#anyway i have rambled and made the tags incomprehensible enough sorry

[astrum99]

@patronsaintofdemons from original post

*runs at u* *snatches u by the arm* *shaking u shaking u* I GOT U. YOU RE NOW A VICTIM OF MY THOGHTS . DO NOT RESIST. 

No joke I woke up yesterday morning at 4am, saw ur tags, and couldn’t get back so sleep for a whole hr bc I got so excited to talk abt whatever funky waves my brain is generating ( I am at peak obsession right now, I am generating enough energy to power a small city))

Sorry if I’m being awfully deranged. I'm not used to being Comprehended and Perceived as an existing entity. Please excuse the part of me that is vibrating so hard I am about to emit light beams from my eyes like some sort of cartoon character. Anyways.

Ultrakill, so far, doesn’t actually have a super complex lore. The story is succinctly simple and tragic. The characters as well. I won't focus on that because my obsession lies in Gabriel. From your tags, it looks like you haven’t gotten deep into the game (yet), so I don’t want to spoil the fun if you ever decide to watch a playthrough of the game, or play the game yourself.

And I can avoid spoilers because, for this post, what I latched onto is not his character arc, but his inherent setting of “an angel”.

“Why are you thinking of an angel”

Well. For starters. I wasn’t thinking about angels at first. I was thinking about his thighs and what he got down there. 

Stay with me. The horniness is fading. The poetry is starting. (shaking you)

Click see below.

No? As if you had a choice.

Jokes on you, I lied. This is less of a poetry and way more of an incomprehensible ramble on why Gabriel is irresistible to me. I hope you enjoy it anyway. <3

Humans are largely made of storytelling and wonder. A desire to strip back layers and layers until a deep, concise answer is found. Then we move on. The study of magic: biochemistry, aerodynamics, fusion physics. We boil the universe down to the barest essentials, then examine some more. We looked inside ourselves: blood, plasma, enzymes. Until we reach the concept of consciousness and suddenly, we are incapable of going further. Attention turned to the sky: planes and rockets; astronomy and “what happened before the Big Bang?” in a child's voice. And we saw that the stars were moving further away from us, faster too, and we thought "we'd have to keep going."

It is at these ends that things become interesting. Never-ending debates of questions that will never be solved because of our inability to go beyond the limits. Reaching the skybox of the universe and unable to do anything more than to speculate what lies further still.

It is no wonder that the thought of an angel captivates man. If it exists, then its nature of being far outside of our observational capability becomes the ultimate lure for artists and scientists alike.

For example, what form would it take? A question of pure speculation, no different than a child's image of aliens. Brainstorming shapes and curvatures and weight in the three-dimensional space, fruitless and fantastical.

An abstract form, perhaps. So abstract that it becomes a type of cosmic horror or a Lovecraftian horror. The burning of eyes, the melting of mind. To lay eyes on it is to condemn yourself to death. Radioactive elephant's foot. We'd try to see it regardless.

A holy being, perhaps. Formed like a man but spills pure light when cut. Would it even cut? What does it mean if the imperfect blade made from the hands of a lowly man had sliced through its skin? Skin? Does it have skin? Like a salamander? Like a leopard? Can a creature’s skin contain the light of god? …Would it leak like a broken puppet? Does it sometimes hate itself like how some of us hate the silhouette of our shadows?

A man, perhaps. Uncertain if it became an angel because the mold of humankind was filled to the brim with divinity, or if it is divine because the pile of carbon assumed the role of an angel. Does it know? Does it wonder? Does it see man in itself, and itself in man? Does it feel lonely to be separated from its lightless siblings that wander the earth freely and sinfully?

And if it is man, as physical as it can be, how close am I to it? …What makes you sacred? Can I see? Can I touch? Can I study your form as millions of humans studied every inch of their world, concrete and abstract? Do you see me as ants? Or family? Would you grieve for me as I have for the songbird?

If I cut you open, will you hold yourself down for me?

