Every single time I watch the kiss (#2) scene, I end up with this really intense desire to murder Raf. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore him (most of the time) but he interrupted what would have been a freaking amazing making out session and I can’t forgive him for that.
Sugar Daddy Sebastian fic inspired by this post. New series and probably a slow burn. Enjoy. Tag List open.
When Sebastian woke up in his king sized bed and his red
silky sheets, he knew he was a changed man. He got up from the bed and made his
way to the large balcony with the spectacular view of New York. His divorce
with the witch of a wife he had was finally over and he was free to do whatever
he wanted. Him and his wife have not been getting along for a long time yet she
loved what Sebastian’s money could offer to her. Sebastian didn’t mind. He didn’t
care. He mad the money she spent on a daily basis every 10 minutes. What he
didn’t want was another cause of stress in his already stressful CEO life. Sebastian
was the owner of several European countries in the U.S and he was one of the
most powerful men in the world.
I have a confession: Seto Kaiba’s struggles, and even his setbacks, resonate with me more deeply than most characters’ successes.
If the first thing we see is how cutting and obnoxious Kaiba can be, the second is how deeply damaged he is, and Takahashi continues to weave these two strands together throughout the story. Kaiba isn’t simply distrustful, he’s someone who has learned in a very hard school that trust is dangerous, that friendship and attachment lead to loss and betrayal.
From Duelist’s Kingdom onwards he’s actively trying to be a better person and to build a more hopeful future – and he constantly screws up on both fronts, and then goes right back to trying again, as if he can win through through sheer single-minded persistence.
Kaiba struggles. Constantly. With his future and his past, with everything and everyone… and with himself most at all. Kaiba not only fails the course in “Socially Acceptable Ways to Grieve 101,” he marches into the classroom, overturns the desk, rips up the final exam and then stomps on the pieces for good measure.
Kaiba is a reminder that both life and loss are messy… and that moving forward isn’t an unbroken victory march. Instead, Kaiba stumbles through his emotional journey without a roadmap (and often without a clue), taking countless wrong turns while tripping over every roadblock in his way. And that acknowledgement – that life can be chaotic and occasionally devastating, that sometimes the way that time heals wounds is by creating scars – is something I see so rarely in any media, that Kaiba, in all his flawed and damaged glory, makes me cheer not just for him, but for his very existence as well.
These panels show just how far Kaiba has come. But I don’t think Kaiba will ever be the person he would have been if his parents’ hadn’t died or if the following years had been less brutal. They did and they were and nothing can change that. And I don’t think Kaiba needs to become that mythical might-have-been person, as illusory as one of his holograms, anyway. Kaiba has a different challenge: to learn to accept the person he is.
And maybe you don’t need a unbroken victory march in order to triumph.
Chris finding out that an old ex has been stalking you since he found out you were single again. He comes up with a plan to get rid of him and immediately volunteers to be your fake boyfriend, taking it a little too seriously.
But really the difference between Sasuke and Sakura’s canon relationship and their relationship in their fandom’s imagination is so vast and straight up bizarre
there’s fan art of Sasuke cooking Sarada a feast and wanting to impress her and actually expressing attraction to Sakura even though he never bothered writing either of them a single letter in all the years of his absence even though he was writing to Naruto all that time, and Sakura being the Perfect Wife even though she can’t even remember if he used to wear glasses or not.
Graves is found. Shackled, starved, bruises and cuts all over, but he’s found, and healed. Physically, at least. Progressively. He gets money from the MACUSA as an apology, and thousands of well wishes cards and love letters from fans he didn’t know he had. Praising his bravery. Wishing him a good recovery.
I never understand how people blame Cas for everything that happened in s6 (and to some extent, s7), because, I mean, were you even watching s6??
Cas is fighting a civil war in Heaven against RAPHAEL. Raphael, who is an archangel, Raphael who is trying to restart the apocalypse. He is single-handedly trying to stop this war.
And time and time again when he only asks that Dean* the Winchesters understand what he’s trying to do, why he’s so busy, Dean they constantly give him shit for it.
