or if i just love the idea that they have been in one another's heads

anonymous asked:

Can you give us any kind of anecdotes between tony and the kids or cats? How does tony win the loyalty and love of the kids? What kind of shenanigans do the cats get up to? Can tony not do magic or does he just now choose not to? Does he have the arc reactor or something similar? Sorry to bombard you with questions, feel free to ignore :)

lMAO QUESTIONS ARE NO PROBLEM PLEASE ASK ME QUESTiONS It MAKES ME LIterALLY SO FUCKING HAPPy 

So Tony got the cats while he was on the run. They were all strays, like him, and they had all been injured in some way or another. Dum-E is a little bit on the stupid side, Tony thinks he had a head trauma when he was a little kitten, and sometimes he has seizures (each one scares the fuck out of him and he cries every time afraid to lose his longest standing companion throughout all this). Butterfingers has a limp from a broken back leg that Tony didn’t know how to set right (he feels incredibly guilty over it, but Butterfingers loves him a lot anyway and won’t let him wallow in self-doubt). U was abused and starving – Tony found him when he literally jumped on his head out a window and the owner started screaming (Tony ran away, clutching U to his chest as the poor cat mewled pitifully. There’s no way he would let any of them go. None of them were very old when he found them, and he cares for them deeply. He’s not sure why they got so attached to him. When he found them, he couldn’t just leave them to suffer, it wasn’t right – helping them was the right thing to do.) ((He doesn’t realize that a lot of people would’ve left the lame cats to die, and they know it))

He’s got no idea why the children like him. They’re all poor (it’s a poor town that he settled in) and they played in the village square a lot. He would make them little trinkets and toys to play with, or tell them stories, not to mention that he does defend the townspeople from wandering bandits and the like, and one day the kids just. Never left him. They cling to him, like leeches. He’s terrified of screwing them up, of not being the person they want him to be, but he tries so hard!! They deserve so much!!! 

The cats get up to a ton of shenanigans. They like bringing Tony gifts, but their idea of a gift is anything shiny, soft, or edible. Many times Tony has had to sheepishly return coins or blankets or scraps of fabric to the grandmothers around town. They always find him endearing, returning small trinkets that his proud little kitties steal for him, and they adore having him around. 

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Aries —
there was a war in your childhood home, and you can still remember the fires, how the blood was
pretty and sick on the bathroom’s pristine tiles, your mother’s still warm body limp in the tub.
breathe in through the mouth: in, out, in. you are not guilty. her life is not on your hands.

Taurus —
it is okay to love things more than you love people; practical, even.
people have left you, people will leave you – things, though, ah! things will not abandon you.
buy yourself something nice. it is the least bad out of all your choices.

Gemini —
you die every night and are reborn at dawn; you are a walking graveyard,
an army of yesterdays’ ghosts, and you no longer remember who you were at the beginning.
do not weep for the stranger that once inhabited your bones.

Cancer —
you are in love with the idea of love more than you are in love with your lovers;
that is why all your relationships are fleeting, why you are always falling apart.
all the same, smile when he proposes. pretend you do not know how this is going to end.

Leo —
oh, you poor, poor thing. all you have ever wanted was love’s sunlight, but all you ever got
were the thunderstorms, the clouds above your head heavy with sorrow, and so you chose
to drown out the rain between the thighs of a lover. do not regret it, for they were good nights.

Virgo —
you cradled your heart all your life with such care, and when the day came for you
to hand it to another, it shattered like glass in their grip. they did not mean to hurt you, you know.
they just wanted to hold on, afraid it will slip through their fingers like sand.

Libra —
you are the king of bad choices, from lovers to the fights you pick when you are far from sober;
you lost your sanity along the line between what is right and what is not, and you started hungering.
i fear the day your hunger will be quenched – only justice will sate you, and that calls for everyone’s dying.

Scorpio —
you are the one everyone fears: the monster in the closet, the witch at the stake – the devil, falling.
all of this is because they cannot understand you. they fear you like they fear death; instinctively.
do not mind them, for death is a kind god: the sweetest sleep, the darkness from which life is born.

Sagittarius —
some days, you think the sea is but a giant mirror, the vanity of coquettish stars and lazy clouds in passing.
some days, you think it is the fury of our earth mother, her tears and her sorrow saltwater in the breeze.
on all of them, you want to sail its’ lengths; you want to get lost out on the abyss, feel small beneath the sky.

Capricorn —
you learned early on the art of silent war – the war carried by words, sharper than any other blade.
at the same time, you have learned how little you mattered to the world, and so you cast yourself in armor.
i just wish you would learn to love yourself, if only a little. your own words have been cutting you all along.

Aquarius —
there is a sickness in you called longing: you’re wanton, thirsty, hungry, wanting – what, exactly,
well, that is part two, and none of us is really sure. you’re standing here, hands reaching for; come inside.
i will pour us both some wine, and we can pass the waiting time together. one day, you will know what you are lusting after.

Pisces —
all you have ever loved seems to be taken from you, until your house is left an empty, cold thing,
and your soul has been turned into a ruin. do not despair; get up from the floor, dust your clothes.
there are seeds on the upper shelves in the shed. it is a time as good as any to start keeping a garden.

—  

poetry for the signs: the “it is okay” edition,

L. Schreiber

Risking it all in a glance

“Draco… Draco.” 

His father’s voice sounded strained, almost like a scared whisper. He hesitantly stretched out his arm, his hand balled into a fist. Draco swallowed hard as several heads turned towards him, watched him. He was sure they all expected him to walk across the courtyard without hesitation. It was where he belonged after all.

All these years he had done as his father had said. He hadn’t defied him once. But now, everything in him screamed to stay where he was, not to go to his father. It came too late. What was the point in defying him now?

Harry Potter was dead. There was no hope left.

“Draco.”

Draco’s eyes darted to his mother. Her voice rang through him and immediately found its way to his heart, squeezing it violently. She took a step forward, smiling at him almost sadly.

“Come.”

Hesitating only a second longer, Draco started moving, his head bowed. He didn’t dare to look anyone in the eye.

Harry Potter was dead. What was the point in fighting?

Draco’s body went rigid when the Dark Lord enveloped him in his arms.

“Well done, Draco,” he whispered into his ear. Draco thought he was going to be sick. Silently, he made his way to his parents, avoiding his father’s waiting arms and grasping his mother’s hand instead.

He tried to suppress a sob when his eyes fell on Potter’s lifeless body, held tight by the half-giant. It made him want to scream, to sink to his knees and beg the heavens to return him. What were they supposed to do without Potter now? What was Draco supposed to do without him?

For the rest of his life, he would be haunted by the knowledge that the last time he had seen Harry Potter alive, the Gryffindor had saved his life, had saved him from the Fiendfyre. And what had Draco done? He had simply grabbed his wand when it had fallen out of Potter’s hand and had made a run for it.

His hand tightened around the wood, making his knuckles go white. It didn’t even feel like his wand anymore. It only reminded him of what he had done. It disgusted him.

He could barely listen as Longbottom stepped forward and told them it didn’t matter that Potter was dead. His heart gave another violent squeeze. He wished he could go back in time. Draco doubted it was in his power to save Potter, but he should have at least told him that he… that he…

Draco saw something sparkly out of the corner of his eyes when suddenly chaos erupted. Longbottom was holding something; it looked like a sword. Draco looked around, taking in the shocked faces of the Death Eaters. That’s when he finally saw it; Potter, jumping out of the half-giant’s arms. In this mere second, Draco’s whole world shifted. It was as if time was standing still. Potter was crouching on the ground, his face full of determination.

Draco’s mind was completely blank. He didn’t think, he didn’t question it when his feet started moving of their own accord.

“Potter!” His voice was choked, desperate. The feeling only intensified when their eyes met. Draco hadn’t thought he’d ever see those eyes again. It made him shiver. He didn’t think about repercussions, about what his parents would say, what the Dark Lord might do to him. How could he, when Harry Potter was alive?

Without a moment’s hesitation, he lifted his arm above his head and threw his wand with all his might. His heart hammered wildly against his chest as he watched Potter catch it mid-air.

They were saved. He was saved.

Even though relief flooded through him, at this point, Draco really didn’t care what happened to him anymore. He had experienced what it meant to lose  nearly everything.

Harry Potter was alive and that was all that mattered.


So, quick intermission because there’s this song you could listen to real quick. Yes, this was indeed inspired by a song originally sung by the Backstreet Boys lol. BUT can you honestly listen to it and tell me this is not one of the most drarry songs you’ve ever heard? I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed before! So, with that in mind, the story continues…


It was quick, fleeting, but it made Harry stop dead, the air completely knocked out of his lungs. Grey eyes, hesitant, sad, locked with his.

Someone bumped into him, breaking the eye contact. Harry whirled around, the shopping bag in his hand hitting the wizard beside him in the back.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. He quickly turned his head back down Diagon Alley, searching for grey eyes but there were just too many people.

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anonymous asked:

If you wanna write a ficlet based on the tags you put about Derek not being good at receiving compliments so stiles compliments him always I can guarantee you that I will 100% read it and reblog it and comment about how much I love it :D

Well how can I resist that??


The first time it happened, Stiles didn’t think anything of it. Standing over the smoldering remains of the creature that just tried to kill them, he said “nice job”, gave Derek a friendly slap on the back, and suggested they go out for celebratory we didn’t die today milkshakes. He was pleasantly surprised when Derek both agreed and paid, and he dipped fries in both to see if they went better with his strawberry or Derek’s chocolate.

(The answer was chocolate, and Derek didn’t even get mad when three of Stiles’ fries were lost in his shake.)

The second time, he was marveling at the obscure text Derek managed to track down and said, “dude, you are literally the best, I’m buying you pizza!” And shockingly, Derek let him, and even told him what toppings he wanted. That might not seem like much in the grand scheme of things, but Stiles had spent years watching in silent judgment as Derek picked off half the toppings from the pizzas he ordered for the pack, as if he couldn’t get another for himself that he actually liked.

Stiles told him he liked the way he rearranged the loft, and Derek sat through the entire extended edition of The Fellowship of the Ring on his new flat screen.

When he mentioned liking the fancy pasta dish Derek made and asked for a lesson to make it, Derek agreed. He showered compliments on Derek’s meticulous overhaul of the bestiary and Derek let him borrow three books.

Derek never let anyone borrow his books, they never left the loft.

These events were all spread out enough that it took a while to click, but when it did, it was both a revelation and incredibly depressing: Derek had no idea what to do with even the most casual of compliments.

Sarcasm was no issue, Stiles knew that much—he’d personally thrown out enough nice martyr complex, jackass and the like to figure that out—but anything that was even remotely sincere?

He started paying attention after that, to the way Derek would stiffen and his eyes would widen a bit before his face closed off again. He would go quiet, maybe nod, and quickly agree to pretty much anything just to get the focus back off himself.

Because Derek was actually embarrassed by compliments.

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Office-mate who loves CNN but doesn't understand how televisions work is destroyed by that which she loves most.

I work in a small office with only 6 people. The way the office is broken up I share my office with another person, so we’re essentially facing each other. It’s away from the other offices, so we’re kind of left to our own devices. I’ve been working here for about three years now, and have always gotten along with my office-mate. My old office-mate left to start a family, so I’ve been alone for a bit before they hired Marge.

Marge is what you’d find if you googled “worst office-mate.” She brings in smelly food she eats at her desk, she plays loud music in our shared space (even after being asked not to), she fights with the boss on every little thing, she’s nosy (always asking me where I’ve been when I walk back into the office, and I’ve literally caught her listening in at the bosses door). She asks me invasive questions, and when I finally snapped at her to mind her own business she acted like I’d personally assaulted her.

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Another kinky wager

Summary: As he previously promised, Bucky helps you work out all those irritating little kinks in your pool game.
Characters: Bucky x Reader
Warnings: Absolutely NSFW. It’s all sex and pool tables folks, please walk away unless you’re over 18.  

A/N: Decided to write a follow-up to ‘Pool balls and underpants’, because I just couldn’t move on without a smutty sequel. This can read as a stand-alone story, but it will make more sense why Bucky’s wearing Steve’s underwear if you read the first part. And besides, who doesn’t love reading sassy sexual innuendos from Bucky Barnes?

Also, I meant this to be short, and once again my imagination spiralled out of control, and here we are. I regret nothing.

Pool balls and underpants 
MASTERLIST


He’s startled for a moment, before a sly smile stretches across his face, and he whips around to follow, white socks slipping and sliding on the smooth tiles as he chases after you.

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Bring It On | 01

Park Jimin | Comedy | Fluff | Slight Angst | BIO!au | cheerleader!jimin

❝You had long since gotten over your crush on your co captain slash roommate, Jimin. Other than the occasional wandering hand that maybe wasn’t so appropriate for someone who was supposed to be supporting you while you were in the air, or congratulatory smack on the ass after practice he was uninterested. Very, very, very much uninterested.❞

 

You blink down at your lunch tray, a scathing look marring your face when you note the mushed grool on your plate is probably leftovers from yesterday. You eye the cafeteria lady warily when she plops another serving on your tray, expression deadpan—you take longer to move along in line and she thinks she’s doing you a favor by serving you seconds.

“Greta,” you grin pleasantly, inching the tray back in her direction, “you’re doing amazing. Love the enthusiasm, that apron really suits you. However, I pay eight thousand dollars in college tuition and this looks like the wet food I give my dog. Do you think instead of this I could—”

She interrupts you with a wet slap of brown mush being added onto your already growing pile.

Wonderful,” you sigh, when you note the brown spackle on your uniform top, “can I just get a kale salad instead?”

It was for the best, anyway, you chide yourself. The fact that your school served lunch that was about as edible as aluminum foil made dieting easier. The reminder of your diet, however makes you groan as you reach the condiment station, chancing a smell at the ranch dressing in the clear plastic bowl. When you deem it safe enough to consume, you begin working on the croutons—

“Would you like some salad with your dressing?” Someone snorts from behind you.

