fave headcanon tbh

glowinjpg  asked:

hey! i absolutely love your fics & you've somehow managed to get me hooked on pansy/percy (you were the one who ignited my pansy love to begin with) any chance you could write some more drabbles about them? thank you!!

i meeeeeean maybe just consider:

  • percy’s been living in a decent sized studio on the upper west side since he’d taken his consulting job with the mayor’s office. the building’s nice–pretty, prewar, quiet, with a doorman and a laundry service and a clanging art deco elevator that actually works most of the time. 
  • it’s not glamorous, of course, but he does have a dishwasher, and coming home at the end of the day–hanging his keys on the specially-installed hook by the door, shedding his coat and rolling his sleeves up and rifling around the drawer in his kitchen for his carefully curated stack of takeout menus–it’s organized, and it’s pleasant, and it’s peaceful
  • his existence is peaceful.
  • until–
  • she moves in on a saturday, towards the tail-end of august. she has blunt-cut blonde hair, longer in the front than it is in the back, and eyes that are a vaguely mysterious shade of blue. cobalt, maybe. dark. secretive. her lipstick is a bright, bright, bright pink, and she’s wearing a soft-looking white v-neck, shorter in the front than it is in the back, high-waisted denim cutoffs and neon orange nail polish and a pair of buttery leather sandals with a complicated series of buckles crisscrossing her ankles. 
  • percy fully admits that he stares at her, appalled and aghast and–something else, probably–for a moment too long. 
  • “hey, big red, you’re kind of in the way,” the girl snaps at him, waving a half-empty pack of camels at the three burly guys behind her. they’re holding a green velvet chaise lounge, and percy is almost positive he’d caught the lilting strains of a badly suppressed southern accent when she’d spoken.
  • still, he takes an automatic step backwards, into his own doorway, and absently fiddles with his glasses. “sorry,” he says, because he has manners. “welcome to the building.”
  • she sneers–sarcastically–and then saunters into her apartment. the one directly next to his. god. they’re going to share a wall.
  • as it turns out, though, she’s not the worst neighbor in the world. no loud parties, no weird noises, no awkward elevator rides–she smokes sometimes, usually on the fire escape, but not often enough to really bother him. it’s new york. he smells far worse things if he just stands near a subway grate long enough on his way home.
  • but then it happens.
  • it’s a friday in mid-november, and the freezing rain has started to crystallize on the sidewalk and the budget hearings for the next fiscal year have started to fester like a bullet wound. he gets home, drops his keys, flings his coat onto the back of the couch, and rakes a frustrated hand through his hair. 
  • and then he smells it.
  • cigarette smoke.
  • it’s the last straw. it’s his breaking point. it’s the fucking glistening maraschino cherry on top of a day so shitty he doesn’t even want to go through the comments section of that morning’s wall street journal editorial. he’s outraged. he’s livid. he’s–
  • slamming his fist against her front door, once, and then twice, and then–
  • “jesus, is there a fire?” the girl demands, visibly bristling. “what do you want?”
  • she’s wearing yoga pants and some kind of oversized short-sleeved t-shirt that’s drooping down one shoulder. no socks. her toenails are painted the same color as her eyes–that weird, nameless blue. percy suddenly feels lightheaded.
  • “you–i can–would you mind smoking outside the building?” he blurts out.
  • “yes,” she replies, easily. immediately. “i’d mind. anything else?”
  • “i–seriously? i can smell it, it’s–repulsive, not to mention it’s going to kill you–”
  • “why don’t you let me worry about what’s going to kill me,” she says, cocking a neatly manicured brow. 
  • “i’m–what?”
  • “is that all you needed?” she practically simpers.
  • “no, you don’t–i have–i have asthma,” percy hears himself say, as if from very far away.
  • the girl narrows her eyes, reaching up to tousle her already-tousled bangs with a casual flick of her wrist. the rattling clink of her bracelets–tarnished bronze and gleaming gold bangles, an oddly clunky sterling silver charm bracelet nearly lost among the chaos–is over-loud in the relative silence of the hallway.
  • “do you really have asthma?” she asks, and there it is, that slow, entirely too elusive hint of a deep southern drawl that he’d thought he’d imagined after their first encounter. 
  • “no,” he admits, stiffly.
  • she snorts. “yeah, i figured. you’re a little too…” she gestures to his chest, his shoulders, his arms. “you know.”
  • he doesn’t know, of course, but he’s regularly wrong-footed enough around this girl to not particularly want to admit that to her. ever. “right. well. will you…stop, then? the smoking?”
  • she hums, like she’s really considering it, and then she smirks, a subtle quirk of her lips–a deep, shiny, glittering cranberry-red tonight–that leaves percy feeling…sucker-punched. uneasy. breathless. it’s all very confusing.
  • “yeah, i’ll stop,” she finally tells him, sounding amused. 
  • he blinks. “you’ll–wait, you will? why?”
  • her smile shifts, slightly, somehow turning both softer and slyer. “i have asthma,” she mimics, lowering her voice an octave. “didn’t think you had it in you, percy.”

