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kammartinez · 1 year

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By Jordan Michelman

The cows are named Baby and Snowday. Baby is a beautifully mottled brown and white, and Snowday is a solid, milk chocolate brown, her head topped with a tuft of funny cream-colored fur. They both have the most delicate eyelashes, bashful and lush. They are five years old, which is old for a cow in America; these are retired milk cows, once living on a family farm as part of Darigold, a farmers’ cooperative that works with small dairies across the Pacific Northwest. In their twilight years now, they’re at Vorfreude Dairy Beef, a farm off a long, loping little country road in the green foothills outside of Portland, Oregon. It’s owned by small-scale beef purveyor Rachel Hinnen, and today she is “harvesting” these animals—she is preparing them for slaughter. Hinnen is part of “the meat community,” as she calls it. While you can find people pursuing ethical meat production in many corners of the world, the practice has particularly gained traction in this slice of the American Pacific Northwest, where a “conscious carnivorism” movement, which advocates buying hyper-local meat or practicing butchery, has been growing for at least a decade. You might be familiar with Colin the Chicken of Portlandia fame, a skit in which a restaurant server describes to diners the name and life of the chicken on their plate. Or, more recently, a viral Tweet of the fake Uber Eats feature “Meet Your Meat,” in which you can learn that your rib eye was named Janice and enjoyed alfalfa. But the real-life meat community is serious—a more earnest group of true believers you will not find anywhere, with a conviction that borders on semireligious. You should meet your meat, they believe. In fact, to truly eat meat ethically, this means observing every step of the process: birth, life, and death, from the pastures to the butcher shop.

“I’m really glad you’re here for this,” Hinnen tells me as we stand together in the February mist. She wears a no-nonsense work hoodie, slate tights, and muck boots, her long blonde hair tucked beneath a knit beanie. “I think it’s really important to experience this part.”

The sky is warship gray. Rain falls like television static. The mobile slaughter truck is due in one hour, and the field is redolent with the smell of cow shit. Baby and Snowday—named by the family dairy where they previously resided—are not the only bovines on the property. In the pen behind us stand a group of retired Jersey dairy cows, squat and fat and rust-colored, who are marked for slaughter in the coming weeks. In the next pen over three more cows—“my pets,” she says—who go by the names Domino, Lucy, and Oreo.

“I can’t kill the OGs,” she laughs. Domino and Oreo (two classic black-and-whites) have developed the rapscallion habit of hopping fences, which one might think would mark them for the slaughter truck but has instead endeared them to Hinnen, the way a problem child is often a mother’s secret favorite. Lucy (latte brown and cream) is another story entirely. “She accidentally wound up pregnant,” Hinnen tells me, “and I spent three weeks saving her life every day from a series of complications. By the end, I felt like, you know—‘I nearly killed myself trying to save you, so how can I kill you now?’”

Much of the beef we consume in America comes from younger cows, aged between 18 and 24 months old. Most are raised specifically for beef production, the product of generations of selective genetic breeding to increase yield size and fattening speed, aided by a modern cocktail of hormones and antibiotics. Beef from older cows—including dairy cows—has long been commonplace and revered in Europe, particularly in Spain, Austria, and the United Kingdom. But in the United States, dairy cows past their prime are typically blended alongside thousands of other animals a day as part of a general ground meat supply.

Retired dairy beef is highly prized by a small but enthusiastic number of American beef connoisseurs, showing up at specialist butcher shops and on farm-to-table restaurant menus. Some small butchers separately slaughter certain cows like Snowday and Baby so that their meat can be sold and consumed individually, their unique flavors more present like those of a single-origin specialty coffee microlot or a walled clos of hallowed Champagne grapes.

I’m given a bit of busy work feeding Hinnen’s pet cows—a.k.a. the permanent collection—from a plastic pail of compressed hay treats. They lap it up from my hands with their massive prehensile tongues, agile as monkey tails, frothing with saliva and anticipation. (The word vorfreude in German means “joy in anticipation.”)

“A cow never had a better life,” Hinnen tells me, preparing a bundle of sage as a sort of preharvest ritual she conducts on mornings like this one, balancing the herbs carefully atop a fence post. I hand her my lighter—hers is in the truck—and her words grow uneasy. “I hate these days,” she says. “I don’t sleep well. I cry over every single one of these cows, and I fall in love with every single one.”

I ask about the inherent contradiction of this, you know—loving an animal so much throughout its life and then overseeing that being’s death. “I get what you’re saying,” she says—she’s heard this question before—“but truth is, it would be a problem if I didn’t feel that way. It would mean I didn’t care, you know? And the point of all this. The point is to care.”

Smoke billows from the sage, and the smell immediately alters the cows’ demeanor; they become noticeably mellower, even contemplative. Or is that just my projection? My own anxieties?

“Let me send you back over to the Jerseys for a minute,” she tells me. “I want to make a video and I get self-conscious.” Hinnen climbs into the pen, crouches down in the shit and muck, and talks quietly into her phone as the rain falls, the sage scenting the air, the cows posing just beyond her shoulders, framed artfully in the shot. Later, the video appears in Hinnen’s Instagram Stories, an instantaneous update for those who cannot be here to witness their steak being killed.

The origin story of the meat that Americans consume is fundamentally uncomfortable, like that of our clothing or rechargeable batteries. Meat consumption as a narrative is fundamentally informed by death; it’s always there, lurking, like the omnipresent specter in Hitchcock or Shakespeare. The wider conversation about the ethics of consuming meat dates back to Plato, Pythagoras and Epicurus, as well as the Buddha, the Bhagavad Gita, and the concepts of halal and haram in Islam, which, among other rules, consider how an animal is slaughtered before it is eaten. Across cultures and centuries, meat consumption—both our love of it and the questions it raises—is woven into the fabric of who we are, fundamental to a broad panoply of faiths. From the oldest cave paintings of water buffalo hunts to widely varying modern screeds (“Our Moral Duty to Eat Meat” versus “Moral Veganism”), seemingly everyone—and everyone’s ancestors—has a take.

The current ethical meat movement isn’t new either, with organizations like the Ethical Omnivore Movement drawing a sharp line between the consumption of factory-farmed meat and dairy and other, smaller means of arriving by these products. (“There should be no shame in the use of animal-based products—just in the cruel, wasteful, careless, irreverent methods of production,” its website reads.) Guides to ethically eating meat abound, even as we wrestle with the so-called meat paradox, in which animal lovers are still able to enjoy that delicious cut of steak.

What’s novel today is the extremely online-ness of it all. Social media has intertwined with the age-old practice of raising animals for meat in a distinctly modern way; everyone and their mother is quite literally on social today, and America’s family farms, butcher shops, and heirloom meat geeks are no exception.

I found out about Vorfreude Dairy Beef via this great discovery engine of our time. That said, Hinnen’s Instagram account, @vorfreudedairybeef_, is tiny with barely 500 followers. Her business involves direct sales of beef “shares”—typically a quarter of the whole slaughtered cow, sold at $6.85 per pound on the hanging weight—to home chefs, friends, and assorted beef enthusiasts. She also makes candles, soaps, and body butter from beef tallow processed in her own home kitchen and sold at local farmers markets and retail pop-ups, and she’s working on a line of tanned leather wallets, earrings, and belts. Plus, “cow yoga retreats” and “photo sessions.”

Some little kids might circle toy ads in the Sunday paper; Hinnen, age 10 in suburban Oregon, would scout the classifieds section for old cattle ranches, begging her baffled parents for cattle and land. After high school, she deferred college to work on a vast cattle station in rural Australia, and now, at 33, she’s built a small, intimately personal business around raising cows, loving cows, and yes, slaughtering them to produce high-quality grass-fed beef. “Since I was old enough to have dreams,” she says, “I have dreamed about this.”

Others also have. Larger accounts like Big Sky Caroline, Five Marys Farms, and Ballerina Farm have built #ranchlife followings in the thousands, to say nothing of Star Yak Ranch, the yak meat and jerky concern of social media provocateur Jeffree Star. From farmers like Caroline Nelson of Big Sky Caroline entering her “sheep doula era” (assisting in the birth process of a lamb) to a retired Holstein cow “living her best life” (receiving a loving brush down from Hinnen) at Vorfreude, some of this content reflects an aspirational lifestyle, although that is quickly offset with #farmlife realities: long days, early mornings, missed family events, and financial struggles.

The meat community functions around a fundamental moment of tension, in which the animal—named, loved, filmed, the source of countless joys and heartaches and sleepless nights (not to mention shares and likes)—moves along to the Great Ranch in the Sky. In this way it is meaningfully distinct from pet influencers and the myriad animal-obsessed tribute accounts (my favorites are @itsdougthepug and @ekekekkekkek, respectively), but I do think it still relates to the grand infinitesimal why behind how our brains respond to cute animals. Your favorite rancher is now on your social media feed, goofing off with an adorable 1,000-pound cow.

Hinnen estimates around half of her business comes from social media, and she considers it a tool for both sales and culture, a way to sell the bigger picture experience of her product to curious followers who may one day become future customers. “Social media also offers us an opportunity to educate,” says Sean So, the cofounder of Preservation Meat Collective, a company that links tiny ranches and heritage-breed animal farmers across the Pacific Northwest with butcher shops, restaurants, and direct-to-consumer connoisseurs of small-production beef, lamb, fowl, and game. He tells me a rib eye is just two percent of the meat on a cow, a wasteful amount. “The way meat is bought and sold in America is so incredibly broken, and we’re trying to teach people that every day online.” Some days, that’s advocating for unsung cuts, like ranch steak (also known as “arm steak”), and other days it’s educating on the age and life cycle of the animals we consume.

So was born in Cambodia and moved to Bellingham, Washington, as a child. “I’ve been harvesting animals my whole life,” he tells me. His father would buy whole animals from farmers and split them between multiple families. Today So and Preservation cofounder Travis Stanley-Jones work with a network of more than 35 individual farmers, connecting, say, Wagyu beef cattle from Enumclaw, Washington, with restaurants in Seattle, or fresh squab from Benton City, Washington, with a butcher shop in Ballard, a neighborhood in Seattle. The company works with a who’s who of restaurants across Washington State, including more than a dozen places such as Off Alley, Restaurant Homer, Hanoon, and many more. “Our goal is the opposite of greenwashing or hiding behind the gray areas of meat production,” So says. “We’re trying to build a new kind of commodity system that is not commoditized.”

On Instagram, the effect is the opposite of nameless, faceless factory farming. Preservation’s account opens a portal into the world of small-production meat—one day it’ll post about signing a new lamb purveyor that happens to be a fifth-generation family farm, the next day a video of So proudly discussing the 14-hour harvest process for fresh squab. This work follows people raising protein outside of traditional systems and animals apparently living very different lives—longer, with fresh air and clean grass—than the millions of cows, pigs, and sheep slaughtered each day in factory farms. Followers see the whole cycle, from photos of cows in the pasture to the slaughterhouse to dining rooms.

Give modern humans all the knowledge of the universe in the palm of their hands and they’ll use it to talk about shepherds and sheep, ranchers and beef, and how to butcher and cook the finished product. We’ve social networked ourselves back to the very origins of collective agricultural living, using the unthinkable vastness of God in our pockets to become more like our ancient selves. There’s something adorable about that—comforting, even—and something brutal too.

“At the end of the day, the animals need to die,” So tells me. “They need to go to harvest.”

“The waiting is the hardest part,” Hinnen says, joining me by the Jerseys.

“So when it happens,” I ask, making nervous small talk in the rain, “how do they, like…how do they do it?”

“They’ll use their .22s,” she tells me matter-of-factly. A rifle, she explains, to shoot from a distance of 10 yards or so, giving the animal ample space for what comes next. “These guys are pros, and so most of the time it only takes one shot. The most dangerous part is what happens after—the most hurt you’ll get doing this by a dead cow. They’ll kick for 10 minutes sometimes, after they’re done.”

We sit with this information together.

“Once they go down, the whole thing shifts,” she says. “Most people never think a moment in their life about productive death. Death is either a disaster or a murder, but never something deliberate. Intentional death, meaningful death, we almost can’t fathom it, even though we consume it every day. “

Snowday and Baby are watching us now. The “gold standard” is to withhold food from a cow for at least four hours before slaughter, Hinnen tells me, “but I have to give them a last meal. I can’t help it.” Even still, Snowday and Baby are hungry—cows are always hungry—and they’re busily snuffling together along the boundaries of their pen, nosing out every strand of grass just beyond the fence, using their massive tongues and jaws and lips to pluck cud from mud.

“People sometimes talk about the theory of ‘one bad day,’” Hinnen continues. “The idea that by treating animals well before we kill them, as opposed to keeping them in factory farms, they’re only really experiencing one day of discomfort. We go even further. We butcher them right here, at their home pens, and so they never even feel fear or pain at all. It’s really more like ‘one bad minute’—they have no clue what’s coming. And then it’ll be over. You’ll see.”

We stand watching the cows together for a while. There are more chores to do, but it’s hard to get anything done at this point. The tension builds. The mobile butcher guys text Hinnen and tell her they’re running a little bit behind. “They got stuck doing a couple extra cows at another job,” she says, “but they’ll be here any minute.”

Time passes at a crawl. The cows forage. The rain falls. Every few moments we hear, then see, a new truck passing along the country road, but it is not the truck.

A big van goes past—like what we’re looking for, I figure—but it’s for someone else’s project, someone else’s rural tableau. My heart is roaring in my chest now, adrenaline pumping.

At last, a drab gray box truck pulls off the road, and Hinnen runs to the gate to let it in. The truck is manned by two fellas, Cole Stovall, 20, and Connor Barnes, 27, both tall and lean in matching ash-green Helly Hanson rain gear and knee-high Welly work boots, sipping Red Bulls and leaning out the windows. Barnes is wearing an American flag hat. They do this work all day long, traveling farm to farm across rural Oregon, operating a full-service mobile slaughter unit for independent farms and ranches. It’s just a job, like any other—and that means they’re on social media, too, part of the chain of content in the wider meat community. (Stovall’s bio on Instagram reads, simply, “Slaughterman 🔪🔪” )

Stovall and Barnes nod my way and make a little small talk with Hinnen, but these guys get paid by the hour, and we are on a schedule. Things move quickly now. Hinnen changes into a pair of pink bibs; Stovall and Barnes unlatch the back and side doors of the mobile rig, which is already half full of hanging quarters from a busy morning. Stovall pulls a large rifle from the back of the truck—the aforementioned .22, tourmaline-black—and secures a pair of ear guards. I instinctively step back five paces, then 10.

Snowday and Baby stand there, blinking and clueless. The chubby Jerseys are watching intently, and so is Oreo, the fence jumper, who has come over to follow the action from the post of her pen. Do they know what’s coming? Can they sense our anxiety? Or is this, too, an evolutionary trick to make us care more?

Stovall loads the rifle. The men enter the pen. Everything is quiet.

“I hate this part,” Hinnen says. She covers her ears. I follow her lead.

CRACK!

Instantly I smell the gunfire, acrid and clinging to the nose, suspended in the drizzle. One shot, one kill. Snowday drops in a heap, the lovely brown of her hide sinking into the mud.

CRACK!

Baby falls next to Snowday. Smoke hangs in the air. The valley is a whisper.

I spent a year eating vegan in 2019 and wrote about the experience extensively. I committed myself to it because I wanted the perspective, I was curious about the purported health benefits, and I found the food culture around veganism thriving more and more, from the Pacific Northwest, where I live, to Amsterdam, home to one of the greatest vegan lunch spots, Mr. Blou I Love You. This experience fundamentally changed how I thought about meat and animals, almost like a system reset. It forced me to reconsider meat consumption in all its facets, the good and bad. In the end, I went back to eating meat for equally multifaceted reasons: Veganism alone didn’t meet my health needs, and the highly processed nature of many of the vegan products I found myself consuming seemed like a contradiction of goals. I also, frankly, really missed eating meat and wondered if there might be a kind of third way forward.

I think it’s fair for an observer to feel skeptical about ethical meat consumption, to wonder if the “ethical” part might not be much more than a kind of self-referential hokum, the sort of thing we tell ourselves so we can sleep at night. This is certainly the objection of much of the modern animal rights movement, which fundamentally stands opposed to animal slaughter in all forms, be it factory farms or intimate operations like those of Vorfreude Dairy Beef or Preservation Meat Collective. The point made here is compelling: If we’re endeared to animals, and care for them and identify with them and even love them, then it must be some form of sin to reject those feelings of love and engage in their slaughter, or consume the products derived from it. What someone like Rachel Hinnen calls “productive death,” groups like PETA term “genocide.”

Both groups—the vegans and the meat community—arrive at the same conclusion, which is the earnestly held conviction that theirs is the true form of consumption with ethics. Both might be true and also neither. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the horrors of meat production as depicted in prevailing vegan propaganda are almost always tethered to the experience of factory farms, images of which look baldly, undeniably, like scenes of atrocity.

Small-production meat arguably offers an alternative way; it’s not abstention, nor is it gross excess, but rather a more nebulous and complicated thing—one often financially inaccessible to many. It’s easy to claim small-farm production as the more ethical choice, but that neatly ignores the real financial costs involved in sourcing beef this way, not to mention the environmental impact. Factory farming allows prices to stay low while producing as much meat as humanly possible, the very same cruel logic that leads to sweatshops and cobalt mines. The national average retail ground beef price is $4.81 a pound; you can expect to pay twice that at a high-end, small-farm-focused butcher shop in the Pacific Northwest. Small-scale farming is also difficult and expensive, as well as emotionally and professionally draining, a series of long hours and sleepless nights and tests on mental health that farmers make (of course) endless memes about. “These heifers are robbing me blind,” one rancher captions a post about the cost of cattle.

“Nobody does this to become a millionaire,” says Hinnen. “The up-front costs are huge, and the financial landscape changes so fast, from frost to vet bills.” Factors like alfalfa cost indexes and variable fencing supplies complicate cost-per-cow calculations. As a beef producer with fewer than 20 heads of cattle at a time, though, Hinnen is in the bottom 12% of cow herds nationwide. Her business is tiny and not yet profitable. Even then, finances are partly why Hinnen focuses on her style of small-scale beef production as opposed to dairy. “Beef is nuts, dairy is worse,” she tells me. “The price of feed is quickly outrunning the price of milk, and dairy farms are going bankrupt left and right.”

There are no easy answers. It is an itchy, uncomfortable set of realities, one that can drive you mad if you let it, creeping up again and again with the ding of every dinner bell. We say ethical consumption is a fallacy, but we are drawn to attempt it, over and over. Such efforts may just require embracing discomfort from time to time in our too-short lives. We may not have a choice when we inevitably come across it on our social media feeds. It means we don’t get to look away.

Stovall and Barnes move with balletic efficiency, first with guns, then with blades. A few moments after firing the two fateful shots, they advance on Baby and Snowday with plastic-sheathed knives glinting under the weak sun. They man up to each cow, cleanly slitting their throats in single rips. The cows flail wildly in the mud as the electro-pulse-charge neuronic pathways in their bovine brains slowly fire out, very much dead but not yet at rest. The bodies kick and piss and gasp. There is so, so much blood, rushing like a busted fire hydrant from their steaming throats, draining into the muddy ground, forming iron-red rivulets of heavy gloss, fusing with the rain puddles.

The Jerseys are gathered together at the fence behind us, watching intently across the 10 long minutes. “You guys are next!” Hinnen says, joking. A little gallows humor.

At last, the cows finish flopping and rutting, and the slaughtermen get to work. No movement is wasted. First, they attach large chains to the hind legs of the cows, which are hooked to a large industrial winch that allows them to be pulled efficiently through the mud and up to the back of the box truck. Once there, Stovall and Barnes set up two huge plastic barrels and sharpen their knives. They wash the mud and blood off Baby and Snowday using a hydraulic pump water system mounted to the back of the truck and then skin them in clean, easy slices, like pulling up carpet from a remodeled den. They sharpen the knives constantly. They chop off the fore and aft limbs, cracking the legs (first at the coffin joint, or the hemline of the hoof, then at the stifle, roughly equivalent to the human knee) and tossing the discarded hooves and bones into the gore buckets. Handsaws and bonesaws come out next, and it’s all surreal to watch, numb and horrific and dreamlike.

