take Sakusa three long second to convince himself to swallow the coffee, and another three to allow himself to cough. When he looks back at you you widen your eyes and avert your gaze, as if to say:

‘See, I told you it was bad’

It was pretty bad, especially if it was a paper bag. Sakusa grimaces at the thought of a grease stained paper bag, all those germs, the way they might travel through the fiber. He shivers.

“That’s not even the worst part,” you confide, and Sakusa sets his coffee away so he doesn’t almost choke again. “I thought, I don’t know maybe he didn’t realize, so I took the bag and put it in the backseat, and then he put it back there and said-“ you pause, hiding your face behind your hands, looking as if you’re thoroughly mortified.

“He said he was keeping it warm”

Sakusa can’t help himself, he bursts out laughing. His hand fluttering over his mouth as trembles.

“He was using crotch warmth to keep it warm” he gasps in between chuckles, he’s laughing so hard he’s practically wheezing. You can feel the heat rush to your face once again, feeling the pinpoint stares of the few employees and patrons at the diner you’re at. You’re used to it by now, even with a mask on, you know Sakusa attracts attention wherever he goes. That’s especially true when he shows someone his genuine smile.

“I take it you didn’t eat anything tonight” his lips curl into the faintest smile, parting as he takes another sip of coffee.

You shake your head.

“Just thinking about it makes me sick” You mumble, taking another sip of your milkshake. He considers telling you that all that junk food isn’t going to make you feel any better, but decides against it. You’ve been through enough tonight.

He watches you carefully. He watches the disgusted grimace on your face fade, and a hesitant hand reach out towards a few fries. He watches the flicker of expression, the painful pinch of your eyes closing shut as you recall the moment again between bites of food.

He finds his lips twitching into a smile. It’s never boring with you around is it? Even just watching your changing expressions like this is endlessly entertaining.

“You know, you’d never have to go through something like that if you dated me” The words flow like silk past his lips, without a second thought.

He’s not sure why he said it. He’s waited all these years, certainly a few more couldn’t hurt. He’s fine with just being your best friend. As long as he can be around you he’s happy.

What Sakusa does know, as he watches you set your food done, mouth slightly parted in surprise, is that he doesn’t regret it.

He takes a sip from his coffee, savoring the bitter taste, smiling when he hears you say:

“Okay, let’s date then”

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagine #Sakusa Kiyoomi #Sakusa Kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa headcanons #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x you #haikyuu x reader #zine #haikyuu zine

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chubmins · 3 years ago

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candy bear, sweetie pie (i wanna be adored)

cw: feederism, belly kink, weight gain, burping, brief mention of body image regarding jimin’s family, streamer!jimin.

“hello there... it’s manggae.”

jimin’s voice was low, almost a whisper, as he laid back on one of his hands and appraised the rapidly growing influx of messages on his live’s chat. they weren’t quick enough that jimin would lose track, but nowadays he would have to scroll back up to catch something he missed a few times. his audience had been growing.

“you missed me? cute. it’s only been a week.” his full lips stretched in a smile his viewers would be able to see and fawn over. jimin always positioned himself carefully, camera catching him perfectly from the lips down — not because he didn’t want the audience to see his face, they had seen him a handful of times now, but because he wanted his body to be the main focus.

and his body explained why his nickname on the streaming website was manggaetteok.

jimin had always liked to eat. growing up in an extremely rich family, food had never been an issue — until it started being taken away from him by parents and nutritionists who believed his chubby cheeks were something to be ashamed of. jimin spent his teenage years on diets, pills and stinky gym bathrooms. he almost started hating his body as much as his parents did.

until he moved out. was moved out, to be more precise — an apartment bought for him in the heart of gangnam, too big for just one person, way under-decorated to look like a homel. jimin was twenty and out of his parents' claws for the first time in his life.

it didn’t take him more than a year to figure out the most crucial things about himself: he prefered boys over girls, silk robes and lace over black pressed suits, and he very much prefered to stay home and order food to going out to a new bar every friday night.

jimin turned into the perfect definition of a homebody; and, soon enough, of a foodie.

he didn’t hold back when it came to food, and the results of his indulgence after years of restriction showed on his body rather quickly. at least his parents were right about one thing — he really was prone to gaining weight, and a lot of it.

sitting now on the floor of one of the three bedroom’s in his apartment, the one he had slowly decorated to be his streaming studio, jimin weight gain is nothing if not noticeable. nicely placed down on his fluffy baby pink carpet with thighs spread as wide as they would go, his belly hanged almost touching the floor. it looks so soft and pudgy now, bulging forward in an almost perfect round dome even when it’s empty. he has pink stretch marks from the top of his jiggly thighs to right under his belly button, which has gotten deep enough for jimin to fit and poke his entire pinky finger inside. his flabby tits rest nicely on top of his swollen gut, round puffy nipples a pretty light brown on display.

“remember when i’d dress up all cute and pretty for these lives?” jimin practically purred at the camera, both hands heading to his breasts so he could squeeze and jiggle them while chuckling. “my bras don’t fit me anymore… i need to buy new ones.”

as if on cue, the silent notification bar that signaled new donations started popping up repeatedly, each time with a different amount of the website’s currency he’d get to convert to real money later. jimin chuckled again, he knew how to play this game too well. he had indeed grown out of most of his fancy silk and lace lingerie, but he also didn’t want to repeat the same ones he’d still fit into. that being said, he had decided on his fit for today as being a pair of baby blue silk shorts that barely covered his ass when he stood up, and a matching silk choker with a small emerald pendant.

“well, well, look at that! seems like i’ll have some new lingerie to show you guys soon.” His hands moved away from his body before he could get too excited, and moved towards the tray he had off camera.

with a little bit of maneuvering, he pulled the traw towards himself until it was in between his massive thighs and the camera, positioned just so that his body wouldn’t be too covered up and his belly would still be on display.

“as you can see” jimin praticaly purred, “i followed your requests and got a full american breakfast. there are pancakes,” he pointed at each and every item as he spoke, mouth watering just thinking about how he was finally going to eat “eggs, sausages, muffins, bagels and a berry smoothie.”

that was probably enough food to feed a family of four — the chat flooded with excited messages of how they couldn’t wait to see jimin eating it all. at first his viewers’ excitement would startle jimin a bit, but now? now he lived for it.

after all, he’d always get as excited as them.

“should i start with the pancakes? they’re still warm.” he asked, reading all the messages he could, all of which were encouraging him to start eating.

jimin reached for the pancakes. there were six of them in total, fluffy and golden brown with melted butter running down on all sides. jimin’s fork was quick to make work through the first three layers as he balanced the plate on top of his belly, and once the big bite was inside his lips he moaned unashamedly.

“fuck… so good.” he barely finished chewing before he pushed more inside his mouth, closing his eyes in bliss. “i could eat this everyday. imagine how much bigger i’d get.”

his viewers got off on that, as he came to learn very quickly after starting to stream himself eating. jimin’s primary goal certainly wasn’t to gain weight, but it did keep the cash coming and he didn’t mind the plushness one bit. just a small price to pay for all the food he shoved inside himself, and he did look hot with all the extra pounds. jimin continued to shove the pancakes inside his mouth, barely chewing before swallowing, moaning almost obscenely throughout the whole process. it didn’t take more than five minutes for him to polish the whole stack.

“kinda wish i had ordered more” he pouted, putting the plate away and lightly slapping his still very empty gut. the donations started popping up again, messages telling him to order more right at that instant, to order ten times more next week. “don’t worry everyone, i still have a lot more to eat!”

jimin reached for the bagels next — there were 9 of them in a box alongside 4 muffins of various flavours, and jimin had started alternating between them while answering some of his viewers questions.

“last time i went on a date? that was a couple months ago, actually” he answered between bites of a blueberry muffin. “made him take me to an all you can eat buffet, ate like a pig. had to unzip my pants for dessert and all...” jimin licked his fingers clean, making a little show out of it before reaching for the last bagel and all but eating half of it in one big bite before continuing in a lighthearted tone, cheeks full. “probably freaked him out, he never called again.”

the story was only partially true — taehyung had taken him to an all you can eat buffet for their first date, but he also had called again. they were dating, in fact, but had made an arrangement to keep it from jimin’s subscribers. as much as jimin didn’t mind showing his body and face online for thousands to see, his private life remained private, and he was a firm believer that nobody needed to know his real name, the city he lived in or his relationship status.

“i need something savory, now. those muffins were really sweet.” jimin sighed, taking a big sip from his berry smoothie. one of his chubby hands played with his belly, caressing around the belly button before lifting the fat mass and letting it fall, sighing at the way it jiggled back into place. the movement dislodged a gas bubble, and he could hear the gurgling noise coming up his throat and feel the pressure on his chest right before letting out a loud belch.

“oh, yeah… that felt good.” another burp made its way out right then, shorter and deeper than the first one. jimin bit his lip and smiled, playing coy. “excuse me!”

he reached for the eggs, three full plates with enough spicy sauce on top that it dripped down Jimin’s chin at his first bite. he didn’t clean it at first, too preoccupied with stuffing his face until he could barely chew with his mouth closed. jimin still had a few steps to take before he felt actually full, but his stomach definitely felt a little bit harder at the top, now. he ate the first two plates mostly in silence aside from the casual moans and loud slurps from the berry smoothie, lips feeling tingly and swollen from the spice.

“you guys remember last time i ate this spicy sauce, right?” jimin smiled, going for the third and last plate. “that day with the ten hamburguers. i downed almost the entire bottle with them, got so gassy afterwards. couldn’t stop burping.” the memory makes his comment session go crazy, talking about how hot it was, how he should do it again. jimin chuckles, happy his viewers don’t mind how much of a pig he can be sometimes.

he continues eating, barely stopping to breathe — there’s still two dishes to get done with, and his stomach is starting to protest about the eggs he just ate.

“hmm… tummy is talking, you guys hear that?” jimin all but shoves a finger inside his belly button, moving the digit around in a movement that could almost be considered obscene. he feels so good, exposed like this, stomach gurgling away the fullness.

the donations keep coming at a fast rate as jimin keeps eating, pace much slower than when he first started with the pancakes, lips greasy and adorned with crumbles. his hands find his belly a plethora of times, caressing the stretched out skin, pressing against the swelled up gut as he unashamedly lets out moans and sighs of pleasure. that’s how jimin, sooner rather than later, finds himself out of food to eat, only half of his smoothie left.

“so full…” he groans, leaning back to expose his full, rounded out fat belly. it gurgles audibly then, jumping out in an abrupt movement as jimin’s lips fall open and he belches again, a long and wavering deep noise that sounds both disgusting and relieving. only then he reaches off camera for a tissue box, cleaning his fingers and then his lips and double chin, laughing as he spots some muffin crumbles on his chest and wipes them away carelessly.

“that was so—” jimin is interrupted by a small burp, cheeks puffing up cutely. “so good. but i can’t help but feel like i could pack more in here.” he pats his belly kinda harshly, the slapping sound loud inside his room. “should i go for 10 pancakes next time? or maybe only have pancakes, a huge stack of them… ah, bet i could eat 20.”

the chat is, as always, extremely encouraging. the donations start coming at a surprising speed again, some messages attached about how the money is for his future grocery trip and for him to buy double of everything. jimin bathes on the attention for a little longer, answering some questions while trying to soothe his ful, oversized belly, chuckling every now and then and pointing out the gurgling noises it makes as it tries to process all the food he just ate.

he was not lying, though — it does feel like he could pack more if he tried. but that’s a thought for next time, and jimin stores it for next week’s stream as he bids goodbye and claims it’s time for him to get into his food coma and digest so he can come back even fatter.

“this has been manggae… until next time, guys!”

#i'm literally shaking i'm so flustered about posting this fic #it's been a while since i've written anything #please note english isn't my first language #am trying my best #as always idk how to tag #chubby bt5 #chubmins

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stitch1830 · 4 years ago

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Joy keeps yelling at me to update this story, so here I am. Updating.

Here is the original plus add ons, and Here is where you can read it on ao3 (eventually, still uploading chapters lmao). This is a long chapter, my apologies.

......

First Date

“All right, ready to go?”

Toph muttered and grumbled obscenities under her breath in the passenger seat, and Aang just chuckled as he started the car up and drove off to their first date destination.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, Toph finally spoke. “Where are we going?”

“A special breakfast awaits us.”

“You sure you’re not just gonna kidnap and kill me, Twinkles?”

“I mean, let’s see where the day takes us, don’t you think?”

Despite her sleep-deprived state, Toph couldn’t help but laugh. Aang seemed to have that effect on her.

When they arrived at their destination, Aang quickly hopped out of the car to meet Toph outside her door because he was giddy with excitement. Toph raised an eyebrow at her potential kidnapper. “You’re awfully excited for some breakfast food.”

“What, are you telling me that you’re not a fan of,” he paused for dramatic effect, “breakfast food??”

“I am, but unless I’ve stayed up all night, I’d rather not get up at seven to eat,” she groaned.

“Not to worry, date buddy,” Aang began as he wrapped an arm around Toph’s shoulder. “This food will not only wake up your taste buds, but it will fill you with all the love and happiness you’ll need to continue on with the day!”

Toph sighed, “You really are a morning person, aren’t ya.”

“Oh, yeah. If that wasn’t clear earlier, I am most definitely a morning person.”

“Charming.”

Aang continued to grin like a 3rd grade schoolboy and led Toph inside the establishment.

When they settled in their seats, Toph leaned across the table and asked, “Alright Twinkletoes, how are their eggs and bacon here?”

Aang hummed, “Eggs are good, can’t say I know what the bacon is like. I’m a vegetarian.”

Toph’s mouth was agape. “What?”

The man chuckled. “Is that a problem?”

“I mean I’m on a date with a fuckin’ plant eater!” She practically yelled at him, but her tone was facetious and the smile that played across her lips told Aang that she only pretended to care.

“Don’t worry about food though, Toph. I’ve got it all planned out.”

And he did. At the crack of dawn, Aang called the restaurant owner to relay his brilliant breakfast sampler idea.

He also made a few other calls, but those date activities were for later.

An amused but skeptical look graced Toph’s face, and it didn’t leave until the food was presented in front of them.

“Okay,” Aang began to explain. “We’ve got lots of options to sample in front of us, all meat free sad to say for you, but all food items are absolutely delicious and have the owner’s honor on them.”

Toph laughed. “What does that even mean, Twinkletoes?”

“Uh, just that he vouches for the food!”

She let out a sigh. “All right. What should I try first?”

And so they sampled everything on the table, smelling and tasting every item with precision and order. Aang somehow planned out every bite to be better than the last, culminating to the pièce de résistance: Belgian waffles.

Now, that wasn’t to say that the other food was subpar. Far from it. But as far as Toph was concerned, the owner of the establishment knew his way around Belgian waffles and it was the absolute best breakfast food she ever had.

As Toph leaned back in her chair, stuffed, she wondered what else could be on the ‘date list,’ considering they just spent almost 2 hours over indulging themselves with breakfast food. Not to mention the pair had spent the entire day yesterday talking to one another. There wasn’t much else to talk about, and Toph was worried they might lose their momentum for the remainder of the date.

She was wrong.

Their second stop on the date was a music museum. One that carried a collection of songs and instruments from around the world.

“Okay, date spot number two, let’s go!”

“And what’s the plan here?”

“We are gonna be traveling all over the world, Toph!” he exclaimed. “And we’re gonna do it in style.”

All of a sudden, a popular trumpet melody and lick blared around the entire museum (empty museum. Apparently it was closed to all except Toph and Aang).

Because of the oh so mushy and romantic gesture, Toph had to scoff at the song selection. “'Come Fly With Me' by Frank Sinatra?” she teased. “What are you, 80, Twinkletoes?”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that this is a classic and it was my foster father’s favorite song!” he defended. “And, it is the perfect song for this, because we are going to fly.”

“What??”

“Well, not really, but use your imagination will, you?”

So she did.

They walked around the museum, listening to different types of music around the world. Aang made her pay special attention to the different rhythms of the world, and they went back and forth listening attentively for special sounds in the songs. The museum curator, Chong, apparently gave Aang a list of facts and interesting tidbits about the music as well. It certainly added to the experience, even if Aang was just reading what was on the cards. And while they ‘travelled’ to different parts of the building, Aang put on his cheesy Sinatra song and even skipped around the museum to the beat of it.

It was absolutely ridiculous hearing him dance around the museum, but also absolutely endearing.

When they completed their trip around the world, Toph and Aang drove twenty minutes off campus to a small vineyard. Toph raised a skeptical eyebrow toward her date, then asked, “What’s all this about, Twinkletoes?”

She could practically feel his grin from where she stood. “We’ll find out soon! Come on, I think you’ll really like this one.”

