that was supposed to be whistling

2

Whistle Skinnies

  • BGC
  • 16 Swatches
  • These are the jeans from Parenthood made into skinny jeans and I think they turned out super cute 
  • Custom thumbnail
  • Named after the iconic Blackpink song because they’re suppose to have a comeback this month
  • Recolors allowed (Don’t include the mesh)
  • Message me if you have any issues

Putting the download under the cut as a precaution for if there is a glitch and this way people who reblog won’t have a broken file(if it does mess up)

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Places where reality is a bit altered:

• any target
• churches in texas
• abandoned 7/11’s
• your bedroom at 5 am
• hospitals at midnight
• warehouses that smell like dust
• lighthouses with lights that don’t work anymore
• empty parking lots
• ponds and lakes in suburban neighborhoods
• rooftops in the early morning
• inside a dark cabinet

• playgrounds at night
• rest stops on highways
• deep in the mountains

• early in the morning wherever it’s just snowed
• trails by the highway just out of earshot of traffic
• schools during breaks
• those little beaches right next to ferry docks
• bowling alleys

• unfamiliar McDonalds’s on long road trips
• your friends living room once everybody but you is asleep
• laundromats at midnight

• galeries in art museums that are empty except for you
• the lighting section of home depot
• stairwells
• hospital waiting rooms
• airports from midnight to 7am
• bathrooms in small concert venues

• cemeteries
• abandoned penitentiaries
• hilltops at night in full moonlight
• most of Japan
• empty barns
• marshes
• really anywhere quiet at midnight, the air vibrates
• old stones and henge
• the ocean when it’s still quiet with fog over it
• train tracks that go through the middle of the woods
• bridges
• ancient places
• stands of old growth forest
• the Eastern Sierras/high desert

• rabbit paths off hiking tails
• trails between the main ski hills
• winter twilight
• back allies between houses
• logging roads
• dirt roads on fall evenings with leaves falling off the trees
• libraries before closing
• anyplace where it’s snowing before sunrise
• the woods during a rainstorm

• roads covered with snow with trees on the sideways while snowflakes are falling out of the sky
• train stations after 10 PM
• outside, right before a massive storm
• the woods just after twilight
• the beach in winter
• the bottom of swimming pools
• empty beaches when its snowing

• back part of a library
• late night empty streets
• highways late at night
• windy roads
• windy roads at night when you can only see the immediate road
• abandoned parking lots (office buildings, homes)
• anywhere immediately after a really bad fight
• little towns late at night when no ones awake and the only lights on are the street posts

• empty buses before sunrise/after sunset
• being the only one outside in the early morning when its almost dark and you feel alone on earth
• mountains with a big forest close to it
• being alone in a spot in ikea
• the lakeside anytime between 2 and 6 am
• firework shows when you’re sitting on the grass
• staring up at very tall buildings
• the tram at a big airport
• abandoned house by a lake

• being the only one downstairs on christmas  
• stepping outside in the early morning when it has just snowed
• when its dark and you see snowflakes falling down in the light of a lamppost on the lonely road
• that one clear spot in the forest with trees surrounding it
• a parked car in a snow/thunderstorm
• corn fields with the wind blowing over them
• malls when they’re about to close for the night
• woods at twilight/dawn
• being on a train after midnight
• theme parks at night

• winding back roads with rolling fog
• seeing “open” signs when its really foggy and cloudy
• being in a train that was crowded when you got in and now its quiet, looking at the seats knowing that there were people sitting there moments ago and now they’re gone
• hiking trails that have nobody on them
• being alone in an elevator for a few minutes
• looking down at the forest when you’re standing somewhere high and seeing the top of the trees with fog lingering over them
• the ferry about to take off in the middle of the night
• tree houses
• empty seats on the late night train
• 4-6 am on a winter morning

• the clouds/damp coming out of your mouth when its really cold in the morning
• stepping out on an unfamiliar metro/train stop
• greenhouses that have been left to grow alone
• cemeteries in the middle of fields
• biking/walking on the main road when its dark without cars
• swamps with fog
• hotel corridors in the middle of the night
• anywhere where you can hear a train whistle in the distance but you can’t see it or know just how far away it is
• foggy mornings in a meadow
• that flickering streetlight
• working offices at midnight

• abandoned amusement parks
• mirrors in an airplane bathroom
• being alone in a church
• empty hotel lobbies
• hearing trains off in the distance especially at night
• snow falling down in general
• being in a place thats supposed to have a lot of people but it doesn’t
• long, dark hallways
• the middle of a park when its snowing
• playgrounds at night
• work/school when you’re snowed in
• caves
• a field of power lines
• being in a forest where there are train tracks not knowing if the train may even ever approach
• bonfires

• being in a different room than everyone else at a party
• the woods on a night with a full moon
• empty stables
• empty metro stations that are usually crowded
• gas stations on long mountain roads
• the old part of a city when you’re the only one in the street
• stadiums when a game or concert is over
• entering a building with a really high ceiling
• moonlight, anywhere

• empty tennis or baseball courts with limited lightning
• times when you are transitioning from one phase to another
• lodges in the snow
• frozen water in the winter
• a little lake in the middle of the forest
• campus during summer
• family gatherings
• construction site after works have gone home
• leaving a tent at midnight
• lonely swings
• overgrown fields
• from twilight to dusk
• farmland thats covered in the morning fog
• suburban neighborhoods filled with tension and wind before a large summer thunderstorm
• being at an abandoned place knowing that years ago at that exact same moment there were people
• the feeling of being chased by someone/something
• knowing you’re not alone in a certain place like a forest

this feeling is scary as FUCK it dawns upon you that something is so quiet or abandoned or empty and vacant that its like the universe forgot to make something happen in the one spotlike you found a glitch in real life like everything seems fake and unreal and real and not fake all at one and youre so confused

I wonder how many people don’t get the one they want, but end up with the one they’re supposed to be with.
—  Fannie Flagg, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe
Jeff gets jealous after the two of you play spin the bottle

Originally posted by bluerangerpower

Request: “could u do a jeff atkins imagine where u guys are at a party w everyone else and he’s really cute w u and everyones playing spin the bottle and it lands on someone else, u can take it from there!“ 


You and Hannah were at Jessica’s party. Hannah decided she wanted to come because Clay invited her. Although it took some encouraging on your part for her to finally give in. You’ve been trying to set Hannah up with Clay since what seems like forever but she’s stubborn most of the times, claiming he "doesn’t like her that way”. 

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Let’s talk about an Ariel who walks away—limping, mouthing inaudible sailors’ curses, a sea-brine knife in her belt.

Ariel traded her voice for a chance to walk on land. That was the deal: every time she steps, it will feel like being stabbed by knives. She must win the hand of her one true love, or she will die at his wedding day, turn to sea foam, forgotten. The helpful steward tells her to dance for the prince, even though her feet scream each time she steps. Love is pain, the sea witch promised. Devotion calls for blood.

But how about this? When the prince marries another, nothing happens. When Ariel stands over the prince and his fiance the night before their wedding, her sisters’ hard-won knife in hand, she doesn’t decide his happiness is more important than her life. She decides that his happiness is irrelevant. Her curse does not turn on the whims of this boy’s heart. 

She does not throw away the knife and throw herself into the sea. She does not bury it in the prince and break her curse—it would not have broken. She leaves them sleeping in what will be their marriage bed and limps into a quiet night, her knife clean in her belt, her heart caught in her throat. Her feet scream, but they ache, too, for the places she has yet to see. 

Ariel will not be sea foam or a queen. There is life beyond love. There is love in just living. Her true love will not be married on the morn—the prince will be married then, in glorious splendor, but he had never been why she was here.

Ariel traded her voice for legs to stand on, a chance at another life. When she poked her head above the waves, it wasn’t the handsome biped that she fell for. It was the way the hills rolled, golden in the sun. It was the clouds chasing each other across blue sky, like sea foam you could never reach.

(She does reach it, one day, bouncing around in the back of a blacksmith’s cart, signing jokes to him in between helping to tune his guitar. They crest up a high mountain pass and into the belly of a cloud. Her breath whistles out, swirls water droplets, and she reaches out a hand to touch the sky. Her feet will scream all her life, but after that morning they ache just a little bit less). 

I want an Ariel who is in love with a world, not a prince. I don’t want her to be a moral for little girls about what love is supposed to hurt like, about how it is supposed to kill you. Ariel will be one more wandering soul, forgotten. Her voice will live in everything she does. She uses her sisters’ knife to turn a reed into a pipe. She cannot speak, but she still has lungs. 

Love is pain, says the old man, when Ariel smiles too wide at sunrises. It’s pain, says the innkeeper, with pity, as Ariel hobbles to a seat, pipe in hand. At least you are beautiful, soothes the country healer who looks over her undamaged feet. The helpful steward had thought she was shy. Dance for the prince even though your feet feel stuck with a hundred knives.

Her feet feel like knives but she goes out dancing in the grass at midnight anyway. She’s never seen stars before. Moonlight reaches down through the depths, but starlight fractures on the surface. Ariel dances for herself.

She goes down to caves and rocky shores. Sometimes she meets with her sisters there. Mouths filled with water cannot speak above the sea, so she drops into the waves and they sing to her, old songs, and she steals breaths of air between the stanzas. She can drown now. She holds her breath. She opens her eyes to the salt and brine. 

