she's adorable with her face

2
4

Which Defenders would win in a dance off?

4

Normani doing what she does best, seeking out any camera when a 25 mile radius

8

A Queen to be feared!  … apparently…

You’re not my Wife

The girl handed you the phone with a giddy smile. “Do you mind taking the picture?” she begged. 

You laughed and took her phone from her. “Sure, sweetheart. But I’ll warn ya, that one gets a little handsy when he is drunk,” you said, gesturing toward Jensen. “And he was drunk off his ass three whiskey’s ago,” you laughed with a wink. 

The girl laughed before stepping between Jensen and Jared. They both towered over her. She couldn’t wipe the adorable smile off of her face. You smiled to yourself as you raised the phone to take the picture. 

You were watching the screen as Jensen planted a firm kiss on the girl’s temple. You had to stifle a giggle as you heard him lean back and start talking to her. 

“Damn, Y/N, you smell so good. Did you change perfumes or something? And when did your hair get so long?” he asked, looking down at the girl. 

You tossed your head back in laughter as you snapped the picture then got Jensen’s attention. 

You snapped your fingers so that Jensen looked up at you.

“Hey, Jensen!” you giggled. 

When his eyes met yours, he smiled in recognition then looked back at the girl he had just kissed. He looked thoroughly confused. 

“You’re not my wife,” he slurred as he pulled away from the girl. “Who are you again?” 

Jared laughed as he pulled the girl into a hug. 

“Don’t mind his drunk ass,” Jared laughed as he squeezed the fan to his chest. “Y/N warned you about how he gets when he has had a few too many,” he said shaking his head. 

“Hey!” Jensen said indignantly. “We’re celebrating, Asshat!” he declared as he looked at you then back at Jared. Your eyes went wide. Jensen had no filter after a lot of liquor. He was about to spill the beans to everyone. 

“Jens, I think that’s enough,” you said, your eyes wide as he looked at you confused still. 

“What, beautiful? We ARE celebrating. We have a damn good reason to celebrate,” he said, walking toward you, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you close, nuzzling into your neck. 

“I know,” you whispered, letting your hands settle on Jensen’s shoulders. “But the reason we are celebrating  is still a secret,” you reminded him. 

Jensen kissed your neck then pulled away to look you in the eye. “You mean they don’t know you’re pregnant?” he asked. 

You slapped a hand over his mouth, and he just smiled back at you his eyes lighting up as he kissed your palm. 

“What?” Jared and Gen said at the same time as the girl walked away. 

“They do now,” you laughed. “We were waiting until we told both of our parents,” you added, popping Jensen in the stomach. He shrugged innocently as he looked from you to Gen and Jared. “But I should have known once this one started drinking, it wouldn’t be a secret for long,” you laughed. 

Jensen contemplated you for a minute. “Secrets are stupid,” he declared. “Hey everybody! Listen up!” he yelled at no one in particular. “My sexy, gorgeous, beautiful wife is PREGNANT!” he declared triumphantly. “And I’m the lucky son of a bitch that knocked her up. Now THAT part was fun,” he laughed. 

“Okay, that’s enough, Ackles,” you laughed, kissing him quickly so that he would shut up. His tongue tangled with yours before the two of you pulled away breathless. 

“That mean you wanna get started on another?” he teased, running his hand up under your shirt. 

“Down boy,” you said, slapping his hand away. “What am I gonna do with you?” you laughed, kissing him once more. 

“Congrats, guys,” Jared said with a laugh, pulling you both into a bear hug. 

“Thanks man,” Jensen said seriously. “She is one hell of a woman,” he added, looking at you proudly. 

“Oh?” you asked. 

“Hell yeah,” Jensen replied, pulling you into his arms and kissing you with fervor.  

“Don’t you forget it, Ackles,” you teased, running your hands along the length of his back, the mystery picture girl long forgotten. 

Here are my Belle/Adam NSFW headcanons that literally no one asked for

Because we all know the only road I walk is the one of Sin™

• Belle may have laughed when Adam growled during their dance, but inside a shot of arousal surged through her body that left a heavy and needy ache between her legs. The ache only worsened when Adam brushed his lips against the shell of her ear after their dance ended, his warm sweet breath ghosting across her neck as he whispered, “now, would you prefer scruff or something longer?”

• Turns out Belle prefers scruff, and the way it scratches against the soft skin of her inner thighs while Adam goes down on her. She also relishes the way it burns when her thighs rub together as she walks, a gentle smile quirking her lips up in a quiet, indecent secrecy. And Adam knows that smile, adores that smile, returning it with a wink and– if Belle is close enough– a low, suggestive rumble in his throat that awakens a beautiful shade of pink on her cheeks.

• Until their wedding night, their sexual endeavors never exceeded third base. So when the time comes and Adam can finally HAVE Belle, he makes the sweetest, most passionate love to her; all languid thrusts, soft whispers, deep breathing, quivering lips, and trembling limbs.

• The second time Adam takes Belle that night results in torn pillows, dark purple bruises, and indentations in the wall from its repetitive collision with the headboard.

• And speaking of the headboard, there were definitely deep scratch marks engrained in the wood from their ardent lovemaking. When Belle notices them the morning after, she never lets Adam live it down, and later that week she has to bite her lip to keep from laughing when Adam sheepishly informs the staff that the headboard needs to be replaced.

• Teasing aside, Belle loves Adam’s animalistic nature in bed more than she’d like to admit. She revels in the feel of his teeth teasing and nibbling when he trails his mouth along her collarbone, marking her– claiming her– with deep red love bites. She adores the way he buries his face in her neck when he fucks her, the way his hot breath dampens the skin of her throat with his labored breathing. She takes delight in his wild eyes, with blown pupils and filled with something so unabashed, raking over her body and glimmering with indecency. But nothing gets to her more than those low, guttural sounds Adam makes when he’s aroused, almost always involuntary and instinctive, like when Belle bites his lip or when her tongue laps over the smooth head of his cock. Her absolute favorite is when he growls deep in his throat while he’s eating her out, the sound rippling up from her center and hardening her nipples, arching her back, and making her head thrash against the pillow.

