started out as a drabble

For the better

Draco still can’t believe his luck. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. In fact, considering everything he’s done in the past, he doesn’t deserve any of this. Yet, here he is, three years after the war, happy and content. At least theoretically.

Like most nights, Draco clutches his blanket and stares at the ceiling. Sleeping has been difficult. Not because of the nightmares. They’re not completely gone, but it’s much better now. No, it’s because his chest won’t stop hurting.

He slowly turns his head to gaze at the sleeping man beside him. Draco flinches as his heart gives another painful squeeze. He stretches out his hand and carefully buries it in the mop of black curls, relishing the softness. Harry makes a pleased sound in his sleep and his lips curl up ever so slightly. Draco presses his own lips into a tight line.

Sometimes he feels like his heart is going to burst from all the happiness he feels. It’s like his body can’t cope with it, because it doesn’t know how. He’s never felt like this before. But most importantly, he doesn’t deserve this beautiful and kind man, sleeping next to him.

He still doesn’t understand what made Harry want to go out with him. He even initiated it. And now they’re living together. Draco still has a hard time showing his feelings. How can he be open about it, when he’s so conflicted and doesn’t even know what to feel most of the time? It’s hard to just accept the happiness and the way Harry seems to love him so freely.

Draco thought about ending it numerous times. Harry could do so much better than him. Not that he would ever admit that out loud, but it’s true, Draco thinks sadly. But he is far too selfish to give up on Harry.

When Draco brushes his fingers against Harry’s cheek, the other man stirs and knits his brows together.

“Can’t sleep?” he mumbles without opening his eyes.

Draco smiles at him.

“It’s okay,” he  whispers. “Sorry for waking you.”

Harry takes Draco’s hand and interlaces their fingers. He scoots over to him and buries his face in the crook of Draco’s neck. He inhales deeply and lets out a contented sigh.

Draco feels that familiar squeeze in his chest again. He wraps his arm around Harry and plants a kiss on his hair. In this moment, he vows something to himself. Not a day will go by without him trying to make this beautiful man in his arms as happy as possible. He will do everything in his power to show Harry how grateful he is that Harry chose him, for loving him, for making him want to be a better man. But how?

On the outside, he’s still as haughty and snarky as ever, but his friends keep telling him he’s changed. For the better.

He apologised to Granger and Weasley, but he knows he can do better and he’s determined to do so. Not only for Harry’s sake, but also his own.

And that’s when Draco realises, the only way he can make his boyfriend truly happy, is by being happy himself. 

It won’t be easy. He can’t just stop feeling guilty and undeserving. But he hopes he will get there someday. He can’t erase what happened in the past, but what happens in the future, that is up to him. He’s grateful he even got the chance at having a future, let alone with Harry.

So yes, Draco thinks again, he will do everything he can to make Harry happy. And that, apparently, starts with him admitting he is truly happy himself.

(Dedicated to @starshaping, who always lights up my day 💙)

halloween masterlist

Originally posted by highshin

trick or treat my ghoulish friends

i hope you enjoy my project that no one asked for and have a good october ( and halloween! )

the trick or treat categories have been mixed so pick wisely ;)

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antique-moonglade  asked:

Any line from Ed Sheeran's perfect? Drarry, pretty please with a chocolate fudge on top?

Okay, this isn’t strictly part of the list but hell, it’s @antique-moonglade and it’s Sheeran ❤️

A piece of wood in the hearth emits a long, hiss, spitting loudly and startling the tightly wound mound of fur out of its doze. Glaring at the merrily cracking fire, Victoria gets up, stretching long and high, pure white fur standing on end for a moment, before slowly stalking over to the unoccupied armchair, answering Harry’s soft chirp with a sullen meow before hopping up, curling in on herself and settling back down.

Draco’s glasses are perched so far down the bridge of his nose that they threaten to slip right off the upturned tip and into the book in his lap. Not that it matters; he’d stopped reading several minutes ago.

He’s too busy watching his husband over the polished silver rims of his spectacles, biting down on his tongue to keep from smiling to himself like a lunatic.

It’s Friday, nearly 11PM – Warbeck croons in the background, the Wireless making its characteristic whirring sounds between songs. Outside the second snow of the season falls slowly in twirling bits of dazzling white, the edges appearing fuzzy through the window. Large, mismatched mugs of hot chocolate sit under a Stasis on the coffee table, steam curling up steadily.

Draco’s socked feet are in Harry’s lap, being absently massaged as Harry reads the day’s Prophet that’s draped over the back of the sofa. Harry’s already pulled out all of his Weasley jumpers, clad tonight in a rich violet number with a broad, very slightly asymmetrical, yellow H on the front. His hair is still damp from the shower, curling up under his ears and sticking out at the back as usual, the heat from the fireplace slowly setting it in that mess. He frowns lightly as he reads, mouth sometimes moving soundlessly, lopsided glasses slipping down constantly.

Draco feels a hard lump rise in his throat and his heart threatens to explode right out his ribcage.

“What?” Harry asks, looking up suddenly, eyes wide and warm behind his glasses, small smile of adoration curling along his lips. “You’re gawking.”

“You have chocolate on your face,” Draco replies blandly, the warmth in his chest spreading in long tendrils. Harry rolls his eyes, sweeping a sleeve across his face before pinching the side of Draco’s foot, laughing at the indignant squeak that gets him, eyes already back on the newspaper. “You ever think about who you would have liked to end up with had I not snagged you first?”

