so-nice-to-meet-you

Sheriff Knows Best

Stiles/Derek, G, 2K words, Sheriff POV, Coffeeshop AU, matchmaker!Sheriff

(Credit for the title to @cobrilee!)

This is an expansion of the following idea, written by the lovely @artemis69:

the coffee!AU, where John goes to the same coffee shop every day, and there is this very grumpy, quiet barista that always makes him amazing coffee and keep the best pastries for him. And one day the Sheriff learns that Derek is the one to bake them all, so he decides: this will be my son in law, I need a reason to have this man in my family for at least forty to fifty years. Then he matchmakes with no subtility whatsoever, basically offering his only son on a silver plate, Stiles spluttering all the way (but he takes Derek’s number anyway because the guy is just amazingly cute)

John’s on his regular morning stroll when he stops in his tracks and takes in the brand-new coffee shop, complete with a banner advertising their opening day. The little corner space has been boarded up for over a year, and John had no idea it was opening today.

Any new businesses are a boon for Beacon Hills, especially family-run ones like this one is rumored to be, so John ducks inside. It’s warm and homey, and there’s a pair of young dark-haired people behind the counter, close enough in features that they’re probably siblings. The quiet bickering points that direction, too.

They stop, though, when they see the Sheriff—the uniform tends to have that effect—and he pastes on his public servant smile. “Hi there. I saw this place was open and wanted to come on in and introduce myself. Sheriff John Stilinski.”

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you,” the woman says, holding out her hand for a shake. A nice strong grip—John likes this girl already. “I’m Laura Hale, and I own this place with my brother Derek, our resident grumpy barista-slash-baker.”

Derek rolls his eyes at Laura, but his smile to John is genuine, if small. “Hi, Sheriff. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, son,” he says, perusing the case full of tempting sugary treats. “You made these?”

He nods. “Can I get you anything?”

John hums. “A medium coffee, and…any one of these delicious-looking goodies. You pick. Just don’t tell my son,” he adds, and Derek looks up at him.

“Your son?”

“I have slightly elevated cholesterol,” he says, stressing the word. “Nothing to worry about, honestly. But he polices my diet. I don’t think he knows about this place yet, though, so this is great.”

Derek hums. His tongs hover over a muffin—lemon poppyseed, it looks like—before moving to another one. Raspberry-almond, according to the sign, and well, John isn’t picky. Derek drops it into a little bag and hands it over.

“Happy to help,” he says.

John thanks him and opens the bag. Laura’s still pouring his coffee, but it smells so damn good that he can’t resist.

“Wow,” he says, his mouth full. “This is delicious.”

Derek looks quietly proud, and Laura claps him on the shoulder as she reaches over to hand John his coffee. “On the house, today, Sheriff,” she says. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promises.


“Thanks, Nina,” John says dryly, leaning back so she can put his plate in front of him.

“You’re welcome, Sheriff,” she says with a friendly smile, ignoring his stink eye.

Stiles just grins at both of them and digs into his French toast. He insists on having their weekly father-son breakfast at Paulie’s Diner because no matter what John orders, Nina will only bring him an egg-white omelet with a dry English muffin. Stiles must have some serious blackmail or be paying her off somehow, and John is, he has to admit, grudgingly impressed.

“Don’t look so bummed out, Pops,” Stiles says, around a mouthful of what’s surely syrup-drenched deliciousness. “At least I let you have turkey bacon.”

“It’s not the same,” he says grumpily, poking at it. “But at least I’m getting a steady stream of baked goods now.”

Stiles glares at him. “Are you serious? From where? I thought I had paid everyone off.”

He knew it. “I’m not telling you,” he says, a little displeased with how childish he sounds.

“Fine,” Stiles says, sniffing. “I’ll figure it out, you know I will.”

He will, John knows. Goddamn, he loves his kid, even if his life goal seems to be depriving John from any and all delicious food. “And speaking of, I met someone the other day,” he starts, and Stiles gasps theatrically, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“Is this you crapping all over my dream of having Melissa as my stepmom?”

John sighs at the reminder. Melissa is…well, she seems happy with that Argent guy. Whatever. He’s not bitter.

“Not for me, Jesus,” he says, shaking his head. “For you.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, slumping back in the booth. “Eye roll” is too mild, John thinks. It’s more of a whole head roll. “Seriously, Dad, I’m only 25. You don’t have to marry me off quite yet. You’ll get your grandchildren someday, I promise. Stop trying to set me up with people.”

“I’m just trying to be helpful!” John protests. “He seems nice.”

And makes really good treats, he adds in his head. That’ll be a good trait for a son-in-law.

“And who exactly is he?”

John pauses. “I met him at the aforementioned undisclosed location.” 

Stiles snorts. “Find out if he actually likes dudes, then get back to me.”

“Okay,” he says seriously, and Stiles grimaces.

“No, Dad, don’t actually—”

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i found this post in my drafts and have ZERO memory of writing it (thank u alcohol) so im gonna put it in my queue lol
  • ok but imagine 
  • Bitty comes out to his parents but he doesn’t tell them about Jack, thinks it’s for the best, maybe to ease his parents into things or maybe to keep the pool of People Who Know as small as possible 
  • and like yeah Ransom and Holster are super oblivious but Suzanne Bittle is not, not when it comes to her son, because she is a certified Nosy Southern Mother and she can see he’s been acting differently, happier but quieter, always on his phone and blushing when she asks about boys
  • and he talks about the team a LOT 
  • Jack’s one of his best friends and he’s just started his NHL career, so of course Bitty’s never gonna shut up about Jack
  • (Same goes for Shitty and law school. And eventually Ransom and med school. Dicky is proud of his friends and wants everyone to know. He gets that trait from Suzanne, she understands)
  • but he keeps talking about this one Boy, how sweet he is and how his smile is like a sack of puppies and how bitty’s always making this boy do things with him like baking and getting froyo and going shopping and Suzanne is like. Yes. This must be Dicky’s secret boyfriend. 
  •  the next family weekend or whatever, Suzanne demands to meet this Chowder boy who’s stolen Bitty’s heart
  • Bitty is both confused and mortified

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No, Wait, You Got it All Wrong

You know what there’s not enough of? Canon compliant future fic where Stiles is a cop and he runs into Derek again. What’s that you say? There’s a ton of that?? Yes, true, but NOT ENOUGH.