• Adam likes to play a game where he mouths at Belle’s neck, dances his fingers softly over her wrists, and murmurs suggestive words in her ear to see how long it takes for him to get her turned on enough to abandon whatever book she’s reading and give in to his sexual efforts. One time he got so far as to literally being inside of her until her book finally fell to the floor and she let Adam take her on the library table.

• They literally have sex all over the castle, and as much as the staff wants to complain, they can’t bring themselves to since they know Adam was basically celibate for over a decade. A lot of pent up desire, y'know? So nothing can really stop him when he bends Belle over the dinner table after watching her lick sauce off her finger, his owns fingers cushioned between her soft lips as he takes her so hard that dishes clatter to the floor.

• Also, he literally died for a brief moment in time. So who can blame the man for completely ravishing his wife at every moment he can when he thought he lost her forever?

• A concept: THRONE SEX!!!!!!!!!!!

• Belle straddling Adam in his royal chair and riding him into oblivion, their sounds of pleasure echoing off the walls of the large room. Bonus points if Adam is wearing some sort of coronet.

4

As ever, Watson, you see but do not observe. To you the world remains an impenetrable mystery whereas to me it is an open book. Hard logic vs romantic whimsy. That is your choice. You fail to connect actions to their consequences. Now, for the last time…

i was trying to determine what movie the voltron gang was watching in that one picture based upon their reactions and i just. can’t .

first we have coran here. he’s just. chillaxing back with all his snacks. no real reaction. he’s probably not even watching the movie, he’s just there for the food.

and then there’s keith. calmly taking a fucking sip, babes. no real emotion on his face, yet he seems vaguely intrigued. he’s probably the only one watching the movie but not actually paying too much attention to it. 

shirogane is ShiroGone™. look at those eyes. that calm, relaxed smile. this man has not stopped a day in his life. he has no clue what’s happening, but is just happy to be in a situation where his life is finally no being immediately threatened. he’s probably disassociating so hard his mind is in the ninth astral plane. godspeed, shiro. 

now allura. her little :T face. god, she’s so adorable. but she looks like she’s thinking more about whatever type of alien popcorn she’s eating more than whatever’s on the screen. she’s a mix between shiro and coran. she’s somewhat Gone™ but she’s also just there for the snacks.

now pidge. excited, gripping her pillow, sitting up straight. she looks like she’s actually watching the movie, and is happy to be there. she probably got to pick the movie. 

hunk, my son, what has you so frightened????? nobody else besides lance is reacting as hard as you. did something explode??? did a character did a blood death??? someone hold him

okay so the frick frack diddily dack patty wack snick snack crack pack slack mack quarterback crackerjack biofeedback backtrack thumbtack sidetrack tic-tac has lance so excited. everyone else is either sitting normally, not really reacting, or they seem fucking terrified like hunk. what’s got lance so excited???? my bet is that he zoned out five minutes into the movie and then just started physically reacting to his own internal commentary as he ad-libed what all the characters were saying on the screen in his mind

anonymous asked:

"I'll never unsee that" Nessian please!!! :)


@squaddreamcourt , you asked me to tag you when the fic was done, and here it is! I hope you’ll like it! @feyre-cursebreaker  I am so incredibly sorry for making you wait for so much darling, and I hope you’ll like the fic even if it’s not what you asked for. @ the anons, I am sorry for the wait lovelies, but I hope you will like this💗





There’s nothing worse than being dead, one would think.

But a ghost would say otherwise.

There’s this thing with ghosts- or rather, with a very strange and particular kind of ghosts, that actually wins the prize for the most unfortunate supernatural entity worldwide; they don’t know who they are, they don’t know where they come from or how they got in whatever place they end up in, but there’s a couple of things they know for sure: they don’t have a body, they can’t be seen or heard and it takes a bunch of creepy tricks to get a message through, and they are most likely dead.

Or getting there.

And of course, the most important thing:

the first person they see in this strange existence of theirs is their soulmate.

It all started with Nesta’s cigarette disappearing; she started smoking when she was fifteen, after her Father said how much he hated the smell of it, and never stopped since.

So it annoyed her to no end when her apartment seemed to be hell bent on hiding her own cigarettes every time she bought a new pack of them.

Nesta groaned in frustration while throwing the pillows of her sofa in the air and she couldn’t help but mutter, her voice booming in the empty room, “Why do you keep hiding my cigarettes?

She knows that she may sound mad and that it’s impossible for her own house to hide anything from her, but she just-just needs to be alone on her balcony with a cigarette between her fingers to calm down the roaring in her head.

She sighs, trying to readjust the pillows before she loses her patience completely but the sharp sound of glass breaking makes her turn, her heart thumping in her throat-

Nesta’s eyes widen and the breath stops in her lungs as she reads the words upon her wall, written in a deep shade of red with jagged letters:

Because it’s bad for your health.

He doesn’t know many things.

He doesn’t know who he is, what he is or how he ended here, but he knows that the most beautiful woman that he has ever seen is in front of him- and, well, he didn’t see many people but does it even matter when she’s there, just in front of him and she-

She ignores him completely.

And it drives him mad.

At first he thought she didn’t see him, which would make sense because he can’t even see himself, which is something that he really doesn’t want to think about, but he tried to talk, to scream and shout.

She didn’t even turn to him.

He looks at her- not that he can do much else, though he is not complaining- always on that couch reading book after book- and he knows some of those books, knows the titles, knows the words by heart even if he doesn’t know how that is possible- not even flinching and for some reason that he doesn’t know, it drives him completely out of his mind.

And then there’s the smoking.

She smokes so much she creates little grey clouds above her head in every room she goes and he can’t help but think of how much that must be unhealthy since she’s so tiny and he cares, even if he doesn’t know why, but it must be reasonable to care for the first person you ever saw in your entire life, if one can call this strange, invisible, unnerving thing life.