The completely random question has slipped out before Draco can reel in his thoughts properly. Harry blinks, looking utterly baffled, and Draco chews furiously on his tongue.

“No,” Harry replies slowly, deliberately, “I don’t think it’s ever crossed my mind. Besides, it’s quite pointless.”


Harry chuckles softly, folding up the newspaper and tossing it aside. “Yes, pointless. How is it even relevant now? It’s not as if I’d have been even half as happy as I am today,” he adds with an easy shrug.

Draco swallows, pulling off his glasses and folding them carefully. “So you are happy…with me?”

Harry stares impassively. “Over three and a half years since we promised forever togetherness and now you think to ask me this?” He grins then, sudden and blinding, the abject love in his expression making Draco want to sing.

“Well, I figured I’d just confirm,” he retorts, though the snide sting he intended doesn’t quite ring. “So, you never think how it might’ve been had we not…?”

“No! Why would I even want to?!” Harry seems genuinely confused as he laughs. “There was only ever you for me, babe.”

“What?” Draco breathes.

Harry shrugs again. “You know… Like, we believe there’s someone out there for us, yeah? That one someone, waiting for us.”


“So I realised pretty soon after we got together that you’re that someone for me,” Harry says simply as if it’s the most obvious thing, before peering owlishly at Draco’s blank expression for a bit. “What? You never thought that? Like there’s someone waiting for you?”

Draco nods mutely, looking down at Harry’s hands kneading away expertly at his soles. It’s only after a very long pause during which the fire spits weakly and Victoria contentedly purrs in quiet reflection of the general ambience of Draco’s life, “I just–” His voice cracks and he quickly clears his throat. “I—I’d never have thought… I never knew you were the someone waiting for me.

Harry’s hands go still, and for a while they just stare at each other.

“Well… I am.”

“I’m glad.”

“Yeah, me too.”

It gets colder by the minute outside - inside, pure warmth cocoons their tightly wound forms, no space for the cold, no space for doubt.

It’s Shiro’s birthday so I wanted to write something short and nice for him as my writing warm-up today and this happened instead. Well, it’s definitely birthday-themed at least. 

Have I ever told you about my headcanon that Galra naturally have longer lifespans than humans? Happy Birthday, Shiro.

Keith sits on the edge of the bed, eyes cast downwards, mouth drawn up into a straight, tight line. His hands are resting at the drop-off of the sheets on either side of him, fingers curled in towards the mattress, gripped loosely at its corner. His shoulders curve forwards.

Shiro waits a moment or two, wondering if he’ll come out and say what’s bothering him or let it stew silently. Sometimes it’s one, sometimes it’s the other, depending on the matter, and he doesn’t want to push him if Keith’s going to offer it up himself. But after Shiro has finished changing into his sleep pants and Keith still hasn’t looked up at him, he wants to check in.

“Everything okay?” Shiro asks, coming to stand in front of Keith.

Keith’s eyes flicker up to Shiro, then to the Earth calendar drawn up on the wall, then to the clock that reads 11:58, before he says, “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Ah. So that’s what it is.

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Alec Lightwood is a total book nerd. He knows it, his siblings know it, even his parents know it. He’s probably read hundreds of books in a bunch of different languages. He’s always been told he’s an intelligent person, even if he was only ever meant to be a soldier. Sometimes being a soldier wasn’t enough, sometimes he needed that little momentary escape that comes with being lost in a good book. Izzy lost herself in science, that was where she found her answers. Jace in physical training and combat. But Alec loved words, no matter what language they were written in.

So because of this interest, he became fluent in quite a few languages, and was able to capably speak many more. It was a hobby, he supposed. He took joy in it, anyway. And then along comes Magnus, the few hundred year old Warlock with such an impressive library that Alec almost takes him up on his (multiple) offer(s) just to get his hands on it. It’s got languages Alec knows how to speak and ones he’s been meaning to study. And then there’s Magnus himself, who spoke so many languages that Alec was sure even now he didn’t know the extent of them.

Once they were together, Magnus started figuring out what languages Alec could speak, holding conversations with him in them, just for fun. But then it turned into a way to speak around other people, without the others knowing what they were saying. First it started out as a way to pass on important information, then it became silly things that would leave Alec struggling to keep a straight face, while Magnus didn’t even try and was nothing more than a giggly mess.

Sometimes Alec gave into the giggling too, Magnus was the only one who could bring that out in him.

But even with as many languages as Magnus knew, Alec’s favourite to talk to him in was Indonesian. Even after so long, it still seemed natural for him, the words rolling off his tongue perfectly with his accent. Alec loved hearing Magnus speak in his native tongue, even as Alec still stumbled over some words. And when Magnus said ‘I love you’ in Indonesian for the first time, it was the most beautiful thing Alec had ever heard.

the shot you wanted (zimbits, 6k)

This fic started out as a drabble in response to @iwantakokokringle’s request for a “zimbits zoo meetcute”. 6000 words later and here we are…

“He’s late,” Bitty grumbled as he bounced up and down on his toes, trying to spot the photographer in the swarm of students around them. His search was a little hindered in that he wasn’t sure who he was looking for exactly. He had only corresponded with the Daily’s photographer Brian over email and Brian’s student ID picture left a lot to be desired in identification purposes.

Next to him, Trina shrugged as she leaned over the card table they had set up to be their ticket booth for the weekend. The poster board that they had decorated to proclaim loudly “SAMWELL DANCE PRESENTS THE PETTING ZOO! ADMISSION 3 TICKETS” flapped in the wind as she taped it a little more securely to the table.