“…. so then he says, ‘No, Officer, I swear to God this is the first time I’ve ever smoked up! I’ve never been in trouble with the law in my life! And I say, Billy, my man, you’ve been in trouble with me personally twice this month.” Stiles snorts at the memory. “Kid was so fucking high.”

Amanda must be halfway past tipsy, because she laughs uproariously into her beer at the mediocre punchline.

Stiles smiles. He’s satisfied with her reaction, with the warm murmur of the bar, with the buzz he’s got going… with just about everything, actually. After tonight, he’s looking at two full days off before he’s back on the beat, and the night’s still young. He leans back in his chair and takes a pull of his beer, savoring it.

Amanda glances towards the bar, probably considering a fourth round, and then visibly perks up as something near the front catches her eye.

“Oooh, Stiles,” she croons. “Look over at the door, like, just glance over.” She’s adjusted her gaze down at the table now, faking casual disinterest. Badly.

Stiles raises his eyebrows at her.

“This dude just walked in, he’s so your type,” she hisses. “C’mon, look! I’m telling you, six feet two inches of ‘yes, please, give it to me’ muscles, with some salt-and-pepper scruff icing. Unff.”

“Eh,” Stiles says, tipping his weight forward to hunch over the table. It’s not that he isn’t interested, exactly, but this is a cop bar and he doesn’t want to shit where he eats. Metaphorically.

“No, really,” Amanda insists. “He's… oh my God, he’s looking over here. He’s looking at you. Oh my God, Stiles, he’s coming over here!”

“No, he isn’t,” Stiles scoffs. He’s filled out a bit from high school and he’s finally competent at styling his hair, but he’s not that hot. Only Amanda’s sitting straight like a rod, eyes fixed on a point behind him that’s about where a six foot two man’s eyes would be.

“Stiles?”

He turns then, shooting to his feet before his brain’s quite caught up, because that voice is familiar like the back of his own hand.

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A white guy’s thoughts on “Get Out” and racism

This weekend, I went to see a horror movie. It got stuck in my head, and now I can’t stop thinking about it—but not for any of the reasons you might think.

The movie was Jordan Peele’s new hit Get Out, which has gotten rave reviews from critics—an incredible 99% on Rotten Tomatoes—and has a lot of people talking about its themes.

First of all, I should tell you that I hate horror movies. As a general rule, I stay far, far away from them, but after everything I’d read, I felt like this was an important film for me to see. This trailer might give you some inkling as to why:

Creepy, huh? You might know writer/director Jordan Peele as part of the comedy duo Key & Peele, known for smartly tackling societal issues through sketch comedy. Get Out is a horror movie, but it’s also a film about race in America, and it’s impressively multilayered.

I left the theater feeling deeply disturbed but glad this movie was made. I can’t say any more without revealing spoilers, so if you haven’t seen the movie yet and you don’t want to have the plot spoiled for you, stop reading now and come back later.

Seriously, this is your last chance before I give away what happens.

Okay, you were warned. Here we go.

Our protagonist is Chris Washington, a young black man who has been dating Rose Armitage, a young white woman, for the last four months. She wants him to meet her family, but he’s hesitant. She acknowledges that her dad can be a little awkward on the subject of race, but assures Chris that he means well.

After unnerving encounters with a deer (echoes of The Invitation) and a racist cop, Chris and Rose arrive at the Armitages’ estate. On the surface, the Armitages are very friendly, but the conversation (brilliantly scripted by Peele) includes a lot of the little, everyday, get-under-your-skin moments of racism that people of color have to contend with: Rose’s dad going on about how he voted for Obama, for instance, and asking how long “this thang” has been going on. Chris laughs it off to be polite, though he clearly feels uncomfortable.

There’s a fantastic moment here, by the way, when Rose’s dad offhandedly mentions that they had to close off the basement because of “black mold.” In the midst of the racially charged atmosphere of the conversation, it’s nearly impossible not to take this as a racial remark, and Chris certainly notices, but what could he possibly say about it? Black mold is a real thing; his girlfriend would surely think he was crazy and oversensitive if he said it sounded racist. Chris never reacts to the remark, but that one tiny moment is a reminder to the audience of a real problem people of color often face, when racism can’t be called out without being accused of “playing the race card” or seeing things that aren’t there. (Incidentally, it turns out that the basement is actually used for molding of a different sort.)

There are other reasons for Chris to be unsettled: The only other black people on the estate are two servants, Georgina and Walter (Rose’s dad says he knows how bad it looks, but that it’s not what it seems), and something is clearly “off” about them. Later, more white people show up—and one more black character, and he, too, feels “off.”

By the end of the film, we learn the horrible secret: Rose’s family is kidnapping and luring black people to their estate, where they’re being hypnotized and psychologically trapped inside themselves—Rose’s mom calls it “the sunken place”—so that old or disabled white people’s consciousnesses can be transplanted into their bodies. The white people are then able to move about, controlling their new black bodies, with the black person’s consciousness along for the ride as a mere “passenger.” In a shocking twist, it turns out that even apparently-sweet Rose is in on the plot, and Chris must fight her and the rest of her family to escape.

This isn’t a “white people are evil” film, although it may sound that way at first, but it is a film about racism. I know many of my friends of color will connect with this movie in a way I can’t, so I won’t try to say what I think they’ll get out of it. I do want to say how I connected with it, though, because I think what Jordan Peele has done here is really important for white audiences. 

If you look beyond the surface horror-movie plot, this film actually gives white people a tiny peek at the reality of racism—not the epithet-shouting neo-Nazi kind of racism that white people normally imagine when we hear “racism,” but the “Oh it’s so nice to meet you; I voted for Obama” kind of racism, the subtle othering that expects people of color to smile and get along and adopt white culture as their own whenever they’re around white people.