“Well if we’re at a vineyard, you’re damn right I’m gonna like it.”

Aang clicked his tongue at her. “Not like that, Toph. Just wait.” He grabbed her hand and led her into the building. Aang led her through the building and suddenly stopped the two of them. His hand squeezed hers, motioning her to reach out in front of her. What Toph found was something that felt like a large, metal tub. She wrinkled her eyebrows and turned the corners of her lips down. “What is this?”

“It’s a tub filled with grapes. We’re gonna crush them.”

“Crush them?” she questioned. “Like, with a grape stomper—”

“—With our feet!”

The woman maintained her skeptical look. “Don’t they have machines for this?”

“Yes, but stomping grapes with your feet gives the winery more control on the seed separating process. They can control the amount of tannins—”

“—Okay too many fancy words, Twinkles.” Toph playfully put a hand up to stop his ramblings and smiled at him. “What are we waiting for? Let’s stomp some grapes!”

So they did.

They stomped, smashed, and crushed grapes with their bare feet as Toph and Aang held onto each other for support. The grapes poked and tickled at their feet, but it was such a fun experience. Toph even challenged Aang to goof around and jump in the vat of grapes to crush them. A silly dare that ended in near failure (Aang almost landed in the crushed grapes and juice on his ass), but all was well and no clothes were stained during the dare. Toph even promised she wouldn’t hold it over his head… Well, not for long at least.

Once they finished their stomping session, they cleaned off their feet and ventured into the restaurant part of the winery for dinner. This time, Aang promised Toph that she could choose her own meal, and she was adamant on getting a plate that served some sort of meat.

“You deprived me of meat all day, Twinkletoes,” she began. “If this was an all-you-can-eat buffet, my plate would be stacked this high with meat.” Her hand went above her head for her meat tower reference, and Aang laughed at the visual aid.

“Hey, you have to admit, those waffles were good though!”

Toph smiled genuinely. “They were.”

They spent the next five minutes going over the menu and choosing their respective meals and drinks.

“Hey, do we get to taste the grapes we just stomped?” she teased. “Hmm,” Aang jokingly pondered. “Maybe in a couple years, but we can buy a bottle right now to remember the experience,” he offered.

“Make it two.”

Dinner was a delight, and so was the company. It seemed that conversation topics were in abundance for the couple, and the only time they were silent was when they ate their meals (which were delicious). Then, it was time to go home.

As they were driving back to Toph’s apartment, Toph’s mind simply wandered back to all the activities and things they accomplished in the last few hours. It was a sensory overload kind of date. Every activity focused on a different sense, and Toph loved every second of it. So much thought and care went into this day, and she only gave the man 6 hours at most to prepare it all. Needless to say, Toph was impressed with Aang.

When the night came to a close and they were preparing to say their goodbyes at Toph’s door, it was only fitting a bit of banter was thrown around.

“Thanks for not kidnapping me.” She grinned.

“I was close near the middle when we went to Peru, but by the time we were in Acapulco Bay, I decided against it.”

“Hey, at least I didn’t nearly stain my entire outfit by taking a swim in freshly squeezed grapes!”

“I take no blame for that you egged me on! And I didn’t fall in, so it’s not as funny.”

“Still, the thought is funny enough.”

Aang chuckled and smiled at Toph. “I suppose.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, and now was the time for sincerity. For the first time in a long time, Toph didn’t want the day to end. She didn’t want the date to end. Toph broke the silence and began by saying, “Aang.”

Aang looked at her. Even though she only made up a nickname for him yesterday, it was weird for her to use his actual name. He stopped talking and looked at her. “This was…” Toph paused to form the right words, and a great big smile grew across her face. “This was the most amazing day ever. Thank you.”

“I’m so glad you liked it, Toph. It was the best day ever for me, too,” he grinned.

“How did you even reserve some of these activities? I mean, the stomping grape shit? C’mon.”

Aang shrugged. “I’ve volunteered at a lot of places around campus. I guess you can say I’ve got the connections.”

“Wow, who would’ve thought being a good samaritan would pay off?”

“Pretty sure Jesus did, Toph,” he teased.

And for that, he received a good punch to the arm.

“Whatever, Twinkles,” she jabbed. “But if that was the first date, can’t imagine what the second date will be like. High expectations, my fancy dancer.”

“Oh, so there will be a second date?”

It was Toph’s turn to shrug. “Well, you said there was more to me, and there seems to be more to you that I would like to find out.”

Aang couldn’t help but smile at Toph. Goodness, she was something else.

“Date number two can be arranged,” he began. “Although it sounds like maybe this is your date to manage.”

“Absolutely not, I already challenged you to outdo yourself,” she smirked.

Aang playfully groaned. “Fine! But… There is one last thing we have to do before date night is considered over.”

Toph raised a skeptical eyebrow at her date. “What else could you possibly have planned for—”

Her sentence was interrupted by his lips. It was just a light peck on her lips, and when he pulled away, Toph immediately dragged him back to her to kiss him. This time, it was longer and harder, and she pulled him just a little too hard, because they stumbled into the apartment door. But they didn’t break apart for a second. The most exhilarating first date culminated into the best first—er—makeout session?

Their little stumble into the door must’ve been interpreted as a knock, though, because suddenly Katara opened the door and the couple nearly fell into her arms.

“What the fuck?! You guys!” Katara exclaimed. She was rather surprised by the scene in front of her, but not completely taken aback. She playfully chastised her friend and yelled, “Quit defiling my roommate, Aang!”

Aang turned beet red, but Toph just cackled at the inconvenience. She straightened herself and called back to Aang as Katara pulled her into their place. “Night night, Twinkles! Bring your A game next week, will ya?”

The door was shut in his face before he could reply.

But Aang was pretty sure he floated back to his car. He was on cloud nine after that kiss, after the most perfect day.

#taang #toph #aang #toph and aang #continuation #writing #aang pulls out all the stops for this date #it's kind of ridiculous that's on me #but I thought it was kinda cute #katara interrupts their makeout session #lmao #ope she don't feel that bad

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headcans-oneshots-and-stuff · 4 years ago

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Luckiest thing (Drabble)

Warnings: none, except maybe shitty writing tbh Word count: 1,5k Summary: On the fourth of July you have a little surprise for your husbands family

Requested by my amazing @sirkekselord: Hello my wife. Because you never write my fucking things I ask you on Whatsapp... Here I am. Just give me some Jason fluff after what you have done to me. Making me cry twice. Him happy, having a wife and a happy family. Give me the family life. Domestic stuff. Batfam being the great batfam they should be! I am done. So done. Also I'm not gonna ask you on Whatsapp this and I won't look at the fandom list but will you make an exception and write for Eddie Brock? If you don't? Love you sunshine. ♥

A/N: Two things: first, I don’t live in America and have never celebrated fourth of july so this is all just how I imagine it, second: since Gotham is a rather special place, in my fanon lore for this fanfiction there is a city wide ban on all kind of firecrackers and rockets.

It was strange, really, how on almost every other day of the year, no matter if holiday or not, Gotham's villains couldn't give two ducks about if it was a good time to rob a bank or try to bomb an orphanage, but on the week surrounding the fourth of July, the crime rate just dropped. Every year. So, with his family being busy most of the year and unable to remember the last time they all did something together, Bruce decided that it would be a good chance to have a little get-together at the manor. With that choice made, he notified the family and handed over the preparation to Alfred who relished in planning something other than a Gala or a ball or something that would happen again in less than a month. And he wasn't the only one who was more than happy about this possibility, no, when you answered Bruce's call and accepted his invitation you were over the moon. It would be the first time since the wedding that you and Jason would meet the majority of your husband's family in one spot and it was the perfect opportunity for a little surprise.

The few weeks between Bruce's call and the fourth of July passed in a flash and soon you stood in front of the kitchen island in the beautiful house in the outskirts of the city that Bruce had gifted you for your wedding, decorating the blue, red, white cupcakes with matching toppings and little edible stars on all of them except one, which just got a single, big, silver one. "We both know that Alfred will have more than enough food prepared, you're almost offending him when you bring something too," a husky, deep voice told you from behind you, sending a warm shiver down your spine. Along with the words were arms that found their way around your hips and pulled you against a broad, muscular chest. You sighed in content, comfortable as you could be against Jason. "I know, I know," you chuckled and smiled up at him, "But it's tradition to bring something along." Your husband playfully rolled your eyes before leaning down and kissing your forehead. "We should get going soon," you hummed and helped yourself out of Jason's arms, walking over to one of the shelf to get out a transport carrier for the cupcakes, making quick work as to place the inside, while Jason nodded and went into your bedroom to get his festive leatherjacket. When the sweets were stored, you walked over to a mirror in the hall, checking over your outfit. You were wearing a flowy, blue summer dress with red ballerinas and a small red bow in your hair. It was simple, but you felt really cute in it so you just nodded at your reflection and went back to get the carrier before going into the garage to fix it to Jason's motorcycle. "Are you sure we should take the Bike and not the car? I mean-" "Don't worry your pretty little head Jason," you threw him his helmet (a normal one) and started flexing you own, careful not to destroy your hair. Before he could protest again, you jumped onto the vehicle, patting the driver's seat in front of you. You could hear the small sigh that Jason made, but he obeyed and sat down, turning on the motor.

The garden of the manor (or rather the parts of the park-like surroundings that were close to one of the backdoors) looked astonishing. There was a table placed in the middle, decorated with a blue and white tablecloth and red plates and glasses (that Alfred must've extra bought for the occasion), on the trees that were near were little blue, red and white lampions, perfectly placed, along with little star fairy-lights, and on the side stood a rather pompous grill with Alfred standing behind it, wearing a 'The Grillfather' apron. The entire family was standing around in the area. Bruce and Dick were standing the closest, only a few feet away from the backdoor, chatting about something, Tim, Steph, Duke and Cass were sitting on garden chairs in the shadow of a tree and Damian was sitting on the grass, playing with Alfred the cat and Titus (or more like he was playing with Titus and Alfred was laying in the sun). When you and Jason came out in the garden, Alfred was first to notice and come to you. "Hello Master and Misses Todd," he said, winking at you slightly when you blushed at being called Misses Todd for one of the first times since the wedding by anyone besides Jay. "Hello, Alfie-" you pushed the carrier into Jason's arms and went to hug the man "-you really overdid yourself this time, it's beautiful." "Thank you very much," he smiled and you took your cupcakes out of Jason's arms again to give him a chance to hug his surrogate Grandfather. When they parted again, Jason gave you a small kiss on the cheek before going over to Dick and Bruce who were waving over to you. "What do you have here," Alfred said with a curious gaze directed to the box in your hands, prompting you to open it and show him the cupcakes with a smile. "I know you most likely have everything prepared already, but I couldn't help myself and bring something along." "Don't be silly darling," he laughed slightly and took the box out of your hands, "You can never cook enough when cooking for this family." You continued talking for a while before he turned to bring the cupcakes to another table beside the grill that was serving as a buffet and get back to the barbeque.

The noon turned into the evening and everything was going wonderful. For a while, you went around talking to everyone while Alfred and Damian were basically glued to your side, before Alfred called for dinner and everyone sat down at the table, Jason on your right and Damian on your left. The sun was already starting to set, the Lampions were turned on and much brighter than you'd expected when you remembered your little surprise. You poked Jason's thigh under the table to get his attention and he seemed to immediately understand what you meant, smiling at you with just a glimpse of excitement in your eyes. "I know we just ate Alfred's wonderful food, but I tried a little something new for my cupcakes and wondered if you would mind tasting them?" you asked and tilted your head slightly to the side while looking at the people around you and their unknowing faces. A choir of agreement answered you and you clapped into your hands, expectantly looking at your spouse who gave you a small 'Are-you-serious'-face before pushing his chair back to get the cupcakes and placing one in front of everyone. "Why does father get the special one," Damian huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, frowning at Bruce's cupcake that had the single big star on top of it. "Uhm...just because," you shrugged, aware of the thinness of that excuse. "Anyway, how about we all try on three yes? Okay," you averted the topic and continued the conversation. "One, two, three," Jason counted and on cue, everyone took a bite out of the little cakes, but your eyes were fixed on Bruce. At first, his face seemed to be very happy with the sweet and full taste, before it contorted in confusion. He pulled the cupcake away from his mouth and used his other to pull something out of it. "What the," he muttered, using his napkin to clean the object and reveal it to be a pacifier. For just a second his eyes were filled with complete confusion until they lit up with recognition. "Are you- Really-" he started and looked at you with almost tear-filled eyes attracting the attention of the others around him. "Yes," you nodded and felt tears also starting to fill your eyes, unconsciously setting your hand onto your stomach. "Whoa!"s and "What?"s filled the air until everyone understood what you and Bruce were talking about. "I'll be a grandfather," Bruce smiled proudly, running over to your side to pick you out of your chair and swirl you around. The rest of the night was filled with congratulations and people cluttering around you and Jason who soon started to slightly feel neglected with all the attention you were giving the people around you. At that moment you felt in the right place, you felt at peace and you knew, that almost running over Jason all these years ago, when you had first met him and almost immediately fell for him. was maybe the luckiest thing that could ever happen...

#Jason Todd #Jason todd x reader #domestic jadon todd #fourth of july #july4th #independenceday #batfam #batfam x reader #batfam imagine #drabble #fluff #Independence Day

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braindeacl · 3 years ago

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Frostbite | Eilidh & Miriam

TIMING: Weeks ago. PARTIES: @meflemming & @braindeacl SUMMARY: Eilidh and Miriam find a great feast after a sudden blast of cold. WARNINGS: Lots of corpse eating.

White. It covered the streets. The buildings. The people. Everything was lost to the white. A blanket thrown down by the heavens, suffocating everything under its might. The streets and the buildings had no chance, locked in place by their very nature. They accepted their—stood brave against the frost and waited for the melt to break its hold. The people had hope, and for some this hope was justified. As the first white specks fell to the ground, many scurried away. To safety. But the specks soon turned to a pour soon turned to an onslaught. By then, the few who remained had nowhere to go. Stuck in place. Same as the streets and the buildings. But the melt would not free them, only their corpses. The first of these deaths sent an alluring perfume in the air. Calling to Eilidh. Tugging at that hunger that always gnawed no matter how much she fed, only the intensity could be changed. By the time she came upon the scene, the body’s core had turned a pale blue. But the paleness shifted to darkness along the extremities. Darker and darker and darker still. Until the fingers and the toes were a pitch black. Bubbling and breaking along the utmost tips. Lost to the ever encompassing white.

But Eilidh had no mind for details. Death was all she saw, all she needed to see. Without a thought, her teeth disrupted the scene—broke off more pieces of that brittle body. It cracked and crunched and crumpled against her teeth. Tumbled down her throat like dirt. But filled her all the same. The face and an arm were lost to her insides by the time she returned from the thrall of death. With a new shine to her eyes, she surveyed the area. The truth of the situation becoming apparent. Others shambled through the snow—still clinging to a slipping sense of hope. Others were stilled except for the slow and rhythmic rises of their chests—soon to be like the mangled pile of flesh below her. A source of pain and agony for them. A source of a buffet for her. But confliction tore at her soul. For those who still fought against the creeping death. She rushed over to one. Wishing to grip them back to salvation. But fingers grasped that cold air as the person fell to the ground. Landing as a corpse. And that confliction gave way to the hunger again.

It was so cold that frost was beginning to form on Miriam’s skin. Not what she expected for a midsummer night, but, really, she had grown up in White Crest; she knew just as well as any of the locals that the expected was to never be expected. So, when a freak blizzard came out of nowhere in the dead of night, she took it in stride. She ended up stuck in it, She managed to break free, one leather covered arm pushing its way out of the snow, and Miriam stood, brushed the snow off, and began walking. The effort reminded her of how long it had been since she’d gone out and fed, an increased workload as well as a desire to spend time with her favorite person keeping her from sustaining herself properly. But it didn’t matter. Miriam could practically taste so much misery on her tongue that she wouldn’t have been able to avoid it even if she tried. Heels crunching through the snow, she headed towards the source. She just wasn’t expecting the carnage that greeted her. “I suppose I’m interrupting dinner, aren’t I?” She asked the zombie feasting, an icy eyebrow raised as she moved her hands to her hair and shook crystalline flakes of snow out of it.