Ariel uses canes and takes rides on wagons filled with hay, chickens, tomatoes—never fish. She earns coins and paper scraps of money with a conch shell her youngest sister swam up from the depths for her, with her reed pipe, with a lyre from her eldest sister which sounds eerie and high out of the water. The shadow plays she makes on the walls of taverns waver and wriggle like on the sea caves of her childhood, but not because of water’s lap and current. It is the firelight that flickers over her hands. 

When she has limped and hitched rides so far that no one knows the name of her prince’s kingdom, she meets a travelling blacksmith on the road with an extra seat in his cart and an ear for music. He never asks her to dance for him and she never does. She drops messages in bottles to her sisters, at every river and coastline they come to, and sometimes she finds bottles washed up the shore just for her. 

They travel on. When she breathes, these days, her lungs fill with air.

Some nights she wakes, gasping, coughing up black water that never comes. There is something lying heavy on her chest and there always will be.

Somewhere in the ocean, a sea witch thinks she has won. When Ariel walks, she hobbles. Her voice was the sunken treasure of the king’s loveliest daughter, and so when they tell Ariel’s story they say she has been robbed. They say she has been stolen. 

She has many instruments because she has many voices—all of them, hers; made by her hands, or gifted from her sisters’ dripping ones. Ariel will sing until the day she dies with every instrument but her vocal cords. 

She cannot win it back, the high sweet voice of a merchild who had never blistered her shoulders red with sun, who had never made a barroom rise to its feet to sing along to her strumming fingers. She cannot ever again sing like a girl who has not held a dagger over two sleeping lovers and then decided to spare them. She decided not to wither. She decided to walk on knives for the rest of her life. She cannot win it back, but even if she could, she knows she would not sound the same. 

They call her story a tragedy and she rests her aching feet beside the warming hearth. With every new ridge climbed, new river forded, new night sky met, her feet ache a little less. They call her a tragedy, but the blacksmith’s donkey is warm and contrary on cold mornings. The blacksmith’s shoulder is warm under her cheek.

Her feet will always hurt. She has cut out so many parts of her self, traded them up, won twisted promises back and then twisted them herself. She lives with so many curses under her skin, but she lives. They call her story a moral, and maybe it is.

When she breathes, her lungs fill. When she walks, the earth holds her up. There is sun and there is light and she can catch it in her hands. This is love. 

call it poetry –

the 150 patchwork characters above your instagram photos and below your profile picture; the 650 words you bled into your common app essay, baptized by midnight tears and shaky fingers on backlit keyboards; the 2 am text you sent your friend when she was sad, which read more like a love song than any top 50 hit; the scribbled words you placed among doodles and integrals on the back of your math test, the ones you almost hesitated to erase before you turned it in. 

call it art –  

that photo of your best friend laughing, even though it’s blurry and his left hand is out of frame; those pancakes, the ones the man at the other booth smirked at you for admiring before eating, laughing harshly before returning to his bitter coffee and significantly underappreciated waffles; the sunsets and sunrises that fill your photo stream, reminders that yesterday was beautiful and tomorrow might be too; the photo of yourself that you can’t decide if you quite like, but can’t delete either, your finger nervously hovering above it. post it. 

call it music –

the laughter of your friends from the other room that makes you smile, even though you missed the joke; the sound of your turn signal clicking, melting into the patter of raindrops on the windshield’s glass; the whistle of the summer wind outside of your old bedroom, the one that promised fairytales and twisters in sleepless childhood nights; the rhythm of your shoes in the empty hallway, reverberating with the sound of your arrival.

it is poetry.

it is art.

it is music. 

it is you.

Cheap Thrills (reader x Bucky Oneshot)

Characters: reader, Natasha, Sam, Clint, Tony, Bucky, OC Mark. 

Summary: A bet within the Avengers becomes a battle of the sexes, with you at the center of it. Who will be victorious and could it somehow help you snag the man of your dreams? 

Song Inspiration: Cheap Thrills by Sia

Warnings: drinking, sexist behavior? Mild violence mentioned, very subtle mention of sexy times. 

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: This was supposed to be a short one, but eh. I’ve been living in the land of heavy angst with You are My Heaven and intense stress in my real life so when this fun, fluffy idea popped up, I ran with it. I’m working on a lot of other stuff so be patient, please! As always, I appreciate your feedback. Love each and every one of you!! 

Masterlist

_________________________________________________________

Originally posted by luvinchris

“Uh uh. No way.”

“It’s true, trust me.”

“You wanna bet?” Clint challenged the redhead across the table from him.

Natasha leaned forward and held his gaze, not an ounce of doubt in her demeanor. “Absolutely.”

It was too early in the morning for this childish banter, you thought from your seated position at the far end of the long kitchen table. You slumped forward, dipping the tea bag in and out of the steaming mug of liquid before you, then setting it on the small saucer beside it. Wrapping your hands around the cup’s warmth, your eyes unfocused as you continued to tune out the blathering of your teammates. The only other person in the room paying them no mind was Bucky, who was slouched in a cozy chair, thoroughly engrossed in a book.

“Now wait a minute,” a third voice joined the argument, “If we’re gonna do this, we gotta level the playing field a little. Nat could do this in her sleep. We need someone a little more…down to earth. How about Y/N?” Sam gestured toward you.

Blinking a few times, you finally broke out of your stupor. “Hey! I was only half listening to your stupidity, but I think I’m offended.”

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Shapely🍑

Summary: Bucky and Steve will never let you know that they’re the heads of your booty’s fanclub.

Authors note: It was so hard to find old timey slang for butt. Like we have so many words now I was surprised lmao.

Warnings: None, Bucky and Steve appreciating that cake


  Your jeans only make it halfway up your thighs before they refuse to budge. You groan.

‘And this was my favorite pair too’

You sigh, before peeling off the jeans and rooting around in your dresser for something that you can wear. You never were the skinniest person, especially when it came to your hips and thighs. But then again you never were exactly bootylicious either. So when you became a SHEILD agent you thought your body would kinda slim down into a  svelte mass of lean, toned muscle like the other female agents.

 Boy were you wrong. 

You gained muscle, and a lot of it too. Every single inch of you had at least some definition and your thighs had bulked up considerably. As for your butt….You sneak a peek at it in the mirror ‘I swear it gets bigger every day’ . Since you had joined the Avengers last year and your training had gotten even more intense you swear your booty had doubled in size. Your body was very… in your face nowadays. Wanda kindly described you as ‘shapely’. You pull out a pair of denim shorts that have some slight stretch to them.

You look at yourself in the mirror sighing. ‘ If I get anymore shapely I’m gonna have to buy an entire new wardrobe.’ 


“Pal, why is ya oatmeal always so…” Steve makes a face “…Soggy?”

Bucky and Steve are sitting eating breakfast, at a table that’s situated slightly back and across from the kitchen, next to an open door. Bucky snorts.

“It’s oatmeal Steve, it’s supposed to be soggy.” Steve rolls his eyes but takes another bite of his oatmeal, making a mental note to make breakfast himself the next morning.

Bucky lets out a soft, low whistle. Steve turns his his head, slowly. He knows what that whistle means. He watches as you enter from the other side of the room, cross the kitchen and start rifling in the cabinets. Or rather he watches your ass cross the kitchen and start rifling in the cupboards. You Steve, and Bucky were pretty good friends. You had surprisingly befriended Bucky first, and then Steve. Bucky had been making a good recovery, but was still kind of shy, except around Steve and Sam, and then you. Your sense of humor and openness kind of disarmed him. The three of you would always hang out, watch movies, and talk about anything and everything. But the one thing that Bucky and Steve would never mention is that they both agreed that you by far had the best body they had ever seen. And they were low-key its fan club. The super soldier’s eyes track you as you gather your cup of tea and cheese danish in one hand and exit the room.

“Now ain’t that a beautiful sight to see in the morning?” Bucky says, smirking and sipping his coffee. 

“Yes,” Steve smirks back “As I always say,the lady is truly blessed.”

“Amen.” Bucky says raising his coffee mug. “I mean have you ever seen such beautiful gams on a dame?”

“No,”  Steve pushes back his bowl of soggy oatmeal and crosses his arms over his chest. A devious grin forms on his face. “But that’s not the only thing that’s beautiful.”

Bucky’s grin widens to epic shit eating proportions. “True, Y/N’s a bit broad in the beam, ain’t she?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 Your voice coming from behind them nearly stops both super soldier’s hearts. They turn, mouths slack, to find you standing in the doorway behind their table, tea and cheese danish in one hand, the other perched on your hip.

“Ah-um-I-um” Steve splutters, unable to form words. Bucky, on the other hand, decides distraction is the best course of action.

“Y/N! Sugar, sweetheart, you look lovely today. How’s that cheese danish? I heard the weather’s going to be nice , maybe we should go to the park?” He exclaims, red slowly creeping up his neck until his whole face is scarlet. You silently look from Steve to Bucky. ‘Well if they’re not gonna spill, Google will’

You pull out your phone and look at it. “Well looks like I have somewhere to be so I’ll see you boys later.”

You turn, hearing twin goodbye’s being called out after you, with at least one voice cracking in the middle.