And it’s such bullshit, because Cas is trying to prevent exactly what they spent weeks, months, years trying to circumvent!! They lost Ellen and Jo trying to stop the apocalypse/Lucifer! They lost Sam, last time! Sam had to damn himself to an eternity of torture to stop Lucifer (and Michael) last time!
They are literally pushing against Cas’ plans to fucking stop the apocalypse from happening again, what the actual fuck.
And Cas only asks that they understand. He only asks for them to respect that he can’t help them like he usually would. And??? That’s apparently too much???
So yeah, I completely fucking understand why Cas starts lying to them about working with Crowley (which isn’t really something to fault him for, since oh yeah, how many times have Dean and Sam and Bobby done the same?? “Cas got manipulated by Crowley wow what a bastard” ffs), and lying to them about his plans.
And also, I understand why he killed Professor Whatshername and broke Sam’s wall. I don’t condone the actions, but considering that Dean the Winchesters keep demonizing him for everything he’s doing, I’m not really shocked that he didn’t know where to draw the line. Angels already have a skewed sense of morality, and having literally no support from Dean the Winchesters, and being egged on by Crowley, none of it is freaking surprising.
Dean They put this on himself themselves. If he they had just listened or had a conversation, none of this would have even happened, none of it would have gotten so bad in the first place where Godstiel and the Leviathans were even a possibility.
I’m still bitter about how stupid Dean* the Winchesters were in s6.
*I say Dean, because it was mainly Dean who was being a dick despite the fact he was the one who couldn’t accept that Cas would work with Crowley ffs Dean enough with the denial. Sam and Bobby were kinda just going along without really adding any other crap regarding Cas. Series-wise, Sam and Bobby really do just tend to go along with Dean’s choices (don’t fucking get me started), and I’m certain that a) if Dean had been supportive, they’d have gone along with that, too, b) part of it was because at this point Cas was still pretty much “Dean’s friend,” so they let him deal with it, and c) they didn’t entirely agree with Dean’s feelings on the matter.
chaotic kitchen mishaps, which are not limited to the absolute atrocity of the cardamom toast. even will go all out in terms of what he is willing to eat and/or create. it gets to be quite disgusting but isak tries every single thing he makes without fail
every now and again they come across the strangest combination that actually isn’t half bad. it becomes a staple
even having low days when he can’t really get out of bed. sometimes he’s still able to give isak a smile but it’s the sort that breaks isak’s heart
isak stays with him in bed and they watch movies together and he’ll press soft kisses to his forehead and run his fingers through even’s hair. and just. be with him and tell him stories and reassure him he’s not worthless like he’ll say he is, reminds him of all the good there is, reminds him that he loves him so much, because that’s all he can really do. the whole time even has his head resting on his lap
he puts even’s favorite movies on but it doesn’t really do anything. except eventually even falls asleep on isak. and isak gets sort of uncomfortable in his position but he would sooner eat another one of their cardamom toasts than move and wake him up
neither of them know how to do laundry. like. ever. and it’s a tragedy. even wearing three hundred sweaters is canon and he makes isak do it too on cold days because he doesn’t want him getting sick.
but he does get sick and he keeps saying he’s fine but even will not take no for an answer and makes a ton of soup and tea and just cuddles up to him, the both of them bundled up in a blanket
isak laughs so hard at things that even says sometimes his eyes water and even wipes the tears away with the cutest, most adoring expression
Has anyone done a Sherlolly Time-Loop Au, where Sherlock finds himself repeating a single day over and over again, and he tries to figure out how to break the loop, only to realize that the only bits of the day he can change is in relation to Molly…. Eventually it dawns on him the only way to break the loop is to acknowledge how much he actually loves and needs Molly.
Hiiiiii! Do you mind writing about sarada discovering how to use a cell phone and she's continuously calling sasuke? Thank you!!!!!