anonymous asked:

Supercorp: fan of horror movies and the other hates it but endures it because, well they're whipped.

Kara hates horror movies! hates them! Why would she want to see all that blood and guts? But she finds out Lena is a sucker for all the old school horror movies and so she suffers through because honestly Lena just looks so happy while they’re watching them and frankly it’s really hard to be scared when every time something scary is about to happen Lena grabs her arm, mouth full of popcorn, and says “Mmm mmm!! watch watch watch! he’s about to jump out of the closet!”

Plus Lena is always willing to cuddle with her extra hard after so it’s totally worth it!

eyes on me

jikook / 2,477 words / rated M / AO3
once upon a time @baebsaes mentioned something about power bottom jimin and tied up jungkook and my mind… ran with it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Jungkook clenches his hands into fists, rope digging into his skin as he shifts. He turns his head slightly to where Jimin is watching at the side of the bed, eyes wide and eager as he bites his lip. He looks gorgeous in the soft light, face deceptively sweet and angelic. Jungkook knows the dirty ideas going through Jimin’s head, and the younger’s body flushes all over at the realization that Jimin looks like this–naked and flushed in the glow of the lamplight--because of him.

“You look,” Jimin stops, swallows, “good.”

Keep reading

ive already shared most of my fave headcanons tbh i cant just pump them out but here are some

-damen talks in his sleep (laurent thinks its so cute unless he just rly wont shut up)
-whenever they are reunited after not seeing each other for a while, damen lifts laurent up a little when they hug - he protests a little, all “put me down” but tbh we all know damens muscles turn laurent on WE ALL KNOW AND HIS PROTESTS ARE IN VAIN ANYWAY
-damen gives so many forehead kisses
-horseback rides together where maybe laurent gets a little competitive and suddenly theyre racing
-damen in vere when it snows just doesnt go outside….he thinks it’s beautiful but he aint fuckin w/ that
-one of them is a fucking blanket hog and i cant figure out which one would be funnier. if damen was hogging blankets laurent would just wake him the fuck up and take them back, but imagine if laurent took all the blankets DAMEN IS SIGNIFICANTLY LARGER THAN HIM LAURENT DOESNT NEED ALL THAT BLANKET LMAO
-laurent is ticklish (his skin is so sensitive!!!) but damen isnt AT ALL and it drives laurent CRAZY. so if damen ever tries to tickle laurent, laurent goes towards the greatest weakness damen does have - HIS WEAK ASS BONER CONTROL LAURENT JUST DIVES IN AND STARTS MAKING OUT WITH HIM, touches him, gets him hard, and then just goes “dont fucking tickle me” and then goes back to whatever he was doing, leaving damen high and dry
-love letters……..fuck