You retreat back your room and fire up your laptop. Bucky and Steve were always using obscure old timey slang that no one understood. ‘they better haven’t been throwing shade…’ you shake your head. It seemed like they were talking about something physical about you, and not in a bad way. You feel warm and kind of insecure at the same time. You couldn’t deny that the two super soldiers were very attractive.

You open google and type “gams meaning” into the search engine.


gam

/ɡam/

noun,informal

plural noun: gams

  1. a leg, especially in reference to the shapeliness of a woman’s leg.

A giggle escapes your mouth. ‘oh my’ you think.

You type the next phrase into Google, and click on the phrase dictionary that comes up.


Broad in the beam

Meaning:

Having wide hips or buttocks


You stare at the screen for a moment and then  recall the overheard conversation. Your mouth falls open as you choke out a laugh ‘Oh my god’


Later that day you find Bucky,Steve and Sam sitting outside. You join them, and they all greet you, but you notice Bucky isn’t looking you in the eye and Steve’s ears are pink. Sam doesn’t seem to notice the tension and dives into a story about sweeping a girl off her feet in the local coffee shop.

“…then she gave me her number.”

“That’s great!” Steve says “You gonna take her out soon?”

“Yeah this weekend”

“That is great,” Bucky smiles “What does she look like?” he asks curiously.

“Man she had the cutest laugh, and those dimples…” Sam pauses, smiling to himself. “She had short dark hair, and was so curvy…..like damn.” Everyone chuckles a bit at this, and after the chuckles stop you pipe up.

“Curvy? Sam get with the times, you don’t call women curvy anymore, its called being broad in the beam.” You say and smirk at the two super soldiers. They promptly turn bright red, Bucky choking a little bit. Sam whips his head back and forth between the three of you.

“Am I missing something?” he asks.

 Steve clears his throat, holding out his hands imploringly.

“Y/n, sugar, listen. I can explain”


tags: @stephie-senpai @chamongangae

@iamwarrenspeace
Let's Pretend (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

A/N: I got the name from one of the clothes shops of Saints Row V lol. I plan on making at least two more parts to this, I’m halfway through part two and have the beginning of part three in the works! ^_^. I’m sorry if there’s any misspelling, I get too excited and I tend to rush. Feedback is hella appreciated! - D.

Let’s Pretend: Tony finds a website of two shape shifting mutant pornstars who make their living impersonating the Avengers on their website and decide to show the team.

WARNING: Graphic details of sex. Swearing. Soon-to-be-smut. Second hand embarrassment lol.

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More Vol. 2 Thoughts

GotG Vol. 2 Spoilers

Ego’s line “I’ve made millions of mistakes, but you are not one of them” is him talking about his millions of children

Also, the reason Mantis almost told Drax about Ego on the steps is because she felt his love for his daughter and realized how Ego felt about his kids, which she’s felt because she’s touched him before, isn’t how you’re supposed to feel at all

Also also, Yondu totally broke the space suit so Peter couldn’t take it off. He saw what he did for Gamora, so he’d know Peter would try to do the same for him and he wasn’t having it

Also also also, in the flashback of Yondu teaching Peter to shoot he’s whistling, so it’s possible he’s using the arrow as a target

Also also also  also, when Gamora is chaining up Nebula you can see a bed under the cassette player, which is obviously Peter’s, but there’s also a bed across from his with tech scattered over it so it’s totally Rocket’s bed and they basically share a room

Also also also  also also, Rocket sang quite a few of the words to Southern Nights so he absolutely loves the music and knows the words. Not that he’ll ever admit it

I have a lot of feelings about this movie…

Random Trinket Table

Have you ever thought to yourself, “Man, I want something useless but mildly interesting that isn’t from the trinket table in the player’s handbook!” Well, you’re in luck. Because I love random, useless trinkets and I’ve created a list for all to use. Even though there are plenty of other random trinket tables out there, you can never really have too many. Am I right or…? Anyways. Table below the cut!

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Anathema

Note: hi, darlin! I’m glad you love my writing! thank you so much for the request! I really hope you like it! .c

Request: Hii can you do a Bucky imagine where the reader is part of the avengers but they all ignore her all the time and they kind of hate her and to actually talk to them she has to follow them around. She has always been like that and one night they are really rude to her and she kind of breaks down and yeah…. You can make up the ending. By the way love your writing :) - @mariamaymanessam


Becoming an Avenger was not what you expected. Instead of a warm welcome, you had no welcome at all. Instead of  making new friendships, you seem to have made…enemies? You weren’t exactly sure what they were. The team didn’t take a liking to you and you had no idea what you did to deserve such a rough time with them. You were on their team, you helped them during missions, and dare you say it: you picked up their slack and even saved their lives a few times.

So why do they hate you? Why do they ignore you?


You were getting ready for a mission, slipping your boots on. Your zipped up your suit afterwards and took a deep breath as you looked in the mirror. It was much like Natasha’s, just with more weapon holsters and secret pockets for knives. You sighed as you left your room, almost dreading having to leave.

You tried all morning to find out what the mission was about. Every time you asked someone, they’d brush you off or just completely ignore you. It was frustrating, but you knew they couldn’t let you go out there and not know what to do. Sure, kill enemies and protect your team members, but you didn’t know if there was something you had to do specifically.

The tower was pretty quiet as you searched for the team. Taking the elevator up to the common room, you didn’t find them there either. It was ten minutes till take off and you had no clue where they were.

“Friday, where’s the team?” You asked, tapping your fingers against your thigh nervously. “They are about to leave, Miss Y/L/N.” You gasped and the elevator doors slid open just as you were about to ask Friday to tell them to wait on you.

You opened the door to the roof and saw Steve walking onto the strip, securing his shield on his back. You ran as fast as you could, yelling for Steve to wait on you.

“I’m coming! Wait! Please!” Your combat boots hit the ground hard and fast as you watched the landing strip start to close. Your heart was beating fast and you swore he almost turned around to look at you but acted like he didn’t hear you.


Grunting, you pushed yourself to run faster and you just barely made it as the strip started to lift off the ground. You fell onto the strip and crawled up into the quinjet, your lungs burning.

The team was sitting around the table, going over the mission plans again, not seeming to care that you were gasping for air on the floor.

“You couldn’t have waited for me?” You asked breathlessly, standing to your feet. Nobody turned to look at you and you sighed heavily through your nose. “Guess not.” You muttered, walking over to the table. You stood near Sam and he cleared his throat, slightly turning his body away from you.

You peeked over the table to look at the manila file folder Steve was reading from. “It’s a HYDRA base. It holds information on a new experiment and we cannot leave without it. You know what to do.” His eyebrow quirked as he looked up from the file to glance around the team, skipping you.

“Who’s supposed to get the information?” You asked, looking around at the team. Their expressions were cold and they stayed silent, moving away to sit in their seats. You sighed and you reached for the file until a hand yanked it off the table. You looked over to see Clint whistling to himself, holding the file in front of his face, pretending to read it.

The team chuckled quietly and you frowned. “I wanted to read that.” You said, waiting for Clint to put the file down to respond to you. When he didn’t, you sighed. “Forget it.” You turned to sit in your rightful seat, only to see a large black duffel bag sitting in it.

Wanda was smirking as she hummed, keeping a hand on the bag so you couldn’t pull it away. Not bothering to say anything, you sat against the wall, a little ways away from the team.

You were used to them treating you like this, so it didn’t bother you too much to not have a seat or know what the mission was entirely about. You’d do what you always do. Go in, take down any enemy you see, and make sure the team was safe.

And that’s what you were doing. Your guns were firing bullet after bullet as you fought alongside Nat, Wanda, and Clint.

“On your left!” You shouted to Nat as she snapped a guards neck. Another one was charging at her and he pulled out a gun just as you hopped off the back of another guard.

Nat, of course, didn’t listen to you. So instead of letting her get shot, you ran into her and you both fell to the ground before either of you got shot. You quickly shot him down and Nat grunted, more so in annoyance than pain. “Get off of me!” She yelled, pushing you onto your back.

You scoffed and shook your head at her. “You’re welcome for saving your ass!” You yelled back, watching her kick open a door, leading into another room. Clint followed silently behind Nat, his bow aimed in front of him. You stomped after them and swallowed your anger. All you needed to do was get through this mission alive. Being angry would only make you lose focus.

You walked into the room Nat and Clint were in and you listened to Nat and Steve talk to each other in your comms. “The room is empty. Do you see anything?” Steve asked, you could hear him grunting and fighting alongside Bucky and Sam. 

Wanda and Tony had been searching the far end of the base. A sense of familiarity set into your bones as you looked around the room. You knew exactly where they would keep such information. “I know where it is!” You exclaimed, listening to the team go quiet. “Great.” Clint said sarcastically. 

You looked at Clint and Nat let out a laugh. “Of course she does. She was one of them.” Nat laughed harder and soon the others joined her. Your heart sank in your chest and you gripped your gun in your hand, holding onto the last ounce of composure you had. 

Your past with Hydra wasn’t what they wanted to accept. They thought you were one of the bad guys, but you weren’t. You never were. You were kidnapped and experimented on but they didn’t care to look at it that way.