The phone vibrates in Sasuke’s pocket and for a moment, he doesn’t know what it is as he crouches low and glances around for a target. A moment later, he realizes that the sound and vibration was coming from his pocket. Cautiously, he picks out the phone from his pocket and flips it open to answer it. “Hello?” he calls out to it, not realizing to place it near his ear.
After a minute of silence, he finds that it was vibrating in his hand again. But before he could get out a single word, he hears a loud static sound come through followed by loud thuds and a screeching howl. He stares at the phone in horror as he wishes he could see through the phone with his eyes to be able to see through to the other end.
“PAPA, HI!” Sarada shouts through the phone. More thuds along with some clanging of what seems to be kitchen pots in the background noise. The phone line goes dead and Sasuke stops in the middle of walking as he just stares at his phone. Somewhere back home in the village of Konoha, his young four-year-old daughter was creating havoc in the house.
Immediately, he dials Sakura’s number and is relieved when it is answered. “HI PAPA!” Sarada shouts.
“Sarada…” he warns. “What are you doing with mama’s phone? Where is mama right now?”
“Mama is sick. I’m making her soup,” Sarada announces proudly.
Sasuke was just about ready to have a heart attack and drop the phone on the ground. “What do you mean sick? Is she besides you?”
“Mama is sleeping in her bed,” Sarada answers.
Sasuke sighs. “Sarada… don’t do anything. Papa will come home right now.”
“But the soup!”
“Papa will help you make soup.”
“Okay!” Sarada shouts into the phone.
When Sasuke returns home later that day, in a record time of 42 minutes, he is dismayed to find that the whole living room and kitchen had been flipped completely upside down. In the corner was the house cat, hissing at him when he entered the room. Sasuke could see that the cat’s poor tail had been stepped on and hair was all over the carpet. Empty pots and pans were strewn out on the floor alongside several wooden spatulas and spoons. In the center of the whole mess sits Sarada with a tiny pot on her head, worn like a cap, and a spatula in her hand.
“PAPA, YOU’RE HOME!” she shouts happily.
Sasuke sighs and picks up Sarada in his arms as he removes the pot from her head. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”
Sarada shakes her head. “But I stepped on MooMoo and he’s very very very very very mad at me today.” She gives a sad pout towards the cat’s direction and Sasuke wonders when did they name the cat MooMoo. “I thought the cat was named Momo.”
“Papa, that was last week. Mama accidentally added an extra O to his dish bowl so now he is MooMoo. Like a cow!”
He nods. “Speaking of mama, let’s go see her.”
“The soup!” Sarada tugs on his hair. “We need to make the soup first. I already got all your pots out.”
Sasuke stares at the mess in the living room and kitchen. “Yes… on second thought, let’s clean this all up before Mama wakes up and sees it.”
04x22 “Lucifer Rising 11x02 “Form and Void” Fall and I’ll Catch You
Excuse me while I drown in a puddle of the Dean Winchester and Castiel feels here and overread things, but I am just really really emotional about how 4x22 “Lucifer Rising” marked the moment that Cas for the very first time and with more certainty and conviction than ever before chose the Winchesters, chose Dean over Heaven. And it gets introduced with Dean tipping over the angel statue, causing it “to fall”. Just like Dean inspired Cas’ fall. And now 7 seasons later we have the episode 11x02 “Form and Void” in which Cas is tortured for siding with and choosing the Winchesters over Heaven. Every. Single. Time. He is given the choice. And he does it again just moments later rather choosing to endure terrible agony than giving up Sam and Dean. And miles away, there is one Dean Winchester, desperately trying to reach Cas on the phone, desperate to “save Cas”, but there are complications and things getting in the way. And so he ends up in an house filled with angels any- and everywhere, angels Jenna sends crashing, shattering to the ground. But there’s one that’s saved, one whose fall Dean catches, saves. The one who later ends up in the bunker, with the Winchesters - his true family - begging them “to help him” or should I say “catch his fall”. If the angel statue Dean catches is anything to go by, Cas is in the most literal sense of the term in good hands…
BTS Reaction: When he’s trying to get your attention~
Seokjin’s walking through the buffet line in the small cafeteria off-stage from the concert series, his eyes trailing hungrily over the various dishes he can’t wait to try. This is his second time through the line, and he’s filling his plate again, without a single ounce of shame or guilt. Diet? What diet? EatJin has no such boundaries.
