I used to roll my eyes when people did the first one

Public reaction to the butch-fem couple [in the 1940s] was usually hostile, and often violent. Being noticed on the streets and the harassment that followed dominates the memories of both Black and white narrators. Ronni gives a typical description:

“Oh, you were looked down upon socially. When I walked down the streert, cars used to pull over and say, ‘Hey faggot, hey lezzie.’ They called you names with such maliciousness. And they hated to see you when you were with a girl. I was the one that was mostly picked on because I was identified. I was playing the male part in this relationship and most guys hated it. Women would look at me in kind of a confused looking [way], you know, straight women would look at me in kind of wonder.”

Piri remembers how the police used to harass her for dressing like a man:

“I’ve had the police walk up to me and say, ‘Get out of the car’. I’m drivin’. They say get out of the car; and I get out. And they say, ‘What kind of shoes you got on? You got on men’s shoes?’ And I say, ‘No, I got on women’s shoes.’ I got on some basket-weave women’s shoes. And he say, ‘Well you damn lucky.’ ‘Cause everything else I had on were men’s–shirts, pants. At that time when they pick you up, if you didn’t have on two garments that belong to a woman you could go to jail…and the same thing with a man…. They call it male impersonation or female impersonation and they’d take you downtown. It would really just be an inconvenience…. It would give them the opportunity to whack the shit out of you.”

Many narrators mention the legal specification for proper dress, although some said it required three pieces of female clothing, not two. If such a law did in fact exist, it did not dramatically affect the appearance of butches, who were clever at getting around it while maintaining their masculine image. The police used such regulations to harass Black lesbians more than whites, however.

Given the severe harassment, the butch role in these communities during the 1950s became identified with defending oneself and one’s girl in the rough street bars and on the streets. Matty describes the connection between her appearance and her need to be an effective fighter. The cultivated masculine mannerisms were necessary on the street:

“When I first came out in the bars it was a horror story. You know they say that you play roles. Yeag, back then you did play roles, and I was a bit more masculine back then than I am now. That was only because you walk down the street and they knew you were gay and you’d be minding your business and there’d be two or three guys standing on a street corner, and they’d come up to you and say, ‘You want to be a man, let’s see if you can fight like a man.’ Now being a man was the last thing on my mind, but man, they’d take a poke at you and you had to learn to fight. Then…when you go out, you better wear clothes that you could really scramble in if you had to. And it got to be really bad, I actually had walked down the street with some friends not doing anything and had people spit at me, or spit at us, it was really bad.”

[…] If the world was dangerous for butches, it was equally dangerous for the fems in their company, whom the butches felt they needed to protect. Some butches state that they did most of their fighting for their fems. Sandy describes how confrontational men could be.

“Well you had to be strong–roll with the punches. If some guy whacked you off, said, ‘Hey babe,’ you know. Most of the time you got all your punches for the fem anyhow, you know. It was because they hated you….’How come this queer can have you and I can do this and that….’ You didn’t hardly have time to say anything, but all she would have to say [is] ‘No,’ when he said, ‘Let’s go, I’ll get you away from this.’ He was so rejected by this ‘no’ that he would boom, go to you. You would naturally get up and fight the guy, at least I would. And we did that all the time, those that were out in their pants and T-shirts. And we’d knock them on their ass, and if one couldn’t do it we’d all help. And that’s how we kept our women. They cared for us, but you don’t think for a minute they would have stayed with us too long or something if we stood there and just were silent…. Nine times out of ten she’d be with you to help you with your black eye and your split lip. Or you kicked his ass and she bought you dinner then. But you never failed, or you tried not to…. You were there, you were gay, you were queer and you were masculine.”