Snowday’s corpse begets considerable inquiry; she’d concealed a large abscess beneath her breast, and Hinnen fixates on it. She has become analytical and focused now, setting aside the emotional thoughtfulness of a few moments ago for something more like evaluation (the bundle of sage long ago extinguished in the rain), assessing the cow for its health, cutting open the offending abscess, allowing a mixture of puss and blood to flow onto the grass like liquid nacho cheese. Meanwhile, Barnes pulls Baby’s heart from the chest cavity—a normal part of the slaughter process in which an animal is dismantled—and washes it with the hydraulic pump, sending first a spurt of blood and then a rush of water cascading out of the left ventricle.

“I guess she was a lover,” he says, chuckling. “She’s got a big heart.”

An enormous sack of organs is removed next, including the cow’s stomach, which Barnes and Stovall slice open to remove the contents, revealing a pungent aroma of partially digested grass. Hinnen crouches over it to evaluate as the slaughtermen begin breaking down Snowday and Baby into quarters, firing up an electric saw to carve through bone and sinew. As they strip the cows down, they start to look like steak—I notice a hint of marbling, of raw exposed flesh like what I might see at a butcher’s counter.

I’m standing there, thumbing notes into my damp phone, the text jumping all over on me, trying to keep my shit together as Hinnen starts hauling Baby’s skin over to the back of her pickup truck. It’s a heavy job and something in me is compelled to help. I bend over and assist her in dragging the hide. There’s blood on my hands, city parka, and shoes as we carry Snowday’s beautiful brown-and-cream skin.

“I’ll use all of this,” Hinnen says, lifting with her knees, pink bibs and beanie and long blonde hair wet with rain. “Some for leather, some for pillows. We’ll even make candles out of the fat. Everything from today, it’s all going somewhere. It all means something.”

Weeks later I text her to ask about producing products from the cows I watched at the harvest. “My goal is to bring more value to these hard-working dairy girls and show the world that they’re more than just ground beef,” she says. “Even the skulls are saved and cleaned as well. I currently have Baby and Snowday’s pretty skulls decorating my living room.”

I’m punch-drunk from the sight of it all as I drive the long way back to Portland, down the lonely highway and through the little town of Molalla, passing family farms and solar harvest fields, alien crops tilting toward the hidden sun. In that moment, part of me never wants to eat meat again, and part of me wants to eat a steak, and I feel like neither version makes sense.

The thing is, this kind of meat is delicious. If, at the end of the day, what you really care about is taste, retired dairy beef from a happy cow with a happy life is one of the most remarkable things you can eat. My first time eating retired dairy cow, back in 2020, was nothing short of revelatory: The flavor was deep, the chew umami-rich and savory. The fat had something herbaceous in it, like clover and green grass, and the meat had just the most evocative nutty-beefy-bloody taste. You barely even have to cook this kind of beef, and all the rest of my favorite things to enjoy with it—a spike of fresh horseradish, a buttery fork of sautéed mushrooms, a funky pop of Stilton blue cheese, and, most especially, the crisp, clean cut of good red wine—compose themselves in a polyphony of flavors and textures.

“The meat on older animals is the most incredibly dark shade of red and will be capped with yellow fat full of carotene from a life spent grazing fresh grass,” Kevin Smith says. He’s a James Beard Award–nominated chef and butcher who operates Beast & Cleaver, a butcher shop in Seattle that sells exclusively small-production meat from local family farms, often with a focus on retired dairy cows.

“The beef flavor of these cuts is just massively amplified,” he continues. “Cooked properly and sliced against the grain, the flavor is unparalleled. It’s one of the most marvelous things you can eat in your life.”

Whatever it is you think about this world—the meat community, small-production beef—I can tell you that the resulting products are not just delicious, but delicious in a way that is moving, emotional, even profound. That might sound woo-woo to some. But when you understand how the food on your plate has died, I think you simply taste it more deeply.

I somehow pilot the car back across the highway, but I can’t go home yet. I need to talk with someone, to process the experience, and so I drive, quite without realizing it, despite how obvious the choice may seem, in the direction of my favorite city butcher shop. It’s exactly the sort of joint that focuses on small-production animal farms, a place called Revel Meat Co.

A butcher named Vicary Biggs is working the counter—he’s the guy I buy meat from most weekends—and I just start unloading on him, telling him all about what I’ve just witnessed, the gun and the knives and the gore and the mud and the rain. “That’s so cool,” he says empathetically. (I am visibly rattled.) “Most people never see that part of the process. More people should.”

Rachel Hinnen wasn’t kidding when she said everything from today would be used in some way or another. On Instagram, she posts the video from earlier in the day, crouching in the mud, the rain falling around her tear-reddened face. “I’m hanging out here with Baby and Snowday,” she says, “and today is their day to go.” The story is saved under an Instagram highlight titled, simply, “Slaughter Days.” The slaughter itself isn’t shown.

When I finally arrive back home, my shoes are splattered in dirt and mud and shit and blood, but I can’t seem to bring myself to clean them. They sit for a day like that, two days, and I know I really should take care of it, but I keep avoiding the moment. It’s been weeks now, everything caked into the soles, dried and unyielding. Something about it feels both wrong and right.

#food #ethics

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kamreadsandrecs · 1 year

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By Jordan Michelman

Smoke billows from the sage, and the smell immediately alters the cows’ demeanor; they become noticeably mellower, even contemplative. Or is that just my projection? My own anxieties?

“At the end of the day, the animals need to die,” So tells me. “They need to go to harvest.”

“The waiting is the hardest part,” Hinnen says, joining me by the Jerseys.

“So when it happens,” I ask, making nervous small talk in the rain, “how do they, like…how do they do it?”

We sit with this information together.

Time passes at a crawl. The cows forage. The rain falls. Every few moments we hear, then see, a new truck passing along the country road, but it is not the truck.

A big van goes past—like what we’re looking for, I figure—but it’s for someone else’s project, someone else’s rural tableau. My heart is roaring in my chest now, adrenaline pumping.

Stovall loads the rifle. The men enter the pen. Everything is quiet.

“I hate this part,” Hinnen says. She covers her ears. I follow her lead.

CRACK!

Instantly I smell the gunfire, acrid and clinging to the nose, suspended in the drizzle. One shot, one kill. Snowday drops in a heap, the lovely brown of her hide sinking into the mud.

CRACK!

Baby falls next to Snowday. Smoke hangs in the air. The valley is a whisper.

The Jerseys are gathered together at the fence behind us, watching intently across the 10 long minutes. “You guys are next!” Hinnen says, joking. A little gallows humor.

“I guess she was a lover,” he says, chuckling. “She’s got a big heart.”

#food #ethics

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venus616 · 2 years

Text

streets; {tasm!peter parker}

Pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader (writing challenge is tasm but you can interpret this as any peter parker if you so please)

Summary: and I can’t be without you, why can’t I find no one like you? (lyrics by doja cat, streets)

Part of @liz-allyn's 900th celebration! (congratulations btw <3) the prompt I chose to work with is "Not My Peter"; post no way home, tasm peter comes back to his home dimension with a new lease on life. problem is, another, identical peter parker is happy to take it for himself. that includes you.

Warnings: established relationship, smut, vaginal fingering/sex, dubious consent (dubcon), consensual non consensual (cnc), unprotected sex, morally gray, moral themes, 18+, NSFW

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N (PLS READ): this is a dark fic, please do not read if you are uncomfortable with these themes being explored or believe it will trigger you :( I am not responsible for the media/fics you consume, so only open at your own risk! ty~

more here: the aftermath | the bet

You anxiously checked your phone for any texts from Peter, awaiting his return by the time you got back from work today. Sometimes you wondered if it was worth having Spider-Man as a husband, but twice as much when he was doing multi-dimensional travel semi-regularly. You know that he wouldn’t be able to reach you if he was still on a different earth or universe or-

Whatever he calls it. You find it difficult to keep up.

So the only signal you would get that he was okay is when he texts you that he’s back safe. You walk into your shared apartment with groceries, carefully taking out the chocolate milk to put in the fridge for him. You hear chimes behind you and feel a cold breeze as you bend over with the fridge door open, but know it wasn’t coming from your area.

You immediately turn around and see the white eyes of his suit staring back at you from the distance in the shimmery portal of a vague, typical New York rooftop.

When you see one, your eyes scan from left to right, and notice there’s two of them.

He also has explained the fact that there were Spider-Men, people (or anything) in countless universes to you before but you could never quite wrap your head around it. But, you remembered enough from those honest conversations to recognize that this was one of those cases.

They seem deep in conversation, but you couldn’t tell who was who as the suits and physical builds were identical. Both had the masks fully on and they shook hands, perched on the edge of the roof. But, one continues to glance at you during. You waved for whichever one was yours and got your answer as the second pair of bug eyes turned back around to run towards you, waving a peace sign to the other Spider figure.

As soon as Peter jumps back into your world, you wrap your hands around him, opening your eyes and catching the lifeless stare of the other Spider-Man before the portal closes.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” Peter says, slightly muffled underneath his mask. You grin while nuzzling your head in the crook of his neck before responding.

“Good, I can’t afford to compete with the multiverse,” You feel his hand caressing your head, gently gesturing for you to look at him as he removes his mask. You instantly feel relief seeing him back with you, safe and not finding random injuries on him.

Your hands immediately reach for his face, running over every line and crease of his smile from his cheeks to his eyes.

“You’re always gonna be my number one priority. Remember?” Peter reminds you as he places his much larger hand over yours on his face, fingers pressed onto your ring.

It had been a little over a year since the actual wedding, and you don’t think you’d get over the fact that you married the love of your life.

“I love you,” You mutter, leaning into his personal space even more to kiss him. He accepts your advancement and kisses you back. His lips are chapped against your soft ones, but you love it all the same as the pressure he placed against them was so light. You almost lose your breath trying to reciprocate the softness he was providing you, dizzied when he echoes your words.

“I love you, too.”

Before you could even think, you laid beside Peter in bed, your hair disheveled while Peter’s just got even more messier than usual. The ache between your legs began to disappear as you hiked one knee across his legs and had your head resting on his chest.

He holds you close while his breathing steadies and your focus on his heartbeat.

“How was this one?”

Your fingertips trace his pectorals while his arms squeeze your body in his grasp.

He hesitates before starting.

“You know how I’ve met versions of myself before?” You nod, planting your hand on his chest before lifting your head slightly to look up in his direction.

“This guy was my twin.” Peter’s voice croaks hardly above a whisper. You only move to readjust yourself with your chin above your hands on his chest, laying down on your stomach to focus on whatever he’s about to say.

“Twin,” You repeat.

“Babe, it was like looking into a mirror,” He adds. There’s no punchline but his lips tug up at what he just said before chuckling humorlessly.

“But we’re so different. He said that he feels stuck, that he’s not pulling his punches anymore. So I was trying to cheer him up, but he’s in a tough spot right now.” Peter shakes his head as he recalls it, and you furrow your eyebrows listening to him.

“You look hung up about it,” You observe, concerned for Peter’s internal monologue. You know how he gets when he overthinks, and you know if he thinks he can help it, he’d be able to help everyone or fix everything.

“What if I can help him?” He admits, confirming your suspicions. You shake your head, before lifting yourself from his body, taking a loose sheet to cover your chest as you move up to face him.

“Maybe he doesn’t need your help?” You try to reason with him, not wanting to put himself at multiverse risk unless he absolutely needs to. It’s clearly important to him in more ways than you can ever understand because of how supposedly identical they were. You took Peter’s word for it but still, part of you couldn’t buy that this was his destiny to go help fix whatever part of his life that he’s in.

“You don’t know that,” Peter sighs, frustrated as he’s still wracking his head around the last encounter.

You can only imagine what they talked about.

“You don’t either,” You point out. Peter’s big brown eyes meet yours. Gentle, still tired from the mission but also from the welcome back sex, pleading you to indulge him into his matyrdom.

Peter clicks his tongue, more at himself than at you and you raise your eyebrow.

“Right.” He clarifies that it’s his thoughts that he’s criticizing.

The next 48 hours were calm but you could tell Peter was more distracted than usual, presumably about his other self.

You were getting ready for bed, taking melatonin to knock out as soon as possible after the long day you had. You slipped in the covers beside him, listening to his drawn out monologue about how it’s what's best and he’ll feel guilty if he doesn’t do it.

“But it’s not your responsibility,” You remind him in a sleepy voice as your eyelids get heavier. Peter scowls, your vision doesn’t catch it entirely but you know he doesn’t agree.

“Who would I be if I didn’t do anything to help myself?” You rolled your eyes at his sentiment.

“Pete, I know I’ll never understand but you have to move on, your life is here,” You readjust your head on the pillows as Peter turns over to fully get into bed. You’re suspicious of him as his suit is in direct eyesight of you both from the closet.

Peter is staring up ahead, probably not registering your pleas that his own life and responsibilities on the earth he’s from should be more important, also the fact that he shouldn’t be messing with the fate of another version of himself just because he feels obligated to help.

For a man who was so logical, his moral reasoning seemed to go out the window when you rationalized the importance of leaving other people’s decisions and lifepaths alone.

So much so that by the next morning, there’s an empty space next to you and his suit is gone. You stare at the empty hanger and let out an exasperated sigh with the note that was taped on your bedside table in hand.

“I’m sorry baby, I have to do this.

Just give me a few days.

Love you the most -Peter.”

This wouldn’t be the first time he ghosted you with only a note to explain, but he was going to get an earful from you by the time he gets back. You don’t know how you let him get away with as much as he does but you suppose those are the things that come with marriage. Marriage to a superhero came with an entirely different set of terms and conditions though.

It was day 5 of Peter’s moral-responsibility escapade and you were getting terrified. You felt bad for constantly asking Miles if he or anyone from the several other dimensions had heard of anything but he was kind enough to keep you updated with as much as he knew.

Of course, that meant the answer was always:

“No, sorry Mrs. Parker.”

You would sigh and hang up the phone.

It was exhausting, not having your husband around but also knowing he was quite literally not in your dimension.

You tried to do anything to alleviate your stress and imagined him eventually texting you that he’s okay and swinging home as soon as possible, knowing that it would only make you scared to imagine the opposite.

You were cleaning the kitchen, carefully taking off your wedding ring to put on the counter so it wouldn’t rip your gloves and silently hoped that whenever Peter came back, he would be safe and not trying to continue fixing other people’s lives.

That evening passes by painfully but while trying to block out the thoughts through a self care routine for the night, you realize that this isn’t the longest Peter had been gone. He should be fine and he’ll come back happier, regardless of the outcome knowing that at least he tried. He deserves to come back feeling proud for knowing that he did what he could rather than leaving it at that. However, he was definitely pushing it as it was already more than a few days.

You slip into one of your t-shirts that are really one of Peter’s and a pair of sleeping shorts, turning off the lights in the house until you hear a loud noise, like a pan's clattering in the kitchen. You’re afraid as you can’t be completely sure that it’s Peter coming back and that you very well could be in danger without him. You call out for his name and get no response.

Light on your feet, you tip-toe through the hall towards where the noise is coming from and see an illumination of the light on the floor, knowing that it is a portal. He’s been going in and out of them so long you recognized the patterns easily enough. You turn on the light in the kitchen and see his figure in his tattered suit, ripped revealing his bruised and bloody skin underneath.

You see that one of his gloves is hanging on by the seams, a wedding band tearing the fabric from underneath, blood decorating the silver.

Rasping out his name, your hands reaching for his hand with the ring. His fingers immediately intertwine with yours, almost trembling and feeling desperate.

His voice is low and guttural when he says your name, taking off his mask to reveal his face. You feel relief wash over you knowing that your baby is home again and hug him like you have so many times before. You hear him choking back a sob while his much taller frame is swallowing yours and cooed for him to relax, worried about what he saw in this dimension that’s warranting this reaction.

“It’s okay baby, you’re back home now,” Is what you repeat, running your hand over his back, careful not to touch his wounds.

You lead him back into the bathroom, slowly stripping his suit off in silence knowing that he’ll speak when he wants to. He was acting a bit standoffish, staring at you and mute. You didn’t know what to say or the right questions to ask, so you ran the rag under the water and started gently cleaning the blood off of him. His suit was strewn across the floor, and boots were standing upright by the tub. You were thankful he had a few extras in the closet before having to sew anymore.

Peter’s stare is empty, his brown eyes look black and he looks like he hadn't been sleeping since he left. You run your fingers across his cheeks softly as you always have but this time he flinches. You quickly remove your hands from his general bubble not wanting to alarm him as you’re still standing in between his legs as he’s seated on the edge of the bathtub.

You know he regrets it when he grabs your hand to bring his cheek again, staring at you from below through his wet eyelashes.

“‘M sorry bub,” He says it like he’s ashamed. You shake your head to reassure him, and can’t help but smile at the nickname.

“You haven’t called me that in so long. Since we first started going out,” You remind him, smiling wider as you recall your earlier memories with him. A blush creeps up Peter’s cheek but he begins to smile back. He wraps his large arms around the small of your back to bring you closer, his face nuzzling on your tummy before his voice perks up.

“Why did I ever stop?”

You shrug, placing his chin in between your fingers so you can make eye contact with him. “We grew up.”

Peter nods, smiling tiredly, “Right.”

He’s not acting much differently than he usually does when he first comes back, but he’s more injured than his past trips so you know that this time was different.

“What happened with your twin?” You ask as you’re kneeled on the tiled floor before him. You’re cleaning up his scratches with alcohol and cotton balls, discarding the red and pink stained ones in the trash next to you.

“Nothing,” He mumbles, wincing every time you run another cotton ball over a fresher gash.

“Doesn’t look like nothing, Peter,” You scold him for not telling you everything. Your hands remain on the top of his thighs when you stand back up, your shorts riding right below your hips when Peter takes the pleasure of raising your t-shirt to kiss your body.

You’re ticklish at the sudden affection, squirming underneath his sudden display of strength, lips and rough, calloused hands trailing all around your stomach until he stops. You catch your breath from the involuntary giggling he caused when he’s staring at your hips.

“Nine hundred and ninety-nine,” He comments, raising his eyebrow when you realize what he’s referring to. You snort at his confusion and the way he said it.

“You’re such a nerd, you know it’s nine-nine-nine.” You roll your eyes at his sudden awareness of your numerology tattoo. He scoffs with a smile, sighing at the sight of you. There’s a quiet pause and the silence lingering in the air.

“Do you remember the day we got it?”

Peter nods, but not without a favor. “Tell me, I’m already forgetting about it.” His grin widens.

You shake your head flashing a toothy smile at him. He returns one back. “It was only a few years ago. Did you hit your head on a portal the way back?” You try to joke at his lack of memory today.

He laughs along as you sit down on one of his thighs knowing he’d easily support your weight. You wrap your hands around his neck and stare longingly at him before recalling the memory. His stare is not as cold and distant as it was earlier, so you feel better around him again.

“I just like listening to you talk, of course I remember.” He explains.

You nod, failing to hide how good that made you feel. He readjusts his leg to hold you closer while your hands find their way in his hair again.

“The night we met, I just kept seeing 9’s all day. It was 9 on the dot when I walked into the place we were at 9th avenue, it was September, the temperature was like 90 degrees. It was too much of a coincidence.” You can tell you’re rambling so you look back up from the spot you were staring at to see if Peter was still listening.

Of course he was. He nods for you to continue.

“And when I told you this a few years later, I felt like I was meant to meet you because it was the start of a new beginning. 999 is the angel number for it,” He furrows his eyebrows and you shake your head again.

“Then you laughed at me because you’re such a geek and went on a tangent about probability,” You pause as Peter throws his head to the side, a small laugh escaping his throat from fake offense.

You also giggle but force yourself to continue, “But then you agreed, because of how important I became to you. I think we were on a date when I got a receipt telling you this and we were the 999th table served at that diner and then I said that this is our number, and you said we should get it tattooed.”

He hangs onto every word as you recount the memory, he cuts you off with the ending of the story. “So we did it that day.”

You nod, feeling a bit of relief.

Your head is laying on his shoulder when he finishes the story, thinking about how many times you’ve rehearsed this explanation of how you had a matching tattoo with your boyfriend before you guys became engaged.

