this is the one and only time i will ever draw him

the little things in life - part 1

summary: One of Roman’s adventures takes an interesting turn, resulting in Logan coming back looking much different than before.

characters: logan, patton, virgil, roman

pairings: none

warnings: age regression; some intrusive thoughts; thoughts of injury (very brief); thoughts of choking on food (very brief); mention of death (very brief)

word count: 1,968

a/n: a cute piece inspired by @mewsicalmiss‘s adorable hcs and @pirate-patton‘s own fic based off of them. this got a little long so I decided to break it up into a few chapters. hope you guys enjoy!

tag list: @tinysidestrashcaptain @logan-logic @holdnarrytight @the-sanders-snides @darude-sanderstorm @mewsicalmiss @thegoldenmink @cefmua56 @madd-catter @amazable01@camillenicole @dudlebuggs @evilmuffin


“He’s so small! Ah, I just wanna scoop him right up!”

“I hate to admit it, but he’s just downright adorable! And he hardly talks as much as he used to. I shall chalk this up as an improvement!”

Virgil opened his mouth to protest; he closed it in favor of screwing his face into an expression that was near impossible to describe, but perfectly conveyed his character.

“What?” he finally burst out. “No! We can’t keep him like this. Do you think Thomas is gonna have any idea how to do anything?”

Roman groaned, shoulders sliding into a dejected position. “Fine. I suppose you do have a point. The only thing is…how do we fix…this?”

He gestured to their current problem, which sat on the couch.

This problem happened to be a very displeased Logan, who was now reduced to the state of about a two-year-old, courtesy of a glittering crystal lake he had fallen into after being dragged along on one of Roman’s adventures.

He was small, he was clumsy, he was—

Well, to be quite honest, he was the most adorable thing any of them had ever seen.

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pretty boys, pretty flowers - ed

a/n: i don’t think i need to tell u that this is inspired by this picture. super cheesy (but would it be true hannah writing if it wasn’t?)

word count: 2,660

Silence is a matter of perspective. For example, some might accompany negatively connotative terms with the presence of such; awkward, tense, maybe uncomfortable. For others, silence is an evolved condition by the means of time, comfort, familiarity.

The latter was definitely what you clung to, silence becoming a welcome attribute in the cab of the car as the scenery passed by out the windows. Ethan’s chatter had easily died down from when you’d left the house early that morning, the anecdotes of his adventure with Grayson now replaced with periodic I hope I remember where this is and I don’t remember that sage bush from last time…

None the less, you didn’t feel awkward in the lapse of conversation. It was comforting simply just being, your elbow propped against the door with your cheek pressed against your curled fist. You could feel Ethan’s gaze as he turned to watch you in these moments, yet you were too engrossed with the outside world.

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literatadibujante  asked:

Can I request more wolf boys pls It doesn't have to he a drawing, i'll die happily with headcanons

Sure thing!! Have some ffxv bois a/b/o/werewolf headcanons!

Prompto:

-          Doesn’t like shifting because it reminds him of his time as a Nifflheim pack’s Omega, where they’d force him to shift for agonizingly long periods of time (where shifting for too long causes stress on the mind and body)

-          When Noctis’ pack found him, he’d nearly been unable to shift back, and was only able to do so after hours of rehabilitation with Ignis  

-          he enjoys snuggling in his pack-mate’s fur in human form, they’re so big and warm and safe

Ignis:

-          Has a keener sense of smell than most Betas, but still not as sharp as any Alpha or Omega’s.

-          Super talented peace-keeper. He’s had more than enough practice between Noctis and Gladio.

-          Adores his pack-mates, but keeps them in line

Gladio:

-          Very typical textbook definition of Alpha.

-          Will protect his pack with his life

-          Although he often contests with Noctis over the position as pack leader, he loves his Omega to pieces, and lets Noctis pin him when they play-fight (a thrilling experience for any Omega)

-          If he ever hurt one of his Omegas by accident (which has happened once or twice when Ignis wasn’t around to mediate) he’d feel incredibly guilty afterwards, and while he won’t outright apologize due to his pride, he’d work hard to make up for what he’d done in other ways.

-          This doesn’t always work, as sometimes all Prompto or Noctis want is a simple ‘I’m sorry, I was wrong’

-          Too prideful for his own good

-          Has the longest, thickest fur out of the four. Prompto loves it.

Noctis:

-          His fur is soft as silk (if not softer) he takes very good care of it.

-          He was so happy when Prompto officially joined the pack, another Omega, finally!

-          Noctis is super protective over Prom, Gladio jokes sometimes that Noct might as well be his Alpha instead of Gladio (this makes Noct very pleased with himself)

-          He doesn’t want to be pack leader, but it’s what his dad expects of him, so he tries his best

 

Pack Dynamics:

-          Gladiolus and Noctis are often engaged in a struggle for dominance because of Noct’s position as an omega pack leader. Gladio believes that as the pack Alpha, he should be the head, and that Noct’s royal blood isn’t reason enough to justify his position. Ignis often has to break them apart before things get dirty.

-          All four share a pack-bond with each other, kept strong through daily scenting and cuddles.

-          Gladio shares a mating bond with both Noctis and Prompto, while his relationship with Ignis is one of pure camaraderie and trust.

-          While Ignis can’t share a mating bond with Prompto due to his status as a Beta, he and Prompto share romantic feelings for each other

-          Ignis is actually the first of the three that Prompto opened up to

 (I love this au,,,, if anyone wants to submit headcanons/ask about it hit me tf up *prayer hands emoji*)

4

College!au: Part39/?

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 9.5 - Part 10 - Part 10.5 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 16.5 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23 - Part 24 - Part 25 - Part 26 - Part 27 - Part 28 - Part 29 - Part 30 - Part 31 - Part 32 - Part 33 - Part 34 - Part 35 - Part 35.5 - Part 36 - Part 37 - Part 37.5 - Part 38 - Part 39

Your surprise for jimin is finally revealed and…lived.

Word Count: 2860

You were stood around a table, with all the things you had collected spread out in front of you. Yoongi was on your left and Taehyung was on your right. You looked at the items and then at the boys. “Hey Tae, why don’t you do it instead?” His soft chuckle vibrated against your eardrums, your eyes never left the items that lay on the table but you could feel the soft pitiful smiles that were directed towards you. “You can do this Y/N. It’s not like he’s going to reject you.” Yoongi’s words seemed to echo, he was right. Jimin wasn’t going to say no. But that didn’t mean he was going to like the surprise you had planned for him. Hell, did you even like it? You watch as Yoongi put the correct items into their designated bags. You didn’t realise how frantic your breathing was until you felt Taehyung’s hand on the small of your back. “What if he hates it all? What if he suddenly realised how lame I am and hates me forever?”