–Elizabeth Kennedy and Madeline Davis, Boots of Leather, Slippers of Gold: The History of a Lesbian Community

theguardian.com
Ten things I learned about writing from Stephen King
The novelist James Smythe, who has been analysing the work of Stephen King for the Guardian since 2012, on the lessons he has drawn from the master of horror fiction
By James Smythe

Stephen King is an All-Time Great, arguably one of the most popular novelists the world has ever seen. And there’s a good chance that he’s inspired more people to start writing than any other living writer. So, as the Guardian and King’s UK publisher Hodder launch a short story competition – to be judged by the master himself – here are the ten most important lessons to learn from his work.

1. Write whatever the hell you like

King might be best known – or, rather, best regarded – as a writer of horror novels, but really, his back catalogue is crammed with every genre you can think of. There are thrillers (Misery, Gerald’s Game), literary novels (Bag Of Bones, Different Seasons), crime procedurals (Mr Mercedes), apocalypse narratives (The Stand), fantasy (Eyes Of The Dragon, The Dark Tower series) … He’s even written what I think of as being one of the greatest Young Adult novels of all time: The Long Walk. Perhaps the only genre or audience he hasn’t really touched so far is comedy, but most of his work features moments that show his deft touch with humour. It’s clear that King does what he wants, when he wants, and his constant readers – the term he calls his, well, constant readers – will follow him wherever he goes.

2. The scariest thing isn’t necessarily what’s underneath the bed

Horror is a curious thing. What scares one person won’t necessarily scare another. And while there might be moments in his horror novels that tread towards the more conventional ideas of what some find terrifying, for the most part, the truly scary aspects are those that deal with humanity itself. Ghosts drive people to madness, telekinetic girls destroy whole towns with their powers, clowns … well, clowns are just bloody terrifying full stop. But the true crux of King’s ability to scare is finding the thing that his readers are actually worried about, and bringing that to the fore. If you’re writing horror, don’t just think about what goes bump in the night; think about what that bump might drive people to do afterwards.

3. Don’t be scared of transparency

One of my favourite things about King’s short story collections are the little notes about each tale that he puts into the text. The history of them, the context for the idea, how the writing process actually worked. They’re not only invaluable material for aspiring writers – because exactly how many drafts does it take to reach a decent story? King knows! – but they’re also brilliant nuggets of insight into King himself. Some people might think that it’s better off knowing nothing about authors when they read their work, but for King, his heart is on his sleeve. In his latest collection, The Bazaar of Broken Dreams, King gets more in-depth than ever, talking about what inspired the stories in such an honest way that it couldn’t have come from another writer’s pen. Which brings us to …

4. Write what you know. Sort of. Sometimes

Write what you know is the most common writing tip you’ll find anywhere. It’s nonsense, really, because if we all did that we’d end up with terribly boring novels about writers staring out of windows waiting for inspiration to hit. (If you like those, incidentally, head straight for the literary fiction section of your nearest bookshop.) But King understands that experience is something which can be channelled into your work, and should be at every opportunity. Aspects of his life – addiction, teaching, his near-fatal car accident, rock and roll, ageing – have cropped up in his work over and over, in ways that aren’t always obvious, but often help to drive the story. That’s something every writer can use, because it’s through these truths that real emotions can be writ large on the page.

5. Aim big. Or small

King’s written some mammoth books, and they’re often about mammoth things. The Stand takes readers into an apocalypse, with every stage of it laid out on the page until the final fantastical showdown. It deals with a horror that hits a group of characters twice in their lives, showing us how years and years of experience can change people. And The Dark Tower is a seven (or eight, or more, if you count the short stories set in its world) part series that takes in so many different genres of writing it’s dizzying. When he needs to, King aims really big, and sometimes that’s what you have to do to tell a story. At the other end of the spectrum, some of King’s most enduring stories – Rita Hayworth & Shawshank Redemption, The Mist – have come from his shorter works. He traps small groups of characters in single locations and lets the story play out how it will. The length of the story you’re telling should dictate the size of the book. Doesn’t matter if it’s forty thousand words or two hundred, King doesn’t waste a word.

