best reaction shot of the night

Picture Perfect - Tye Dillinger x Reader

Summary:- You and Tye have been trying for a baby for months, to no success. After one night of passion when you go to surprise him, you fall pregnant. You want to find the best way to tell Tye, and his reaction is out of this world. 

Warnings:- Fluff, Swearing i think?

Word Count:- 1,275

Request by @megaperfect10

@fangasm202

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Cliché encounter- Jungkook One shot

For the first time in about two weeks, you’d finally found time for yourself. Everyone always told you how fun going to college would be, the crazy social life you’d develop, the fun nights out, the close friendships you’d form, and how they would most definitely be the best years of your life.  But they had left the small, insignificant detail of how it would take up every single drop of your time. You hadn’t found one single moment to relax between classes, assignments, and social gatherings you felt obliged to attend.

So when you found yourself with a couple of cancelled plans, and your assignments done for the week, you were relieved. You woke up at the usual time, but enjoyed the secret guilty pleasure of a lie in, and stayed in bed for about an hour, just messing about on your phone. Who knew social networks could be so impressively entertaining?

When your stomach started growling with the noises of hungry discomfort, you guessed it was time to do something relatively productive with your day, so you dragged your body lazily to the kitchen, to prepare a simple yet filling meal, before running off to the shower.

You were glad you had found good friends, who kept you entertained. At least this way you never quite felt lonely, but sometimes you wished you had a little more time for yourself. You missed being able to do things on your own.

You walked across town, taking in the sweet scent of the trees that surrounded your area. You didn’t know what to do with your time, so you windowshopped, trying to find new items of clothing you could combine into a gorgeous new outfit for class. You bought a few cheap things, thinking of ways to change them up a little to fit your style, and then you stopped in front of the large bookshop.

You smiled to yourself, remembering your childhood, filled with stories read underneath the sheets in the middle of the night, under a torch-light, trying not to wake your parents up. You remember the feeling of being completely immersed in each of the pages, fighting alongside the heroes, weeping with the damsels, and hating the villains. You remembered reading, trying your hardest to keep your eyes open so you could read just another more page before you fell asleep, and waking up with a book held tightly in your hands, and purple bags under your eyes.

“I should get a book, I haven’t read in ages…” You whispered to yourself, before you walked in.

You navigated through the aisles, trying to find the fantasy section. Should you go for a known, favourite author of yours? Or should you venture into the literary ability of a new, unknown author?

You hummed to yourself, as your fingers lightly traced the spines of the books, trying to feel for a new story. You did this thing, where you let your fingers caress the book, in hopes that one of them would give you a warm feeling inside. But you couldn’t find it. You couldn’t find your book.

Until you saw it.

All high and mighty on the top shelf, too far away for you to ever reach even in your tiptoes, and there was no ladder around. You grunted, and stretched your arm as far as you could, leaning onto the shelves, with your feet on their toes so perfectly they would have made a ballerina cry in frustration.

You stretched, and stretched like an acordeon, but you couldn’t reach. You were too short. You huffed in frustration, and were about to slip, when a strong pair of arms held you up.

You looked up to thank your gallant saviour, when the words got stuck in your throat like a sticky piece of toffee in your teeth. He was drop dead gorgeous. His dark eyes were beautifully round and dark, and his skin so smooth you wanted to reach out and touch it gently with your fingertips. He smiled at you with white, straight bunny teeth, and then turned to the shelf, reaching out for the book you were reaching for.

“Is this the right book?” he asked you sheepishly, as he handed you the book. You nodded.

“Thank you.” You managed to choke out, as you took the book from his hands.

“You’re welcome.” He said shyly. He seemed like he wanted to say something more when he opened his mouth briefly, but he quickly closed it again, so to your disappointment, you felt compelled to walk away and pay for your book.

What was his name? Where was he from? Was he in town just for a short period of time or did he live here? Would you ever meet his deep dark eyes again? You could get lost in them.

“Wait!” you heard a familiar voice call behind you with urgency. Was it for you? Was the voice calling you? If you turned and the person was calling for someone else, you’d look like an utter fool, but if you didn’t you’d look terribly rude. But then you felt a hand grip your upper arm tightly.

You turned around quickly, your hair flipping behind you, as your wide eyes find those beautiful dark orbs of his, like galaxies, but instead of stars, he had wishes and promises hidden inside them.

“I-I’m sorry.” He stuttered, letting go of your arm quickly, with heat rising to his cheeks, tinting them a gentle pink. But you didn’t move.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him, concerned laced with your voice.

“I just… I… I couldn’t let you leave without at least learning your name.” he said, staring into your eyes so intensely, you forgot how to speak. You just stared at him, your mouth opening and closing like a goldfish’s.