Bonus points for the fact that she is so beautiful she can make his breath stop in his lungs, but luckily for him, he doesn’t fucking breathe.

And then there are those times, when she goes out on the balcony to smoke before she goes to bed and her blue eyes reflect the color of the stars and he just- just wants to touch her, because she’s beautiful, but she looks so lost and he wants to take her hand, wants it with an intensity that frightens him but he can’t reach her, he can’t move, he can’t do anything but watch.

But, for being something that he can’t even explain, he is smart.

After glaring at her pack of cigarettes for three hours straight when she wasn’t home- and while asking himself relentlessly where the hell she was- he saw the damned thing move, and move, and move again until he finally managed to throw it out of the window.

He has never been more proud of himself.

And he did it again and again with various objects and in various occasions, like bringing her the hairbrush in the morning when she left it in her bedroom the night before or keeping her stash of books from falling over, or trying to give some sense to the utter mess that is her house and of course, his personal favorite: raising the temperature - that, well, that happened as an accident: one day he saw her having a discussion on the phone with someone and there was something, the look of complete delusion on her face but the complete lack of emotion in her voice, it made him want to scream at the person who was talking to her.

And suddenly the room was a oven- the first time was an accident, yes, but then it became a wonderful way to mess with her and it didn’t take him long to decide that sweaty and bothered was one of his favorite looks on her.

She never noticed, mostly because there wasn’t a logical explanation for the sudden change of degrees or to the never falling books, and maybe it was better like this.

He doesn’t know what happened or what was told to her during that phone call, but something did happen because she is smoking twice as much now and she’s so nervous her hands shake and what was a five minutes smoke on the balcony turned to her sitting in the cold for hours, staring at nothing.

And he honestly doesn’t care what he can or what he can’t do, he won’t stay here without trying to understand, without trying to help her.

So when she is trying to dismantle the sofa in her desperate chase after her damned cigarettes and wondering to herself why they always disappear, he takes a bottle of wine and smashes it against the wall, the soothing sound of glass against bricks, and tries to write with the dark liquid and even if the result is complete shit, the message is loud and clear.

Because it’s bad for your health.”

He sees her beautiful eyes go wide, but she doesn’t scream.

She falls back on the sofa, gripping the armrest like a lifeline and he- he moves as if he wants to catch her, which is stupid because he can’t, but he tries.

He looks at her and at the wall and wills the wine to move again “Are you alright?”, he asks, and thinks of how dumb he is only when it’s already done.

How can he ask if she’s alright when an invisible something is writing on the wall of her house?

He hopes at least that the wine was of shitty quality.

She shakes her head and he feels a pang of guilt; the room warms slowly, without him even noticing but she- she looks less scared but it lasts a second and then she does it, the thing he hates the most in this house that means the world to him: she straightens her back, her chin high and hides herself behind that icy façade, the one he watched her use in countless phone calls and in the brief encounters with other people, looking in front of herself like whatever is happening is nothing of importance.

The wine moves on the wall creating an angry splash of red.

“What are you and what are you doing in my house.” she says, her voice cold and steady like she’s talking about the weather with a stranger.

I-” he tries to write, but he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know a thing, he knows absolutely nothingand you? Who are you and what are you doing here?” he asks, sounding childish even to himself, and maybe he shouldn’t but he wants to know her name and the fact that he didn’t get to hear it in all this time bothers him endlessly.

She opens her mouth and closes it like the question surprised her and it breaks her mask for a second and if he could smile, he would.

“I am Nesta Archeron, and I happen to live here.” she says while her eyes scan the room.

Nesta Archeron, he repeats the name in his mind, savoring word for word and it sounds like music.

Nice to meet you, sweetheart.” he replies and there’s this adorable outraged expression on her face before she runs to the kitchen and comes back with a bag of salt, tearing it open and spraying it everywhere in the room, trying to do fuck knows what.

The pavement of the room becomes a white mess and she looks satisfied, as if she’s thinking she drove him away.

He starts to doodle in the salt.

She jumps in surprise “The salt- doesn’t it, doesn’t it banish things like you?” she asks and he wants to laugh, or chuckle, or make any kind of sound.

I think that you watch too much of that thing over there, sweetheart.” he writes, drawing an arrow toward her television.

She recoils and he notices how her hands shake “This- this isn’t possible. It isn’t happening. You’re not real.” she whispers, like she’s scared someone will hear the fear in her voice.

This is actually happening, sweetheart, and I happen to be very, very real.” he looks at the words, and then adds “More or less.

She looks lost in disbelief and he doodles a smile in the salt, hoping it would help, but judging by the expression on her face, it only makes it worst.

“Are-are you a ghost?” she asks, and the word resonates in him.

Ghost.

Maybe?” he writes, and that’s the best answer he can give her.

Nesta-ah, how he loves her name- inclines her head, making some strands of golden brown hair fall on her face and he aches, suddenly, with the need to tuck it behind her ear.

“I have a doubtful ghost in my house.” she says, like she is trying to make peace with the fact that, in fact, she does have a doubtful ghost in her house. Or maybe she’s just trying to find some logic in this situation.

It’s not like I can go somewhere else.” he writes, and he doesn’t know if he’s trying to make her understand all of this or if he’s desperately trying to understand it himself.

He tried, he really, really did, but he couldn’t walk out the door- not that he can walk, but, you know- and finding himself splattered against her bedroom window is not an experience he is dying to make again.

And Nesta manages to land her icy blue eyes right on him, and the fact that she’s looking right through him it’s not only words: he feels real, in the few seconds in which she looks in his direction before turning away, he feels real.

Please look at me again.

She climbs on the sofa, slowly, as if she’s scared he’s going to attack her, but then she stands up again, muttering “I am going to bed, I am going to bed and tomorrow I will realize this was all a dream.”