6. Write all the time. And write a lot

King’s published – wait for it – 55 novels, 11 collections of stories, 5 non-fiction works, 7 novellas and 9 assorted other pieces (including illustrated works and comic books). That’s over a period of 41 years. That’s an average of two books a year. Which is, I must admit, a pretty giddying amount. That’s years of reading (or rereading, if you’re as foolishly in awe of him as I am). But he’s barely stopped for breath. This year has seen three books published by him, which makes me feel a little ashamed. Still, at my current rate of writing, I might catch up with him sometime next century. And while not every book has found the same critical and commercial success, they’ve all got their fans.

7. Voice is just as important as content

King’s a writer who understands that a story needs to begin before it’s actually told. It begins in the voice of the novel: is it first person, or third? Is it past or present tense? Is it told through multiple narrators, or just the one? He’s a master at understanding exactly why each story is told the way it’s told. Sure, he might dress it up as something simple – the story finding the voice it needs, or vice versa – but through his books you can see that he’s tried pretty much everything, and can see why each voice worked with the story he was telling.

8. And Form is just as important as voice

King isn’t really thought of as an experimental novelist, which is grossly unfair. Some of King’s more daring novels have taken on really interesting forms. Be it The Green Mile’s fragmented, serialised narrative; or the dual publication of The Regulators and Desperation – novels which featured the same characters in very different situations, with unsettling parallels between the stories that unfolded for them; or even Carrie’s mixed-media narrative, with sections of the story told as interview or newspaper extract. All of these novels have played with the way they’re presented on the page to find the perfect medium for telling those stories. Really, the lesson here from King is to not be afraid to play.

9. You don’t have to be yourself

Some of King’s greatest works in the early years of his career weren’t published by King himself. They were in the name of Richard Bachman, his slightly grislier pseudonym. The Long Walk, Thinner, The Running Man – these are books that dealt with a nastier side of things than King did in his properly attributed work. Because, maybe it’s good to have a voice that allows us to let the real darkness out, with no judgments. (And then maybe, as King eventually did in The Dark Half, it’s good to kill that voice on the page … )

10. Read On Writing. Now

This is the most important tip in the list. In 2000, King published On Writing, a book that sits in the halfway space between autobiography and writing manual. It’s full of details about his process, about how he wrote his books, channelled his demons and overcame his challenges. It’s one of the few books about writing that are actually worth their salt, mainly because it understands that it’s about a personal experience, and readers might find that useful. There’s no universal truths when it comes to writing. One person’s process would be a nightmare for somebody else. Some people spend years labouring on nearly perfect first drafts; some people get a first draft written in six weeks, and then spend the next year destroying it and rebuilding it. On Writing tells you how King does it, to help you to find your own. Even if you’re not a fan of his books, it’s invaluable to the in-development writer. Heck, it’s invaluable to all writers.

Reaper: Chapter Two

His hand was warm.

Isa pulled me to my feet. “Just a second,” he said, scanning the area.

I didn’t feel dead. I could feel the wind on my skin and my heart hammering in my chest. My hands were trembling with adrenaline. That had to be a good sign.

“Kat,” Isa said, startling me. I had been staring at my hands so intently that I hadn’t noticed he was holding out his hand to me again.

“I’m not dead,” I informed him a bit giddily, taking his hand again.

Isa didn’t smile, but the corners of his eyes crinkled. “This way,” he said, pointing with his free hand. I looked, but he seemed to be pointing towards thin air.

He led me away from the broken highway and my silver car, wading through the faded brown grass. After about twenty yards he stopped and turned to me.

“I need you to think of a place,” he said, “Any place.”

My mind went blank. “Any place?”

“Anywhere. Visualize it in your mind. Got it?” I hesitated before nodding. “Good. Now we’re going to take one more step together.”

I looked at the grass before us. It didn’t look any different from any other patch of grass we’d passed. I drew a deep breath.

“Okay.”

“And go.”