Silence was cut off abruptly by that casual tone. Calm like the blanket of snow surrounding—snuffing out any touch of chaos. Eilidh stopped, spit out a tooth. Not hers—the poor sap’s on the ground. She turned to meet the woman’s eyes. They were cold like the air, but untouched by it. Unlike all the others whose lives were sucked out like the previous heat. Clearly the other wasn’t human. And human suffering and slaughter was not a bother. She wasn’t like Eilidh—hunger did not compel the other’s teeth to bite and gnaw like it did to her. Curious. Her teeth bared for a moment, animal protecting its food. But the other made no motions, and teeth were replaced with tongue. It licked at her lips, removing some of the dark crusts of blood and flesh bits. But it hardly made a difference—her face and neck and arms were caked in the stuff. Not that she particularly cared. The other seemed to place more interest in her looks. Genuine leather ensemble paired with impractical heels. Her face the most evident of this interest, and Eilidh took interest in turn looking. She let out an airy chuckle. “Not really. What brings you here? Hungry, too?”

The woman was a mess. Miriam had never seen such a messy eater, though, it wasn’t like she was around too many zombies who feasted upon anything more than animal brains cooked or blended into smoothies. And she had to assume that this was a zombie. The lack of heartbeat was, of course, quintessential for one of the undead, but the consumption of flesh, along with the blunt teeth, leaned more towards the walking dead end of the spectrum. “I suppose I was a bit peckish,” Miriam mused. “I was led here because of all the suffering.” It might not make sense, but that was what Miriam craved more than any sort of blood. She felt full, though, empowered in ways that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Mass misery, mass suffering. It sustained her. She looked at her new companion. “My, you’re a messy eater.”

“Ah. Sadist.” Not uncommon in this town, Eilidh had come to realize. Won’t find her complaining—it kept the food ripe. Head tilted at the thought, as she eyed the woman deeper. A waste of a beautiful face, though she’s wasted prettier. But she reminded herself the woman had done nothing. At least, not in front of her. Quick headshake threw that fuzz from her mind. Returning her back to herself. To the easy food surrounding. Motionless, as it seemed the last survivors were gone to the frost or soon approaching. There was a sadness. A wish for a different outcome. But fate decided their time was now. And so graciously decided the two of them would enjoy the spoils. There was nothing to do now but feed and not let their sacrifice go to waste. She broke off a finger; it came off like peanut brittle with a snap. It went into her mouth. That mouth came alive with snaps as her teeth chomped down and down and down. It crumbled on her lips, covered her in more mess. She shrugged at the observation, uncaring. “Food should be enjoyed. Plenty to go ‘round.”

“No, not a sadist,” Miriam said, and she didn’t know why she was so offended by that word. She wasn’t a sadist. The only times she’d ever really, properly enjoyed what she’d done had been killing Theo. But that wasn’t true, was it? She’d cried while she’d killed him, while the overwhelming misery and suffering that he’d felt had sustained her, while she’d turned his skin into a jacket. Miriam allowed her eyes to flash red at the woman in front of her and let her fangs drop. “Just a woman with an incredibly unfortunate set of dietary needs. Tragically, tragedy becomes me.” She looked at the way the woman ate a finger, her face momentarily twisting into something that wasn’t quite but could be very close to disgust. She’d made a mess during her own first large blood meals, but this really was ridiculous. “No, thank you. I think I’ll just take in the misery for now. I don’t enjoy blood slushies.”

Eilidh’s attention snapped back to the woman at her shift in tone. Understanding followed when eyes turned crimson, and teeth turned sharp. There was a shift in her head, a small nod in acknowledgment. “Ah, Dearg-Due.” Arguably tragic, for their name was born from it, as too were they. But Eilidh did not entirely think so—head tilting inquisitively at the revealing display. The woman didn’t share in her curiosity, face squinting in distaste to Eilidh’s own revealing nature. No offense was taken. Instead, Eilidh chomped harder. More gore bits tumbled down, as mischief shined in her eyes. Waiting for the squint to harden on the other’s face. “Don’t think there’s much left. Just the quiet.” As if to purposefully refute her, motion was detected a few meters away. Car door beat and beat and beat against the pile of snow, until it managed to be pushed away. Short, shivered gasps filled the air. Eilidh immediately sat up straighter at the occurrence, gaze locked where she believed the unseen survivor to be. Someone had managed to make it out!

A dearg-due. Miriam looked at this strange woman, not really understanding what she meant and hating that fact. “Right. A dearg-due.” A word that she’d have to look up on her own time, but, perhaps, something of import. Maybe a step closer to not feeling like she was stumbling through this wretched unlife without any sort of instruction manual. She narrowed her eyes at the other woman before rolling them and snorting, a most unladylike sound that she truthfully didn’t care about in present company. “There’s always a little left until it’s absolutely still,” she said, her ears picking up on the sound of a struggling heartbeat before the zombie’s head had even turned. With eyes the color of the blood spilled in the snow, Miriam looked at the man that was struggling, suffering, trying so, so hard to live. His cries were the most dreadful music, a delightful meal. She wanted it to stop. She was lithe on her feet and she made her way towards him, and her hand wrapped around his neck faster than he could blink. “Shh, it’ll be over soon,” she soothed, and she moved her hand, took a bite. It had been some time since she’d had blood straight from the source, and it was still warm, despite the chill in the air. By the time Miriam was done, there wasn’t much left of the man’s neck. She wiped at her face, her chin. She looked back at the zombie. “I suppose I’m a bit of a mess as well.”

Eilidh’s feet had barely become reacquainted with the ground when the Dearg-Due made her way. Hand gripped tight, threatening to suck out his life. But teeth worked faster. By the time Eilidh was close enough to make out his features, last drops of that life trickled away. Left a red stain on the snow. Left a space for the sadness to return. But it too trickled away, lost to the fog she carried so well. Reverting to a stillness. A deep silence. Where not even a heartbeat could be found, for the two standing had none to spare. Until a chuckle broke it—brought some semblance of life back to the white expanse of the dead. “Ah. You do like blood slushies.” The other’s mouth dripped in the last of that man’s warmth—red blotches against the once spotless mold. But found herself enjoying the sight, more than before. Always an admirer of those with the touch of the wild. “Looks better. One more meal. Might even be stunning.” Like her, with fragments of bodies littering her face and chest, as it did the ground. Stained by that dark, crimson death.

Wiping at the corners of her mouth as they ticked upwards ever so slightly, Miriam licked the blood off her thumb as she said, “Not quite a blood slushie. He was still lukewarm, at the least.” Amusement and disgust warred within her, both at the bloodbath as well as the woman in front of her. She was no different, now, really, blood on her face, a body in front of her. And she was still thirsty, so thirsty, the kind of thirst that, for once, couldn’t be tamed by misery. It was likely that the bags of blood in her home wouldn’t help much, either. She managed a laugh, though. “I think we have different thoughts on the word stunning, sweetness.” She was still thirsty. She said, “I’m not one to overindulge.”

Tongue clicked in a baby’s attempt of disappointment. One that held no power, with a touch of humor. But the feeling did linger on the surface. Eilidh simply shrugged at the dismissal. “Only the greedy do.” There was a curious quirk of her brow, noting a strange expression on the other’s face. Causation could not be placed, but assumption was the feast had put the woman in a wild state of mind. Eilidh could certainly relate. Such a state told her to keep feeding, despite the all-consuming hunger being placated. To eat until satisfied instead of simply sated. Eyes focused intently on the recently deceased, whose flesh was still soft and tender and untouched by the stiffness of death and cold. Mouth salivated in turn. Hungry teeth had only ripped out a few mouthfuls when a new distraction arose. A sudden sound in the distance. Unknown but clearly approaching. Another predator? An oblivious local? A hunter? She hissed at the third suggestion, not wanting to deal with that ilk. Body lowered, fingers tensed, preparing for that encroaching mystery.

“Well, then, here’s to not being greedy, hm?” But Miriam was still feeling that tell-tale tinge of bloodlust under the surface, ever present but growing now. It had been so long since she’d fed properly. So long. And she wasn’t starving by any means, and she wasn’t going to complain about it, but, damn, when Miriam used to feed like this, she was ravenous. In the 90s, she’d slaughtered multiple people at a time as a result of her thirst for blood and pain. It would last for hours, only satisfied when she was surrounded by bodies. Much as she was now, but these weren’t bodies of her making. One just wasn’t enough. She heard the sound of a car door slam, saw blue sirens just ahead of them, smelled someone as they approached. Miriam didn’t think. The officer was dead before she properly arrived on the scene, and Miriam ripped her throat before she could make so much as a gurgle. This was warm blood, delicious as it soothed the ache inside her that she hadn’t even noticed. How was Miriam supposed to notice when she neglected this side of herself so thoroughly? She didn’t know. She looked up at her new companion and straightened once more, washing the blood from her face and hands with the snow. The entire altercation had been quick, so quick. Miriam wasn’t one for apologies. She rarely apologized. That was how she was raised. However, she did manage to say, “I’m not normally this…” her lips twitched, “emphatic.”

The situation seemed remedied, as the vampire charged at that approaching commotion. Reduced to gurgles and silence, a seeping redness behind abandoned vehicles. Eilidh feasted as well, hardly one to neglect the hunger. Stripping more of that first kill’s recognizability. Turned from man to meat in tattered clothes. Enough to doubt it was ever a man at all. Calming the pestering part of her mind lost to the fog. She sucked on her own fingers, removing viscera clinging between wrinkles and under nails. Nothing gone to waste. She turned in time to meet her carnage companion. Both stained and dripping in fresh blood. The other trying to hide this fact, transferring blame onto the snow. Eilidh made no such motion, almost wearing it with pride. “Should try it some more. Looks like you enjoy it.” Her attention shifted to what lay behind, the cause of interruption. Lone police car illuminated in that swirl of blue and red, still waiting for its passenger. “Well, they never send just one. ‘Bout to be crawling with ‘em now.” Head tilted at a consideration—to lie in wait for the food to come. But enough death had touched these lands in one night. And, of course, she wasn’t greedy. She gripped onto the remains of that mangled corpse—lugged it onto her shoulder. Before taking her leave, she addressed the woman cut of similar clothe. “What should I call you, lady of blood?”

Having never really eaten with a zombie before, Miriam couldn’t quite contain the look of horrified fascination. Really, she’d never seen anyone eat with such gusto, not even at dinner parties her parents hosted years and years ago. Maybe Miriam just wasn’t used to watching other undead eat. Not entire bodies, at least, and not like that. It was fascinating, certainly, but it was also unnerving. Not scary, just strange. Unusual. Unnatural. But, then again, they were dead. There hadn’t been anything natural about them since their hearts stopped beating. “Darling, if I indulged like this all the time, we wouldn’t have a town left. I prefer to keep my meals light.” Two people in a matter of minutes was quite the loss of life, even if Miriam was certain the one would have died from the cold. The other was just a casualty of every awful thing that had been growing inside of Miriam unchecked for some time now, she’d need to be more careful. She wiped her hands off on her pants, now free of blood and viscera. “My friends call me Mim, though Miri is fine as well. I own the leather shop in town,” Miriam said, a smile on her lips. “What should I call you, oh mighty finder of finger foods?”

Eilidh’s breath rushed out her nose in a near snort. “Only if you’re picky. Find deer to be just as satisfying. Gives a better chase.” And lacked that sense of… She did not want to place a name. To those emotions that tried to surface at times of feeding. A tainting born from James’ pleasantries. It had been easier in the times before. And when she found herself with those like Mim, twins of that primal nature, some of that ease could be found. Of course, judgement had been placed on her, from that kindred companion. But now, with no sense to hide the parts society deemed too dark and twisted, she only saw a fascination from the other woman. She smiled, revealing a bit of discolored skin lodged between incisors. It grew a smidgen wider, at that fun nickname. Made her consider ripping off a dead finger and chomping down in reinforcement. “Dia dhuit, Mim.” She let out a gentle chuckle. “Guess this means we’re friends. Mine call me many things. Call me Ellie.” Sirens tore her attentions. She saw more swirls of blue and red bouncing off distant walls, but creeping ever closer. As did those shrieking sounds—building on each other into a single blasting. Arm securing her haul grew tighter. Squeezing out those last drops of blood it had managed to hold drizzling down her shoulder. “Better scamper. ‘Till the next.” And she disappeared into the trees.

#wickedswriting #frostbite #chatzy #;— interactions #ft. miriam f.

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lonelyreputation · 4 years ago

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Different (part one)

A/N: Unrequited love! Unrequited love!! UNREQUITED LOVE!!! AHHH!!!

Okay here is the unrequited love that you’ve all been patiently waiting for!! Thanks for that! So I combined two requests together for an overarching theme and will circle back to those a few times during this mini-series!! As always, let me know what you guys thought of it!! I love hearing every detail of your thoughts!!

THANKS A MILLION for all of your support! Reblogs are never expected, but always appreciated!! 🤗💞🌻

REQUEST/PROMPT: People talking a room away & Fighting the urge to cry

Let’s Chat!! | MASTERLIST

Warnings: Few swear words, some self-doubt, and ANGST!!!

Word Count: 4.3K

You’ve found yourself in this position before: lounging on Shawn’s patio couch on a warm summer’s night, the lights of the CN Tower illuminating the bustling city streets below, nestled into Shawn with your head resting on his chest, arm lazily draped around your shoulder.

The fire pit in front of you was giving off heat, but it was nothing like the warmth you felt in Shawn’s arms. His arms, always tightly wound around you, felt like they were protecting you from anything on the outside. And at times, you even felt as if they protected you from your own dismissive thoughts.

Brian was telling a story, one that you had heard before, but since it was one of Shawn’s first night’s back from touring, he was telling it as if no one had heard it. But you didn’t mind tuning out his voice, it gave you an excuse to give all of your attention to Shawn.

He was gone for so long. Seeing his face through your iPhone wasn’t enough to ease the ache of your heart. Whenever he laughed on screen you yearned to hear his laugh in person, and now you were granted with the pleasure of hearing it and feeling it rumble through his chest.

Shawn’s fingertips lazily grazed your shoulder blades, sending electric jolts all the way down to the tip of your toes.

“So, Shawn,” Brian let out a little laugh, taking a sip of his beer, as he gave Shawn a pointed look, “Any girls on tour?”

Shawn’s fingertips paused their languid movements and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Got my girl right here,” he squeezed your shoulder and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. The familiar tickling sensation inside your stomach caused the corners of your lips to lift up in a small smile.

Brian let out another laugh, “Dude, c’mon, I’m not talking about your best friend––It’s just us,” he waved his hand around to gesture at the three of you sitting around the fire, “Secrets are safe here.”

The longer Shawn stayed silent, the further you felt your heart drop in your stomach. Was there another girl? If there was, he made no mention of it to you on your every other nightly FaceTime calls. The rational side of your brain was having a lethal fight with the irrational part.

He tells you everything, the rational part of your brain concluded, you would know if there was a girl.

But, the irrational section of your mind weighed in, he’s a young, single and very good looking guy there’s no way he went on tour and didn’t meet an equally beautiful girl.

A girl more beautiful than you.

It was times like this where your insecurities were too much to handle. Your own thoughts maliciously attacking you. It was times like these where Shawn’s tight hold on you was all you needed to feel safe from yourself.

“Swear on it man,” Shawn raised both of his hands up in surrender, briefly losing contact with your shoulder. He leaned his body toward the table, and since your head was still resting on his chest, he took you with him, as he grabbed his glass of alcohol and took a sip, “No one for me.”

Brian didn’t look convinced, but you were more than happy when he dropped the topic and changed the conversation. But with the way Brian kept glancing at the both of you cuddled up on the couch, you wondered if there was something you should be aware of.

•••

The next night you were over at Shawn’s it was just the two of you. It was a tradition to get together within the first five days of him returning from tour and having a night reserved for just spending time together; it was always a movie night with tacos.

You brought all the ingredients over; spices, tortillas, condiments, and meat. While Shawn provided the cooking equipment and his company. You were never too fond of tacos, but when Shawn had returned home from touring his Handwritten album and crashed at your house, all he wanted to eat were tacos. You remembered how excited he was to make the tacos, catch up with you––his best friend––after months of being away, and picking out the perfect movie to watch.

His idea of a perfect movie was 10 Things I Hate About You and he fell asleep halfway through it.

So, within five days of returning from a tour, without fail, you and Shawn always ate tacos and watched 10 Things I Hate About You.

That’s exactly where you found yourself now.

Shawn had a fairly large kitchen, definitely bigger than the one in your apartment, and you cooked with a smile on your face with all the space you had to move around. You chopped up the lettuce while Shawn took out a frying pan.

“Did you mix the spices together?” You called out over your shoulder.

You heard your answer when Shawn let out a deep sigh, “No,” Turning your head around you saw him holding the frying pan limply in his hands as he looked at you with hopeful eyes, “Can you mix them?”

Placing the knife down on the cutting board, you walked over to him with a smile, “It’s not that hard.”

Another sigh, “But you have to measure them and there’s a million fucking little spices––“

“Hey,” you placed a hand on his bicep and gave it a slight squeeze, “Don’t worry, I got it.”