He watches her go, looking at every inch of her, and slowly writes

Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

The next day, he is still in Nesta’s house, waiting for her to wake up.

He knows the exact moment her feet touch the floor, and even if he thinks that it is kind of creepy, the moment she enters the living room with her hair a mess and sporting a striped violet pajama he does it again; he burns up, without being able to stop it, trying to keep the burning to himself without making the room seem like a chimney, but the vulnerability in her eyes the moment she wakes up is something that makes him feel, and he feels this, whatever it is, so strongly every part of him burns with it.

She looks around, trying to find some proof of what happened last night, but he cleaned everything up, because it seemed like an incredibly shitty thing to do, to leave her house a mess with salt and wine and broken glass.

“Are-are you still here?” she asks quietly, and he can’t help but love the look on her face, like she can’t believe she is seriously doing this.

She notices the notepad on the table the moment he takes the pen to write on it.

He finds out with a strange sort of satisfaction that he very much likes the color red.

Good morning, Nesta.” he writes and cringes when he notices that, no matter his attempt at being suave, his calligraphy is utter shit.

She walks to the table, her eyes narrowed and probably trying to decipher what he wrote.

He wants- he wants to shout, wants to scream that it’s just a good morning note, that his calligraphy is shit because he is probably dead and didn’t got the opportunity to check his writing skills and honestly he doesn’t know why he feels so flustered and he is stupid, fucking stupid because for some reason the fact that she maybe won’t be able to read his good morning note since he is the most idiotic ghost ever makes him feel- makes him feel wrong.

She passes a hand through her hair and whispers “Good morning, ghost.” and- this, this is strange, because he honestly doesn’t know how he ended up on the ceiling, but he is, he’s like floating, soaring or maybe flying and it takes him a few seconds to realize that he is simply happy- but then she exhales, her hands on her hips “I understand that you can’t go out of this house, but this is my house and you’ll do as I say. No more tricks like last night and no more wine on the walls, Casper.”

Casper?” he writes, because damn it, he doesn’t know what his name but he sure as hell isn’t named Casper.

“Yes. So you’ll act nicely from now own, because I can and will find a way to kick you out if it comes to it.” her voice is like steel against ice and even if her words should maybe get a different reaction out of him, he still can’t get down from the ceiling.

Got it.”, he writes and he should really, really practice writing because a five years old would totally do a better job at it than him.

She just nods and heads for the kitchen and he knows she wants a cigarette because she is grinding her index and middle finger together, but he also knows she isn’t going to ask him.

He watches as she prepares her breakfast, looks as she opens the cabinet of the kitchen, every movement quick and efficient but almost angry.

As she sits on the chair she looks for him, he can feel it, so he moves the cereal box toward her, as slowly as he can.

Her eyes go wide like she isn’t used to the simple kindness.

“Thank you.” she whispers, her eyes behind the cereal box, exactly where he is, and he aches.

She eats quickly, her morning going with the flow f the routine and when she moves to the bathroom and her bedroom, he stays planted in the kitchen, trying to remember that privacy is an actual thing that should be respected and stares at the wall, finding interesting patterns in the crack of the paint.

Luckily he hears her entering the living room before he sets everything on fire and it’s strange, how every time he looks at her, with her fresh clean clothes and her perfect face and the posture of a queen ready for battle he feels concrete; it lasts a bunch of seconds, a short span of her heartbeats, but it’s enough for him.

He takes the notepad again.

Where are you going?”  he asks, and the letters are incredibly tiny, because he doesn’t want to pry but he absolutely wants to know.

She looks at the sheet of paper, her eyebrow raised.

“I am going out.” she answers, and with that, she walks out of the house, not even looking back.

The edges of the notepad burn.

The thing with being a ghost, he thinks, is that it is a very, very boring business.

He doodles-a mockery of Nesta and her damned eyebrows and her damned hair and her damned perfect everything- he tries to read some of her books-she studies law but has a love for romantic books, which he keeps well in mind for future teasing material.

He readjusts her ever growing pile of biscuits, all of them in different flavors of dark chocolate, but he doesn’t go near her bedroom because he perfectly remembers how just seeing her underwear on the ground led to thoughts and thoughts led to him nearly setting the sofa on fire.

But he’s no good with waiting and ends passing most of his time near the window, waiting for her to come back like a complete fool, moving as much as he can until he ends plastered to the window, again.

When he hears the sharp sound of heels- click,click- he moves away from the window as fast as he can, as if she could see him and the big idiot that he is.

She’s holding a brown grocery bag and the usual whirlwind of questions barrels through him

Is it heavy?

What did you buy?

Is that soy milk?

What do you like?

Are those instant noodles again Nesta Archeron I swear to god-

She places the bag on the kitchen table with a huff, strands of hair falling on her face as she stretches a bit, her face open and vulnerable and he doesn’t know if she’s being so human because she forgot he is there or because she doesn’t care, and he honestly doesn’t know what hurts the most.

And it’s a funny thing, being hurt when you’re dead.

Just his luck.

But she turns, her eyes and their ability to land right over him.

Hello”, he writes.

She smiles.

He flies.

And from his advantaged view from the ceiling he looks at her as she prepares her tea, slamming cupboards as if the last moments never happened, angry with the world again.

She takes a bright pink bag, not the black tea person he suspected, Nesta, but a fruity tea lover.

He snorts, and is for once happy that he makes no sounds, just a quite rattling only in his head.

What starts the discussion is the incredible amount of sugar she drops in her tea.

What are you doing?” he asks after the third sugar-cube drowns in the dark pink liquid.

“Sweetening my tea.” she says, her pale hand moving the teaspoon slowly and he’s mesmerized by the action before he replies “What you are doing is wetting sugar with some tea.”