So many of the moments in Get Out are clearly intended to work on multiple levels. When Chris confronts Georgina about something being wrong and she smiles and says, “No, no no no no no,” with tears streaming down her cheeks, the symbolism is blatant. How often do people of color have to ignore the subtle indignities they face and hide their true emotions in order to avoid coming across as, for example, “the angry black woman/man”? How many times do they find themselves in social situations—even with their closest white friends!—where people make little comments tying them to an “exotic,” supposedly monolithic culture, where they have to respond with a smile and a laugh instead of telling people how stupid and offensive they’re being? 

I can’t tell you the number of these stories I’ve heard from my friends, and I’m quite sure that the stories I’ve heard are only a tiny fraction of the stories that could be told. So there’s something in that moment that speaks volumes about the experiences of people of color in America.

The same is true for so many other moments. The black characters Chris meets at the Armitages’ have all symbolically given up their identities and conformed to white culture; when Chris meets one character, he turns out to be going under a new name, with new clothes and new mannerisms; when Chris offers him a fist bump, he tries to shake Chris’s fist. Again, within the story, there’s an explanation for all this, but every moment here is also about assimilation and culture differences. 

For me as a white audience member, all of these moments did something remarkable: They showed me my own culture—a culture I’m often blissfully unaware of because it’s all around me—as something alien. They reminded me that I, too, have a culture, and that expecting everyone else to assimilate to my culture is just as much an erasing of their identities as it would be to expect me to assimilate to someone else’s culture.

And that’s a big part of what Get Out is about—the erasing of identities, and the power of racism to destroy people. I think it’s really significant that racism is portrayed here very differently from how it’s normally portrayed in movies written by white people. In most Hollywood movies, you know a character is racist because they shout racial epithets or make blatant statements about a certain race’s inferiority. That allows white audiences to say, “I would never do/say that, so I’m not racist!” We really don’t want to think we are.

But notice something important about Get Out’s treatment of racism: This is a film about the literal enslavement of black people—racism doesn’t get more extreme than that—and yet Peele doesn’t go for the obvious by having the white characters admit that they think black people are inferior; instead, they subjugate and dehumanize people by claiming to admire things about them. They turn them into fashion accessories. 

When Chris asks why only black people are being targeted for this procedure, the response is telling: It’s not (supposedly) because the white characters think African Americans are bad, but rather, because they like certain things about them and they want “a change” for themselves. They want to become black—it’s trendy, we’re told!—but without having had any of the actual life experiences or history of African Americans. White people need to see this: to experience the ways in which Chris is othered by people who tell him all the things they like about him—isn’t he strong? Look at those muscles! Does he play golf like Tiger Woods? And he must be well-endowed and have such sexual prowess, right, Rose?

The white people in the audience need to be reminded that just because you’re saying positive things about someone doesn’t mean you’re not being racist, that turning someone into an exotic “other” may not be the same as shouting an epithet, but it’s still taking away someone’s identity and treating them as a commodity.

The film is filled with these kinds of moments. When we realize that Rose’s white grandmother has inhabited the body of Georgina, the fact that she keeps touching her own hair and admiring herself in the mirror takes on a whole new level of significance. (White people, please don’t ask to touch your black friends’ hair.) When Chris connects with a dying deer on the side of the road and later sees a deer head mounted on the wall at the Armitages’ estate, the symbolism is hard to miss. Black people are being turned into trophies in this house. And, oh yeah, they’re being literally auctioned off—as they were in real life in the not-too-distant past.

One day, I’d like to see the film again to pick up on all the ways things read differently the second time through. I noticed several things in retrospect that gain new significance once you know the ending, and I’m sure there’s a lot I didn’t notice. For example, Rose’s dad says he hired Walter and Georgina to care for his parents, and when his parents died, “I couldn’t bear to let them go.” The first time you see the film, it sounds like the “them” is Walter and Georgina. But in retrospect, it’s clear the “them” he couldn’t bear to let go was his parents, so he sacrificed Walter and Georgina for them. Which, again, is an example of how the supposed care of the white characters for the black characters (his care for Walter and Georgina, Rose’s care for Chris) is really all about caring for themselves and treating the black characters as completely interchangeable objects.

The message of the film isn’t simply that the black characters are “good” and the white characters are “bad.” There are presumably—hopefully—many good white people in the world of this film, and many others who wouldn’t do what the Armitages are doing but also probably wouldn’t believe Chris or make the effort to stop it. Peele’s mother and wife are both white, so he’s clearly not trying to paint all white people as villains. 

But I admit, as a white guy, I really, really wanted Rose to be good. I’ve been the white person in an interracial relationship introducing my black boyfriend to my family. I’ve been that. So I related to Rose, and I really wanted to believe that she was well-intentioned and just oblivious; even though she misses the mark on several occasions, there are times that she seems like she gets it and she really does listen to Chris. When a cop asks to see Chris’s ID early in the film even though he wasn’t driving, Rose stands up against the obvious racism, showing us all what it looks like for white people to do the right thing. “That was hot,” Chris says to her later, and I thought, yeah, that’s who I want to be.

So I have to admit, it was really upsetting to me to see Rose, the only good white character left in the film, turn out to be evil. But I realized that part of that is that I really wanted her to represent me, and that’s really the point. Just think how often horror films have only one black character who dies early on, and how many films of all genres have no significant black characters for audience members to look up to or identify with. I think it’s really important for white audiences to experience that.

As I’ve reflected on the film, it seems to me like there are three kinds of popular movies about people of color. There are those that feature POC characters that are essentially indistinguishable from the white characters—as if they just decided to cast Morgan Freeman instead of Tom Hanks without giving any thought to the character’s race. Then there are the movies that deal with racism, but in a way that allows white people to feel good about ourselves, because we’re not like the characters in the film. (This is especially true for movies about racism in the past; some of them are very important films, like Hidden Figures, which I loved, but we need to be aware that it’s still easy for white America to treat it as a feel-good film and think that we’re off the hook because we no longer have separate restrooms.) And finally, there are movies that focus more directly on the lives of people of color but tend to draw largely audiences of color; not many white people go see them, because we think they’re not “for us” (even though we assume films about white people are for everyone).