Just then, he spotted a tall dark-haired guy with a camera slung around his neck through the crowd. The guy was taller than Bitty would have guessed based on his student ID picture and a lot better looking, but the heavy-duty camera and the slightly lost look on his face as he scanned the crowd seemed like pretty good indicators. This was Brian at last. Bitty waited another minute as Brian looked around the crowd and with a roll of his eyes, he plunged into the crowd to retrieve the photographer. He had things to do this afternoon that did not include waiting around for the Daily’s errant photographer after all.

“For God’s sake,” Bitty said to himself as he dodged a gaggle of girls to land himself in front of the photographer. He still hadn’t managed to catch Brian’s attention until he reached out and grabbed his arm. Brian looked down at him, clearly startled, and frowned. Bitty immediately took his hand back and cleared his throat. “You’re looking for the petting zoo, right?” he asked.

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

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First-Hand Adorableness

Fandom - Supernatural

Characters - Dean, Gabriel, Cas

Summary - Cas rarely stops telling Gabriel about Dean. Gabriel wants to witness this so called ‘adorableness’ first hand.

Words - 776

Dean lay on the motel bed, his earphones in, eyes closed, Metallica blasting into his ears. He didn’t hear the sudden flutter of wings, and suddenly feeling something surround him did NOT cause him to let out a small scream and fall off of the bed, of course.

“What the-” Dean groaned from the floor, reaching over to grab his phone and earphones back, not registering a certain trickster grinning at him from the bed, wings outstretched behind him, glowing and golden.

“Hey Dean-o!”

Dean turned his head towards the sound of greeting. “Gabriel? That was your wings on me? It was YOU?”

“No. I just coincidentally happened to turn up directly after whatever you’re referring to happened. Yes, it was me. Anymore stupid questions?”

“What do you want?”

“Little Cassie hasn’t shut up in days.”


“Hasn’t shut up about YOU in days.”

“He’s talking about me?”

“Yes, he’s talking about you. I want to see this so called ‘adorableness’ first hand.”

Dean could feel the blush creeping up his neck and over his cheeks. “He- he called me adorable?”

“Not outright, no,” Gabriel said conversationally, his wings fluttering behind him, creating a gentle breeze. “It was implied. ‘Dean looked amazing doing this.’ ‘Dean looked so nice laughing.’ ‘Dean’s so good on hunts.’ It’s getting boring.”

“I ‘look so nice laughing’?”

“Apparently. That’s what I want to see.”

“Alright… Put the laptop on then. There’ll be something funny on somewhere.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, giving a bored look. “I don’t want you to laugh half-heartedly. Cas said you looked nice when you were laughing while he was tickling you last week.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Gabriel..”

Gabriel’s wings began to flutter a little faster, all 3 pairs beating the air.

Dean scrambled to his feet, towards the door, only to find that it was non-existent, and that he was facing just a plain stretch of beige wall.

“You erased the door? Really? C’mon Gabe,” He spun around to face the oncoming archangel “There are other ways to get me to laugh!”

“None are this fun,” Gabriel smirked with a snap of his fingers.

A rough tickling sensation swirled over Dean’s feet, sending him crashing back down to the floor. “Gabe! S-stohop.”

Gabriel sat on the bed again, conjuring up a drink of lemonade and a chocolate bar to drop in front of him. He opened them both absent-mindedly, staring at Dean. The hunter was kicking his feet against the floor, biting his lip to stop giggles escaping. Not much laughter.

Dean felt the feeling swirl upwards, running along his sides. He let out a shriek, rubbing his hands frantically over his torso. Laughter was bubbling up in his throat, and it was becoming harder and harder to keep it in. “Gahabriel! Stohop it!”

Gabriel just rolled his eyes, throwing the chocolate wrapper behind him, where it vanished in mid-air. “This is NOT adorable. How very dare Cas lie to me.”

“I did not lie.”

Both Dean and Gabriel turned to see Castiel standing in front of where the door would normally have been, watching them with amusement.

“I don’t find this,” Gabriel gestured to Dean, squirming on the floor, “’adorable’. I find it mildly entertaining.”

“Maybe you’re just doing it wrong,” Cas shot back, raising his eyebrows at his brother.

“Enlighten me.”

“Cahahas, dohon’t!”

Castiel ignored him, conjuring his wings and using his mojo to stretch Dean out into a star-shaped position. Dean felt Gabriel’s mojo slowly stop, but he knew he was in for worse. Cas straddled Dean’s waist, bringing his wings down to brush over the Winchester’s stomach.

“Ah! Cahahas! Dohohon’t do thahat!”

“Don’t what?”

“Ihi’m not fahalling for thahat!”

Castiel shrugged. Gabriel watched his brother and the hunter in entertainment. Castiel moved his wings down to stroke against Dean’s hips; the hunter erupted. “CAHAHAS! NOHO! PL-PLEHEASESTOPITNOHOW!”

“Ah, NOW I see it, Cassie.”

Dean was shaking his head frantically, his eyes squeezed shut and tearing up at the sides, his top ridden up over his stomach, his hair dishevelled and flying over his face.

“Adorable,” Gabriel cooed.


Cas laughed, relinquishing his attack on Dean’s hips and ceasing the hold he had on him. Dean curled into a ball, panting and cursing under his breath.