Will you forgive me for desecrating you like so?

I think I would be ok with dying by your hand if it is you: let me trade my sight to see you, let me trade my life to touch you. To know you is to cross the limits of the beasts. Sacrilegious.

… And I don’t think you’d allow me to. It’s not in your character. Another angel perhaps, from another story. But I’m thinking of you. And so I can only think, like ancestors before me, and descendants after me. Of the study of magic, of self, of sky.

Of angels.

Truthfully, I’m not a believer in a higher being, never have been, probably never will; but standing on the boundary between life and death and yearning to know the feeling of an angel’s skin under my fingertips are the closest thing to a prayer I have ever experienced. Passion burns; I tend to the fire.

And it’s so regretful that I will never know (because you are an angel) and I will never know (because you are born of fiction) and I am never supposed to know (because to completely understand something or someone is to remove the wonder and hope and passion - like how life without death is timeless and still).

So, this is a love letter of sorts. Because I can’t be the only one craving to know every crease and crevice of this holy being made wearing the same shell as a creature who roams the earth blindly, bumbling, and mad.

------

By the way, please excuse grammar issues. Both my writing in the original post and this one are messy and not thoroughly edited. I just type my brain words out in one setting (partially because uni is in full swing). Sorry if this is on the too-long side of things. I was 700 words into my take on human storytelling before I went: “wait, I’m going way off topic” haha Hope this version is more palatable!

Also just wanna let you know: I just started posting my writing, so your tags were one of the first few that came in and got me really excited! I’m always so happy to read the tags of people who enjoyed my stuff. Thank you!

#gabriel ultrakill #<- im really sorry for flooding the tag #but this is abt the character #and so far i haven't made a tagging system yet #i'll consider one if i keep writing #sorry!!! #also i love tags i adore them everyone that tag gets a kiss on the cheeks from me (and everyone that dont gets a hug anyways) #im not used to being perceived and I'm so happy yall like my stuff <333 #az thoughts

[pocketramblr]

I can't believe I've been asking for months where Snipe was in the war arc and he finally shows up in a flashback interview just to say "ah ha whoops anyway here's why I'm not actually that reliable and usj was luck and why I wasn't a given for the planning in the war bye now" like.... What... Ok...

#like 1- i don't believe the interview like #why would i believe he actually told 100 percent the truth #2- it... still isn't a good enough downside to have not involved him in the war do where was he #3- all this interview about it just makes it really seem like a lot of telling and not showing #and i guess we got shown a bit and will get shown more #but the fact that we'll get shown after she'd given the huge advantage of air step #and only after a sixteen year old beat her #look i just think that could have been maybe presented a little better #to actually hype her up #but w/e the odds id give her of escaping both fridging and being a (former) love interest of Hawks Snipe or Chisaki are what maybe 15-20%? #is this enough tags to not show up in the main one #i don't want to show up in the main one you see #it should be #bnha manga spoilers #yeah yeah finally read 312 or whatever it is #there now friend does it make you feel better that everyone got the psychic damage from that tag fffgvhhjj <3 #oh i guess the telling and not showing is even more for snipe maybe that's why I'm just going 'uh huh #...' at it ya know #anyway i have rambled and made the tags incomprehensible enough sorry

[smolkooks]

cold coffee - p. jimin

pairings: barista!dancer!reader x idol!jimin

word count: 4k

content: fluff, cuteness, jimin being his adorable self

warnings: none :)

( please do not plagiarise my work! )

*

You headed into your parents’ coffee shop early today, to start preparing the beans and awaiting the new deliveries that were set to arrive within the hour.

Your parents had passed the coffee shop into your care for the next three months, with you and your sister switching shifts each day. Your dad was Korean, and your mom was American, so their café was unique in the way that they made sure they each put their own flairs into the typical café foods—just by including a few more choices and options.

It attracted attention, to be completely honest, and the shop had even made it onto the local news a few years back.