As we stepped forward together, the air went…soft. Like a deep, thick mattress. Like holding an overripe peach in your hands and slowly pressing in your thumbs, letting them sink into it. Not hot or cold or anything like that. Just soft.

Less than a moment passed before the softness was gone; I didn’t even have time to blink. We were still standing in the grass by the highway. I could see my car close by and the mountains looming in the distance. But the edges of the mountains were vague and unclear, and the light that filtered through the clouds was tinted red, almost as though it was shining through rose-colored glass. More telling was the quiet. The wind had disappeared, and the grass was silent and still.

“You know,” Isa commented, “I think people usually choose somewhere other than the place they’re currently standing.”

“I panicked,” I responded, taking in everything around me, “Which seems to be my basic state of existence at this point.”

Unlike everything else, Isa seemed more real than ever. The basics were still the same: pale, ashy skin stretched tight over his body, white hair, and jet black eyes set deep in their sockets. His fingers and limbs were overly long for his body, and he was wearing a black hooded coat with loose sleeves, grey pants, boots, and a t-shirt with a vintage ad for spam.

However, his skin lacked the translucent quality it usually had, and his shadow -

“You have a shadow,” I blurted out, “You have a - the grass. You’re actually crushing down the grass.” I knelt down and confirmed for myself that yes, the grass could be pressed down, and then I turned around and thrust out my hand. The softness was waiting just feet behind me. “Where are we?”

“This is an inbetween place,” he replied, watching as I shuffled a few feet to the side and stuck out my hand again, “We needed somewhere safe to talk.”

I pulled my hand from the softness and tried again. “And the deserted highway wasn’t cutting it?”

Isa pressed his lips together. “It’s not humans that I’m worried about overhearing us.”

I paused mid thrust. “Oh.” The fear which had almost been forgotten in my wonder flared up.

“Here,” Isa said, and he took my hand again, leading me around whatever invisible portal we had passed through. Almost mindlessly I walked towards the car.

“Are we safe here, then?”

He shrugged. “Should be. I don’t think I was followed - there’s no good reason anyone would, really, I’m not a major player. But it’s not wise to talk about these things in the open on principle.”

We reached the car, and I stretched out my hand to touch it. It was solid under my fingers, but the numbers on the license plate were scrambled, changing every time I blinked. 

Isa stopped me as I went to open the driver’s side door.

"I just wanted to see if it would start,” I said.

Isa shook his head. “It might, but it’s not wise to go through any doors here. There’s no telling where you might end up.”

A little disappointed, I perched on the trunk instead, pulling up my legs and wrapping my arms around them. Isa stood before me, hands shoved in his pockets.

“So…” I started, Isa looking at me expectantly, “Are you an angel?”

Isa burst out laughing. It was an odd sound, out of place in the unnatural silence of the inbetween.

“No, and I wouldn’t let an angel hear you say that if I were you. Actually, it would probably be fine; most angels I’ve met are quite nice. But trust me, if you ever meet an angel, you’ll know it. People tend to fall over when they show up.”

“Okay, not an angel.” There went half the theories I’d ever read. “Then what are you? And don’t say a reaper.”

“I never really liked that name anyway,” he replied. He kicked the ground for a moment, thinking. “I’m the guardian of your soul. I’ve been with you since your soul first joined your body. I will ensure no one touches it until your life is complete.”

“…And when my life is complete?”

“I take your soul,” he answered nonchalantly, “ - Kat?”

I rolled off the car, running into the field, running towards the softness.

Maybe he wasn’t an angel after all. But there were other theories about the reapers.

“Kat?” he called after me, “I’m not taking your soul here and now.”

I stumbled to a stop in a panic. The grass all looked the same. Whatever gateway we’d walked through wasn’t marked by any kind of visual cue. I was effectively trapped.

“Maybe you’re not taking it now,” I said as I turned, arms tight by my sides, hands clenched, “but you’re going to.”