“That… thahat was horrible.”

“But adorable,” Gabriel said with a wink. “You were right, Cassie. He does look nice laughing.”

A flutter of wings and Dean was alone in the room once more. He crawled onto the bed, pushing his earphones into his ears again. As Metallica pounded through his head, one thought zoomed round his mind. He was NOT adorable, thank you very much.


Here is a compiled list of completed fics, drabbles and scenarios~

Before you request, do take your time to read through the RULES!

RATINGS (Read them at your own discretion! ):








anonymous asked:

drabble prompt for malec: "who was your first kiss, alexander?"

worth the wait | malec | 350 words

Magnus gives an exaggerated shudder as he finishes his story and Alec laughs louder than is probably warranted, the wine he’s been drinking loosening his tongue even as it makes his limbs heavy, leaning further into Magnus as the night progresses.

Magnus drops the playful grimace he had affected for his tale and smiles softly at Alec, tracing lines against his forearm, his arm still wrapped around Alec’s shoulders from the moment they had settled down on the couch together.

Alec can’t help but think this might be the best night of his life. It’s not that they’ve done anything particularly exciting, but even just sitting here talking, slowly getting to know one another, it’s… indescribable, honestly. He never thought he’d get to have this.

So of course the next words out of Magnus’s mouth have to ruin it.

“What about you, darling?” Magnus asks. “Who was your first kiss?”

Alec feels the blush creeping up his neck almost immediately. He remembers Magnus’s initial shock – and dismay? – when he first realized Alec had never been in a relationship before. He swallows thickly.

“Alexander?” Magnus prompts softly, his smile becoming a tiny bit guarded as he realizes something’s wrong.

Alec clears his throat lightly and plays with one of the rings on Magnus’s hand, twisting it back and forth to give himself something to do besides look at Magnus’s face.

“I don’t have to tell you that story, you were there,” Alec says eventually, trying for a joking tone that doesn’t quite land.

“Was I?” Magnus says, the confusion evident in his voice. Then after a beat it must click, because he lets out a soft breath and squeezes Alec’s arm gently.


“Don’t,” Alec asks softly, finally looking back up at Magnus’s face. “I just- please?”

Magnus eyes light with understanding and he drops a soft kiss to Alec’s forehead before settling back and filling the growing silence with another outrageous tale. Alec listens to Magnus’s voice and eventually lets himself breathe again.

It may have taken him awhile to get here, he thinks, but Magnus was worth the wait.

tryingtofindmyplacetoscream  asked:

Teebs, use that creative brain of yours for option 1 with Bechloe

anything for my favorite smol monster pupper child. even posting unbetaed drabbles of my shitty writing.

1) “Because I love you god damn it.” — Bechloe

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Imagine Jensen surprising you on Valentine’s Day

A Surprise Valentine

Pairing: Jensen x Reader 

Warnings: Nothing but the FLUFFS

Word Count: 1,200

A/N:  This started out as a drabble/gif blurb but then it turned into too many words. It’s basically a fic not a fic. So, I’ll tag you guys with the disgustingness. :P Hope you enjoy this Valentine/Not Valentine Fic. ;) I’ve been wanting to write Jensen singing for a while, and this came to me while grading papers. This is my ultimate wish. 

Feedback Welcome & Tags Below

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Random Pezberry Thought of the Day #52

In the worlds where Rachel actually was pregnant:

Santana stepped up. She took Rachel to the doctor, getting the best referral from her father, and helped the younger woman organize all the supplements and supplies, clearing out space in the loft and getting Kurt to give up half of his closet space. She held Rachel after phone calls with her fathers, not brave enough to tell them yet, and then held her hand when she did the first time they came up to visit, backing her up when she refused their suggestion of her coming back home with them. She helped talk Rachel through deciding whether or not to inform the other parent, having first already helped her decide if she wanted to take a DNA test, and then held her when Finn died before she had had the chance to tell him. She helped with morning sickness and dragged herself out of bed in the middle of the nights for weird cravings - complaining all the way, but she did it, making use of her acerbic tongue to get things fast and perfect. She helped Rachel during her shifts at the diner, keeping the most rowdy customers away, and covering for her when exhaustion started setting in. She tagged along when Rachel went to NYADA to explain the situation, not allowing Cassandra to bully her already stressed out, terrified friend for ‘letting herself ruin her future’, and held Rachel that night and the next day as well. She helped, sometimes not without losing her patience, or getting fed up, but she always came back, Rachel’s favorite tea in hand and another book for expecting mothers for their overflowing bookcase. She helped shop for beds and strollers and breast pumps, always an inappropriate comment on her tongue, making Rachel crack up and feel just a little bit more prepared and like ‘everything’s gonna be okay’. She talked with Rachel, talked about everything and her experience with her mother’s and cousins’ and sister-in-law’s pregnancies, and how it was going to be hard but Rachel was going to make it, and there’d be a new Broadway lovin’ mini-munchkin runnin’ around before she knew it, around to accompany Rachel to all the red carpet events and award shows she’d still have because this wasn’t going to derail her dreams - just postpone them. She massaged Rachel when she needed it, and even sometimes when she didn’t, always in exchange for some of Rachel’s amazing vegan lemon bread, and was often around for cuddling on the couch or sitting far, far away because Rachel was getting overheated, damp towels pushed into Rachel’s hands before she even opened her mouth to ask for them. Santana was there, like she said she would be, always checking in on the evenings Rachel told her to go out and have fun - have “Santana time”, and face timed when she had to go home to Lima for a week, coming back with the softest stuffed bear Rachel had ever seen to put in the designated nursery area. She helped practice getting Rachel to the hospital, and went to Lamaze classes with her, even when Rachel decided on ungodly hours of the morning weekend ones, complaining and dragging herself, but going. She wasn’t always perfect, and she wasn’t always kind, but she did more than Rachel ever would have thought.