Groaning, you pushed the door open, pulling your coat tighter around yourself as you watched the delivery truck pull in. You went to greet the delivery man, who came every week to your café, and began dragging the boxes into the café, thanking the delivery man quickly, before shutting the glass doors behind you.

You loved this place—but you also couldn’t help but be excited to leave—only because you had dance practice afterwards, though. Even though you loved your parents’ café, and you loved to cook and talk to people, you enjoyed dancing more.

You’d grown up dancing, and while you had just graduated from studying literature, you had never stopped dancing, even while you were in college.

Carefully, you started unwrapping the boxes one by one, pulling out the bags of flour, coffee beans, sugar, all of the things that you had placed orders for the week before, organising them into neat piles so that you could store them into the cupboards easily.

Even as you flipped the sign on the door from ‘closed’ to a cheerful ‘open’, you were distracted with the thought of going to dance later. All day, your brain was buzzing with ideas for new choreography you couldn’t wait to share and perform for your dance friends.

Customers steadily began filing in, your usual morning bunch, and you knew the orders of almost all of them. They came by practically every day, and you always shared some pleasant conversation with them whenever they passed through.

“The usual, I presume?” You told one young woman kindly, already typing in her order.

“Yes, thanks, Y/N,” She said with a sigh, rubbing tiredly at her eyes, “It’d be a great pick-me-up, I’m sure.”

“Oh yes, it did the trick for me all through college,” You chuckled, beginning to make the coffee, the pleasant, warm smell filling the room with a cheerful, calm aura.

“You studied lit, right?” The woman asked, absently making conversation, “How was it? My sister’s thinking of going into it.”

“I liked it enough,” You said with a shrug, half-smiling, “But I’m thinking of auditioning for some musicals instead. I’m a dancer, see? The course was fun, but I just…prefer performance, is all.”

The woman looked surprised, “Oh, really! I didn’t know that about you. Sounds like fun.”

You passed her the coffee, and she slid a few gold coins across the counter, which you accepted with a kind smile of thanks and a grateful nod, “See you tomorrow, I hope?”

“I will definitely come by,” The woman responded, giving you a wink, “Thanks, Y/N. Have a good day.”

She was out the door before you could respond, and the customer next in line was already placing their order before you had even registered them speaking.

It would be a long day, today.

It was half an hour before the end of your shift—your shift ended at midday—when an unfamiliar face strolled in, looking incredibly nervous.

You didn’t even see him at first, your attention fixated on organising the cupcakes in the glass cabinets next to the counter and reloading the flavours that had emptied out throughout the day, for your sister’s shift.

It was a while later that you finally heard his footsteps near the counter, and you glanced up to see a very nervous (pretty, too, might you add), perhaps Korean? Japanese? young man at the counter, glancing over the menu, looking absolutely confused and clueless.

He wasoddly familiar, though, in a way, but you couldn’t quite remember where you’d seen him before—he had a facemask over his face. Maybe he had a cold. It was quite chilly outside.

You supposed perhaps he was foreign—in which case, youmightbe able to help.

You were fluent in Korean, after all, from your father speaking to you and teaching you the language. Being bilingual was a skill that you had been very determined to retain, and so you had—with years of practice and learning.

Unlike your sister, who had moved to another state to study at a fancy school for medicine and forgotten how to speak Korean after two years of not using it at all, you had adamantly forced yourself to speak in Korean whenever you called your father every week. He was more than delighted at your love for the language, and was very happy to help you.

Standing up, you stretched a bit, your ankles cracking for squatting for too long, and then retied your apron, heading over to the cashier.

The expression on the young man’s face only became more worried as you asked, “Would you like to order?”

His nervousness made you nervous, too, and you started becoming stressed—should you or should you not go for it and speak in Korean? What if he wasn’t even Korean? Would that be racist? What if he got offended?

You had no idea what to do, and he tried to start by saying, “Hi, I—do you have—,” He was clearly struggling to find the words, and you gave him an understanding smile.