You sighed and left the room, making your way to the hidden vault on the left wing of the base. A few guards cut down the hallway, yelling in Russian. Before you could do anything , you had to take them out. And it was more than you expected. “Shit.” You muttered, readying your gun and a throwing knife.

You shot down any guard you could and even had to do hand-to-hand combat to get through some of them. 

You took down the last guard with a choke hold and pride filled your chest. You ran towards the end of the hallway and saw a door with a passcode button. If you remembered correctly, you’d be able to get in without tripping an alarm. You had to do this before and it was nothing new to you. You knew all of their codes, having been in a base for five years.

The team had gone quiet in your comm and you figured all the guards left were dead. You suddenly heard footsteps approaching behind you. “What is she doing?” You heard Sam ask behind you. You turned around and let out a breath as you saw who it was. “I’m getting what you all couldn’t find.” You shrugged, turning back to the door.

You punched in a code and heard it beep two times, then the metal door slid open to reveal a large vault. You pumped your fist and exclaimed happily. “Unbelievable.” Wanda groaned, shaking her head. The others were upset and angry, but you were happy to had found what was needed.

You typed in the same code into the vault and pulled the door open, a file folder and two tubes of red liquid were set on display. You took them all and walked over to Steve, holding them out for him with a smile. He stared down at you with an unreadable expression before turning and walking away.

The team followed behind him and you sighed, following after them. Nobody was grateful for you finding it. Though, after a successful mission, you were worn out and ready to clean yourself of the dirt and blood. 

So when you got back to the tower, you went straight to your bedroom to clean up. Thoughts filled your head, swirling around and nearly making you dizzy, as you slipped out of your boots and your suit. Your chest felt heavier the more you thought about everything. 

You stepped into your bathroom and turned on your shower, stepping in and letting the hot water loosen your tense muscles and wash away the sadness. Only by a little. It wasn’t enough to let you feel peaceful. The way the team treated you everyday, it hurt. It was confusing and you were tired of it.

Getting out, you quickly dried your hair and slipped on a pair of shorts and a tank top, deciding to wear a thin cardigan. It gave you a sense of comfort. Your mind raced with questions and possible reasons as to why the team didn’t like you. You’d even say they hated you at this point.

Your stomach growling kept your thoughts at bay, you were more than ready to eat dinner. You’d rather avoid the team, but you had a right to eat just as much as they did. As the elevator to the kitchen opened, you could hear the team talking among themselves, the sound of their laughter echoing through the hallway.

You stopped before you reached the door, keeping out of sight as you heard your name.

“Come on, Nat! Y/N saved you.” You heard Wanda say, teasing the redhead. You could just picture the smirk on her face, you even heard the venom laced in her tone as she spoke. Nat scoffed and a few laughs covered up the beginning of her sentence.

“-but I had it under control. It’s not my fault the bitch won’t stick to her job.” You frowned and leaned against the wall, your stomach sinking as you listened to everyone agree. “I mean, she acts like she’s the best on the team!” The sound of a fork dropping onto a plate made you jump and you were suddenly aware of the tears falling down your cheeks.

You sniffled lightly and wiped at your nose with the sleeve of your cardigan. “I mean, we don’t even need her here.” Sam said just loud enough for you to hear. You felt sick to your stomach, feeling like a terrible burden to everyone.

Clint chuckled and you could hear him loudly chewing his food before he joined in. “She knew the passcode. Only a fucked up person would remember Hydra’s passcodes.” He mumbled the last part lowly. You heard Bucky clear his throat, his chair sliding against the floor. “Excuse me!?” He asked, shock evident in his voice.

You covered your mouth as a sob threatened to escape and you turned on your heel, running down the hallway and back to the elevator.

You couldn’t listen to this anymore. All they did was ignore you when you needed them or even wanted to hang out, and they were always talking about you and how they don’t like you. If they didn’t want you here, all they had to do was say so.

You stepped into the elevator and took it up to your bedroom. You tried your best to hold it in and when you slammed your door shut, you let everything go.

Everything that you held in came crashing down on top of you. Your sobs echoed through your room and it felt like your heart was going to split in two. You couldn’t understand what you did wrong. 

A few minutes passed and a knock on your door startled you. Quickly scrambling to your feet, you took a few deep breaths before you opened your door, only to see Bucky standing there. His hair framed his face as he looked down at you, his eyes taking in your appearance.

You wiped at your cheeks and put on a fake smile, as if he couldn’t see that you were crying right in front of him. “H-hey, James.” Your voice came out shaky and you winced at the sound of it. Bucky stuffed his hands in his pockets, his head hanging low, guilt bubbling in his stomach.

He felt bad for how the team treated you. He would always take up for you, always tell the team to give you a break. He knew you were good for the team, whether they wanted you here or not. But he was too scared to approach you about it.

It was no excuse, but he was still new to opening up and talking about feelings. He hoped he was strong enough to finally put an end to how the team treated you.

“Did…Did you want to join us?” Bucky asked softly, kicking himself in his mind at what he just asked you. Why on earth would you want to join them after hearing what they said about you? After how they’ve treated you ever since you arrived? You were taken aback and you wanted to scoff at Bucky, but you held it in. He was making an effort.

You shook your head, “Sounds like you’re all having the time of your lives. I don’t want to intrude.” You walked away to sit on your bed and you sniffled, staring down at your knees.

Bucky walked into your room and sat down on your bed beside you. You held your head in your hands and let out another sob. “I need to leave.” You spoke through your sobs and Bucky felt his heart clench in his chest. “Please, don’t.” He whispered, and you almost missed it over your crying.

You let out a shaky laugh and you looked up at Bucky. “You guys hate me! I can’t do this anymore. A-all I’ve ever done, all I’ve e-ever tried to do was be apart of the team!” You inhaled deeply before another sob shook your body.

Bucky’s right hand rested on the small of your back, his metal hand moving to your cheek to wipe away your tears. “Y/N, when I first got here, they, aside from Steve, treated me nearly the same way.  And…what happened to you, they don’t understand it. But I do.” Bucky saw your lip tremble and that did it for him.

“Come with me.” He stood to his feet and held his hand out for you. You stared at it as if it were a foreign object, your eyebrows creasing. “What?” You asked, sniffling as you wiped at your cheeks.

He gently wiggled his fingers after a few seconds. “Come on.” Bucky quietly urged you to take his hand and you gently slid yours into his, letting him pull you along to wherever it was he was taking you.

Taking the elevator back down, Bucky brought you into the kitchen and you felt small beside him. But you felt even smaller when the team looked up at spotted you with him. He stood there, his chest rising and falling heavily as his anger tried to break through his ribcage.

“She’s apart of the team. I don’t care who doesn’t like it. She has saved you-,” He pointed to Nat with a hard stare and she slowly sank in her seat, casting her eyes down to her lap, “-and you, and you.” He pointed at Wanda and then Clint.

They all sat there, seemingly full of shock and surprisingly, guilt.

Bucky’s hand dropped from yours and he walked over to the table, moving his plate of food to an empty seat beside him so that you could eat it.

"Y/N, eat with us.” He said with a small smile. You stood there, unsure of what to do, just like the others as they watched. Bucky sighed and walked over to you again and pulled you to the seat, gently sitting you down.

“If anyone says anything about her again, I won’t be so nice.” Bucky threatened, taking the seat beside you. You kept your eyes on the plate and bit your lip nervously. Bucky gently nudged your arm and you looked up at him. He smiled at you and motioned towards the plate. 

You sighed and slid it back to him. “It’s yours.” You whispered, ignoring the stares from the team. “I want you to eat first. You worked hard today.” Bucky shrugged.

Nat took a deep breath and Bucky tensed in his seat. He shot her a warning glare and she held her hands up in defense. “I was just gonna tell her thank you.” She said softly, her eyes flickering to your face before looking at Bucky again.

Steve straightened his back in his seat, “Y/N, I want to apologize. And I-I want to say thank you, as well.” Steve said, his cheeks tinted red. Your eyes widened and soon enough the whole team was apologizing. 

“We weren’t sure if we could trust you. Hydra has…Hydra has a way with weaving people in and destroying things.” Tony explained after a few minutes, setting down his drink. 

You nodded gently. Bucky let his arm rest on your chair, his thumb brushing against your shoulder. A warm feeling spread throughout your body at the small action. “I’m sorry if I haven’t proved myself.” You whispered softly, keeping your eyes on the food.

Sam cleared his throat and looked over at you. “You’ve proved that we could trust you many times and I’m sorry for everything. We need you on the team. I was too cocky to admit it.” Sam mumbled the last part bashfully. Bucky snorted and covered his mouth with his hand. Soon enough, you were laughing along with the team.

“Do you want to say something?” Bucky asked softly, watching as you took a bite of your food. You looked around at everyone and sighed.

It wasn’t entirely wrong to accept their apologies. They did have a good reason to resent you at first, with the whole new recruit with a Hydra backstory situation, but it would take you a little while to fully become their friend after everything.

You shook your head and looked up at Bucky. He simply nodded at you, completely understanding, and let you get back to eating. He kept his arm over your chair and scooted just a tad closer to you.

Not too long after, the team started talking again, only this time: they didn’t ignore you.