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anonymous asked:

(1) I've decided that playing the violin is Damian's ultimate form of venting. We've seen him throw fits and get all violent when he's upset, and we've also seen him do really graphic drawings to release pent up rage. However, never once have we ever seen Damian playing the violin outside of that one issue with Talia. I just feel like the reason is because the violin such an expressive instrument you can throw your whole being into, that the only time Damian would play is if he were completely-

(2) -overwhelmed with feelings and everything. No amount of physical is enough, no where can he ever find a way to visualize what he feels, so then he just turns to the violin because you need to focus your entire being into playing an instrument. So then he just plays anything, could be actual pieces or he just plays something made from his heart and soul. I’d imagine that he could end up playing for hours on end, or until his fingers start bleeding and his neck is snore. Of course, the family-

(3) gets worried whenever this happens, but Damian’s just so lost in his own world whenever he plays like this so all they can do is take turns keeping watch until he’s finished. He’s probably exhausted after everything, so the family would just be careful around him. Also, Damian is probably really good at the violin. As nice as it is to hear him play, it’s sad how it’s usually only when he’s so far gone in himself.

oh yeah, I remember that! Though you’re probably right, as they did often show a violin in Damian’s room in the manor, though never played it.

I feel like in those moments of extreme emotion though, he’d only play if he knew/thought he was home alone? Like he wouldn’t want others to hear. But since he’s so lost in the music and emotions, he wouldn’t hear them return, and then they’d probably just listen from outside the door.

I feel like Dick or Jason would be the first to actually go into his room while he’s playing. He might stop and go to start putting it away, but they’d be like ‘No no, I understand. Keep going.’ and so he’d slowly restart and they’d just sit there and listen, and maybe try to interpret what he’s truly feeling through the chords and key he chooses. Jason probably becomes really good at it. 

5

paladins in bows! bc thats cute! 

also the draws are available as stickers on redbubble!! 

anonymous asked:

Do you have any kind of process for picking colors for the backgrounds? They all seem to have really nice uniformity, and I would love to read up on how colors like that are picked (or if it's more intuition based). I do remember you mentioning that you also had help from another color lead before, so I was wondering how much of that they help out vs the colors you chose?

hey, thanks so much! this might get a lil long (as it always does!!) so bear with me.

firstly i want to say, there’s no right or wrong way to pick colors. every artist has their own palette they prefer and i think it’s super delightful to spend time developing your own special sense of color. so even though i’m explaining things in a “this is how you do it” sort of way, it’s not the only way! just my way. the best method to develop your own sense of color is to look at a LOT of art, look at a LOT of the world around you, and practice practice pratice.

at this point in my life i pick colors intuitively just because i think it’s something i’m naturally tuned into, and i’ve been doing it for a few years, so i don’t actively plan my palettes. but here are some things that i think about as i pick colors.

firstly, i want to go over hue, value, and saturation. i’m sure everyone knows these intuitively but i want to explain them in words. hue, value and saturation are what make up a color, and decide how colors differ from each other.

hue: what color the color actually is. red, purple, green, yellow, and everything in between.

value: how light or dark a color is. if you’re painting traditionally, adding more white or more black to a color lowers or raises its value.

saturation: how “pure” the color is vs how much neutral tone is in it.

here’s an example of all three:


this comes into play because a big mistake i see beginners make is that they pick a “just” color, and by that i mean they pick “just blue” or “just yellow”. imagine buying a set of oil paints and only using paints straight from the tube without ever mixing. it would be impossible! so i try to avoid picking “just” colors, except as for a complementary color (more on that in a bit). here are some variations of a red, for example.

so, the biggest thing for me when i pick colors is that i want them all to be friends. i want them all to have something in common so that they get along. i usually lose control of a painting when my colors feel to different from one another. so, i will usually start a painting with one color i know for sure i want, and “subordinate” other colors to it, meaning every other color i pick has to look good with that color. as to how you figure out what looks good and what doesn’t, that just takes time and lots of observation to build a personal opinion :) here’s an example from one of my paintings. in this case, the main color is the trees.

and here’s another from rick & morty, the main color is the sky this time.

now that that’s out of the way, i’m going to give you the Actual Cheat Sheet for color palettes. in color theory, there are 8 basic color schemes that are generally pleasing to look at. here they are.

i usually use an analogous palette or monochrome palette out of preference. the two examples above more or less fall into those categories. however, i also like to use split complementary because the complimentary color adds a LOT of contrast and visual interest. it’s great to use if you have a specific thing in a painting you want to draw attention to. here’s an example:

it doesn’t always have to be a perfect split complementary, just one color that differs from the “family” of colors that take up a majority of the piece. 

now! you might be wondering when’s the right time to subordinate a color, or where to put it, or how much of it to use, etc. and the answer is: CONTRAST. there is always visual interest in things that are different. i was rifling through my school notes and found these great types of contrast when working with color.

value: things that are light vs things that are dark.

hue: two colors that look different. I.E. yellow vs blue.

saturation: things that are saturated vs things that are desaturated.

proportion: note the example above. a majority of the painting is orange, so the green stands out because there is proportionally less of it.

temperature: things that are warm vs things that are cool.

complementary: red vs green, blue vs orange, yellow vs purple. when in doubt, these colors always contrast against each other because they have nothing in common (there is no red in green, etc).

simultaneous: this is a little advanced and i’m bad at explaining it, so please read up on it here. 

a super helpful exercise is to look at your favorite illustrations, paintings, photographs, designs, etc and assess which one of the 8 color schemes (linked above) it has, and which types (can be more than one) of contrast it has. we did this in school and it REALLY helped me look at color better. here’s part of the assignment i did, the artist is annette marnat.

so! that’s pretty much how i think about color and how i pick my colors! i hope it was somewhat helpful! there’s so so so so much about color theory i can’t even begin to cover, i highly urge you to watch some videos and read some books and articles to further your study. a great starting place would be this series of videos. these are made by my teacher Richard Keyes, i think he had a dvd or something. everything i’ve talked about so far i learned from him and he is an absolute expert in color. these videos are invaluable. if you take anything away from this post, let it be to watch these videos hahaha.

to answer your question about my color leads, every painting was a collaborative effort between the three of us, and sometimes other painters too. it was a very hands-on crew, so i can’t say any of the r&m bgs i did are 100% “mine”. however, i think my personal color sense is waaaay different than jason or phil’s, which made the process very interesting because we usually had 3 very different opinions hahaa. you can check out their work here and here to see what things they brought to the table in relation to my own contributions.

thank you for the ask! again, i hope this was helpful :)

“Freed in the Rain” - Miraculous Ladybug Soulmates AU Fanfic

Guys, I wrote my very first solo ML fanfic!  I usually only do the drawings for fanfic collaborations but this time I wanted to try doing both!  I wrote it for @chocoluckchipz‘s birthday!  HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LUCKY!!!  @maerynn-blog, @kryallaorchid, @midnightstarlightwrites and myself wrote oneshots all with a Soulmates AU theme.  Here it is on Ao3 (I wrote Chapter 4)  

Author’s Notes:  Everyone knew that if you had a soulmate, you would know them by the first time you touched.  Skin-to-skin contact would show you all of your soulmate’s memories, and would result in an immediate bond and passionate fidelity.