Shoving your worries aside, you just decided to go for it, and switched languages, “Would you prefer to place your order in Korean?”

You wished you could memorise the way his face changed, relaxing immediately in pure relief as he realised that maybe he would be able to leave this café with the seven coffees he’d been tasked to buy for his bandmates.

“Oh, my god, thank you so much,” He immediately started rambling, “I’m so sorry, I’m from South Korea and I’m only visiting and I can’t really speak English that well—,”

You laughed, “It’s okay.”

“How do you know Korean?” He said, studying you, as if trying to figure it out just by looking at you, which made you blush just a little bit.

“My dad is Korean, so I learnt from him,” You said lightly. You knew you didn’t look completely Asian, with your light hair and light eyes, so it was understandable why he might’ve been confused.

“What would you like to get?” You added onto your short explanation, starting to type at the computer just to prepare it for the order.

He ran a nervous hand through his hair, bouncing a bit as he said, “Just…I don’t know, seven coffees? My friends told me to buy seven and I don’t know what they’d like.”

“How about I make you my favourite kind?” You suggested after a few seconds of silence, his eyes staring at the menu on the wall blankly, trying to make sense of the words.

“Oh, sure, thank you,” He said, looking quite flustered, “Thanks so much. I just…get really nervous.”

“It’s alright,” You said, immediately setting off to work, first setting out seven cups and labelling them all.

“How do you say your name?” He asked, glancing at your name tag, as he watched you work.

“It’s Y/N,” You said with a half-smile, passing him the first two finished cups, “What’s your name?”

“Jimin,” He responded, fidgeting a bit, although the smile he gave you was just too cute as he took the cups, “Sorry for all the trouble. I’m sure you don’t get orders for seven too often.”

“It’s really nothing. Usually I’m the most busy in the morning, so I’m pretty free right now anyway,” You said, finish off the last few cups, “I must ask, though, what are you doing here, so long after breakfast and almost at the end of my shift?”

“Well, my friends and I have been practicing all day,” He said absently, waiting very patiently for you to finish popping the lids on, “How about you? What are you doing later on?”

“Actually, I have dance,” You said, your eyes immediately lighting up at the thought, which Jimin noted with an amused smile, “I’m actually pretty excited for it. As much as I love working here.”

“Thank you,” He said, taking the cups from your hands gently, “Good luck at your training.”

“Would you like a cupholder?” You asked, but you were going to give him one anyway, already popping out the cardboard, “It’ll be much easier to carry, rather than holding seven separate cups.”

“Sure,” He said, “Thank you so much.” He pressed a the money into your hand, which you accepted graciously.

Will I see you again tomorrow? You wanted to ask, but didn’t, because…well, if he were from overseas, or on holidays, or something like that, you didn’t want him to feel pressured to come back, so you opted to just smile, and then watch him as he pushed open the doors, turned the corner, and then he was gone.

You wondered if you’d see the pretty boy called Jimin again anytime soon. You hoped you would.

***

Park Jimin had been far too stressed than he needed to be when he’d gone into the coffee shop. It didn’t help that the girl at the counter was absolutely beautiful—and when she’d looked up at him, he had only gotten more flustered and embarrassed than he already was.

The menu was completely incomprehensible to him, and he found himself regretting having insisted to Namjoon that he would be fine on his own.

He didn’t know what he’d expected—this was America, it wasn’t like the menu would be in Korean.

And then you’d asked what he needed, and he’d just absolutely freaked out—he needed seven coffees, but how do you even say that in English? He wished Namjoon were here.

He’d know what to do.

And he’d probably not be so flustered by a pretty girl at the counter. He definitely wouldn’t be.

He hoped that you couldn’t hear his heart pounding as he’d stuttered out the words—trying to scramble for the vocabulary that he didn’t have, and he found himself panicking…

The moment he heard the first Korean word fall through your lips, he had sagged in pure, unadultered relief.

Thank god.