You lift a wary gaze to Park Jimin, who’s leaning against the counter, working on organizing his grilled chicken. He cocks a brow at you as though he knows you’re glaring, even without looking.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure so early in the morning?”

Jimin rolls his eyes at you, nudging you out of the way so he can dress his own salad.

“Just think of me as your fairy godmother—I get a tingling sensation whenever you start to double carb.” He snorts, snatching the bread roll off your your tray and shoving you in the direction of your regular lunch table.

“It’s wheat.” You say indignantly, snatching it back and shoving it in your mouth.

“Just because wheat bread induces a slightly lower glycemic response doesn’t mean it’s better for you.” He spouts off automatically and you debate whether or not you can smash your head in before he starts scolding, “There’s no inherently good bread, just one that’s gonna make your ass slightly fatter as opposed to one that’s processed whole wheat.”

Apparently there was no avoiding his scolding this afternoon.

“For the record my mother says I have a wonderful figure,” you inform.

Jimin blinks at you before shoving a piece of chicken in his mouth, “Tell your mom to base for you then.”

“You’re in a fine mood this morning,” you scoff, before sending a teasing smile at your co captain, “I take it the freshman pitched their new uniform idea to you?”

Jimins jaw clenches at the thought, rubbing his aching temples, “I’m all for being a whore. I love the concept, I think it’s great. But I hate the bandage skirt idea. And if we’re going to look like hookers, we should at least be Marilyn Monroe and for like presidents and shit. Not Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.”

“Julia Roberts slander aside,” you glare, “I agree with you. They’re tacky and besides, regionals in three weeks—changing uniforms now would just be complicated, not to mention we have to worry about finding another base now that Hoseok’s graduating.”

“God, don’t fucking remind me, I already have a headache thinking about auditions. But also, I’m so happy you agree which is why I took the liberty of telling them to go fuck themselves.” Jimin grins cheerfully as you stab a pice of kale.

“What did I say about making decisions on my behalf?” You pin him with an annoyed look before throwing your fork down with a clank, “we’re a team Jimin, we make decisions together.”

“Yes and it’s because we’re a team that I know you hate all the things I do.” He explains.

“This is why they don’t respect me.” You say, “at least not as much as they do you.”

“They don’t respect me, they’re scared of me. It’s good for our image. Like a good cop, bad cop kind of thing.” He argues before slicing a piece of his grilled chicken on putting it on your plate, “And will you eat? You wouldn’t have to starve yourself if you made better choices. For example a vinaigrette instead of what is essentially going to be an extra three pounds on your ass.”

You blink at him rapidly before sighing, rising to your feet. “Whatever, Jimin.”

“Hey,” he calls out behind you but you’re already halfway across the cafeteria, equal parts irritable and unamused by Jimins lax behavior. You stop when a hand grips your wrist, “okay jeez I’m sorry. I’m kidding. Quit being a brat and eat your lunch. I said try to drop three pounds not starve yourself.”

“Wow, what a sincere apology,” you snort and attempt to walk away again but he’s gripping you by the waist, far too close for comfort with his front pressed against your back and plush lips at your ear.

This is new. Very new. 

Your roommate was a lot of things, touchy was not one of them. If anything, he prided himself on his personal space and was constantly shoving you out of his room, out of his bed, out of the fucking bathroom

“I’m sorry alright?” He mutters and you close your eyes because he was confusing. So confusing it hurt. “I didn’t mean it. I had one too many bowls of bitch flakes today—either that or you’re PMSi—fucking ow.”

Jimin rubs his side where you elbowed before glaring at you.

“Apology not accepted.” You sniff when he turns you in his arms and there was a time when you would have been ecstatic to be in this position but those feelings have long since fled.

He only tugs you closer with a grin when you don’t fight off his hold. Jimin raises a brow at something over your shoulder and you frown.

“Don’t look now but your baby boyfriend is on his way over,” Jimin whispers before retracting his arms.

“My baby what?” You frown and it only takes you a full second to realize who he’s talking about because before long Jeon Jungkook is crowding your space.

“Hey,” he calls, an arm winding its way around your waist before you’re rolling your eyes at Jimin’s teasing smirk. “What’s going on here?”

“Jungkook,” you greet, before extracting yourself from his hold, “What’s up?”

“I could say the same,” he mutters before nodding at Jimin, “We have a problem here?”

Jimin cringes at his cheesy line before pinning him with a bored look, “Actually we—”

“Me and Jimin were going over cheer stuff. Did you need something?” You interrupt.

“Going over cheer stuff,” Jungkook says back slowly. He stares at Jimin for a second too long before returning his gaze to you, “I just came to check on my girlfriend. I have a game today, you didn’t wish me good luck.”

You close your eyes with a wince when Jimin snorts. A warm palm on your shoulder has you opening them only to glare at the all too mirthful boy in front of you, “Let him down easy, champ.”

With a wave and wink in Jungkook’s direction, Jimin is bounding back towards the lunch table and leaving you with a migraine.

Jungkook is holding your hand and swinging it. You’re not quite sure when that happened.

“Look, Jungkook,” you begin, clearing your throat.

“Oh no.” He sighs.

“What?”

“Nothing is ever good when a girl starts out with ‘look, Jungkook'—my mom, my sister, the dean of students.” He shrugs.

“So you know what’s coming next then?” You ask hopefully.

“Are you gonna put me on academic probation?” He offers and when you shake your head he stares on, “Not gonna lie, I’m drawing a blank here. I just know whatever you’re saying is not gonna be good.”

All hope dies.

“We’re not dating.” You say gently, tugging your hand out of his. It was too big and overly warm.

Jungkook frowns, confusion wrinkling his brow and for a second you almost feel bad for him, that is until he opens his mouth.

“But you let me…” He chances a look over his shoulder before leaning into whisper harshly, “you let me finger you.”

And therein lies your problem.

You knew better—you truly did—than to let the otherwise inexperienced freshman go further than second base but in your defense you were drunk. You were drunk and he was willing and he was fucking Jeon Jungkook. You were a good person but not that good.

“Yes, Jungkook I did but that doesn’t mean I want to date you.” You explain gently.

“But why would you let me touch you if you didn’t want to date me?” He implores and you blink at him because there was no way in hell someone was this naive.

“Because I was horny and you were there.” You say honestly and to your relief there isn’t a look of pain etched on his features only mild confusion mixed in with annoyance. “Now that we’ve got that settled I have a cheer thing I have to—”

“Wait, wait!” He calls out, gripping your wrist, “but what about me?”

You sigh because no matter how innocent or inexperienced Jeon Jungkook seemed he was still a guy at the end of the day, and they all wanted one thing.

“Fine.” You rolls your eyes, “I’ll suck you off after practice but I got to get goin—”

“No. Not that,” he flushes, “I meant what about… what if I wanted to date you?”

You stare at Jungkook a beat and it’s your turn to be surprised because of all the things you expected to happen today that was the last.

“Do you…” You gulp, eyeing him warily, “have feelings for me?”

“No.” He says honestly and you deflate before glaring at him.

“Oh thank God,” you breathe before smacking his arm, “don’t go around saying shit like that. Jesus. Anyway, why would you want to go on a date with me if you don’t like me either? Does that make sense to you?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes at you before tugging you off to an empty corner of the cafeteria, he lowers his voice even though no ones close enough to hear. “Okay don’t look right away but do you see those guys sitting at that table next to the doo—I said don’t look!”

“Ow!” You whine, rubbing at your scalp after he gives your ponytail a hard yank. “Okay, jeez what about them?”

“They’re on my basketball team.” He informs unhelpfully and you give him a bored look.

“You don’t say?” You gasp, a hand shooting up to cover your mouth, “I couldn’t tell from their uniforms and the guy on the table, spinning the basketball, staring at us.”

Jungkook goes quiet again and you feel a headache coming on because what he made up for in looks and general athleticism he lacked in brain cells.

“Are you being sarcastic?” He frowns and what was the point if all your jabs went right over his head?

Instead, you opt for exasperation, pressing a hand to your aching temple. “What about your basketball team, Jungkook?”

“They think I’m a virgin.”

“Well are you a virgin?” You retort, thinking back to the almost painfully awful finger fuck he gifted you with last weekend.

“That’s besides the point,” he waves you off before gripping your shoulders, “I’m in college now. And a guy. Being a virgin is weird and if they find out I haven’t gone all the way I’m toast.”

“So tell them you boned me and let me get on with my life. I give you my permission, young padawan.” You give him a reassuring smack on the arm before walking away, only to be tugged back by your uniform shirt. “What now?”

“That would be great, except they’ll keep hounding me to have more sex which I’m not opposed to I just… I’m not ready yet you know?”

You blink at him, “I don’t know. I’m a slut.”

“Well pretend you get it and date me. Just for a couple weeks.” He says, “If I have a girlfriend they’ll just assume I’m getting laid on the regular and leave me alone.”

“Okay, but what about me? I actually enjoy getting laid on the regular and no offense but getting fingered by you is about as enjoyable as going to the gynecologist.” You sigh and he winces.

“Noted.” He adds dryly before cocking a brow at you, “So are you up for it?”

No!” you throw your hands up, “besides dating you could give people the wrong impression. That I’m into things like—”

“Monogamy?”

Virgins.” You correct with a roll of your eyes. “Sorry Kook, you’re just gonna have to figure shit out on yo—”

“Noona please,” he pleads desperately, hand gripping your upper arm and in all honesty you’re not a hard person to sway but Jungkook is still persistent in his pursuit. He clasps both hands under his chin before dropping to his knees desperately. He’s whining and loudly.

Loud enough to garner attention.

“Will you get up?” You hiss, “People are staring!”

“Will you say yes?” He juts his lower lip out.

“No.” You glare, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Then I’m not getting up.” He pouts.

“Because I care,” you snort, “Camp out here if you want. My answers the st—”

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” he whines and you grit your teeth in annoyance, “I’ll owe you big.”

“You’ll owe me?” You cock a brow.

“Yes,” he says desperately, “I’ll do anything.”

Anything?” You ponder and Jungkook’s stomach turns when you openly give him the once over.

“I… shit… yeah, anything.” He sighs.


Jimin doesn’t ask you what’s wrong and you don’t expect him to—you only bang things louder until he’s sighing from his spot on his bed, pausing the game he’s playing to turn to look at you.

“Is something wrong?”

He looks put out, annoyed. You don’t care.

Everything’s wrong.” You mutter, stripping off your uniform and throwing it in the dirty clothes.

You have half a mind to remember that you were still in Jimin’s room but it didn’t matter anyway, you and Jimin had long since passed the initial crush stage of your friendship slash roommate agreement—well at least you had, you were almost entirely positive Jimin felt nothing save for mild irritation for you on a good day. That coupled with the fact that he was very much gay set your worries at ease.

“Be more specific?” He sighs, disinterested.

You pause in rummaging through his clothes long enough to narrow your eyes at him, “I hate boys.”

“Good. More for me.” He retorts instantly, shooting you a warning glare when you pause on one of his good t shirts, “I’m wearing that tomorrow, the sweatshirt you’re looking for is in the back.”

You don’t even shoot him a so much as a thank you as you shimmy out of your sports bra, with your back turned to him and tug his hoodie over head. When you’re settled and warm you shoot a mischievous smile at Jimin who’s still glaring at you before—

“Don’t you—” he cut himself off with a curse when you dive under his covers anyway. Jimin seethes quietly as you nestle yourself beneath his sheets, “You know you have your own room right?”

“Don’t you miss me?” You whine before snuggling closer, much to his annoyance, he opts to pinch your side instead of shoving you off the bed completely. 

“No. Now move over if you want to stay in here.” he scoffs.

“You know I had a really shitty day,” you glare at his side profile and he doesn’t answer, only picks up the controller to un pause whatever he was playing. “it would be nice if you could be even a little bit supportive.”

“I didn’t sign up for emotional support I signed up for half on utilities and you not leaving your pad wrappers on the bathroom floor.” He mutters, still invested in his tv show.

“Jimin.”

“Don’t use that voice, I hate it.” He grunts.

“What voice?” You pout.

“You know, the voice.” He sighs, sending you a glance from the corner of his eye, “The one you use on guys to get what you want. Your baby voice, it’s annoying.”

Your cheeks heat with embarrassment and you feign indifference because Jimin never means to be hurtful, he’s only talking to you like he would any other friend… but you didn’t want to be any other friend? You weren’t sure anymore, about how you felt about him. Things were blurred because while you were sure things bordered on platonic and that mostly had to do with the fact that he was so immune to your feminine wiles (snort), you also knew you didn’t want to be treated like one of the guys or like any other fucking girl on the team, that he mostly couldn’t stand.

You wanted to be special. Special in what way, you weren’t entirely sure.

“You’re a dick.” You retort and he tears his gaze away from the screen long enough to cock a brow at you.

“You knew this upon signing the lease.” He snorts and you don’t reply because really, what was there to say. It was well known, Jimin was in fact an asshole—he didn’t like kick puppies or make orphans cry (intentionally) or anything but he was curt and to the point and you didn’t get your feelings hurt easily which is why things worked between the two of you. “Hey, did you get that playlist I sent you?”

You pause in scrolling through your phone to turn to him, “Yeah actually I did. They’re all kind of slow, did you want to use them for routine?”

Jimins hands slow on the controller but he doesn’t divert his attention this time, only hums his disagreement, “Nah, just new songs I stumbled upon I thought you’d dig. They’re good right?”

“Yeah,” you nod eagerly, “I added them to my library actually.”

“Cool.” Jimin grumbles, clearly done with the conversation and you roll your eyes.