“You tell it the best,” Peter interrupts your thoughts.

You nuzzle your head in his chest and he takes the opportunity to scoop your body up in his arms by wrapping his other arm underneath your leg to take you to your shared bedroom. You squeal in surprise begging him not to move so suddenly or else he’ll get blood on the sheets but he ignores your requests and eventually you do too.

When you’re making out with him, your back is pressed up against the bed feeling suffocated by the intensity and desperation of his kisses. You feel his erection through his boxers pressing up against your heat, just as frenzied for his touch as he is for yours. You moan in his mouth, eventually biting his lip when he tries to pull away to undress you as fast as he can. You’re only clad in your underwear by the time he’s pulling down his boxers but notice a difference.

Unsure if you’re seeing things you run your fingers over his skin on the right of his prominent v-lines and notice there’s not any remnants of swollen skin from your matching 999 tattoo with him.

“Peter?” Your voice is small, still laced with lust, unsure if you were overreacting or not.

Peter throws his boxers to the side, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand due to his swift strength while he uses his middle finger to play with your clit through your underwear.

“Fuck, I missed this,” He pauses, staring at your heat before meeting your eyes again. “I missed you so much.”

Your eyes narrow in confusion but it’s hard for you to focus on what he’s saying, not fully understanding but also trapped underneath his touch.

“You’re scaring me,” You whimper and it only translates as a moan, breathy as his fingers move faster with your wetness collecting onto them as he pushes your panties to the side. “I’m right here Peter, I’ve always been right here.” You remind him, thinking that he’s alluding to the past few days. In his defense, they did feel like forever.

Your arms struggle underneath his but you move involuntarily, feeling your cunt clench around nothing already. You moan his name on repeat, your breasts jiggling as your chest heaves up and down from his attention.

“I had you before,” He slips one finger in.

“And then I lost you,” Another finger enters.

Peter begins thrusting skillfully before you can think better of it. “I’m not risking that again.”

Your eyes widen at what he just said and the intensity at which his fingers are curling inside you.

You think about the lack of tattoo, the subtle difference in mannerisms since he came back and the fact that Peter had just left in search of an identical version of himself.

Feeling yourself become dizzy, the tightness in your stomach from the fact that you were about to cum mixed in with the fear and realization of the situation at hand. “Where’s Peter?” You choke out when he slows down, edging your high.

He looks up at you, leaning down on your frame to kiss your cheek. You shudder, lip quivering from the onset of tears about to spill out.

“I’m right here bub,” He whispers. Peter picks up the pace of his fingering and your legs close around his hand, not wanting him to go any further. He uses the hand that had been keeping your hands together to open your legs again to continue and you cum around him, sobbing silently at the nickname.

Your tears start to run on your face, salt streaking your skin. Your breath is uneven from the sobs and cumming simultaneously.

“Where’s my Peter?” You place emphasis on the my even though your voice feels like chalk in your throat. You use your hands to support yourself sitting up, trying to keep your legs together when he removed his fingers from your cunt. He shakes his head at the attempt to close access off from him and pushes you back down on the bed, gently as you both know trying to defend yourself would be futile.

You lay down in defeat, watching in shame how he wraps his legs around your waist while his hands are holding your arms above your head once again.

“You know that deep down, I’m him.” Peter's eyes are blown out with lust, his cock standing tall against his lower abdomen. Your eyes trail past this and to the absence of the tattoo and feel the fear making your body frozen again.

You close your eyes and shake your head as he leans down towards your face, trying your best to squirm underneath his body.

“I’ll do anything you want, just don’t do this,” You sob weakly, your chest feels as though it’s going to cave in. “You’re not him but you don’t have to do this, please,” You cry a bit louder, but not enough for anyone to hear you. You quickly realize that it wouldn’t do any good for people to see someone who has the same exact identity as your husband hurting you, if you wanted any chance of seeing your Peter again.

He slightly readjusts his hips above you and you think he’ll let you go, listening to your pleas but he just hikes up your legs in order to line up to your heat. You hear him chuckling slowly while your legs are instinctively wrapped around his legs, still shaking from how he made you come.

“All I want is you.”

Your heart picks up its pace as you feel his head right underneath your clit and in between your lips, slowly entering you, feeling that space between your legs be fulfilled. Your guilt eats you up knowing that you were enjoying this, and he knew you were enjoying this, but him not being your actual husband.

“Get off of me,” Is what you say but your hips say otherwise. Your moans get ragged as he continues to slowly thrust, allowing you to get used to his size before he picks up the pace. Your body moves back and forth as he does, fucking him back as you maneuever yourself up and down on his length.

He removes his hands from holding you down, mainly to see what you do and you only wrap your chest in embarrassment, biting your lip as he stares down at you.

“You can’t resist me baby,” He acknowledges, you sniffle. His hips thrust into you again, rocking down into you and you clench around him, causing you both to whine in pleasure. He hiked up your leg higher, flatter against your body as he grabbed the underneath of your thigh to go deeper.

Your empty sobs fill the room as the bed under you creaks, he growls in response. “It’s all the same, in every universe you’re mine.”

You shake your head at that, a thread of “No’s” filling your head but you can’t bring yourself to say it aloud. His cock thrusting in and out of you, his hand gripping you like you’re the only thing he can touch is clouding your mind. His toned body is slamming against your hips and you reach out to hold onto him as he gets rougher, wanting him to anchor you for the inevitable climax.

“I love you just as much as him,” He continues, relishing in your high pitched mewls that he took as praise. He groans lower when you make eye contact with him as your hands grip onto his bicep.

“Maybe even more.”

You shake your head, eyebrows pinching up and lips in a pout as you can feel the sobs coming back when you think about your Peter. You have no idea where he is right now. How you’ll explain yourself when he comes back.

If he comes back.

You shake your head even faster and finally verbalize the “No’s” you’ve been wanting to say but couldn’t bring yourself to.

Your legs become sore at the position he kept them in and presses his chest up against yours. He whispers in your ear, “The fact that I even did this for you says a lot.”

Your head is spinning.

“I need you, more than you’ll ever know.” He grunts, his final thrusts feel like he’s about to split you open, he knows this by the way your eyes pinch together in pain and slows down for you, trying to ease the friction by using his thumb to play with your clit during.

You separate your lips in relief and he uses the opportunity to gently kiss you.

He’s not your husband, he’s not your Peter Parker. But you can’t even bring yourself to identify him as an evil version of your lover. Especially not when he kisses you like this.

A version of him that refuses to make the right decisions, prioritizes the wrong things and goes out of his way to get what he wants is still him. Every part of you wants to scream that this is wrong, telling him that there’s another way and that you have to find a way to fix this, but you can’t think straight when he’s all there is in front of you.

Kissing back, you’re desperate to feel him, any version of Peter, on your lips and you squirm underneath when his fingers rub faster on your clit.

Your cunt tightening around his cock when you feel the tension snap in your stomach. Peter’s hips stutter at the feeling, cumming immediately inside of you and separating himself from you. He allows your legs to relax, laying you back down fully when he removes himself from you.

His fingers trace your tattoo, leaning down to kiss it before trailing down to your swollen, puffy cunt.

“I’ll get a 999 tattoo too,” He says nine-nine-nine this time, smirking when you meet his eyes.

“It’ll be a new beginning for both of us.”

It’s the last thing he says before going back in to eat you out, petrifying you to an unfamiliar degree.

2K notes · View notes

ashdreams2023 · 3 years

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was wondering if you could write about Jotun!Loki being a soft dom with a small!human reader? just pure fluff!

OF COURSE I LOVE THAT BIG GUY!

Jotun Loki with a human s/o:

Never in your life have you expected to be where you at in this moment

Drunk maybe, high a possibility but not enjoying your summer break with a blue giant you met in some crazy Vegas party

You just wanted to have fun and when you heard about the huge thing happening a few blocks away you could resist

The alcohol was strong and company was good

More than good and it got better when you tripped over a giant blue foot

No literally you did

"Oh! Hello there little one"

Your heart jumped at the sight of the pretty blue giant looking down on you

You froze for a few seconds, not sure if he was real or were you just dealing with a weird side affect from the alcohol you consumed

"Hi…you’re really pretty"

Loki would chuckle picking you up from the ground and up closer to his face

Yup still pretty

"You humans are extremely cute"

Your cheeks flushed at the complement

" I’m Thor’s best friend, he’s my brother from another mother!"

You liked his attitude, he seemed fun

"Hey, you wanna try lifting to drink from the chocolate milk fountain over there?"

"Only if I can turn it cold to ice cream afterwards"

"I like how you think…"

"Loki, it’s Loki"

That’s how you met and you wouldn’t change it for the world

He wouldn’t put you down in any crowded places, his shoulder was your favorite spot now

His hair is like super cool and soft

Would rub his cool finger over your cheeks if he noticed your sweating or feeling too hot

Nobody is touching you while you’re wasted

He kisses your head whenever you remotely do anything he finds cute

And that’s basically everything

Let’s you touch the lines on his face and grown

Chuckled at how quick you start shivering when you touch the horns

Kiss his face and you’ll get a happy giant

He holds you in his hand when he dances and it’s like a big roller costar

He knows if you had enough to drink and would take anything alcohol from your tiny grip and give you something solid to eat instead

"You should take it easy little one"

If you fall asleep on him he would keep you safe until you feel like waking up or just take you somewhere quiet

He makes you an ice bracelet, it doesn’t melt from heat it has his magic on it

Honestly like just ask him for anything and he’ll do it for you

You’re so cute it’s hard saying no

When he eventually has to leave to his home, he takes you two to stay alone for a few minutes

"That was like the best vacation I’ve ever had and you just made it perfect! Am I going to see you again?"

His eyes soften at you

"I had fun too, and of course you’ll see me again, earth is such a interesting place"

You try kissing his lips, it’s weird but cute at the same time

Just a peck, lips just bark touching then you hugged his face one last time

"Take care little one and stay out of trouble"

"No promises but I’ll try!"

Well one of you kept their promise and you were sitting on his shoulder yet again at New Years

#loki laufeyson #jotun loki x reader #jotun loki #fanfic #imagine #headcanon #mcu #loki x reader #loki imagine #loki/y/n #mcu loki #loki #rightful king of jotunheim

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midnightswithdearkatytspb · 3 years

Text

VelvetCardiganBucky’s Recommendations 2021: Week 12 & 13 | March 14th – March 27th

Welcome to weeks 12 & 13 of my recommendations, if you would like to be featured on a future list, I follow the hashtag #VelvetCardiganBucky, message me, tag me in your future works, or reblog this post and link to your story, one-shot, Masterlist, writing challenge, etc.

Be aware some if not most stories and writers on this list are meant to be consumed by an audience of those 18+. My blog is also an 18+ blog.

✨Page breaks are made @firefly-graphics✨

«Last Week

Week 14»

My Masterlist

My Fic Rec List of Mafia/Mob Bucky/Sebastian & Steve/Chris/Andy

Stuff I Posted This Week:

Steve + Bey = 4Ever » Steve Rogers and Bey carved places in each other’s hearts, that no one else could ever replace.

I Hear A Symphony » Bucky Barnes x Mutant!Reader — Reader plays an important song to her for Bucky.

—Formerly The Winter Soldier » “I’m no longer the winter soldier, my name is James Bucky Barnes & you're part of my effort to make amends.”

Lee Bodecker

(Mini) Series:

*Give In by @not-a-great-writer » soft!dark!Lee Bodecker x shy!Reader — She didn’t think she was anything special. So when the intimidating Sheriff takes an interest in her, she can’t help but feel a little unsettled. Her boring life is about to get a little interesting. | This story has to be one of my all time series I’ve ever read, and I know I will weep when it’s over. The chapters are decently sized, you have angst, fluff and smut. I couldn’t ask for more, it’s simply a masterpiece.

Deadbeat Pt. 9 by @the-witty-pen-name » Lee Bodecker x F!Reader — You work at the bar at the edge of town, the Sheriff is going through a divorce and needs to rent a room. | Cole thank you for feeding my current Lee Bodecker obsession after I watched The Devil All The Time, for the time. This story is good and I love soft!Lee, and one where no one dies. At least I hope no one dies...

SamBucky

One-Shots:

Loving You Is Cherry Pie by @river-soul » Sam Wilson x Reader x Bucky Barnes — When Sam Wilson, one of your regulars at the cafe finally asks you out, you’re ecstatic until he tells you he wants his friend to join. When you meet Bucky, you decide it might be worth your while after all. [Allusions to stalking, exhibitionism and explicit sex, 18+] | There is just not enough SamBuck stories out there and we have @river-soul to thank for feeding our love for the boys and giving us some good smut, especially to tide us over till Friday.

Nothing Good Happens After 2 AM by @callmeluna » Sam Wilson x Reader x Bucky Barnes — You are admittedly a handful when you’ve had a few drinks in you. Luckily, your partners Sam and Bucky are more than up for the challenge… maybe. | If you are looking for something to make you laugh, might I suggest reading this? The whole time as I read this I couldn’t get the huge smile off my face, it was that good.

Bucky Barnes

Drabbles:

Matching by @heli0s-writes » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Reader and Bucky are “matchy matchy,” with their belly button rings. | This is adorable as well as very funny.

One-Shots:

Smooth Criminal by @bestofbucky » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Based on a dream @velvetcardiganbucky had. You’re parents told you to never give rides to strangers, but when you notice Bucky Barnes trying to break into your car, you know some strangers aren’t so bad. | Jenny did my dream justice! I honestly couldn’t have asked for anything better.

Don’t Over Do It by @whisperlullaby » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Your boyfriend is an asshole. Bucky reminds you that you are perfect the way you are. | I can’t describe this anyway other than perfect, that I wish I had a Bucky like this there for me. Trust me you’ll love the ending.

Coming Home to You by @angrythingstarlight » Biker!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Your Biker boyfriend is finally home and he’s going to show you how much he missed you. With every inch he has. And you’re going to remember how much he loves you. | It’s not very often you read something that has an alternate ending and when you do you find yourself loving both endings. Both endings are hot, the smut is great, again who couldn’t love Biker!Bucky?

Won’t Let You Go by @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay » Mob!Bucky Barnes x OFC!Kori — Kori met Bucky in one of his clubs, out to get shit-faced with a couple of friends to forget about her worries and maybe take home a guy to further rid herself of her numerous frustrations. Little did she know that the one-night stand with Bucky would turn into so much more than that. | Thank you so much for entering my writing challenge, it means so much. This one-shot is so good, it hit me right the feels and left me falling in love with Kori and Bucky.

Show Me How To Ride by @angrythingstarlight » Beefy Biker!Bucky Barnes x Reader — You’ve been keeping a secret from your biker boyfriend. He is going to get the information out of you one way or the other. | It’s hot and it makes you realize just how much you realize just how much you love Biker!Bucky.

Bubble Baths by @floatingpetals » Bucky Barnes x Reader (Modern AU) — Even your boyfriend Bucky, needs to wind down at the end of a stressful with a bubble bath, but he doesn’t want to do it alone. | Okay, so my summary of this sucks but let me just say this is fluffy and smutty all at once. I wish I had Bucky to take a bubbly bath with.

Bad Boy!Bucky Barnes x Shy!Reader by @gagmebucky — in which there’s nowhere to sit and bucky offers his lap—then, subsequently, his cock. (bad boy!bucky x shy!reader, dirty talk, exhibitionism and voyeurism, cockwarming, unprotected sex.) | *chugs water* yeah is it a little hot in here? I probably would have failed class if Bucky had been in my class along with Steve, I wouldn’t have known who to stare at, forget learning the material.

**Greater Good by @fuel-joy » Bucky Barnes x Reader — There is a cure for the zombie outbreak but is it worth the cost. | Grab your tissues, because you are going to need them. Thanks darling for entering my writing challenge and making me feel so many feels with this one.

(Mini) Series:

A Tender Heart ♥️ Pt. 2 by @river-soul » Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader — You’ve been sweet on Bucky since you started working at the compound six months ago. Normally quiet and mild mannered, an unexpired fight with a coworker brings Bucky into your orbit. [A/B/O dynamics, brief mention of bullying and fluff] | If anyone can pull at your heartstrings it’s @river-soul making the beginning of this series look so promising and I can’t wait to see where it goes.

Run To You 🪙 Pt. 10 🪙 Pt. 11 🪙 Pt. 12 by @bestofbucky » Mob!Bucky Barnes x Bodyguard!Reader — Mob boss Bucky Barnes hires you to be his bodyguard. | Jenny left me at the edge of my seat, making this such an amazing story, I always look forward to her updates, and so sad that there is only 1 chapter left.

Better than Working sequel to This by @angrythingstarlight » Beefy Biker!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Beefy Biker Bucky shows you all the benefits of working from home. In fact what he has for you is so much better than work. | Sometimes you just need to read something hot to lift your spirits, let this do that.

Stucky

One-Shots:

*Tell Me What You Want by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Steve Rogers x Reader; Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Your mob boyfriend, is none other than Steve Rogers and he is willing to get you whatever you wanted, all you have to do is ask. And be careful what you ask for because he’s going to give it to you over and over again. | This is so hot that I highly recommend not reading this anywhere out in public. The smut in this is just *chefs kiss*

(Mini) Series:

Miracle Pt. 2 🥀 Pt. 1 by @heavenhatesme » Soft!Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader; Soft!Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader — When infertility threatens mankind with extinction and there hasn’t been a baby for almost 18 years, what happens when two certain super soldiers fall for the same woman and accidentally impregnate her? | It’s not tagged as dark, sorry to the writer I tagged it that please forgive me? But I just want to tell everyone heed the tags. I do look forward to reading what happens next. The smut in this is great!

Invisible Ink by @navybrat817 » Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader; Bucky Barnes x Reader x Steve Rogers — The owners of the Howling Commandos Tattoo Parlor want to make you their best girl. | I love the idea of tattoo’d Bucky and Steve, but that's because I have a weakness for tattoo’s. So this series is just right up my alley, and the start of it is so good that I know it’s good to be a great one!

Steve Rogers

Drabbles:

Chocolate Milk & Dino Nuggets by @nony-bear » Steve Rogers x Reader — Daddy Steve helps make his little girl feel better after a long week. DDLG THEMES | Had me wishing I had a Steve to make me Dino nuggets after a long day at work. It’s precious folks.

Prompt 4K Drabble Challenge by @sweeterthanthis » Steve Rogers x Reader — “Show me how deep you can take it.” | You’re going to need an ice cold bath after this one.

One-Shots:

A Cruel Tide by @writerwrites » Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader — A lost hero thinks she needs saving, but this divorcée’s needs were different, fleeting, and then full of attachment. Can they overcome the burdens on their shoulders and keep their word? | Sometimes you want to wrap the reader and Steve in a blanket and protect them while enjoying the smut. This gave me that and more.

Untitled Request by @navybrat817 » Steve Rogers x Reader — Sending Steve a naughty photo while he’s in a meeting leads to punishment that will remind you to never do it again, right? | Hi, I’m just going to drench myself in ice cold water. ✌🏻

(Mini) Series:

*Control Pt. 3 🔐 Pt. 1 🔐 Pt. 2 by @river-soul » dark!Steve Rogers x Reader — When a probationary agent asks you out on a date you learn Steve’s intentions for you have evolved. He doesn’t take kindly to someone touching what’s his. [Noncon, physical violence (biting), grooming behavior and explicit sex, 18+] | Definitely one of my favorite series to read on Tumblr so far, you know it’s dark, and the smut is great. I always look forward to the updates on this one.

*Lipstick and Crayons 🖍 Ch. 4 by @oneoftheprettynerds » Dark Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader — Steve can’t ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can’t get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob. | This story always gets my heart a racing and leaves you with questions as to what is going to happen next. I truly love it and Soft!Dad while being Angry!Mob boss Steve all at the same time, this story just has it all for me.

This Is My Unbecoming by @river-soul » Werewolf!Steve Rogers x Witch!Reader — When the Hydra pack graduates from turning humans to swell their ranks to kidnapping and murdering witches to consolidate power, Steve knows he needs to strike. He makes a deal with a powerful coven leader for a witch of his own in exchange for destroying the rogue pack. [Magical realism, biting, blood, slightly dubious consent and explicit sex, 18+] | Okay this is so good and I would like to thank the teenage mind of @river-soul for creating this! Like seriously thank you. I look forward to reading more!