He probably would have just panicked and ran away at the rate he was going—what with the English menu overwhelming him, and the pretty girl looking at him.

She was so much nicer than he’d expected her to be to a foreigner who couldn’t even understand English. He’d been worried perhaps she would be annoyed at him taking so long, but instead she’d been kind and just patiently asked for what he needed.

In Korean.

What were the odds?

After you’d handed his seven coffees to him, he decided he could’ve either walked really slowly, looked back at her, and then he would have never been able to leave.

So he got out of there as quickly as he could without running. He assumed that would be considered rude—also, he didn’t want to spill the coffee he had spent so much time trying to order.

He didn’t give himself time to look back at the girl.

Even though he so desperately wanted to.

***

Training had been good today. You had run through a couple of dances with your group and also practiced through the solo contemporary you’d choreographed—the one that you would be using in your audition, along with two others.

Still dressed in your blue tank top and shorts, a towel thrown around your neck, you stepped outside of the studio and immediately regretted not bringing anything warmer.

It had gotten dark, because you’d been practicing for several hours, even though you hadn’t realised it. Time always passed faster in the studio than anywhere else, for you.

Pulling out your phone, you pressed the home button and glanced at the time, groaning. It was nine o’clock. Had you really been in there for six hours? Maybe you’d gotten too carried away.

Now your sister would probably be worried—the shop closed four hours ago. You’d told her you would be back by seven.

You slipped your phone into your pocket, taking a big sip from your water bottle and then started making your way home. Luckily, your apartment wasn’t too far away from the studio, which was one of the reasons why your parents had sent you to this one when you were six years old.

You must have been too immersed in your phone, because the next thing you knew you were running into a familiar guy, and you almost tripped.

You would have tripped in fact, if Jimin hadn’t thrown out a hand and caught your wrist with his lightning fast reflexes.

“Y/N?” He said, his eyes wide. You noted his dishevelled hair and tired-looking eyes, and his attire—and realised that he must’ve just come from the dance studio, too. Or perhaps, he was returning, based on the direction he was going.

“Oh, hey, Jimin,” You said, instinctively in Korean, before you panicked, tucking your phone into your pocket, slipping into English again, “I didn’t expect to—,” and then you realised that Jimin did, in fact, understand Korean, and that for once it hadn’t been an embarrassing slip-up of yours out of panic. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry. My bilingual brain gets really mixed up sometimes...” You switched back to Korean, your cheeks heating, avoiding his gaze, “Thanks for saving me from falling.”

He looked thoroughly amused as he finally let go of you and asked, “Do you dance here, too?”

“Yeah, I have since I was six,” You answered, finally mustering the courage to meet his eyes, “Why are you coming from the studio? Do you live nearby?”

With his eyes so focused on you, not only did you feel heat rise up your neck, flustered, but you also noted how oddly familiar his face was. As if he existed somewhere in your memory, but your brain couldn’t quite figure out where. Or, rather, how he existed there.

“No, my bandmates and I are visiting here, and we’re just using one of the studio spaces here for our training,” He explained with a smile.

“Oh,” You said shortly, unsure of what else you should add to the conversation as you looked up at him, meeting his eyes shyly, “Where were you headed, Jimin?”

“I forgot my phone back at the studio,” He said with a chuckle, one hand reaching to the nape of his neck, “I was just going back to grab it.”

“Oh, makes sense,” You said, smiling uncertainly, “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then…?”

Just as you made to leave, he gently snagged your shirt sleeve, and you turned back around to face him.

He was biting his lip, looking incredibly nervous—you found it quite endearing, really, as he began to speak, “Hey, Y/N, would you be down for a late night snack? I can grab my phone and we can go down the road to a nice place for…some food? Or if you’re not hungry then…?” He suggested, an awkward, (super cute) smile tilting the corner of his lip upwards, his cheeks dimpling.

Oh, my god, who allowed him to be this adorable? Who had the right?