You go on like that for a few moments because Jimins content with silence, prefers it actually over what he calls your ‘incessant chattering’ it’s one of many things he finds annoying about you—from what you can tell. He’s left almost every group chat you’re in.

You talk too much,” he says desperately after one night, a long night of drinking with your team and you’re still sending pictures. He’s in your room and his hairs disheveled and he’s shirtless and he looks delectable and annoyed and seconds away from strangling you.

“Sorry.” You squeak, tugging the blankets up past your chin and he narrows his eyes at you. You can barely make him out in your doorway, but the light from the hallway dances against the planes of chest, making you gulp.

“No you’re not,” he grumbles, throat raspy from liquor and sleep, he sticks a hand out expectantly, “hand it over.”

“W-what?” You push hair back from your face nervously and Jimin adjusts his basketball shorts before sauntering over to your bed.

“Your phone. I’m confiscating it. You’re fucking with my sleep schedule and I have a nine am tomorrow,” Jimin mutters, snatching your iPhone from you. He sends you a menacing glare all while fiddling with the device, “You don’t get to bitch if I drop you on your ass during practice. Now move in.”

“Huh?” Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline at that and Jimin is sending you a bland look, a hand pressed to his aching temple like talking to you is causing him physical pain. But he doesn’t respond only yanks the blanket from under you, making you all too aware of your lack of clothing when the bed dips beneath his weight.

“Move. In.” He enunciates, “I’m drunk as hell, tired as hell, and not up for the walk to my room.”

“It’s across the hall.” You remind him and in the darkness of your bedroom, with the pale moonlight dancing in and reflecting off the single chain Jimin always wears you’re overwhelmed by him. By his scent, his body, his withering stare when he presses a finger to your forehead.

“Sleep now.” He grumbles.

And maybe that was when it truly started, when the both of you settled down after that long night of drinking, him telling you to sleep on your stomach so you don’t choke on your own vomit, and you staring on dumbly, the beginnings of an on again off again infatuation for your roommate, your friend, that never really went away—no matter how unwilling a participant you were.

There’s a brief period of time (that you’ve made a conscious effort to block out) that you openly pined for him. There was no stumbling into the kitchen a mess, with morning breath that threatened to singe his eyebrows off if you struck up a conversation. No. If Jimin had class at nine am, you were up, with your lashes curled and your favorite tinted BB cream by seven forty five—you looked fresh faced, what a boy who hadn’t spent nearly five plus years of his life around girls with bedazzled vaginas would consider natural. But alas—

Jimin is a hairsbreadth from your face and you thank every god you could think of you woke up at the ass crack of dawn to wash your hair. His eyes narrow and he worries his lower lip before pulling back.

“You didn’t blend your neck,” he comments before grabbing his hoodie next to you and bidding you adieu.

For the first month of your crush you spend every morning in the kitchen (after of course closely inspecting your makeup under several different lightings), making him breakfast, green smoothies even. But Jimin is a health nut, on top of being an obsessive perfectionist. He preps his food the night before, likes all of his ducks in a row when he starts his morning at eight fifteen on the dot. His expression the first time you offer him turkey bacon and eggs is a cocktail of mild disgust and disinterest. 

“I’m counting macros this week.” He explains, before transferring his smoothie from the blender into a thermos. 

You tongue at your cheek before taking a bite of the ridiculously chewy meat. 

Your first Valentine’s Day with Jimin is always a memorable one, for sheer comedic relief if nothing else.

The two of you are regularly inseparable at practice, and some of it had to do with you being a fly and him base, your base, but a lot of it was because he didn’t… mesh well with others. He was too blunt, too rough around the edges and he took cheer seriously. The times Jimin spoke about himself were far and in-between, but you distantly remember him telling you that before he started doing cheer he did gymnastics competitively for a good chunk of his life. That explained a lot of things, honestly. Why he was so by the book, strict about everything from uniforms to ponytails, to diets—of all the boys on the squad, he was maybe the only one who gave a shit about stuff like that. It was because of all of that that he made a good co captain, and if it weren’t for his inability to compromise and just generally stomach other peoples presence, you were positive he would have beat you out for the captain position.

It also explained why he was so strong. The guy regularly worked out, yeah but he was like, open the pickle jar strong. And then there was his food intake which was crazy, all things considered, because he ate a lot to build muscle but it was all so healthy you couldn’t imagine anyone enjoying it. You wouldn’t lie, the first time Jimin lifted you during auditions your heart nearly beat out of your chest because he did it all with one arm and caught you effortlessly against his chest.

“Here,” Jimin says, handing you a tumbler filled with purple liquid at the end of practice, he hitches his gym bag up higher on his shoulder and waits for you to accept it. “I brought you a smoothie from home.”

“Thanks, what is it?” You ask, sniffing it and ignoring the glare Jimin shoots your way. It doesn’t smell offensive and you take a hesitant sip, “Actually this is good.”

He nods with a sheepish shrug and you try to tamp down the zoo of butterflies in your chest that are telling you that this is a sign, that Park Jimin making you a smoothie is his weird, male, health nut equivalent of chocolates and a confession. Your heart seems to gain wings at the prospect and then he ruins it like he always does because he’s Jimin and he ruins things. That’s his job title and occupation, Park Jimin, The Ruiner.

“It’s a detox smoothie actually,” he says when you’re already on your second mouthful, cheeks puffed with the berry concoction. Jimin was a lot of things, tactless was one of them, “I thought it would help with… you know. Plus, I do strength training in my free time but this partnership only works if you keep up your end. You should come to the gym with me in the mornings, you’re up anyway with like a full face of makeu—”

You shove the tumbler back at his chest before sucking your teeth at him, “I’m gonna go shower and then head home. See you there.”

Jimin frowns at your retreating figure by glancing down at the smoothie, he takes a sip for curiosity’s sake. “What’s her problem?”

The first time you see Jimin kissing a boy there’s no tell tale signs of arousal that all of mainstream media swore by. Only pure unadulterated jealousy tinged with sadness. You watch the way Jimin cups the boys jaw, the way his own jaw works in time with his lips. It’s not rushed or heated, filled with passion like a lover—it’s slow and a little timid, like the first kiss at the end of a date and your stomach turns.

You watch the two boys pull away, Jimin looking the softest you’ve ever seen. You wondered what it felt like to be the recipient of that gaze, but it wasn’t a side of him you were meant to see, or a moment meant for you, and you reminded yourself that you were intruding. You leave the hallway too quickly that day and maybe sulk for longer than was necessary in the weeks to follow, cry even, because your nineteen year old self is (gag) heartbroken. It won’t be another month of stilted conversation and failed attempts at avoidance until you’ve pushed the feeling to the back of your brain and manage to find a middle ground in your relationship with him.

“If you return my shirt with boob sweat I’m gonna use it to smother you in your sleep.” Jimin reminds and you scoff. “That’s my good shirt.”

“That was one time.” You shoot up indignantly and immediately regret it because with regionals nearing you were doing conditioning instead of regular routines and every muscle in your body was on fire from today’s practice.

Jimin sighs before getting to his knees and giving you a hard look, “Did you—”

“Before you ask whatever you’re gonna ask I came straight here after practice, showered and went to class I haven’t had time to do anything else.” You interrupt and Jimin rolls his eyes at you.

“Lay back,” he orders and you oblige immediately because as strict as Jimin was as far as diet and exercise was concerned, he considered you an extension of himself. His partner. And if you weren’t in good shape you were holding him back which is why he ignores your yells of protest when he pushes back on the leg you have pressed to his chest.

“Okay, okay, okay.” You say, slapping his arm so he would let up, “That’s enough.”

“Shut up.” He says mildly, pushing until your knee was nestled between both your chests. He slaps the back of your calf and you glare, “Straighten this.”

“Fuck off.” You grit out.

He cocks a brow at you and you regret your words when he adds more pressure.

“Jimin, fuuuuck,” you whine earnestly, a hand pressed to his chest because the pain was getting to be too much and he didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. He doesn’t recline right away, and you peek an eye open in time to see a look cross his face before he guides your leg back slowly with a nod.

“How’s your knee doing?” He murmurs, and you lean your head back against the pillow when he begins feeling up your leg.

As much as you hated to admit it, Jimin’s extensive athletic career as well as his major proved to be useful on more than one occasion in your house. As an athlete you could appreciate a roommate who was studying physical therapy, especially when it came to the massage aspect.

“It’s been fine these last few weeks,” you shrug, “hasn’t been giving me any problems.”

“Start wearing your knee brace again.” He says when he places one hand on your knee and the other on your ankle. You narrow your eyes when he moves it side to side, “Your knees been giving out at practice. I’ll kick your ass if you dislocate it before regionals.”

“Noted.” You scoff, but it’s more of a gasp when Jimin’s hands are on your hips, barely under his hoodie and skimming the skin just above your spandex. His face is passive all the while, nudging you up the bed.

“Move up, I’m gonna check your range of motion.” He explains and Jimin is all work and no fun. Sometimes you wonder how he can remain so disinterested, clinical at times like this when you feel like your whole body is on fire under his touch.

Your leg is back up in the air and Jimin is moving it in hesitant circles, up and down, side to side and you close your eyes, trying not to gasp everytime he presses your legs closed and tiny shockwaves of pleasure shoot straight to your clit. He never presses down long enough to evoke a reaction but you lay back and relax, enjoying what little intimacy you’re allowed with him.

Everything is good, it’s nice, relaxing, his touch is enough to leave you horny, you’ll probably have to rub one out in your room later but not enough to have you cumming right then and there. Your eyes shoot open when you feel him move in, his hand no longer resting on your leg but on the innermost of your thigh, too high up as he presses down.

Too, too high up. Too, too close to the apex of your thighs.

You cock a brow and in typical Jimin fashion he stares on blandly, cool as a cucumber sitting between your legs and forcing them open.

“Buy me a drink first?” You say a little breathlessly, and joking is your way of coping with this, him, your ego, which was sorely bruised because Park Jimin was more than immune to you and that sucked royally.

“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says, but he does it with a small smile, “If you did this on your own I wouldn’t have to do it for you.”

“It’s not as fun on my own.” You comment.

“It never is.” He teases back and it’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to flirting with him. You simultaneously revel in it and chide yourself for still being so head over hills for someone who sees you as no more than an object in his everyday life, like a lamp or the refrigerator. You’d notice if it were gone but you could always get a new refrigerator.

“Okay, I think I’m good for the night! Thanks I’ll just go back to my room an—”

A crack sounds in the room, echoing off his walls, so loud it nearly drowns out the strangled noise you make in your throat. You blink up at Jimin, equal parts shocked and turned on when he rubs the sensitive skin of your thigh, the innermost part he just slapped. Welts form under his soft palm but he doesn’t look the tiniest bit sorry, in fact, he doesn’t look anything. His expression is just as calm as collected as it was when you had first walked in. It leaves you confused, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Did you just…” You gesture between your thighs and Jimin patiently waits for you to continue as he closes your legs back up, letting you know you’re done with at home PT. “Did you just spank me?”

“Take better care of yourself and I won’t have to.” He says softly and you’re searching, searching for something, anything in his face that’ll give you even the slightest idea of what the fuck just happened. But you come up empty, even as he presses on, “Stop skipping lunch to talk to that freshman. Make healthier choices so you don’t have to do extreme diets and stop,” He grips your knee softly before staring up at you, “neglecting your health.”

You nod mutely, when he finishes because there’s nothing else to really say. Jimins been acting weird, very weird these past few days and while every fiber of your being, every natural instinct is telling you ‘he likes you! you love him, offer to suck his dick!’ the rational part of your brain quashes any hope and reminds you how well trying to pursue feelings for your roommate turned out the last time.

“I’m going to bed.” You say dumbly, blinking at him and Jimin nods, not moving to say goodbye or watch you walk out.

You press your back against his door when you leave because Park Jimin would be the death of you, but oh what a way to go.


“Look, I’m sorry okay?” Hoseok sighs, trailing after you as you re-shelf the books you were scanning. Stupid midterm paper. Stupid college.

“Hm, I’m sorry I don’t know what you’re sorry for, unless of course you’re apologizing for interrupting my studying then, I forgive you Hoseok because that’s just the kind of loving, nurturing, sweet captain I am.” You return, back still to the older boy when he rolls his eyes at you, “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“I’m quitting the squad.” Hoseok says with a finality that makes you snort.

“‘Kay. Don’t be late to practice today or I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass you won’t be able to walk much less cheer.” You say sweetly.

“I admit, it’s a bit troublesome,” Hoseok sighs.

You whirl around on him at that, eyes narrowed, “Getting your pubes caught in the sticky part of your pad is a bit troublesome—you quitting the fucking team three weeks before a competition is a lot of fucking troublesome you asshole.”

“First of all ew,” He whines something that sounds dangerously close to your name and you don’t have to turn to know he’s pouting, “Second, you know there’s more to life than cheer! I’m graduating soon and I need to focus on my studies, and start looking into a career.”

“Listen here you little bitch,” you hiss, shoving a finger in his face until Hoseok was going cross eyed, “I can smell the entire bag of marijuana you smoked on your way here. Who put you up to this? Namjoon? I’ll kick your ass, I’ll kick his ass and then whichever one of your dumb friends helped coerce you into ‘lightening your load’ before you graduate. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”

“But I want to party,” he pouts and nearly eats his words when your eye twitches, “God, you and Jimin are really a match made in heaven, huh? How are two people that are so tiny, so terrifying?”

“Hoseok, you can’t quit we have regionals and the freshman are giving me a fucking ulcer. Where am I going to find and be able to train a base in three weeks?” You implore, pressing a hand to your aching temple.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok says and he doesn’t look the least bit sorry. You debate on shoving you foot up his ass for old times sake when he pats you on the shoulder, “You’re a good cheerleader. An even better captain, I know you’ll figure it out.”

“Fuck off,” you glare, shoving a finger in his chest, “if anything weird happens to you this week, just know it’s me cursing you.”