When your hand touched his arm, all you felt was warmth. Shawn was an abnormally warm person, but this kind of warmth was felt deeper within. The warmth you felt whenever your skin touched his reminded you of home. His presence was so caring and thoughtful that his whole body seemed to radiate that warmth. And you would do anything in the world to savor that feeling for the rest of our life.

His eyes flickered down to where you held your hand as a shy smile lit up on his face, “I love you.”

I love you.

It wasn’t an uncommon phrase said in your friendship. You both had said it countless times to each other before disconnecting your long distance phone calls, sent voice notes of the phrases to each other, and said it a million more times face to face when you were finally reunited.

But he didn’t mean those three words in the way you wanted to hear them.

You mixed the spices and Shawn took over your role of cutting up the vegetable toppings as your teasing drowned out the music in the background. Cooking was something that was enjoyable and relaxing, but with Shawn, it brought a whole new layer of excitement. You would smack his hand away from eating the cheese, scold him for touching the hot pan, and he would always give your hips a light squeeze whenever he walked behind you.

Once Shawn had cooked the meat and you set up everything in a buffet style, you two had taken to sitting on the barstools instead of at the kitchen table. He was typing something on his phone with a smile on his face when you sat down next to him and asked what it was about. He quickly locked his phone and placed it face down on the counter, looking at you with the same smile he had while looking at his phone. Don’t need to worry about it now, he said, I’m with you.

It was silent as you both started eating the meal you prepared together.

“I–ve––Ote––A––Ong,” Shawn spoke with his mouthful as he went to go in for another bite of his taco. You tilted your head and raised your eyebrows, telling him you understood nothing of what he had just said.

He held up a finger as he finished chewing, and after he swallowed his food he said, “I wrote a song.”

You rolled your eyes, “That’s what you get paid for, no?”

Shawn took another bite of his taco and slightly pushed your shoulder. And with the skin to skin contact, you tried to bottle up that warmth that made your stomach do summersaults.

“I mean like,” he was thinking; eyebrows tightly pulled together as he bit the inside of his cheek trying to find the right words to say, “A song song,” your eyebrows continued to stay raised, having no idea what he was alluding to, “Let me just,” he fumbled with his phone that was sitting on the kitchen counter top, “Play it for you.”

The music he was playing from his iPhone throughout the speakers in his apartment cut off as a melody of guitar strings plucking together filled the room. Shawn’s eyes were trained on the stings of his hoodie, avoiding your curious stare.

Twenty-five seconds in, the voice of the boy sitting across from you––the voice that you loved hearing ramble on about nothing in particular––started to sing.

You could be in Toronto, and I can be in L.A.

Your mind flooded with memories of Shawn always jetting off to L.A., while you were stuck in Toronto always patiently awaiting his return. He’s been on more flights to Los Angeles than you had been on flights in your entire life. And it never got easier driving him to the airport and squeezing him extra tight praying he would change his mind and stay in Toronto.

And if twenty years went by without you, I’d know our feelings wouldn’t change.

Your heart leaped in your chest, feeling as airy and happy as the guitar melody sounded when the chorus of the song came around. You’ve always wanted to bottle up the warmth Shawn held, but this feeling was better. This feeling of pure bliss––like everything in the universe was aligning just for you––made your toes tingle and the hair on your skin stick up.

You barely registered the lyrics in the second verse as you stared at Shawn with eyes wide in astonishment. His way with words blew you away. From the kid who was so nervous to pick up the pen on his first album to now not being able to put the pen down…He absolutely amazed you.

We’ve got that we don’t have to talk to know this love will never stop.

There weren’t many dry spells of conversation with your friendship with Shawn. You could count on one hand when the two of you were too busy to talk to each other, but whenever the two of you would pick up your conversations, it was like no time had passed.

Oh, we’ve got it.

He looked up, staring into your eyes. You thought you were seeing the same different kind of love in his eyes that you’ve been holding in yours for too long now.

Oh, we’ve got that different kind of love.

•••

It wasn’t unusual for Shawn’s lavish Toronto apartment to be the place for parties. Even when he was away on tour, Brian still managed to either sneak in with a few friends or have a full on party. And where you found yourself now––politely saying excuse me while trying to slide behind two people to get to the kitchen––it was one of those full blown parties thrown by Brian for Shawn.

It took a bit of convincing, but Brian wanted to really celebrate his best friend’s return after a successful leg of his tour. His apartment wasn’t packed, per se, but everyone seemed to be congregating in his living room area.

The music could barely be heard over the hoots and hollers of the guests, there were a few sticky spots on the ground where your shoes stuck (you made a mental note to clean it up in the morning), and nobody seemed to understand the concept of personal space.

You finally escaped into the kitchen where people only came in for a second to make another drink and then went back out to join the party. You broke the status quo by leaving the party in the living room for the tameness of the kitchen. The air felt cooler around you, not being pressed up against so many bodies, and you took a deep breath.

“There you are,” your ears perked up at the familiar voice, “Was looking for you.”

You didn’t even have to turn your head to know who was talking. All you had to do was listen to the increased beat of your heart in your chest. His arm curled around your stomach as he pulled your back into his chest. The warmth you felt was in overload.

Shawn pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head, “You weren’t gonna leave, were you?”

You shook your head, grateful that he wasn’t able to see the blush on your cheeks, “Leave a Shawn Mendes party early?” You let out a small laugh that you hoped covered up your nervousness, “Never.”

Shawn let out a boisterous laugh as he spun you around, out of his grasp. Your back was now pressed against the cool kitchen countertop you had made tacos on a few days prior. The hand he had gently placed on your hips was getting all of your attention.

“Good,” he whispered, “Don’t know what I would do if you left.” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, “Brian doesn’t know how to handle his alcohol.”

You wanted to let out a loud laugh, but he was so close, if you moved your head just an inch forward your noses would brush up against each other, and you didn’t want to scare him away.

“Lucky me,” you contained your laugh into a wide smile, “To play the responsible adult.”

Shawn moved his face the inch closer to yours. You didn’t know what to do as the tip of his nose slightly brushed against yours. There had been a few drunk kisses shared between the two of you, but you were sober and so was Shawn. At least he seemed sober in your eyes when he whispered the next words with a bit of edge to them.

“Lucky me.”

Your eyes stayed wide open as his fluttered shut for only a second before someone yelled out his name. And that someone was Brian.

You stayed pressed up against the counter, eyes wide open as you stared over Shawn’s shoulder to see Brian looking at you with the exact same facial expression; confused, but not all that surprised at how you found yourself pressed between Shawn and the counter. While you were starting to feel unease from the situation, Shawn stayed firm in his place, his hand was now rubbing soft circles into your side.

“Hey, Uh––“ It was the first time you had heard Brian speechless, “Cleaning supplies? Tyler just–––“

Shawn let his head drop to your shoulders, “Fuck,” he whispered only loud enough for you to hear, already knowing what Brian’s sentence was leading to. His breath was hot against your neck, causing your own breath to just stop. And just like how fast his eyes closed in front of you, Shawn let go of your waist and walked out of the kitchen with Brian trailing behind him.

You stayed in that position for five minutes staring blankly at the wall across the way, still not believing what you thought was about to happen.

“Y/n?” Snapping back into reality, you saw your friend Olivia mixing herself a drink with a look of concern on her face, “Good?

Your mouth went dry as you tried to string together your thoughts, “I––Yeah there’s––Why wouldn’t I��–“

“I saw you with Shawn.”

Her blunt words cut you off. You didn’t think anyone, save for Brian, had caught you in that compromising position with Shawn. But it wasn’t like you and Shawn were an item. You weren’t anything but friends. Best friends.

You tried to wave her off as you joined her to make your own mixed drink, telling a little white lie, “He’s an affectionate drunk,” the coldness of the glass wrapped inside of your hand served as a wake up call.

Olivia gave you a pointed look as she took a sip of her drink, “Y/n, you should tell him.”

You pretended like you didn’t hear her as you continued taking sips of your drink. Olivia was a good friend of yours, and it was on your second bottle of shared wine after a much too stressful exam season, that you let it slip that you were in love with your best friend.

You set your near empty glass on the counter, “I can’t–––He doesn’t feel the same way.”

Olivia raised her eyebrows, she didn’t believe you, and neither did you for a minute. In that moment Shawn had you pressed against the counter, you believed that maybe he did feel the same way about you. But he was so quick to remove himself from you that it diminished any hope you had.

“He was all over you,” she smirked, “Got some heads to turn into the kitchen.”

You blushed at the thought of anymore people intruding on your little moment with Shawn, “He has been acting a little differently since he’s gotten back,” you tried to rationalize with yourself, “Maybe he…does?”

There was skepticism in your voice, mixed with a little bit of hope, like the vodka coke you had in your hand.

“Go,” Olivia offered you a reassuring smile as she nodded her head in the direction Brian and Shawn walked off to, “Tell him.”

With a single nod, you downed the rest of your drink, but kept the glass in your hands. You needed something to keep your hands steady and in place or you would be more of a nervous wreck than you already were.

Confessing to your best friend that you love him? The irrational part of your brain spoke up, you know he doesn’t feel the same so save yourself the heartbreak–––

But, the rational part of your mind interrupted, he is your best friend, you should be able to trust him with anything, and if for some reason he doesn’t love you back it shouldn’t change your friendship.

You fought to silence both parts of your brain, neither of them helping your confidence right now, as you walked down the hall to where you knew Shawn and Brian were. He always kept his cleaning supplies in the linen closet in the hall bathroom. Each step you took felt like twenty, but before anymore anxiety ridden thoughts could swarm your mind, you found yourself outside of the bathroom door.

The light that illuminated from under the door told you that they are still in there. The door was cracked up a smidge, and you were able to see a sliver Shawn’s side profile. With a deep breath, you raised your hand to knock on the door, but stopped mid-way when you caught wind of their conversation.

“So,” it was Brian who started talking first, “What was that back there?”

“What was what?” He was playing dumb, just like you had done with Olivia.

Brian let out a scoff, “Y/n? Dude, c’mon, you know what I’m talking about.” His words were slightly slurred together, letting you in on that Brian was tipsy.

There was a pause on the other side of the door and you could see Shawn slightly shrugging his shoulders, eyes avoiding Brian’s questioning gaze.

But then he spoke up, changing the conversation completely onto someone else, “Miranda keeps texting me.”

You had never heard that name before.

“Miranda?” Brian asked, “Is she the one from L.A.?”

Brian spoke as if there were other girls he kept around the world for whenever he traveled. And he spoke her name as if he was familiar with it.

“Yeah,” Shawn said as you heard a cabinet door shut, “She came to the shows out there.”

“And?”

You were pressed up close to the door, torn between wanting to hear about the girl who Shawn was smitten with and wanting to run out to the kitchen to continue living in your head, convinced that Shawn loved you back.

“I like her,” but what made your heartbreak even more was how you could hear the smile on his face, “I like her a lot.”

You held your breath. The vodka coke that had coated your throat in confidence was now as dry as a desert. You swallowed the lump in your throat, but it came right back.

Brian sounded just as shocked as you felt, “But––A few minutes ago––What about Y/n?”

There was a pause. You pressed your lips tightly together in hopes for it to stop the trembling you felt coarse throughout your body. Hands balled in fists at your sides, you screwed your eyes shut and started to count to ten, wishing you could wake up from this nightmare.

One…Two…Three…Four…

“She’s different.”

Different. You were different in every way possible than this new girl who had captured his attention. You were different in that he didn’t have feelings for you like he did for this new girl. He didn’t love you like you loved him.

The tightness in your throat was beginning to be too much, your throat scratchier every time you swallowed your tears back. The piercing sting behind your eyes started to hurt. You had never been pricked with tiny needles on your skin, but you imagined it felt something similar to the pain behind our eyes.

“Besides,” Shawn cleared his throat, “She’s just a friend.”

He didn’t even call you his best friend.

And when you thought that the boy you loved so fiercely couldn’t say anything more to ruin your confidence, he decided to speak once more, “I’ve never––I don’t love her.”

It was with that last sentence, the one sentence Shawn spoke with an unnerving amount of confidence, that hit your heart like a hammer. Throughout this whole conversation, you slowly felt your heart being picked away at with an ice pick. Each part of your heart that broke off held a memory full of love that was now forgotten in the pit of your stomach.

“Who said anything about loving her?” As tipsy as Brian was, he was quick with his question.

Shawn avoided his question all together, “We’ve got some cleaning to do.”

The hall bathroom wasn’t large, so you knew they would be out in a matter of seconds. And if you didn’t move fast enough, it would be revealed that you had heard their whole conversation.

You ran down the hallway, feeling your heart being destroyed even more with every step back into the kitchen. The conversation played in your head, having a hard time believing what you had just heard.

Told you so, the irrational part of your brain mocked you.

The rational part of your mind stayed silent.

You angrily wiped away a stray tear that had leaked past your eye, cursing at yourself for being so stupid.

With the scattered state your mind was in, as it uselessly tried to mend your heart, Brian and Shawn’s footsteps caught you by surprise. The glass in your hand fell from your grasp as it shattered into little shards on the floor.

The broken glass looked a lot like how your heart felt.

Quickly, you dropped to the ground, collecting the little pieces of glass in your hand. You pricked yourself a few times, but you were numb to everything around you that it didn’t matter.

“Y/n––Hey, stop-–Let me get it––Y/n.”

You stopped picking up the shards of glass when you felt his hand circle around your wrist. You didn’t look up at him until he said your name again. There had never been a time where you didn’t want him to touch you. That’s all you yearned for when he was away; his touch. Whether it was an accidental brush of your fingers, a slight squeeze to your hip when you were cooking, or his head on your shoulder when he fell asleep during 10 Things I Hate About You…His touch was all that mattered to you at one point.

But even after unknowingly breaking your heart, his touch was still warm.

“Are you okay?” He still kept a hand locked around your wrist, “What happened?”

But now you wanted nothing more than to rip yourself of his hold. You felt uncomfortable under his gaze, nauseous as he looked into your eyes with such concern, but the worst part was, you still loved him.

“Yeah, I…” you broke eye contact with him, knowing that the sting behind your eyes was begging for another reason to overflow. And staring into his eyes would cause the floodgates to open, “Just clumsy.”

You let out a small laugh as he slowly released his grip in your hand, “Leave it, I’ll clean it up after I take care of Tyler’s mess.”

And just like he did earlier in the night, he left without a second thought.

Knowing Shawn like the back of your hand was a skill you were proud to have. You could always tell by the tone of his voice if something was off and wouldn’t back down until he told you. Every eyebrow raise, nose twitch, certain looks he would get in his eyes that let you into how he was feeling…You were able to pinpoint his emotions in a matter of seconds.

Maybe, you thought to yourself, just maybe he doesn’t know you as well as you thought.

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justjessame · 3 years ago

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Starting Over Chapter 42

Hungry. That was the best description for me for the rest of the day. Thankfully, the folks down in Delacroix didn’t skimp on the food when it came to celebrating a hometown boy made Captain America.

Before I got distracted by the food - I met up with Sarah and gave her the tube holding the print. “I was going to get it framed, BUT -” She shook off the offer and carefully pulled the poster sized print out. I’d worked on the image only slightly, highlighting the shield’s sheen and the way the boys’ youth and innocence seemed to shine just as clearly. Smoothing it out on a cleared table, the other guests to the shindig as Bucky called it, came over to see what Sarah had.

“Oh my,” I heard echoed, along with a few “Wow” gasps, and Bucky’s arms, now that he’d delivered the cake to the appropriate table looped around me and his head nestled on my shoulder.

“Told you,” he murmured. “You’re amazing,” I shook my head, but Sarah’s gaze, looking up from the print, told me he wasn’t the only one thinking that I had talent. And hers wasn’t the only set of eyes that were taking note.

I was asked, as I made my way toward the buffet, by almost every adult if I took portraits - family shots or even team sets. Explaining over and over that I had only just started back up with my camera, but that I’d consider it, should we come back for another visit - eyes on the prize of FOOD, I kept moving forward, thinking that I’d promise damn near anything if I could just get a plate of -

“Here,” Sarah appeared with a fully loaded plate and a glass of iced tea. I nearly hugged and kissed her. I was so damn happy to see it. “If I left it up to the will of God, or the course between you and that table -” she chuckled and helped navigate me to a table that had Sam and Bucky - who was letting some kids use his left arm as a jungle gym - sitting and waiting. “Bucky mentioned that you were a little hungry at the bakery earlier.”

“We missed breakfast,” I was trying to figure out how to hold my tea AND take a bite from my plate while we walked, but it was proving an equation too fucking difficult to comprehend. “I woke up on the wrong side of the bed after my normal round of nightmares.” I shrugged, trying to calculate how far the damn table was from where we currently were - did they move?