She reads his answer but doesn’t reply right away, as if she’s looking for the perfect answer and when she does, her smile lights up with cruel delight “And how would you know?”, she asks, doesn’t need to add another word for the point to come across and he is silent, fuming with rage only he can feel and that he can’t express and trying to keep it inside him, to not let her see how deep her words went but he sees a bead of sweat above her upper lip and even as the temperature goes higher, she smirks.

He tries to write something and the pen melts into the invisible grasp, and Nesta drinks her tea, her knees drawn to her chest.

He could tell her, tell her that all the sugar in the world won’t make her any sweet but he sees as she searches into the pocket of her jeans for her cigarettes, so he writes “I might not know, but that’s not really my choice.” he sees as she brings a cigarette to her lips, soft and red and so- “Do you do something that isn’t smoking, sweetheart?

She doesn’t stop, just looks right through him as she lights her cigarette but he can see it, see it in her eyes how annoyed she is.

“I don’t see why I should explain myself to you, since you don’t even exist.” she answers, taking a long drag of smoke, like time doesn’t matter to her as long as she can hide behind the smoke of the cigarette.

He can only think of how her mouth would taste.

I do exist, as you well know. I am just not visible.”

“What do you remember? Don’t you know your name? Something?” she asks, her innocent curiosity so at odds with the smirk of just a few heartbeats ago.

I remember you.” he writes “This house. It’s like I’ve always been here.”

Her eyebrows knit together and just when her mouth opens to say something else, her phone rings.

“Elain? Oh, yes. Oh,no, I-” she looks at him, for a moment and there’ so much in her eyes he feels full “Come here,” she says, “with Feyre. Yes. It’s been too long.”

Nesta looks nostalgic, almost happy, like she’s seeing something, another opportunity, a new beginning that she always wanted.

He imagines fingers-his fingers-on her cheek, tries to imagine Nesta leaning into the touch, vulnerable and open and trusting.

Are we having guests?” he writes. Nesta didn’t let go of her phone and is still looking at the screen.

“My sisters.” she says, but the tone of her voice is full of doubt, like the relationship with her sister is flawed, or crooked and she already thinks it beyond repairing.

“I need to call a restaurant, to get the orders in-”

You are not getting take-out, Nesta Archeron.” he writes.

There’s something that disturbs him about the idea of getting food prepared by someone else for your own family, for someone you love.

“And what do you suggest that we do, then? I can’t cook.” she asks, her phone on the table.

He tries to form a reply while his nonexisting body tries to get over the fact that she said we.

We cook, that’s what we do.”

She raises her eyebrow, disbelief showing plain on her face.

Show me your worst, Archeron.”

It turns out that Nesta Archeron really, truly can’t cook to save her life.

But he can.

How much salt are you throwing over there, sweetheart?” he writes for the third time and Nesta looks at him like she is going to kick his ass even if she can’t see it.

They prepared the table, did the dishes and tried to create a soothing atmosphere with Nesta’s incessant fidgeting.

She takes the salad to the table, her eyes scanning everything as if she’ll find some imperfection that she could use as an excuse to postpone the whole thing.

“I should have never said that. I should have kept my mouth shut.” she murmurs, but the doorbell rings, and she goes quickly to the door and he can hear her counting her breaths.

1, 2, 3

When her sisters arrive there are no big hugs, not shouting and loud kisses, just a sort of understanding of how things are, and things are not very good, in his opinion.

One of the sisters, Elain, brought flowers, and Nesta rushes to the kitchen for a vase, which he lets her find ready near the sink alongside a note that says “You are so lucky to have me.”

She doesn’t sneer at the note, just searches for him before getting out of the room.

The dinner is quiet, aside from the how are you and the what you have been doing and while Elain looks over the moon with joy he can’t seem to understand the tension between Nesta and Feyre, but he sees as the younger reaches out between the passing of the salad which dressing Nesta fucked up more times than he can count, doubt on her features, gripping her older sister wrist like a death grip or a call full of hope.

She says something about starting over which he doesn’t listen as carefully as he probably should, which he feels a bit ashamed of, but he is too busy looking at Nesta, at the crease between her brows, at the way she looks at her sisters fingers around her arm and he knows, he knows exactly what hides behind her eyes, the battle within her heart and pride, the need to hide and sneer and belittle as an armor, second nature, or to let something new and tender grow.

“Fine.” it’s all that she says and he tries to remind himself that this has nothing to do with him and he has no reason to be happy or to be floating toward the ceiling like the most idiotic ghost-balloon ever, but he is, he’s happy for her, for the way the tension quietly shifts to content, for the quiet laughs and for the little clinking of glasses to the new beginnings, courtesy of Elain.

When they leave he can’t help but notice how the house feels warmer-and for once for a reason that isn’t his inability to control himself- and can’t help but love the soft pink on Nesta’s cheeks and how happy she looks in this four walls of theirs.

He can see that she’s tired, so he turns off the lights, makes the house just a bit warmer and when Nesta is already in her bed he hears it.

“Thank you.”

And in the end, he thinks that the view from the ceiling is not so bad.

The day after he discovers that when he laughs, he rolls around, which makes him wonder if he will ever do something even remotely graceful, but when Nesta comes out of the bedroom in a red pyjama full of pink polka dots and little panda bears and a green mask on her face, that’s when he loses it.

He starts to roll around, like he’s a little ball, like he’s trying to roll the head he doesn’t have back toward the ceiling, creating a never ending motion.

I’ll never unsee that.” he writes, but he’s writing is just a mess of overlapping letters that look like a roller coaster, like he’s having too much fun to see where his pen lands.

“There’s nothing to laugh about.” she says, going straight to the kitchen for breakfast, happier than he ever saw her this early in the morning.

You are always a sight to behold, sweetheart.” he writes and she smiles while taking down her biscuits and it all speaks of routine, of being used to each other in the best way possible, of companionship, of being equals of some sort and he can’t help but think that if this is his life, he is grateful for it.


He also discovers he doesn’t like the cold.

It latches at him, goes through him, leaves him restless to right a past that never was.