Get Out isn’t any of those. It’s drawing a broad audience but it’s not afraid to make white people uncomfortable. And if you can give me, a white guy, a chance to have even a momentary fraction of an experience of the real-life, modern-day, casual racism facing people of color in America, I think that’s a very good thing.

Did I hear a “Someone draw this please” from @thatsthat24 ??? Thomas Sanders as JD from Heathers? It’s here! I was debating on putting face injuries so maybe I’ll put an alt version up if you want it~

And a great double whammy is I can introduce myself to other LGBT+ Fanders! Hiya! I’m Quinn! I am polysexual and genderfluid so I use he/she/they pronouns. For this post I’d be most comfortable with he/him :) It’s so nice to meet you all! You people have such pretty/handsome/beautiful faces~ I’m nervous about my own face being online so I hope you don’t mind! I didn’t keep track of how long I’ve been a fander, but it has been at least 2 years!

HS:  You asked his opinion [his brother], I don’t know if it was your first album or your second, you made a mistake of asking his opinion and he said to you, and this fucked your head up, ‘I really like your music except for two of the songs on the album’…
ES:  And then he wouldn’t tell me which he just was like 'See you later’. But he likes to fuck with people. He came to see Taylor’s show at Boston, Gillette Stadium, it was for her Red Tour and all of her dancers had this big red flags on stage and everything’s red… and you know, there’s the song Red. And we get on the tour bus afterwards and Taylor comes up and is like 'Hey Matthew, so nice to meet you in person, I heard so much about you…’ and literally the first thing he says is like 'Are you a communist?’. So he’ll do stuff just to fuck with people but everyone loves him.
—  Ed Sheeran talking about his brother Matthew on Howard Stern.
To the high school graduates ...

Here is something I wrote a few years ago that is still quite applicable, especially re:Hot Pocket™ safety.

Hello, high school graduates! All of you are likely close to collapsing under the weight of well meaning old-people’s advice, which for the past few months has piled up like so much smug, well-meaning snow. Allow me to add my own dusting.

1. Leave high school behind you, now. Whether you were the most devastatingly cool guy in all of McNary High School or the most excruciatingly awkward girl at Sprague, once you leave high school, no one will know. Or, more importantly, care. Most really cool people who do interesting, creative things with their lives didn’t have super happy high school careers. Many really cool people had great high school experiences. But any reasonably cool person over the age of 19 knows that what you earned, or endured, in high school has zero bearing on who you are the day you graduate. I know. It seems SO IMPORTANT now. But … it’s not. Not even a little.

2. Manners count, and they’re free. You can get away with murder if you do it politely, because whoever expects a polite murderer? Manners make other people feel comfortable and happy and respected, and when people feel comfortable, happy and respected they are 8,000 percent more likely to let you get your way.

Say please, thank you, excuse me, it was so nice to meet you, hope I see you again soon. Whatever you do, send thank-you notes so people are inclined to keep doing nice things for you.

3. Chew with your mouth closed. In fact, sometime when you’re alone, go sit in front of a mirror and watch yourself eat, then make any necessary adjustments now before it becomes a permanent habit.

4. If people expect you to go to college, but you’re not super-excited about it, skip a year and work before you head off. It’s not the end of the world, and it doesn’t make you a failure. That time is too expensive and too precious to use on something you’re half-assed about. Also, I speak from experience — folding jeans at a store in the mall for minimum wage for a few months made me feel very differently about how tedious and mindless sitting through a lecture class feels.

5. Unkindness, from here on out, becomes less and less attractive. Cruelty is one of the four main currencies of high school, along with attractiveness, athletic ability and actual currency provided by your parents (I see you, West Salem kids!). In high school, a profoundly mediocre person can rule — or at least maintain a position at the periphery of the popular kids’ group — through fear.

But once you get into college, you begin to leave that b.s. behind you. You don’t have to be mean to be funny. You don’t have to be mean to disagree with someone. You don’t have to be mean to someone powerless to prove your power. All meanness showcases is that you have ugly internal architecture. And as the facades that were so important in high school fade, that is what others will see when they look at you.

6. Know which classes you have to go to, and which ones can be skipped in lieu of more important things. Yes, if you want to go to Harvard Law or John Hopkins Med, you need to ace all your impossibly difficult classes. But if you want to do something post-college that doesn’t involve grad school — if you want to work in non-profits, if you want to write for a paper, if you want to do public relations, if you want to run a business — then instead, look for ways that you can get those experiences in college.

Join extracurriculars that mimic the experiences you someday want to get paid for. If you hate doing it for free, then chances are you’ll resent it even when you get paid for it. Also, this way, when you graduate college, you can prove to employers that you did something, not just wrote compelling papers on the metaphysical nature of being.

7. If you’re a person for whom the hooking up thing doesn’t work, then don’t do it. College is a time of lots and lots of casual sex. This, I think, plays pretty well into what many — not all, but many — 18-year-old guys want, and terribly into what most — not all, but most — 18-year-old girls want. Know what you want, and don’t feel bad if that’s not in line with what someone else wants. Also, know that after freshman year, people begin to date again rather than just drunkenly coupling and uncoupling.

8. Freshman year, you can and should be friends with everyone. Sophomore year will tell who is actually worth keeping.

9. After you microwave a Hot Pocket, be sure to gently tug open the end and let the steam out, and wait a couple minutes, because there is nothing more painful than a Hot Pocket steam-and-molten-cheese burn to the top of the mouth.

10. Don’t tell the internet too much about your love life, or deep innermost feelings, or secrets. It’s none of the Internet’s business, but the Internet has a big mouth and a long, long memory. Make good friends, and tell them in person when you hang out in each other’s dorm rooms and watch movies and eat Funfetti frosting straight out of the jar. Do this a lot. It doesn’t seem important, but it is.