It’s been a long, long time ☕️ Ch.1 by @mostly-marvel-musings » Steve Rogers x Reader — Steve Rogers – a man who has lost too much finds himself blending into the crowd in attempts to forget his past but revisits familiar places and spends days sketching his heart out. A rainy evening leads him to find shelter in your coffee shop. Is having meaningful conversations over endless cups of coffee with a stranger the key to unlocking a heart that’s lost the will to love? | The prologue tore my heart out, it truly did but the first chapter just puts the pieces back together. I really love this and I’m honestly looking forward to reading what happens next. I can’t thank you enough for entering my writing challenge!

*Not A Team Part: 1 by @shedobewritingalittle » Steve Rogers x Reader — The Reader tries to live a normal life, but her memories won’t leave her alone. Rhodey comes to visit the reader with a proposition. | There aren't a lot of stories out there that have walk on parts with Rhodey in it and I didn’t know how much I missed out on having him in stories till I read this. This was just so well written and the characterization of Rhodey was perfect, how Peyton got the emotions written across, it’s perfect. Read this and have some tissues on hand. I will always love it.

Andy Barber

One-Shots:

Closing Arguments by @river-soul » Andy Barber x Reader — Andy and you are going out for the first time since your daughter’s birth. Anxious about leaving her behind Andy does his best to make you feel better. [Fluff with explicit sex (f recieving), 18+] | So fluffy and sweet!

Keep the Heat by @ozarkthedog » Andy Barber x Reader — Andy fucks you in the coat. | Semi-Short and the smut is oh so good.

(Mini) Series:

Homebound 🏡 Ch. 1 by @fuel-joy » Dark!Andy Barber x Reader — You witness your neighbor kill his wife. You try to gather evidence all from the comfort of your home. | Prepare to be at the edge of your seat with this one, it’s just that good.

One Night by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor » Dark!Andy Barber x Reader — One night changes your entire life. | This is dark and exciting, with tons of angst in it. I love a real good dark!Andy fic and this is it.

Chris Evans

One-Shots:

Mirrors by @cherrychris » Chris Evans x Reader — “wanna know what i see? me owning you and this sweet little pussy” | Sometimes you read things that just blow your mind and this was one of those things.

*Work Party by @harrylovex » Chris Evans x Reader — you get drunk at a work party and chris looks after you… | This is really adorable and probably one of my favorite fluffy Chris Evans one-shots I’ve ever read.

Misc.

One-Shots:

An Act of Kindness by @stargazingfangirl18 » Jake Jensen x Female!Reader — A simple act of kindness seals your fate. | I would like to simply start of by saying that this was my first Jake Jensen fanfiction in years, or maybe my first one, and all I could was where have I been hiding from him? So good and glad I read this and so will you!

*Come Back Safe by @celestialbarnes » Sam Wilson x Reader — based on tfatws, you find out sam’s leaving for a mission, afraid to lose the man you love, you confront him, and he promises you to come back. | So fluffy you’ll want to cuddle it under a blanket fort and wish under a thousand starry night skies for it to come true.

(Mini) Series:

Fiery Friends Pt. 3 🔥 Pt. 4 by @wanderinglunarnights » Johnny Storm x OFC!Sophia Jones — Johnny invites his best friend Sophia to stay with him in his penthouse during quarantine. | I really like this story, because I find myself mentally rooting for Sophia and Johnny, also going you go girl. Looking forward to what is next for this duo.

Ensnared Pt. 2 🔗 Pt. 1 by @stargazingfangirl18 » Ransom Drysdale x Female!Reader; minor Robert Pronge (Mr. Freezy) x Reader — Robert preps you for the handoff to the smooth talking stranger who bought you, but before he lets you go, he wants to have a little fun first. | So good and hot. Honestly I look forward to hopefully finding out what happens between the reader and Ransom.

Made With Love by @ayybtch » Wanda Maximoff x f!Reader + Friends to Lovers — Wanda is an excellent cook but a terrible baker. A rough day leads her to the bakery in the Avengers compound where she meets you, the lead baker. After a dismal attempt at making chocolate chip cookies, you volunteer to help Wanda learn how to bake. Your friendship grows stronger with each successful recipe until the two of you stumble into something even sweeter than baked goods. | This story will constantly have you smiling, sure it’s only 3 chapters so far, but I started off reading it in a bad mood but by the 3rd chapter I was just so sappy and happy. I can’t wait for more!

Without Me by CuttingMyFingersOff » Legolas x OFC!Braigeth — Braigeth was an elf who has nothing but memories of Legolas to help her survive being imprisoned in the walls of Orthanc. That is, until she is able to escape and reunite with him. | I’ve been invested in this since my friend came forward to me with the idea for this story and now that it’s being written, I couldn’t be more excited to read it. I need more Lord of the Rings in my life if I’m being honest.

Forever and Ever More by @syntheticavenger » Dark Alpha!Ransom Drysdale x Omega!Reader — Ransom Drysdale may be Boston’s most eligible Alpha but he has his eyes set on you. With his inheritance hanging in the balance, he won’t take no for an answer, whether you like him or not. | Prepared to go on a Hawaiian EMOTIONAL roller coaster with this story, there are so many times in this story you find yourself picking your jaw up off the floor. I’ve linked you to chapter 9, which has all the previous chapters, listed.

Is A Shout Out To My...

@bluemusickid in celebration of 700 followers is hosting a Holi Celebration Writing Challenge, that is due April 30th, but extension can be given. Any Marvel or MCU characters can be used in addition to Chris Evans and his characters. The theme is Holi and its colors, for better explanation visit the link provided.

@whisperlullaby in celebration of 700 followers is hosting a 700 Followers Challenge, your entries will be due May 5th. The theme is kinks, no RPF, DDLG/MMLG, bathroom related , incest, or under age kinks. This is MCU characters, Sebastian Stan, and Chris Evans characters x OFC or Reader. For more information visit the link provided. Congrats Becca on the 700 followers you deserve it hun!

@stargazingfangirl18 in celebration of 5K followers is hosting a Soft Dark Writing Challenge, which is due May 31st. Don’t let the name fool you, your writing can be soft, dark, or soft!dark, or headcanons about any Chris character. 500 word minimum with no max, but new or be read as a stand alone piece. For more information visit the link provided and be sure to congratulate Siri on her 5K milestone!

@cloudystevie in celebration of 4K followers is hosting a Mob!AU Writing Challenge, that is due on May 30th. You can use Chris Evans and any of his characters he’s played before, as well as make it NSFW or SFW. To learn more about it please visit the link below. Also congratulations Jasmeen on the 4K followers! 💗

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vibraniumwing · 3 years

Text

the truth in your eyes.

a bucky barnes x fem!reader blurb wherein the reader shows bucky that someone does trust him.

WARNING: TFATWS SPOILERS, bucky having flashbacks, aside from that nothing else. (maybe a dash of angst if you squint just enough)

A/N: so as you all know, episode four was a rollercoaster of emotions for everyone and well that one scene where bucky was finally set free tore me into a million pieces, making me sob so hard (the hardest since the last episode of wandavision) and gave me so much muse. listened to hate to see your heartbreak by paramore while writing this. totally didn’t cry while re-watching those scenes for this fic. (sobbed even more when i listened to safe and sound bye)

beta read by these two lovelies: @anchoeritic and @harrysweasleys but mistakes are all mine!

---

“...Hail HYDRA” was all that left Bucky’s lips as he easily snapped the neck of the man that he pursued in another mission as the Winter Soldier. His face was blank and cold as he stood there, eyes gazing over the lifeless body of the man in front him before looking at the other man standing by the end of the hallway, practically frozen with fear.

The sound of his boots were resonating in the hallway, overpowering the clatter of the keys of the man as he tried his best to unlock his hotel room. Panic consumed him as he felt The Winter Soldier’s presence draw nearer to him, “P-Please, I didn’t see anything,” He begged, avoiding the super assassin’s intimidating gaze.

Fear creeping into his system as he knew he was facing his untimely death as the stare of the man made him cower even more in fear, his breath staggered as he spoke, “I- I didn’t see anything.” He repeated profusely, unable to control his sobs as the gun was easily pointed to him, eyes closing as his demise came with a loud

BANG

Bucky jolted awake, sweat accumulating on his forehead, his body flushed despite the cold air that drifted through the room. His head turned to the cause of the sudden sound only to see your water bottle on the floor and your siamese cat, Steve, replacing its spot. He shifted his attention to you, wanting to make sure that you weren’t disturbed in your sleep.

The corner of his lips turned into a smile to see you deep in your slumber, your plush tiers slightly ajar as soft snores escaped. You looked so snug and harmless in his shirt, its size making you seem smaller as you were drowning in the clothing piece.

He slowly made his way out of your bed, slipping away to the kitchen to grab some milk to calm down his nerves. His steps were quiet, creeping around the apartment, scared he might accidentally wake you up and the last thing he wants is to disrupt you from your good night’s rest.

Bucky knew the layout of your apartment’s layout like the back of his hand, easily making his way towards the fridge where he grabbed his carton of chocolate milk that you bought especially for him, knowing about the secret love for sweets the man has. Grabbing a mug, he poured the cold drink and placed it inside the microwave, heating it up.

He then leaned back into the kitchen island, arms crossed together as he was still deep in thought, the terror of the innocent man that The Winter Soldier killed haunting him as he knew he had to make amends with his father once he gained the courage to do so. His right arm covering his mouth as he let a frustrated groan, wanting nothing more than to have these dreams stop haunting him.

“It is time” Ayo said from across the fire, spear in her hand as she looked at Bucky with a determined look.

He was less than half of the man he was at present, broken and lost as the Wakandans took him in and helped him regain control over his mind, hoping to give him some sort of stability in his life. Hiis eyes cast down and was focused on the fire in front of him, its warmth giving him a sense of comfort, “You sure about this?” he questioned, voice laced with a mixture of despair and hope.

“I won’t let you hurt anyone” The warrior reassured, staying silent for a moment to give way for Bucky to ready himself. She walked towards him slowly as she started off, “желание” her voice the only thing heard aside from the gust of wind and the crackle of the campfire. “Ржавый”

“...семнадцать” and that’s when he felt it. Flashbacks of him and Steve’s fight along the highway of New York coming back to him, the first time he encountered him after years of no contact; he didn’t even know himself when Steve called him Bucky. His struggle as Zemo got a hold of the infamous red notebook that holds his trigger words, activating the Winter Soldier that caused disruption amongst the avengers.

“добросердечный, добрый. девять” Ayo continued, watching him intently, seeing the struggle that was clear as day on his face. Bucky continued to have his memories thrown at him, seeing the destruction he caused as something he wasn’t, causing him to erupt in tears.

“Один” His torment under the hands of HYDRA causing him great pain as he fought everything under his willpower to keep everything contained. Bucky’s tears were uncontrollable as realization hit him.

“грузовой вагон” Ayo finished, looking at him with a warm and proud smile, relief evident in her demeanor as she spoke, “You’re free.” causing him to erupt into a sob.

Those two words echoing in his mind as he finally felt free, a heavy weight lifted off from his shoulders, feeling himself gain control over the monster that lived inside him; overjoyed and relieved that he can start the journey of being free from there. He was finally James Buchanan Barnes again.

“Bucky!” a voice disconnected him from his train of thought, head whipping to the side where he saw you, clad in just his shirt as you hugged the pillow with one arm, the other raised as you rubbed the sleep off from your eyes. “Your milk is cold again.” you stated, dropping the pillow as you walked in front of him, wrapping your arms around his bare torso.

He was quick to reciprocate the hug, holding you close to him. “You shouldn’t be up yet, doll.” His voice was gruff, trying his best to hold back the tears that welled up in his eyes, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of your head before burying his face against your neck, inhaling your scent that he found comfort in.

“The cold is bed without you.” You mumbled softly, feeling drowsier than ever as the heat from his body was enough to lull you back into slumber. Your jumbled sentence made him chuckle, further proving his point that you should be sleeping.

But you knew Buck like the back of your hand, he would only drink his chocolate milk hot if there was something he wanted to clear his mind so you pulled away just enough for you to look at him, your e/c orbs meeting his icy blue ones that showcase so much emotion that his face couldn’t convey. “What’s wrong, James?”

His brows furrowed for a second upon your use of his real name, knowing that you were serious about your question, “Nothing, baby. I’m fine.” He reassured, squeezing you lightly in his arms, hoping that you would buy his alibi but you weren’t fooled despite your sleepy state.

“You only drink your chocolate milk warm if you have something on your mind, so please, James. Tell me.” You pleaded, your innocent state tugging Bucky at the heartstrings as he flipped your position, easily lifting you to sit on the kitchen island as he positioned himself in the middle of your legs, his arms not leaving your frame.

“I… I had another nightmare.” Buck started off, his voice was still as low as before, but it was laced with a hint of brokenness as he recalled the horror of his dream. “You know the recurring one I’ve been dealing with? That one.” he didn’t want to go into detail about anything, finding it hard to find the right words to use. “I… I still feel like a monster.”

You shushed him, pulling away to let your hands rest on his shoulders, your eyes meeting his once again. “You’re not a monster, Buck. You never were.” Which was true, you were the few who believed that he was innocent and not a cold-hearted killer like everyone believes him to be. “You didn’t have a choice一 so please don’t blame yourself for any of this,”

Your smaller hands found its spot on the sides of his face, wiping the tears that glistened on his skin as the moonlight hit him, highlighting the beauty of his eyes even more. “It would take a person with real empathy to see the truth in your eyes. Those beautiful eyes that have shown me nothing but love and adoration, you have my trust Buck. You have me, Sam, and… Steve. You have us.”

Bucky was silent, taking in your words before nodding, his larger hands engulfing yours as he held them, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you, Y/N. For always believing in me, for trusting me.”

“Always, James. Always.”

---

TAGLIST: @https-bvcky @luana @harrysweasleys @weasleytwins-41 @anchoeritic @lunalovecroft

those whose usernames are in bold, i cannot tag you for some weird reason. join my taglist! it's located in my main masterlist!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fics #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fluff #the winter soldier #marvel #mcu

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btswritingcafe · 2 years

Text

monthly picks by our network’s coffeehouse chat members to you!

americano kisses | myg — @sunshinejunghoseokie

The best part about working at Minju’s Perfect Cup had been the man with the gummy smile. When you come home after spending three years abroad, you find yourself wondering what could have been if only you had stayed.

• pairing: barista yoongi x

• genre: fluff, angst, coffee shop au, f2l

• word count: 4.2k

read here

— sarah @stopeatingwhales

Here are some of my favourite parts: Second paragraph is really beautifully written and described - love it! Paragraph 5: really beautifully written again :) ‘You found solace in the lingering smell of coffee and steamed milk stains littering your apron at the end of a long shift as you rode the bus back to your dorm, feet aching and eyelids heavy.’ I LOVE THIS I really like how Yoongi wasn’t introduced straight away, it provides more context and also creates a warm feeling overall throughout the story! :) ‘His dark eyes - the same color as melted chocolate, the sight of them leaving you as jittery as a cup of fresh coffee - were deeper than any valley or canyon you had ever seen and you often found yourself drowning in them. The deep timber of his voice easily became your favorite sound, the chime of his laughter your favorite song.’ BEAUTIFUL!!! ‘The last person you expect to find standing behind you is none other than Min Yoongi, plastic grocery bags in hand. His face is unreadable, void of any indication of what’s going on inside of his mind, or what’s going on inside of his heart.’ My heart broke I swear ‘You want him to know that for the past three years, your heart has stayed in Seoul with him.’ I can’t handle this what the hell ‘Paying it attention only seems to feed the ill feeling, the discomfort growing until it threatens to consume everything that happened to be in its path.’ Do you mean ‘paying attention to it’? ‘spreading until every last one of your nerve endings is alive and buzzing with energy’ love this

Yoongi and his refusal to let you see yourself home after you had closed up the cafe for the night, even if the sun was still making its descent in the sky, leaving the moon and stars in their wake.’ I love the repetition of ‘Yoongi’ for each paragraph - creates a really heartfelt effect ‘Some people are artists, others are the art themselves.’ IM CRYING THIS IS SUCH A BEAUTIFUL PHRASE ‘It’s impossible to tell where you end and Yoongi begins.’ So cute overall, this fit was so cute and I loved every part of it ! you are a beautiful writer, i'm so astounded by your writing!

— dae @toikiii

This was very cute!! You do an amazing job of describing the scenery and it makes me feel like i've just been dropped of into the middle of the fic. I really enjoyed the tidbits of insight to the mc's life before she moved to the US. The 8 paragraphs after "It’s easy to fall back into a rhythm" is one of my favourite sections in the fic ever. Your word choice really helps sell the atmosphere and tone of the fic.

— mei @meirkive

I'm going to start this feedback by saying how much I loved the little metaphor related to coffee in the first paragraphs (“leaving you as jittery as a cup of fresh coffee), because it really sets the cute feeling that usually surrounds a coffee shop AU and adds to the whole atmosphere. Loved it! I think I found a couple of typos (literally two, I think), but the grammar and sentences are very good and the dialogues between characters all have a good flow. Perhaps things are written as too perfect and with little to none struggles for this story to feel 100% realistic, but in this case it works and it's very fluffy and cute. The way you described the cafe itself was just * chef's kiss * There were so many small details and you used all senses to introduce the place (what it smells like, how the baristas move around, the sounds) and THAT's how it should always be. I could perfectly visualize it, it all felt very real. Another thing I really appreciated is how you embed bits of the past and the characters memories without actually jumping in whole flashback paragraphs that may distract the reader from the main plot and just ruin the flow of the story. Especially loved how you naturally introduced some of the costumers.

On a more negative note (but that's really just my personal taste), I don't think this story should be considered as a reader insert and the constant use of Y/N kept sort of taking me out of the plot. It's really a personal matter and I don't intend on offending nor insulting your work in any way, but this “You” is too specific to be considered as an actual, generic and neutral reader insert. They have a tattoo, they have straight short hair with bangs and they're an artist. So, to me personally, it's an original character done and finished, but with no first name. Which, mind you, is far from being a bad thing (I prefer ocs over reader inserts), but I think that for somebody that doesn't have said specific characteristics, it would be hard to get into the story and relate to reader. Then again, this is a problem of about 90% of Y/N and I am very biased, since I prefer stories with proper original characters, and my intention was not to undermine your writing.

#fotm #fotm;august #network;post

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comfortmarvelimagines · 4 years

Text

You are Home, and Home is Safe

heyhey ! deciding to just get it over with and post this tonight (for those of you who don’t know what i’m talking about, a post explaining can be found here. side note, please be nice in my inbox, its been rough getting some of those comments). i am, however, going to continue to tag autistic!reader fics with #whenyoucantfindthequiet and #wycftq, so they’re easier to find. hope it’s what you’re after, nonnie, and i’m so so sorry it took so long !!

features : autistic!reader x mama!nat, lowkey asshole Tony Stark (it’s okay i didn’t make him really mean, just kinda well-meaning but misplaced/ mistimed)

warnings : uhhh i guess meltdowns, some self-injurious behaviour

Words are hard. Always have been, always will be.

You haven't always had a family. For years you were passed from foster home to foster home, with a consistent message: you were too much. Your needs were too high, your behaviour too confusing, your struggles too much to deal with. It got to a point where you began to question yourself, your diagnoses and trauma, wondering if it was all in your head or for attention like you were told over and over.

That changed when you met Nat.

It wasn’t immediate of course. There was the initial period of complete and total distrust, of another stranger whose life you were thrust into the middle of, floundering and drowning with no support. There was shutdown after shutdown. The trauma of being ignored and punished for meltdowns meant that you’d learned to internalise. You barely ate, and didn’t speak. But Nat met you where you were, unwaveringly. Was always calm, composed, voice level. Kept food out on the kitchen bench at all times, figuring out your safe foods and keeping them stocked. Realised you liked small enclosed spaces and stocked your bedroom with beanbags, pillows, stuffies and blankets, a permanent blanket fort taking up residence in the living space. Perhaps the most wonderful was her commitment to listening to you, with or without words. The superspy was quick to recognise your shutdown states from body language alone and responded quickly, with two option questions and the request to tap the hand of the answer you wanted.