But within all the things he doesn’t like there’s one he truly hates, and that thing is seeing Nesta cry.

She’s out on the balcony, an unlit cigarette between her fingers, the rain wetting the paper, making the tobacco fall, her mascara pooling under her eyes.

She doesn’t talk and makes no sound, her tears mix with the rain and he doesn’t know what he can do so he gets closer, rustling the leaves of long dead plants to let her know he’s there.

“My mother died ten years ago. My mother died.” she says, like she wants it to sink in, to let it be real because she still can’t believe it.

“And he didn’t care. My father didn’t care and I want to go- I want to go to the cemetery to see if he brought her flowers, a note, something. Did he even love her?” she asks, and she’s looking at him and he aches, wants to comfort her, so he just tries to touch her and by the look she gives him she feels it, feels him and as happy as he is he forces himself to stay on the ground, with her.

“He let her die,” she whispers, her lower lip trembling “he let her die and he didn’t care, didn’t care to call the doctors even when I begged him to, didn’t care for her, didn’t care for me, for my sisters, he hid behind Feyre like a spineless, useless, heartless coward and-”

She hides her face behind her hand, little sobs escaping her lips.

Don’t hide from me, he wants to say, but he tries to soothe her, to make her feel calm and loved and warm and he hates that for all the things he can do he can’t dry her tears or stop the rain from falling.

“It wasn’t right,” she says, finally “it isn’t right.”

He nudges to her a bit, drawing soothing circles in the palm of her hand and thinks of things to write along the lines of if I could make you tea, I would.

And he is surprised beyond belief to hear her snort and answer “You would never get the sugar right.”

He sees Feyre and Elain more frequently since that night.

Feyre brings some paintings, saying that the apartment lacks colors and when Nesta asks her to paint something red, his emotions and heart and everything he is goes a bit all over the place.

He still swears that the book that went into flames is in no way his fault.

Nesta buys a book of names, all blue and pink, designed to help young parents chose the name of their children, and reads it to him to help him remember his name.

Nothing came out of it, other than a strange call to names that start with c, a nostalgic wave for a certain Reece and a strange affinity for Jewish mystics.

In the end, he asks her to read it two times, but it’s all because he loves the sound of her voice; it’s low, but not cold or empty, the kind of voice that sings to lure sailors off their ships, but loving enough to be as sweet as spring.

When summer comes, he feels like he’s been in her house for a lifetime.

They pass evenings on the balcony, Nesta’s skin covered under layers and layers of sunscreen and he can’t forget the smile on her face when she splashed him with ice cold water, like a child, laughing like crystal bells.

Well, he did take his revenge with switching sugar with salt, and the face she made while drinking her tea after was priceless, and this- this are all the moments he will never be able to forget.

Until that night.

They are on the couch, the same couch she tried to climb in fear of him all those months ago, watching one of her tv series, but neither of them is giving the show much attention.

Him, on his behalf, is too busy looking at the freckles on her face, gently visible thanks to the summer sun, and she is looking at him.

Or rather, at the space he would occupy if had a solid body.

She looks away, but her eyes land on him every now and then and he feels a strange sort of anticipation, like waiting for fireworks to light up the night sky.

That’s when she moves, faster than a blink and stops just an inch away from where he is and he knows, he knows-

He knows that Nesta wants to touch him, to see if he’s really there, if he’s real and he wants to beg her, he would kneel before her, just to feel her skin on him, just once, but when she tries, her fingers moving toward him, she goes right through him and he can’t feel her, can’t feel her fingers or her skin or her touch and he can’t, he can’t, he can’t- can’t look at the sadness on her face, can’t deal and live with the fact that they will never touch, that he will never tuck her hair behind her ear, will never touch her, will never-

But he will, he will see her smile and tuck her hair behind her ear and kiss her until they are drunk on one another, he will hold her because she is the reason he wants to be alive and real and concrete,  he just needs to-

He just needs to wake up.

                                                 —

It’s been three months without her ghost.

She doesn’t smoke anymore.

Nesta still doesn’t know what happened: a moment the ghost was there, on the couch with her, its warmth all around her and then it was gone and her house has never been so cold.

When she took her degree, she wanted to rush home, to tell to her ghost that she made it and when she came back home she realized that no amount of blankets in the middle of August would ever replicate that warmth.

Nesta didn’t think that she could miss so much someone who was never really there in the first place.

She sits on the balcony, the place full of memories of her ghost like the rest of the house when she hears a knock on the door.

She debates on answering, but the knocking becomes more insistent and she gets up, opening the door with an annoyed look on her face, but then-

There’s a man in front of her, long black hair flowing around his incredibly handsome face, hazel eyes that look right through her and trembling hands.

“Do you still like all that sugar in your tea, sweetheart?”

on sketches

Sometimes Percy lets Vex go through his sketchbooks when he’s not using them - a sign of how much he trusts her, really.

A lot of his notes from before they met are messy and jumbled and - in many places - heavily damaged and torn. He doesn’t sketch people or places, just scribbles out ideas that would later become his guns. Vex finds a page early on where he tried to keep count of the days since he got free of Whitestone; it stops after a month and a half.

And then she hits the part where she knows they’ve met. He sketches out Keyleth’s circlet, Scanlan’s various instruments, little pieces of his new companions. And her. The first one is just a brief sketch, a scribble of what’s obviously her and Trinket. It’s cute, really.

Keep reading

Shaving Cream (Sam x Reader)

Plot: The reader is helping to shave her boyfriend Sams face and accidentally puts a little bit too much shaving cream on his face. Pure fluff. 

Characters: Sam Winchester, reader

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, fluffy fluff fluff, then some, lots of kissing

Originally posted by awkwardsamw

Keep reading

Let Me Love You | Pt. 7

Pairing: Jimin x Reader x Taehyung 

Genre: Angst 

Word Count: 1282

Masterlist |Ask

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Originally posted by littlechimx2


Jimin never liked to imagine himself as a parent, loving the life of freedom and parties too much to give up on it so easily. Whenever his friends told him that they were ready to settle down and propose to their girlfriends, he scrunched his face and told them that they were doing a mistake.