You stand there, with your back pressed against the bookshelf for a good minute, just watching Hoseok’s retreating figure. His shoulders are sagged in relief, like he was just let from under a tremendous weight, one he turned around and perched atop your shoulders.

When you get back to your library table you’re pouting, on the verge of losing your shit in the otherwise dead silent room because why, why did bad things happen to good people? As though you weren’t already stressed from midterms, it was like you had a giant fucking sign on your forehead that said ‘hey, screw me over!’

“What is it now?” Someone hums across from you and you barely have time to register that it’s Nayeon before you’re jutting your lower lip.

And for what it’s worth, Nayeon is a good friend because she stops studying, sets her books and binders and pens aside to focus all of her attention on you. Then she listens, and listens, and listens because it’s only been three days since you’ve seen each other but it seems as though a lot has happened. By the time you’re done debriefing her, she’s staring at you, a frown marring her pretty face and her arms crossed over her chest because—

“You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” she sighs, carding hands through her hair, “Let me just… let me just see if I follow here, Jungkook the freshman, the virgin you let finger you at the party last week, he wants you to deflower him?”

“No, he doesn’t even want sex—can you believe…! He wants me to date him, so worst.” You correct, “Fake date him to get his teammates off his back because he’s fucking twelve apparently and not immune to peer pressure.”

“And your roommate, Jimin, your gay roommate,” she emphasizes the gay part and you glare at her, “you think you’re starting to… feel things for him again?”

“I mean, technically,” you put a hand out to stop her, “the feelings never really went away, but they’ve just been lying dormant like waiting for him or myself to entertain them and Nayeon, the other day, in the cafeteria he hugged me. He back hugged me. Jimin, the same person who made a six year old cry last year, and then kicked his dad’s ass. I want to die.”

“And Hoseok,” she presses a hand to her head, “the drug dealing cheerleader. He quit.”

“He’s not a drug dealer, he just smokes a lot of weed,” you roll your eyes, “his friend, Namjoon, he’s a drug dealer. I’m gonna kick his ass because he convinced Hoseok to quit the fucking team.”

“And… you have regionals in less than a month, correct?”

“Yes. So you see my problem right?” You whine.

“You have multiple problems, most of which I can’t help you with, being in love with your gay roommate ranks at the top of that list,” she sends you a sarcastic look before snapping her fingers at you, “but the Hoseok thing. I know how you can fix that. It’ll be like killing two birds with one stone.”


“This is so… lame.” Jungkook groans and you slap him upside the head before gesturing towards the rest of the squad.

“Team, I’d like you to meet our new base.” You smile tightly before patting a hand on his shoulder, and pulling something from behind your back, “This is Jungkook.”

“What’s that for?” Momo, a second year on the team frowns and you brighten at her question, bringing the glass jar to everyone’s attention.

“This,” you begin, “is negative reinforcement. Anytime he says something rude, stupid, or offensive feel free to let me know and I’ll charge him, all proceeds go towards new uniforms for the team.”

“What happened to Hoseok?”

“Hoseok decided to focus on his studies.” You say and you barely make it through the sentence before someone’s cutting you off with a snort. “Jungkook’s going to be replacing him.”

“That’s such bullshit!” Mina scoffs, “Has he ever even cheered before?”

“No but I have more than two brain cells I’m sure I can figure it out.” Jungkook retorts and you press a hand to your aching temple, resisting the urge to argue his declaration of having even more than one struggling fucking brain cell. 

“Five dollars.” You seethe and Jungkook only challenges your stare for a moment before he’s reaching in his back pocket for his wallet, shoving a bill in. You cock a brow at him. He curses you before putting in another dollar.

“What’s going on over here?”

It’s a natural response, almost second nature by now, the goosebumps, the heat in the pit of your belly, the chill at the base of your spine. You should be a little more put out over the response Jimin evokes, even after all this time but you couldn’t force yourself to care. Instead you sigh.

“Jimin, this is Jungkook. You two have met before. He’s going to be filling in for Hoseok from here on out.” You explain and brace yourself because Jimin is a lot of things. Complacent isn’t one of them. He doesn’t settle for anything short of perfect and one look at Jungkook has him straightening his shoulders and eyeing you like he’s about to throw you out a window.

“Who says?” Jimin challenges and it’s your turn to cock a brow at him, hands planted firmly on your hips.

“Me, the captain.” You shoot back.

“Did he even audition?” Jimin retorts and you roll your eyes at him.

“Audition for what? It isn’t exactly like we have troves of fucking college kids lined up to fill the spot.” You argue.

“You’re cut.” Jimin says, ignoring you and sneering down his nose at Jungkook.

And Jungkook, for all his complaints and the bitch fit he put up the entire way you had dragged him to the field, didn’t take well to being told what to do. Especially by assholes. Correction, especially by assholes in a matching fucking tracksuit.

“Weird. My girlfriend, the captain,” cue audible gasp from over dramatic cheerleaders, “says otherwise.”

You press a hand to your forehead with a visible shudder because where did this guy find his material? So corny.

“Your girlfriend?” Jimin laughs, and turns his head to peer over at the bleachers before raising a brow at you. You squirm under his intense scrutiny, “So you’re dating the kid?”

“I mean… we’re not not dating.” You mutter and yelp when Jungkook pinches your side.

“What does that even mean?” Jimin implores.

“Like, we’re not like boyfriend and girlfriend it’s just like sometimes he waits for me outside my class and we go to see the newest movies and stuff together and maybe he’ll buy me like lunch on the way and like I don’t know kiss me or hold my hand but not like in a boyfriend way, he’s not my boyfriend.” You rush out and when you glance back up the two boys are staring at you incredulously.

“What exactly is your definition of boyfriend—anal? That sounds like maybe the only thing you haven’t done with him.” Jimin rolls his eyes at you when you slap his chest. He could at least act like it hurt.

“So anyway, let’s start practice!” You clear your throat, pushing past both of them and towards the middle of the field, “Pair up and get started on your stretches!”

Jimin and Jungkook glare at each other even after everyone begins stretching, speeding up your already impending headache.

“I don’t like you.” Jimin comments mildly.

Jungkook snorts at that.

“I’m quivering. Your tracksuit really evokes a sense of fear in a guy.” He rolls his eyes before sneering, “You look like Vector from Despicable Me.”

“Okay, that’s enough. I’ve had it with you two and your dick measuring contest.” You hiss, getting in between either of them and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Bet I’d win.” Jungkook sniffs, “Everytime.”

“Yeah?” Jimin tongues at the inside of his cheek, the way he sizes Jungkook up makes the younger boy squirm, “Wanna find out after this?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to argue before closing it again—he does this a few more times before squinting his eyes and cocking his head to the side at the older boy. “That got really gay, really fast.”

Jungkook turns to look at you, pointing a finger at Jimin before, “Is he—”

“Jar, Jungkook.” You exasperate.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t have to.” You hiss.

“Fine, homoerotic, is that the politically correct term?” He sighs and you clench your hands at your sides in an attempt to not strangle him.

Not in front of witness.

“Stop talking.” You put a finger up to silence him and then turn your attention to Jimin, “Let’s start practice, yeah? We can be mature about this?”

“Matures my middle name.” Jimin seethes.


As it is, mature is not Jimin’s fucking middle name, it wasn’t even his stripper name because between the jabs he had been making at Jungkook’s inability to pick up on the workouts as quickly, or the way he would send the younger boy a pointed look whenever he wasn’t as flexible as the other guys on the team you were about five minutes from strangling him.

“Why can’t I be her partner?” Jungkook argues at one point when Jimin immediately grabs your arm for stretches.

“Because you’ll fuck around and throw her back out and then I’ll kill you.” Jimin says politely before yanking you closer to him. His movement is only slightly halted when Jungkook reaches out to grab your other arm and your glancing between the two of them wildly.

“It’s not fucking rocket science I’m sure she can tell me what to do.” Jungkook scoffs, tugging on your arm.

“I’ve been her partner for three fucking years, if you want to look up someone’s skirt do it on your free time or pair up with one of the other freshman on the team, you’re wasting my time.” Jimin grits out.

“Why can’t you pair up with one of the freshman on the team, if you’re so experienced doesn’t it make sense if noona helps me instead of you? I also need some experienced help.” Jungkook enunciates.

“Fine.” Jimin says, letting go of your arm and making you stumble, he cocks a brow at Jungkook, jaw clenched, “get on your back and spread your legs I’m your new partner.”

You and Jungkook stare at each other for a beat before turning to openly gawk at Jimin, who was sporting an expression that told you he was bored with the entire conversation and had been tired of Jungkook five minutes ago.

“Take your pick,” Jimin shrugs, “it’s either one of the freshman or me. Personally, I can stretch you out real good—”

“Okay stop.” You say finally, pressing a hand to either boys chest, you level Jimin with an exasperated expression, one that he pointedly ignores before turning to Jungkook, “I’m going to partner with him today, Jungkook, the other girls are really helpful and if you have any questions you can ask me but I don’t think it’s a good idea to try and deviate from routine. Me and Jimin have been working together for a lot longer and it’ll take both of us to be able to incorporate you into the flow of things. It’s just easier this way.”

Jimin shoots the younger boy a smug look, one you want to smack off his face because despite the rush of butterflies Jimin’s current possessive nature was giving you, you knew it was only because he didn’t want Jungkook around. He didn’t want you injured because you were just a stepping stone towards his real goal which was essentially regionals. It sucked and was kind of dick-ish but you knew this about Jimin from the get go, he had never pretended otherwise or came to you under false pretenses. Jimin had a very one-tracked mind and it was currently stuck on the aforementioned competition your team faced.

“Stop it.” You sigh and Jimin raises a brow at you, “You know what you’re doing. You’re egging him on an—unf.”

You wither him with a glare when he positions you to get a better seat between your legs. “You were saying?”

You were really beginning to hate stretching. Especially with Jimin.

“You’re little games not cute and it’s making things difficult for m—shit.” You curse when he presses back on your leg until one knee was pressed against your shoulder.

“Should we work on your flexibility next?” Jimin asks and he’s obnoxiously close to you, his cool breath fanning over your face, but your focus was on his lips. Your throat goes dry when he licks them, his voice lowering an octave, “Or should we do that later? When we’re alone?”

His questions hits you like a punch to the gut and you’re suddenly choking because that almost sounded flirtatious but when you glance up to try and get a read on Jimin’s expression, he’s impassive, unfazed by his double entendre.

“W-What?” You stammer, shoving at his chest until the pressure on your leg gives. Jimin blinks at you curiously.

“We might not have enough time, we could do it at the apartment?” He offers innocently, only Jimin was about as innocent as Satan and you didn’t buy his raised eyebrows and saucer eyes.

A sigh leaves your lips as yourself down on the grass. Tired. So tired.


“Since this discussion has long since been put off,” you sigh before plopping yourself down on an available seat of grass, “I’m opening the floor. I hear that you all want new uniforms so Jimin and I have decided that we—”

“Not me,” Jimin corrects, “just her. If it were up to me you’d all be wearing trash bags to better suit your shitty performance.”

Jimin and I,” you begin again, “have decided to take suggestions and if you guys are really dead set on this then we can work on fundraising too.”

“The current uniforms are fine, the only ones who want to change it are the freshman!” Kihyun calls from the back, garnering more than a few glares and making Jimin snicker.

“They are not fine. They’re gray.” Eunha chimes in, “Like prison cells. Gray is why prisoners are unhappy.”

“Really? I always thought it was the loss of freedom and free manual labor,” Jimin snorts, ignoring when you slap his chest.

“I think new uniforms would be a good look.” Jungkook says, leaning back to inspect the back of your thighs, “I say we take the hem up an inch… or five.”

“Ten dollars.” You say without blinking and Jungkook sulks.

“What about black uniforms? It’s a flattering color! And we could go with gray for an accent so we don’t stray too far from school colors.”

“That's…” You begin hesitantly, “not a bad idea, actually.”

“Oh! Long sleeve tops! I’ve been looking them up online and they look so much more… Professional? A lot of the top schools are going for long sleeve instead of sleeveless.” Eunha offers.

“Maybe if you all started practicing like a top school, we’ll consider it.” Jimin scoffs and groans echo through out the huddle.

“Draw up a design. Get it approved by us and coach and while you’re at it, start thinking of fundraising ideas to pitch.” You say, rising to your feet and dusting the grass from your bottom, “If it’s good and everything works out maybe we’ll be able to get new uniforms before regionals.”

“Practice is over. Go home and stretch, hydrate and ice if you need to assholes, I’m tired of you coming to me with injuries that could have been avoided.” Jimin seethes and you roll your eyes because you think, for a moment, beneath all the bravado he actually gives a shit about the kids.

It isn’t until you’re hitching your gym bag up your shoulder and swapping your tennis shoes out for slippers that you feel Jungkook’s weight being pressed onto your shoulders.

“Can I help you?” You sigh, shaking off his grip and making him whine.

“What the hell was that?” He glowers, gesturing towards the field and when you stare at him blankly he elaborates, “That practice was worst than literally any training I’ve done for basketball—off season included.”

“Welcome to cheerleading, bitch.” You say, slapping him on the shoulder. You turn to leave, and press fingers to your closed eyes when your movement is halted by his grip on your wrist. “What?”

“Can you… you know… help with that thing you offered earlier?” He coughs, rubbing the back of his neck and you eye him incredulously.

“The blowjob?”

“What? No! No! I meant… the routines. It’s just… that… you know Jimin doesn’t like me too much and the stuff we were going over earlier was complicated but I can’t ask him and I don’t want to look like an idiot I just,” Jungkook sighs and it takes every bit of self control not to snap at him, even going as far as to remind yourself that he was doing you a favor. Even if it was only out of debt. He was trying to help.