You almost wanted to feel embarrassed, humiliated, of the accommodations she made so immediately. But she always spoke to you conversationally and never in an infantilizing tone, like so many before her, and the trust you held for her grew. It didn’t always grow in a way that you felt was positive, though. As weeks passed you felt your shutdowns turn into meltdowns and silence into frustrated screams. You didn’t want to hurt her. You didn’t want to feel ungrateful or angry or like any of this was on purpose but somehow she knew. As she held you close after each one she reminded you that your body was unlearning trauma, that you were safe, that you were loved so fully and unconditionally and nothing, including meltdowns, would change that. The way she held you felt like home.

But no one else was like Nat. Social workers were condescending, school was overwhelming, nowhere was safe. So you stuck to Nat. It wasn’t long after you were placed with her that she pulled you out of school, realising that they were doing more harm than good, and she was always there for homeschool. Not looking over your shoulder, but present. You could hear her humming through the walls, or swearing as she dropped a spoon into a pot of soup on the stove again, and it was comforting. It wasn’t the apartment that was home, per say, but having a parent made it feel like one. If she went to the grocery store or a walk in the park you came with, ear defenders on, clinging to her sleeve for safety. She told you that she loved you a million times a day, until one day you said it back.

Words came easier after that. Simple things, like asking what’s for breakfast, became routine. It wasn’t just Nat softly illuminating the cramped space with hummed melodies and occasionally vulgar language but you as well, asking for help with homework or explaining a meme. It felt normal, comfortable, okay. The outside world was too much, but inside your home, the anxiety all but melted from your throat.

You never wanted to leave safety. You wanted to feel it all the time. It was warm and sweet and heavy but in a calm way, like a weighted blanket sinking into your joints. It started as a one-time-thing, after a particularly rough meltdown, but you started sleeping in Nat’s bed. It just felt… right. The panic that set in when Nat left the room and you didn’t know where she was going or what she was doing or if she was ever going to come back was so all-consuming and nauseating that going to sleep alone, in another room, unable to hear her was torturous. What if she abandoned you, gone in the night, social worker beckoning you on to the next uncaring couple, crowded foster family or group home? This way, when you woke at 2am from a nightmare, the first thing you heard was her even breathing. Home. Safe.

***

Tony Stark was something else. Nat eventually started to transition back to work, and, as being homeschooled permitted, brought you with her. Even in classified meetings where you weren’t allowed in you sat in corridors and made sure you could see her red braid through the frosted glass, glancing up from your laptop every few seconds to make sure she didn’t disappear while you wrote your English critique. The rest of Nat’s colleagues (it felt too weird to just casually refer to them as the Avengers and co) didn’t mention your presence, at least in front of you; it was as if they didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Not that you’d say anything back. Outside of the safety of home it was like the anxiety disconnected your brain from your throat, anything you wanted to say cut off before it reached your tongue. It was frustrating. The first few days ended in meltdowns when you reached the apartment and it felt weird and strange and almost like you were two different people but an all-round embarrassment of a child. It was weeks before things settled into a routine and a pattern of acknowledged non-acknowledgement. A pattern Stark ignored.

You were sitting at the island bench in the communal kitchen, drinking chocolate milk and typing out an assignment, when you heard both Nat and Tony heading down the hall towards you. They’d just come out of a meeting, you sitting watch outside the whole time, and Nat had sent you to the kitchen to wait for her while she headed upstairs with Tony to drop off some paperwork to an intern. You hadn’t thought much of it. Sure, you didn’t like being away from Nat at all, but if she was clear in where she was going and how long she was going for (provided it was only a short period), you did okay. It was okay, until you heard the discussion from down the hall.

“Damn, Nat, is that the longest you’ve been away from the kid?”

“No.”

“C’mon, Nat. I know the kid’s been through some shit, but this isn’t healthy. For either of you. What happens if you can’t get out of the mission next time? They’re gonna have to be away from you at some point. You can’t be in this line of work with a barnacle of a kid.”

You’d heard enough. As the topic changed and they entered the kitchen, you didn’t look up from your laptop in greeting.

***

Too much. Too clingy. Too anxious, too needy, too autistic, too much. You needed separation. Give Nat space. Of course she needed to work. The world needed her, and they didn’t need you tagging along. When you got home that night, you headed straight to your room. Buried yourself in the mountain of blankets and stuffies and waited until Nat came to check on you, facing the wall, feigning sleep. You doubt you fooled the former spy but nonetheless, she left you be, a whispered “I love you” hanging in the air as she creaked the door close behind her.

It was seconds before you broke. It felt like choking. All of the fear that was slowly reduced to an ebbing tide through months of living in a caring environment crashed on you like the mother of all tsunamis, saltwater running down your cheeks and into your mouth as if smothering all the words you wished you could scream. It lasted for hours and hours and it was relentless, painful, as if your heart was being ripped out and an empty throbbing numbness was expanding in its place. You were too much. Too much. Too much.

Nat stood outside your door at the time when she’d usually be gently waking you up, watching you unfurl and stretch yourself out of the cocoon of blankets you slept in every night. She knew something was wrong from lunch yesterday, and your isolation from her was concerning. She figured you needed space, but the sleep she knew was an act sat at the back of her mind and bugged her all night long. Even with that nagging suspicion that something was up, nothing prepared her for the way her heart sank when she came in and saw your body curled up, eyes red and barely open from exhaustion, pillow and face damp from tears.

She was at your side in seconds. Your resolve to cut yourself off melted at the sight of her open arms, safe, warm, home. And immediately your body melted. Hands running through your hair, the promise that you were safe, loved, worthy of support, the request to “tell me next time, please, you don’t need to deal with this on your own.”

For some reason, those were the words that broke out the first sounding sob in the 12 hours of silent crying. It was so loud and gut-wrenching and it almost didn’t feel like it came from you at all and it was such a weird feeling, and all of a sudden you were scratching at your arms to try and re-embody yourself and Nat was breathing calmly and deeply and gently rubbing your shoulders until you found yourself easing back into your physicality.

“Did you hear what Stark said yesterday?”

And just like that she figured it out, of course she did, because she’s a trained spy and that’s her job, to put the pieces together and slot the narrative into place. And god, were you grateful, because you couldn’t see yourself stringing sentences together to accuse none other than Iron Man himself of triggering waves of hurt just by stating what you’d convinced yourself was the truth. She was quick to reassure. You are loved, you are wanted, you are always welcome and will always be her child and what you need will always come first. The warm safety settled itself in your belly and you let the tiredness wash over you, drifting on a life raft of whispered Russian lullabies and Nat’s hand rubbing circles on your back. At peace.

Of course, you’d never tell Nat, but hearing her whisper-yell at Tony over the phone for being an insensitive dick was possibly one of the best moments of your life.

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vibraniumphoenix · 3 years

Text

the truth in your eyes. [ b.b ]

a bucky barnes x fem!reader blurb wherein the reader shows bucky that someone does trust him.

WARNING: TFATWS SPOILERS, bucky having flashbacks, aside from that nothing else. (maybe a dash of angst if you squint just enough)

updated a/n: still crying. yeah definitely stlll crying.

---

“…Hail HYDRA” was all that left Bucky’s lips as he easily snapped the neck of the man that he pursued in another mission as the Winter Soldier. His face was blank and cold as he stood there, eyes gazing over the lifeless body of the man in front him before looking at the other man standing by the end of the hallway, practically frozen with fear.

BANG

“It is time” Ayo said from across the fire, spear in her hand as she looked at Bucky with a determined look.

“…семнадцать” and that’s when he felt it. Flashbacks of him and Steve’s fight along the highway of New York coming back to him, the first time he encountered him after years of no contact; he didn’t even know himself when Steve called him Bucky. His struggle as Zemo got a hold of the infamous red notebook that holds his trigger words, activating the Winter Soldier that caused disruption amongst the avengers.

“грузовой вагон” Ayo finished, looking at him with a warm and proud smile, relief evident in her demeanor as she spoke, “You’re free.” causing him to erupt into a sob.

“Always, James. Always.”

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aphrodite-would-be-proud · 4 years

Note

I just read the Erwin date scenarios and it’s so hood AGH could you please do one for armin? Plz 😚

You read my mind👀 ngl I think about Armin each time I write something for Erwin, despite them being alike i like to compare the differences and think they have different tastes and love languages.

Erwin strikes me a more act of services and gift giving guy while Armin would definitely go for words of affirmation and quality time.

Type of dates with Armin PT.1 {pt.2 in masterlist}

{ Armin x reader | tw: none | fluff, romance | modern }

{ "in bloom" by Abbott Fuller Graves 1859–1936 }

Ideal dates : these are dates he plans up ahead, makes sure they go smoothly and you're both are having fun. He really looks forward to these dates, they're like an event for him. He saves them up for important occasions like your anniversary, valentine's day, birthday, etc.

1. Spending a full day on the beach: when i say a full day I mean it, he's driving you there really early in the morning while you're struggling to stay awake in the passenger seat. He doesn't even need coffee he's running on 100% pure determination and will.

You'd arrive before anyone there, to get the best spot of course. It's close enough to the sea that you can feel the humidity of the water in the air, yet far enough from the rest of the beach that other people won't bother you.

He'd understand if you were too sleepy to help him set things up, he'd just kiss your forehead before letting you go back to sleep, promising he'll get you something to drink when the stores open.

You wake up to the smell of your favourite hot drink, just around 8am. The sun is up and the air is refreshing, you can hear the quiet chatter of people far away just arriving here. You sip your drink as Armin guides you to the small comfortable space he made, proudly showing off his work.

Please praise him and give him a kiss on the cheek, he will melt.

The rest of the day is spent with you two swimming lazily in the water, feeling the warm sunlight on your skin. Collecting whatever pretty seashell you see, using some to decorate the sandcastle Armin built with you. He takes a pictures of you at seemingly random moments, he promises to show you when he devolps them later.

You help him dry his hair afterwards, he take you to get ice cream. Despite getting you one too, he still ends up sharing his own with you, and if you're up for seconds he'd happily oblige.

When night falls and the people began leaving, the waves of the ocean get a little higher, wind turning colder. Don't worry, Armin thought about that, that's why he brought blankets.

He'd wrap you both in the same one, even holding you close to him, it's for warmth he says and yet he seems like he was looking forward for this. You help him in making a small bonfire, he brought marshmallows.

The rest of the night is spent with you laying against him while huddled in a blanket, looking at the heavens above and the constellation of the stars.

He takes your hand in his, guiding your finger to where polaris is. "It never changes" he says "no matter what" and from that star, he guides you through the formation of the little dipper.

Just right under it, directly under the polaris, begins the big dipper, a close replica to its little sister.

You spend hours like this, looking at the stars as new formations come and go with the time. You were early enough to catch Aries as it was leaving, pleiades, the seven sisters shining brightly next to it.

And just after midnight it was Sirius turn to say goodbye. That's when both of you decided to call it a night, he hugged you close to him, you could feel his heartbeat slowing down, he was oh so warm and tasted just like chocolate and marshmallows when you kissed goodnight.

2. Going on an adventure and trying new things: Armin has the need to try new things and gain new experiences, despite being someone who prefers small groups of friends and getting lost in a book than socialising. It's something that's been a part of him since he was a child, he wants to experience what the world has to offer and won't say no despite how utterly terrifying it can be to him.

And he wants to have those experiences with you, to share his love for the unknown with you, to see your reactions and share his own thoughts. The only thing that's better than going on adventures to him is going on adventures with you.

An adventure could be anything really, it could be going diving underwater or going to that creepy looking supermarket that never closes, you never know. An adventure is an adventure after all. The possibilities are endless.

So don't be surprised when he asks for you to go with him sky diving for his birthday despite knowing how terrfied he is of heights and how even a carnaval ride can make him sick.

Good or bad he doesn't care, he just wants to try and learn everything. He's full of curiosity and surprises that you'd never get bored, although a good thing about him is that he never is unprepared.

Yes he will take you on seemingly dangerous adventures but know that he really deeply thought about this before hand and is prepared for all the different scenarios that could happen, he likes the unknown but he's smart and cautious on how to approche it.

Not to mention that a single adventure can leave him satisfied for a long time before craving a new rush, probably once or twice a year. Just frequent enough to be something to look forward to but not too frequent that it becomes boring or too repetitive, he manages to keep that balance and walk on that thin line.

3. Hot air ballon ride: just imagine, it's early autumn, the weather is just right to wear those cozy yet good looking clothes, the earth seems like it's turning slower than usual as the trees change colours.

Around sunrise or sunset, both of you are high up in the air, the sun clearly in view with the golden clouds surrounding it. The world managing to look so small yet so vast at the same time.

Armin is wearing his favourite sweater and scarf combo, he's holding your hand in his pocket to keep it warm. It's just you and him isolated from the rest of the world like other people dont exist anymore, and strangely he's okay with that, at peace even.

He brings a camera and captures how the sun reflects in your eyes, how the chilly air makes you rub your hands together for warmth and how utterly breathtaking you look.

Beautiful, gorgeous even, these are the only thoughts in his mind at that moment.

And so Armin made a promise to himself that in the far future, when he wants to be even closer to you, to vow his life to yours, he'd propose on a hot air balloon.

But as much as he likes staying up in the air with you being his angel, the process of booking a ride is much more complicated and time consuming than he originally thought. Meaning he doesn't get to enjoy these rare heavenly moments as he wants to.

He needs to make reservations in advance, not to mention how important it is to choose a trustworthy company. Lastly how rides depend on the weather conditions, needing to reschedule if the weather takes a turn to the worse.

4. Visiting the aquarium or planetarium: he's just a boy with oceans for eyes and stars in his smile, can you really blame him for gravitating towards these places? Or for diving too deep in knowledge about the sky above and sea below?

Whenever the weather is too harsh for a beach trip or the sky is too cloudy for a stargazing night, these two places are his to go backups.

He's memorised the place like the back of his hand, no need for a map. Want to see the shark tanks and how they're doing? He'll take you there and introduce to them and the silly nicknames he gave them. Or how about saying hello to the dolphins who'll show off some moves just for your attention, or maybe you miss seeing the adorable penguins wobble around?

He knows endless facts about each fish kind, he makes it seem so fascinating and the way he phrases the information and coats them in milk and honey makes it impossible for you not to engage.

You both could have a slow with few words spoken walk and it still be as interesting, he'd even make special playlists to listen to while walking around and sharing his earphones.

Meanwhile at the planetarium, sometimes in the early mornings you'd run into kids just arriving for their school trip. Racing each other to the solar system panel and looking in amazement when the stars show begins. You and Armin have a nostalgic feeling when watching them, yet when you look at each other you remember how good it feels like to be grown and have someone special.

You never could get bored of seeing the stars, especially not with Armin.

5. Trying a new kind of art: one time you asked him what does he think the meaning of art is, what even is art?

"Art is communication" he said.

Armin has a deep love and appreciation for all kind of art, from classic oil canvas paintings to old greek sculptures. He doesn't pick a side, he likes both the modren and classic.

Music is art, writing is art and even making pottery is a form of art too. He wants to experience it, not for a need to acolmplish something or to rival Shakespeare, but for a need to communicate his emotions in a more subtle and personal way.

Like a secret language only he can decipher the meaning of, after all he was the one to create it.

Whenever he tries a new form of art, his usual fear of failure and absurdly high expectations actually go out the window. There isn't good and bad art, there's just different levels of communication and different styles.

So to him, the act of bringing you both some watercolours and cotton papers to paint on for a date is incredibly intimate, that's his true feelings and emotions he's showing you. But don't worry, he isn't here to take the whole thing seriously, he's actually playful and mellow most of the time.

Or maybe he'd like to make pottery with you, an excuse to put his hands around yours while sitting intimately close, maybe even give your shoulder a couple kisses while you shape the vase you agreed on making.

The next day, you find the finished vase near the window with a sunflower arrangements inside.

It also could be you two sitting next to each other, working together on a page of an adult colouring book or maybe to each one his own book. He'd hog the color blue most of the time so watch out, and don't lend him yours because he will hog it too.

Or maybe as a fun past time, you'd both attempt to make poetry, expect you're getting more and more drunk on the fruit flavoured beer he brought with him. You had fun laughing while reading what you came up with the next morning.

6. Going fruit picking in summer: it's his favourite way to celebrate the arrival of his favourite season, wear something light, pack some lemonade and go enjoy what mother nature has to offer.

You two would walk around in the fields, he's wearing a straw hat to block the sun, he thinks it looks better on you. Both of you looking at the fruits waiting to be picked, choosing the really unique shaped ones, the colourful ones and the especially delicious looking ones.

You might meet some small friends along the way, like a couple ladybugs that were crawling up Armin's arm. Two butterflies dancing in the air and even a frog that's taking a walk from its lake home nearby.

Going home that day with baskets full of different fruits waiting for your use, Armin and you discuss all the different ways you could use them for, like making delicious smoothies, or maybe saving them for baking a pie or cake. Maybe cutting them in small bites and covering them with different kinds of chocolate, maybe just making a fruits salad to enjoy while Armin reads you a book

Or maybe, maybe just washing them and eating them raw. Yeah that option sounds the most appealing after a day of walking through fields in the sun.

He'd feed you some, push them against your lips and smile when your eyes subtly light up at the sweet taste....maybe a kiss after so he could taste it too?

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silversatoru · 4 years

Text

hot chocolate

megumi x yuuji

synopsis: megumi’s days get a little less boring when yuuji starts stopping by his coffee shop

tags/warnings: fluff, college au!, coffee shop au!, characters are aged up, making out, swearing

word count: 3780

The whipped cream bottle whizzed and sputtered, the scarce remains of its contents flying all over the counter. Megumi stifled a few cuss words under his breath, silently cursing whoever finished the whipped cream and didn't replace it with a new one. He tossed it in the garbage and drug himself into the back of the shop in search of a fresh bottle. He was only two hours into his shift at his university's coffee shop, but it had easily been the longest two hours of his life. Midterms were this week, meaning every student on campus was stopping by for some extra caffeine to get through their day.

When he finally returned with his new container of whipped cream, the line of students had nearly doubled — what a hassle. He threw a quick, fluffy spiral of cream onto the drink he'd been working on and gave it to the customer, apologizing for the wait. He shoved the money into the old cash register and handed them their change, a small sigh leaving his lips as the next customer approached.

It was an athletic looking boy with pink spiky hair and a round face. He wore a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants, and his rose-colored hair looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. Megumi didn't recognize him, which was weird because he had a knack for memorizing the faces of every student who walked in and out of the shop.

"Hi, what can I get for you today?" Megumi spoke in his signature monotone voice, too tired to add any customer service flare.

"I'm not sure," The boy stared up at the menu with a terribly confused expression on his face.

"What do you mean you're not sure?" Megumi stared at the boy like he had two heads — he'd been waiting in line for at least ten minutes and he still hadn't decided?

"Well, I don't actually like coffee. So, I'm not sure what to get," he stated bluntly.

"If you don't like coffee, why did you come to a coffee shop. We literally only sell coffee," Megumi deadpanned.

"Well, I want to try and force myself like coffee — acquire the taste, you know? For the caffeine and stuff. Maybe you could recommend me a drink?"

"Uh... yeah sure. I'll just make you what I usually get," Megumi had to forcibly stop himself from rolling his eyes at the customer.

"Okay, great!" The pink-haired student called after him as he walked over to the array of coffee machines.

Megumi grabbed a cup for hot beverages, sliding it under the latte machine and filling the it with the warm brown liquid. He stirred in some oat milk and a drizzle of honey before topping it off with a layer of cream. He made his way back over to the peculiar customer and carefully handed him the drink.

"It's a honey oat milk latte," Megumi stated plainly.

"I'm not even sure what a latte is, but thank you!" His lips twisted into a toothy smile as he handed Megumi his debit card.

The dark-haired boy swiped his card through then machine and finished the transaction before returning it to the boy, "Have a nice day".

"Thanks, you too! My name is Itadori Yuuji by the way, it was nice to meet you...," he squinted his eyes in attempt to read Megumi's name badge, "Fushiguro! That's a cool name".