Note: I love reading your comments! feedback is more than welcome! I love you all so much! .c

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Hell of A First Time

Pairing: Castiel x Sam x Dean x Virgin!Reader (no destiel, sastiel,or wincest–sorry!)

Word Count: 4.3k words of SIN

Warnings: it’s a threesome with dean as a voyeur. and the reader’s a virgin. lots of orgasms. and there’s oral. tada!

A/N: this is my first time writing a threesome, so be kind, friends!! feedback is so greatly appreciated!

Originally posted by stayclassysupernatural

You, Sam, Dean and Cas sat around the map table sharing a bottle of whiskey, celebrating another successful hunt. It was nights like these—full of laughter, jokes and telling stories—that you treasured most. Being a hunter pretty much ensured a short-lived life, so you always treasured the small moments of joy spent with your best friends.

Keep reading

Hockey, quick and dirty (no, not like that)

So the Stanley Cup Finals are upon us and I’m guessing a few people who’ve never watched hockey might decide to check it out, especially since no matter who wins this year, it’ll be historic.

A lot of people watching hockey for the first time: OMG WHAT THE HAP IS FUCKENING SO MANY MOVING THINGS.

Worry not. I am Here For You.

What even is going on here. I’m dizzy.

Yeah, that happens. What is going on here is that two teams of six dudes each are trying to get a six ounce rubber puck into the back of the other team’s net. They do this by skating rlly fast, banging into each other, cursing a lot, and flinging the puck around. That’s it, basically. Hockey isn’t very complicated in its basics. There is one way to earn a point (make the puck go into the net) and one way to win (be better at making the puck go into the net than the other guys).

I can’t see the puck WHY SO TINY.

I feel your pain. Watching hockey on tv is a bit of an acquired skill. If it helps, watch the players, not the puck. Ironically, watching it live is WAY easier.

Who are these six dudes?

Each team is allowed six players on the ice. Almost all the time, those six players are three forwards (who are supposed to shoot the puck and score - a group of 3 forwards is called a “line”), two defensemen (who are supposed to stop the other team from being able to score, and get the puck back for their team) and one goalie (whose whole job is to stand in front of the net, be huge and impenetrable, and stop the puck from going in). But except for the goalie, everyone shares in all the jobs to varying degrees. Defensemen often score, and forwards often defend. There is at least one NHL team whose top scorer is a defenseman.

There are way more dudes on the bench. What are they even doing, cheering?

They’re waiting for their turn. Each team can have 23 players on their active roster, but can only “dress” (get geared up and ready to play) 20 players for each game. They usually dress four lines of forwards, three defensive pairs, and two goalies (a primary and a backup - most of the time the backup sits on the bench the whole game. He only goes in if the primary gets hurt or gets scored on a LOT). If you are not familiar with the players and their numbers, you’re probably not noticing that the players on the ice change constantly. Hockey is so strenuous that you can’t do it at full game speed for more than a minute. Forwards play in “shifts” of usually 30-45 seconds, defensemen usually 1 to 2 minutes. They swap out as the coaches direct, without stopping play. I have yet to stop being impressed by this. You often don’t see the changes on TV because the cameras stay with the puck, and the players are changing off-camera.

Wait…what’s a power play? That sounds kinky.

A big part of hockey is penalties. You get penalties for doing not-cool stuff with your stick, your body, your skates. Most are minor penalties (two minutes) - there are also double minors (four minutes) and majors (five minutes). When a team is charged with a penalty, a player goes to the box, usually (but not always) the player who committed the penalty. You’re not allowed to replace the player who’s in the box, so this means his team is short one player, and the other team has an advantage, which is called a power play. Teams have a special group of players for the power play (usually their best forwards) and also a special group for when they’re at a disadvantage (called a penalty kill, heavy on their best defensemen because they want to survive the penalty without getting scored on). It’s possible to have TWO players in the box at once resulting in a 5-on-3 advantage (a two-man advantage is the maximum allowed) and sometimes you’ll get one player from each team with a penalty, resulting in a 4 on 4 period.

Icing? Offsides? These are clearly not cake-decorating terms.

Hockey is played in three periods of twenty minutes each with a 15 minute intermission between them. During those periods, play continues until a whistle is blown or a goal is scored. Whistles are blown for penalties, when the goalie freezes the puck (stops it and hangs on to it so it can’t be played), the puck goes out of play (over the glass or into the bench) or when the teams commit the infractions of icing or offsides. Icing is when someone shoots the puck from behind the center line all the way to the opposite end. You’re not supposed to do that. When the puck is being played toward the offensive zone, the puck has to be the first thing across the “blue line” (the line that marks the beginning of the offensive zone). If an offensive player beats the puck across the line, that’s offsides. 

Hey, they’re fighting! That can’t be allowed, right?

Well…yeah, it kind of is. Hockey players frequently get in minor little shovey-shovey sweary shouty skirmishes (this is often referred to as the players getting “chippy”). Those aren’t fights. Real capital-F Fights are actually a stat that is kept for teams and players. An official fight is usually at least semi-planned and the refs are sort of given a heads-up about it, they usually just stand there and let it happen, and the players keep each other from piling on. It’s a real fight if the players drop their gloves and if punches are thrown. Believe it or not, learning to “hockey fight” so you don’t actually injure yourself or the other player is a skill that players are taught. It happens, but usually both players will get some variety of penalty (roughing or fighting depending on the severity and who started it). There was a real fight in last night’s game although it was really more like a minute-long hug session.

They’re totally running into each other. A lot.

Yep. That’s called checking, or hitting. It’s legal to hit a player who has the puck in order to get possession away from him. But there are a lot of rules - you can’t hit someone who doesn’t have the puck, you can’t hit the player with the puck from behind, you can’t hit them above the shoulders or below the knees, you can’t use your elbows, and so forth. Legal hits can still be pretty brutal and how penalties are called for illegal hits is wildly inconsistent. Hits are another stat kept for the teams and it’s a measure of how aggressive they’re being in taking puck possession.

Hey, the players are getting points too, not just the teams.

Yes, they are! Hockey is very team-oriented. It’s extremely rare for a player to score a goal without one of his teammates setting it up for him, or getting the puck to him in a way that enables him to score. Players get equal points in their individual stats for both goals and assists. Each goal has the possibility of two assists - the guy who touched the puck before the goal-scorer, and the guy who touched it before that. Assists are not recorded on every goal, and some goals only have a primary assist and not a secondary. When we talk about players’ stats, the ones most frequently mentioned for forwards are total points (goals + assists), goals, and points per game (goals + assists divided by number of games played). Any player will tell you that the ability to just shoot the puck into the net is not the most important part of offensive play - the ability to “create offense” and set up plays that result in a goal is even more important. Some players are goal-scorers (Alex Ovechkin is one example) and some are players that do more offensive creation (Sidney Crosby is like that). 

DUDE THE GOALIE IS GONE. DID HE REMEMBER THAT HE LEFT THE OVEN ON?

If the goalie is gone it’s probably in the last 2 minutes of the game and his team is losing. There is no rule that says you HAVE to have a goalie on the ice and you’re allowed six players, so if you pull your goalie, you can put another forward on to score. If there’s 2 minutes left and your team is down by 1 or 2 goals, if you pull your goalie, the worst that can happen is you’ll lose MORE, and you might be able to tie the game and force overtime, or even win, if you put yourself at a man advantage with an extra skater. This is called an “empty net” situation and it’s nerve-wracking, especially if your team is the one that pulls the goalie. All it takes is for the other team to break away from your defense and they can pretty much score unchallenged. (There is another situation, delayed penalties, during which a team pulls their goalie during other times in the game, but that’s a bit advanced. I can explain it if anyone’s curious)

Um, is it me or do these playoffs take forever?

It’s not you. The Stanley Cup playoffs take forever. Sixteen teams make the playoffs (out of 30, soon to be 31 teams total) and they play four rounds, each of which is a best-of-seven. The winning team at the end could have played as many as 28 games in the post-season - the regular season is 82 games long. There are four divisions in the league grouped into two conferences. Each division sends their top three teams to the playoffs, then each conference sends the next two highest-scoring teams for a total of eight teams per conference. Those eight play for the conference championships, then those last two teams go on to play for the Stanley Cup. This year’s western conference champions, the Nashville Predators, and the eastern conference champions, the Pittsburgh Penguins, are two games in to the final round now. Pens are up 2-0 games in the series. Each round takes about two weeks - the playoffs started April 12 and could end as late as mid-June if the final round goes to seven games.

A lot of these dudes seem to be Canadian.

Yep. Hockey is Canadian for sure. Of the players in the NHL, 50% are Canadian (if you can name a world-famous hockey player there’s about a 95% chance he’s Canadian), 25% are American and 25% are European of some other variety (mostly Russian, Swedish, Czech and Finnish). One of the things about hockey that bugs me is that it’s SO WHITE. There are many reasons for that, but it’s getting better. At this year’s All Star Game there were six minority players invited, and there are some amazing up-and-coming young players of color in the league like Auston Matthews (who will 98% probably win the Calder trophy for Rookie of the Year this year), Josh Ho-Sang, Seth Jones and Nazem Kadri, three of whom played in this year’s playoffs.

There’s a lot of hugging. I did not expect this much hugging.

Hockey players hug a lot. After someone scores it’s pretty much standard for there to be a big hugpile.