“I’ve never been to school before.  I’ve never had friends. It’s all sort of new to me.”  Adrien shrugged sheepishly and turned back towards Marinette.

He smiled, holding his umbrella out to her.

An olive branch, she realized. An invitation to start over.  Marinette thought back of how quickly and harshly she misjudged him; he was but another victim of her tendency to act first and act questions later.

He hadn’t deserved such treatment and here he was, taking the initiative to make things right. Her stomach fluttered, and had she not been so tongue-tied she would have apologized, but nothing came out.

A crash of thunder brought her back from her reverie and she blinked.

She hesitantly lifted her hand, wavered for a moment, then their hands brushed together as the umbrella was exchanged.

Thousands of words and feelings came rushing towards them at once, so sudden and overwhelming that they fell helpless to its current, a tumultuous river of events and places. They could not tear their eyes away from each other, the realization of what was occurring rooting them to the spot, otherwise they might have collapsed right then and there from the shock.

The world ceased to be, and all that existed was a boy and a girl.  A cacophony of voices and emotions surrounded them, unheard to anyone else, accompanied by the quiet spattering of early autumn rain.

Adrien felt warmth. The smell of butter and sugar, the taste of hot chocolate and cinnamon. Lingering embraces, playful pats on the head, a mother’s love and comfort. Strong arms and tight hugs, excited hollers, mashing buttons on videogame controllers. A homey, comfortable bedroom, a haven from the world. Pinpricks on fingertips, the act of plunging into an artistic frenzy, and the satisfaction from when a creation turned out just right. Tripping, slipping, stumbling here and there, always seeming to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Numerous insecurities, the bullying and mocking from a sneering face he knew very well. Overwhelming self doubt as a certain pair of earrings was hidden away in a drawer. Gentle hands on her shoulders, encouraging words, and a reassuring smile from a black clad teammate. The surge of newfound confidence as she purified corruption and evil in the form of a black butterfly.

Marinette felt cold. Countless faceless figures staring, prodding, scrutinizing, empty praises, blinding flashes and camera shutters. A stunning woman with golden hair and emerald eyes, once a source of comfort, gone. The constant feeling of loneliness, abandonment and despair. The infrequent acknowledgement from the one man he wanted to please the most. His large, empty bedroom, a glass prison meticulously outfitted just for him and his boundless solitude. The feeling of the crisp air in his lungs and the burning in his legs from the very first time he sprinted and jumped across Parisian rooftops to see how fast he could go. The thrill of watching the girl in red who was meant to be his other half, brilliant and beautiful, rescuing his childhood friend from certain death, formulating ingenious strategies, and defeating a magical giant made of stone.  Sheer pride at seeing her succeed against her fears and become not just a hero, but a symbol of goodness. The love brimming within his heart, spilling over into what used to be emptiness. How can such a broken heart still house such great love and kindness?  Her eyesight became blurred by tears, unbidden and unstoppable.

It lasted merely an instant but it felt like a lifetime, and the teens pulled away from each other as if they’d been shocked by electricity.   Neither made a move but continued to stare, the tears kept flowing, and Adrien choked back a sob.  

They had found each other.  Partners, yes, but also something more.  

The light to his darkness.

The calm to her chaos.

Something rare and wonderful had been gifted to them and fate had allowed them to meet and become complete.  

Marinette jolted forward, wrapping her arms around Adrien’s waist as tightly as she was able, wanting to offer whatever solace she could, the comfort and love he so desperately needed, fiercely determined to try to make up for all those years of neglect and loneliness.

He clung to her as if she would disappear at any moment, almost convinced that this was too good to be true, too wonderful, too miraculous.

Feelings of protectiveness and devotion consumed him, not understanding how he could harbor such intense love for someone he didn’t know.  But he did know her, and she knew him.

More than anyone else in the world ever did.

The umbrella lay forgotten on the pavement as the two teens embraced in the rain, not noticing or caring that they were getting drenched, for the love that was shared between them was more than enough to keep them warm.

Potter and Parkinson

I’m sure this has been done before, but I absolutely live for pansy/Harry friendship