Seokjin’s deciding which of the kimchis he’s going to try when he notices someone approaching from behind. He looks over his shoulder and promptly chokes.
Y/N is walking slowly along the buffet line, inspecting the food and crinkling your nose at the wonderful smells. You’re dressed in full concert attire, stage makeup and styled hair, a simple white and red dress to match the sweet concept your group was promoting this comeback. You look up, noticing the person in front of you had stopped, and smile at him.
Seokjin’s heart kicks into high gear.
“Hello, Y/N-noona!” He bows, nearly toppling his full tray of food onto the ground. “I’m Kim Seokjin, of BTS. It’s an honor to meet you.”
You look surprised at his sudden shout. He flushes, embarrassed but happy that he got to meet you like this. He has your group’s last three albums on his iPod, and he’d tried to download your covers of other songs that he loved without much success, despite enlisting the help of the more tech-savvy Taehyung.
“I know! That you’re Jin-sshi, from BTS, I mean,” you answer, stumbling over your words just a bit. A small smile grows on your face. “It’s nice to meet you too, Kim Seokjin-sshi.”
He nods, biting his lip to contain his excitement. An awkward silence falls over the two of you, forcing him to find something to say. “This kimchi is really good,” he says, pointing to the small serving bowl at the end of the table. “You should eat more– the concert’s going to be longer than usual tonight. More protein too. Try a portion of this steak or something.”
When you look at him with bemusement, he realizes what he’d just said. Oh god, he just mothered Y/N-noona like he would one of his donsaengs. “Ah, I’m sorry, that was–”
“No, no. Don’t apologize. It’s been awhile since someone’s said something like that to me,” you say with a laugh, picking up the kimchi in particular. “It’s sweet.”
He flushes, embarrassment and happiness warring for supremacy in his chest. “Do you–would you like to grab a table? With me?”
You look surprised again by the suggestion but accept with a cheerful “Sure!”
“Ah, Noona,” he interrupts, his voice low and soft. “That’s not right.”
“Hmm?” You look over your shoulder at him, the ramyeon wrapper held close to your face as you struggle to read the fine print. An egg “Ah, Yoongi. I didn’t know you were in the studio today. What’s not right?”
Yoongi steps into the break room, his hand pulling uselessly at his wrinkled hoodie. He’s not exactly thrilled that the first time he sees you again in two months he’s coming off of three overnighters, hasn’t showered in nearly a week, and has survived on instant ramyeon and Chinese takeout. “You have to boil the water before putting the noodles in. And once they’re nearly soft, you put the vegetables and an egg.”
“Oh….” You put the wrapper down and stare into the pot resting on the break room’s kitchenette. “Thanks. As you can tell, I don’t often make instant noodles. I’d rather cook or eat takeout.”
He hums in acknowledgement, stepping closer to double-check what you’d done in the pot. Water’s just sitting listlessly at the bottom, so he turns on the stove on to begin boiling. When you start cutting up vegetables, carefully watching the knife, he looks you over. You’re wearing a simple blue sweater and jeans with a pair of red converse, little to no makeup that he can see, a pair of glasses perched on your nose. Your hair’s drawn back in a messy bun and simple silver studs are fixed in your ears.
“No, Noona.” He stops you when you try to put the vegetables in the pot. “Yah, you’re hopeless. Let me do this for you.”
You pout and put the knife down, before pushing your glasses back up your nose and smiling. “I thought Seokjin was the cook of BTS. Who knew the notorious grump had such a skill up his sleeve?”
He sighs, rolling his eyes at you, but is pleased with the roundabout compliment nonetheless. “It’s just instant ramyeon,” he mumbles.
For the next hour, the two of you sit over instant ramyeon and talk about music, about life. He’s respected you for since his debut, when you’d been brought in to help design the BTS debut tracks. The tiny flame he’d been holding for you had only grown over the years, but you’d both been too busy for any more contact.