You laughed, surged by a sudden rush of confidence as you said, “Oh, let’s go get boba! I’ve had coffee for months now, it’d be so nice to get something different. I know a place just a few minutes’ walk from here.”

He looked impossibly relieved and also smiled excitedly, like a puppy, you couldn’t help but point out in your head, giggling at the thought, “Of course, that sounds amazing. Would you mind waiting for me? I’ll just be a minute.”

Jimin was back in barely a minute—it was probably thirty seconds at most. You’d never met anybody so efficient, while still looking so effortless and graceful as he came over to you.

“So, boba, you said?” He asked, and you, powered by that sudden adrenaline rush from before, took his hand impulsively in yours, and said, “I know a place. Let’s go.”

The boba was amazing. In fact, you’d forgotten how good boba tasted, with how much coffee you had been drinking. It had been ages since you’d had the time to come here, and the place was even nicer with Jimin here.

You’d made sure to send a text to your sister, just so that she wouldn’t get too worried, before you’d gone with Jimin. He was surprisingly an expert at bubble tea, and he easily told you what he’d like, and you spoke the orders to the teenage girl at the counter in English for him.

He just watched you with so much fascination and…something else…as you slid the coins across the counter to the small girl, who accepted them with a smile.

When you finally finished paying, you took the receipt and led Jimin to the seats next to the counter to wait for your orders.

“Do you have boba often in Korea?” You said, taking a long sip from your straw and groaning in pure bliss, “This stuff is literally heavenly.”

“Sometimes,” Jimin said with a shrug, taking a sip from his own drink, “We’re usually on diets though, for our training.”

“Oh, yeah, you mentioned bandmates, right? What do you guys do?” You asked curiously, genuinely interested.

Suddenly, Jimin became very nervous, and he started fidgeting with his shirt, running his other hand through his hair, “Well, uh—,”

“You don’t have to say, if you don’t want to,” You offered gently, “Only if you want to. We’re just here talking, after all. No pressure.”

He smiled appreciatively, but he explained anyway, “Have you ever heard about BTS?”

“Oh, the kpop group? Yeah, they’re pretty popular right now—wait a second,” You studied his face, furrowing your eyebrows…

And then suddenly it hit you.

“Oh, my god, you’re Jimin, right?” You said in a surprised whisper, “From BTS?” He barely had time to nod in confirmation before you continued, “That’s so cool! So that’s why you looked familiar.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, tilting his head a little.

“My college dormmate had a poster of you on the wall,” You explained, your eyes bright with excitement, not even noticing the slight flush that rose to his cheeks at your statement, “How did I not realise earlier? That’s so weird. What are you doing in America?”

“We’re performing at the AMA’s in a week,” He explained, “So we’re just here to do that. And I met you by coincidence, too, so that’s an extra bonus.”

You blushed a little, but you didn’t let that cover over your pure shock, “Wow, that’s so cool. I never really listened to you guys, but from what I’ve heard you’re pretty cool, aren’t you?”

Jimin laughed, “Oh, well, I guess we’re alright.”

It was when both of you fell silent that you realised that in your excitement, you had leaned in really close to him over the table—so close you were almost touching, and quickly you moved back, totally embarrassed.

If you’d only just moved a tiny bit closer you would have—

There were a few seconds of silence before you calmed your frantic brain and said, “So, how’s the boba?”

***

Jimin explained how it would be best if the fact that he was a famous Korean idol could remain a secret—for your own safety. And you agreed, obviously. It obviously meant a lot, but at the end of the day, he was Jimin, the guy you’d met at the coffee shop and the guy who you’d helped to order his seven coffees.

Now you understood why he had needed seven coffees earlier that day.

You made sure that you didn’t leave that boba shop without asking for his number, and he gave it to you, telling you that you could send him a text at any time—he would make sure to respond whenever he could.

It was four days later, after spending a lot of time at the studio talking between rehearsals, when you invited Jimin to the coffee shop, just to hang out. You’d been given the closing shift, and you thought it’d give you something to look forward to.