And in some universes, Rachel fell in love with her for it. In some universes, she said something. In some universes, she didn’t. And in some universes, it isn’t until after the baby is born does Rachel, watching Santana hold her child after being in there for the birth, ask Santana if she wants to raise it together, with her, as a family. And in some of those universes, smiling and settling Baby Berry into Rachel’s arms, adjusting the blankets around them, Santana says, weren’t they already?

But in my favorite universes, it’s in the middle of three am cryings and disgusting diaper changes, barely any sleep and round the clock schedules for Rachel, Santana, and Kurt, that Rachel, exhausted and getting ready to pull Santana down for a nap with her, stops and turns to her friend, asking her if she feels how everything’s changed - between them, for them - and, maybe, she would like to explore that with her. And in those same universes, Santana, groaning and falling into bed, barely waiting for Rachel to join her to spoon her and pull the covers up around the both of them, mumbles, already falling asleep, that it’s way past time for beauty sleep, Baby Berry has too powerful lungs, and she’ll kiss her when they wake up.

anonymous asked:

reigen definitely takes mob trick or treating

I love this idea, yes! I think that they end up doing it every year, with more and more people joining in as the esper entourage grows! 

(I even tried my hand at writing a quick silly drabble for this under the cut…)

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It takes so much more strength to say it than Yousef thinks it should. It shouldn’t be this hard- he’s never had a problem admitting when he wrong or guilty or any of that stuff. He’s never had a problem confiding in others when he’s hurting.

And yet.

“I messed up.”

Then the words are out there and Elias’s back tenses for a split second, before he relaxes and cranes his neck to meet Yousef’s eyes.

“Is this going to make me want to never speak to you again?” Elias sits on the corner of his bed, staring calmly up at Yousef as he shuffles by the close entryway of the bedroom. And he’s so grateful that the other boys have gone and left, and he can just have this moment with his best friend, even if it might be the last. “Is it about Sana?”

The name is enough to make his chest tighten. Sana. Sana who hates him now.

“Yeah,” Yousef drags a hand through his messy hair, “It’s about her. I like her, man.”

“So does everyone.”

“No,” he responds and winces, “I mean I like her a lot. She’s sort of like- all I think about lately? Not in a weird way… just… I like her.”

“You like her,” Elias looks up at the ceiling, probably cursing the bro-code gods or whatever, “I shouldn’t be having this conversation until Sana’s at least 30.”

Yousef thinks about Sana at thirty for a moment and sees flashes of dark eyes and wild kids running around and Yousef making dinner as Sana stands beside him laughing.

It’s a pipe dream.

“Doesn’t matter. I messed up. Do you remember Sana’s blonde friend? Noora?” Elias nods and his face got a lot more wary, “I kissed her. The day of the karaoke party. I think Sana saw. And now she won’t even look at me, man.”

“Rough,” Elias intones dryly, laying back on the bed, “What do you want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know. Give me some advice man. What should I do?”

Elias sits up and cocks his brow, “You made out with a chick in front of Sana, put her in an awful mood all week, and you want me how to tell you how to get her to forgive you? My sister?”

Yousef slumps, “I guess not. I just don’t-”

“Sana is all about action. Words don’t mean anything to her.” Elias nods at him, “That’s all I’m saying. Now do you want to play some video games and pretend like this conversation never happened so I don’t feel the need to kick your ass?”

Yousef grabs the controller and mentally starts mapping out his next move.

Seventeen Hip-Hop Unit Lip Balm Reaction

Here’s the hip-hop unit reacting to you getting a yummy new lip balm flavor. It was supposed to just be a reaction, but it started out kind of drabbly to begin with and only got more and more so as it went on. Mingyu’s was last so his is the longest and he’s not even my bias teehee 


S.Coups: Vanilla

He would come to pick you up for a coffee date at your place. When you opened the door, he pressed his lips to yours with a small smile to say hello like you two usually did, but this time he noticed something new. When he pulled away for a second, he smirked a little, licked his lips, and then kissed you again, this time a little longer and deeper, and he hummed happily when he pulled away again.

“Your lips taste like vanilla, are you wearing new lip balm?” He looked at you quizzically. “Let me know when you run out of this, we can go get you some more.” He gave you one last kiss before taking your hand and leading you off for your date with that adorable smirk still plastered on his face.

Wonwoo: Watermelon

You two were sitting on a bench in the park looking at the cherry blossoms, him holding your hand in his own. When there was a lull in conversation, you two looked at each other, and he took the opportunity to place a soft, gentle kiss on your lips. You felt him smile lightly after a moment, and when he pulled away, he looked down in his lap, blushed a tiny bit and let out a light chuckle.

“What?” You blushed at his giggling. He looked up at the cherry blossoms and then back down at his hands in his lap.

“You’re wearing a new lip balm.” You laughed.

“Do you like it?” He looked up at you for a moment, after which he brought his hand up to gently cup your cheek as he leaned in to place another kiss on your lips. You both leaned away giggling.