"Uh, thanks. I have to help the next customer now," Megumi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly — this whole interaction was so weird.

"Oh, right. Thank you again!" He called out as he turned and left the shop.

Megumi found it impossibly hard to concentrate on his job after that. For some reason his mind was consumed by his interaction with Itadori Yuuji — the peculiar pink-haired student. He found himself still thinking about it later that night, even after working all morning and attending classes all afternoon. No amount of school work was able to distract his mind from this stupid new boy.

When he woke up the next morning and slipped on his apron before heading to work, he wondered if the pink-haired boy would be back again today. He searched all morning for a head of fluffy pink hair amongst the hoards of students, but he never came.

Around ten o'clock the coffee shop always dies down, as all the students and teachers are in class. Megumi leaned back against the counter and pulled out his phone, mindlessly scrolling through twitter while he waited for a customer to show up.

The golden bells hanging from the front door emitted a soft ringing sound, signaling that someone had entered the shop. Megumi looked up to see a baggy sweatshirt and messy pink hair, and for some reason his heart jumped.

"Hey, Fushiguro!" Yuuji's face was plastered with a bright smile.

Megumi scrunched up his nose, it was weird for the boy to call him by his name — they didn't even know each other.

"Hey, how was the honey oat milk latte?" Megumi slid his phone back into his pocket and approached the counter.

"Oh, it was terrible. Fucking awful, actually," Yuuji's faced scrunched up in horror as he reminisced on the atrociously bitter flavor.

Megumi was genuinely offended. Yuuji could have told him he was the ugliest person he'd ever seen, that he had the personality of a brick wall, but to insult his coffee? That was crossing a line. Megumi knew his coffee-making skills were impeccable.

"Excuse me?" Was all he could manage.

"Yeah, it was probably one of the worst things I've ever put in my mouth. Anyway, I was hoping to try something different today," Yuuji said nonchalantly, his hands resting comfortably in the pocket of his hoodie.

"Okay..." Megumi took a deep breath, trying desperately to keep his cool, "What would you like to try?"

"Could you just make something for me again? I really don't know what to order".

"But you hated my last recommendation," Megumi stared at him blankly.

"Yeah... but eventually you'll have to make something I like," Yuuji insisted.

Megumi grumbled a quick "alright" and headed back over to the machinery, searching his mind for a recipe Yuuji might like. Eventually, he decided on a caramel macchiato — everyone likes those. He handed Yuuji the drink and the pink haired boy quickly payed before leaving the shop again.

Megumi watched him as he walked past the coffee shop windows and took a sip of his drink. The pink haired boy's face twisted with disgust, and he looked like he could barely keep the liquid down. He immediately took another sip, his body having the exact same reaction as the first time. Megumi let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head as he watched that absolute idiot until he could no longer see him.

He continued to refer to Yuuji as stupid, weird, or annoying, but that was completely contradictory to the fact that he couldn't get the pink-haired boy out of his mind. He found himself wondering if he would come back again for a third time, and if he did, what drink would Megumi make him? A small part of him was getting invested in this outlandish journey of finding a drink that Yuuji actually liked.

That night Megumi had a revelation — maybe hot coffee just wasn't Yuuji's thing. He decided that tomorrow he'd make him something cold, that was sure to work.

So, when the third day rolled around and Yuuji's messy pink hair came waltzing into the campus coffee shop, Megumi made him an iced cinnamon dolce latte. This time though, Yuuji followed him over to the array of coffee machines, asking him questions about how coffee was made. Megumi found himself explaining the entire process, from how the coffee is brewed to what sweeteners and creams he was adding to this particular beverage. He was honestly appalled by his own actions, he would never put in this kind of effort for any of his other customers — so what made Yuuji so different?

"So, what's your major?" Yuuji questioned while Megumi dusted some cinnamon over the top of his drink.

"Biology with a minor in veterinary technology," Megumi answered without looking up at him, snapping the plastic lid onto the coffee cup.

"Ohhh somebody's smart," Yuuji mused, "Animals, huh?"

"Yeah, they don't talk as much as people do," Megumi said, only half-joking.

"Right? People can be so annoying sometimes," Yuuji shook his head.

Megumi found his lips cracking into the tiniest smile — how ironic and blissfully unaware this boy was. He seemed to truly live life without a care in the world.

"What's yours?" Megumi asked, finally stretching out his arm and handing the pink-haired boy his iced coffee.

"Oh, sports med," Yuuji responded, his nose scrunching up as he took the first sip of his drink.

That answer didn't surprise Megumi at all, given the boy's athletic physique it was obvious he was into that sort of thing. The poor reaction to Megumi's coffee didn't surprise him either — this endeavor to find him a drink he likes is proving to be futile.

"Not good?"

"So bad," Yuuji shook his head, his eyes filled with despair and disgust, "We'll find one eventually though!"

"Maybe," Megumi didn't know it, but his face softened when he talked to Yuuji, his shoulders fell and his jaw unclenched.

There was so something so simple and calming about conversing with that strange boy.

"Well, thanks anyway! See you tomorrow Fushiguro!" His voice rung out through the shop — he really had no volume control when he spoke.

Megumi found himself watching Yuuji through the windows until he could no longer see him again —this was becoming a bad habit.

When the rush of students on their way to morning classes finally died down, one of his coworkers approached him.

"Sweet cream?" The boy questioned him, one of his eyebrows raised in suspicion.

His coworkers name was Inumaki Toge, and he was deaf and mute — selectively mute, anyway. He only communicated in words related to coffee, which was entirely too strange for most people, but Megumi didn't mind.

The two of them had been friends since Megumi first got this job two years ago. They'd even created their own communication system — Toge would talk in coffee terms, which translated to certain things that really only Megumi understood. Then, the dark-haired boy would respond in sign language, a skill he learned just so he could talk to the boy. It broke his stone-cold heart when he first started working here and saw Toge was always alone in the back of the shop. Most students didn't have the time or energy to learn a whole new language for the sake of someone they didn't know, but Megumi decided to put in the effort.

Megumi rolled his eyes, signing that no, he and the pink-haired boy were not friends.

"Americano," Toge furiously crossed his arms over his chest, accusing Megumi of lying to him.

I'm not lying! He's been coming here the past few days for coffee. I don't know why he talks to me so much, Megumi quickly signed back, his eyes narrowed at the white-haired boy.

Toge rolled his eyes at him in the hardest, most exaggerated way possible.

He's just a customer Toge, don't look at me like that, Megumi folded his fingers into the different signs, his frustration towards the mute boy growing.

"Espresso," Toge mumbled under his breath, twisting and returning to his spot at the back of the shop where would grind coffee beans and restock their shelves.

What? You're out of your fucking mind Toge. I do not like him, he's just a regular customer, Megumi angrily signed at him, but it was to no use, as the deaf boy had already turned around and was paying him no mind.

Their conversation lingered in his head for the remainder of the day though, because maybe Toge was onto something. Megumi was terrified to admit it, but Yuuji's daily visits had quickly become the best part of his day, even if he was kind of annoying.

And it continued to be the best part of his day for the next few weeks. Yuuji would come to the shop everyday and they would make pointless small talk while Megumi brewed him new drinks to try. Not a single one ever suited his palate, but he continued to return none the less. His motives were becoming questionable at this point — was he still coming for the coffee, or had this turned into something much bigger?

So, when winter break was right around the corner, and the last day of classes began, Megumi wondered what his days would be like when he didn't have their daily interactions to look forward to.

It was especially snowy today — enough to dust the ground and freeze the air, but not enough for classes to get canceled. Bundled students trudged in and out of the shop, buying coffees and hot chocolates in attempt to keep themselves warm. Their was an excited energy in the air though, it seemed everyone was thrilled for fall semester to be over — everyone except Megumi.

His heart skipped a few beats when Yuuji's familiar soft face appeared in the door.

"Hey, Megumi!" He called out, waving his had furiously through the air.

Somehow they had transitioned to a first name basis about a week ago — the dark-haired boy wasn't even sure how it happened but he certainty didn't mind it.

"Hey, you want something warm or cold today?"

"Definitely warm," Yuuji answered quickly, a shiver coursing its way through his body.

Megumi nodded, getting to work on something that he was sure Yuuji would like.

"Are you visiting family over break?" Yuuji wasted no time addressing their winter-break dilemma.

"No," Megumi shrugged his shoulders, he was one of the very few students who never went home on holidays.

"No family to visit. I live in an off-campus apartment so I just stay here over breaks".

Megumi expected Yuuji to frown, maybe even show him some pity for his unfortunate situation, but he did the complete opposite instead. He lips spread into the widest smile, and he swore he saw him jump in excitement.

"Me too! I used to visit my grandfather, but he died a couple years ago. My holidays have been pretty lonely".

Megumi looked up at him, a bewildered expression on his face. Who could have known that someone as cheerful as Yuuji was carrying such a burden?

"Where do you live? Maybe we could hang out over break," the pink-haired boy cocked his head to the side.

"Second street," Megumi answered, filling Yuuji's cup with steaming brown liquid.

He certainly wasn't opposed to the idea of seeing Yuuji more often, but it scared him just as much as it excited him.

"I live on Third! I can't believe we haven't run into each other before," Yuuji gasped.

Megumi wordlessly finished up the hot drink, subtly scribbling his address and his phone number onto the coffee label while the other boy blabbed on about how close they lived. When he was done he held it out to him, the pink-haired boy reaching out with his mitten-covered hands to take the drink.

He took a small sip and his eyes sparkled like they held the stars inside of them.

"This is so good! What kind is it?" Yuuji asked, eagerly taking another sip and inevitably burning his tongue on the hot beverage.

"Hot chocolate," Megumi spoke plainly, "I've come to the conclusion that it's impossible for you to like coffee".

"You're probably right," Yuuji nodded, "I think I'm more of a hot chocolate guy".

"No, you're a child with immature taste in drinks," Megumi scrunched up his nose.

Yuuji faked offense, and then held up his hand and attempted to flip Megumi off through his mitten — but it didn't really work.

That's when he noticed the dark-haired boy's phone number and address scribbled on the side of his cup. A light blush dusted over his cheeks and he offered Megumi a warm smile.

"I'll see you around!" He called.

A thousand butterflies flew around Megumi's stomach as he watched the boy leave and walk down the snowy sidewalk. What the hell kind of cheesy hallmark movie was his life turning into?

"Americano," Toge's accusatory voice shook Megumi out of his trance.

Okay fine, maybe I'm a liar. Fuck off, Megumi signed at him, to which the deaf boy chuckled to himself.

☃

It was Christmas Eve now, and classes had ended a few days ago. Megumi checked his phone obsessively, but a text from Yuuji never appeared. He started to doubt that the boy actually meant what he said about wanting to hang out — maybe he was just being nice and Megumi had taken it the wrong way. He couldn't help but feel disappointed, no matter how much he wished he didn't care. He'd even taken a container of the coffee shops' hot chocolate powder for Yuuji. He planned on gifting it to him, because he had liked it so much.

So, when six o'clock at night rolled around and there was still no sign of the cheery pink-haired boy, he felt his heart squeeze in his chest. Who knew he was so invested in this idiot?

A light knock on his front door pulled him out of his thoughts, and his heart leaped into his throat. He peered through the small peep hole of his door and euphoria spread through his body — the stupid, spiky-haired boy had finally arrived.

He opened the door and Yuuji immediately blushed, his eyes wide as he looked around Megumi's apartment.

"Hi," He squeaked, "Sorry I didn't text or anything".

"It's okay," He ushered the boy inside and closed the door behind him.

"I stopped at a convenience store and bought some cookie dough. I thought we could make them, since yanno, it's a Christmas Eve thing".

Megumi found his own cheeks get warm at the other boy's forwardness. Baking cookies felt so familial, not like something you'd do with a coffee shop acquaintance. But none the less, he nodded his head and guided Yuuji into the kitchen.

The awkwardness between them quickly melted away as they rolled out the dough and attempted to cut out fun Christmas-themed shapes. Megumi chewed on his bottom lip as he focused on the intricate snowflake cookie was trying to make, his perfectionism getting way too involved. Yuuji on the other hand held up a half-smushed blob with a few spikes coming out of the top and two holes punched through the middle.

"It's you!" he laughed, holding his monstrosity of a cookie up for Megumi to see.

The dark-haired boy scoffed, "That's terrible, it looks nothing like me".

"Sorry, Mr. I'm smart and good at art. Are you sure you're not a sculpting student or something?" Yuuji stuck his nose in the air, carefully placing his Megumi cookie on the greased metal tray.

They each cut out a couple more shapes before the oven let out a loud ding to let them know it was preheated. Megumi picked up the tray and shuffled over to the oven, carefully placing it on the top rack. He closed the door before standing up and turning around — bumping right into Yuuji, who for some reason was standing right behind him. They were the exact same height, so Megumi's nose practically slammed into Yuuji's. He blushed furiously, quickly backing up into the counter.

"Sorry," he mumbled a quick apology, though Yuuji had been the one standing right behind him, so maybe he should apologize.

"Can I ask you a question?" Yuuji cocked his head to the side, completely ignoring Megumi's apology.

"Sure?" Megumi gave him a confused look.

"This is more than just two coffee shop friends hanging out, right? You can kick me out if I'm wrong, but if I'm right, I'd really like to kiss you while those cookies bake".

Megumi's eyes widened, his heart thumping hard against the walls of his chest. Of course he wanted to kiss Yuuji, he'd wanted to for weeks — it was all he thought about while he brewed him his stupid coffees everyday.

"Yeah... yeah, you're right," Megumi nodded, those few words were all that he could manage.

That clarification was all that Yuuji needed, a soft smile blossoming on his face before he stepped forward and cupped his fingers around the back of Megumi's neck. Heat spread through his face as their lips collided, every other one of his senses fading away as his body honed in on Yuuji's touch.

He'd been kissed before, several times by both men and women — but none of them compared to this. None of them were this gentle, soft, and electrifying all at the same time. Yuuji's fingers curled into the base of Megumi's hair, and he found his own hands tracing up the sides of the others' torso. He was completely drowning in the ocean that was Yuuji's lips, his mind growing foggy. He'd imagined what this would be like far too many times, but never once did he think it would be this good.

The ten minute timer Megumi had set on the oven started blaring through the kitchen, and he couldn't believe it had been that long already. A soft sigh escaped his throat as Yuuji pulled away, a smile tugging at the other's lips.

"I didn't expect so much experience from the quiet coffee barista," Yuuji poked at him, his eyes glistening with a fire that hadn't been there before.

"Don't judge a book by its cover, I guess," Megumi shrugged, grabbing his oven mitt and pulling the cookies out of the oven.

The pink-haired boy let out a light chuckle, immediately trying to grab a cookie off the metal sheet. Megumi swatted his hand away, insisting that the cookies would be too hot eat right away.

Megumi found his lips intertwined with Yuuji's again after setting down the tray — after all they'd have to pass the time while the cookies cooled somehow.

And so for the first time in a long time, Megumi didn't spend Christmas alone. Rather, he spent it with an overly-cheerful pink-haired boy who became a ray of sunshine in his life of clouds. Though he wished he liked his coffee, Megumi had no problem with brewing him hot chocolate instead. And he did, every morning for the rest of the spring semester he always had a cup of hot chocolate ready for Yuuji. He'd even stopped charging him for it at this point, throwing on a free drink discount every time he came.

#jjk #jjk oneshot #jujutsukaisen #fushiguro megumi #itadori yuuji #fushiguro x itadori #itadori x fushiguro #megumi x yuuji #yuuji x megumi #fushiguro x itadori fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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jonah-aesthetic · 4 years

Text

That One Pt.1 I Jonah Marais

Jonah Marais X Reader / Ivette X Daniel Seavey

Plot: Since high school Jonah had a thing for y/n but never thought it was time for them. Now in college after a failed dare Jonah can’t help but throw himself into her life.

Word count: 6.4K

Author’s Note: This is nowhere near to finish so I’ve decided put them into parts. It’s has a lot of best friend content. A few POC characters, links to photos, and not much Jonah as I wanted there to be.

Rating: 16+

Part 2

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

The city was bursting with life and colour outside your favourite coffee shop. Vehicles slowly worked through the downtown traffic, many people weaved through the crowed sidewalks. The smell of coffee beans and baked goods was one of your calming scents, like honey or lavender.

Turning your head. The tall barista clad in a black shirt and a green apron made hos way to you. Holding your iced coffee and cookie in his hands, it was almost like you had a six sense for the beverage. You could feel the happiness start to spread to from your veins as if you could already taste it. You easy got bored on tastes if consumes often enough, but you know you could never get bored of this beverage.

“One Iced coffee, and a gingerbread cookie.” The barista’s soft brown eyes reached yours as he set both items on the table. “Thank you,” you said clutching both forms of happiness in my grasp. “Can I get you anything?” His question towards your Hispanic best friend sitting across from you. Ivette politely shook her head. “No, one coffee was enough for me. Thank you.” At her response I started at my third coffee.

“No problem, just give me a shout if you want another one.” you didn’t dare look at him, but you knew his eyes were on you as he said those words. “Don’t worry, she will. This one is a coffee whore.” the words were a playful attack.

“Ivette!” you warned,

“Those ones are a good flavour, aren’t they?” The barista, Trey as you read from his black name tag. Says before walking away.you threw a glare at her, “You know I’m studying for the up coming finals. asshole!”

“Oh come on! It was the perfect time to tease your tense ass. You’ve had that nose of yours in that text book all week end.” She shrugs her shoulders like she did you a favour.

“I know you don’t understand with that hefty trust fund of yours. But I can’t fail this, my entire future depends on it.” your voice soft when you explained it to her.

Her dark eyes shifted from yours to the table, her features softening. Silence washed over her bright laughable personality and you could felt the guilt rise. “I-I’m-you could always ask for financial help, we’ve been friends since Kinder.” Her voice softer now, she knew your dad always struggled with his work for years now. Yet sometimes she forgot, it was easy for her.

“I don’t wan’t to feel like a burden and you to feel like I’m only friends with you because of your family name.”

“why would I? especially when you’ve only asked for iced coffee and you always paid me back. Not to mention you still wear that apple watch I got you three years ago.” Glancing down at the smart watch circling your left wrist with a clean white band. She was right, Ivette just got you the newest version on your last birthday.

“This one holds valuable memories, like a relic.”

Ivette laughs “I’m sure it does, dork.”

Before you could say something you caught her eyes flick to something behind you. With a small twinkle in her eyes and a twitched of her lips you knew it was rather a somebody. “predator coming this way.” was all she whispered.

His Cologne wafted over you as you sense a masculine presence loom over you. almost Alpha male like, straight out of a fucking wattpad book you read last night. Finally looking up, your breath caught in your throat. You knew the male who was already staring down at you, a wolfish grin set to you like you were his next prey, his next target.

“Jonah” You acknowledged him,

“Y/N? Is it?” his voice deep as he slides in next to Ivette, letting out a yelp as he pushed her with his hip aside. Folded hands setting on the table top, fingers decorated with a couple rings. A leather jacket cover his squared shoulders, silk button down underneath. one or two buttons undone, caramel chest exposed. Bright determined green eyes locked on you, light brown curls framed his face perfectly.

“We have classes together.” The comment monotone.

“Right how could I forget.” The smile sly,

“You asked Marais, now continue.” Not a change in your tone as you stared back at him. Ivette choked out a cough and Jonah sent her an un-pleased glance.

“Anyways, my boys put a bet down.” His eyes switched behind you, following his gaze you say all four of them watching intensely. Sipping coffee as if this was their only entertainment.

“Not surprised.” you murmured under your breath, taking a sipping out of your coffee. Most of the sugar and cream washed out the original bitter taste of it. It was definitely an addiction, one you weren’t getting rid of soon as it calmed your nerves in the presence of him.

“For your number. a little immature if I do say so myself.” This one knew how to play his games, you’ll give me that. But you weren’t naive, never had been.

“No, thanks for the offer.” You voice condescending towards him. His expression slightly less predatory, You were getting to him.

“Interesting.” His eyes searching for any faltered emotion,

“The only thing that’s interesting is that you think you’re worth my time.” His wolfish smirk faltered, shock showed with surprised eyebrows.