BTS is on a two week break, now that the album’s finished. Maybe this could be the time…
Namjoon shifts on the sofa again, his eyes trained carefully on the book in his hands. He can see people moving around him from the corner of his eye, harried makeup noonas and coordinators walking amongst different clusters and working on the organization for the interview show. The waiting room itself is probably the nicest he’s ever been in, with plush red sofas, marble coffee tables, and a long bar on the far wall full of expensive teas and coffee available for the show’s guests. He’s already sampled several in the hours he’s been here and is nearly done with the collection of poems on his lap, but the same poem has passed unread in his eyes for nearly half an hour now.
He can’t concentrate with you curled up in the arm chair on the other side of the coffee table, your nose hidden behind the pages of a book, like him. Exactly like him–it’s the same collection of poems by Kim Nam-jo. The knowledge that you read the same literature as he does, that your mind is creating images and worlds from the same text at the same moment as he does, sends a thrill of interest down his spine.
After weeks of attempting to engage Seokjin-hyung or Yoongi-hyung in the collection and failing continuously, Namjoon had given up on finding someone to talk to about the vivid imagery, the powerful and exacting simplicity of the verse and style, how he hope to learn from it and incorporate the same essence into his work. Now it seems fate has given that hope a second chance, and it’s with the Noona he’s been crushing on for nearly a year.
He hates to call it a crush. That sounds so much more juvenile than the feeling that burns inside him, the interest that had plagued him since he’s watched your interview on TV where you’d mentioned the works of Kim Chi-ha when describing your inspirations for your lyrics. But there wasn’t really another way to describe the giddy, awkward way he feels when he sees you on TV or for a second at k-pop award shows. And now, here he is, barely two yards away, with the perfect opportunity to start a conversation, and he’s…
Namjoon twists again and heaves a loud sigh, hoping to draw you out of your book to look at him. He turns the book so the cover is visible but not so obvious that he’s practically waving it in your face. He holds his breath when he sees you reach for your cup of tea and take a light sip, keeping his body still, but your eyes immediately go back to your page. Damn it.
Namjoon brainstorms for more ideas to draw your attention, when he realizes what he’s doing and promptly hates himself for it. “Hey, uh, Y/N-noona.”
You stir at the sound of his voice and look up. “Yes, Rap Mon-sshi?”
“Namjoon is fine,” he replies, ignoring the voice inside screaming that informality is too soon. “I-um…I just noticed that we’re reading the same book.”
You glance down at the book in his hands before a faint smile appears on your face. “Oh. We are.” A few seconds of silence follow, when you withdraw a small, flat piece of metal with a string of beads attached and slip it into the folds of the book. You don’t fold the corners of your books for a bookmark–Namjoon appreciates that. “Have you read her other works? I think this recent collection is pretty good, but I still prefer Music of the Windswept Forest.”
“That’s my favorite collection of hers,” Namjoon agrees eagerly, leaning forward in his seat.
“Ah,” you say with a smile. “You have good taste.”
He smiles wider than the compliment probably warrants, but he’s thrilled as a conversation starts up between the two of you.
Hoseok’s messing around with Jimin and Taehyung in the dance studio when the new choreographer comes in for the day’s practice. Namjoon stands up immediately and greets you, bowing and shaking your hand as he leads you to the monitor with their playlists and shows you how to use the program. Yoongi-hyung and Seokjin-hyung continue to lean against the wall, already despairing of the hours of practice ahead. Jungkook’s stretching in front of the mirror, his eyes occupied with the same thing as Hoseok.
It’s a bit unusual for the company to assign a female choreographer to a male group, but Hoseok’s certainly not complaining. Especially when you take the bulky jacket off to reveal a tight fitting grey t-shirt and black yoga pants. Woah….. He meets Kookie’s eyes in the mirror and raises a brow. The maknae slowly nods back, his eyes darting to you before returning to Hoseok.