- Pansy and Harry become friends even before Drarry happens
- it’s eighth year, and of course all the returning students are grouped in one big dorm because house unity and all that
- Harry can’t sleep. The nightmares are too much, and he doesn’t want to bother his roommate *cough*draco*cough* because he’s his ex-rival for merlin’s sake and that’s just /awkward/
- so he sits by the hearth in the common room, where everything is usually purple and gray but right now the fire is roaring and everything is bathed in a wonderful orange light
- and he doesn’t notice Parkinson sitting in the love seat to his left until she shifts and drawls out a scathing “well if it isn’t the boy who just won’t die”
- and of course Harry jumps, wand out and pointed at Pansy’s throat in half a second
- she stares at it and pushes it away in silence
- there’s the expected “nightmare?” “Yeah. You?” “Same as you, what do you expect” exchange then comfortable silence
- eventually they fall asleep where they are
- in the morning, pansy’s gone and Harry’s late for breakfast
- neither of them say anything about it, but she nevertheless slips him an extra hot coffee as she leaves the great hall
- it happens again that night
- this time, they talk about it
- “what’s it like to die?”
- he starts. He’s never told anyone about that. Ever.
- and that’s how he finds out that Pansy is a legilimens
- “why don’t you look for yourself?”
- “I’m not a barbarian, Potter”
- so he tells her. And she listens.
- she asks why he didn’t tell Weasley and Granger
- “they worry too much”
- and she gets it
- the next night, she tells him why she doesn’t boast about her legilimency
- “My Death Eater family loved to exploit it. When old Voldy came back, he forced me to use it to find out his victim’s fears and weaknesses. I was a puppet. I didn’t ask for that.”
- “None of us did.”
- they meet like this every night, when the nightmares are too much or the insomnia sets in
- she explains that sleeping was too much like passing out from Crucio
- He talks about how weird it feels since Draco started ignoring him
- they talk about Draco a lot
- “he wasn’t always that way. You should’ve seen him as a child, when his father would be away on business. I’d never met anyone more in love with life.”
- they don’t talk for the rest of that night
- he notices the slytherin Trio has mostly broken up
- Pansy, surprisingly, hangs out with Luna during the day
- Harry asks about it
- Pansy shrugs “she doesn’t dwell on the past”
- One day Hermione and Ron don’t show up for breakfast
- Pansy takes the seat next to Harry, “ she snuck into his room last night after you went to bed. Kicked Blaise out and everything.”
- They talk about life after hogwarts
- “you don’t want to be an auror anymore, then? Thought saving people gave you a hard on, Potty”
- he laughs for the first time in a long while
- “it gets boring after the first couple hundred times, I guess”
- “well, Mcgonagall obviously wants you for the DADA position”
- “maybe”
- they walk together to herbology
- Draco gawks as they enter the greenhouse
- Pansy offers a small smile
- Draco turns away
- Harry sulks
- Ron and Hermione show up a minute later, Hermione blushing and Ron raising an eyebrow at Harry, but he doesn’t say anything when Pansy whispers something in Harry’s ear that makes him grin wide
- It’s the middle of the year, and Harry and Pansy have established a sort of routine
- they meet every night, sometimes to talk, sometimes to take walks around the castle, sometimes just to sit in each other’s presence until they fall asleep
- in the morning, whoever wakes first brings up two mugs from breakfast, if it’s Pansy she brings cocoa, while Harry brings coffee
- Harry asks why Pansy always wears extra layers, or uses far more blankets than normal
- he mentions that Malfoy does it, too
- “Draco never told you?” “I never asked”
- it’s a side effect of the Cruciatus and Imperio Curses
- Harry thinks he understands
- He pats her hand, and she wonders why he’s so warm
- he shrugs. He’s always been like that.
- maybe it’s because of his mother’s love, he jokes
- she just looks at him. “Perhaps you’re right about something for once, Potty.”
- the next morning, Draco wakes early to find them snuggled together in front of the dying embers, Pansy leaning into Harry, extra blankets discarded on the floor
- he can’t help the tight, smoldering feeling in his chest as he walks to breakfast
- it’s Saturday, so there’s no class, but Blaise still leaves a mug of coffee and a cup of cocoa on the coffee table in the common room for when they wake, warming charms cast to keep the drinks steaming
- when they wake up, it’s not awkward at all. Just comfortable.
- like sharing a bed with your sibling
- they enjoy their arrangement, and Pansy takes advantage of Harry’s warmth constantly
- eighth years are allowed to leave the grounds at any point, so long as they obey curfew
- Harry and Pansy visit Hogsmeade together shortly after Christmas break
- while out for lunch, they run into Draco
- Pansy invites him along
- Harry and Draco start talking and don’t stop
- Pansy is torn; she hates being a third wheel, but she thinks she ships the two more
- she excuses herself, claiming exhaustion, and finds a quaint book shop near the edge of the village
- There, she runs into a distressed Granger
- turns out, Granger broke it off with Weasley
- Pansy is surprisingly good at comforting others, and shares her unexpected love of books with Hermione
- but while Hermione adores nonfiction, Pansy reads fiction. Thus, a friendship grows
- their day at the book store marks the start of a new relationship
- she tells Harry about her impromptu date with hermione
- “on a first name basis now, are you? I feel betrayed.”
- “oh shut it, Potty.”
- she’s blushing and they both know it
- in retaliation, she asks about Draco, and now it’s Harry’s turn to bloom red
- when Harry asks Draco out in the Great Hall a few weeks later, Pansy stands and screams from the other end of the table “IT’S ABOUT FUCKING TIME YOU PINING PRICK”
- Harry and Draco both turn red, scurrying out of the hall, hand in hand
- Pansy high-fives Luna, who giggles the whole time
- Harry does the same thing when Hermione asks out Pansy, but instead he’s screaming “SAY YES ALREADY PANS, YOU BLOODY WUSS”
- Ron gazes at them sadly, but Blaise distracts him with a comforting hand on his lower back and offers some treacle tart
- Pansy and Harry’s nightly meetings start happening less and less, but they’re still closer than ever
- when Draco and Harry have their first fight, Pansy knows, cuddling with Harry in front of the fireplace like they used to
- Hermione is super understanding, bless her heart
- She still draws a mustache and monocle on Harry in revenge for stealing her girlfriend, though
- she wakes Draco early to see it
- He takes pictures of his exbutkindofstill-best friend and boyfriend cuddling
- he won’t admit it, but his heart melts just a little as they wake, untangling from each other, bleary eyes and bed heads
- Harry and Draco don’t fight as much after that (but neither of them mind so much on the mornings after they do because Harry and pansy’s friendship is so precious)
- drarry and pansmione have a double wedding
- Ron and Blaise are Best Men, Luna and Ginny Maids of Honor
- Harry gets the DADA job, but always floos home at the end of the day to be with Draco and the kids
-pansy works in hogsmeade, running the bookstore where she first comforted hermione, now minister of magic
- Draco is a wonderful homemaker, who works from home co-editing the Quibbler with Luna
- even after marriage and families, Pansy and Harry have slumber parties, just the two of them in the living room while Draco and hermione take the kids out
- they cuddle and talk about everything
- in the mornings, pansy always wakes first, since Harry is usually up late grading papers
- but now, she makes two coffees for Harry and hermione, a cocoa for her, and a tea for Draco
- Harry and Pansy still spend nights by the fire, but sometimes they’re joined by their spouses, Ron and Blaise, and Ginny and Luna
- Sometimes Pansy and Draco’s skin still turn to ice
- sometimes hermione and Harry still wake up in the middle of the night for no solid reason
- but they’re surrounded by the ones they love
- the war is over
- pansy’s legilimency fades with age, and she’s happy to only have to live in her own head for once
- Harry and Draco learn to be in love with life, and with each other
- Hermione and Ron are no longer a ‘what if’
- and while Draco’s scars never completely fade away, Harry assures him they make him even more beautiful
- While Pansy will never stop being cold, Hermione is there with cocoa and and blankets and her warm embrace
- while Harry and Hermione never eat as much as they used to, too accustomed to those days in that wretched tent, running from the enemy, starving in the forest, Draco and Pansy are there to hold them and kiss them and remind them that it’s better now. It’s okay now.
- and suddenly it wasn’t just Pansy and Harry with late night talks and cuddles on the couch
- it was everyone else, too
- it was warm, and safe, and home
- and it wasn’t perfect
- but it was good.

skdjfslkdfjsdf the sonic mania vid was so damn good i’m alive!!!!!!! i live for phil having way less of a filter and dan kind of just letting him take control of the game and share his passion for it while also letting him dominate the humor with his ridiculous comments and jokes. it was just so good, so obvi i gotta share my list of Moments: 