Which is why you throw your bag down with an exasperated sigh and slip your shoes back on, “Let’s practice a bit then.”


Somewhere down the line you had just assumed, no, hoped that either of the boys would get used to each other. At least enough to be civil. You didn’t need them to be glued at the foreskin but you did need them to not give you a migraine whenever you were forced to be in the same room as them.

“This is shared space. That means no boyfriends after eleven o’clock,” Jimin hissed after one entire evening of Jungkook lounging on your couch, eating a bag of Cheetohs and getting crumbs everywhere. “So get whatever breed of cockroach this is, out of my living room.”

“He’s not my—”

Jungkook cuts you off with a withering glare, pausing the newest episode of Bones to speak around a mouthful of chips, “Noona, can we go over the routine again this weekend? I think I’m starting to forget. I wouldn’t want to choke on competition day. That would suck.”

His threat was so apparent that Jimin’s lips thin, making a move towards the younger boy, if it weren’t for your grip on his upper arm. “Jeon Jungkook, do you wan—”

“Let’s go to my room.” You interrupt, tugging the younger boy up by the wrist and dragging him the rest of the way.

“What was that for?” Jungkook grumbles, rubbing at his wrist as though it hurt, as if he wasn’t a whole foot taller and a person heavier than you.

“Stop pissing off my roommate.” You demand, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh come on! I’m not even doing anything.” Jungkook glares, “It’s not my fault he has a hard on for you!”

“Trust me when I say he doesn’t,” you snort and glare when Jungkook leans back against your headboard, completely ignoring you, “Besides, all of this was not apart of our deal. Get out of my house.”

“He totally does,” Jungkook argues, disregarding your earlier statement and making himself comfortable under your throw, “I mean, I know girls have a hard time admitting they’re wrong but trust me, you’re wrong about this one. A guy doesn’t get pissed like that unless you’re fucking with a girl he’s into.”

“A normal guy doesn’t,” you correct, “Jimin likes his space. You are intruding on that, in more than one sense.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, but I’m telling you I’m 100% right.” Jungkook shrugs, reaching over


“He’s wrong.” Nayeon sighs, head rested on her palm as you occupy the seat across from her. Cutting into important study time, again. “Well, not entirely wrong.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You crinkle your nose at her and she rolls her eyes.

“He has a hard on for someone, it’s just not you.” Nayeon whispers and your eyes widen.

“No!” You gasp.

“Yes.”

“No!”

Yes.”

“No!”

Yes!” she says, slamming her hands down on the table, and wincing when people several tables over turn to gawk. “I mean think about it. You said Jimins gay right? And that he shows no emotion save for mild disinterest where you’re concerned but suddenly Jeon Jungkook comes along and he’s irritable, territorial, emotional? Jimin is one of those guys, you know?”

“I don’t.” You shake your head, but all your attention is focused on her, you’re hanging on her every word.

“He doesn’t know how to properly express his emotions so he’s lashing out.” she explains slowly.

And it’s like everything suddenly makes sense in the universe, all the pieces click together and your heart feels as though a fat man has just situated himself on your chest. Because, did Jimin really like Jungkook? Were you really going to be forced to sit back and watch him pine for another man, again? Then there was the more jealous part of you, the ugly emotions that lurked beneath the surface that you weren’t ready to address. Thoughts like, do you lie to him? You hadn’t intended on keeping the entire Jungkook thing a secret because if you were being honest with yourself you thought Jimin might try to throw him off the nearest balcony if he knew you weren’t actually dating him. But the more you thought about it the more you wanted to keep it to yourself and it wasn’t exactly lying, was it?

“You’re making the face.” Nayeon sighs.

“What face?” You frown.

“The one you make when you’re having a heated, internal monologue over your skewed moral compass.” She explains.

“I was not…” you lie before plopping your head down in defeat.

You totally were, but Nayeon is polite enough not to call you out on it.


If you had to rank your to do list for the day, telling Jimin that you weren’t actually dating Jungkook so that your roommate who you had been openly pining for for the last three years could swoop in was ranked at the bottom. Right above dying and going to another party with Hoseok’s weird friends. Though if you were being honest with yourself, you’d take death happily at this point, it sounded a whole hell of a lot less painful. Especially when just trying to squeeze yourself into Jimin’s schedule was a pain in the ass.

If he wasn’t on campus, juggling seven classes to complete school on time he was at cheer practice, which wasn’t a prime place to tell him because Jungkook—and if he wasn’t at cheer practice he was at the gym, or asleep and you’d try waking Jimin up exactly once in your entire time knowing him and it was one too many. The guy wasn’t exactly a morning person.

So the gym it was.

“I’m surprised you actually wanted to come.” Jimin muses, fixing your posture before switching out your kettlebell for a heavier one. You try not to glare.

“I figure,” you grunt when he lets go, leaving you to manage the ten pound weight on your own, a small feat when you’ve already been there for thirty minutes and your arms felt like jelly, “you were right. I wouldn’t be a good captain if I started neglecting myself.”

“Hmm..” He hums, and pressed a hand to your exposed belly, “suck this in.”

“So I was thinking,” you pant and Jimin quirks a brow at you.

“A scary prospect.” He murmurs.

“I was thinking,” you begin again, before dropping the weight completely and turning to face him, “about me and Jungkook…. and me and you.”

“Did I say you could stop?” He implores and you roll your eyes at him before switching arms, “What do you and Jungkook have to do with you and me?”

“You’re my roommate.” You grunt, heaving up with all your might. “And you hate him.”

“You’re not wrong about either of those things,” he agrees, “but I’d like to reiterate my first question of what do either of those things have to do with each other?”

“I just…” You try to get the words out but your muscles are on fire and your chest is tight, so instead you throw the weight down with a grunt before turning to him, “Do you like Jungkook?”

“What?” He blinks at you. “You just said yourself I hated him.”

“Yes, okay I know but you know sometimes you say one thing and you mean another.” You shrug.

Jimins expression remains bland, emotionless.

“You’re asking me if I have… feelings for your boyfriend, correct? That’s what we’re getting at here?” Jimin asks bluntly and you shrink under his intense scrutiny.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you say quietly.

A long silence follows your statement, in which Jimin stares at you, just stares and you cow under his gaze because well, it’s Jimin and he’s pretty fucking intimidating. You look anywhere but at him, the airconditioner, the weights, the treadmill, all while still able to feel him boring holes into the side of your head and you wonder maybe, if you had over stepped. If you had spoken too soon because granted you and Jimin were pretty close but clearly not close enough because to this day he still never really talked about the whole liking boys things or even relationships in general. It made you wonder just how many people Jimin had dated, if he had asked them out, if he was softer, sweeter or—

“You’re really dense you know that?” Jimin shakes his head at you before walking over to the weights, leaving you there slack jawed and a little bit annoyed.

“Hey! Wait up!” You call after him, but he doesn’t, unsurprisingly. “I didn’t mean it like that I was only asking because I wanted to tell you that—”

“Did you watch that new clown movie?” Jimin asks suddenly and he nearly gives you whiplash with how quick he’s jumping topics. You open your mouth to argue, to tell him you were only asking so you could tell him you and Jungkook weren’t really dating but the glint in his eye tells you not to tread there. He’s done talking about it, and by effect so are you.

“No I haven’t.” You sigh, your body slumping in defeat.

“Good,” he grunts, pulling down on the weights before turning his attention to you. And you applaud yourself because you don’t keel over at the sight of a sweaty, sleeveless Park Jimin doing reps on the pull down machine, veins bulging and muscles flexed. He sends you a look that tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking and makes your back straighten indignantly. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“The clown movie.” You repeat proudly, only for Jimin to roll over and flick your forehead.

“Yes genius, but after that,” he sends you a grin, one you’re not used to seeing. He’s teasing you, but it doesn’t annoy you quite as much as usual, “I said let’s go see it. I figure you owe me after that insult you pulled.”

“Wh—” Your mouth opens and the closes before pointing a finger in his direction, “I didn’t mean it like that, if you would just let me explain—”

“Well I took it that way, you’re the only one stupid enough to date that overgrown toddler. And besides, it’s a simple question. Yes or no?” He frowns and you sigh.

“I mean… I don’t really have anything else to do this weekend so..”

“Good to know I’m a last resort.” He snorts and you hide a flush because if only he knew.

And really, if you looked at the entire thing, your situation with Jimin in retrospect it was truly all your fault. Because no matter how much you claim to have both your feelings and heart in check there is no such thing as control when it comes to love. And so you get your hopes, let yourself hope for a moment, with Jungkook’s earlier words replaying like a soft lull. When really you should’ve taken the idiots advice with a grain of salt. Or just not at all.

V’s feelings

So, I just finished another Day 9 chatroom, and I really felt like I needed to pour my thoughts into this and create another analysis.


First and foremost, I would like to willingly admit my bias towards V, so that the rest of you can point out flaws in my argument if you feel I was using more emotion and less practicality. This is an open discussion where we can all come together to share our opinions, so please feel free to!!!


Now, as for V’s feelings. ..It seemed that today, I couldn’t stop thinking about what V had said regarding his love being obsession. Of course, I was incredibly pleased with Cheritz for adressing this and making sure the fans know that V’s idea of love is unhealthy and should not be romanticised!!!


But I, like many before me, assumed that he and Rika started out loving one another like any regular couple before everything descended into the seventh circle of hell. We had no reason to think otherwise.


However, the route seems to indicate that V was that infatuated with Rika from a very early stage, though the tendencies perhaps didn’t show up until later on.


I sat back for a moment and had to remember how to breathe as my brain started to peice together the implications.


V, someone most of the fandom has marvelled at for his unconditional love, doesn’t know how to love.


V doesn’t understand love as much as Rika doesn’t. The only people who truly loved him were his deceased mother and Jumin before the RFA.


It took a while for this to sink in, because before this, no one in the fandom knew how utterly and completely lost in the world V actually is.


We had assumed that everything was due to the common side effects of being a domestic abuse victim. And while partially true, we now know that V is much, MUCH more complicated.



V does not understand the world or himself. I have made SEVERAL previous points touching on the fact that V’s infatuation with Rika can’t possibly be regarded anywhere near what a mentally stable person should feel. The fact that he’s not OK and probably never was, even going as far as to theorise about his familial life.


Basically; V, head of RFA, does not know who is and what the hell he’s doing. He stumbles upon Rika, and immediately decides that his life is for her; that loving her wholly and devoting himself to her is the purpose of his entire existence.


Let me rephrase that, for those that do not understand just how intense this is: V literally thought that his purpose in life was to love Rika and give himself completely to her; to let her hurt and destroy him, to let her pick him apart and ruin him whenever it was she wishes.


This isn’t even because Rika implied something- he was always this way. And when the implications came up, he seemed absolutely unphased and accepting of it. That’s… That’s so fucking heartbreaking.


Rika fed into that part of V; she longed for someone to “save” her from the devil within, which even “God” could not save her from, in her words. This encouraged V’s unhealthy infatuation and solidified the idea that, yes; his purpose in life was to be her sun until she wished to extinguish him completely.


This went on going until Rika’s “devil” finally became suffocated by V’s “love”, and she had to flee. (Important to note that she left V because of this, but she did not start Mint Eye due to this. Mint Eye had already been in progression far before this! I’ll link to the post describing that soon.)



Now, V obviously regrets it. He goes into this state of depressing self contemplation and tells the MC that he regrets attempting to love anyone. He regrets allowing himself to share in the joy of love. I had never felt so heartbroken from a VN like this since Seven’s Route. ..


Anyway. MC goes on to say this;


In the first picture, we can see that V and Rika are similar in that way; both wished desperately to experience love, but it was a love that was false and ended in agony. V fell in love with the idea of love so pure and selfless like the sun, something he longed to experience himself- Rika fell in love with the idea of being loved and understood by someone. To me, at least, both fell in love with their wishes and ideals, and they lived that through one another.


And I think the MC is right when she says that their love was tragic. Remember, neither of them ever loved anyone else before, as far as we all know. And this first experience for them was DISASTROUS and damaging. V’s sense of self is even lesser than before



Here we see V wallowing in guilt and self hatred. He scolds himself for ever thinking that he could love someone properly. He scolds himself for ever thinking he deserves love.


He is a broken man- peices of a puzzle that refuse to fit with one another, photographs that tell a disconnected story and incomplete paintings riddled with tear drops.


For all the innocence of character Yoosung and Rika portray, according to Cheritz… V seems pretty innocent as well. He tries to build his way up- tries to fill a void in his soul and tries to save others because he’s too afraid of the idea of saving himself.


I believe Rika when she says that V’s love only made her worse because it “threathened [her] devil” , even though I firmly believe she fed into it continuously and that her actions (hurting V and starting Mint Eye, brainwashing vulnerable people into it) are her own and hers alone. However; I don’t believe her at all when she says that V only wants to sacrifice himself for the sake of nobility. I believe that she believes it, but I don’t agree with it myself.


Because here we see a V that’s so willing to figure out just why he was born in this world- a V who knows not who is nor why he is there, and who cares less about himself than Jaehee does about Elizabeth the Third. He truly wants to put an end to what he believes he started.


And I’m going to end this post on that note. I might make another couple of posts regarding Rika, Ray, and V in general because there’s a lot to sort through in this route. Thank you for reading and I hope you guys are enjoying this route as much as I do!