“Okay, let’s get this started.” You announce, stepping to the front of the room. The rest of the guys gather around, Taehyung elbowing Jimin in the ribs and waggling his eyebrows ridiculously. Hoseok rolls his eyes at them. “My name is Y/N. I am your temporary choreographer until your choreographer returns from medical leave. I graduated from the School of Performing Arts three years ago and was recently hired by BigHit to help develop girl idol groups.”
You look over a schedule in your hand, flipping through the pages, before nodding. “Mostly I’m here to monitor your rehearsals and make sure you’re not slacking off–” you pause and stare flatly at Taehyung when he starts giggling “–and to work with Jung Hoseok–sshi and Park Jimin-sshi on their solo dance breaks.” You look around and smile tentatively at them. “Any questions?”
Namjoon glares at the maknae line, just waiting for the inappropriate questions, but they remain quiet. “Thank you for helping us,” Namjoon says politely, and practice begins without further ado.
Hoseok pushes his body harder than he normally would, works at every body roll and every minute snap of his hands and knees to ensure his dance work is perfect. You’re watching from the side, inspecting their movements and making notes, a small smile flashing when you watch Seokjin-hyung miss a step and struggle to get back in the loop, laughing at himself as he goes.
He thinks he can feel the moment your eyes land on him, like a layer of electricity sits above his skin. He throws himself into the hip thrusts of Crow Tit, his eyes flashing to yours to see if you’re watching. At the end of the song, his dance break comes. Hoseok performs it as intricately and professionally as he would on stage, sweat sticking his shirt to his back with the strain, but when he raps up the song, he’s flushed with satisfaction.
A clap starts up from the left, and they all turn to see you applauding by the monitor. “That run-through was perfect. Well–” you grin at Seokjin-hyung, who holds his forehead in his hands and pants “–almost perfect. Hoseok–sshi, I heard you are the dancer of the group.”
“Ah, well, we have a lot of great dancers in Bangtan,” he answers modestly but smiles when the other members protest that.
“I can see why people would say that,” you say, giving him a half smile. “That was pretty impressive. You run a dance show on V app too, yes? I’m looking forward to seeing you improvise.”
“Thank you,” he replies, turning uncharacteristically shy under the spotlight of your praise. Jimin and Jungkook are the ones that usually receive compliments from their choreographer. Hoseok doesn’t hold it against him; he knows that he trusts Hoseok to nail down the choreo and memorize it with little assistance. But still… it’s nice to be recognized.
Taehyung’s performing a V live session in the empty communal break room off set, beaming at the hundreds of thousands of fans pouring in to watch. He’d already decided what cover he’s going to sing for them and is skimming through his playlists on his phone. “Ah, let’s do this one.”
He holds the phone up to his face, listening as the opening music to Whiz Kalifa’s See You Again starts. “This is an ode to Jungkookie,” he tells the fans teasingly, knowing the comment has already earned him a punch to the gut from said maknae. Then he starts singing, “It’s been a long day without you, my friend. And I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again.” He’s making exaggerated faces since he can’t move his hands too much without giving the fans vertigo, nodding his head and struggling through the English rap in a rush. Taehyung’s just starting to get into it, letting go of all pretense at getting the pronunciation right, when the door opens.
He pauses for just a second, caught off guard, but continues a second later, turning to look over his shoulder. Indecision cuts through his train of thought. It’s Y/N-noona, dressed in full Hwarang regalia, your hair tied up in a strict bun on your head, skin glowing under the harsh white light of the break room. The flowing robes of the period drama glide behind you, the vibrant magenta hue with layers of emerald green and royal purple make for a majestic entrance whenever you entered the room. He certainly always loses his breath.
Should he stop? ARMY might be disappointed if he suddenly cut the broadcast, and it’s unlike V to show any embarrassment at his antics. He’s not really embarrassed himself–there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun while he waits to film his scenes–but Taehyung’s been trying to get your attention for the past two months of filming. You seem so mature, so professional while on set, and yet also sweet and funny when out of character.