The King (NSFW)

Originally posted by fitzi-the-nerdy-girl

T’Challa x Reader

Summary: sugar daddy, art collector King T’Challa, I think that about sums it up. Inspired by THIS post.

Warnings: smut

A/N: So yet again, I have not done any of the 12 requests in my inbox. Sorry guys, just feeling a little selfish/selif indulgent as of late. Also this fic is around 3.1K words so it’s pretty long, just a heads up.


You meandered around the room, admiring the art on the walls as your heels clicked lightly across the floor. You were so proud of the work you had done to get this art exhibit up and ready in such short time. It wasn’t every day you got call from the King of Wakanda asking your museum to showcase his personal art collection so your bosses were up your ass to ensure everything was perfect, and it was. 

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Things I love about the signs
  • <p> <b>Aries:</b> you are litterally the life of the party. If your not there no one is having fun.<p/><b>Taurus:</b> you are so blunt. It takes you 2 seconds to cut someone in half with your words.<p/><b>Gemini:</b> it is SO easy to talk to you. I genuinely adore you.<p/><b>Cancer:</b> you are so genuinely nice to everyone you meet.<p/><b>Leo:</b> you're hilarious and everyone loves you.<p/><b>Virgo:</b> you are so careful and detail oriented.<p/><b>Libra:</b> so funny and we're always in to the same stuff. You don't care who someone is you'll be chill with them no matter what.<p/><b>Scorpio:</b> your sense of humor is so deadpan I can't<p/><b>Sagittarius:</b> you can see the good in anything and everyone<p/><b>Capricorn:</b> you're incredibly deep and loyal<p/><b>Aquarius:</b> every single one of you I meet is incredibly unique in different ways it's beautiful<p/><b>Pisces:</b> you care so much about EVERYONE u just want everyone to be happy<p/></p>
Air B&E (reader x Bucky)

Characters: reader, Bucky, Natasha, Clint, unnamed Male Target, OFC Jeff. 

Summary: When a mission requires close proximity with your least favorite teammate, you try to make the best of it, but a change in plans adds new challenges and possibly a new opportunity. ( basically Bed Sharing Trope meets Enemies to Lovers Trope. Kinda.  :D )

Warnings: sexual situations? pretty vague.  

Word Count: 2.8k

Tags are at the bottom

A/N: Hey, ya’ll !! I’m back from vacation and the idea for this fic was sparked by my sleeping accommodations. heh. I kinda fell in love with it and even made time to write in the evenings after being super tired from traveling. I hope you enjoy this and any feedback is appreciated! Love you guys!! :)

Masterlist

___________________________________________________

Originally posted by bovaria

“Alright! So here are the keys, the WiFi password is posted on the fridge and let me know if there’s anything you need, anything at all. Okay?” said the overly enthusiastic young man before you.

You accepted the keys with a smile, “Absolutely! Thank you so much, Jeff. It’s even better than the pictures.”  

“I’m so glad,” he grinned. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. It was so nice to meet you both.”

Your eyes flickered to the man beside you, tight smile upon his face. “You, too, man,” he coolly responded.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you clasped the hand of the heavy left arm draped over your shoulders. Technology allowed the metal plates to be shielded with a holographic flesh arm, but it still weighed a ton.

“Bye, Jeff.”

He nodded before stepping out into the hall. The moment the front door lock engaged, you shoved the arm off and put as much space between you two as possible.

“This plan is stupid,” Bucky said with contempt as he collapsed heavily onto the couch.

Keep reading

His Family Doesn’t Like You

She was nervous and he could tell. They had been dating for eight months when Harry asked her to live together. He bought them a house in LA, she wanted to stay in America and LA was the compromise. His family already hardly saw him and so when he made the move they weren’t happy. 

Then Anne read somewhere that Harry had paid off her loans, and he had. Anne had read that her son paid for the mortgage on the house all on his own, and he had. Gemma had read that her brother bought her a car, which he had, but none of them knew that she refused the car, the loans, the house. 

None of them knew how much she hated that Harry gave her everything, and she could give him nothing. They all saw her as a gold digger, which was far from it. She worked hard to pay off as much as she could before Harry got a hold of her loans, she hid the bills, she did her best. But Harry snooped and found them and paid them off, it was one of their biggest fights, but no one knew. Because if she complained she seemed ungrateful, and if she didn’t she was seen as a gold digger, she couldn’t win.

He did buy their house, but she helped out. She paid bills, she paid for groceries and furniture, she really did try. And when Harry bought her the car she stood her ground, he claimed her 2004 Ford would only take her so far, and she reminded him as long as it took her from point a to point b she would be fine, when she had to reach point c they would talk.

So when their house was all set and it looked just how she wanted, Harry asked to have a house warming party. He wanted his friends to see his new life, he wanted to show off the house, the cars, but more importantly he wanted to show her off.When his family heard they offered to fly out, they wanted to meet the girl he moved across countries for, they wanted to meet the girl who was draining his bank account.

Harry could tell she was nervous, she stood next to him, her hand gripping her glass. She insisted on not drinking and settled for sparkling cider, she was never much of a drinker and she didn’t want to risk being buzzed or drunk in his families presence. Harry squeezed her hand, his free one gripping his beer, his friends and her friends were all gathered around in the house and backyard. The grill was up and running and Niall offered to be in charge.

“You’ll be fine Y/N, I promise. I love you how can they not love someone I love?” Harry smiled, his thumb rubbing circles on her palm. 

She took the last sips of her cider and set the empty glass down, “’m not good when I meet people,” she mumbled, “I get all shaky.”

“You’ll be fine, they’re lovely people,” Harry chuckled. 

“I know they raised you,” she smiled, going up on her toes to kiss his cheek. 

“Harry!” He heard his mother voice call, when he turned from his spot on the deck he saw her. 

Anne stood by the door with Gemma, a wide grin on her face. She rushed over hugging Harry, Gemma followed her actions, “thank you for flying us out,” Anne says, “we just left our stuff in the living room Jeff offered to take it up stairs, he’s a wonderful man.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “mum, Gem, this is Y/N,” Harry tugged on her arm lightly, pulling her in front of him. 