“Uh-huh,” she glanced back at me, with a look that I knew from Mom. One that clearly said, I don’t buy your bullshit for one instant Brooke Ashley and I’m going to explain the harsh truth very shortly, but it didn’t make a shit ton of sense coming from Sarah Wilson. “A few more steps, Brooke, and you won’t have to try to balance the plate on the cup to take a bite.”

I rolled my eyes, but felt hopeful and then we were at the table and Sam hopped up to help me when Sarah gave him some kind of silent signal. Settled at the table, I watched as Bucky continued to let the kids ride him like a strange sort of carnival ride.

“It took you awhile,” he smiled down at me as I unwrapped my plastic utensils and tried to decide where to start on the plate Sarah fixed me.

“I had to rescue her,” Sarah offered, letting me fork a bite before my head or stomach could explode from need. “Everyone wants to have Brooke take their pictures.”

“Course they do,” Sam cut in, watching with interest as I ate like I hadn’t eaten all three cupcakes before we arrived at the party. “Didn’t Bucky feed you this morning?” Rude.

“Sam,” Sarah chided her brother and I had a feeling she also kicked him from the way he gasped and jerked. “Let Brooke eat, she’s hungry.”

“Very hungry,” Bucky offered, studying me with interest. “Are you sure -”

I raised an eyebrow, but didn’t stop eating. It was like I COULDN’T stop eating. I was so fucking hungry. And Bucky was being judgemental and Sam was being a dick - Ugh.

“She’s just a little hungry,” Sarah reiterated, and Bucky looked at her and whatever expression he saw silenced him. “Once you’re finished, Brooke,” I looked over to see her smiling softly at me. “And I do mean, when you are FINISHED,” I smirked at the idea that she was going to let me eat my fill. “I think you and I could use a little girl time, don’t you?” I shrugged, if it meant eating in PEACE, I’d probably give her the keys to the car.

I ate, and ate, and ate some more. Bucky even went off and got me a piece of that amazing freaking cake we picked up on the way to the cookout. A healthy slice too, even if he tried to hide a look that clearly showed he was trying to see where I was packing the food away.

“Thank you,” I offered him my lips for a kiss, which he happily took - payment for the delivery of my cake. “I love you.” He was smiling when he pulled away.

“I love you, too.” The kids from earlier were back, with friends. “And I’m being paged.”

“Go,” I pushed him away with a laugh. “Now YOU’RE Coney Island.”

Sam went along with him, leaving Sarah and I at the table with my cake. I’d have thought with the plates of food, real food, I’d eaten I wouldn’t have room left for cake, but I did. And possibly more than one slice.

“You’re eating that cake with a look on your face like you can’t quite understand how you’re eating that cake.” Sarah was studying me like she wanted ME to say something, but damned if I knew what. “How long has -” she gestured at the stack of empty plates I had piled up under my cake plate. “THIS been going on?”

“Eating?” Swallowing my bite, I took a drink of tea. “Since humans came out of the muck, I think.”

She shook her head and laughed. “Smartass.” I almost glanced around for Bryn, but we weren’t in Brooklyn, we were in Delacroix. “You know exactly what I mean, Brooke.”

I sighed, and put my fork down - reluctantly. “I woke up this morning, and I was fine.” Her eyebrow told me that Bucky had told her a different tale. “OK, I was a hateful bitch from hell. I wanted to smother the birds and even Bucky’s lack of his own nightmares pissed me off.” She nodded. “I barely got through the shower to SHOWER -” her cringe told me how she could commiserate with me on that note. “And then we made it to the bakery and -” I sighed, all that sugar and happiness. “I was so damn hungry and that first cupcake,” my eyes went closed when I thought of the taste of it, so soft and sweet. “Bucky got me two more, and milk.” Eyes open again - I rolled them to show how silly it was. “Like I was being childish.”

“Or maybe,” Sarah bit her lip, staring at me and my plates. “Maybe WITH child.”

Another snort and I was thinking that those plates were a prophecy. “I CAN’T be.” Shaking my head and pushing my half-eaten cake away, reluctant as fuck, but needing to argue my case. “I’m on birth control, Sarah.”

“And Bucky has the super-soldier serum running through his system, Brooke.” She wasn’t raising her voice or pushing, she was simply stating the obvious. “Do any of us know precisely what it does to -” she raised her eyebrows and shrugged and suddenly I wasn’t hungry anymore. “Are you alright?”

Was I? Not entirely. Shit. I’d been so fucking smug.

“Brooke?” It was Bucky, who had to have built in a Brooke feels weird detector. “Are you ok?” He was kneeling next to me and his left hand was cupping my face. “You’re pale, doll.”

“I think I should -,” but I didn’t actually get out what I SHOULD do, because I fainted.

#bucky barnes/oc #the falcon and the winter soldier #alternate universe #fluff #mention of smut #Family Fluff #FLUFF AND SMUT #humor #possible pregnancy

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androgynousblackbox · 4 years ago

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Willing participant (NSFW, Gore, Among Us)

Impostor had killed many humans before, but never one quite like that one. One that wanted him to feel his teeth sink into them and that was adding an interesting flavor to his meal. Warning: body horror, gore.

He knew exactly what kind of risk there could potentially be by boarding the ship. Stories about alien shapeshifter that enjoyed causing chaos wherever they could have been spread around so much that everyone warned him about it before he signed up his name and then some more afterwards. None of them knew that was exactly why he signed in the first place. And why should they? He didn’t want to ge tinto their private matter and they certainly shouldn’t into his. Being inmortal and a lot more years that he looked was a struggle. One had to keep thinking up new ways to keep themselves entertained, to make the infinite road existence one worth walking over. He had tried everything he could think of, but on the way to get his life terminated by a carnivorous plant on some lonely planet that no reasonable person would enter voluntarely, he discovered something interesting. The excitement of death or extreme pain was a better rush than anything he had tried before. As he saw the plant was enjoying itself with some poor beast that found it’s way to his side of the planet, he felt... some kind of way he couldn’t completely explain, but it was very intense and he knew, right there and then, addictive. He did let himself be eaten. Over and over again, his body was turned to shread and his blood painted the floor. In more than one ocassion his head was severed and he could see his own spine dangling under him for a mere seconds before he was out. The process of regenerating even from a simple drop was the same as always, like waking up from a nap, but the death was a furious awakening that made all his year of life seem like a walking simulator with no good story to justify itself. But eventually someone else came and gunshot down the flower to get some substance from it that apparently was very expensive on the universal black market. He only found out about it after coming back and seeing his unknowing lover destroyed, the marks of some boots coming and going. He mourned for the poor flower that was only fending for itself, but soon it was time to keep going. Maybe it was for the best in the end. The universe was a vast, vast place and he had so many options to chose from. Why limit himself to one? When he boarded up the ship, where it was almost completely sure someone was not who they said they were, he was almost trembling with emotion. Someone there wanted to kill and they had no idea someone there wanted to die on a passionate storm of guts and blood, of undying passion for violence and total helplessness. Oh, it was going to be so great! He didn’t discovered the first body, someone else did, and that was a dissapointment for him. He didn’t even got to see how the alien did it! Did they got perforated by some thick, long organ the rest of the crew didn’t had? Were their mind violated by some slippery tentacles thrusting through their helmets? Did they lost their legs? Their arms? Their head? Was it quick? Was it painfully, frustratingly, achingly, carefully slow? Knowing they had already disposed of their body on the incinerator before calling to a meeting felt like a slap on the face. How dared they treat a potential work of art with such disrespect? Luckily or not, he was on the opposite side of the ship when it happened and he had various witnesses corroborating it for him, so he wasn’t even a suspect. No one was that first time around and that only made it more annoying. If at least there was someone he could follow them and see what they were up to, but apparently everyone was doing what they should and there was no notice of anything strange. Two more bodies later, he could barely contain himself. It wasn’t fair! He was there with all his members ready to be separated from his torso and his mouth wishing to chock on his own blood, and what did that silly alien do? Go after others that wouldn’t appreciate it! It was enfuriating.

But as he was stomping his way through a corridor, he could feel something was different. The lights have gone out and he was on his way to go turn them up when he knew, he knew somehow that he wasn’t alone there. He could have turned, but on the darkness it would have meant nothing unless he got them very close and not even that, because unless they did anything they would only look any other crewmate. And yet, something in his gut seemed to twist, his heart started to pound quickly and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was him. He would never be able to explain how he figured out, but he was sure of it. “Oh, shoot, the light went off again!” sighed, so desperate for him to come closer, to do what they both knew exactly could happen there, quickly, please. “But the way it’s so long! I almost don’t even want to go there. Hey, buddy, it would be a shame if that impostor came around right now, right? Mmm, oh, damn, I think I let a cable fall to the ground. I hope nothing happens while I go to pick it up, ha ha!”

He bend over and shook his ass in front of the piercing eyes he could feel on him to pick nothing. Just do something already! Before he lose control. There was a sound. A step, a completely ordinary one. Then the next thing he knew something was piercing through his behind until coming out his mouth, destroying all organs on his wake and he moaned through a tentacle that wiggled in front of his nose. His legs couldn’t hold him any longer, but it was okay because he was holding him instead and couldn’t help but to hug him with the last thread of his strenght as he felt his consciouness slipping away.

He revived before anyone could discover his body and the next meeting was because they found out another one. No one there seemed surprised to see him walking through the door, but as soon he made sure he was on a space the other weren’t going since there wasn’t any task on his side, he turned to see the crewmate on a white suit following behind. “Oh, you couldn’t stay away either, did you?” said, resting against a wall. “Honey, the first one was so quick, I barely had time to feel anything. How about this time you take it easy, mmm? No one will bother us here if that is what you are afraid us.”

-- Impostor stared at him in absolute silence. He thought maybe it was a ghost, a holograms or some kind of alucination coming to the meeting room, but then everyone else acted like normal try to find him out for the other body and he had no other option but to follow along, blaming someone else that wasn’t lying but got so nervous that sounded like lying anyway so they expelled from the ship. Now they were barely a handful onboard and this guy… He had no idea what this guy was doing. Did he thought he was there for some kind of gross human activity?

Impostor knew about those acts and the disgust that inspired him were only comparable to the absolute confusion as to why human keep doing it. It was all so sticky and gross and literally nothing else but rubbing parts togehter, sometimes piercing into holes on the body, like a poor imitation of what his species could do but that was somehow pleasurable for their anatomies. The thought of doing any of that almost made him vomit the last head he ate, but more than that, he was enraged for the suggestion from this single man just on a principle matter. Did he thought this was his little cruise of adventures or something? At least the others had the decency of trying to do their task and keep everything working, but this one wouldn’t even attempt to play the part and instead was saying nonsense while adding more insult to injury by not having the courtesy of staying dead. Annoyed as he was, he walked towards the other and he could hear him contain his breath. Was a game everything for him? Didn’t he understood what just happened? What could easily happen to him again so easily? As he got closer, he started to reveal his true mouth: a long, deep line opening on the center of his abdomen as he slowly revealed his teeth.

He was waiting for the terror, for the screams or begging that had plagued each one of his executions, as predictable as all humans were. But instead of any of that, he could see the face of crewmate turning red inside his helmet and squishing his legs togther as he put his hand over his chest, but not on any matter that looked defensive or scared. “You are hungry, aren’t you, babe?” said with a gaspy voice and pressed a button under his helmet to start opening up the suit, revealing a almost transparent shirt. “Why don’t you have a bite, handsome? If you just wait between each plate, I can give you an entire buffet. So much better than go picking out those other who don’t even care about you like I do, don’t you think? Come on, you know you want to.” It was… strange chomping down on him. It wasn’t just that he didn’t fight at all not even when he was still clearly alive, but as long he still had a breath he kept saying those strange phrases that he knew what they meant, he knew what they were but still couldn’t understand, all the while emiting sounds so similar to those humans made during their gross reproductive activities that he wondered if was doing something wrong. At some point the crewmate, bleeding from the mouth, weak and about to pass out, extended a hand to him to leave a red print of hi slip over his helmet. He didn’t realized he did it until later, but he didn’t ate the head and when to see again his expression, discovered a pleasant and peaceful smile like none other of his prey ever had before. Like no one ever had in front of him in fact. He swallowed the internal organs and waited taking a couple of steps behind. If it was true what that human said, if his own mind didn’t played games with him after being alone for so long in the universe, then he had an entire buffet waiting for him and on top of that he wouldn’t even need to wait any boring meeting for it. A buffet completely willing to surrender to him, to keep serving him his favourite plates if he as so much asked for them. Impostor touched upon the bloody kiss left on his face as a littl of drool was coming out his real mouth.

#among us #my fanfic #lemon #gore

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gameofdrarry · 4 years ago

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Wizards Hearts: A Night on the Town!

Wizards Hearts Game/Fest ran for a full four months, and is now officially over, though we are ever appreciative towards our readers for spreading love to Drarry fics old and new, short and long. 900 comments were left as a result of the game.

Players are sorted and assigned at random to four different teams. All team activities and discussions are completely optional but can yield extra points to help win the game! There are weekly team activities and longer, creative team activities where players can imagine new, fun headcanons in the Harry Potter universe and perhaps a few stories of their own!

Team Activity 5: Celebrity Visitations and Incidents

As was previously reported on, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter made visitations at multiple casinos. Those casinos have been kind enough to share their footage surveillance and first person accounts of what exactly happened during these visits. Some went much better than others, of course.

Teams were asked to 1) Write a fic about the incident at their casino (as written by their rival casinos) and tell it from the perspective of A) Harry or Draco or B) a 3rd Person Narrator for a minimum for 500 words. 2) Create an image to accompany their fics.

View the first Team Activity post here

View the second Team Activity post here

View the third Team Activity post here

View the fourth Team Activity post here

View the final Team Activity post under the cut!

Team 1: Loch Lomond’s Treasure

Before Draco was inside the casino, he thought the whole thing to be rather silly. A masquerade ball he would have been right at home in. But the way Harry had described it, this was almost closer to a costume party, and he wasn’t entirely a fan of their chosen costumes. He understood why Harry had chosen them, of course, but that didn’t mean he had to like them.

But when he stepped inside the Loch Lomond’s Treasure casino, all of his worries were dashed away, and he was taken aback. He had known about the Gillyweed Ball, but goodness Merlin… It was exquisite. The way the lights danced around the water seemed to make everything sparkle, and everyone was laughing and having a grand old time. Near immediately, the two of them were approached. Even behind the shoddy glamour, Draco was able to recognize Mr. Richens. Elder gentleman, halfblood, and owner of an up-and-coming potions shop down in Diagon. “Ah, Mr. Potter!”

And just like Harry said, it worked. Everyone thought that he was Harry, and that Harry was him! He watched the way Richens seemed to fall all over himself to speak with him, all while snubbing Harry. Unable to help himself, Draco threw a smirk to Harry for what he knew would come at the end of the night when everyone cast off their costumes. Harry chuckled at his side, and it seemed to throw Richens off a bit, but Draco gave the man credit where credit was due. He plowed on as though nothing were amiss.

And that was what went on for the rest of the night as well. Business owners, politicians, and anyone looking to get anything to sell to the papers all came flocking towards him as though he truly were Harry Potter. He supposed that was what they believed to be true, at least. “Mr. Potter, everyone is just dying to know who made your costumes,” one of the women tittered. Draco barely kept from rolling his eyes.

“Blaise Zabini, of course,” he answered, and no one noticed the smoother, more cultured tones of his voice, as opposed to the rough and tumble way Harry spilled out his words. “He’s a new designer, and one to certainly be on the lookout for. He was anxious to make these for us, and I think we can agree that he did a fabulous job on them.”

When he and Harry were separated, Draco saw out of the corner of his eye, multiple people that Harry bumped into or tried to play nice with all give him cold glares, and seem to spit venom at him. Harry, of course, took none of it seriously and answered it all with one of those sunshine smiles of his.

Later in the evening, Harry called him over, “Harry,” he said, and Draco heard that teasing tone in his voice clear as day. “Come on over here, they’re announcing the winners of the costume contest.”

Draco chuckled to himself. “Alright, alright. You won’t let me go until I do.” So Draco walked over to stand beside him.

He wasn’t much surprised when he and Harry were announced as the Kings of the costume contest. Everyone pleaded with them to remove their costumes, and Draco glanced to Harry. When Harry nodded, Draco smirked and waved his wand silently to send their costumes away. The shock, awe, and fear on the faces of many in attendance did so warm Draco’s heart.

At his side, Harry’s fingertips brushed against his arm. “You enjoy some more of the buffet. I’ve got a few… business partners to talk to.”

Draco near purred, “Sounds lovely. Would you like me to save you a few crab canapés? They’re absolutely divine.”