Taehyung decides to bite the bullet and continue the broadcast but turns up the charm several notches, doing his best to sing in tune and get the pronunciation close to the original. He flashes you a bright grin when he notices you leaning against the counter and watching him sing and dance with curiosity. The song finally wraps up and he says goodbye to ARMY, citing his upcoming scenes for an explanation to the end of the broadcast, but really he’s just seizing the chance to talk to you if he can.
By the time he shuts the camera down and turns around, you’re walking back to the door of the break room, water bottle in hand. He deflates, a frown forming when he notices you’re headed back to set, only to perk up when you pause by the doorway.
“Taehyung–sshi, was that one of your V live shows?”
“Ah, yes,” he replies, turning to face you and smiling. “I feel bad that I can’t be there with the other guys right now, but I wanted to do a broadcast for the fans too. So no one gets left out.”
“Oh,” you say nodding casually. The corner of your mouth quirks up into a half-smile. “That’s nice of you. Do you always sing for them like that?”
“Not every time, but Jungkook and I usually do a cover on the shows.”
“Huh… cool.” You take a step out of the room but look over your shoulder at him. “I’ve heard you singing in the past, but I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you rap. And in English, too…. You’re not bad, Taehyung-sshi.”
He glows as you finally leave the break room, unable to keep from dancing around in happiness and shooting Jimin twenty texts about how Noona thinks he’s a good rapper. He ignores Jimin’s reply of ‘no way she said that’ and grabs a Coke from the fridge, deciding that he deserves a treat for his hard work.
He’s trying to make it seem like he’s staring at himself in the mirror, but from the look of judgement on Seokjin-hyung’s face, he’s not succeeding. Jimin lifts a hand to ruffle his orange hair, relishing in the fluffy, silky texture and the effortless tousled look it gives to his face, licking his lips before chancing a more obvious glance.
You’re talking with the stage coordinator of the venue, checking the schedule for the hundredth time to make sure there wouldn’t be any confusion for them as they time their performance amongst others at the MAMA awards. Your eyes are steadfastly focused on the task at hand, but every now and then you will look up and find the members, to make sure everyone’s still on standby and read. He just has to be sexy in the right moment, in the exact moment that your eyes find him. Not hard, right? He’s always sexy.
Except he’s not usually surrounded by six other idol groups, several of whom have been eyeing you up like a steak dinner on New Year’s night.
Jimin coils his body into a twist, stretching to make sure his limbs are still loose and ready to go. If he picks the stretches that show off his thighs and ass, well–that’s just coincidence. He glances in the reflection of the backstage mirror again to see if you’ve noticed him.
Still nothing. Damn.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
He strolls casually to the wall by the stage entrance, on the other side of the coordinator you’re talking with but still in plain sight for you to see him. With one quick lift, he flattens his leg against the wall, showing off his flexibility honed from years of intense dancing, and rolls his head back, sighing at the feel of his muscles being pulled taught and then loosening. He slowly opens his eyes in your direction.
You’re staring at him, your mouth just barely open, surprise written across your expression. A small hand comes up to hide your mouth, your eyes shining with laughter. Laughter?
“So bold, Jiminie,” Taehyung simpers, fanning his face with his right hand. The other hand pats Jimin’s raised leg as the singer waggles his eyebrows.
Jimin lowers his leg and hits Taehyung on the chest, a miniature fight breaking out between them. Once the other boy takes off laughing to bug the maknae, Jimin hesitantly turns around to check your expression. You’re still chuckling as you look at your tablet, but you glance up and meet his gaze. When he runs his hand through his hair again and grins, you smile. Your cheeks are just a bit pink.
“Oh, there she is, there she is,” Taehyung chants in his ear, nudging his side with a bony elbow.
Jungkook shoves him off, his eyes darting down the hall. He runs his hands along his hair quickly, praying his stage make-up was still on point.