Okay, I think I’m good for now.

Awesome! Hockey is fun to watch and hopefully this has been helpful. I enjoy talking about it and learning more stuff myself, so send me an Ask if something confuses you.

BTS Reaction to Being Forced to Kiss Their Crush

Request: BTS reacts to you (their crush) being forced to kiss them kinda like umm, spin the bottle or a dare type of thing ?? Thank you ! & pls repost necessary! it was my favvv

Note: Thanks *cries* & it’s out lol BTW, requests are OPEN! Send them away but first, check out the faq’s before you do. ((: *credit to gif owners*


Jin ➳ Once the bottle came to a stop, pointing directly towards you — he lost all confidence in himself and his luck. Everyone began to whistle and laugh, pointing to the two of you and he cursed under his breath when the boys pushed you towards him, quickly catching you in his arms. It shouldn’t be that bad, right? Boy was he wrong, the moment he was close to your lips, he quickly pecked your jawline with a furious blush tinting his cheeks. He had somehow missed, and there was no way anyone would ever let him live this down.

Originally posted by helendrv


Suga ➳ He was smirking the moment you looked up to find a mistletoe hanging right above the two of you. He was freaking out on the inside, and you were internally screaming at the fact that you had to kiss the one you lowkey loved that you didn’t even notice when he had suddenly crashed his lips onto yours. It was abrupt, and you didn’t even have time to relax into the kiss before he had pulled away. “That’s all?” You muttered under you breath, and a huge grin soon engulfed his visage.

“It doesn’t have to end here, you know.”

Originally posted by goldseok


J-Hope ➳ It was a brief peck, but Hoseok felt so much. Your lips were so soft, like swimming through a pool of clouds or having you pulled into his arms as you laid on the sand in a tropical paradise, like he was in heaven. When he pulled away and everyone went on to the next dare, he situated himself right beside you and the way you looked so nervous just boosted his ego. He kept teasing, tickling you here and pinching there. He loved it when you would become flustered, and couldn’t help breathing, “you can always have more,” into your ear.

Originally posted by yourpinkpill


RapMonster ➳ It was supposed to be just a peck, but he didn’t know what came over him. The moment he felt your soft lips against his, it was like an animal overtook his body and he lost all his sanity. He deepened the kiss, his hand reaching towards the back of your neck as his arm snaked around your waist; the people in the party cheering and whistling at the sudden action. The moment he pulled away, he became mortified as he sat back in his spot and looked in a daze. “Namjoon, are you okay?” You asked and he would muster a smile before sputtering a ‘I’m fine.’

He was not fine.

Originally posted by rapdaegu


Jimin ➳ He was the visual of the night, looking beyond handsome and smug. But the moment Seokjin dared the boy to kiss you, he turned into a smol ball of mush. His eyes widened, shaking his head erratically but eventually the poor boy was soon leaning in closer to you, a small smile reaching his lips before he puckered them and kissed you. It was a soft kiss, lasting a few seconds but once it ended, he sat down with his hands in his lap; his cheeks puffed out and rosy as he contemplated his life decisions. He thanked the gods above for letting this moment happen, but low-key wished it could have turned out different and more memorable for you.

Originally posted by bangtanstole-myheart


V ➳ He was tired of everyone telling him he wasn’t a man and needed to grow a pair, so when the bottle landed before you he knew he had to prove everyone wrong. Whether it ruined your friendship with him or grew, he knew he had to put everything into the kiss. When he suddenly grasped the back of your neck before pulling you close, he stopped for a brief second, staring into your eyes before his lips meshed onto yours. The kiss lasted longer than necessary, growing passionate by the second and it wasn’t long before you two were pulled from each other by the boys. Taehyung was stupefied, but knew his actions were definitely worth it.

Originally posted by kookieinfirestae


Jungkook ➳ You two were just innocently walking around the city as friends when a few people stopped by telling you how cute you both looked together and chanting 'kiss kiss’ like a mantra. He felt like his heart was going to explode, but when you didn’t deny that you two weren’t together, he went in and caught your lips in a searing kiss. It was short, but he knew he felt you smile through it which sent butterflies surging through his tummy. He grew confident, and as everyone left pleased he had asked you to be his at the spur of the moment, which you accepted with a smile.

Originally posted by tanktoptiger


Masterlist

Your aspect has two cows

Well, this isn’t the “title test” I was talking about before, but it’s about time I posted something, probably.

Space: There are two cows. You frolick with them in the wilderness. The three of you find the most fascinating plants and butterflies. Soon there will be a baby cow!

Time: You have two cows. In 150 years, nobody will remember who you were or how many cows you had. Not even your great-grandchildren. That’s just the way things are.

Rage: You are hiding under your kitchen table from a thing with horns and cloven hooves. It can only be a demon. Pure horror pulses through your veins when you realize there’s more than one.

Hope: You have two cows. If you took their barn apart, you’d have enough wood to build a ship. If your ship was on the coast, you could take it sailing. If you went sailing, there might be pirates. You’d better practice swordfighting.

Mind: You have two cows. The fluffy cow doesn’t know you know she knows the spotted cow suspects the fluffy cow heard the spotted cow confiding in you what she thought she overheard the fluffy cow pretended to mutter in her sleep. Just as planned.

Heart: You have two cows. You can tell them apart at a distance by how they moo. You’re not supposed to give them names. You do it anyway.

Blood: You have two enormous bulls. They fight to the death. You butcher the loser and set your house on fire to cook some hamburgers. You are screaming the entire time.

Breath: You have two cows. The chickens recruit one of them to be an umpire for their baseball game. The other goes into stand-up comedy telling really cheesy puns. You learn how to whistle.

Light: You’ve been asked to run a three million acre dairy farm in France. You’re a world-class cheese taster and helicopter pilot with a PhD in chemical engineering. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.

Void: You have two huge, awkward beasts of burden with multiple stomachs and overproductive mammary glands. They poop absolutely everywhere.

Life: You have two cows. You herd them into the barn for the night, eat some macaroni and cheese, and watch TV before bed – the same thing you do every day.

Doom: You try desperately to explain to your cows that none of this is real and you need to leave the farm before this story ends and the three of you cease to exist. They don’t understand a word. It’s too late now anyway.

The Lost Legacy of Doom’s Hitscan Enemies

I’m dancing. My feet follow no pattern and make no sound as I glide effortlessly over the terrain, but the rhythm of the Super Shotgun guides my every move. I weave to and fro among the soaring fireballs and scything claws, spotting opportunities, darting near and far, catching hellspawn in efficient point-blank bursts of scattershot. Boom, click, ker-chunk. Boom, click, ker-chunk. Boom, click, ker-chunk. Somewhere in the back of my head, I’m dimly aware of the familiar noise of a pneumatic door sliding open, barely audible above a tinny MIDI rendition of ‘Fear Of The Dark’. It’s catchier than you’d think.

Somebody roars. I’ve heard the sound enough times to recognise it as a ‘somebody’. Startled, I pivot to catch sight of the new assailants: two heavyset bald men, cradling imposingly large guns, furious piggy eyes as red as their bulky chestplates. Chaingunners. Before I can close the distance, they open fire, tearing an abundance of new holes in my circle-strafing, road-running backside. I put them out of action, but the damage is done. Was that a fair exchange? It’s not as if I could’ve outpaced their shots. Are they a fun enemy design in this, the most famous of all famously fast-paced first-person shooter? My kneejerk response is ‘no’, but Doom—because of course, it’s Doom—is a lot smarter than it seems.

Few games can claim to have lived as long and as healthily as Doom. Of course, it’s had the unwavering support of a community on its side, constantly tweaking and touching-up and doing everything in their power to stop the wrinkles under its eyes from showing, but its simple formula and flexible combat were always going to hold up well against the test of time. Doom has influenced the design of the modern first-person shooter in more ways than I could possibly articulate, with a little bit of DNA in everything from ARMA to Ziggurat, and yet… I feel there are one or two lessons from it that never quite caught on.

See, the concept of the ‘old-school’ first-person shooter, while not especially formally defined, is very much a thing. We’ve seen bits of it in the likes of Painkiller, Strafe, Tower of Guns, Dusk, Desync, Devil Daggers, and yes, even Doom 2016: games that buck dominant design patterns to focus on swift, streamlined, evasive movement, and a host of enemies that force you to make the most of that movement. Out of style, but by no means out of their depth, these games take after Doom more than most, but no matter how much they borrow from it, there’s one particular feature that many seem to skirt around. Something regarded almost with a kind of hushed, ‘we don’t talk about that’ shame, like the uncle at the family get-together who isn’t allowed to leave the country for reasons that nobody’s quite sure of. Hitscan enemies, a regular staple of Doom’s encounters, have near-vanished from the contemporary games that bear closest resemblance to it. What happened?