“You don’t think I am?” His voice didn’t change.

“The only reason you interrupted us was because your little boys over there, dared you to get my number. But Knowing your reputation, that’s a waste of my time. Now will you excuse us we should be heading back.” Your voice sharp as you jabbed at him with each word.

“Damn your bite is brutal.” Jonah was amazed at the dish you served him.

“Only to the ones who deserve it.”

“I’ll see you around Y/N.” He winked , watching him get up you spoke again. “Oh and tell Jack I want his number.” You didn’t want it but you knew that would get under his skin. he only answered his a vicious glare and a growl.

Your eyes flicked back to Ivette, a proud smile upon her red lips. “That’s my girl, but dang that one is hot as hell. I would’ve caved, even if it’s just a quick fuck.” You laughed, she wasn’t entirely wrong.

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

Your focus set on the lecture in front of you, taking in all the information your professor was giving you. Tapping in notes on your beloved laptop, another gift from Ivette. Another one you had tried giving back multiple times, yet she had avoid you like the damn plague. Only making you fall into current and take yet another generous gift

Advanced English was one of your top classes, you’d let yourself lack every now and again. Not for too long but a big enough break to let yourself relax and light a candle.

The creaking sound boomed through the room as someone pushed open the door. Mr. Delton was use to the average late comer, not giving his attention as he taught the lecture in depth details on the subject at hand.

focus. focus.

Yet your eye caught a glimpse of milk chocolate curls, bouncing as he half jogged up the steps, light shift inside them making them lighter. He held his jet black mac book and an English text book in his arm. Wearing a white t-shirt rolled up at the sleeves a few inches. Revealing all the ink that scattered across his skin. Black jeans and browning converse at his feet. He was perfect save the acceptation of a purple bruise blossoming on his cheek right below his eye. And a red split through his bottom lip, Both going to get worse as the week continued.

Bruises that hadn’t been before.

Staring for a little too long he felt your prying eyes, his wolfish green eyes connected with yours. a flash of a smirk, you swore you saw him tear his cut before you forced your attention back on Mr. Delton.

You heard his every step from behind you, coming closer and closer. Now right behind you, hearing him take a seat. Dread entered your blood stream and you wished your heart to stop thumbing so fucking loud. Feeling embarrassed as if the student next to you could hear it.

a small hum from your phone arouse, you debated on it. The hovering presence of Jonah lurked stronger, yet you still fished it out.

Trey:Hey! was wondering if you wanted to get coffee after class?

Trey the barista from the cafe, the image of him popped into your mind. Dark chestnut skin, a beautiful contrast against your own skin tone. Mahogany coils framed his face, chocolate brown eyes. And those god blessed features.

You remembered how abruptly he stopped you as you and Ivette started for the exit. Giggling as he walked straight into a table and shattered a coffee mug in the process. He asked for your number, with a pink blush upon his cheeks. Genuinely surprised at the offer you gave it too him while you gave Jonah a glance. Green eyes threatening.

“The barista boy?” his breath fanning against your neck, making goosebumps rises and a shiver run down your spine. You’ve forgotten about that one with the slight distraction of Trey. Your phone slipped from your finger tips as you let out a loud yelp. Mr. Delton halts his lecture and the thud of your phone echos through the entire lecture hall.

Embarrassment flows through you again, sinking into your chair as every single person glares down at you. Swallowing hard as you felt your throat began to tighten. You knew you looked like a deer in headlight.

“She’s not feeling good, I told you to stay in your dorm today, Babe.” His voice loud enough for others to pry in. Bound to talk about you and Jonah later on, torturous gossip. you could already here it. You’d bite back and decline his words if you weren’t for this unfortunate situation.

Jumping over the chairs he helps you gather your things ushering you out. Everything in his arms both your belongings and his. You were beyond grateful that lecture was the reaching the end. As soon as the heavy door clicked your spun towards him, “What. The. Fuck!” Anger rippled from you in waves.

“What no thank you Jonah for saving me from embarrassment?” His tone mocking towards you, God! you swore you could slap that dumb smirking of his fucking face. Adding to his bruising face, he deserved it.

“You are so infuriating!” You yell, feeling it vibrate harshly against your throat.

“What can I say. I like playing with my food.” Fuck those green eyes. Fuck that stupid smirk.

“Fuck you!” was all you managed to say as if you could feel the stream burning off you. whirling away from him you continued down the wide hall of the university. If you stared at his taunting expression any longer you’d hit him.

“Come on! I’m not that bad.” Fake pouting like a child. Remembering he had a hold on your notes. You sighed whirling back around, heading back for him. Glaring Jonah down as you dragged the fire behind you, not a flicker in his demeanour. You swore his smirk grew as if he found amusement in your anger.

“You are, not to mention you put a target on my back. So thanks.” You say with a humorous smile on your lips. head slightly tilting as he furrowed his eyebrows, perplexed. You rolled your eyes at him, “You called me ‘babe’ as if we’re together..” you mimicking the motion of puking your breakfast out. He shook his head and chuckles. “..And if you haven’t notice you’re Jonah Marais, girls fall at your feet. Now they’re be slicing my head off.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Yet you don’t” His eyes trailing from you head to toe trying to read your body language. The anger stopped abruptly as if his words were like a bucket of water.

“You’re hot..” His green eyes darken at the confession, his teeth biting his bottom lip. “.. but you treat girls like conquests and you just a waste of my time, Jonah.” Dark green becoming dull green, He watched as you reached from your laptop, supplies, and phone. Letting them slip from his grip as they fall into yours.

“If that’s what you think,” Were wrong about him? Or was he trying to bait you? Honesty with the genuine expression you didn’t know what you believed now.

“Bye, Jonah.” You say softly before leaving him there,

“I’ll see you around, babe.” Taunting again,

“Fuck you.” You raise your left are and flip him off,

“Only if you want too.” You roll your eyes at his response.

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

With the pass few days your mind was drowning in piles of work. Still studying for those finals, they were coming faster then you had the time for. You were comfortable with the the amount of information cramped inside. Yet you still felt the need to be confident with the facts, as if you could teach the damn course yourself. There was no time for mistakes, not now.

Jonah Marais

There you were in the quad, sitting at a table far from everyone else. textbooks and random pages with notes on them splayed over the top. Not an inch on blue table insight. Phone on air plane mode as you listened to your trusted early 2000s playlist. vaguely bopping your head to the beat of the songs, mouthing the words, your foot tapping the cement.

Jack nudged Jonah with a tatted elbow, head whipped down to him. a noticeable scowl written on his face, not too happy to have his thought wonder from you. “What do you think shes listening to?” Words catching in his throat as he coughed “Who are you talking about?”

“The girl you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes, I’m kinda shocked she hasn't felt you stalking her.” Jack’s brown eyes gleamed honey in the sunlight, a joking smirk upon his lips as he watched Jonah stutter, “I-I wasn’t.” He tried sounding convincing, but the taunting look on his best friend’s face told him otherwise.

“I’ve never seen a girl get under his skin the way Y/L/N does,” Daniel pipes in taking a seat in the grass with his beloved guitar.

“I’ve never seen him get humiliated like that. Was a treat watching you get rejected in a cafe.” Little Zach chimed in, cackling like a hyena.

“Enough!” Jonah barked out, turning a few prying eyes.

“Awe is Jonah getting mad that we’re teasing him about the girl he’s been pining after of years? Poor thing.” Corbyn’s voice is very condescending towards him. Sending All the guys into a full blown laughing fit. Jonah only glared at his band mates, of course they knew about y/n. The only girl who has never fell at his feet.

They went to high school together, never colliding groups through the years. Back then Jonah had every girl he wanted. Until one day in junior year he saw her, Actually saw her. At the time he didn’t know your name, she wasn’t one who cheered at band gigs. Wasn’t one to catch him in the halls and ask if he had any plans for the night. Jonah would remember a face like that, trust me.

He admired you through the art room’s door, open ajar. An old paint brush in your hand, chipping black paint on the handle of it, years of use wearing down on it. A palette of colours resting in your other as your focus was deeply upon the canvas. A lion roaring with immense detail laid upon it. Anyone looking at it could tell that lion wasn’t roaring out of fear or grief, but pride. The roar of the king, he was memorised by how in depth her detailing was.

Sliding through the door like a mouse, his attention went to the board. Spirit animal was written for this weeks assignment. Jonah was intrigued by you and your spirit animal. You had to think of yourself as a lion for a reason and he wanted to find it.That lion.

Glancing towards you he drank you in, from your soft hair to your wore in vans. Lost in the painting, you never felt his hovering presence. Taking a step towards you he halting, this wasn’t the time for her. he could feel himself saying deep down. She’s a lion, you’re not ready for her not yet. With that he slipped back out into the hallway.

He started noticing her more as if she was a ghost before spotting the lion. Never talking to her but watching from afar.

“Let’s rehearse, that’s what we came her for.” Jack says, Jonah felt relieved at that taking his seat in the grass. He was playing a dangerous game with his heart. Jonah knew that but he wanted her, but he didn't know how to make y/n his. A struggle he wasn’t familiar with, she was something else entirely.

“Let’s start with Lotus In.” Daniel says, starting with one of their newer songs. Attention on the guitar in his lap he began, fingers dancing with strings like they belonged there. Jack took in a breath before letting the lyrics flow from his lips.

Y/N

Jonah glanced over towards to you again, wondering when Ivette and her pack of Richies swarmed you. A ghost of a smile on your lips as you continued your conversation with her.

“Tell me you’re coming to the party this weekend.” Ivette’s voice drowning in sugar, knowing there was a high chance you were going to decline. “I just have a lot of things to do, like study and cram in some sleep.” You whined at her as if you were a injured puppy.

“Come on girl! you’ve been studying your soul away.” Julie, one of Ivette’s friends spoke up. Her voice soft as silk when talking to you like you were some seven year old. you fought the urge to roll your eyes an sigh at her, all of Ivette’s more fortunate friend treated you in this manner. You never brought it up because you knew she loved the company of them.

“There’s this dress in my closet I don’t wear anyone, it’s last season.” Julie offers, Irritating boils in your blood as you saw the pity ooze out of her like you were some charity case.

“ I was thinking about going shopping for one instead.” The words spill out of your mouth before you could think. You didn’t have the money to splurge on a dress at the moment. But you felt the need to prove yourself to her, to prove you were one of them. One who could spent a grand or two in a day without trouble. But you Weren’t one of them.

“I got you a gift, Actually.” Ivette cuts through the conversation like a knife. Placing a chunky box atop the table over your textbooks and notes. You look at her seeing a knowing glint in her eyes, she knew. She knew that you struggled in her world with her parents and her friends.

“You didn’t have to.” You say to her,

“Stop being so modest, open it.” Julie urges you, it took everything in you to not reach over the table and smack her. Engaging in a conversation with her was like talking to a chihuahua. A Beverly Hills Chihuahua.

A small reassurance from Ivette you began to remove the lid of the black box. Revealing crisp white tissue paper, spotting a vague green colour underneath. Picking various pieces out your eyes gazed upon a gorgeous forest green silk dress. Grasping it in your fingers you were mesmerised by it, lifting it up you saw it in all it’s glory.

“Wow, I think I’m in love with it.” You spoke,

“Me too, where did you get it?” Julie pipes in, gazing at the dress as if it was hers. It was a split between casual and formal, short and body-con-like. an open back with the straps criss crossing over and tying in the front.

“You wouldn’t of heard of it, it’s main stream.” Was all Ivette said watching you adore the dress in your hands,

“Are you coming to the party now?” Julie’s voice still sickly sweet,

“With a gift like this? yes absolutely.” A smirk etched onto your lips still in love with the dress. Ivette scanned Julie’s expression an noticeable sneer reaching towards you. She tried covering it with a grim smile, attempting to keep the jealousy at bay.

“Jonah is going to love that dress.” Ivette squeals, you drop it at the mention of his name. You praised to the gods you kept your emotions in check. Wanting to play along with Ivette and her game with Julie, “I’m sure he will. It’ll match his eyes perfectly.” you chime in finally, glancing over at Julie who could no longer keep her expressions at bay.

---------

Ivette began to slid the key into her door. Click. Turning the knob she opened the door revealing her generous apartment. Guiding you in, your hands holding the box that contained the dress she gifted you. A life saver against Julie and her lifestyle.

She throw her keys on the counter and they landed on the floor with a clang. “I saw the way Julie got under your skin, you had this uncomfortable look settle in your face.” Ivette says, jumping onto her couch with an exaggerated sigh. Taking it in like she hasn’t been there in five whole days.

“I’m-it’s just Julie talks to me like I’m some little kid, or your younger sister.” I say sitting on her wooden coffee to face her, connecting eyes she looks lost. Like you said your dog ran away. You don’t have a dog.

“Where’s all this coming from?” Propping herself on her elbow, concern etching her features. You shrug looking away at your feet, “Forget it, um. Where did you actually get the dress?” You ask not ready to say what you wanted to, knowing Ivette she’d run to the ends of the earth for you. God knows what she’d do to Julie and Julie was her friend.

“Okay, we’ll set it aside.Talk about it late.” Her voice soft and calming. you were grateful for her understanding, she never pushed and waited till you were ready.

Looking at her with gratitude, reaching her hand for yours she squeezed. Comforting warm pressure against your skin. Growing up with no siblings and only having Ivette as your best friend almost felt like having a sister.

“It’s thrifted fifteen dollars,” Ivette beams,

“Okay I’ll take it.” You say in return,

“I know how you hate my expensive gifts. Even though I’ve been giving them for years. I love gifting them to you because you appreciate everything I give you, you even try to give them back.” Ivette lets a giggle slip past her lips,

You hug her, arms wrapping around her neck like your life depended on it. Instantly she did the same taking you into her embrace. “I Just don’t want to feel like a burden.” You whisper into her shoulder,

“You’re not and you’ll never be, You’re my best friend.” She hugs you tighter to her body.

“I love you Ivette.” A warm smile spreads across your lips,

“I love you too, now lets get you into that dress before you make me cry.” Her voice strained knowing she felt the same, “Okay.” You say before both of you started giggling.

Letting go you hopped off the couch grasping the box in your hands. “I’m really grateful for the dress.” You say looking down at her, smiles reaching your ears.

“Stop, just stop. Go put on the dress and I’ll pick out a pair of heels.” She shushes your constant, pushing you towards her bathroom.

The dress was gorgeous by itself, but on you it was phenomenal. Silky green fabric pooling around your upper thighs, hugging your body in all the right places.The lacing in the back was complicated but you eventually got the hang of it. Tying it in the front, at least that’s how you thought it was suppose to go. If it wasn’t it still managed to look better this way.

Walking out of the bathroom you heard an intake of breath. “God that dress is a girls dream.” Ivette beamed at you with the brightest smile. Feeling a blush creep up your neck you spotted a pair of heels in her hand. As well as a gold necklace dangle between her finger tips.

“I’m in love with it.” You admit with a dreamy sigh.

“Jonah will love it as well.” She teases, handing me the shoes and a few pieces of jewellery. Grasping them you sigh, “Can you just let that go, it happened almost a week ago. Plus I asked Trey to meet me at the party.” You inform her, taking a seat on her bed and began to fasten the heels’ strap onto your ankle.

The heels were black and velvet with a chunky heel, barely having any foot coverage. Only having a thick band over your black toe nails and a strap around your ankle. You didn’t dare ask where they were from in risk of giving them back. You were working on that right now.

“The hot barista with Delicious chocolate skin?” Ivette basically melted speaking about him, letting out a giggle you nodded. “God you’re so lucky, he’s fine as fuck.”

“I know I saw him,” you said pride embedded in my tone, collecting the dainty butterfly necklace in my hands. Struggling to get in to clasp, a few tries before I got it. Matching dangle gold earrings, which were easy enough to not mess up.

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

Ivette’s car was wrapped in rose gold crome and was apparently a bitch to keep crisp and clean. Pulling open the passenger’s door you slid in, wasn't too long before the vehicle roar to life. Music pounding into your back with the windows rolled down. This was a party not a wedding so you both never bothered with intense makeup, leaving your hair like it was.

“I told Julie we weren’t going cause you came down with the chicken pox.” Ivette said turning the music down, you whipped your head towards her. “You do realised we just saw her less then five hours ago right?” A laugh vibrates in your throat.

“She fucked with my best friend, you think I’m just going to stand by? Absolutely not!”

“She’ll be there.” I stated looking at her, raven black hair tangling in her silver hoops. A devious smirk spreads on her red lips, “Oh I know,” You shake your head and roll your eyes playfully at her. She only laughs in response.

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

The stench of alcohol, nicotine and sweat has entered your nose almost making you sneeze. Party in full swing, music so loud you swore you saw the floor boards lift up. Taking a step back you thought of hailing a cab and studying for the night. Hand grabbing your arm, you look to Ivette. “It’s time you enjoy yourself, those books aren’t going anywhere.” She speaks into your ear making sure you heard every word. You sigh in defeat she was right, you let her drag you into the night you will definitely regret.

Dragging you through sweaty an intoxicated people, mustering up apologies along the way. Reaching one colossal of a kitchen, a massive house like this was mostly definitely a fraternity house. There was always this pristine a polished look of them, but this one was familiar. One you’ve been to many times before for weekend parties.

It belonged to Jonah’s band, they liked to call themselves Why Don’t We. As in why don’t we just start a band, you’ve heard the story many times. Ivette had an on and off relationship with their drummer Daniel Seavey. You had nothing against him, Daniel was a rare stallion with the heart of a golden retriever. Ivette was always the one to pull away from him scared of giving her entire self to him. He was a drummer after all.

“Babes what beverage is to your calling tonight?” Her voice soft against the shell of your ear. Glancing at the island prepared with every alcoholic drink you could think of. “Surprise me.” You respond with a soft smile on your lips, “The moment I’ve waiting for.” She teases separating from you to craft your drinks. Giving you the prefect opportunity to check if you received a text from Trey.

You hadn’t.

Anxiety starting to arise, where was he?

“Where’s your boy at?” Ivette brushed into you holding that playfulness towards you. Shrugging you shoved your phone into your dainty purse, “I don’t think he’s coming.” voice crumbling, well you didn’t know for sure if he was coming or not. But it was well over an hour when you were suppose to meet. And there was not a single message from him.

“Here mama drink up.” Ivette places a lime green cup into your hand, the colour coding for single. Tapping cups together in a cheers she counted down “1..2...10″ you rolled my eyes as Ivette skipped eight full numbers. Pulling the pink cup to her lips, taken. Which usually meant she was talking to Daniel again. She chugged the contents.

You followed, it was bitter. Burning along your throat as you gulped every last drop of it. The percentage was most likely 60 vodka and 40 coca cola. Your alcohol tolerance wasn’t weak but it definitely wasn't strong either. Taking the cup from your lips you coughed. “How was it?” Ivette asks with hopeful puppy dog eyes. You shook your head at her, “I’m never letting you pick again.”

“Perfect! now it’s time to dance.”

You barely had time to put the plastic cup down, before she was yanking you to the massive den. Into the heart of the party where the music was the loudest and most of the people had been. Cluttering together as if there wasn’t enough space for everyone.

Your mindset switched as soon you had a taste of the liquor, enjoying every moment as if you did this often. Hand in hand with Ivette as you danced together, bodies close together Feeling the music flow through you as if it was in your blood. Singing the lyrics of an older 2000s song that you knew like the back of your hand.

Jonah Marais

Music vibrated the walls almost shaking the frames off. Jonah leaned against the railing on the upper level of the house. Having full view of y/n tangled in Ivette Daniel’s girl. Sweat gleamed over her chest as red, blue, purple. yellow, and green lights flashed throughout the house. A blissful smile on her lips and hair plastering her skin. Unquestionably intoxicated by the alcohol she was given. He rarely got to see her like this and began to enjoy the sight of such a gorgeous girl.

Feeling the presence of a feminine shadow he never took his eye off her. Pressing into him he sighed looking at her, hazel eyes sizing him up. “Hey Jo.” She purred, “Jasmine.” He greeted her in a bored tone she never detected.