She smiled softly, “hello,” she says gently, “I’m Y/N it’s so nice to meet you.”

“Anne,” Anne says, her voice isn’t as soft as it was when she talked to Harry, it was slightly cold and she didn’t enjoy the way Anne’s look seemed to have hardened as well.

“I’m Gemma,” Gemma faked a smile, holding out her hand. 

She shook it and the clamped her hands together, “how was your flight?” she asked. 

“It was fine,” Anne’s answer was short and simple. 

It was silent and the air felt different, she peeked up at Harry, “Y/N just got accepted to the medical program at Stanford, in just a couple of years she’ll be a doctor,” Harry says, wrapping his arm around his girlfriend.

“So I assume you’ll be working all the time to pay that off?” Anne asked, her eyebrow raised. 

“Oh-well-I got a scholarship-and uh some-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry cut her off, “baby will you get me another beer? This one is warm.”

She nods, “would you guys like anything?”

“No.”

She turns making her way to the kitchen. She grabs the beer, taking in a deep breath. When she composes herself she walks towards the door but stops, Harry stands on the other side, his back to her as he talks to his family. 

“I just don’t get a good vibe from her Harry,” Gemma says softly. 

“She just wants money,” Anne whispered, “how can you not see that?”

“No she doesn’t-”

“Harry if a guy paid my loans, bought me a house, a car, medical school, and clothes I would stay with him as well, she likes you for your money,” Gemma says, her hand resting on Harry’s arm, “her intentions aren’t good. I’m sure she got into Stanford because of you, she’s using the benefits.”

“You guys don’t know her,” Harry snapped. 

And he was right, they didn’t know her. They didn’t know how she worked three jobs to save up to try and be the one to pay for their bill, they didn’t know how stressed Harry was every night you had a late shift. They didn’t know how much effort she put into school, into work, and then to come back home and help Harry cook. They didn’t know how Harry watched her fall asleep at the dinning table after she had worked, gone to school, worked another shift, and if she beat him home she would cook. They didn’t know how all of winter break she spent it working because she wanted to repay Harry for the loans and when she tried he refused. 

“I have money, I have so much I don’t know what to do with it, I paid your loans Gem, I have everything I need, I hate watching her work all the fucking time to pay off something I could do in a second. I hate her working three different jobs so she can buy a damn dress to show up to one of my parities when I could buy it for her and she can spends that time with me rather than serving some strangers in a diner or working at a clothing store,” Harry stated, “I love her and that’s why I do it. She doesn’t ask me for these things, I do them because it makes her less stressed. I do it for her.”

“Y/N is using you,” Anne whispered, “and now she’s taken you away from your family. Harry honey, I’ve been your age, I’ve been in love and I was blinded by it. Please just take a minute and think about it, really think about it.”

“She’s a gold digger,” Gemma says. 

And that’s when she’s break, the small sob that had been forming in her throat leaves her mouth, her hand reaching up to try and muffle it, but they all turn. She quickly turns, pushing through people and running up the stairs to their shared bedroom. She turns, locking the door behind her and pressing her back to it.

“Y/N,” Harry says softly, knocking on the door, “baby, please let me in.”

“I-I just need a minute,” she sniffled, “I-uh-I spilled something.”

“Y/N I know you heard,” Harry says, “please open up.”

She pulled open the door and Harry pushes it, forcing himself in. He frowns seeing her in the state, her eyes red, cheeks pink and puffy, tears are evident and she reaches up wiping them quickly. 

“We should go back to the party, I’m a little hungry,” she whispered, pulling the end of her cardigan and wiping the under parts of her eyes, “if my makeup smudged?”

“Baby,” Harry says, reaching for her, “I’m sorry. They have no idea what they’re talking about.”

“Please don’t,” she pulls away, “I just need-Harry it’s your family. I can’t come in between that I just-I can’t.”

“They’ll come around,” Harry says, “I’ll talk to them. Don’t-I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I can still apply to live in campus and maybe this will give us space-”

“No!” Harry yelled, running a hand threw his hair, “please. Just-y/n baby, please don’t say that.”

“Harry-”

“Just give it time, I can talk to them, they can see the real you, not the you the media portray’s,” Harry pleads. 

He reaches out for her once more and she doesn’t pull back. His arms wrap around her and she rest her head on his chest, “I love you,” Harry whispered, “and that’s all that matters.”

“I love you too,” she whispers into his shirt, “so much.”

“I know,” he nods, running a hand through her hair, “I know baby.”

They stand there, enjoying their embrace. Until she pulls away, tugging at her dress, making sure she looks decent, “we should go back,” she says, “I should probably take out the dessert so people can start to wrap it up.”

“I’ll talk to them,” Harry promises, “I love you.”

“I love you more,” she giggled, as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind her, “Harry we have to go back downstairs!”

He rocks her side to side, picking her up, she laughs, “Harry!” 

“I just want you to go downstairs in a good mood,” he admits, setting her down, but keeping his grip on her, “why don’t you go help Niall huh?”

“Okay,” she nods. 

They make their way downstairs and she walks towards Niall at the grill. Harry leans against the wall watching her, “Harry,” Gemma says, walking up to him, a beer in her hand, “can we talk about this.”

“If you and mum are staying here, in our house, you will follow or rules,” Harry snaps, turning to the two of them, “treat her the way you want to be treated. You want to be cold towards her? Fine, but that will only create distance between us.”

Cookies

Prompt: Hi, not sure if all the spots have been filled, but if not I’d like to request something, please. Maybe Jason and a plus size reader and he is introducing her to his family because Alfred insists? If all the spots are full, I’m sorry for bugging you !


“Okay, what did the idiot do now?”

    You follow behind Jason, doing your best to keep up, while regretting your choice of shoes. What had started out as a wonderful anniversary dinner, had been rather abruptly ended when Jason had gotten an urgent SOS text.

    “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Todd.”

    You peek at the child from behind Jason, only to receive a scowl in return, “Who’s the girl?”