  • dan opens the vid talking about furry gateways so we already know we’re in for a ride
  • the drop-in of the clip of 2010!dnp playing sonic had me in tears within the first minute. wasn’t ready. will probably never be ready for flashbacks like that. did they watch that video back before filming? do they do that a lot? ugh. 
  • dan’s ‘nu uh can’t touch this honey’ complete w feigned spank of his own ass was a thing of beauty
  • ‘i like playing tails bc it’s closer to my furs-‘ dan reaffirms his overcooked statement that the only worthwhile fursonas are wolf/dog/fox
  • dan confesses to role playing as a psychic hedgehog at age 8 and phil couldn’t care less, he just wants to play the game
  • dan also confesses he’s too young to actually remember the first sonic game and subtly glances at phil as he says it. phil says ‘i’m not’ and then just does the cutest sheepish facial expression like he’s a little wary of admitting his age here but also at the same time doesn’t actually mind too much. it’s such an interesting little moment
  • ‘so keep up, biatch,’ phil says w feeling
  • omg phil describing dan’s role: ‘you’re like … my sous chef’ and then a giggle. the joking resentment left over from the overcooked stream is actually so funny. dan’s response is so funny. i love them
  • phil: ‘just stick with me, man’ why was that hot
  • dan: ‘this is an absolutely terrible friendship experience right now’
  • dan spends nearly two minutes trying to open a conversation with phil about how he doesn’t actually think sonic is that fun to play but he keeps getting interrupted slash probs doesn’t want to offend the shit out of phil lmaooo
  • omg when they switch levels and phil is like ‘is this vaporwave or sea punk’ aka two things he probs absolutely would not give a shit about were it not for sharing his life with dan. dan starts to say ‘well they’re kind of very similar subgenres …’ and phil is having none of that and interrupts him to go ‘just give me a yes or no’ LMAO I AM LIVING SHUT HIS ASS DOWN
  • phil: ‘i want those blue balls’
  • phil: ‘i’m close. i can taste that emeraldussy’
  • they high five and it’s awk and and phil says ‘that was awk’ and dan gives him a somehow simultaneously salty and fond look and i die
  • dan: ‘you get those blue balls, phil’
  • phil: ‘i ballsed it uppppp’
  • dan is just straight admiring phil’s gaming skills and tells everyone in the audience that this is exactly what they’ve been waiting for if they’ve been wanting to see exactly how good phil is at gaming
  • dan: ‘fuck. ing. hell. for god’s sake, lester’
  • phil: ‘my spine is tingling, and not in a good way’
  • phil: ‘dan, you are. the worst fox i’ve ever met’
  • dan wants tails and sonic to make out
  • phil caves to dan’s constant attempts to turn this video into furry propaganda and admits to having a deviantart account where he draws sonic in ‘various situations.’ bless. can we launch a fandom-wide effort to track it down lmao
  • phil offers to swap roles so dan can play more and dan declines because he thinks he’s shit. but he also feels the need to clarify that phil’s only offering bc this is being filmed lmao
  • dan: ‘bona, bonus, boners’
  • 10:41 a rare whiny!phil emerges when he wants to go into the water and isn’t able to. dan immediately searches for a way down. cuteeesdjflksdf
  • a return of their mocking bro culture by yelling bruhhh in increasingly obnoxious tones and then dan interjecting ‘bros who brunch’ with no other context other than to ostensibly ridicule the concept haha
  • phil just randomly yells ‘ass!’ and dan is living, i’m living, we’re all living
  • phil’s laugh when trolling dan that the doctor’s name is simon is so fucking intensely cute i actually felt pain in my heart
  • ‘dan’s ball time’
  • phil: ‘daddy’s home’
  • phil: ‘that is very penis-y’ dan: ‘it’s a giant eggman penis … i’ve mounted the dong’ phil: ‘mount him. i’m in his butt.’ dan: ‘i’ve taken one hole damage’ have i mentioned lately how very fricking gay dan and phil sometimes are
  • phil legit has to take a moment to collect himself after they’ve finished before saying the whole thing was more relaxed than he thought it’d be. was it, phil? idk but i’m def sweating 
  • they both like the same character at the end and phil asks dan if they should adopt it as their pet. dan just gives him a weird stare, and then phil amends pet to ‘caddy lad’ and i’m actually dying ahahahahaha. the caddy kink continues and the implications of them adopting/‘owning’ a caddy, the role that they’ve sexualized so much in the golf videos as being the sexy subservient cute guy who ‘carries your things’ is just so incredibly kinky lmao. if he was trying to avoid the perhaps romantic implications of their adopting a pet together then he unwittingly just said something so much worse. dan looks understandably incredibly uncomfortable and phil regrets nothing. meanwhile i regret ever stanning these guys
  • the whole ending is so rushed and awkward and full of word flubs and is basically just so appropriate for the wild shit they were on in this game. but it’s cute bc they keep giggling at each other and they’re both such absurd humans. this video was perfect
Skyline {VII}

Originally posted by tom-cinnamonroll-holland

Warnings: Language, panic attack

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: Guys!!!! This is the last part of Skyline.  Like, for real this time.  I’m so sad to see it end, but I’m also so happy that it’s had such success, and I can’t thank you guys enough for that.  You are all so so wonderful, and you have all my love.  As usual, I want to give a shout out to Zoe and Jen for reading my drafts and helping me edit and brainstorm, as well as encouraging me to write.  As for all of you, I hope you’ll forgive me for all the angst that I’ve hit you guys with (remember when Skyline was self-indulgent fluff lmao), and I really hope this makes up for it a bit.  In other news, tonight is the Spidereyhes Sleepover!!!!!!!!  All the info on the sleepover can be found here, as well as info about the livestream, which will start at 7pm PST.  I’ll post the link on here!! Zoe, Jen, and I will be discussing all kinds of things, answering questions, and talking about Skyline, so be sure to drop by!!! Also, if you have any questions about Skyline or anything else that you want answered, send it in!!!! It’s not too late yall.  Again, thank you so much, and I hope you’ve enjoyed Skyline as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it.

skyline: a mixtape

{masterlist}

{part i} {part ii} {part iii} {part iv} {part v}

Sitting up in your bed, you stared at the window, not sure of how to react to seeing Spider-Man’s masked face through the glass.  Throwing back your covers, you quietly walked over to the window, grabbing a hoodie that Peter had lent you as you passed your desk.  Sliding the glass panel up, you climbed out onto the metal fire escape, slipping on and zipping up Peter’s hoodie to protect you from the cold.

The superhero stood where he had first stood, the night he saved your life and blew up Vizzini’s all those months ago.  And there, to his right, were the flower pots that he had tripped over the first time he came back for you.  Those stairs were where you would sit and draw while he watched your fingers fly across the page, amazed at the pictures you created.  Behind him was the railing that you would lean against as you looked at the Queens skyline together.  This fire escape was your entire relationship condensed, the one location where you were allowed to be with each other.  If you used your imagination, you could almost see every single night playing out in front of your eyes.  Spider-Man, with a bendy straw underneath his mask.  Spider-Man, attempting to draw you in the moonlight.  Spider-Man, his hand on your waist and the other in your hair. Spider-Man.

Keep reading

donthugmeimweird  asked:

Hello I'm a young aspiring artist that just started high school and I want to be an animator. Lately I've been stressing my self about how good I am and if I'm going the right path to be where I want to be. I get so worried about the future and if I'll be able to achieve my goals enough or on time I know this is long and your a busy person so please don't answer this if you don't want to. But do you have any advice at all anything will be appreciated thanks so much

The trouble is, even when you’ve ‘made it’ and you’re a working professional that feeling doesn’t go away! It turns into “oh god I’m a hack, they just haven’t seen it yet” or “im not good enough to be here”. The difference is, pros have these feelings and they keep drawing. When I was in high school I had the lowest self esteem but I kept drawing and striving for my goals because it was better than doing my homework. (haha I was an awful student. dont be me)

Also, there’s no such thing as “achieving goals on time”. Everyone has a different path. Yes, art school > internship > job is the path everyone obsesses about but it’s not the only way in. I have friends who didn’t work in animation until their 30s, and honestly it made their work more interesting and beautiful! I have a friend who never finished high school and lived out of a car for two years while stacking produce at a corner store. Now he’s an award winning Character Designer! One of my heroes never went to college and just pestered people until someone gave him a job. It’s all persistence, and maybe that’s why this job isn’t for everyone because that shit is HARD. When you’re feeling great, keep drawing. When you’re feeling bad, keep drawing. That’s how you know if you’re on the right path, if you can persist even when you’re at your lowest point. 