-Phil

anonymous asked:

How BTS would react if there GF tried to be cute but accidentally turning them on

Namjoon

You’re quietly sitting on the couch, Namjoon scrolling on his phone while you read a book. When he leans to take the beer can on the coffee table, you realize that you’re thirsty too. « Can you give me a sip, babe? ». Namjoon doesn’t seems to hear you and puts back the can on the table. « Namu? » Namjoon still doesn’t answer, focused on his phone’ screen. You sigh and hit him softly with your foot : « Yah! » Namjoon finally turns his head towards you as you pout cutely. He raises his eyebrows as you whine : « Namjoon-aaah… I was thirsty… But whatever. » You lean over to grab the beer can while Namjoon apologizes with a low voice. You feel his look that doesn’t leave you for a second and, carrying the can to your mouth, you give him a questioning look. Seeing that he’s deeply staring at your lips, you hold your smile and decides to be even cuter, just to soften him so he will be all over you tonight. But you don’t have time to do anything. Suddenly, Namjoon pulls you against him, his mouth finding yours so wildly it takes your breath away. While his hands goes under your top, you sigh against his mouth : « Why are you so… ». Your words get stuck in your throat when his mouth attacks your neck before whispering to your ear:  « I don’t know… You’re turning me on… »

Taehyung

You’ve been drawing for an hour in Taehyung’s bedroom when you see him enter. He comes back from the studio and his tired little smile makes you moan softly. He’s just so cute, his long hair almost covering his eyes. He approaches you and shows the top of your head with his finger : « Why are you wearing this? » You raise your hands and touch the cat-ear headband before bursting out laughing : « Oh ! I put them on just for fun & I forgot to take them off… » Tae gently laughs as you stand up to kiss him softly. As he puts a series of small kisses on your lips, you start to moan very quietly. Tae bites his lip, his fingers clenching the fabric of your shirt : « It sounds like you’re purring… » You giggle, closing your eyes under the softness of his lips that goes down on your neck. You hear his deep voice against your ear : « It’s so cute… ». You smile and lower your hands on his butt, wondering if he would like it if you kept the headband all night…

Jin

When you close the door after the delivery boy brought you Chinese food, you start singing Jin’s name. You try to have the most cute & yet seductive voice possible, knowing well that Jin will come out all excited from the shower just at the idea that the food is here. You put the dishes on the table and, when you don’t hear the hurried steps of your man, you start singing « Jiiiiiiiin… » again and continues to sing while preparing the table, lost in the melody you have created. You don’t hear Jin getting closer and lightly jump when you feel his arms wrapping around your waist. He let out his famous « Yaaaah » when the smell of food hits him. You gently giggle and let him kiss your neck. Jin whispers mischievously while kissing you : « Mmh… You… Delicious food… ». His hands goes up on your breasts to press them firmly, making you moan as you drop the towels you held in your hand. Jin’s breath makes you shiver when he adds « Boobs looking tasty as well… I’m such a lucky guy… »

Hoseok

You join Hobi who was sitting in the living room, reading peacefully. Bobby’s last song starts playing when you come in and you can’t hold a little scream of excitement : you love this song. You walk/dance in a ridiculous way, carried away by the rhythm. All the other boys are away so nobody can make fun of you. Of course, Hoseok doesn’t hesitate to burst out laughing when he sees you dancing without embarrassment in front of him but it doesn’t bother you. You love to make him laugh anyway. When the chorus comes, you start singing « Saranghaaaae » by pointing your finger at your man who laughs like an idiot. You beckon him to join you but he nods his head to say no, encouraging you to continue. You pout a little and performs a series of movements supposed to be cute but it doesn’t works on Hobi. He just smiles playfully. Then, he beckons to you to come closer. He makes you sit on his thigh as you wrap your arms around his neck. Still smirking, Hoseok sings the chorus against your lips. « Saranghae … »

Yoongi

You moan when the wonderful taste of the food that Yoongi prepared for you invades your mouth. It’s just delicious. Yoongi looks at you with a smile, obviously glad that you like what he has cooked for you. He puts bigger pieces of beef in your plate but you immediately pout : « No, you need to keep the best ones for you, you just came back from practice, babe… » With a resolute face, you take a piece of beef with your chopsticks and hand it to Yoongi who willingly accepts it. You smile like an idiot as you watch him chew and take another piece of beef that you hand to him again, saying « aaaaaaaah ». It was way cuter than expected. Yoongi watches you eat a few moments with a gummy smile before getting up. You watch him sit next to you with big, surprised eyes and you smile : « You want to eat next to me? » Yoongi stays silent but his smile is no longer innocent and you guess that he has something naughty in mind. He stares at you as you slide your hand on his thigh, going up to his crotch. He’s hard as fuck.

Jimin

Jimin & you are lost on Youtube, so much that you’re currently watching stupid compilations of the cutest scenes in k-dramas. You laugh at all the scenes, comfortably pressed one against the other on the bed. You suddenly straighten up and get on your knees in front of Jimin who looks at you with a big smile on his face. You start to reproduce all the aegyo you’re capable of just to make your man laugh. Jimin blushes, causing you to chuckle. « Do you like it? » Jimin hides his face with the back of his hand, giggling like an idiot, his hand resting on your thigh. You don’t stop doing aegyo and press your hands on both sides of your breasts, pouting and saying « Mochiiii ». Jimin suddenly turns you over against the mattress, putting himself on top of you. « You’re so cute … » He bites his lip as you giggle, always impressed by your ability to turn him on so quickly. He sinks into your neck, beginning to roll his tongue on your skin, making you moan.

Jungkook

While you’re out shopping, you pull Jungkook’s hand to drag him into a cosmetics shop. He follows you obediently, a sweet smile on his lips. He wanders around the store while you try different lipsticks. When one of them pleases you, you beckon him to come closer to give you his opinion. He hugs you from behind and looks at you through the mirror. « You look super cute ». You pout and retorts « Why do I always end up looking cute when I want to look sexy… ». To illustrate your words, you begin to act cute, doing all the aegyo you’re capable of. « See? ». You sigh, ready to put the lipstick back in place when you feel Jungkook getting closer to your ear. You look at him through the mirror and shiver when his breath runs through your neck : « Do you feel it ? » When he presses himself against you and you feel his hardness, you hold a moan. « Don’t ever say you’re not sexy again… Now buy it and let’s get back home »

Fuel to Fire (intro)

Stucky x reader

Notes: fluff, tattooing, some angst, smut (m/m and m/m/f) 

Summary: Living their dream, Bucky and Steve run their tattoo shop ‘American Ink’ together, happily married for several years and business is going well. When a girl walks into their shop and inevitably into their lives right after they’ve received some exciting news, they have no idea how their lives are about to change with some harmless but straight-forward flirting. 

A/N: This is the introduction to the tattoo-shop AU, a Stucky x reader story that could be compared to my earlier series: Savages. I have no idea where this is going or how long it’s gonna be. I’m just gonna see where it takes me. 

“Buck-.. you think we’re gettin’ boring?” Steve muses, his arms behind his head, relaxing against his pillow as he stares up at the ceiling.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Steve” Bucky groans, popping up somewhere below Steve’s belt, pushing his hair away from his eyes. “m’Tryin’ to suck your dick here, you mind?”

“I don’t, actually” Steve grins. “I was just thinkin’”

“Yeah. I know” Bucky shuts him up, pinching his husband’s side, earning a yelp in turn. “Stop it and let me suck your pretty cock”

“Baby, c’mon, hold on a minute, okay?” Steve pleads, putting on his best pouting face and big blue eyes.

Bucky groans, rolls off his husband, “Okay, okay. Stop with the eyes already. What’s on your mind?”

Keep reading

The Bedroom Mentor

Originally posted by a-marvelous-bean

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader

Request: Hey doll :) I had an idea but I’m not sure if you like it. You’re a recruit for SHIELD and get trained by the Avengers and your Mentor is Bucky. So during the time together you slowly fall in love with each other but you reject him one time cause you don’t want to get in Trouble and leave the Training upset. Later that evening Buck Comes to your room and wants to have a talk with you but he can’t contain himself and you both end up having sex :) then he holds you and asks you to be his ? :) -anon

Warnings: language, smut/unprotected sex (18+), nsfw, some oral (male receiving)

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: I listened to Africa by Toto on repeat while I wrote this whole fic. I don’t really have an explanation why, but it happened. I really enjoyed this three-day break from my first week of school but now it’s back to classes tomorrow. Anyways, feel free to send in more requests! Hope this is what you were lookin’ for!


A few months ago, Nick Fury had hunted you down in the middle of one of your freelance missions and offered you a position working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Naturally, your first instinct was to laugh in his face. Working for him and the organization meant having to abide by someone else’s rules, which, up until that point, you had always taken whatever missions you wanted, and never had to follow any other rules besides your own. But here you are, three months later, lacing up your shoes to get ready to start your training with the Avengers. Each new recruit - no matter how much experience they’ve had prior to joining S.H.I.E.L.D. - is required to go through the training, and are assigned mentors. You haven’t been told who your mentor will be yet, but honestly, you just wanted to get this over with.

You sigh and push up from the bench in the locker room, and saunter down the hallway leading to the training room as you threw your hair up into a quick, tight ponytail. Pushing through the door, you’re greeted by a bright, natural light streaming in through the skylights of the training room, and spot Fury standing near the main entrance.

“Y/N, glad you could join us,” Fury’s sarcastic voice rings out through the air as you jog up to them. You immediately recognize the other man towering behind him as James Buchanan Barnes - the Winter Soldier. Like everyone else on Earth, you were very well aware of who Bucky is - or, more accurately, was. He was strikingly gorgeous. His thick, soft locks of hair were pulled back into a bun, and the scruff on his face made his jawline look even sharper than usual. The tight black t-shirt stretched across his broad chest looked like it could rip if he breathed too deeply, and it was paired with slouching sweatpants and black tennis shoes. The smooth metal of his left arm glistened in the light. You were convinced you had never seen a man more beautiful than him, and you tried your best to brush away the steamy thoughts surfacing in your mind.

Keep reading

The Color Of My World // A Stiles Stilinski AU

Prompt: Soulmate AU where for your entire life you’ve only ever seen black and white, until you receive the first touch from your soulmate and color blooms before your very eyes. But, what would you do if you found out your soulmate was the one person your current boyfriend hates the most in this world?

Relationships: Stiles Stilinski x Reader/Theo Raeken x Reader/Stiles Stilinski x OFC/Theo Raeken x OFC

Warnings: Intimate Dancing, Kissing, Swearing, and Future Smut (I gotta build it up first y’all but smut is coming)

Song: Flaslight by Jessie J (Cover by Leroy Sánchez)

Word Count: 3,157

A/N: Y’all this was a long time coming. This series is so incredibly important to me, it took me months on end to write. This is without a doubt my favorite story I have written so far and has become my baby. Special thanks to @sarcasticallystilinski for reading it over and supporting me! I really hope you guys love this as much as I do.

P.s. All of the songs will be in Stiles’ POV and, Oh My God, I highly recommend you listen to them after every part to know what’s going on in his mind throughout the story. 

Love, Soulmates and Colors are the three words I despise the most in this world. They ring in my ears like sharp nails scratching against a dry chalkboard and, yet, it seems to be all everyone ever talks about.

“When will I find my soulmate?”

“All I ever see is black and white, I hope one day I’ll meet her and see color.”

“Wait, what do you mean you’re only seeing blue?”

Everyone on this God forsaken planet can only see the dull shades of black and white. However, rumor has it, that that completely changes when you meet your soulmate - as if that bullshit actually exists. Apparently, the moment your skin touches theirs, your entire world becomes vibrant with color and life.

I don’t believe it for one second. Not because I’m bitter or anything, but because I’ve never actually met anyone who can see in color and, therefore, I don’t believe that possibility exists. What would a world full of color even look like? I’m so used to the reality of black and white that the idea of shades other than these two seem so foreign and impossible.

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i’m sure this has been done. but. eh.

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Neil says.

Andrew looks away from the road to Neil, and then back again.

“They’re not,” Neil attempts.

The only reason Neil finally agreed to go to the dentist was because of the threat of being benched by the coaches. Not because the pain has been affecting his playing - of course it hasn’t - but because everyone on the team is sick of him holding and rotating his jaw all the time, obviously in pain but completely unwilling to admit it.

“You do as the doctors say now,” Andrew says, a reminder of an old agreement made back when Neil first went pro. Neil’s innate distrust in people wasn’t ever going to be a good enough reason for him to be stupid in regards to medical care when he was out of Abby’s hands. Andrew would like to think that now they’re on the same team he would have slightly more sway over Neil, but that’s never really been the case.

“He’s not a doctor.” The level of scorn in Neil’s voice is truly impressive. 

“Medical professional, then.” Andrew imagines the look on the dentist’s face as hearing Neil’s real opinion of him.

“Lots of people keep their wisdom teeth,” Neil says. “You still have yours.”

Andrew’s aren’t growing sideways out of his skull and threatening to crowd all his other teeth together. The term the dentist had used for Neil’s was ‘severely impacted’. He’d referred Neil to a maxillofacial surgeon and said that Neil would be lucky if they could be removed under sedation rather than a general anaesthetic. 

“I know,” Andrew says, rather than attempting a logical argument. There’s really no point.

“What?”

“I know, it’s hard to believe that my mouth really is bigger than yours,” Andrew says.


The threat of benching works well enough to get Neil to the surgeon, which is unsurprising to anyone who actually knows Neil. He’s calm and unafraid all day, except for the piercing look he gives Andrew in the moments before he’s ushered away.

“There’s a quiet waiting room just through here,” someone says, indicating a door. “You would be amazed how ill people have to be before they stop considering asking for an autograph.”

It’s been a while since anyone over the age of about sixteen asked Andrew for an autograph - the older ones got the idea eventually - but the offer of a quiet place to not be stared at isn’t anything to be sniffed at. Andrew goes through the door and takes a spot on a chair next to the window with a clear view of the door.

His fingers itch for a cigarette. He reaches for his phone instead.

Social media isn’t of much interest to him, so he spends a good half-hour reading news articles spiralling into scientific studies and then into the rabbit hole of wikipedia. He’s not sure quite how long it’s been when a knock at the door interrupts him from the page he’s reading on Indian mathematics.

Someone in scrubs puts her head through the door. “Mister Minyard? Neil is in recovery now. You can come sit with him.”