    Jason growls, “This is my girlfriend, Y/N. Sweetheart, this is my adoptive father’s demon spawn.” You give him a look and he clarifies, “Whose name is Damian.”

    You smile at the boy, “It’s nice to meet you, Damian.”

    He says nothing, and Jason starts in again before things get awkward, “What happened to Bruce? Alfred texted me saying the idiot had gotten hurt and you guys needed my help.”

    Damian’s eyes slide to you and Jason growls, “We’ve been dating for three years, she knows everything!”

    Damian’s eyes narrow, “And how do you know she can be trusted?”

    “Because I’m a good judge of character.”

    Damian stares at him for a moment, before saying “Please tell me you’re joking. Either way, I’ll take you to father.”

    You watch them go, slipping into the background before pulling out your phone. You return a few messages before someone clears their throat. You raise your head to meet the gaze of an older man who gives you a kind smile, “Miss Y/N, I presume. I am Alfred Pennyworth.”

    You smile and stand, before offering your hand, and saying “It’s so nice to meet you. Jason always has such amazing things to say about both you and your cooking.”

    He smiles, “Speaking of which, would you like some cookies? I just made a fresh batch.”

    You nod, before following him into the kitchen. You’re situated with three cookies and a glass of milk before the older man takes a seat across from you. “I’m terribly sorry to have interrupted your evening.”

    You swallow your bite of cookie before responding, “It’s no trouble. Family comes first.”

    “Still, three years is quite an accomplishment.”

    You smile, “Well Jason is amazing. He’s sweet, and thoughtful, and kind, and he’s a really good cook. You taught him well.”

    Alfred smiles, “Yes well, the text might have been a bit misleading. Master Bruce is perfectly fine, but Master Jason’s manners are not quite up to par. I have requested he bring you over several times and he kept finding excuses. If you live with a young lady, and have been dating her for three years, then you bring her home to meet your family.”

    Your smile falters a bit, but before you can do too much thinking, Jason bursts in, “I knew the old man had to learn that sneakiness from somewhere!”

    Alfred just smiles at Jason, holds up a plate, and asks, “Would you like a cookie?” Before he turns to you and says, “He used to always have to have a cookie before bed. I perfected my recipe within three months of him being here.”

    You burst out laughing and Jason groans. And you can’t help but think, this is a family you want to be a part of.

anonymous asked:

57 with fluff ending?

Her (Yoongi x Reader Angst/Fluff)

Prompt request: “You don’t understand, you never do!”

Summary: Yoongi is still close with his most recent ex. He doesn’t think much of it, and he’s told you many times that he doesn’t have any feelings for her. But when they dated for years, and you’ve only been in the picture for a few weeks, you can’t help but feel a little insecure. 

Word count: 1.7k words

Originally posted by jeonbase

You yawned quietly, snuggling into Yoongi’s lap. The movie playing in front of you was boring, and it already hours past midnight. As you fought the urge to fall asleep, you turned your head to see how your boyfriend was faring.

Above you, Yoongi’s face was illuminated by the bright screen of his phone. He was typing away, completely engrossed in whatever he was doing. Every now and then, his lips would quirk into a smile or he would laugh breathily.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice slurring slightly due to your exhaustion. Yoongi glanced down at you, his eyes wide with surprise as if he had forgotten you were there. “I’m getting sleepy.

“Oh, I’m just texting Eunha,” Yoongi replied, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall above his television. You couldn’t help but frown at the mention of Yoongi’s ex-girlfriend, and the fact he was talking to her while you were supposed to be spending time together. “Yeah, it’s getting late. I didn’t even notice. You gonna head to your dorm?”

You sat up quickly and grabbed the remote that was beside you. You turned off the TV and stood up. “Yeah,” you answered curtly. “I’ll see you later.”

“Y/N, don’t be like that,” Yoongi sighed, running a hand over his face tired. He stood up, too, and tucked his phone into his back pocket. “You know that we’re just friends. There aren’t any feelings between us. Besides, we were friends before we dated, I’m not just gonna cut her out of my life.”

“Yeah, I know,” you said resignedly, looking at your feet instead of Yoongi. “There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just me.”

“Hey, don’t be like that,” Yoongi said softly, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m dating you because I like you, not anyone else. Don’t worry about stuff like that, okay?”

“Okay,” you replied, returning your boyfriend’s smile with a small one of your own. Yoongi pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead.

“Come on, it’s already late,” Yoongi said, grabbing your head and threading his fingers through yours. “I’ll walk you to your dorm.”

“It’s okay, Yoongi,” you laughed, trying to disentangle your hand from his. He wouldn’t let go. “Really, it’s fine. My residence is like, a five minute walk away.”

“So?” Yoongi asked, his eyebrow raised challenging. “It’s dark. Something might happen. And besides, I want to.”

“If you insist,” you conceded teasingly. The two of you slipped into your shoes and exited Yoongi’s small dorm, hand in hand and smiling the entire way back to your place.


A few days later, you and Yoongi were supposed to meet up at a quaint coffeeshop for brunch. You had planned the date a few weeks ago. Yoongi was fairly late, so you wondered if he had forgotten. You pulled out your phone to see no new messages. Sighing, you started to text Yoongi.

SENT 10:27 AM

Hey r u coming?

RECEIVED 10:32 AM

Yeah I’m OMW. Sorry about that.

SENT 10:33 AM

It’s cool. I’m gonna order so I don’t get kicked out tho

RECEIVED 10:36 AM

I just bumped into Eunha. She just got in from Daegu today. Do you mind if she comes along?

SENT 10:37 AM

Seriously Yoongi?

RECEIVED 10:40 AM

I know, I know. But she’s not gonna have any time to see me otherwise. I haven’t seen her in months, Y/N.

SENT 10:42 AM

Fine. Do what you want.

And when Yoongi and Eunha waltzed into the coffeeshop, eyes bright with laughter and huge smiles, you regretted texting that.

Yoongi spotted you quickly, and shot you an apologetic smile before leading Eunha to where you were sitting. You hated to admit it, but she was really pretty. Her and Yoongi probably made a great couple.