“I’m sorry… I’ve probably freaked you out. I promise I’m normal. I’m just… shy and you’re so pretty and… And I’m making a fool of myself, I’m so sorry… I’ll leave.” He stuttered, scrambling for his words, trying to make a sense out of what he was saying. He began to turn away, head hung low, shrugging his shoulders.

“Wait!” Now it was your turn to yell after him. He turned around with hope gleaming in his eyes, and the beginning of a smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

“My name is Y/N.” you told him quickly, panting a little. Your heart was beating quickly, too quickly. Your chest hurt. You felt your cheeks become pink, but you smiled warmly.

The boy’s lips curved into a perfect smile, so wide it showed most of his perfect bunny teeth.

“I’m Jungkook. I’ve just moved here with my friends… and I don’t quite know the place very well…” He started, his words becoming a little too jumbled. But you smiled.

“If you’re asking me to show you around, then I’ll gladly do that… But only if you take me out for coffee first.” You said cheekily, wondering where the hell you’d found so much courage and flirtatiousness from.

“Tomorrow at 3? I’ll meet you here again, and you can take me to the nearest café. I have no idea where to go.” He laughed, scanning your face for approval. You laughed, and nodded again.

“At 3, don’t be late!” You waved at him, as you began walking away to pay for your book. Something told you, even if the story inked on the pages of that novel wasn’t any good, you’d love that book forever.

“So is it a date then?” Jungkook yelled after you, a little too eagerly. You let out a loud laughter, and looked behind you.

“It’s a date!” you yelled, before handing the cashier money, and walking away from the store, screaming internally.

I am sirens,
and pin pricked fingertips.
Just painful enough
to cause a reaction.
Just bloody enough
to stain your Sunday best.
I am what your parents
warned you about,
that which will haunt you
for the remainder of your years
and drive your life
piece
by broken piece
into the ground.
I am 3am on a Tuesday
muffled gun shots
insufferable screaming
and your mothers tears.
The perennials die,
but this time for good
as if something ran in the water
in this house.
Killing the flowers,
Killing your parents,
Killing your dreams,
Killing myself.
I am Friday night at a funeral;
wasted potential
wasted time.
wasted lives
I am what you always wanted
and never dreamed
could be so cruel.
I am the porcelain dolly
your brother smashed all those
years ago.
I am the shame on your fathers hands
and the regret in your mothers voice
I am rotten teeth.
Rotten milk
Rotten soul
Rotten angel.
I am.
—  I Am (emf)

anonymous asked:

Thunderfrostshield?

Notes – This fic prompt has been in my inbox for like, two years. I am so sorry. It’s technically in the same world as this one shot I wrote for @portraitoftheoddity a while back but can be read without it in mind. All you need to know is Steve and Loki are a thing.

***

“Wait.” Steve sat up straight in his seat. “Go back. You and Thor did … what now?”

Loki’s answering smile was like quicksand—seemingly innocuous until it latched on. His fingers toyed with the rim of his coffee cup. “Your reaction would imply you heard correctly.”

They sat together in a midtown diner, the last two patrons of the night. The coffee was dubious at best but preferable to the biting cold outside, and so they lingered. As the hours ticked by, their conversation had taken several unexpected turns, but this one was the first to derail Steve entirely.

“But we were talking about past relationships. Romantic relationships.”

“No,” Loki said. “We were talking about sexual partners. I trust you know the difference.”

Steve stared. Then drew in a breath, released it, and continued staring.

Loki’s eyes danced with laughter. “You should see the color of your cheeks. I have alluded to this before, Captain.”

“You’re telling me you had a relationship with Thor.” Even after Steve stated it plainly, he still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea.

Loki brought his cup to his lips to blow at the steam. “I wouldn’t say the pursuit of a relationship was the objective of our trysts.”

“But he’s your brother.”

Loki blinked innocently as he took a sip. “Is he?”

“Don’t,” Steve said. “You do not get to sit there and imply he isn’t. Not with me. You know your relationship with Thor goes beyond that.”

“I do.” Loki’s smile widened. “Which is precisely what I just explained to you. Shall I go into graphic detail? I am mildly curious to see how much redder your ears can get.”

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You know what’s horrible?

When my best friend called me this morning, I didn’t even register “20 people killed”. It was that same muted, dulled reaction we as Americans always have to a mass shooting: dismay, acute rage, sadness. There was one article on my FB newsfeed. Just one.

The minute the body count rose to 50… that’s when it registered. That’s when the news coverage took hold. That’s when it became the deadliest mass shooting in US history. That’s when the frenzy began.

But 20 innocent people murdered? Shot to death during a night out?

It didn’t even register. Because this is America. And this, apparently, is who we’ve decided we are.