Andrew stands and follows her quick bustle of a walk, putting his phone in his pocket as he goes. The nurse is chatting as speedily as she walks. “Once he’s more awake and we know for sure he’s feeling himself he can be discharged. He’s a little quiet right now, but he asked for you before.”

She ushers him into a private room - another perk of being professional athletes - with a smile. 

Neil is lying on his back on the bed with his eyes closed, but he opens them when he hears Andrew sitting in the chair at his side. He looks a little like a chipmunk with the gauze stuffed in his cheeks, his jaw swollen enough that it’s grotesquely square rather than its usual fine-angled shape.

“Hey,” Andrew says.

He’s not necessarily expecting chattiness, but he is expecting an answer. Instead Neil just stares at him. His eyes are very large, as are his pupils.

“Hi,” he says eventually. He sounds exactly like he’s talking through a mouthful of cotton. The nurse comes in and fiddles with the blood pressure cuff on his arm, and Neil rolls his head around to watch her doing it.

“I’m just going to squash your arm again, okay?” she says, with the manner of someone talking to a child or an adult who is exceptionally out of their mind on drugs.

Neil doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then comes out with, “This is Andrew.”

The nurse flicks Andrew a look and a small smile. “We met, actually. He was waiting outside for you.”

“He’ll always wait for me,” Neil tells her, matter-of-fact. “He’s my partner.”

The nurse’s expression doesn’t change much, but it’s only through power of will, Andrew suspects. She looks like she would love to laugh. “That’s really nice of him.”

“Yeah,” Neil sighs warmly. He’s pathetic. 

“I would have recognised him anyway,” the nurse says, still looking amused. “I’m a Rebels fan.”

Neil, who is the biggest Rebels fan in the city, does something that might have been a half-smile if it weren’t for the current state of his face. Then it falls off. Mournfully, he says, “I can’t play this week.”

“No, but you’ll be back out there before you know it,” the nurse comforts. Her name tag says ‘Helen’ and has a yellow flower on it. “Are you playing, Andrew?”

“He’s the starting goalie,” Neil says before Andrew can say anything, almost making it to sounding affronted. Mostly he just sounds loopy. Andrew has never seen him have so many emotional shifts in thirty seconds before.

“I thought he might be stuck looking after you,” Helen replies. “I know what athletes are like.”

“I can look after myself.” That’s a very Neil answer, and also a complete lie. Andrew is banking on Neil being too miserable to want to come to the game in two days, because otherwise he’ll be on the bench in all his swollen-faced glory.

“I’m sure you can,” Helen says, and pats him on the shoulder condescendingly. Neil doesn’t notice at all. “I’ll come back in fifteen minutes and see how you’re doing.”

She bustles back out again, closing the door behind her gently. Neil sighs and rolls onto his side, muttering something indecipherable when the blood pressure cuff gets pulled tight under his body. It doesn’t sound pleased, and it’s definitely not in any language Andrew recognises.

Neil raises his unrestrained hand towards Andrew. It swerves a little in the air. “Can I?”

“Yes,” Andrew says. He’s expecting Neil to take his hand, but he doesn’t flinch when Neil reaches for his face instead. What he currently lacks in coordination he makes up for in gentleness, but Andrew closes his eyes anyway to lower the risk of losing one to a poorly-aimed finger.

“You look weird,” Neil mutters.

You look weird,” Andrew tells him, mostly because it’s true, partly to see Neil wrinkle his nose at him.

“Do not,” Neil replies. He pats Andrew’s cheek, and then gets distracted by Andrew’s hair. That’s not unusual, to be fair, though the level of concentration he’s giving it is. “Hey.”

“Yes?”

“Hey.” More insistently this time, like he doesn’t already have Andrew’s full attention. He tugs Andrew’s hair. 

Never let it be said Andrew can’t take a hint. He lowers himself onto his elbows on the edge of the bed and puts his forehead to Neil’s. Even though they’re at odd angles, Neil sighs in satisfaction. His eyelashes flutter against Andrew’s temple, fingers stroking idly over the arch of Andrew’s ear.

“Good,” he mutters, seemingly to himself.

They stay like that, Andrew’s chin pillowed on the starchy sheets and his forehead likely leaving an imprint on Neil’s fairer skin. Neil dozes, hand going lax, and Andrew closes his eyes and thinks in circles for a little while about the Bakhshali Manuscript.

Another knock at the door makes him raise his head. Neil’s eyes flash open, and then he blinks like he’s reeling a little. His fingers have fallen to Andrew’s wrist, and they tighten for a split-second before dropping away.

“Hi again,” Helen says gently. “Let’s get a look at you, Neil.”

Andrew moves aside and lets her at him, ignoring the disgruntled sound this earns from the bed. Neil is distracted quickly by Helen extracting the arm with the cuff from under his body and taking his blood pressure again, before removing it and making him sit up. Then she leaves, and returns with clothes and a clipboard. The clothes she leaves for Neil to attempt to put on. The clipboard she gives to Andrew.

“Rather than it turning out as a discharge form as signed by Alexander Pushkin,” she explains with a shrug. It’s fine, Andrew is all over Neil’s paperwork these days. He flips through the notes and signs in the right places then hands the board back, and gets a sheet of discharge instructions in its place.

“I’ll leave you guys for a sec and sort things,” she says, and does just that. It leaves Andrew to subtly ensure that Neil puts all his clothes on the right body parts. He’s looking less high but still dazed, his eyes hooded but his face pulling tighter. In the fall down, he’s always uncomfortably aware of the abnormality of being out of control of himself. Years later that hasn’t changed. Andrew isn’t surprised.

“You’re good to go,” Helen tells Neil when she returns, and then says to Andrew, “Good luck!”

He would like to think, as he manoeuvres Neil out, that she means for the game on Friday. It’s not likely, though.

Neil falls asleep against the window on the drive home. Andrew prods him awake so he can walk himself into the elevator, where he sags against the wall, and then into the apartment. He shuffles into the bedroom, still making gentle smooching noises at Sir and King as he winds himself into the duvet. He’s out ten seconds later.

Andrew watches for a moment while King curls up beside him and Sir gently begins to groom his hair, and then retreats to the balcony for a cigarette.


Andrew has relocated inside to the couch by the time he hears stirring from the bedroom a few hours later. The Neil who emerges is rumpled but sleepy in a normal sense rather than because of lingering sedation.

He lowers himself gently onto the cushion beside Andrew, and then even more slowly lowers his head down onto Andrew’s thighs.

“Painkillers?” Andrew offers. The discharge notes included strict instructions on dosage and timing, but Neil’s been asleep long enough to be due another couple of pills.

“In a minute,” Neil mumbles, like he’s trying to move his jaw as little as possible. He pats Andrew on the shin. “Stay.”

In an hour Neil’s going to be pissed off and probably a little anxious, wanting to move but knowing he can’t, irritated by the pain. But for now, it’s pretty easy to read a book and play pillow while Neil rests.

“It Is Okay” Poetry For The Signs

Aries
there was a war in your childhood home, and you can still remember the fires, how the blood was
pretty and sick on the bathroom’s pristine tiles, your mother’s still warm body limp in the tub.
breathe in through the mouth: in, out, in. you are not guilty. It’s okay her life is not on your hands.

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Games [M]
  • Pairings: Reader X Jungkook
  • Genre: Filthy smut
  • Word Count: 4200
  • Summary: It’s Jungkook’s birthday and a late-night game leads you into a bit of a situation.
  • A/N: We’re baaaaaaaaaaaaaack! Please enjoy this extra-long, Jungkook birthday fic as a bribe for being away from writing for so long. This time, for sure, we’re going to be doing fics regularly again so look out for the continuation of the Vacation Series and also more sexy shenanigans in general.

Originally posted by jimiyoong


“Come in!” you call over your shoulder, tightening the towel around your body.

“For a change,” you say to the light footsteps behind you as you pull a dress out from the cupboard. “You’re actually early. I just have to get changed and do my make-”

You turn and let out a squawk, clutching the dress to your chest in alarm. “You’re not Hoseok!”

“Hoseok-hyung said he messaged you, noona,” Jungkook responds with the faintest trace of a smile. “He couldn’t make it and told me to fetch you instead.”

Your eyes skirt around Jungkook and land on the bed where your phone is silently charging, the pulsating purple light emitting from it letting you know you have unread messages.

“Uuh,” you say.

Jungkook’s head cocks fractionally to the side and you resist the urge to throw the dress at him and make a run for it.

Okay, fine; Hoseok wasn’t able to pick you up. But of everyone else did he have to send Jungkook?

You fight the grimace eager to cross your face and your eye twitches from the strain.

Jungkook. Here.

Here in your tiny little flat where the bed is also the couch and you can barely fit into the bathroom when the door is closed.

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Secrets

This is a (decently long, sorry for the lack of writing these past few days) one-shot for the below prompt! It… didn’t turn out exactly like the ask, but I hope you like it anyway! I’ve been wanting to try writing trans!lance for a while because I absolutely love that hc, and I really enjoyed writing this, so let me know if you guys like it, because I could definitely see myself doing another fic with it.

Trans! Lance where an asshole alien keeps miss gendering Lance and being transphobic and he starts to get upset and then the team overhears this happening and are about to kick the aliens ass.

I tried to make it gen… but it ended up being very klance, especially at the end… so uh… I hope you like it anyway! Sorry this always happens when I try to write gen fics.


Only half the team knew.

Contrary to their belief, Lance was actually an expert secret keeper. With a large family like his, he had to know when to keep his mouth shut. So, despite the loud, obnoxious, open persona he displayed for the others, he could also be sneaky.

He’d the had practice of years sneaking out of the Garrison, or even his house when he was little to go see the beach at night with his siblings.

So, keeping a secret on an unbelievably large castle ship with only six other people on it was easy.

Or at least, it should’ve been.

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KAIROS. 1

Originally posted by yoongichii


  • Pairing: Hoseok x Reader
  • Genre: Sugar!Daddy AU, Fake!GF AU
  • Warnings: angst, smut, degrading names, mentions of cheating, dom themes, asshole hoseok
  • Words: 10k
  • Summary: Jung Hoseok is the devil in Armani. Self-entitled, rich, with striking good looks, there’s nothing he wants for with his parents’ money backing up his extravagant lifestyle. Yet when suddenly he’s forced to find himself a humble girlfriend or say goodbye to his monthly paycheck, he runs into you, lacking everything he possibly looks for in a girl. But he’s desperate, and being desperate makes a man do crazy things.

a/n: tysm to my irl bff @garbageeking for beta-ing for me and providing me with endless sugar!daddy hobi inspo to help me finish this chapter!!! ily!


The high chime of yet another eager customer ricocheted off of pale yellow walls, leather booths, and tiled flooring that was worn down with age. The quaint little shop lacked elegance, yet made up for it with charm. Watercolor paintings of sea cliffs, dipping waves, and golden sand hung from every corner of the small cafe, each dated and signed by a unique signature in the far left corner.

“Table three!” Your father’s gruff voice reminded from the back storage room, your attention once again redirected to the easily recognizable and overgrown mop of dusty brown hair, belonging to your best friend, who wore a forlorn frown, looking especially distressed as he sat himself into his regular booth. Red leather squeaked under the weight of his body as he threw himself down onto it, leaning his head against the cool glass of the large window that overlooked the crowded sidewalks and busy streets, a long horizon of blue easily noticeable in the distance.

“You look like you need some pie.”

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Sober Thoughts

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Featuring: Wanda Maximoff, Steve Rogers and Peter Parker

Words: 1920

Warnings: alcohol

Taggs: @vashanatasha

Request: -

Notes: - 

Originally posted by little--batman

MASTERLIST


The liquid burned your throat as it went down for the fifth time. You had decided to go out that night with Wanda since it had been ages since you two had a girls night out. So there you were, in one of the nicest clubs in New York, pouring down your throat the fifth tequila shot of the night. 

“You know, it doesn’t taste that bad…” You mumbled looking at the little glass. “At least it doesn’t after the third one” you added with a laugh.

“That’s because you’re wasted” Wanda laughed leaning against the bar.

“There’s a chance I am… But maybe I am not” you said with a frown. “I’m going to the bathroom” you added getting up from your tool way too quickly, making everything spin. “Wow…” You mumbled holding onto the bar.

“Were you saying?” Wanda laughed. You showed her your middle finger as your stumbled towards the bathroom.

It had been a long time since you drank so much. You had been too busy with the missions and all the Avengers stuff going on at the moment. Plus, you were trying to get a degree at the NYU. Summing up, you didn’t have much time for parties.

Luckily, you had a break from university and for once there was no saving the world so Wanda talked you into changing into something nicer than your onesie, putting on some make up and hitting the city.

So there you were, in line for the bathroom of a club, seeing how the lights were too bright and confusing, hearing laughs and drunken conversations all around you. You took out your phone to check the time. 4 a.m. 

With a sigh you opened the messages to check if there was any but nothing new. Before you closed the app, Bucky’s name came to your eyes, making you open the last conversation you had with him about which movie you were watching that night.

You smiled at the memory of watching Star Wars with him. He had been so amazed by the movie that watching him had been more entertaining than the movie itself. Your remembered his eyes completely focused on the screen, brighting, and his mouth partly opened in surprise. He was too adorable. You ended up falling asleep over him that night and he ended up taking you to bed once the movie was finished. The thought of him carrying you in his strong arms still sent shivers down your body. Damn Winter Soldier.

“Sorry, are you coming in?” You looked up from your phone to see that you were next.

“Oh yes! Sorry!” You exclaimed with a smile before hurrying into the bathroom.

It wasn’t the first time something like that happened to you. Getting lost in your memories of Bucky, day dreaming about him, about how it would be to actually be with him. Not as a friend, but as something more. Having him in your bedroom every night, whispering the sweetest things in your ear until you fell asleep and waking up with his body pressed against your back. Damn. You had it bad.