“Y/N, this is Eunha,” Yoongi introduced as they sat down in front of you. “Eunha, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

“Oh!” Eunha exclaimed, looking a little flustered once she realized she was interrupting a date. Still, she smiled dazzlingly at you. “It’s so nice to meet you. Me and Yoongi are old friends, and we haven’t seen each other in a long time. I didn’t know you were supposed to be on a date, though.”

“Nice to meet you, too!” you replied cheerfully, although your smile was not as genuine as you tried to make it. “And it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Damn, Yoongi,” Eunha laughed, shoving him in the shoulder. “You’re such a shitty boyfriend. I’m so glad I broke up with you.”

“Hey, she said it was fine!” Yoongi said defensively, though he was laughing. “And I broke up with you, for the record.”

“Whatever,” Eunha snorted, picking up the menu from the table. “We should order. This place looks really good. Oh! Yoongi, they have crêpes. Your favourite!”

“Oh, really? Awesome,” Yoongi smiled. You bit your bottom lip, frustrated that you didn’t know that, and even more frustrated that Eunha did. “I’ll have that then, I guess.”

The two friends conversed easily, catching up for lost time. Soon, they began talking about old friends–ones still living in Daegu that you hadn’t even heard of–and you stopped listening. The food arrived shortly after, and you slowly ate your Belgian waffles as Yoongi chatted away.

You watched him devour his chocolate crêpes, and then yell when Eunha snatched a piece with her fork. They looked like the couple, not you and Yoongi, But you bit your lip and said nothing, not wanting to make a scene.

In what felt like hours later, everyone had finally finished their food. Still, neither Yoongi nor Eunha looked like they had intentions of leaving anytime soon. The two of them hadn’t addressed you in the last few minutes, so you played idly on your phone.

“I’m gonna go to the washroom real quick,” Eunha announced, her chair scraping against the floor as she stood up. You winced at the sound. “Be right back!”

Eunha bounced away in search of the restroom. Once she was out of sight, Yoongi turned to you excitedly.

“So what do you think?” he asked. “She’s really fun, right? You should talk more, I think you two would make great friends.”

“Are you being serious, Yoongi?” you hissed, incredulous. “I’m sure she’s a great person, but really? We’re on a fucking date right now.”

“You said it was fine!” Yoongi exclaimed, his smile slipping away. “And I rarely get to see her. Forget that we dated–she’s one of my best friends. You know, it’s hard leaving half my life behind in Daegu. I’m sorry for wanting to see my friends and introduce them to you.”

“It’s not about that, you asshole,” you snapped, standing up. “You can be friends with whoever you want Yoongi. But think about this in my perspective, okay?”

You grabbed your thin jacket from behind your chair. Pulling a bill from your pocket, you threw it onto the table. “That should cover my food,” you said, turning to leave. “I’ll see you later. There’s no point in me staying.”

“Y/N, you’re being ridiculous,” Yoongi growled, his voice deepening angrily. “I don’t understand why you’re–”

“You don’t understand, you never do!” you interrupted. “We’ll talk about this later. Tell Eunha I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say bye.” With that, you turned on your heel and walked out of the store.

Secretly, you were hoping Yoongi would come after you, but he didn’t.

With nothing to do, you wandered around aimlessly. Eventually, you came across a familiar landmark. There was a small park in the middle of the downtown area. You and Yoongi had been there several times together.

You walked slowly through the familiar setting, coming across a small pond. It was cool outside, so there weren’t as many animals as there were the last time you had came with Yoongi. There was a bench nearby, so you flopped onto it and stared at the blue sky above you, letting your mind wander to anywhere but Yoongi.

Still, you couldn’t help but think about the events that had just transpired. You were angry with Yoongi, but you were even angrier at yourself for being so insecure. Sighing, you pulled your jacket tighter around you and stood up, ready to leave.

“Y/N,” Yoongi panted from behind you, his voice too familiar to miss. You spun around, mouth agape in surprise. “I had no idea where you went. Took me so long to find you.”

“I didn’t think you were going to follow me,” you replied, crossing your arms. Still, seeing Yoongi before you, breathless and sweating in his desperation to find you, dissipated your anger. Sighing, you spoke again. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. You were wrong to do what you did, but I overreacted and I apologize for that.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Yoongi said with a small smile, moving closer to you. “I realize now that I’ve been pretty shitty. Not just for bringing Eunha on our date, but because I even let you feel any type of jealousy over Eunha.”

“My feelings are my own,” you snorted, uncrossing your arms as Yoongi had a move to hold your hands. You let him, his warm hands completely engulfing your frigid ones. “They’re mine to deal with.”

“No,” Yoongi said, shaking his head. “I’m not good at talking about things like this. But it’s my fault for not telling you how much I love you and how much you mean to me. If I did, you would know that what I feel to you is incomparable to what I feel–or felt–for Eunha.”

“How much you love me?” you teased, although your heart was hammering in your chest. Yoongi had never said that before, and you didn’t either because you didn’t want to pressure him.

“Yes, how much I love you,” Yoongi repeated, his cheeks turning bright red. “I’m sorry I never told you before. But it’s true. I’m sorry I made you think that my feelings for you were anything less than that.”

“Well, you’re forgiven,” you laughed, pressing a quick peck against Yoongi’s lips. “And, for the record, I love you too.”

And, much later, you realized Yoongi had been right. You and Eunha made great friends, and Yoongi was beginning to regret ever introducing the two of you.

- Girl in Luv

Ok…so I was going to make this a Tutor!Yoongi thing, but I’m like 99% sure that’s not what any of the anons were requesting. But if you want a tutoring AU…like let me know. Thanks for requesting to all the people who did! I hope you enjoyed. As always, thanks for reading 💛

crankysepticboi  asked:

Hey Ethan, I really do hope you vlog the meetup on Sunday because I really enjoyed watching the one in Maine last year. It's so nice to see you meet fans!

No promises, but I may vlog it! I’ll definitely take a lotta pictures!