I’m sorry this advice isn’t very practical outside of “keep it up”. But that’s all you can do, that’s all I’ve ever done, and that’s all we have to keep doing. Good luck on your journey! 

Professor || Sebastian Stan

Relationship: Professor!Sebastian x reader

Summary: A one night stand turns into more of a problem when you realise that your professor is your one night stand.

Warnings: mentions of smut, drinking, age gap (reader is legal and in mid-twenties!!!), age difference, professor x student relationship

Word Count: 1770 words

A/N: im kinda getting my groove back let’s hope it lasts during the week because uni is already making me wanna die (((:

also my cause of death is the second gif GOODBYE


Just one more shot!” Seemed to be the motto of your night as you insisted you and your friends needed to go partying on one last Friday night before you start for your masters degree. 

You weren’t ever the party girl, never really big on drinking, but that all changed when you saw your schedule for the semester. You were going to be cooped up in your room for the next eight months, no doubt about it. 

So why not have a little fun while you still can? It can’t hurt, right?

Six tequila shots in and you were quite possibly the happiest person in the club, no, on the Earth. Not a single care in your mind, everything was all about the moment and whatever you laid eyes on in that very moment. 

That just so happened to be the exact moment your eyes met a gorgeous pair of cool grey ones. It might’ve been your intoxicated state, but you could’ve sworn that you knew those eyes, that you’ve seen them before. 

Your thoughts were pushed aside when the man walked even closer to you, offering to buy you a drink, to which you declined because quite frankly, you didn’t want to yack in front of the gorgeous man in front of you. 

His face fell when you denied his offer, but quickly made up for it when you grabbed his hand, pulling him to the crowded (makeshift) dance floor, immediately grinding yourself against him. 

His hands were large and warm, splayed against your waist as they moved your body against his, small and breathy moans leaving his mouth every once in a while as his head fell in the crook of your neck. 

A few songs later and the next thing you knew you were outside in the alley behind the bar against the wall making out with the handsome stranger you had yet to learn the name of. 

Fuck,” you gasped when his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin of your neck, undoubtedly working on leaving some type of mark on you, “Sebastian,” you heard him mumble, confusing you. 

“What?” You asked, still panting against his face, your arms still laced around his neck, “my name,” he said, “it’s Sebastian,” he repeated as you smirked, crashing your lips against his, “take me home, Sebastian” you whispered in a sultry tone before he grabbed your hand and flagging a cab down. 

 The cab ride to his place was filled with not-so-subtle touches as you both looked out of your respective windows, trying not to draw any attention to your states, which clearly didn’t work. 

Sebastian nearly dragged you out of the cab, quickly paying the driver before bolting into his building to the stairs, “it’s only the second floor,” he assured as you nodded but all you could focus was how broad his shoulders were. 

“I’m gonna fucking wreck you, doll,” he growled against your ear the second he had the door closed causing shivers to erupt on your skin as you followed him into the bedroom. 


Your head was pounding and every muscle in your body seemed to scream stop when you tried to sit or stand up. When you finally managed to muster up the strength to sit up and open your eyes you realised you were not, in fact, in your own bed. 

You gasped when you saw a man beside you, cursing when you couldn’t remember his name, even though it was right on the tip of your tongue. You checked your phone and found that it had thirty percent and you nearly cheered out loud. 

Quickly pulling on your clothes you took one last look at the very handsome sleeping man before walking out of his apartment, and making the walk to yours. 


Monday came sooner than you wanted it to, but your weekend was eventful and you couldn’t be happier at making the choice to go out on Friday. Your friends had pried every single detail from your night when you got home. You told them everything you could remember, but leaving out some of the more graphic details. 

You still couldn’t remember his name, you tried looking through your contacts to see if he maybe added his number, but nothing. It was still on the tip of your tongue, in the back of your mind, but you just couldn’t get it out. 

Either way, you knew you had to push the man out of your thoughts as you rushed to get ready for your first class. You hit snooze just one too many times and you were running behind. Figuring you’d have to skip on breakfast you grabbed a granola bar before rushing out of your apartment. 

You lived practically right beside campus, thankfully, so when you stepped on campus and saw your building you were relieved, it was the first day of classes as well, it shouldn’t be a problem if you’re a little late, right?

It was weird being on campus and in your mid-twenties surrounded by young eighteen year olds scurrying to find their classes, you almost laughed remembering your own panic when you had to find your classes as a freshman. 

Walking into the large building you quickly descended the stairs and into the basement before walking down to the end of the hall finally reaching the lecture hall and pulling the doors open, stumbling in. 

The room was quite, so quite as you clumsily stumbled in. Every single pair of eyes was on you as you made your way to the only seemingly empty seat at the front of the hall, slumping down in your seat. 

“As I was saying,” a male voice caught your attention, “my name is Dr. Stan, but you can call me Sebastian,” your heart dropped to your stomach as you slowly lifted your head to meet the same blue eyes, both your jaws tensing. 

“Let’s begin,” Sebastian said, his eyes lingering on yours for a second longer before turning to grab the textbook. 


“You slept with your professor!” Nat screeched, howling laughter continuing as you buried your head into the couch cushion as she continued laughing at your misery, “it’s not funny, we could both get in serious trouble,” you told her, sitting up as she raised a brow. 

“And why should anyone find out?” She questioned as you sighed, “I don’t know…” you trailed off realising just how paranoid you were being, “you’re both adults and you slept with him before you even knew he was gonna be teaching you,” she said, reassuring you as you nodded your head, slumping back against the couch. 

“I can’t even look at him without turning into a tomato,” you groaned as Nat let out another loud laugh, “you have leverage now,” she grinned mischievously as you rolled her eyes, “you’re ridiculous,” you laughed as she shrugged her shoulders, taking another sip of her drink. 

Your first class with Dr. Stan, or Sebastian as he preferred, was awkward nonetheless. You couldn’t focus on what he was saying, barely making any notes as your mind screamed you’ve seen him naked! over and over again. 

It’s true though, whatever he was doing, you could picture him doing it naked, as gross, disturbing, and wrong as that sounded you just couldn’t help yourself. You knew he must’ve been uncomfortable as well because he would cough or stumble on his words every time his eyes landed on yours. 

Thankfully you didn’t have another one of his lectures until Thursday, hopefully you’d be able to push aside what happened and be professional. You’d just have to wait and see. 


You stood at his desk looking everywhere and anywhere other than him his words ringing in your mind, “Miss. [Y/L/N], may I have a word with you?” His voice just kept replaying in your mind, psyching yourself out for what he was going to say. 

You heard the door close as the last student was finally out, leaving just you and Sebastian, “so,” he said, clearing his throat as you finally looked up at him, almost out of reflex. 