Well, at a glance, they do seem to clash with the desired experience. Doomguy can outrun a lot of things—many of which need at least fifty supervised hours logged before you can operate them independently—but he cannot outrun bullets, nor buckshot. You can’t dodge a hitscan enemy’s attacks by just going fast; the nature of Doom means that they take no time to pivot and have impeccable aim, other than the inherent spread patterns of their weapons. Your only recourse, it would seem, is to get out of range—a bit of a tall order, in most scenarios—or to take cover, which sounds like it would go directly against the fast, exciting experience of running around with the wind in your hair and a rocket launcher under your arm. ‘Cover’ is a dirty word; one that brings to mind hunkering behind a chest-high wall, plinking away at a succession of targets and crawling out only when a grenade gets tossed into your lap. To be in cover implies one is at rest, without any of the spatial analysis, fast-paced action or thrilling escapes that characterise the rest of the combat. You can see this stigma manifest frequently in retro first-person shooters, which often come hand-in-hand with the attitude that cover is for babies, and charging blindly into battle with your enormous, impenetrable testicles hanging out on display is the only acceptable combat strategy for ‘real men’. You could probably write a hefty tome about how unhealthy pulp action-hero masculinity has seeped through various layers of media and eventually pooled, like a discarded half-finished McDonalds’ thickshake, in nooks and crannies of gaming obscurity, but that’s a discussion for another time.

The thing is, Doom itself doesn’t actually work that way. In fact, it does a number of things to ensure that hitscan enemies don’t stifle the player’s movement, but instead add an extra set of considerations and trade-offs, forcing them to look at the play space—and when and where they position themselves in it—in a more nuanced manner. Like most of the ingredients that go into a first-person shooter, the way Doom’s hitscan enemies work is subject to its encounter design—a surprisingly diverse field, as custom WADs frequently demonstrate—but there are a few qualities to them you can count on in every sensible encounter.

Let’s break this down, piece by piece. Of the five enemy types in the first two Doom games with hitscan attacks, the three most common ones by a large margin are the ‘former humans’: undead soldiers who utilise conventional firearms—provided your definition of ‘conventional’ extends to a portable belt-fed chain gun, I suppose—and have all the durability of a cardboard cutout of Master Chief that somebody left out in the rain overnight. Upon noticing the player, they give a suitably enraged bellow and enter their attack routine: move, pause, shoot (if possible), repeat.

This pattern gives us time. Like a fireball whistling through the air, it gives us a chance to handle our predicament by reacting and moving quickly. It only takes an undead sergeant a few tenths of a second to level his shotgun barrel at yougive or take a bit of bumbling around, as they are wont to do—but in the world of Doom, it’s enough to at least start on a decisive manoeuvre. Doomguy runs quickly enough that you can very likely put something between yourself and your foe before they fire—it doesn’t even have to be a wall; other monsters serve perfectly well—and since the poor daft AI has no concept of suppressing fire, you need only be behind it for the split-second it takes them to return to their ‘move’ state. Consequentially, cover is less about clinging to the warm, comforting bosom of a solid wall and more about rapidly, momentarily repositioning yourself when the situation demands it; diving around corners, circling pillars, making use of the nearest solid thing in a pinch and immediately darting back out again. Taking cover is every bit as much about clever, well-timed movement as circle-strafing a pack of imps, and to be honest, probably demands far more split-second decision-making.

Another quality that’s critical to the success of the former humans is their relative squishiness: you can usually count on a single shotgun blast to put one out of action, and even glancing shots are likely to interrupt their routines long enough to buy some extra breathing room. A crowd can be swiftly dealt with by just raking a chain gun across their ranks—conveniently, the exact weapon dropped by the strongest former human, the Chaingunner—and pointing anything bigger at them is usually outright wasteful. This is key because it means that they’re only a very short-term threat—or, in larger battles where they’re mixed up with other enemies, only a threat for as long as you ignore them. Ducking behind a pillar once to evade a sergeant’s buckshot is a rush, but having to go through the same motion two or three times is stagnation. By letting you remove the former humans from the fight almost as quickly as they appear, Doom lets you quickly lift the restrictions they impose and expand the space where you can freely move, ensuring you’re never tied to one piece of cover or trapped in some godforsaken alcove.

But not every hitscan enemy in Doom goes down so easily, does it, hmm? I’m going to gently refuse to acknowledge the Spider Mastermind—a rare, highly-situational boss that squats unpleasantly at the end of the first game like a cane toad under the wheels of your dad’s Hilux—and instead concentrate on the notorious Arch-vile, whose pale, emaciated, lanky form is enough to set off half a dozen panic alarms in any Martian marine’s head. It’s everything the former humans aren’t: fast, durable, and capable of suddenly blasting half your health clean off from the far side of a munitions bay—to say nothing of its ability to revive fallen monsters, unravelling your work more and more the longer you leave it standing. Crucially, however, while the Arch-vile makes for a more persistent and punishing threat than the former humans, it also gives us much more time to work with. It takes about three full seconds of dramatic posing for an Arch-vile to wind up its hitscan attack—a pillar of infernal fire that explodes around its target—and once again, you are only required to actually duck behind something for the split-second when the attack connects to avoid taking damage. 

Consequentially, while our vitamin D-deficient friend does rather firmly, briefly force players into hiding, it also affords us the opportunity to stretch our legs and take nontrivial actions in between its attacks, giving it a distinctly different effect to Doom’s other hitscan enemies. Between every Arch-vile’s attack, there’s time enough to dart around the immediate area, change cover, take care of some lesser enemies, or—most likely—run up to it and empty both barrels into its repulsive mug. At an abstract level, the Arch-vile clamps down on the player by forcing them to be out of certain zones at certain times, but doesn’t make those zones inherently damaging to cross, like a crowd of former humans does.

Putting everything back together, Doom’s hitscan enemies are designed not to eliminate movement, but to carefully squeeze it; to force the player to take action, moving along vectors towards positions of safety. Restrictions on where in the combat space you can safely be are what make Doom’s fights engaging, and the restrictions that hitscan enemies provide are every bit as important to your positioning as a Revenant’s homing rocket or an Imp’s tossed fireball—they just take a different approach. Yet they’re also designed to ensure you’re never required to linger at your destination a moment longer than necessary, either by being easy to remove from the battlefield, or by only periodically applying their particular brand of pressure. Like every enemy in the game’s toolbox, they can be abused and used outside of their ideal roles—take a peek at The Plutonia Experiment, half of Final Doom, for some truly breathtakingly rude Chaingunner placement—but their basic principles are every bit as valuable as their peers.

Doom will force you to move, but it will never force you to stay. And that’s the philosophy that every first-person shooter should be built on, really.

Wanna Bet? II (M)

Rich Fuckboy!Jimin x Tutor!Reader

PART I | PART III

Warnings: SMUT…

Word Count: 2,240

Summary: After you teased Jimin, he’s looking for revenge…

A/N: This is my fic, just re-posting on my sideblog!


As soon as you stepped foot into your apartment you went to the bathroom and took a long, cold shower. While trying to calm down you were thinking why did that affect me so much? you hate that asshole. You thought about how Jimin looked at you when you walked out in the maid outfit, how you could hear his groans from across the room when you bent over, which made you wet all over again. You exited the shower and went straight to your room, not bothering to put your pyjamas on. You got on your bed and opened your bedside drawer, looking for your favourite toy. You grabbed your phone next, setting it on silent so you couldn’t be interrupted, and put it beside you.

You lay back on your bed and started to think about Jimin. The way he pushes his hair back with his hand, the way he licks his lips when he stares at you, the way his abs trail down to that v-line… You were soon a moaning mess. Your earlier thoughts about hating the asshole long gone, and you accepted your want for him.

You didn’t see your phone light up, not when your eyes were closed, head thrown back in pleasure as you neared your high. You also didn’t see your phone shift on the bed from your movements, landing near your ass. Too caught up in your release, you didn’t notice when you accidentally answered the call, allowing the person on the other end to hear you build up to your peak.

“Y/n? Hello? Can you hear me?”, the voice said, but you were too into your pleasure to notice, “Y/n, you forgot your-”

“Jimin!” you moaned out, your release at your fingertips as you played with yourself, moans increasing in volume the closer you were. The person on the other line was now silent, listening intently to you working yourself to orgasm. As you reached your climax, you repeated Jimin’s name like a prayer, thinking about his hands bringing you to your high instead of your own.

As you came down from your high, the person on the line hung up. You sat up, grabbing your phone to come up with some excuse as to why you can’t tutor Jimin tomorrow. You saw you had a received call from him. Curious, you went to call him back and you saw that the call lasted for five minutes. Looking at the time of the call, it was only a short while ago, which could only mean…

“Shit.”

Keep reading

Hands To Myself

Roughly inspired by Hand to Myself by Selena Gomez. 
Just a side note that I really can’t write smut, I feel incredibly weird so I do apologize for the cliff hanger ;)

Can’t keep my hands to myself
No matter how hard I’m trying to
I want you all to myself
You’re metaphorical gin and juice

I mean I could but why would I want to?


It was convenient that Tom and [Y/N] lived right across the street from one another. It meant that they could just walk over and not have to worry about the awful London traffic. Or even that if they drank a little too much, their home was just a few feet over. It was great. What wasn’t convenient was that Tom and his best mate, Harrison, always, like clockwork played basketball every morning. And [Y/N] had the front row seats with her window facing the cul-de-sac they played on. 