Vernon: Strawberry

You were sitting on your couch typing away on your laptop. You had a report to finish, but Vernon had wanted to see you anyway, so he came over to sit with you while you worked and talk and eat with you when you took a break. Right then, he’d decided that it was time for a break.

“Come on, we should eat dinner now.”

“I’m almost ready, let me just finish this one part.”

“You said that half an hour ago.” He accused, exasperated.

“Yeah, but I’m really almost d-“ He turned your face towards him and kissed you quickly to distract you. He was about to tell you to put the laptop down when his eyebrows furrowed, and he paused. He leaned back in to kiss you again, and again, looking at you quizically.

“what?” You blushed, confused by his actions.

“…strawberry?” You rolled your eyes and smiled, earning a laugh from him.

“Yeah, I got new lip balm.”

“I like it.”

Mingyu: Tropical Blend

You both leaned over your controllers, wearing looks of determination. Just as you raced through the last few meters to the finish line, You watched in horror as out of the corner of your screen, Mingyu’s kart sped past you and crossed the finish line a fraction of a second before you. Mingyue threw his controller on the couch and lept up as he laughed and bragged.

“Yes! YES. I won. I beat you. You lost. I AM. THE BEST.” You scowled at him and pulled out your new lip balm as you retorted.

“I demand a rematch.” He sat back down still sporting a ridiculous grin as he went back through the Mario Kart menu to start up another match.

“I never realized how much you enjoyed the pain and humiliation of losing, time and time again.” He said as he glanced over at you to watch you apply the lip balm, his attention suddenly drawn away from the game.

“Is that new? I don’t recognize the color.” He asked.

“What? Oh, yeah. It’s tropical blend.” You didn’t really pay him much attention as you finished up applying the lip balm. He stared at you, both amused and a little entranced by your simple act. Suddenly, as you were just about to put the lid back on, you felt your wrist pulled away from your face, and Mingyu swooped down to press his lips to your own. You were a little shocked, but soon melded right into the kiss, which lasted only a couple of seconds. He pulled back with a proud smirk on his face and looked from your lips to your eyes while his face stayed no more than a couple inches from your face.

“I like it.” He gave you a quirk of the corner of his mouth and then went back to the game like nothing happened, the only evidence of the event but the surprised look on your face and the smirk that remained plastered on his.


If you guys enjoyed this, please check out my drabble game, you can find it here. I don’t know if this blog is big enough yet for a drabble game to be successful, but I guess we’ll find out!

Hope you liked it, bye peaches 🍑 stay sweet

The one with Charlie's herbal tea

Summary: Reader gets injured after a hunt and isn’t handling it very well. Neither is Dean. Charlie tries to help but should really have brushed up on her Latin skills before doing so.

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam and Charlie are there too. Cas is only mentioned (sad!Boxy)

Word Count: 3 692 (and here I thought it would be a drabble)

Warnings: Angry!Dean swears a lot, Reader almost dies (somewhat graphic description), Reader gets drugged by Charlie (not sure if that should be a warning?), Reader vomits (somewhat graphic description)

Beta’d by Mardi (aka @soopranatural). Go follow her, bitches! She’s awesome ;) Don’t miss reading her amazingly funny beta comments at the bottom.

A/N: I think I did a flangsty thing? I swear, it started out as the fluffiest of crack drabbles and then BAM! I accidentally took the exit to Angstville… Let me know what you think, and if you want to be tagged in any future fics!

Originally posted by delusionaldean

Entirely in Dean’s POV

I decided to leave the bar earlier than usual. Sam had already gone home with some brunette that had been eyeing him all evening, and I didn’t feel like staying just to find someone for myself.

Besides, I would be lying if I said that you hadn’t constantly been on my mind since our last hunt together. What that witch had done to you still haunted my nightmares. And I fucking hate witches.

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All is well

“Chirrut!” Jyn is shocked when he answers the door to the hotel suite.  “Chirrut, are you okay?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. All is well,” says the blind man, calm as ever despite the tears on his cheeks.

“But – but you’re crying – what’s happened?”  She lays a hand on his sleeve anxiously and he pats her fingers.

“All is well,” he says again.  “But you can’t come in right now.  It is Baze. He’s meditating.”  He begins to smile slowly.  “He has not meditated for many, many years.  He told me he did not believe he still knew how.  But – when he sat – it just – it came back to him.”

His face is like a sky full of rainbows, gleaming with light even as the tears run down.  Jyn tightens her clasp, wondering if he can sense the beam of happiness on her face.

“It is a great comfort to him.  And to me,” says Chirrut serenely. “For now I can feel his soul once again.”

There’s a pause before he adds “And you have come to give me some more good news, have you not?”

“Yes, yes I have. That’s to say, it’s – it’s an invitation.”  It seems huge again, now she has to say it aloud, and her voice shakes.  She thinks of the ring on her hand, and of Cassian’s joyful face. They are all, in their different ways, finding out how to live again.  “An invitation to - to our engagement party.  Tomorrow afternoon.  Please come?”

beg the moon to stay

i started thinking about amy and how she’s a routine person and somehow i started writing this little drabble and this all popped out. there’s an abundant overuse of pronouns and polysyndeton and it’s not my normal writing style, but that’s okay. 

read from ao3

When in doubt, Amy tends to fall into a routine.

As a child, she would wake up early with rising sun and chime of her alarm clock, eat the breakfast her mother made that morning (fu fu if early in the week, and rice and fried eggs on Friday mornings), wash up, then put on the wrinkle-free outfit that she’d pick out the night before and arrive at the bus stop exactly eleven minutes ahead of its schedule.