“I think you’d be happier to have them all to yourself,” Harry chuckled, and Draco did so love the sound, as the shivers running through his spine attested to. “Just save me a seat?”

“For you? Always.”

Team 2: Golden Scales

It was All Hallows Eve, a day that Harry tried to forget. Harry usually spent this day locked up in his room at Grimmauld Place. Ron and Hermione would visit him to make sure he ate and give him company. This year, the duo was busy with their newborn child, Rose, and hence, Harry was going to spend the day alone.

Draco and Harry had struck up a new friendship after Ginny and Pansy’s wedding. Draco knew from the girls that this day was always hard on Harry, and so he took it upon himself to do something fun this year.

That’s how they ended up at the entrance of the Golden Scales Casino. The Casino was organising a Masquerade and Bonfire Night to welcome the season. Bring your best mask and your whimsy and prepare for a magical evening, the pamphlet had read. It was just what they needed to take Harry’s mind off of gloom and doom.

Draco had worn a beautiful silver mask with green feathers and rhinestones. Harry looked equally handsome in a red and black mask that accentuated his emerald green eyes. They met in the front lobby of the casino near the dragon statue. Before walking in, Draco rubbed the golden ace card held by the dragon, which was rumoured to bring patrons good luck. Their masks were a blessing, and not many heads turned.

The boys tried their hand at the casino’s patent game ‘Bluffing the Dragon’, and Draco even won a round and graciously treated Harry to a shot of Dragon Bite. They were sitting by the bonfire, enjoying the warmth and spectacular light show performed by the casino’s miniature dragons when a flame from one of the dragons skimmed Harry's face, causing him to panic and jerk away, spilling Draco’s drink in the process.

“Watch it, Potter, this suit is Italian and very expensive,” Draco said irritably.

Harry, however, had started hyperventilating.

“Calm down, Potter. You’re drawing attention to us,” he said.

“Shut. Up. Malfoy.” Harry bit out, and soon they had reverted to their schoolboy ways of hurling insults at each other.

The commotion had alerted the authorities, and two burly bouncers approached their table. Seeing this, Draco put an arm on Harry’s shoulder to calm him down, but Harry pushed him away, ripping his mask off and pointing his wand at Draco’s throat. A collective gasp was heard, and then the room went silent.

Draco looked at Harry, eyes wide and full of hurt. Harry, realising his overreaction, dropped his wand. Draco turned on his heel and started leaving when Harry came back to his senses and ran after him, but Draco pushed him and apparated away.

Harry had bumped into another patron who had consumed the Queen of the Night cocktail, causing a coughing cum fire breathing fit. The ensuing commotion was too much, and when the bouncers escorted him to the golden elevator, he went willingly.

The previous night’s debacle was all over the papers the next day. Everyone had a take on what must have transpired. Some called it a lover’s tiff, others a spat between friends, and some even speculated that Harry had been led to the Casino by devious means. Of course, none of it was true, and the only person who deserved to know the truth was Draco. Harry had to set things right—the look on Draco’s face had haunted him all night.

He wasn’t sure if Draco would want to see him, so he wrote him a letter explaining how he’d been lost in his own head. The flames had taken him by surprise, plunging him back to the night in the Room of Requirement when he and Draco had almost perished in the Fiendfyre. He didn't expect Draco to forgive him, but he had to apologise.

An hour later, Harry’s floo chimed and Draco stepped out of it, wrapping Harry in a tight hug.

Team 3: Vanaheim

It was stiflingly hot inside the infamous Vanaheim Casino, and the glamour Romilda wore didn’t help matters much since it clogged every pore of her face, making her feeling more uncomfortable. But she didn’t dare take off her glamour and risk being detected. Ever since she’d been caught bribing Mundungus Fletcher to steal things from the more noteworthy guests, she’d been banned from the premises under threat of public humiliation.

Tonight had been dreadfully dull though. She’d had high hopes for this event, with both Harry Potter and his more than questionable choice of boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, as guests. But everything was going smoothly. Too smoothly. Not even a row over winnings or counting cards or anything, just a slow hum of voices and the occasional outcry whenever someone won at that weird dice game they insisted on playing here that she could never understand or remember the rules for.

She sighed, glancing at her wristwatch, when something caught her eye. How on earth could she have missed this? She was sure she had kept her eyes firmly on Potter the entire night, but somehow she hadn’t noticed him walking up to… to none other than the literal god and eligible bachelor Thor Odinsson. Oh, this was good. This was almost too good to be true. But where was Malfoy?

It was difficult trying to scan the room for Malfoy while simultaneously keeping track of what Potter was doing with Odinsson, but when Potter leaned into the other man, placing a hand on his big bicep and whispering in his ear, Romilda felt like she had found the thirteenth use of dragon’s blood. Surely she would get promoted after writing a story about this?

Unbelievably, it got even better when she heard a cry of rage to her right, and saw Malfoy elbow his way through the crowd towards the two men. Romilda was whispering furiously to her Quick Quotes Quill while Malfoy started having a shouting match with Potter, and even went so far as to push Potter away from Odinsson. But in her haste to get everything written down, she had forgotten to keep her glamour, and she felt it slip enough that the bouncer by the door noticed her. He’d always had a keen eye, that one, and wasn’t easily distracted by gossip-worthy fights, not even a big one like this. Luckily for her, Malfoy yanked Potter away towards the loos by grabbing his collar. She took the opportunity to slink away in the general commotion that caused, grieving that she hadn’t become an unregistered Animagus like her predecessor Rita Skeeter so she could follow the two men and see the rest of the row. By the look of Malfoy’s face, it promised to get juicy.

* * * * *

Draco pushed Potter unceremoniously into the loo and slammed the door behind them. After a quick check to make sure they were alone, he cast Colloportus and pushed Potter up against the sink.

“I saw you,” Draco growled.

Potter’s eyes widened but he didn’t move.

“In front of everyone. They were all watching their Saviour. They think I don’t deserve you.” Draco took a step closer until they were inches apart. “I saw you. Whispering in his ear, touching him, and he looked like he wanted to devour you. Make you his.”

Potter exhaled, his eyes dark. “How did that make you feel?”

Draco slid his thigh between Potter’s and crowded into his space. “Incredibly turned on. He wanted you, thought he could have you.”

“The look on your face,” Potter murmured in Draco’s ear. “I was watching you the whole time. I love it when your cheeks and neck get flushed. You’re gorgeous when you’re jealous.”

“Fuck, Potter.” Draco leaned in and brushed his lips against Harry’s jaw, kissed down his neck and Harry tilted his head to the side in encouragement. “But you’re mine, aren’t you?”

Harry’s breath hitched as Draco nipped at the sensitive spot by his ear. “All yours. You’re the only one I want.”

Draco sucked a bruise into Harry’s neck to mark what was his, then came up and claimed his lips in a searing kiss. When they broke apart, Draco had only one coherent thought on his mind. “Apparate us home. Right now.”

With a loud crack, the room was once again empty.

Team 4: Arc en Ciel

Read here on AO3

#drarry #game of drarry #wizards hearts #wh team activities

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it-takes-acquired-minds · 4 years ago

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Chapter 4: Jane

((TW: Brief mentions of violence))

“I’m telling you, Edward, she hates me,” Jane insisted, walking with her brother away from the buffet table with a plate piled high with food. She threw a glance back at the duchess, who was daintily fluttering her white fan and talking with the Archduke of Acelain.

“She does not hate you,” argued Edward as she popped a cherry and almond pastry in her mouth. It was crunchier than she expected and she struggled, for a moment, to bite down.

“Try one of these things,” she suggested as the earthy flavors enveloped her tongue. “It’s from Cleves. It’s delicious.”

“Ugh, Cleves?” Edward picked a tart off of her plate. “Screw Cleves,” he muttered, too quiet for anyone but her to hear, and he ate the little dessert. “Crunchy,” he commented when he had swallowed.

“Screw Cleves?” Jane repeated, surprised at the severity of the language. “What’s wrong with Cleves? They’re a great country and one of our best military allies!”

“They’re tyrants,” he said. “They burn oba at the stake and they let the thousands of refugees that flee to their borders starve and die and they never think they’re in the wrong. They’re stubborn and boastful and their laws are downright monstrous. And their ambassador is a polished bastard.”

One hand flew to Jane’s gaping mouth. “Edward!” she hissed, stunned. “You can’t-you can’t say those things!”

“Why not? I’m the duke of the King’s Fourth Court, which comes with some pretty stable protection. As long as I keep a smiling face in front of their ambassador, I can say whatever I would like.” He grinned and plucked up another cherry and almond treat, not dropping her eyes as he ate it. “Delicious,” he relished smugly.

She elbowed him, annoyed. “You’re being disrespectful,” she chided. “I happen to like Cleves a lot.”

He shook his head. “You shouldn’t. They’re political alligators and they’re proud of it. I know how you feel about oba-”

“I don’t feel any way about oba!” Jane whispered furiously, but of course, that wasn’t true. She’d fought against the oba in the Great War, before she’d been knighted and appointed to the Tudor Tables. They’d been brutal and bloodthirsty, killing with supernatural weapons that gave them an unjust advantage. They’d been responsible for the deaths of many people that she cared about. She’d seen exactly how beastly, how inhuman they could be. Perhaps burning them was a little extreme, but who was she to question the actions of Cleves? Who was her brother to do the same?

“Yes, you do, and that’s fine, and no one’s judging you, but I also know that you’re honorable. It’s why you got appointed to the Tudor Tables,” Edward said.

“That’s not the only reason,” Jane muttered, displeased with her brother’s brand new controversies. He could get in serious trouble, and besides, he was offending her!

Edward carried on as if he hadn’t even heard her. “What they’re doing to the oba living there, to anyone living there, is immoral and cruel. They’re so wrapped up in their own hierarchy that they don’t realize their kingdom exists on a foundation of blood. Did you hear about the blizzard a few months ago? People were seeking asylum there and they were left out in the cold. No one would open their doors, and almost all of the refugees froze to death, if the hunger and disease hadn’t already claimed them.”

“Is that true?” she asked softly, shocked, looking around to make sure that no one was watching them, listening to Edward’s opinionated speeches.

“No,” he said. “Of course it’s not. Contrary to the clear evidence proving that it is absolutely true, the State of Cleves keeps telling everyone that it’s just a rumor spread by their rivals. They are obviously so honest, good and just, so how could it possibly be true?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Jane told him, her horror at his accusations melting into the dull throb of insulted anger. “You’re part of the nobility, Edward. You shouldn’t be saying those things! Do you want to end up like Thomas?”

Edward spun around, flaring like a creature about to charge. Jane was momentarily startled, but she stood her ground. The words had been spit out, and she meant each one. “If you know so much about being part of the nobility, why don’t you join it?” he seethed. “Or, you know what? If you know so much about Thomas, go and join him. I know that’s where you really want to be, isn’t it, Lady Jane Seymour of the Tudor Tables?”

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t move or react. She just glared at him, unable to speak. How could she have spoken when he’d carved her throat out, leaving nothing but a screaming pain behind? And he wasn’t just spewing smoke. He was as honest as she was. He wanted to hurt her as badly as she wanted to gut him. The difference was he had succeeded. Not that she would let him know. Her pride wasn’t so weak that her own brother could make her crumble.

He snorted at her defiant silence. “Enjoy your ball. Maybe while you’re here, you can suck up to some ambassadors. You could tell them about your favorite brother, if his name wasn’t a curse.” He raised an eyebrow and Jane braced herself. “Or, if they actually cared about what you have to say.”

“I’d wager they care more about talking to a war hero than a politically corrupt buzzard prancing around in a costume and mask, crowned in a false title,” Jane shot back, folding her arms. “Everyone knows why you’re really a duke.”

If Edward was kindling, he would have burned the entire castle down. “Everyone can see the blood on your manicured skin, Jane,” he retorted. “You’re no better than any of the people you left to die.” She sucked in a breath, and he sneered. “What? Offended? Better run away, back to luxury and forgiveness. That’s what you’re best at, isn’t it?”

“You’d know a thing or two about running away, Edward,” she snapped. “But if you’re going to turn this into a battlefield, I’m going to leave before you do something that you regret. Or, I guess, something else that you regret.” She turned on her heel and stalked off, swimming in her own rage. The temptation to find Ambassador Becker of Cleves and tell him everything that her brother had said was almost tangible, but she steeled herself and searched for a more preferable ambassador. One with gold hair and a beautiful smile.

Edward didn’t know anything about her. While she’d been risking her life in war, he’d been picking his way up the royal tower, sweet-talking and flattering all the right people, using every ounce of charisma when Jane was using every ounce of courage. Had she done things in the face of death that she wasn’t proud of? She had. Was she going to let Edward, someone who had far less to take pride in, tear her down because of her mistakes? She most certainly wasn’t.

“Lady Jane Seymour of the Tudor Tables?”

One of the bewatchen, the king’s personal guard, stepped into her path, his infamous silver uniform impossible to miss. She froze, fear seizing ahold of her. Had the argument between her and Edward been overheard? Was she going to be punished for insulting a duke? He was her brother, but he was still higher-ranked in the eyes of...everyone. Knights may have been honorable, but they weren’t members of the court, not really. They were, in full truth, as prone to penalty as any commoner. All that was needed was the right excuse.

Jane fell into a curtsy. “Yes, sir?”

The guard chuckled. “You need not bow before me, Lady Seymour. You are a most noble knight, after all, and who am I but a simple guard?” Jane almost laughed. Bewatchen were most definitely not the same as simple guards. He held out a gloved hand. Bewildered by the respectful manner, she took it and rose out of her bend, meeting the bewatchen’s eyes. “His Royal Majesty requests an audience with you.”

Her jaw fell open. “W-with me?” she squeaked. There was no way. There had to be some mistake. “Are you-are you sure?”

The guard smiled. “You are Lady Jane Seymour, are you not?”

Jane’s heart began to hammer inside her chest. “I-yes, I am. But-”

“Then I am certain that you are just the lovely lady he wants to see.”

She had no idea how to respond. The king was known for being unpredictable. Every encounter with him was a gamble, but she had never been the one bold enough to roll the dice. She’d watched him condemn innocent subjects to death and appoint undeserving scoundrels to court in the same heartbeat. He flipped between being her hero and as conniving as any fairy tale villain like the two sides of a coin, always with the same smile on his face. Was he going to place a crown on Jane’s head or chop it off?

Absorbed in her own fears, she let the guard lead her through the ballroom. After all, orders from the king were not to disobeyed, whatever they would entail. Whatever trouble she was in, she did not want to make it worse.

As she walked, Jane caught Edward’s gaze. He glared at her, dripping with scorn, but the anger withered into alarm when he noticed who she was walking with. Her expression of fear must have been in full display. She swallowed and did her best to act indifferent.

“Am I permitted to know why the king would like to see me, or are you going to remain frighteningly vague?” Jane asked, mostly making conversation, partially prying for something that would allow her to breathe.

The guard looked sheepish as he answered. “His Royal Majesty did not tell me the reason, simply that I was to retrieve you. You may have noticed that he left the ball early.”

“I did notice that, yes,” Jane said, not that it was any kind of accomplishment. Everyone noticed whenever the king did anything. He’d arrived late, dressed in a thick silver and violet robe, laced with white sable fur, embedded with rubies. Trumpets had fanfared him as he paraded down the grand stairs reserved entirely for the king, and the guests had parted like the tides as he made his way through the ballroom, before he kissed the ring of the blue-eyed princess of Visha, and the two of them started to dance to a classic Tudor waltz that he had probably composed.

He’d left with similar flourish, ordering the band to stop playing, standing on the first step of the grand stairs and delivering an eloquent speech about what the Dove Ball represented, and what it meant to him, not just as a king, but as a man of heart and soul, as a human being of flesh and blood, and as a genuinely good person. Jane couldn’t remember all of it, as at that time, Catalina and her had been sampling the varieties of Shirey champagnes in the corner. Was she being punished for her disrespect during his speech? But then, where was Catalina? And they hadn’t been the only ones ignoring him. He couldn’t possibly penalize that many people.

The guard led Jane behind one of the buffet tables and through a patch of platinum-clad bewatchen. They didn’t look at her or her escort as they passed through, but one handed over a thin copper rod with a point certainly sharp enough to be a torture device. Jane let out a soft whimper that caused the guard to stop.

“Lady Seymour, is everything alright?”

She straightened and yanked the corners of her lips into a smile. “Yes, absolutely. Why do you ask?”

He raised his eyebrows. “The king isn’t going to hurt you, you know.”

Jane bit her lip. “I thought that His Royal Majesty didn’t tell you why he wanted to see me.” It was an out of line observation, but she wasn’t sure she was going to live to see the light of day again.