Jasmine was one of the many girls he got lost in through his time here. Jonah knew her body as if he saw it every day. He knew what pleased her and what didn’t, her save words and breaking points. But he didn’t know Jasmine not the way he wanted to know y/n. All Jonah knew was her body and he was getting bored of it.

“You said you’d be mine for the night.” He voice seductive and slightly pleading,

“I say a lot of things.” Tone still bored hoping to brush her off.

“Yes you do.” She hums and begins to press her body into his, feeling every curve of her. Breasts, stomach, hips, and the pulse of her core. Didn’t take too long before her kiss reached his neck. Soft and slow thinking this would release the beast within. Hold her against the wall, bodies pressed together. Instead Jonah shivered in disgust as her hands reached for his belt teasingly.

“Jasmine, this is a party not your sex chamber.” Daniel’s voice dripping in authority causing her pull away as if Jonah burned her. Relieve washed over him, eyes still on y/n as she grinds against Ivette. Her hands firmly holding her waist, acrylic nails embedded in the green dress. He began to wonder what that view would look like on him instead.

“Cock block often?” Jasmine scowled at Daniel,

“Think of it more as a rescue.” Daniel’s voice plain also bored with the girl in front of him.

“It’s okay to be jealous.” Jasmine purrs again. Can this chick take a hint? Or do I have to form words to make her leave?

“Not tonight, if you’ll excuse us we have some band issues to discuss.” It was a quick excuse to get rid of her. It worked as she said a quick bye to Jonah who ignored Jasmine. Hearing her storm down the hall in her heels that clicked behind her.

“I have no idea why you keep that one around.” Daniel sighs taking the abandoned spot beside Jonah. Elbow leaning against the banister supporting the rest of his body. “I don’t, she crawls back like a wounded deer.” Jonah replies not caring the way he talked about her.

“Yet here you are still fucking her.” Daniel bites at him not liking the way Jonah drowned himself when things got hard.

“On occasion.”

“That’s even worse,”

Jonah looked at his drummer, between the twinkle in his icy blue eyes and Ivette’s blush pink cup. He knew they were talking again, she had this effect on him that no other girl did. “I have a plan and I need your help.” I devious smirk plays onto Jonah’s lips.

Y/N

Your skin glistening with sweat, the adrenaline in your veins overlapping the pain in the core of your feet. Friction of the straps began to form open wounds, yet you didn’t notice in the bliss of the night. Smiling like an idiot as your body danced with Ivette’s, your best friend.

“We should take a break.” Her voice strained,

You nod, not wanting to sound like a dying cat with your sore throat.

“Okay good, because i’m exhausted, I don’t know how you do it!” She shouts taking your hand in hers, guiding you away from the crowed bunch.

“The alcohol seeping through my bloodstream.” Your tone in a duh manner like it was the most obvious thing in the worlds. Feeling the way the liquor took effect on your mindset, little hazy yet blissful and happy.

“Lets get some water in you. okay?” Ivette’s voice holding concern, brushing your hair back like an older sister. “Yes mom.” you sigh sarcastically, with that both of you are off to the kitchen.

Littering with a couple people not as much as the den. Talking and laughing, enjoying each other’s company. Making the memories they’ll have keep until they don’t want to.

Again Ivette hands you a lime green cup, but this time the substance in side wasn’t brown. But transparent with no wrenched stench this time, water. “Drink up, babes.” Ivette says, bringing her own pink cup to her lips. Hers contain the fizz sound of her favourite pop, Root Beer.

“What would I do without you?” You ask feeling the adrenaline fade from your body. The feeling of complete blissful ecstasy drain to a more content happiness.

“You’d most def--”

“Ivette.” Her name rolled off his tongue like a purr, like it was meant for his lips. Cutting or conversation quick she whirled around at the sound of his voice. Her breath shuttering at the sight of him.

Daniel stood in from of her in all his proud glory, his blue eyes fixed on her and only her. They smiled at one another, his cupid’s bow extending. “Daniel.” She acknowledged him. Glancing at me she widened her eyes for quick second trying to keep herself together. Blue eyes shifting he tilted his head at you, “Hope you were having a good time.”

“I was, thank you Daniel.” you say to him before finally taking a sip of your water. Cold sliding down your throat the perfect refreshment after the hour in the den.

“Always, y/n.” his voice smooth as he averts his attention back on Ivette. “Got time to spare me a dance?” Daniel extends his hand towards her, waiting for the acceptation.

“Sorry, Daniel but I’m y/n’s ride.” Both flicked to you at the excuse she put on the table. You gave he a tight lipped smile not saying a word but you knew she got the message you wanted to get across.

“I know that’s why I have Jonah, he’ll drive y/n when she’s ready.” Daniel threw a thumb behind him. Looking past Daniel you spotted him, Jonah leaned against the counter across the kitchen. Wolfish grin on his lips as he was sipping out of a lime green cup. It couldn’t of been Corbyn could it? No, cause that would be to much to ask for.

Connecting eyes with Ivette, you saw pleased in the browns of her eyes. Not for you to let Daniel take her but to say you didn’t feel comfortable with Jonah. You remembered the times she was completely and utterly happy with him. Saying that he was it, he was home. He was this amazing person for her but she was fucking scared.

You mentally apologised to her before saying anything, “She’s yours, I’ll be fine. Daniel trusts him, I trust him.” You forced the words to sound normal for his sake. Deep down you wanted to puke for saying those words, but it was for Ivette. “He’s a good person, he’ll get you home in one piece.” Daniel says before whisking your best friend from sight.

“I’ll get you back of this.” You swore you heard Ivette seethe, nonetheless you smiled after them. Wasn’t too long before you felt his presence loom behind you. Great here we go, it was a risk worth taking at least that’s what you told yourself.

“Hey, Babe.”

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

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this piece.

Which was your favourite part?

Don’t be afraid to message me if anything offended you with my POC characters. This is a safe space for everyone and I want to make it right!

Taglist: @jonahlovescoffee

#jonah aesthetic #Jonah marais #Jonah marais imagines #Jonah marais fics #wdw #wdw imagines #wdw fics #why don’t we #why don’t we imagines #why don’t we fic #Daniel seavey #corbyn besson #zach herron #jack avery #wdw x reader #why don’t we x reader #Jonah marais x reader #🐆

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katnissmellarkkk · 4 years

Note

headcanons for the poor? headcanons for the poor?

Part Two : specifically perhaps some headcanons about little treats to brighten up bad days? like baked goods? a good soup? baths?

Edit : I gotta add a read more here bc ya girl likes to talk 👧🏼👄💁🏼‍♀️

Edit Edit : I can’t add a read more on my phone 🤦🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️

bad days are often and come by plenty in the early days and years after they grow back together but slowly ebb away more and more as time passes and they continue to grow closer and closer.

on Katniss’ bad days, Peeta makes her cheesebuns and brings them to her in bed, along with water or goat milk to keep her hydrated

she sometimes doesn’t eat much but he’s happy with whatever she does consume

he’ll make her homemade milk chocolate if he thinks she needs a lot of cheering up

on Peeta’s bad days, Katniss will stay in bed with him, hugging herself to him and they’ll play real or not real, for as long as he wishes, even if it’s hours.

she tries to make him cupcakes or butterscotch or sugar cookies on his bad days

for a long time they suck and he doesn’t always have the energy to really pretend they don’t

but eventually she improves markedly and on the day when he reaches for a second cookie, blindly grappling through his foggy, desolated state, Katniss beams with pride

there’s lots of kisses on these bad days

Katniss kisses the place above his heart specifically

and tells him that no matter what Snow did to him, no matter what he thinks Snow destroyed, nothing could ever destroy his heart

Peeta specifically kisses Katniss’ neck, on both good and bad days

he kisses Katniss’ neck on his bad days too

sometimes he’s haunted by what he did upon their reunion or he has a nightmare that he really did murder her after his rescue

Peeta also kisses her stomach a lot, after she eats on her bad days

just the silent reminder that he’ll never let his girl starve again

Katniss makes a mean soup

she doesn’t discover this until after the war

but Peeta gets sick with the flu and she tries to make him a chicken pea soup, just to try getting something simple and nutritious in him

he loves it and claims it’s a miracle cure

she starts making it to cheer him up on his bad days

he pesters her until she finally makes it to be sold at the bakery

it’s a hit among the other residents of Twelve

Peeta tells everyone who compliments it that Katniss — or “my wife” — made it

Peeta writes on the menu board “made by Katniss Mellark”

to which she rolls her eyes but ☺️ when she sees it

when Katniss’ bad days extend to two or three days, Peeta makes her a soothing bath

he knows she won’t feel better until she’s clean again and smelling nice

he fills the tub with a nice variety of scents and flowers and oils

never ever does he use a rose scent though

he carefully helps her take her clothes off and get into the tub

some days she lets him wash her gently and just relaxes into the ministrations

he has soft, gentle fingers that scrub her scalp and rub her skin

other days she silently pleads for him to get in too

he can’t refuse his girl anything

Katniss comes to realize how much these baths comfort her

and when Peeta has a dark day, she insists he take a bath too

he always, one hundred percent of the time, wants her to get in with him too

and it’s only fair she doesn’t refuse him his simple request either

their water cuddles bring the other back to life

they are the other’s light at the end of the tunnel.

#everlark #my lil headcanons 💕♥️🦋💓🥰

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kookiebunnii · 4 years

Text

d4u || c’s get degrees

sept. 2018. this is my first time having a class with guk. we like to make bets on things to satisfy jungkook’s competitive instinct and the reward is usually food-related. i guess this quarter will be no different.

pairing: bestfriend!jungkook x reader

genre: slice of life

word count: 2.4k

warnings: n/a

sept. 2018

If there was one thing Jungkook loved, it was competition. You still remember the phase where he’d respond “bet” to anything you said, even if it made no sense.

Let’s have Chinese takeout for dinner. Bet.

Don’t forget your keys like you did last time. Bet.

If you say “bet” one more time, I’ll throw your Widowmaker mousepad out the window. Bet.

He’d always be the one to suggest playing rock, paper, scissors for the last slice of pizza, betting that if a coin turns up heads then you would have to do the dishes tonight instead, or begging you to play some new video game with him so he could 1v1 you over a large sum of five dollars. Maybe it was the adrenaline he craved or the fact that he could rarely find something he was not skilled at. However, after all the years he’s known you, he has realized that he’s finally met his match. You always watch uninterestedly as the coin lands on tails and Jungkook howls in pain over the kitchen sink. Similarly, you grew used to noncommittedly charging him $5.00 on Venmo as he repeatedly demands a rematch because the game was bugged or his character was lagging.

Perhaps the boy was known for being good at everything, but it seemed that luck was always on your side.

Breaking out of your reverie, you watch as Jungkook dashes across the apartment in search for something. While you spread Nutella over a piece of lightly browned toast, your eyes follow his frantic movements in amusement. Biting into your breakfast for the day, you hum happily as the chocolate-y flavor spreads across your tongue.

“What are you looking for e-boy?” you ask before taking a sip of the milk in your cup.

“I can’t find my penny board…have you seen it?” he starts opening all the cupboards one by one, as if his skateboard would be in the kitchen shelf next to the canned spam.

“I hid it,” you casually state, hiding your grin behind a nibble of toast.

He stops in his tracks, looking you dead in the eye before calmly replying, “And why would you do that?”

Brushing the crumbs from your fingertips onto your plate, you skip past him to respond in a chirpy tone, “Every time you used that cursed thing you’ve come back with a new cut or scrape. We’re running out of my favorite Hello Kitty band-aids, so I’ve decided you need a break from your precious board.”

He seems to be ready to retort something back in response, but with one look at his right arm he’s forced to agree that maybe he should rely on his own two legs for the next week or two. Huffing indignantly, he grabs the other piece of toast you’ve left for him on the plate and begins spreading generous amounts of the hazelnut spread while you get ready for class.

Surprisingly, you and Jungkook have the same class this quarter on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Since the two of you were different majors, you never really discussed schedules with him and only ever really asked about his classes to know when you should expect him to be at home. However, it turns out that this class in question is notorious for being an easy pick to fulfill a GE requirement all students had to complete for graduation, so you couldn’t say it was a complete surprise that the two of you were simultaneously enrolled.

Minutes later, you cover your mouth as you yawn at the doorway, watching Jungkook sling his backpack over his shoulder. He freezes, mumbling something that you assume is a list of all the things he needed for the day to ensure that he doesn’t forget anything.

As he does this mental recital, you reach up and smooth out some hair sticking up at the top of his head. He’s rather tall, so you do your best to tip-toe and ensure that the gel in his hair is adequately spread over his brown locks to make him look as presentable as possible—which you admit must be tough for the poor gel product. He flicks you gently on the forehead as soon as he notices you holding in your laughter over this thought.

“I know you’re thinking something funny about me again. Stop.”

You give him your most innocent smile before heading out the door, slipping your earbuds in to listen to your regular “commute tunes” playlist.

After the short bus ride, he gently bumps into your side to get your attention. You pull out your earbuds and give him a questioning look and soft shoulder bump of your own. Based on the mischievous look on his face, you knew that the premonition you had this morning about Jungkook’s competitiveness was a warning sign.

“Since we have the same class this quarter, how about we bet on who will get the higher grade?” he grins happily, his whole body seemingly lit with excitement.

“Are you sure, Mr. Film Studies major? This is a philosophy class,” you quip, watching as masses of students trickle around the two of you like slippery salmon in a never-ending stream.

“It’s not like you’d have an edge either Miss International Business major” he laughs, and you can hear the confident tone in his voice. Jungkook genuinely thinks he has a chance.

How cute.

Right before you two enter through the classroom door, you pull him aside. The confident way he leans back to look at you tells you that he knew you wouldn’t be able to reject his offer. You never backed down on his challenges, and that’s why he liked you so much.

“Loser treats winner to Korean BBQ,” you state plainly, casually glancing down at your phone to check the time. Two minutes before class starts.

“Sure.”

Satisfied, you head into class and look around for two empty seats that were side-by-side. It wasn’t a habit that you were used to, since you rarely had friends in your university courses. However, with Jungkook beside you, it felt like a natural and customary reaction to scan the room for two empty seats instead of one. It was like pulling out two plates for dinner every night, stopping at a bakery when your cravings hit to buy your favorite dessert and a slice of banana bread to-go, or sending him a meme as you scroll through Reddit that you knew would make him laugh. You were unconsciously conscious of him.

The weeks passed like a summer’s breeze, so enjoyable that you’re left awestruck until it’s over. You enjoyed dodging around Jungkook’s questions whenever he struggled with the homework, watching him nap on his notebook while you took lecture notes, and distracting him with text messages when you didn’t want to pay attention in class so that he wouldn’t be able to either. It was almost like high school again, back when you used to be able to spend time with him and mess around in class with the teacher being none the wiser. Before long, finals had come around and you were feeling a little nervous to say the least. Jungkook refused to tell you what he got on the midterm, and by extension his grade in the course, thereby keeping you in the dark. Your grade wasn’t terrible, but you knew that Jungkook wasn’t a complete dummy because he always performed well when he was focused. Free Korean BBQ could do that to a man.

“Do you want to study together?” you ask, finding him laying on the couch and playing a racing game on his phone. You watch as his round eyes focus on the screen intently, waiting for him to blink.

“Sure. I’m not helping you though.”

You laugh, bringing your face close enough that it was right above the phone in his hands. Making weird faces to distract him from his game, you reply, “As if. I’m just checking to see how behind you are in this class.”

He finishes and tosses his phone on the tabletop. Looking at you disinterestedly, he pinches one of your cheeks and gets up when you wiggle out of his grasp. It looks like he’s going to get his stuff, so you head into your own room to prepare your books for a productive study session.

One of the highlights of your university was its library. You always came here to study instead of studying at home or going to a café. Being at home was sometimes distracting, especially when you could hear Jungkook roasting his team over voice chat well into the late night. Given how much you were consuming at your new barista job, you also decided to avoid places with delicious pastries, lest you wanted more feelings of disappointment during your next weigh-in at the doctor’s.

Finding a table with space for two, you sit down and begin pulling all of your supplies out of your backpack. Your enjoyed studying with a particular organization of notes and texts, so you had your favorite animal post-its on hand. Using them to indicate the beginning of your lecture notes, you begin going through what you’ve written with a light yellow highlighter. After doing this for a few pages, you peek at Jungkook’s work to find him doodling in the margins.

Leaning over, you draw a cute stick figure pointing to Jungkook’s doodle in awe. To get the full effect, you include a speech bubble of the character saying “WOW!”

He smiles before giving your stick figure a gorgeous mustache and top hat.

Surprisingly, the two of you get a lot done that day. You expected to be consistently distracted, but Jungkook kept to himself whenever he was really focused. Maybe he was always like this with studies he was interested in, but either way you quite liked how focused he was being. His wide eyes were trained on the text in front of him as he absentmindedly tapped his pen against his cheek in thought. Once in a while the pen tilts dangerously close to his mouth, and as you catch him proceeding to take an unconscious bite of the cap, you pull his hand away in alarm.

“You have a habit of putting things in your mouth. Perhaps you’re into that, but for your health let’s not,” you chastise, pulling the pen out of his grasp and tapping him on the head with it.

Grinning, he proceeds to try and bite your shoulder. You almost screech in alarm at his attack before remembering that you’re in a very public library with students already taking notice of the way you were practically falling out of your chair in horror. Clearing your throat and straightening your jacket, you give Jungkook a dirty look before turning away to focus on your textbook again.

Finals turned out to be much easier than you anticipated, which matched up to the past experiences you’d gathered from previous students of the course. It was clear to you that you and Jungkook had over-studied, but what captured your interest with greater intensity was the final grade in the course. As you happily noted the bright 97.6% flashing back at you on the screen, you could practically taste the yummy samgyeopsal on your tongue. Guess what makes food even better? When it’s free!

You slide over to Jungkook’s room and peek inside, hoping he wasn’t in the middle of a game. Luck finds you again when you witness him exiting out of the League of Legends application on his setup and spinning around in his bright orange gamer chair to greet your new intrusion. He quickly pulls his headset off to hear you better, to which you respond by diving face-first onto his bed and rolling up in his blanket like Y/N burrito just to bother him. When he makes a sound of annoyance and begins prying the sheets off you, you know you’ve attained your goal and begin helping him unravel you.

“What do you want?” he prods you off the bed so he can redo his sheets.

“Have you seen your PHIL grade yet?” you begin pretend-boxing with his back as the punching bag. He doesn’t seem to like this very much either, because he quickly spins around and grabs onto your fists to stop you.

“I have. Guess you’re taking me to KBBQ tonight?” he tries to tickle you out of spite, but you know he’s in a good mood. You’re rarely this playful with him, preferring to silently annoy him or treat him more like a troublesome younger brother to look out for. But what can you say? A free dinner peaks your mood.

“What’d you get then smartass?”

He pretends to think for a bit with his hand on his chin, “You first.”

Confidently, you stand up to him and puff your chest out in pride while jabbing his chest with each digit that comes out of your mouth.

“97.6% baby. Anyways, there’s this new spot 15 minutes away Luce told me about, I think you should treat me there-”

“Hm, 97.7% here baby,” a smirk sliding easily across his features as he mocks your previous tone, “What was that about a new place?”

Wide-eyed, you demand to see his grade on the university’s portal page. There’s no way this slick kid managed to get a higher grade than you…especially by a tiny percentage point! He’s got to be joking, maybe betting that you wouldn’t actually fact-check his claims or something…

Alas, as he shows you his screen while laughing in crazed triumph, you feel like breaking his obnoxious rainbow-lit keyboard as he runs around his room doing victory laps. You always thought luck would be on your side, especially when it came to studies, but perhaps you had used up all your free passes this year.

Breezing past him, you head to your room to find a light coat for the evening and your car keys. Jungkook seems to find that following you as you complete this task is entertaining, because you have to try your absolute best not to look at him as he tries to get your attention by making his typical crackhead expressions.

“Put on one of your weeb hoodies with the anime chicks and let’s go.”

“Wind out of your sails Y/N?”

He grabs you by the shoulders in an attempt to spin you around, but one well-aimed knee to the balls later, Jungkook seems to enjoy lying on the floor clutching his precious package more than teasing you with his antics.

Mental note: never make a bet with Guk again.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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