God he was gorgeous. Dark brown locks brushed neatly behind his ears, his piercing blue eyes looking directly at you, his tailed suit hugging every curve of his body, no wonder you slept with him in the first place. 

“I just wanted to talk to you about, well,” he chuckled nervously, his hand rubbing the back of his head as he looked at his feet. He was just as nervous about this as you, possibly more. 

“It’s okay,” you said quietly, his head shooting up at the sound of your voice, “neither of us knew you’d be teaching me and we were both a little intoxicated,” you assured him with a small smile he mimicked. 

“Right,” he spoke, “it doesn’t have to be weird at all,” even you knew that was a lie. Neither of you could look at each other without being flustered and neither of you were good at covering up your emotions. 

“It’s probably gonna be a little weird,” you laughed as he laughed as well, tipping his head to the side as he admired you, “that was a great night,” he whispered as both your laughter died down. 

Your breath hitched as he said that, a wave of arousal flowing through you as you remembered what you both did that night, “it’s illegal,” you warned, although you didn’t sound too convincing, “it wasn’t on that night,” he smirked as you straightened up, gaining some confidence. 

“Well, Dr. Stan,” you spoke in a fake preppy tone, “I must warn you that you’re venturing into some very dangerous waters,” now your tone was much more sultry than anything. You watched as he took a few steps towards you, his eyes much darker than when you first started talking to them. 

“Careful, Miss [Y/L/N], you don’t wanna start something you can’t finish,” he whispered, his breath fanning over your face, “who says I can’t finish it?” You smirked as he bit his lip, trying his hardest not to take you right then and there. 

The sound of voices outside the lecture hall made both you and Sebastian jump back just in time for the door to open and a new group of students came pouring in, “see you on Monday, Sebastian,” you smiled, returning to your normal voice before spinning on the heels of your feet and walking out of the hall. 

The second you were outside you let out a large sigh, you were in deep and there was no way anyone was coming out of this unscathed. Fuck. 


A/N: this is gonna be a mini-series so there’s gonna be more parts I promise!!

Let me know if you wanna be tagged in it!

2

I’ve got the Fable 2 feelings again. I plan on doodling Garth and, really, more of Sparrow’s interactions with the other heroes but I’m tiiiired rn |’D

Bring It On | 01

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently there was no avoiding his scolding this afternoon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is new. Very new. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh no.” He sighs.

“What?”

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

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

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

All hope dies.

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

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

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

And therein lies your problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They think I’m a virgin.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Monogamy?”

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

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

Loud enough to garner attention.

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

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

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

“Then I’m not getting up.” He pouts.

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

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

“You’ll owe me?” You cock a brow.

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

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

“I… shit… yeah, anything.” He sighs.


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

“Is something wrong?”

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

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

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

“Be more specific?” He sighs, disinterested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jimin.”

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

“What voice?” You pout.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sleep now.” He grumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.” You grit out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

“What happened to Hoseok?”

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

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

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

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

“What’s going on over here?”

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

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

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

“Me, the captain.” You shoot back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does that even mean?” Jimin implores.

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook snorts at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jar, Jungkook.” You exasperate.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t have to.” You hiss.

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

Not in front of witness.

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

“Matures my middle name.” Jimin seethes.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The blowjob?”

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

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


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

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

“He’s not my—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

“No!” You gasp.

“Yes.”

“No!”

Yes.”

“No!”

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

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

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

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

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

“What face?” You frown.

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

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

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


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

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

So the gym it was.

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

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

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

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

“A scary prospect.” He murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimins expression remains bland, emotionless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

andallwaswell-ish  asked:

Seamus and Harry are a couple. Draco really doesn't like that. (fanon) Pansy is just the person he needs

“Quick, Pansy, kiss me.”

Pansy stares at Draco, her face screwed up at the absurd suggestion. There are so many things wrong with that statement. First, ew, she is not nearly drunk enough. Second, she doesn’t like to be rushed. And third, most importantly, nobody tells Pansy what to do.

“I will do no such thing. Why would you – “ her eyes scan the Gryffindor common room, following Draco’s gaze, and fall on Harry Potter sitting on Seamus Finnigan’s lap – “Oh, I see now.” She sighs loudly, accepting her duty as best friend, but also making sure Draco knows just how unappealing she finds the idea. “Fine.”

The kiss is brief and methodical and, all in all, incredibly disagreeable. Pansy only hopes that Potter glances their way to see it so it isn’t all in vain. As soon as her mouth is her own again, Pansy downs the rest of her firewhiskey.  “Never, ever, make me do that to your chapped lips again.”

“Sorry,” Draco says, looking past Pansy – she’ll forgive his inattentiveness this once, “It’s just –

“You needed to make Potter jealous?”

“Yes and –“ Draco pauses, and his eyes finally land on Pansy. About time. “How did you know it was Potter?

Pansy snorts. Draco really is an idiot sometimes. “Well you hardly have a crush on Finnigan do you? And Blaise told me sometimes you say his name while – “

“I’ll have a word with Blaise later,” Draco says quickly, a small blush appearing on his face – that he would certainly deny if Pansy were to mention. “Now hold my hand, make it look like we’re an established couple. I don’t want Potter thinking I’m easy.  If you put your arm – “

Draco’s voice falters, his gaze back on Potter. Pansy turns to witness Potter and Finnigan locking lips in a rather exaggerated fashion. It’s not romantic or erotic. It’s just a kiss. The two must have zero chemistry, much like Pansy and Draco.

“Although, clearly, Potter is very easy.” Draco puts on his cold, taunting voice but his own jealously is obvious.

Pansy rolls her eyes. Sometimes dealing with Draco is like dealing with a small child. She moves beside him and wraps an arm around his waist so they can stare at Potter and his current boy toy together. The two have stopped kissing and are now drawing patterns on each other’s hands. Gryffindors, honestly. “Would you look at that, Draco dear? They’re holding hands. They must be an established couple as well.”

“Do you really think so? Finnigan doesn’t seem like Potter’s type at all. And I’ve never seen them alone together before. I would have noticed it if – “

“How about we go over and find out?” Pansy shoves Draco hard and is pleased when he stumbles forward. She enjoys catching him off guard.

“Wait – Pansy, no.” Draco tries to protest but it’s too late. Potter has spotted them. He extracts himself from Finnigan and stands up to greet them, a hand running through his hair. Pansy has to hold back a smirk – she knows Draco loves when Potter does that. Not that he’s ever said anything. He doesn’t have to.

“Malfoy. Parkinson,” Potter says without even glancing at Pansy. Typical. And predictable.

Finnigan stands up beside Potter. Draco – what a surprise! – ignores this. “Potter.”

“Finnigan,” Pansy adds, only to annoy Draco. He gives her a reproachful side eye before returning his gaze to Potter. She suspects it’s the last time he’ll glance her way tonight.

They all stand there in silence. Potter staring intently at Draco. Draco staring intently at Potter. And Finnigan sharing a knowing look with Pansy. At least he’s not as stupid as he looks then.