Her first year at the Nine-Nine, Amy is out the door for her shift by seven, a hot cup of coffee in hand and a sense of eagerness to be the best blossoming in her chest.  Her day consists of the following: meticulously proofread her recent case reports before submitting them, gleefully organizing and reorganizing her files until she’s satisfied with her progress, greeting the rest of the squad as they arrive, admonishing Peralta when he wanders in a quarter hour late (“but Santiagoo, it’s not like anyone but you cares”) and then subsequently ignoring him when he makes a joke about her grandma-like appearance or mannerisms until they report for a briefing, and she’ll suppress the small smile that threatens to creep across her face at the man next to her as he makes good-humored comments all throughout. Her nights are comprised of hot mugs of chamomile, spirited viewings of Jeopardy, and flip-flopping between going over old case files (that she has memorized—it’s illegal, of course, to bring them home) and curling up with a well-recommended book until she falls asleep.

Over the years, the first Thursday of every month she spends at the bar with her colleagues, and she can expect a text (almost always drunk) to ding at one in the morning every Saturday, typically riddled with grammatical errors and often accompanied with a picture of him shirtless with a variety of takeout foods (the next time she sees him, she can never help herself from asking him to rate the meal).

With Teddy, her routines are interrupted, but that’s okay because he’s sweet and a great cop and an even better boyfriend, and sometimes she’ll get a date night thrown in here or there and it’s great. After a few months, they fall into something easy; they haven’t moved in with each other or anything, but he’ll spend the night at her place and she can expect him to bring a six-pack of pilsners and no, she’s not bored, they’re just… comfortable.

She doesn’t like to think about how that all is disrupted when her partner goes undercover for six months and everything is thrown out of whack.  Idly, she finds herself wondering what she’d do when (if, a small, terrifying, insistent voice needles in the back of her head) he comes back and she makes a reminder on her phone that Jake is fine and you are dating Teddy Jake is fine and you are dating Teddy Jake is fine and you are dating Teddy.

And when he’s across from her in the precinct and he’s smiling and joking around and Jake is fine, alive and standing just a few feet from her, her phone buzzes and she’s reminded of her loving boyfriend, she thinks she should get that tattooed on her forehead.

Amy and Teddy break up and she can’t write those four words (you are dating Teddy) on a pink post-it note anymore but she can, in big, bold letters, transcribe Jake is with Sophia and they’re happy and she attaches it to her bathroom mirror so that for the full two minutes that she brushes her teeth in the morning, she can keep her mind from straying to dimples and sneakers and plaid shirts until one day she overhears Rosa ask about the beautiful-funny-perfect lawyer and Boyle exclaims that she’s “out of the picture” now.

The morning after she kisses him and there’s something deep within her that sparks an electric white, doubt and worry and a certain feeling of anxiety that refuses to dissipate inks each and every one of her normally calculated moves. Quite frankly, it’s a little irritating, being so wrapped up in someone like this. And she doesn’t realize, until later when they’ve called their whole thing off (they literally killed their captain), that after she kicks off her boots and just puts on her kettle, that this is the point during the day at which she’ll call Jake and put him on speakerphone and rant for a half hour about a perp who wrinkled her shirt or these colorful gel pens she found on a small Korean stationary website.

And then, he has a drawer at her place and she has a few hangers in his closet with a spare pantsuit and salmon-colored blouse and her days often start curled up together, his arm haphazardly thrown across her waist and a sort of warmth spreading throughout her chest. Nights are spent together, tucked into his side with warm pad Thai and perogies as they watch HGTV until they drift off into something peacefully.

(They also have a lot of sex.)

(It’s really good.)

When he’s gone—the first time—she doesn’t stray from her (their) daily routine, trying to instill some sense of normalcy, but instead finds herself using his huge black and yellow Nakatomi Plaza for her morning coffee. Those times she’d normally spend laughing with her boyfriend and the advice she’d garner from her captain, she now spends researching and trying to find Figgis and get them out of wherever they were.

Moving in together is waking up with her head on his chest and the sun slipping through the window. Moving in together is sorting out shower-times (and unfortunately realizing that Charles’ suggestion on team-shampooing is relatively accurate). Moving together is Jake actually eating real food for breakfast that has some semblance of nutrition, her utilizing the snooze button more often than absolutely necessary just for another five minutes in his arms, and brushing their teeth side by side in the small-tiny-miniscule bathroom that once harbored a whole gaggle of terrified Brooklyn detectives.

Moving in together is feeling like a vital part of her has been ripped from her the moment she goes home (three long nights spent on friends’ couches after guityguiltyguilty), and it’s sort of like a phantom limb, she guesses—sometimes, she’ll roll over at three thirty-two in the morning, expecting to hit a solid mass that smells a little bit like gummy bears and pine, and instead, she’ll reach a large expanse of empty space (she starts sleeping on his side of the bed then, an effort to connect with him even when he’s locked in a dark dirty prison cell over seven hundred miles away.

It’s looking up from a mountain of paperwork and expecting to see his face, grinning, a quip ready at his lips to relieve her from the stress of it all. However, all that greets her is his empty desk and chair. It’s waiting in the car for an extra few minutes before remembering that no one is coming home with her. It’s even missing the cackle that comes from Rosa when Scully and Hitchcock do something very, well, Scully and Hitchcock.