“His Royal Majesty didn’t,” the guard confirmed, which did not help Jane’s nerves at all. He placed the rod into a slight crease in the wall, and it unhinged, revealing a long, dark hall. Jane blinked. A secret door? This encounter could not get any stranger. “Do come inside.”

Jane wanted to do anything but step over the threshold of the black hall of doom, but the bewatchen was staring at her, and the king was waiting, and if she disobeyed now, all she’d be doing would be sealing her fate. So, still holding the guard’s hand, she shuffled into the darkness. The door slammed shut behind her, loud enough to make her startle. I’m going to die in here, she thought. I am going to lose my head, or get stabbed, or burned alive.

“Lady Jane Seymour.” A soft, cool voice came spiraling out of the void. She froze, recognizing all too well who was speaking “Just who I wanted to see.”

Hey everyone! Now that I’m GRADUATED (finally it took long enough) I can hopefully post more often!! And so we finally rope in our dear least favorite king, Henry the 8th. Question: Would anyone like me to tag him as a TW? I absolutely will do that. I haven’t been so far, but I most definitely will, especially as he becomes more involved. Anyway, we’re finally kicking off the action! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I’ll see y’all soon for Chapter 5!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24040168/chapters/59500717#workskin

Tags: @theatergirl06 @silverpetals97 @timetoriseabove

If you’d like to be notified when I post a new chapter, just send an ask and I’ll happily add you to the list. :-)

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #queens #six queens #queendom #jane seymour #henry viiii

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years ago

Text

Full. A 15x05 “Proverbs 17:3″ Coda, Sam & Dean, Dean/Castiel

Dean can't think about Chuck back on his bullshit, writing his own timeline of their lives without their input. He can't think about Cas, his angel ignoring their calls and following through with his promise to 'move on'. Can't think about the end.

What he can do is eat. So he does. And he won't let anyone stop him, especially Sam.

But there's only so much he can stuff down. What happens when there's no more room, and he has to deal with what's left? Will he be strong enough?

Dean frowns at the mess waiting for him in the sink. Plates stacked upon plates with smears of foodstuffs and crumbs on their surfaces. Some wet from being repeatedly drowned whenever he turned the sink on and others dry because of how long they sat going unwashed.

Sighing, Dean adds another plate to the stack. Careful to place it where it won’t fumble, slide, and clatter against the rest. Then he grabs another from the above cabinet’s short supply, walks to the fridge and begins searching for his next meal.

Weighing the roast beef leftovers with his hands Dean guesses there’s enough to slice off and make a sandwich with. He grabs a few more ingredients to fill out the sandwich. Sprawls them on the island’s counter, surrounding the plate. Finishes preparation by slapping two pieces of bread down and pulling a knife from the door.

Sam finds him squirting mayonnaise on one of the bread pieces.

He walks in sifting through cards, brows scrunched together. “Dean?” he asks, “Have you seen our fake press passes?”

Dean spreads the mayonnaise with the knife blindly, watching his brother. “Why do you need those?”

“Figured after our last hunt we should update our old credentials so they, y’know, so they look like us.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean huffs, “maybe I got a few more wrinkles but that’s it.”

“ Sure, Dean .” Sarcasm drips from Sam’s words like icing off a warm cake. Dean lets it slide off him. Focuses instead on plastering the lettuce onto the mayonnaise so it will stick. However, while he presses his hand flat against the greens, Dean feels his skin burn under a focused spotlight. Glancing up he meets his brother’s gaze.

“What?”

“You’re eating,” Sam starts, lips pursed, “ again .”

Dean pauses with the tomato, squeezing it. “So?” he asks, “I got a healthy appetite.”

Unimpressed, Sam’s mouth implodes and stretches into a flat line. “Funny. That’s exactly what you said after you made that 50’s spread for breakfast… and made at least three different lunches… buffet dinner. This is…?”

He shrugs. “A midnight snack?”

“It’s not even midnight!”

“Fine, a nine-forty-five snack?”

Sam shakes his head, striding forward and closing the distance between them. Stopping at the island, across from him, he slides the IDs onto the edge. Quickly sneaking a peek, Dean sees a babyface version of himself smiling up at the ceiling. Laughing, probably because he knew the Federal Booby Inspector badge was a stupid risk that would pay off. Unaware of all the crap he’d have to wade through that made the first half of his life seem like a cakewalk. His brother clears his throat, drawing his attention back to him.

“Hey,” Sam says, voice soft and expectant in the way Dean hates . Like he cornered some injured animal, ready to snap. “Everything okay?”

Dean licks his wounds and snarls. “Peachy. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, you seemed pretty down yesterday,” Sam dredges up the memory of the conversation from yesterday. Learning Chuck still kept a vested interest in ‘guiding’ them in their lives. Dean brushes his fingers against one of Lillith’s cuts, remembering how after Sam went to the library for research Dean hid in the kitchen and ate cookies, ice cream, and pretzels dipped in frosting. Fell asleep with a spoon in his mouth, slumped against the fridge.

“Of course,” Dean says, “it was a hell of a day.”

Sam nods, tapping his finger against Dean’s face. Each point of contact makes Dean flinch somewhat. Trying to carry on with what he was doing, Dean sets the tomato on a nearby cutting board. Cleans the knife with a rag and gently slices through it.

“Have you heard from Cas yet?”

The knife stops halfway into the second cut, Dean seizing. Eyes glued to the tomato, watching the juices slowly ooze from where he wounded it, he swallows around the lump in his throat. “No,” he tells him, “he hasn’t answered you yet?”

Sighing, Sam finally stops tapping and snatches the tiny bit of tomato Dean already chopped. He pops it into his mouth. “I’m starting to get worried,” he says, “it’s not like him to be radio silent.”

“I mean, yeah…” Dean says, continuing cutting with careful movements.

“Do you think maybe Chuck did something -”

“ No. ” A sharp whack accompanies him, startling Sam. “Look, Sam,” he continues, pointing the knife at him, “just because Cas hasn’t hit you back doesn’t mean something bad happened. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to us.” A panicked filter warps his voice. “Y’know maybe he decided, with all this free will, that he’d rather spend time with people who aren’t us and start fresh elsewhere. Maybe that ’s it.”

“Dean,” Sam says, careful with his approach, “It’s okay. Please calm down -”

“I am calm!” Dean shouts, knife waving wildly, “I’m also fed up hearing about this. About everything. ...Who cares?”

“ I do,” Sam tells him, “And so should you? What’s gotten into you?”

He won’t answer. Instead he returns the knife to the tomato. Slicing through it with enough force to scare his brother away from the path that tempts him.

Except he can’t be scared so easily. Sam rounds the island to question further. “Seriously,” he says, “Cas hasn’t answered us for this long and you’re not bouncing up the walls? You get sent to his voicemail one time and you think he’s found trouble and are raring to get out of here. This isn’t like you, Dean.”

“What?” he sighs, “You think this is Chuck again? Now he’s messing with how I react to things?”

“No! Maybe? I… I don’t know!” Sam bites his lip, his silence distracting Dean while he moves in for the next cut. “Because every time I try and talk about Cas you somehow change the subject and -”

“ Sonofabitch !”

Dean stumbles backwards and into the counter, hissing while pressing one hand against his palm. Sam’s eyes widen as he takes in the entire scene. From the droplets of blood mixing with the pooling tomato juice on the cutting board to his brother staring at his palm in disbelief.

“Dean?” Sam asks, “Dean did you cut yourself?”

His mouth opens and shuts, but no words escape.

Sam sighs, advancing towards his brother. About a few steps away Dean’s gaze jumps from his wound to him. Green eyes, usually so confident, were shaken by the accident. Sam’s figure looks warped like by some funhouse mirror. He flinches when Sam raises a hand with spindly fingers reaching for him. “Come on, Dean,” his brother says, “let’s get you patched up.”

The next time Sam inches close, Dean allows him to grab his wrist. First Sam inspects the cut, a clinical sweep detached in a way he wishes to have. But the second he caught sight of angry red that marred his skin Dean’s mind shot down into a terrifying whirlpool of darkness.

It wasn’t the most painful cut he ever received - especially in the past few days. But it was the straw that broke his back. Crueler than all the lives Chuck stole from their story, again and again, because the only one to blame was himself. He made another careless mistake and he now suffers for it. At the end of the day his own worst enemy isn’t sitting behind a computer screen but greets him in every reflection.

He sobs, a broken sound that surprises both of them. Sam turns away from the faucet, where Dean’s hand soaks under the running stream.

“Dean?”

“It… it, it...” he stutters, “it hurts .”

Sam glances at the cut, frown deepening. “I’m sorry if it stings,” he says, “a few more seconds and we can put some antiseptic on, then bandage -”

“Not the damn cut, Sammy,” Dean tells him, “ Everything hurts. In… in here.” He pokes his chest, tears freely flowing and drowning him. “What with Chuck… all that… that happened… Ma, Jack, Rowena, Ketch and… and Cas -” Knees buckling, Dean collapses to the floor. Sam follows and eases him so his knees don’t slam. “It all hurts and I feel so drained and - and empty. Especially after… and I keep eating, and eating, but Sam I’m never full. I… I can’t stop eating, I can’t stop hurting . Hurting everyone ... “

“Hey, hey hey hey hey,” Sam shushes him, squeezing his wrist and dragging him into a hug. Wet hand pressed flat between their chests, Sam rubs his back. “You’re not hurting everyone .”

“I want Chuck to end it already,” Dean admits to Sam’s shoulder, “Before I do it again. You’re the only one who hasn’t left me, Sam. Once you go I… I don’t think I can take anymore losses, man.”

“Don’t say that,” Sam growls, “It’s all Chuck’s fault, Dean. Chuck is controlling our lives - making us run this stupid maze of us. Using us for cheap entertainment to get his rocks off! It’s not you .”

It’s comforting to think it was Chuck pulling his strings in those moments. Dean considered it himself. But Sam only says this because he doesn’t know the whole truth. “It’s partly me,” Dean starts, deflating in Sam’s arms. “Mostly… Chuck put us in this crazy situation but he didn’t… he wasn’t feeding me lines when I said what I did to Cas. Blaming him for everything that went wrong and spitting on eleven years of… of us .”

“What -”?

“And now he’s gone!” Dean chuckles madly, more tears soaking Sam’s shirt, “He… he moved on . I didn’t think he’d do it but he did and I hate every day since.” Gasping, he leans away from Sam to look him in the eyes. Accepting the mild expression of disappointment shadowing his features. “All I want is him here, except every time I think of apologizing I can’t get past this stupid block. It could be fear or - or I’m still angry with Cas. I try and think about why I get this headache and it all becomes so… so confusing . Maybe that’s Chuck or maybe I’m a coward. Can’t talk to him but also can’t live like this… so I stuff my face. Only that’s not working either and I’m… I’m out of options Sam. What do I do?” Dean begs, “What do I do ?”

He quiets after the outburst, waiting for Sam’s response. Sam, his brother who can always see the light in a darkened room. Who can think through the toughest of puzzles and come up with an answer. Who has decades of emotional maturity over Dean who can’t say a few little words his best friend deserves without his palms sweating and jeans dampening. Swallowed his heart more times that there’s nowhere that hasn’t been burned by his stomach acid.

Too much time passes without a response. “Sam?” Dean shakes him, “What do I -”

“I can’t tell you that, Dean.”

“...What?”

“I can’t tell you,” he repeats, smiling, “and neither can Chuck. What happens next between you and Cas that… that’s up to you. I know you can do what’s right.”

“No… no, Sam,” Dean says, body trembling, “I… I can’t. Especially when it comes to Cas, man. My track record with him… I wasn’t always the best to him but he never thought that until… until I…” Chest heaving, Dean wipes away his tears. “I’m a screw up, Sam. I’ve always been… and that’s what I’ll keep being. Chuck doesn’t want me to have any character growth -”

“I wouldn’t say that Dean,” Sam interrupts, stretching forward. Blindly searches atop the counter, he smiles when he finds what he needs. As he brings it closer Dean sees they’re the fake credentials.

“Sam -”

“You’ve changed, Dean,” he shows off the top badge, that same frozen Dean from earlier smiling at him . “Do you think this guy would own up to his mistakes… would he struggle with his feelings… openly admit that he has them so easily like you have… cry in front of me? Dean you’re nothing like you were in the past. These two guys might be the same person but I prefer the you you are now and not the you you were then. He didn’t know who he was, didn’t allow himself the opportunity to explore different parts of himself. Stuck to one path and didn’t question if there were any others. Now you’re right, that on the surface nothing’s really changed… but I think we both know that the boy in this photo is a stranger.”

It’s always hard fighting Sam’s logic, especially with how worn out he feels. Even if he had enough energy to do so, Dean wouldn’t. Because finally Dean agrees with Sam. “It… doesn’t look like me. Like at all.”

Sam laughs, nodding. “I’ve been trying to tell you…”

“Updating these are gonna be a bitch, though,” he grouses, rubbing his eye, “I don’t think there’s a Kinkos left in America.”

Shrugging, Sam tucks the credentials into his shirt pocket. “I’m sure there’s still one kid with a van and a laminator.”

“Probably won’t accept a fake credit card though.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Dean smiles. Breathes easier without the crushing weight of his worries on his chest. Shouldering them with Sam proves better than doing so alone. Their mirth dies and his brother returns to the heart of their conversation.

“So,” Sam says, “what do you want to do?”

Dean thinks about it. Reflects on his addled mind, extends his awareness past it and to his body. Checking in from the tips of his fingers to his toes. Relaxing against the island, he stretches his legs in front of him. “Kinda don’t feel like doing much of anything right now,” he admits, “just wanna sit here a while and do nothing.”

“That’s okay.” Sam unfolds himself as well, readying to stand from his crouch. Dean catches him before he fully stands. “What?”

“I... “ Dean can’t meet Sam’s curious gaze. Blushing, he stares at his lap. “I also don’t want to be alone…”

Sam’s mouth forms a perfect circle on its journey to becoming a gentle smile. “Sure, Dean,” he says. Mirroring Dean, Sam joins him on the floor. However where Dean’s feet brush the cabinets, Sam bends his knees to fit his log-like legs in the space.

Together they hide behind the island. Away from Chuck and all the responsibility waiting for them. Soon they won’t be able to run away from all that needs addressing. To be the men they are and face each challenge with courage in their hearts.

But for this moment, they’re the boys they were. Boys they haven’t been since before the fire. Brothers sitting in the kitchen, together.

Many things might change, but the most important things don’t. What Dean believes in, what his angel means to him, and how important his brother is to him.

“I love you, Sam.”

“I love you, too, Dean.”

“...I promise not to kill you if you don’t try and kill me.”

Snickering, Sam shoves at him. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“What?”

#Supernatural #Spn #Spn15 #15x05 #Proverbs 17:3 #Supernatural fanfiction #Spn fanfic #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #Winchester brotherly bonding

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wintaer-bear · 4 years ago

Text

goldilocks and the three bears of truth

jimin’s in love with you, but like... not that in love with you. or conversely, men that have all the audacity but none of the emotional intelligence!

“No, no, no. Please don’t do that,” Taehyung hushes as he brings his more than big enough hands to your cheeks. You raise your gaze to meet his and his heart hits the floor. He knew you were upset, that much was obvious, what with you throwing the entire contents of the buffet table at him and ruining his Versace tux. He knew you were upset - that was fair. But never did it dawn on him that you were going to cry! It wasn’t fair that you were so pretty when he was trying to break up with you. “Please don’t cry.”

His words mean nothing... all men do is lie and you cry anyway, unmatched foundation leaving tear tracks down your face.

“Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?” You’ve never put on make up before, let alone own a bottle of Fenty, but you were too shy to ask the MUA at Sephora if they had some more opened samples in the back because like hell were you going to pay $35 for the entire bottle. You were desperate that much was true, what with Taehyung springing on prom at the last minute because turns out he was grounded but not like grounded grounded, but you were too smart to be both broke and desperate. You just picked the sample shade one lighter and hoped no one would notice. How were you supposed to know to blend all the way down to the neck? And what was it the mean girls said? Something about flashback?

"Why did you ask me to prom if you didn’t actually want me to come with you? Better yet, why did you ask me to be your girlfriend? You’re mean Taehyung! Just like the rest of your piss for brain friends. Mean!” You’re tearing off your own gas station corsage and slinging it at him. You wish it made you feel better, but it doesn’t. You just wanted him to hurt like you were hurting.

You should have known better. Should have seen it coming. Taehyung was everything your dad told you stay away from. He was head of the art club and missed homeroom too often, but he never got in trouble for it because, we’ll he could smile he way through anything. Your guarded heart included. He literally, got along with everyone, was nice to everyone. You just happened to sit next to him one day.