Even your sister noted how you were being far bubblier than you usually were, but you’d shrugged it off, blaming it on just ‘having a good day’.

Jimin had said he’d only be able to get there at eight, so you sat in the shop, doing paperwork, until he arrived.

Jimin was dressed in a hoodie this time, and his face lit up when he saw you, just as you were sure yours had done.

“Jimin!” You exclaimed as he pushed through the doors and came into the warmth of the coffee shop, “How was practice today?”

“Good. I didn’t see you at the studio?”

“I have practice tomorrow,” You explained, “I was here for most of the day today, helping my sister unpack some of the deliveries.”

He just nodded and smiled, making his way towards your table and pulling out a seat opposite to you, glancing at the work you were doing, “How was your day?”

“I did lots of work,” You said, smiling, “I actually applied to an audition today—it’s going to be in a month.”

Jimin looked genuinely impressed, even though the moment the words left your mouth, you realised that your achievements probably meant nothing compared to all of the massive things he and his band had done.

“Do you want a coffee?” You said, just to break the silence, as you stood up from your chair and pushed it in with a loud scrape.

“Sure, thank you,” He said, biting his lip, looking nervous and unsure of what to say, “The usual one. Your favourite, right? I think it’s my favourite, too.”

“You haven’t tried any others from here yet, Jimin,” You said with a light laugh, starting to make the coffee, “Someday you should.”

“Nope, I like yours the most,” He said with a shrug, taking a few steps more so that he was standing almost shoulder to shoulder with you, watching you work.

As you finished, setting the two glasses by the sink, you turned around—only to find yourself in extremely close proximity to his chest.

He towered over you, but when you looked up, his lips were millimetres away from yours—so incredibly close—and you felt heat crawl up your neck.

“Jimin,” You said, breathless, “Your coffee’s done.”

He didn’t look at the coffee once. His gaze was fixated on you—and it made your heart race.

You went to say something, but couldn’t find the words, and then suddenly your lips met. The kiss was slow and gentle, and he snaked his arms around your hips gently, pulling you close, as your fingers became entangled in his beautiful hair.

It was several moments later that the two of you finally pulled apart, and you just looked at each other—you took several seconds to admire how beautiful and warm his eyes were.

“Jimin,” You said softly.

“Hmm?”

“Your coffee’s going to go cold.”

And then he burst into laughter—and you started giggling, and you were both so consumed with the pure euphoria from your kiss that you did it again—this time, you pulled him close and pressed your lips to his.

Later, when you went to reach for your coffee and his, passing his to him gently, it was indeed cold. But neither of you cared.

Because between the warmth of Jimin’s eyes and his kisses, you barely felt the coolness of the glass between your fingers.

a/n second fic! im in love <3

#im soft #jimin fluff #jimin x reader #park jimin #bts #jungkook #oneshot #bts oneshot #bts fluff #jeon jungkook #jimin fanfic #jungkook x reader #jimin x y/n #barista!au #bts x reader #bts fanfic #angst #seokjin #hoseok #taehyung #seokjin fluff

[imaginexmeintheuniverse]

Cruising for a Bruising

A lovely anon requested: 25 and reggie mantle please 💖

25. “I’ve never been more in love with you.”

Pairing: Reggie Mantle x Fem!Reader

Warnings: I might have to start a swear jar

Word Count: 940

Summary: Reader is used to telling Reggie not to get into fights and nursing his wounds after one, but this time the roles are reversed.

Tags: @coltcas 

Masterlist

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write for this dude for a while now thank you to the lovely anon for requesting! 

Usually you were the one taking care of your boyfriend’s battle wounds after he’d recklessly get himself into a fight, which is why you heavily considered not showing up on his doorstep battered and bruised as you are now. You didn’t know where to go. You couldn’t go home because you’d get hell from your parents, or they would make a way bigger deal out of it than it actually was, so you ended up here. However, you didn’t consider the fact that your boyfriend is Reggie Mantle and that might actually be worse because he’d probably go on some sort of rampage across the school over whoever hurt his girl. As soon as you ring the doorbell you regret your decision and attempt to run away, but you don’t even get the chance to turn around before the door opens to reveal a surprised Reggie.