When he found out that you were pregnant, he tried to handle everything as much as he could. The thought of taking care of a little human being and taking the responsibility to be her father scared him as much as it scared you, who also wasn’t prepared to be a mother.

As months went by and your belly started to grow, his insecurity also grew, making him do things he regretted without any doubt.

He never understood when his friends told him that being a parent is the most beautiful thing in this world. Whenever he saw how his friends interacted with their children, he scrunched his face and turned around, dismissing the thought that he was also going to be a father in a few months.

But when he held his daughter for the first time in his arms, her beautiful, doe eyes looking into his brown ones, he realized what being a father meant.

The moment he wrapped his hands around her tiny body, every kind of emotion started to engulf his body.

How was a little human being like her able to make a grown up man feel such emotions?

He never found the answer to that question. The only thing he knew for sure was that he would do anything for his daughter. Even if it meant that he had to get out of her life..


Today was the day.

The minute Jimin bid goodbye to the darkness, he found himself in the nursery room of his daughter, watching her cute sleeping form with a smile plastered on his face.

He took in ever little detail of her face, gazing her body with teary eyes when he realized that this was the last time he would be able to see her.

Jimin watched how his daughter opened his eyes slowly, her scrunching face warning him that she was going to cry any minute.

Reaching out for his daughter immediately, he took her out of her crib while she was screeching near his ear.

Patting her head gently, he started to place soft kisses on her face. When Hana felt the warmth of his father, she stopped crying immediately, the adorable smile plastered on her face making him doubt that she was crying just seconds ago.

Even though she was only 6 months now, her character started to develop with a blink of an eye, to fast for the liking of her father.

“Hana, my beautiful daughter, listen to me. This might be our last encounter together.. Please forgive me, okay? I couldn’t take care of you at the beginning. I couldn’t be a good father for you.. But believe me, it wasn’t because I didn’t love you or because I didn’t want you. I just failed.. I was scared and selfish..  B-But I know that you’re going to be a beautiful strong girl when your grown up. I’m sorry that I won’t be able to see your first steps or witness your first birthday. I love you, Hana..”

When Jimin looked down at his daughter with his teary, bloodshot eyes, he realized that she fell asleep on his cozy shoulder, her face nuzzled in the crook of his neck.

Placing multiple kisses on his daughter’s face, he sang the lullaby he wrote for his daughter for the first and last time, ending it with the words.

“Take care of your mother, okay? Forgive me, Hana. I love you..”


Taehyung never imagined that he would ever have this uncomfortable silence with the person he called his best friend and brother.

When Jimin invited him to take a walk with him, he thought that he wanted to fight with him again. But when he saw his best friend’s calm and straight face, he knew that something was wrong.

“Jimin, what’s wrong?”

He watched how Jimin snapped out of his daze, turning his face around to look into his best friends eyes. “W-What? What did you say?”

Concerned, Taehyung grabbed his best friend’s arm, dragging him to a near bench and shoving him down.

“Jimin, are you okay? Are you still mad? Look, Hana needed a father and I-”

“And I needed my best friend, Taehyung.”

Stunned, Taehyung looked at Jimin’s face. “W-what do you mean?”

“Hana wasn’t alone, Taehyung. She has her mother. Even though I wasn’t there, she had me. I never gave up on her. I never gave up on them. I was just scared.”

“Jimin-”

“I had no one else but you, Taehyung. You were my brother. But you too, left me without one. Because your desires were more important than my feelings.”

Not knowing what to say, Taehyung turned his face around and looked at the distance.

“I’m not blaming you, Taehyung. I’m even thankful for everything you did. You took care of them, you showered them with your love, you made them happy. You did everything I was scared to do. And I’m really thankful for that..”

When Taehyung felt Jimin’s warm hand on his shoulder, he looked at him again, smiling when he saw the the genuine smile plastered on his best friends face.

Without a warning, he wrapped his arm around Jimin’s body tightly. “I’m really sorry, Jimin-ah..”

A little chuckle left Jimin’s mouth. “Yah! I told you that it’s okay. Just, please, take care of them for me, okay?”

Leaning back with a confused expression, Taehyung asked hesitantly. “W-Why are you talking like you’re saying goodbye? Jimin, I dare you-”

Punching his best friends shoulder lightly, Jimin beamed at Taehyung.

“Are you stupid? You won’t get rid of me so easily.”


Slowly, Jimin walked towards your sleeping form on the sofa. It was in the middle of the night, the TV was still on, the volume on a soothing level, sounding like a lullaby.

Sitting down on the floor, Jimin looked at you sleeping face. How was he supposed to say goodbye?

Carefully, he tucked the strand of hair out of your face and placed a little kiss on your hand that was tucked down under your chin.

“You look so beautiful, Y/N.. I must be stupid for letting you go.. But I can’t stand it anymore, Y/N-ah.. Seeing you with Taehyung breaks my heart. I feel like suffocating. I’m sorry for all the things I’ve done to you. I’m sorry for breaking your heart over and over again. I don’t deserve you, Y/N. I don’t deserve this family. There is no need for you to move out to another country. I’ll make everything easier for all of you. I’m leaving, Y/N.. I won’t hurt you anymore. Take care of Hana and please never forget that I love you both more than you can imagine..”

Wiping his tears away, Jimin leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on your forehead for the last time. “Goodbye, Y/N..”

Standing up, he walked towards the door of the house with heavy steps, carrying his bags and dragging himself silently out the door.

Without turning around, Jimin started running the minute he stepped out of the house, scared that he might change his decision when stops running.

Just when he thought he had made it, he heard a voice.

“Don’t go.”