“__,” he says weakly, picking up the half torn flowers from the pavement. “I... It’s not like that. I didn’t ask -”

The boy in the shiny sequin dress jacket stops himself because while he knew he was a class A jerk, he wasn’t going to kick someone while they were down. Taehyung wasn’t about to dig himself a deeper grave with the sheriff’s daughter by telling you that he didn’t actually ask you to prom... he had just briefly mentioned that his parents hadn’t grounded for selling the entire contents of their wine cellar when they found out all the proceeds were going towards the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

“Save it,” you say sniffling and grabbing the what’s left of the corsage from his hands and ripping what feels like your entire heart into pieces, what’s left of it anyway. “I don’t care. Jimin was right. You are a Gemini.”

“I don’t know what that means” he says with vehemence, “but I’ve never been to the gym in my entire life and Jimin’s an asshole so -”

"He's my best friend." You deadpan and cross you arms around your chest. He could break your heart but you wouldn't give him the power to break your carefully forged friendship with Jimin.

"And obviously in love with you so take everything he says about with me a grain a salt."

“Yeah, and you’re a Black Moon Lilith in Gemini and that alone trumps all your good traits. You’re basically 90% fickle with a dash of cunning, but I didn’t know cunning was just the elongated word of cunt.” You emphasize the last words, mostly because you’re hurt, but also because you’re angry and you’re not sure when you’ll get another chance to tell Kim Taehyung off again. “I mean... do you even like me? You haven’t even done as much as hold my hand since you’ve asked me out.”

“I just asked you out on Monday!”

“Oh come on, Taehyung,” you drag, angry and finding all the hurtful words in your vocabulary. “It’s not like you’re shy! I’ve seen your tongue down so many girls throats you’d think its the cure to lung cancer.”

“That’s different,” he winces. “And not fair.”

“Not fair?” You repeat, suddenly realizing this was all going in circles. You’ve liked Taehyung for the better of...like, forever. He was so perfect. Almost. He gets the endings of movies wrong and forgets his car keys too often, but Taehyung had a nice smile and ate all his veggies, was a little weird when it came to public speaking but who isn’t? Taehyung was every girl’s dream and... and avoided you like the plague up until you grew tits your senior year because no one wants to bone the sheriff’s daughter.

No, you were never invited to keg parties or homecomings. Not even your own best gal pals like to hang out with you in broad day light. You had to learn the status quo on your own so shave an eagle and call it bald, you about had a conniption when Taehyung sat down next to you in AP Bio.

“I like your hair clips,” he said causally. At this point, you weren't even sure he knew you existed. He sits and sports that grin you’ve been familiar with since grade school. The “I’m not in trouble you are” look. “They match your scrunchie.”

And by the end of the period you wonder how it escalated so quickly. Taehyung turned from being your lab mate to your soulmate in less than 90 minutes and you weren’t even mad about it. He was comfortable, he was warm and it was so easy to smile in front of him.

“Not fair?” You say again. “Mules are doomed to be both the genesis and the doom of their hybrid lineage because they're born sterile. That's unfair. No Taehyung this," you point back and forth between the three feet of air between you two "isn't unfair. This is the result of you doing what you do best and acting on a whim instead of examining if there’s going to be repercussions or if you'll hurt someone along the way. I was fine on my own! I had a plan and if you weren't going to be part of it, the least you could of done was to stay out of my way." You run out of air and you hate it because it gives him exactly one second to come back with a counter argument.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

And you believe him. Because Taehyung wouldn't be dumb enough to ask you to prom on purpose or mean enough to invite you just to overhear him talking about breaking up with you because "you were just too much."

"No one ever means to hurt anyone, Taehyung. Doesn't make the hurt any less," you breathe. You want to hurt him too. Why does he get to walk away unscathed? "Or the perpetrator any less guilty. You're a bad guy Taehyung,” you bite you lower lip to refrain from crying, but it comes out in sobs anyway. “And I hope someone breaks your heart."

You break away and immediately feel the lost of warmth. You didn't realize how close he was to you until he wasn't.

"You okay?" Jimin asks as you slam his passenger door shut. You don’t know how he knew to come get you. You had expected him to be on the other side of town doing God knows what at this hour, but somehow Jimin always knew.

He leaves the car in park and turns to you when you don't immediately respond.

"I’m fine," you say, going to turn on the radio. He immediately switches it off.

"Like just bombed your math test but your 6.0 GPA is still salvageable fine or ___ circa second grade with a blister on her hand doing the monkey bars fine?"

"For the the last time I beat you fair and square but I see you’re still eating my dust a decade later with that tone Park."

"Also for the last time. I let you win because you cried when the blister popped on bar three. I practically carried you on my back the rest of the way."

"Did not."

"I still have the scar on forehead where you stepped on me." He pulls back his hair and shoves said forehead in your face.

"The floor was lava." You shrug.

“Yeah, so is Kim Taehyung, but we’re not ready to talk about that are we?”

It wasn’t a secret that Jimin wasn’t fond of Taehyung. They just ran with different crowds. Always have. Where as Taehyung was president of the art club and volunteering at parks and recreations, Jimin was deciding whether or not to smoke the last ounce of weed he had in his back pocket or to sell it for profit so he could buy a an extra dessert for lunch tomorrow.

“Just as ready as you are to talk about the court summoning I found in hidden in your glove compartment.”

Jimin sends you a look and if you didn’t know him for the last decade, you’d miss the sliver of shock written on his otherwise impenetrable and cocky face. Jimin gives a low whistle.

“You could have just said no, but I see I don’t need to worry. 2021 Bitchy ___ is here to put up the walls and save the day. No need for niceties then,” he pins you with a look as he turns the ignition and does that thing boys do where they reverse the car all passively aggressively and hot. “I fucking told you so. I told you Taehyung was out for one thing and one thing only. He’s nothing but a player and -”

“I do not put up walls!” You interrupt and it catches Jimin off guard, he was ready for his Taehyung hating dissertation, to be the best friend you needed and to talk shit about your ex. Jimin was already in the drive thru line to order one of everything off the dollar menu. He was not, however, prepared for whatever the hell this was.

You’re crying, uncontrollably so, and rubbing your eyes with your palms in his seat. It’s ruining your make up but Jimin has never seen you any more beautiful. He’s never seen you so vulnerable as you hiccup to keep the sadness from escaping your very breath.

“And I’m not bitchy. I’m not sorry I don’t have mommy issues and feel the need to please everyone in her absence. I’m especially not sorry that I’m way too smart to get conned into losing my virginity because I think I’m in love. I’m not. But why can’t I be? Hmm?” And Jimin thinks it’s question for him before you continue.

“Why can’t Taehyung come to me if he’s got a problem with me? If he thought I was,” you air quote, “too much,” end air quote, “then why hang out with me?” You turn you back against the window so you can face Jimin head on, and Jimin wonders why the line is so backed up tonight of all nights. “Why even talk to me in the first place? What? Was I not what he was expecting? Am I too opinionated? Too loud? Too... god, I don’t know? Myself?”

"What?” Jimin says flabbergasted, and takes his yes off the car halted in from of him to make sure he’s hearing this right. Jimin can’t say you were the type run on emotions, but you have also never had a chance to react to such... turbulence. You’ve always been so reserved and in control, a defense mechanism he’s sure you’ve developed over time as the black sheep of the town. He knew you were dumb but he didn’t know you were dumb enough to think it was your fault that Kim Taehyung didn’t like you.

“Tell me the truth Jimin,” you deadpan. “Am I...,” and you struggle to get out the last part without crying. “Too much?”

“Yes,” he thinks. Completely, utterly, and without a doubt, you were too much.

You were too good for Taehyung. And too kind. And too pretty. In the winters, you were too warm and your cookies were too soft, your shampoo smelled too clean. You were too good at Catan... and you were...god... too perfect.

Jimin didn’t mean to fall in love with you. Just like he didn’t mean to kiss you the way he is now. Desperately and fervently, like it’s his first time kissing to put someone’s clothes on instead of off. But he doesn’t know how else to stop your thoughts from wandering. He doesn’t know how else to bring you back to the light where you belong. He didn’t want to see you cry. Jimin didn’t like it when you were hurt. But he especially didn’t like that you thought any less of yourself because of a boy.

Jimin takes it upon himself when you don’t immediately pull away and he wishes he would have just taken you home because now his plans were ruined.

There was a plan. Jimin had a plan.

You were going to go away to college and he was going to get a trade job. You’d come back to visit your dad for the holidays and Jimin would by default pick you up from the airport. He was a patient man. He had it all planned out. The two of you would skip the petty fights that came with individuals growing together and out pacing one another. It was easier that way. The two of you would just meet each other at the end. Jimin wasn’t willing to risk losing you in finding himself in these next few years.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Jimin didn’t want to rush it. He didn’t want to spook you with how much he wanted this, wanted you. Jimin knew. Whether it be ten years from now or several heartbreaks later, Jimin knew he’d accept you any way you came to him. But never in a 100 years he think you’d come like this. Broken and inconsolable in tears.

“I -” he starts to lie. “I’m high.”

“Men,” you scoff. “Men have all the audacity but none of the emotional intelligence. Jimin, your court summon is for a urine analysis so you really expect me to believe you’d shoot up and get high right before they’re about to break that beeper on your ankle? Even I know you’re not that desperate for a fix.”

He wishes you were right. You were the hardest drug he’s had and he’s wished he just stay clean because it physically hurt him to see how intangible you are right now. Even in your elaborate scheme to get another man to fall in love with you tonight, Jimin couldn’t help but want you more. You were exactly who you needed to be and he wanted nothing more than to protect that.

“I’ll ask you one more time,” you say with patience you’ve all but scraped up off the floor. “Jimin, do. you. like. me? Like, like like me?”

It wouldn’t be lie if he said no. He doesn’t just like you. Jimin is dumbfoundedly in love with you. He’s so deep in your pussy-sand without actually being in your pants that he wouldn’t know his left from his right.

Jimin debates with himself whether it’s worth the physical distance that awaits him if he denies you or if it’s worth the psychological and emotional damage that will come in confirming your suspicion. You were too good for him, that much was evident, but how was he going to make you believe that?

“___, I-”

“Welcome to McDonald’s, may I take your order?”

“Yeah, I’d like a large order of FACTS please,” you spit out.

“Sure, a order or fries. What else can I do for you?”

“Maybe a double quarter pounder with a side of truth?”

“I’m sorry, did you say juice?”

You don’t mean to take it out on the employee behind the window. She was just at the wrong place at the wrong time when then you realize it’s HER workplace and perhaps you’re making it awkward but you were so hurt, and so confused, and you needed someone to take it out on and Jimin wasn’t helping, what with wallowing in his silence.

“$6.78 at the window.”

Jimin doesn’t know how to fix it. The entire drive back to your house and he can’t come up with the right words to say. He fucked up and he’s so so so scared to lose you.

#drafts #jimin drafts #bts drafts #park jimin

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docholligay · 5 years ago

Text

Im Kino

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I go to Holocaust movies alone.

Mostly I tell people that I don’t watch Holocaust movies, that I don’t go to Holocaust exhibits, because I am not the target market. I don’t need to be reminded that the Holocaust happened, I don’t need to remember that human beings were murdered because they had the misfortune of being born the scapegoat, masterminding the world from their tailors’ benches and lawyers’ offices, as if we found the cunning to run the world but had not yet figured out to convince people we were human.

But I do go, sometimes. And I go alone.

It isn’t even a matter of not wanting to go with goyim--it’s true that I don’t watch Jewish movies with them, that I never trust them to understand and I am unwilling to be their Virgil in the Inferno that is the layers of Jewish thought and ethics and culture, some circles so intangible to me that I am not certain I have the words to explain what they misunderstand. It’s true that I hate they way they look over at me every five minutes as if to gauge my reaction, as if to see if they are experiencing it enough. It’s true that I won’t let them mine my pain for their clarity, and It’s true that I get tired of how lapsed Christians never really lapse in their hearts, the same as a Jew can only wish to stop being one. We are always a part of the things that built us, even if we hate them.

Maybe this is why Jews are comfortable hating God as they walk into temple.

Bold of him to assume it’s even about him.

But no, I don’t watch Holocaust movies with other Jews either. In this, I am as solitary as an oyster, to steal the wisdom of Charles Dickens, and that feels right. I have long taken my pain and my irritation and tried to turn it into something beautiful, even as I tell myself it’s alright to let it sit. Its alright to let sand be sand.

But here I am again, writing about why I don’t let anyone come with me, thinking I can make it poetic. Sometimes hermit crabs make their shells from trash, you know. They’re adaptable.

The movie was about Jews who hid in Berlin, after it was declared free of Jews. People who hid who they were and who passed through the streets brushing shoulders with goyim who maybe didn’t want them to die but maybe didn’t care if they lived.

My throat caught three times. I am a Montanan as much as I am a Jew, and so I choked it back, and I looked away from the screen, and I ate the genocide of a family I should have known but that the Germans shot into a ditch, and that salt tore into my throat.

I just took a drink.

I was the only Jew in the room, and I know this because there are only fifty or sixty of us in the city, and there were maybe forty people in the theater, and the quick math I did in my head made me silently thankful that I wouldn’t have to deal with the spectre of talking to someone about my feelings. Out of our fifty or sixty, only fifteen or less of us are Fievel goes West Jews. Only fifteen of us know to pray in Hebrew and shut up in English, and have no trouble with these two truths.

I’ve known the guy who sells tickets behind the counter since I was twelve years old. He looks at me with a sense of pity and tells me he hears this movie is wonderful, and I hate him instantly. I don’t watch Jewish movies with goyim. Except when I’m outnumbered in a tiny one room art theater where the tickets and the popcorn and the screen are all run by the same guy, who knows I’m a Jew and for one miserable second I think he’s going to ask me to say something. He gets a line forming. I’m lucky.

What should I say? What could i say that would not be laying out the loss of fifty percent of the Jewish population like a goddamn breakfast buffet, so people can take what they want and feel satisfied, so they can leave the rest and never think about it?

Judaism teaches us that anger is useless and worse, that you must turn it into love and into action. That you should learn that so well that you should have to feign anger when someone trespasses. Y’Israel doesn’t mean “struggles with God’ for nothing. I’ve never gotten there. All I do is burn with a white-hot heat as the woman on screen dyes her hair blonde. All I do, as Cioma fakes a passport, is look around at the goyim in the crowd, and wonder how many of them would turn me in for a free year of Amazon Prime. The stakes in my head become losing their jobs, and I wonder instead how many wouldn’t.

I hate them all. But I say nothing, because anger is useless, and because you pray in hebrew but shut up in English, and because I couldn’t even answer the cries of whoever it was that was machine gunned into the dirt, a language I don’t speak and world I don’t know, but one that grabs at my ankles, like a hound from hell, since I was six years old.

The men are outside, smoking, after Berlin falls. A Russian soldier comes to shoot them, and they yell, over and over, that they aren’t Germans, they’re Jews, that Germany would never let them be both and so they are Jews.

The soldier doesn’t believe them. Hitler killed all the Jews, he says, his gun cocked and pointed and full of fury. But he has a moment. Where God pins him and he believes.

“Say the Shema.” He says.

The movie explains it for the forty nine other people in the room, but I know instantly, it wouldn't matter if they had never set foot in temple since their bris, they would know the shema, our prayer, our central call and the thing that should be on your lips as you die, and they do. They recite it beautifully and perfectly.

The Russian soldier nearly sobs. I bite my tongue and take a drink.

He was a Jew, too, serving in the Russian Army. He believed Hitler had done it, killed every German Jew, but here were two men reciting the Shema and living. Two Jews, if nothing else, had fought through all the years of war to live, and so we were not done yet.

They cast him well. His blue eyes are like mine, and I recognize the rage in them as he pointed his gun.

I go to Holocaust movies alone, because you never point a gun at anything you don’t want to kill.

I slip out as soon as the movie ends, when the lights are barely up. There’s a voice echoing in my head, one that says I have a responsibility to everyone who didn’t make it. I’ve never hidden. Maybe that’s the benefit of living in a place with almost no Jews. I fought for every point of that star my entire life, and I refuse to give an inch.

There’s a Nazi resurgence in the west. From Portland to Pierre, there’s flyers and threats and decisions to be made. My great grandmother said that if you are where people want to kill you, don’t be there. But she wasn’t a Montanan. She moved here from the present day Ukraine, and she was that until the day she died, whatever else she tried to be. We are always a part of the things that built us, however much we hate them.

I press against the door, and go out into the street and the grey and the coming night, the thoughts of a family with no papers and no chance to run on my mind.

The cold wind hits me in a staccato beat the way I imagine the bullets hit their bodies. But I’m a Montanan as much as I’m a Jew. I’m a grizzly bear with a tallit draped across my shoulders. I feel the bullets.

All it does is piss me off

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