Finally, Potter speaks up. “I didn’t know if you’d come tonight.”

“I never miss a party…even if it is hosted by Gryffindors.”

It’s not true. Draco has missed several parties over the years. But at this stage, Pansy doesn’t think Potter or Draco would even notice if she spoke so she keeps her mouth shut.

“Might be time for a Slytherin party next,” Potter says.

Draco is clearly holding back a smile. Pansy bets he is creaming his bloody pants at getting to have an actual conversation with Potter. “We get a little wild in the dungeons.” They don’t. “Are you sure you could handle it, Potter?

“I think I could rise to the challenge.”

“Subtle,” Pansy whispers to Finnigan. Honestly, Potter’s clearly got it as bad as Draco. It’s embarrassing to watch this train wreck unfold.

“So, Finnigan, that’s new.” Draco doesn’t even acknowledge that the person in question is still by Potter’s side. Finnigan shoots Pansy an amused look at being blatantly ignored. Things are clearly not serious with Potter.

“Very. And Parkinson?”

“I’m right here you know?” Pansy interjects, unable to hold back. But it makes no difference anyway. Only Finnigan hears her.

“It’s been a while,” Draco lies. Pansy wants to smack him around the head. Sure, she is happy to help make Potter jealous but there’s no need to exaggerate.

“Really? I always thought you were just friends?”

“Yes, well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”’

“Like how he calls out your name every night in bed,” Pansy mutters underneath her breath. Finnigan, at least, catches and appreciates the jab if no one else does.

“Of course. Sorry Malfoy, I didn’t mean to question you. I’m just having a hard time grasping you and Parkinson together. I thought you were…you know.” Potter trails off, a hand rubbing the back of his neck.

Pansy holds back a groan. It’s like listening to children with these two.

“Gay? Like you?”

“Actually, I’m bisexual,” Potter corrects. “But yeah.”

“Finnigan doesn’t seem like your type.”

Finnigan flips a half-hearted bird at Draco. Not that he notices.

“And Parkinson doesn’t seem like yours.”

“Because I’m out of his league,” Pansy points out, flipping her own violent bird at Potter. She doesn’t know why she’s even bothering standing here anymore.

Draco takes a step forward. “So, what’s my type then, Potter?”

Potter mimics Draco’s action so that they’re almost chest to chest – Really? “What’s mine?”

“You need someone who doesn’t hero worship you, someone who will hold you accountable for all your actions, someone who isn’t afraid of your temper. You need someone who challenges you.”

Pansy shares a confused look with Finnigan – did they rehearse this or something? Draco’s not usually this smooth with his words, especially with Potter in such close proximity.

“And you need someone who understands your vulnerability but doesn’t use it against you, someone who treats you gently, someone whose affection is unwavering. You need someone who forgives you.”

They must have rehearsed this. Pansy has never heard Potter say anything remotely intelligent before. And she hasn’t known him to be particularly observant either.

“And I suppose you could never forgive me after all that I’ve done?” Draco hits back, still just as smooth. This is getting ridiculous.

“I already have,” Potter responds immediately as if reading a line from a script. From a terrible cheesy muggle romance movie that Pansy would never be caught dead watching. Yet here she is witnessing this sappy display.

“What about Finnigan?”

“I was using him to make you jealous,” Potter admits. Pansy looks to Finnigan for confirmation – he winks. “Did it work?”

Despite using the exact same trick himself, Pansy can see Draco is outraged at being manipulated. “Fuck you, Potter.”

“You wish.”

And then they’re kissing. Enthusiastically. Way too close to Pansy’s face. She can see every stray strand of saliva, hear every lubricated slide of their mouths. It’s revolting. And worse still, they’ve become the centre of the attention at the party, eyes drawn to Draco and Potter’s embrace with Pansy and Finnigan standing by awkwardly, looking like dejected fools.

Pansy could spoil it by pinching the hairs on the back of Draco’s neck in vengeance for being ignored. Luckily, she’s feeling particularly generous tonight, and she’d never admit it, but seeing Draco with Potter is sweet. In a disgusting, horrible, sappy way of course. But still, sweet. Now she just has to focus on her own happy ending. She spies Hermione Granger’s amongst the watchful eyes around them and takes her moment:

“Quick, Finnigan, kiss me.”

Our Little Secret - Part Twelve

Summary: It’s your first hunt back from your injury. Dean thinks he has a way to help you through the soreness

Series Masterlist

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Kink(s): Wax Play

Word Count: 5000

Warnings: Smut, language, wax, angst

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I’m really loving these character and this series. Thank you for your wonderful responses. A special thank you to the people who looked this over for me.

This is unbetaed, all mistakes are my own

***THE TAGLIST FOR THIS SERIES IS CLOSED**

“Your turn,” Dean hands you the shovel, “I dug the last one.”

“Oh come on Dean,” Sam protests, “she’s had more than a month off, she-”

“She’s standing right here,” you look pointedly at Sam, taking the shovel from Dean, “I got this, you boys just stand there and look pretty.”

Sam rolls his eyes, Dean chuckles, “Do you remember how to do this sweetheart, it’s been awhile.”

“Shut up, even rusty I can dig a grave twice as fast as you,” you can’t help but smile, pushing the point into the ground, taking out the first shovel full of dirt.

“Do you want me to time you?”

You flip him off, continuing to dig as they talk for a bit, discussing the corpse that in a matter of time you will be salting and burning. After about ten inches, another shovel hits the hard ground a few feet from yours and you look up to see Dean there, “You were moving too slow.”

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I Think I’m In Love With You

Author: ceruleanbucky

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

WARNINGS: SMUT, cursing, oral (male and female receiving), UNPROTECTED SEX, fingering, sexual tension, fluff, and overall sin.

A/N: guy’s I’ve updated twice in like a week and a half what is happening?!?! I mean, it’s not necessarily bad. Also, this fic is hella long, and I;m not going to lie, I’m really proud of it. Hope you guys like it! Part two of “Seven Minutes In Heaven” is coming next week.


You wake up with a start, breathing heavily and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You tried to recall what it was you were dreaming about, but to no avail. You eventually give up, thinking that it was another nightmare.

You glance at your alarm clock, wondering about the time. Seeing that you have two more hours to sleep, you gladly roll over and go back to sleep.

When your alarm goes off, you feel even more tired than you were earlier. You still manage to drag yourself out of bed, and start your day. It’s then when you smell the bacon, and the coffee. Perking up at the idea of a good breakfast, you put on some more decent pyjamas, and head to the kitchen. Most people are still asleep, seeing as the sun is only just rising, so you wonder who is in the kitchen. You step in, and find Bucky cooking up a storm.

“Sad, or mad?” You ask as you walk in, knowing it’s one of the two. He looks at you with confusion, so you rephrase.

“Are you cooking because you’re sad, or because you’re pissed off? Because I know you, Bucky, and it’s only one of those two.” You smirk at your friend, earning a smirk back.

“Neither actually.” He side-eyes, adding to your curiosity.

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