“Are you okay?” Wanda asked when you came back from the bathroom.

“I need another shot” you stated as you ordered two more.

“Amen sister” Wanda smiled widely. 

By the time you two were walking back to the tower, you had to hold onto each other in order not to fall. Your head was spinning, the lights were everywhere and you didn’t know where you were. 

“I’m fucked, Wanda” you mumbled. 

“No. You’re drunk” she replied. 

“Besides” you laughed. “But I’m serious. I think I like Bucky” you confessed. You felt her eyes on you.

“You what?” She asked.

“Don’t make me say it again” you frowned. 

“You should tell him” she shrugged.

“You’re even more wasted than I am” you laughed. “I can’t do that. We’re friends” you added.

“So? Vision and I were friends too” she said with a small smile.

“That’s different-” you tried to speak but she placed both of her hands on your mouth. “Mmmm!!”

“Don’t think about it” she said. “Give me your phone” she added stretching out her hand. You frowned confused but gave her your phone. Then you watched her as she dialed Bucky’s number.

“No!” You exclaimed jumping over her but your drunken state caused you to fall on the floor.

“Hey Bucks!” Wanda suddenly said. “I’m sorry I woke you up. But there’s someone here who has something to tell you” she added. You covered your face and shook your head over and over again. “How did you know it was (Y/N)?” She asked.

“Because that’s my phone you moroon!” You exclaimed as you started laughing. 

“Oh right” she mumbled. “Anyway, we’re on our way home and she got to talk to you ASAP so yeah, see you now” she added before hanging up and giving the phone back to you.

“That was probably the worst idea ever” you laughed trying to get up from the ground.

“Was it?” She smirked.

“Who knows” you laughed hooking your arms together as you two continued your way back home.

You didn’t even think about that call since you were completely sure Bucky hadn’t paid attention and had gone back to sleep. That’s why when you stepped out of the elevator and saw him leaning against the back of the couch, facing the two of you, you almost tripped over and fell again.

“I’m screwed” you mumbled looking at him. Wanda started giggling by your side, causing you to do the same. 

“Goodnight” she mumbled stumbling towards the stairs. 

“Hey there Summer Soldier!” You exclaimed. He raised an eyebrow as he smiled. “Wrong season” you added with a laugh. “Have you ever realised how shining New York is?” You asked smiling.

“That’s what you wanted to tell me?” He chuckled. 

“But it is! Like your eyes when you were watching Star Wars” you pointed out. He smiled a little.

“It was a good movie” he shrugged. 

“I know. I saw you- I mean, it! I saw it. I saw the movie” you said taking off your heels, ending up on the floor once again.

Immediately Bucky was by your side, helping you up as you giggled. Since it was hard for you to stand, he picked you up bridal style. 

“This is nice” you said as he carried you upstairs. “This is how you took me to bed the other day right? I could get used to it” you smiled resting your head between his shoulder and his neck. “Mmm…you’re so soft” you whispered against his skin. 

“Am I?” He whispered with raspy voice this time. You nodded and planted a kiss on his neck making him shiver. “You’re wasted” he commented.

“I’m okay” you mumbled closing your eyes. Bad idea. The spinning got even worse. “You’re cute” you added without thinking.

“What?” He laughed walking into your room.

“You heard me” you replied as he set you on your bed.

“You think I’m cute?” He asked smiling down at you.

“Cute, hot, handsome, funny, nice, lovely…” You started saying. He smiled kneeling down in front of you.

“You’re drunk” he said.

“Wow thank you” you rolled your eyes. He laughed and made you lie down on your bed.

“You’re beautiful too” he admitted sitting down next to you.

You looked at him and smiled before sitting up slowly so you wouldn’t throw up. You two looked at each other before you leaned in. He smiled but pressed his forehead against yours instead kissing you.

“You’re drunk. You will hate me in the morning if I kiss you” he whispered. 

“Drunk acts, sober thoughts” you shrugged. He laughed.

“I’m sure that’s not the quote” he smirked.

“So what?” You said.

Without giving him a chance to react, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close to you until your lips met. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth your head started spinning. You didn’t even know if it was because of the alcohol or him, but it was completely worth it. 

You laid down, taking him down with you so he was hovering over you, with a hand on your waist and the other one by your face. 

“Wait…” He pulled away when you tried to take his t-shirt off. “You’re drunk, (Y/N)” he said again.

“So what?” You frowned.

“We can’t. Not like this” he sighed rubbing your face slowly. 

“But I like you” you whispered with a pout. He chuckled and pecked your lips.

“We’ll see if you feel the same way in the morning” he said. 

“I will” you replied. 

He smiled and kissed your forehead before getting off you. He covered you up and left your room after a while. That was probably the hardest thing he had ever done. Walking away from you when you had just confessed what he had been waiting to hear for so long. But it wasn’t the right thing to do. Not when you were completely wasted. All he could hope for was that you felt the same way in the morning. If you didn’t, you would probably hate him.

Bucky didn’t get much asleep the rest of the night. When the sun came through the window he forced himself to wake up and go to the gym. He needed to clear his hear and wrap it around the possibility of you changing your mind. He knew it would take you time to get out of bed so he would need patience. 

After spending an hour and a half in the gym and after taking a long shower he went to the kitchen to have some breakfast. Steve and Peter were already up and having breakfast in the living room where Bucky joined them in silence. 

“What happened last night?” Peter asked sleepy. “I woke up and heard some noises” he explained. 

“I heard nothing” Steve shrugged.

“Wanda and (Y/N) came completely wasted” Bucky replied with a shrug.

“Today will be fun then” Peter laughed.

“So fucking funny Parker” Bucky turned around when he heard your voice.

There you were, in your pyjamas, with your make up ruined and your hair in a messy bun over your head. He gulped and got up as you two locked eyes. 

Despite your headache and how your body was dying from hangover, you could remember the events from last night. You could remember his lips, the heat of his body over yours, his smile, his touch, his words and yours. Judging by the look on his eyes, he remembered them too. 

Slowly, he walked over to you, like you were a deer that could run away if he moved too fast. You bite your lip, looking up at him, doubt in his eyes.

“So?” He mumbled. You shrugged and took a tiny step towards him.

“Drunk actions, sober thoughts” you said. 

He smiled widely and placed a hand on your hip to pull you closer. 

“I like you too then” he smiled before closing the distance between you two, kissing you again, with more passion than last night, pulling you as close as he could until you two needed air to keep on breathing. He placed his forehead on yours and smiled. “Like a lot” he added making you chuckle.

“That’s not the quote, isn’t it?” You heard Peter asking, making you laugh before kissing Bucky again. Getting drunk, having the worst hangover of your life had turned out to be one of the best thing you could have ever wished for.

Sunny Disposition

Summary: Dean has a hard time believing that the reader is a hunter because of her sunny disposition.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,597

A/N: This is for @ilostmyshoe-79‘s Sweet Emotions Challenge. My prompt is Optimistic.


“What would you like to order, handsome?”

“Two slices of your finest pie, sweetheart. One apple and one cherry.” Dean requests with a lick of his lips, handing over his menu to the voluptuous waitress.

“Between you and me…I won’t tell if you make the pieces a little bigger than usual.”

“It will be our little secret.” She promises with a wink, before slinking away with a swivel in her hips.

“I don’t want pie.” Sam interrupts, making Dean unwillingly tear his eyes away from the waitress’s plump ass.

“It’s for Garth. The last time we worked together, he tried stealing a bite of my pie and I nearly shot him. The dork is getting his own this time.” Dean declares with a huff, his grumpiness getting worse by the second.

“I see.” Sam awkwardly shifts in his seat and it makes Dean squint his eyes suspiciously.

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A White Actor Grows Some Bollocks - Quill’s Scribbles

You may recall that movie studio Lionsgate got themselves into a bit of hot water last week when they announced the casting of Ed Skrein as Major Ben Daimio in their upcoming Hellboy reboot. The problem was Major Ben Daimio is a Japanese character in the source material, making Hellboy the latest of numerous sci-fi and/or comic book adaptations to whitewash a prominent Asian character. I and many others made our views heard, voicing our strongest and angriest objections to this blatant bit of racist erasure (for whitewashing is objectively racist and totally inexcusable) just as we did with the likes of Doctor Strange, Death Note and Ghost In The Shell. But unlike those projects I just listed, the most extraordinary thing happened. Somebody listened.

Oh not the studio obviously. No, it was Ed Skrein himself. Realising the hornet’s nest he had kicked, Skrein actually announced via his social media accounts that he was dropping out of the role.

This open letter has received a positive response from fans and readers. Hellboy producers Larry Gordon and Lloyd Levin made a joint statement in support saying:

“Ed came to us and felt very strongly about this. We fully support his unselfish decision. It was not our intent to be insensitive to issues of authenticity and ethnicity, and we will look to recast the part with an actor more consistent with the character in the source material.”

Even Hellboy creator Mike Mignola chipped in to offer his praise for Skrein’s decision to step down.

Now it would be easy to take a very cynical approach to all of this. Perhaps claim that Skrein only stepped down because he realised the damage all of this backlash could do to his career, but for once I’m willing to put aside my cynicism. I do actually believe Ed Skrein’s sincerity here. He seems to be genuinely apologetic, initially not realising the implications of what he was doing and now seems determined to make amends.

However I’m not exactly willing to praise him for his decision. At least not to the same extent others are. I can understand why people are praising him so heavily. This is an almost unprecedented move. Having put up with loads of A list white actors giving the weakest and most pathetic excuses to justify their own racist bullshit, the idea of a white actor growing some bollocks and actually stepping down from a whitewashed role purely on moral grounds is a novelty. He quit a tentpole movie purely because it was the right thing to do, and I am grateful for that. But can we try and keep this in perspective? This decision wasn’t courageous or brave. It’s just an actor turning down a role. A role that should never have been offered to him in the first place. While I’m pleased that Ed Skrein did the decent thing in the end, the fact is this entire situation should never have happened in the first place. Asian characters should be played by Asian actors. That should not be a difficult concept for filmmakers to wrap their heads around, and I feel I should point out I still don’t trust Lionsgate in the fucking slightest. Oh they’re going to cast a Japanese actor as Ben Daimio now if they know what’s good for them, but if Ed Skrein didn’t take the moral high ground, they wouldn’t have learnt a damn thing. Let’s not forget the studio’s initial response to the controversy came from this now deleted tweet from Hellboy executive producer Christa Campbell:

We don’t see colours or race. The slogan for closet racists the world over. 

See this is what so many white people in positions of power and authority within the industry need to understand when it comes to POC presentation. Being colourblind sounds good in theory, but in practice it can be very dangerous. When you make an actor’s performance or marketability the only criteria, you end up making stupid mistakes like this. When you racebend a white character, it’s fine. We already have plenty of representation, plus 9 times out of 10 being white isn’t actually integral to the character. For characters of colour on the other hand, you’ve got to take these other factors into consideration. Usually the culture of said character is integral plus it’s important for non white characters to be portrayed on screen not just for equality, but also for variety.

Recently I finally got to watch the Disney movie Moana, and I’m currently slightly obsessed with it. Not just because it’s a fun, smartly written musical with a great female protagonist, lovable characters, funny jokes and a heartwarming message behind it. It’s also because it explores myths and cultures I’ve never got to experience before.

Moana takes a lot of influence and inspiration from Polynesian culture and mythology, most notably adapting the stories of the demigod Maui (played by Dwayne Johnson). I have no idea how accurate this is, but I still loved it because it was something different. After seeing so many fantasy stuff like Lord Of The Rings and Game Of Thrones, which are essentially variations on Norse mythology, as well as the trillions of Christian inspired fantasy stories, Moana feels incredibly fresh and unique. I found all the stuff about Maui and Te Fiti fascinating, and I would love to see more movies exploring these Polynesian myths and legends. There’s such an incredibly rich vein of creativity you could tap into here.

Something else I loved about Moana was they actually cast Polynesian actors as the characters. I’ve already mentioned Dwayne Johnson as Maui. There’s also Jemaine Clement as Tamatoa the crab, Nicole Scherzinger as Moana’s mum, Jango Fett himself Temuera Morrison as Moana’s dad, Rachel House as Moana’s granny, and newcomer Auli’i Cravalho as Moana herself. This is why diversity is so important in films. Not only does it give actors of colour more exposure and allow new talents like Cravalho to emerge and flourish, but it also exposes general movie going audiences to stories and cultures we wouldn’t normally get to see. And that’s why whitewashing is so offensive. It takes job opportunities away from actors of colour and also causes creativity to stagnate. When it’s an Asian character in an Asian inspired story, there’s lots of different directions you can go. When it’s a white character in an Asian inspired story, there’s only one story you can tell. The outsider. The stranger. The foreigner to their ways. That’s not interesting. We’ve seen that done loads of times. Plus if you truly want to immerse the audience in another culture, isn’t it better to have a character that actually represents that culture rather than some white dweeb who knows jackshit about it?

Basically what I’m saying is we need more movies like Moana and less movies like…

No I’m never dropping this. Fuck this movie and all who support it.

So while I’m pleased that Ed Skrein decided to do the right thing in the end, I’m still going to judge this Hellboy reboot with the suspicion and scorn it deserves. Sure they’re probably going to cast a Japanese actor as Ben Daimio, but only because they have to now to save themselves from further embarrassment. It’s not because they want to. If it was someone like Scarlett Johansson or Tilda Swinton, the studio would still be sticking to their guns and trying to justify their racist bullshit. 

I’m glad Skrein managed to fix things and reveal A list white actors like Swinton and Johansson for the selfish, racist, privileged pricks that they are through his own selfless actions, but until the industry properly recognises that whitewashing is NEVER a good idea, nothing has actually changed as far as I’m concerned.