You’re walking down the hall, surrounded by the other members of your group. The rapper of your group, with dyed blue hair and rows of earrings, wraps her arms around your neck, laughing with you about something. You’re all breathing a bit hard, fresh from your performance for the BigHit family concert, but the faint shine on your face looks…sexy. The black leather pants and black ankle boots you’re wearing really emphasize the shape of your legs, the slender muscles of your calves and thighs carved from hours of dance practice. The white sweater, on the other hand, makes you seem softer, with fitted cuffs that wrap around your small hands, and smooth cashmere that conforms just enough to your shape to make you seem small, feminine.
Jungkook can feel the ghost of his gangly, extremely awkward high school years take hold of him at the sight of you. God, why can’t he act like he does on stage when you’re around?
“Do it, Jungkookie!”
He whips around at the sound of Taehyung’s voice and remembers their plan. Without wasting another second, Jungkook throws himself into a back handstand, his shirt falling down his chest for a few brief seconds in air, before he pushes off the ground with his hands and lands on his feet, nearly kicking out the ceiling with his feet.
Taehyung cheers loudly, spring forward and shouting Again! Again!, but Jungkook ignores him. He grins in elation at performing the move without falling and chances a glance down the hallway. Did she see?
Your group is in the process of turning a corner, managers hustling you along to get refreshments. Jungkook can’t see you in the bustle. Disappointment tasting bitter in his mouth, he turns to drag Taehyung back to their dressing room, when a familiar voice calls down the hallway.
His head turns so fast he gets whiplash in his neck, but there you are, grinning that sweet smile from ear to ear, a small flush on your cheeks. You wave to him before being yanked around the corner by your leader’s arm. A giddy feeling, like a sugar high, fills him, has him bouncing up the walls with Taehyung as they head to their room, and his face feels hot. Your voice echoes in his head, the sound of his own name burns in his ears.
“Oh my god, Jungkookie, she noticed you,” Taehyung’s teasing him, poking him in the cheek in a manner that would have normally earned him a rocket punch to the gut, but Jungkook doesn’t care.
Happy Birthday @generatorcat! Yay for 23!!! You are one of my favorite authors in this fandom and I wanted to show some appreciation!! I hope you have a fabulous day and that this little piece can possibly get you off to a great start! <33
(S/O to @drabblemeister for being my cheerleader when my self-esteem is feeling especially delicate haha ilu)
As far as first impressions went, Tim’s was sudden, unwarranted, and above all, intensely embarrassing. In fact, he might even go so far as to say that never in his life had his mind been so utterly at odds with his body. If he could have redone a single moment in his life over again, he never would have woken up today. Instead, he would have slept in, skipped class, and been blissfully ignorant of the way the life of his unlucky doppelganger from an alternate universe changed so dramatically in the space of ten seconds.
Because let’s be real for a moment here; getting a hard on out of nowhere because the new TA did nothing more than walk into Econ 405 and run his fingers through his hair while he introduced himself
, literally nothing else,
was possibly, probably, most definitely the epitome of humiliation.
Do you believe in love at first sight? I know what you’re thinking; the world is a cynical place and I must be a cynical man, thinking a woman like you would fall for a line like that. Thing is, it isn’t a line. So please here me when I say this, I have never loved anyone as I do you right now, in this moment.
K: (a few minutes later) Oh, he’s gay. I wonder if he’s flexible about it, though. Maybe I could just invite him out to lunch or something?
K: (a few minutes later) Wait, I’m looking at a picture of him, and I think I actually did have lunch with him a few years ago. A friend took me along to meet this guy who he said was doing some kind of politics thing, and I didn’t pay much attention, but he looked exactly like that.
K: (a few minutes later) Okay, I checked my emails, and that was definitely Nate Silver I had lunch with. I feel kind of stupid now. It was back in 2010, so maybe he wasn’t famous at the time?
Me: Dear, Nate Silver was named one of the “100 Most Influential Men In The World” in 2009.
K: Well, one thing I like about you is that you don’t take me out to lunch with one of the 100 most influential men in the world and not tell me about it.
K: Do you?
K: Wait, that professor we had lunch with in Lansing wasn’t one of the hundred most influential men in the world, was he?