[Y/N] had never been a sexual person. She just kept her hands in her lap and behaved like a good girl but ever since she had starting dating Tom, it was getting a lot harder to maintain the proper ladylike persona her parents had raised her to have. It seemed that even the simplest movements Tom would make would send her senses into overdrive and force her to have the mind of horny thirteen year old boy. And [Y/N] could bet money that Tom had no idea what he was doing to her, he was always such a gentlemen when it came to her personal space. Of course they would cuddle and have make-out sessions but he was always aware of where his hands would be. And [Y/N] loved that for the most part, she was adoring that Tom wasn’t acting out on his hormones and was being respectful of her body because her body wasn’t a piece of property that he could invite himself into whenever he pleased. But, there were days where she wished he would just use all his pent up sexual urges and show her what she did to him. 

And it didn’t help that this morning, Tom was shirtless. The sun was kissing his body and causing every curve and dip of his muscles glisten from the sweat that was covering his upper body. It was a taunt and it was driving her insane. She stood by the window, watching Harrison and Tom play for a few more minutes before she decided that she needed to do something to get the idea of what laid beyond the shorts that were covering the rest of him out of her head. 

Splashing cold water on her face, she looked in the mirror and noticed a small purple mark poking out from her shirt. Wincing, she pulled the collar down to inspect it a little more. She would admit the night before was one of their more friskier nights, Tom had never left a hickey before. It left her flustered and she could bet that seeing Tom this morning made the feelings come back twice as hard. Blowing air out of her mouth, she dug around in her drawer to find some concealer. Even though she was twenty, her parents would freak the hell out that she was engaging in any kind of physical contact with her boyfriend. If she didn’t still live at home, she would have shrugged and went on about her day. 

Dabbing some on until she felt that it was hidden enough, she closed her eyes when she heard the victory yells from Tom. Gripping the counter, she looked at herself. She could feel herself getting hot at the thought of what more could have happened the night before if her parents hadn’t came home so early. Swallowing hard, she told herself to get a grip. 

Walking towards her closet, she threw on some running shorts and a matching sports bra. Reaching around her jacket, she zipped it up halfway. [Y/N] needed to run off her hormones, put something else in her head. Walking into the kitchen to grab a protein bar, she noticed a note from her parents. 

Went shopping at the mall and then going to see a film. After that we’ll be going grocery shopping. Be home right before 6. Send a text if Tom and Harrison will be joining for dinner so I’ll be prepared. xx mom

Plucking the note from the fridge, she laid it on the counter and sent her mother a text saying that most likely Tom and Harrison will be coming over. Four out of the seven days, they normally did. Grabbing a sip of her water, she headed out the door. 

“[Y/N]! Come play with us, Haz needs all the help he can get.” Tom chuckled. 

Walking over towards the two boys who were dripping with sweat, she placed a peck on Tom’s cheek and patted Harrison’s shoulder. “Love to, but I’m going to go run a few miles.” 

“Ew,” Harrison groaned. 

“Ew, yourself.” [Y/N] responded, sticking out her tongue. She turned towards Tom in time to find him rake his eyes over her attire. Biting her lip, she tried to ignore his lingering gaze over her exposed torso. 

“I agree with Harrison, why are you running?” Tom asked, “You could get in your daily exercise right here with me.” He motioned towards the basketball hoop.

[Y/N] really wanted to respond with something inappropriate but decided against it. It was only going to make her situation worse. “I’ll pass, but maybe next time. I’ll see you in an hour.” 

“An hour?! How many fucking miles you plan on running, [Y/N]” Harrison sputtered. 

Shrugging, she started to jog backwards, “However many I can run in an hour, Haz.” Shaking her head, she smiled and blew kisses towards them and turned to face forward and headed off. 


[Y/N] had needed a lot more than an hour to get her mind off of her sexual thoughts about Tom. She had ran for thirty minutes before she slowed to a walk to give her burning legs a rest and in that time, she had made up five million fantasies. All of them ranging from innocent fluffy to extremely fifty shades. After walking for another thirty, she decided to run back to the house. Figuring that Harrison had probably either gone home or knowing that Tom would be spending time with her and went inside to hang out with Sam and Harry. 

Slowing down her pace when she spotted Tom sitting on her porch in the comfy bench her mother had insisted on spending four hundred dollars on. She smiled as she hopped up the steps, “Hey you.” 

Looking up from his phone, Tom smiled back. “Hey yourself. I thought you said you were going to run for an hour? How many miles did you clear?”

Shrugging, [Y/N] unzipped her jacket all the way, fanning herself with her hand. She hated to feel so hot that the only thing she wanted was to peel off her own skin. “I don’t know maybe five or six? I wasn’t tracking it but I reached the fountain and came back.” 

Tom whistled, “Look at you speedy.” He chuckled and got up from the bench to hug her. 

“No, I’m gross.” She whined. 

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he shook his head. “No, never. Impossible.” 

Trying to ignore the skin to skin contact, she pushed him away and rolled her eyes. Reaching into her hidden pocket for the spare key to her house, she unlocked the front door and walked in. “Did Haz go home or is he with the twins?” 

“The twins,” he responded, following her in. 

“So, he’ll be over for dinner too? I was supposed to tell my mom for sure.” 

Tom shrugged, “I dunno. I’ll ask him,” texting Harrison, he slid his phone back into his shorts pockets. 

Chugging some water to cool down, she tossed him a gatorade. “You going to eat dinner with my parents with just that on?” [Y/N] teased. 

Leaning against the counter, he crossed his arms, the well-defined muscles flexing and tightening made [Y/N] lick her lips. “Are you going to wear that to dinner with your parents?” He squinted his eyes, pushing off the counter, he walked towards her in just four steps. His thumb rubbed against the spot on her neck where she had covered with concealer. “Bloody Hell, your father is going to kill me.” He muttered. 

“What?” 

Tapping your neck, he chuckled. “I’ve given you a hickey. I guess the sweat from your run rubbed the makeup off.” 

Chewing on her lip, she shrugged. “I’ll cover it back up when I get dressed. No big deal, they will never know.” 

“Good because that is not a conversation I want to have with your father.” He shuddered at the thought of being confronted by one of the seriously intimidating men he had ever come to meet. Tom reminisced to the time where he had first met her father, he was ready to piss himself. 

[Y/N] shook her head and laughed, knowing exactly what he was thinking about. She could have keeled over and died from laughing so hard at her father and Tom’s first encounter. She had to reassure Tom that her father really did like him after the first few times and he had even told her that he preferred Tom over her past boyfriends. 

“Hey Tom?”

“Yes, love?”

She fidgeted with the bottom of her jacket, running the zipper up and down causing Tom to look at her with a confused look. “How long have we been dating now?”

Tom tilted his head to the side and did the math in his head. “A little over two years, why?”

“Do you not find me sexually attractive?” 

Tom choked on his spit, completely blind sided by her question. “I’m sorry, what?!”

Avoiding his baffled stare, she sighed. “Am I not sexually appealing? Like, is there a reason why we haven’t had sex?” 

Tom seriously couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. He moved in her line of sight, speaking softly, “Hey, look at me.” Waiting until she met him, he smiled softly. “Are you seriously asking me that? If I didn’t find you to be sexy, I wouldn’t have left that hickey on your neck. Of course I find you to be sexy. I find you to be sexy all the time, [Y/N].” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” Tom confirmed, shaking his head at how crazy her question was. He chuckled a little before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Have I thought about sex with you? Yes. But I, it’s not, I don’t. Sex isn’t just something we do because it feels good, [Y/N]. I want it to be special, meaningful. We’d be sharing ourselves in a more personal way and I might be ready to do that but you might not be.” Cupping her face, he smiled again. “I would never want to pressure you into something because I don’t have to have sex with you to know that I want to be with you. Is it difficult, yes, especially when you wear things like what you have on now.” His eyes trailed down her and then back, “But, I love you for you not for sex or anything else. It would just be an added bonus.” 

[Y/N] couldn’t help but blush at his words. Again, he was always so respectful. “I love you, Holland.” 

“And I love you, [L/N]” He pulled her into a hug, the kind that she melted into. [Y/N] would swear up and down that Tom had different kind of hugs. And the way he was hugging her now was her all time favorite. It made her feel warm and fuzzy inside, almost like she was completely safe and nothing could harm her all while feeling the love radiate from his body. 

Pulling away a little, she took a deep breath. “What if I’m ready now?” 

Tom’s eye sparkled a little as he studied her expression, “Then I’d plan it to be special.” 

“No, like now.” 

Now?” Tom asked in surprise. 

“Yes, like right here, right now.” Wincing and giggling lightly, she shrugged, “Or well in my room, not here in the kitchen, that’d be weird. We eat and cook in here.”

Tom pulled apart from her completely, looking her dead straight in the eyes. “You want to have sex right now? Really? Are you sure, [Y/N].” She could tell he was getting flustered, “What if your parents come home? Or Haz decides to just come over? Don’t you think it’d be more special if I had planned it out to be romantic?”

“I love you, Tom, I really do but when has anything you’ve ever planned romantically gone according to plan?” She raised a brow, waiting for him to answer.

“You have a point….”

She grabbed for his hands, “I think it would be special right now. Don’t think I haven’t notice the looks you’ve been giving me when you think I’m not looking. Isn’t passion what makes it special?” 

“Bloody Hell,” Tom mumbled as he ran a hand over his face. “You’re going to kill me, absolutely kill me.”