You both freeze for a moment; you, because you’re currently facing away from him, not wanting him to see your black eye, and him, because he’s wondering why the heck his girlfriend looks like a fugitive. To hide the scratches and bruises you sport, you’re wearing sunglasses, a baseball cap, and you have your hood pulled over your head. Also the sun has already gone down, so you look like a burglar.

Even after having been dating for some time now, you still find yourself in moments where you simply don’t know what to do because you’re afraid of what he might think of you. That’s totally irrational of course, because the guy is head over fucking heels for you, but insecurities get the better of all of us now and then.

“Hey,” you squeak.

“Hey babe,” he greets you, ushering you inside. As per usual, his folks aren’t home. He leads you to the kitchen, the first place you usually go to when you’re at his house. Without even needing to ask, he gets a tub of ice cream and a spoon, whilst you take your spot on the counter. It’s become a little routine you two do: you sit on the counter whilst he stands comfortably between your legs (you’re still shorter than him) and you share a spoon, passing the tub back and forth.

You try to hide your face the best you can but accidentally let out a slight wince of pain when he kisses your cheek. The sound alerts him, and if your appearance wasn’t enough to be wary about, the noise you made certainly is.

“So are you going to tell me why you’re wearing sunglasses indoors, at night?” he questions, an eyebrow raised. “Or why you look like you came to rob my house…”

“Um… Uh…” You feel stupid trying to hide it from him when he’s literally right in front of you, but you try anyways.“I’m trying out a new trend?” If the blatant lie you tell doesn’t give it away, the fact that it sounds more like a question than an answer sure as hell does.

He rolls his eyes and reaches to take off your hood, hat, and sunglasses, totally ignoring your protests. You try to shove his arms away, but this giant boyfriend of yours is way stronger than you and drops your items to the floor when he sees your face.

“What the fu-”

“It’s not as bad as it looks!”

“Did you get hit by a car on your way back from school?!”

“I-I’m sorry- I didn’t know where else to-” You start stumbling over your words in your nervous ramble, your sentences becoming incomprehensible.

“Y/N,” Reggie snaps you out of your trance. “What happened?”

“I-It’s nothing!” You insist, worried he might make too big of a deal out of it.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” he says in a tone much calmer than you’d expect. He turns away for a moment to grab a package of frozen peas he then presses to a particularly nasty bruise on your temple. “Who the fuck did this to you?”

You let out a long breath, knowing you’ve been beat before telling him the truth, “These girls from your little fan club were talking shit about us- about how it was ‘just a matter of time before he dumps her pathetic ass’ and I couldn’t just-” You stop yourself, your mind having gone into overdrive with insecurities. What if it was true? He’s the guy every girl in school wants to be dating but he’s with you; why?

“And since when do you let idiotic comments like that bother you?” His eyebrows knit in concern as he shifts the bag of peas from your temple to your eye.

“They said other stuff too- I swear I didn’t swing first!” Although you did provoke them, but let’s leave that out for now. “I just miscalculated how aggressive they were.”

Reggie stays silent as you recount the events leading up to when things got violent. When you finish the story, he leaves, returning with a hot cloth for your scratches. He goes straight for the one on your face without warning, causing you to let out a little whimper as you flinch away from steaming fabric.

A cocky grin appears on your boyfriend’s face as he has a flash of déjà vu, roles reversed.

“What’s so funny?” you grumble at him. You know exactly why he chuckles at your narrowed eyes. He’s probably enjoying this, especially with all the times you’ve chided him for being so careless and hot-tempered. You’re expecting him to do the same to you too but instead he gently kisses your slightly swollen lips.

“I’ve never been more in love with you.”

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