Author’s Note: To all those who said that the OC should stay with Jimin; please don’t hate me.. I don’t know why, but I feel really sorry for Jimin.. My poor baby.. Anyway, I hope you like it and let me know what you think about it ~

I got thinking about sana and yousef dancing together & now I can’t get the idea out of my head (this was just meant to be headcanons but it kinda turned into a oneshot so enjoy lol):

• yousef and sana at the beginning of their relationship still feeling a bit shy in front of each other so yousef sticks to dancing by himself/with the boys

• one day sana’s in her room chilling with chris (i miss their friendship ok?) when Keep Ya Head Up by 2pac suddenly starts blaring through the apartment
• sana tries to just keep on doing her thing, scrolling through her phone, ignoring the song, but chris is staring at her like “sana?? hello??? can you not hear that extremely loud music????” and sana just brushes it off like “oh it’s just yousef and the boys, they’re probably dancing or something”
• so now chris is staring at her like?? your boyfriend dances??? do they all dance?? does MIKAEL dance?? is he good????? sana I have to see this
• sana (because she doesn’t wanna make yousef uncomfortable) just shakes her head and tells chris she should drop it, “they’re not that great, plus my mum could dance better than mikael any day” (but secretly we all know sana loves watching yousef dance, she loves the way he’s so at peace and looks so happy when he’s dancing, plus he’s so GOOD at it)
• for about 30 seconds they stay sitting on the floor, but now sana’s just pretending to scroll through her phone because all she really wants to do is get up and rap/sing along with the music
• eventually she can’t take it anymore, she huffs and gives in, gets up and opens the door (they’re playing 2pac, that’s practically begging for her attention)
• the girls walk out of sana’s room (chris is very intrigued and excited because boys dancing !!!) and they find the boys crowded around yousef who’s dancing in the middle of the living room, showing them a routine
• sana tries to hold chris back from walking into the room because she still doesn’t want to make yousef uncomfortable, but chris walks straight in, winking at mikael as she does so
• sana however stays behind the door, standing there with that cute lil smile on her face because she adores watching yousef so much, he’s so into the dance, moving with the music and smiling, and all his friends are so in awe of him but then yousef opens his eyes and sees sana in the doorway (seems to be a common theme in this relationship) and he gets all bashful because he doesn’t want to dance in front of her
• this is met with a chorus of “bro what the fuck???” “why can’t sana watch you” “come on man you’re so good” from the boys (because they see how talented he is, they just want him to show it off!!!)
• then chris, who just has her eyes on mikael tbh, decides to pipe up like “ok yousef, how about we turn this into a dance contest, you’ve had your go so how about, I don’t know… mikael!! how about you dance next”
• all the boys start laughing, pushing mikael into the middle of the room, but he pushes back like “now boys, you’ve all seen me dance and we know I’m incredible, that’s a given, but you know who we’ve never seen dance? sana. I think she should go next”
• everyone starts chanting her name (other than yousef who’s just staring at her very fondly) and she’s just like “hahaha nooo I don’t dance, I’ve got better things to be doing” and starts walking back to her room when yousef catches her arm and suggests that maybe the two of them could.. dance together? (this is met with a chorus of cheers from everyone else, especially chris, who wants to see sana actually dance, not just bob her head like she does at parties)
• plus yousef may be embarrassed dancing in front of sana alone but he’s willing to push that aside to get her to dance in front of him (even better WITH him)
• the boys start playing the music again and sana’s just staring at yousef as he starts moving his hips to the music and pulling her back into the room because she’s stuck when she looks at him??? she can’t move for the life of her because she’s nowhere near as good as yousef and she’s never properly danced in front of anyone else so what is she meant to do??? but yousef just smiles at her, moves his hand down to hold hers and squeezes it gently
• at first they’re just looking at each other and stepping side to side (and yousef is smiling so hard now but sana’s trying to keep her Feelings on the down low so she’s trying to look unimpressed; inside she is screaming) but then the song gets to the chorus and yousef dramatically twirls her around as they hear ‘keep ya head up’ being sung and then sana can’t help herself, she finally lets herself move a little more to the music (relaxing, nodding her head, and stepping in time with yousef, even swaying her hips ever so slightly, and letting herself smile just a tiny bit) because she loves this song and she really likes this boy
• both of them start quietly singing/rapping along to the song (you know sana knows all the words and yousef learnt them all once he realised sana loves 2pac) and they eventually completely forget that their friends are watching them because they’re in a world of their own now, just surrounded by the music, smiling and dancing with each other
• they only stop when the song fades away and the boys all starting clapping and yelling “THAT WAS BEAUTIFUL” but as sana turns around, she sees chris filming them on her phone so sana practically jumps onto her and grabs the phone away to delete the video
• “but sana that was so cute, vilde would love it… can’t I just send it to the girls????”
• “sana bakkoush doesn’t do cute. you can never tell anyone about this. NONE OF YOU can ever tell anyone about this” (but inside Soft Sana is smiling because she knows it was cute and she really enjoyed it)
• the joke’s on sana though because mikael filmed the whole dance and he uploads it onto Hei Briskeby
• cue the comments from vilde and eva like “SANA YOU AND YOUSEF ARE GOALS😍😍😍😍 ALL OF US HAVE TO GO DANCING SOMETIME!!!💖🌸
• elias comments "she got her dancing skills from me guys you’re welcome”
• isak comments “you’re better at dancing than you are at biology, maybe you should stick to that from now on
also even wants me to say that this is the sweetest thing in the world, better than any romance film he’s ever seen (ur still not cuter than us tho sorry)”

• after this day, dancing becomes a regular thing for sana and yousef (but only when they’re alone so that sana doesn’t have to grab any more phones)
• when they’re feeling silly they dance to upbeat bubblegum pop songs (very evak-esque), just jumping around and grinning at each other and when one of them’s sad or stressed they’ll put on something slow and just be together, not having to say anything
• dancing becomes an easy way for them to communicate without words, one of them will just put on a song and they’ll dance together knowing that it only has to be the two of them and they can let everything go for a little while