She grabs lunch with Charles and Terry once a week, and attends a family dinner at the Jeffords’ household every other Saturday (the first time, she wants to cry when Cagney and Lacey ask with wide, confused eyes where their Uncle Jake is) because in all seriousness, Sharon is an amazing cook and she misses the noise that use to fill their apartment.

Babysitting Cagney and Lacey (and sometimes baby Ava) becomes a regular thing and so she has coloring books and games and laughter scattered about the flat and actual food in the fridge and cupboards for once and too often she catches herself—after one of the girls braids her hair while the other gleefully reads from one of her picture books—wondering if she’ll ever get this with Jake.

She decides that she will.

In between bites of her bagel she tracks each and every one of Hawkins’ moves. Every three weeks she’s flying back to South Carolina so she can hold Jake for twenty seconds and talk to him for a measly sixty minutes. During the sponsor breaks of Charles’ podcasts that she guest-stars on, she mentally goes through each step of the case thus far, and she spends one too many nights at the library (thanks to her VIP status), both doing research and stress-reshelving books (much to the chagrin of the employees).

And when he and Rosa are released, finally, every morning she thanks whoever the hell’s out there for giving justice to her two best friends.

When he comes home, their routine is simple.

They leave their shoes by the door—his beat up sneakers and her clunky boots—and try to open the curtains as much as they can to let in the beaming rays of sunlight. Jackets go on hooks above the shoes, and she likes to change into one of his baggy shirts (they have a few of Terry’s here that they both like to don) before they curl up on the sofa and watch shitty Netflix shows, and eventually his head will be in her lap, her carding her fingers through his thick brown hair, and when she peers down at him, she sees that he’s fallen asleep with a small smile on his face.

When he comes home, their routine is simple.

They fall asleep, his head tucked into the crook of her shoulder, and sometimes when the nightmares overwhelm him (it’s his PTSD—“Prison-TSD,” he jokes one night) she’ll tighten her grip and remind him that she’s here, she’s always here, and in the mornings when he’s up before her (which is shockingly frequent) she’ll reach out for him and panic when there’s nothing but blue sheets, only to hear the shower running and she’ll relax. Her breath returning, she’ll kiss him when he emerges, and they’ll sip black coffee at seven am from their mismatched mugs while they talk about what’s been bothering them, and unsurprisingly often, the possibility of a sixth Die Hard movie.

When he comes home, their routine is simple.

They use every moment they can to love each other, even when they fight and their words are sharp and ugly, because they always end it together with her hands on his face, brushing her thumbs against the oft wet skin of his cheekbones.

train boy

Originally posted by tomhollandisdaddy

author: simonewrites

characters: peter parker, reader

relationships: peter parker/reader

warnings: fluff, soulmark trope, pizza, mild cursing

word count: 1k approximately

summary: it’s your first day of school in new york, and while you’re on the train, you lock eyes with the cutest boy you’ve ever seen, who, excitingly, goes to your school. you’ve prayed that he’s your soulmate, but you don’t know and you’re too afraid to find out, so he makes the first move. 

notes: i’m starting a soulmate drabble series! send requests either there or to my inbox here if you’re feeling it. you can also find the work on ao3! hope y’all enjoy <3

New York is the biggest city in the United States, and it’s a far cry from your hometown. You want to hate it here, want to dislike the culture and the hustle and bustle and change of scenery, but you can’t. Everything is bright and new and fresh-feeling, including the heaviness of the humidity that hangs in the air.

So your first thought when you see this boy on the subway, with the brownest brown eyes you’ve ever seen and tousled, wavy brown hair and a shy smile, is They don’t make them like that back home. Then you register his hoodie, printed with the seal of your new high school, Midtown, and your heart sings. He has his headphones in, though, and that’s a universal sign for “Don’t talk to me,” so you just slip your own headphones into your ears and pray to God that you see him around.

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anonymous asked:

I wish you would write a fic where Conan and Ai just relax together because they deserve it. Everything is fluff and nothing hurts.

ffnet | AO3

Title: baby blues

Fandom: Detective Conan / Case Closed

Summary: Shinichi confronts his very own green-eyed-monster. —[CoAi] [ShinShi] [Shinichi x Shiho] [Fluff overload]

Pairing: Shinichi Kudo / Shiho Miyano ; Conan Edogawa / Ai Haibara

Genre and Rating: Family /Romance ; G

Warnings: I’m gonna do the opposite thing I did in Rarity and tell you that this fic starts with :/ and ends with :’D so please bear until the very end. I promise you it is worth it.

Un-betaed. Sorry for the mistakes.


“There’s no mistake.” Shinichi’s fingers close around the wooden bars as he hovers down, brows knitted. There’s a hint of uncertainty nevertheless, in the way his eyes flicker from the suspect’s seemingly content features to some undefined spot on the baby blue walls. As if he were hesitant of whether to voice his conclusion. Unprecedented, to say the least. Seen how the young detective has never shied away from a truth he so confidently believes in, it’s a most curious situation to find him reluctant to state one that’s so blatantly obvious to him — to anyone , at that . But denying the undeniable has just never been part of his nature, and so a soft sigh comes out of his lips when he concludes, “ You are the culprit .”

The accusation is followed by a deafening silence that’s only disrupted by the soft, tiny movement of fabric rubbing on cotton sheets, and Shinichi tilts his head to the side pensively when a pair of jade green eyes stare back at him in confusion.

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