Isa walked towards me slowly, “That probably wasn’t the best way for me to phrase that.” I shrank away from him instinctively, and he sighed. “This would be easier if I was an angel. They’re good at explaining things. Can I try again?”

He waited until I nodded hesitantly.

“I’m the guardian of your soul. I was bound to you the moment your soul entered your body. While you live, I’ll protect your soul from harm. When your days are complete, I’ll carry your soul to its rest. I’m not going to kill you, consume your soul, drain your life force, steal your corporeal form,  keep you in a tortured disembodied state devoid of all sensation, or anything else of that kind.”

I stared at him. “That’s…really specific.”

“But you’re not running this time,” Isa noted.

“If you’re lying, I’m screwed anyway,” I retorted.

“Ah.” Isa’s body seemed to droop ever so slightly. “I liked it better when you just trusted me.”

“And I liked it better when I wasn’t afraid I was going crazy,” I snapped. I shut my eyes and paused, willing myself to breath deeply. “I’m tired. I’m stressed and exhausted and I have no clue what’s going on. You disappeared for two weeks and I didn’t even know reapers could do that, and now you’re talking and you touched me and I’m somehow not dead and we’re in a freaking alternate dimension or something and it’s just a bit much.”

“I didn’t intend to let things get this out of hand,” Isa admitted, “I only thought I’d be gone for a few hours at most.”

Finally, the question that had been burning in my chest for weeks. “What happened? Why did you leave?”

“There was a reaper who needed help. He and his human were being targeted, and they weren’t going to make it.”

“Are they okay?”

His face brightened a bit. “They are. The woman died and he was able to deliver her soul safely.”

“Your definition of a happy ending and mine are a little different,” I muttered, “What did they need protection from?”

Isa looked grim. “There are many beings who would want to misuse a human soul,” he said softly, “And there are others who would like nothing more than to see a reaper give into the temptation to take advantage of their charge. Some of these were attacking this reaper in the hope of either claiming the soul for themselves or, if nothing else, forcing the reaper into a position where he drew on the soul for power. I thought they’d back off once I came to his aid, but they fought until the end.”

Behind Isa’s shoulder, I saw something like a dark smudge on the horizon where the mountains met the sky. A horrible sense of wrongness settled in my gut.

“I didn’t mean to leave you for so long,” he continued, “And it shouldn’t -”

“Isa,” I interrupted, pointing urgently, “There’s something here.”

Isa turned to look. The smudge was getting larger. “No,” he said, “No no no no!” He grabbed my hand.

“We need to move now!” He took off across the field, dragging me behind him. We passed through the softness and the world shifted, the rosy light turning grey. We sprinted back to my car.

I looked back towards the mountains. I couldn’t see anything.

“Get in the car,” Isa ordered, and I hurried to do so. After buckling myself in, I looked up to see Isa pull out a gun.

“Drive home as fast as you can,” he said, ignoring my shock, “And don’t stop until I say so.” With that, he swung himself onto the roof of my car.

I turned on the car and made a U-turn, pressing the pedal to the floor. A minute later gun shots rang out, and I looked into the mirror to see something burst through the portal and hurtle down the broken highway in pursuit.

smile ✦ peter parker

summary : as the adopted daughter of none other than tony stark, you have a myriad of responsibilities. babysitting peter parker probably wasn’t supposed to be one of them. not that you’re complaining.

word count : 4.7k (also known as the longest thing I’ve ever written)

author’s note : ur adopted b/c not everyone is white and i don’t want anyone to feel excluded from reading this due to the fact tony is white (and yes ik there are interracial couples i just want everyone to feel included i want to make sure whoever wants to read this can without feeling weird about it b/c i know it is something that bothers people in the fanfic community okay bye enjoy my loves.)

   Tony Stark was a lot of things to a lot of people. He was the billionaire, he was the genius, the philanthropist, and the notorious playboy in his younger years. Most notably, however, was that he was Iron Man. He was marveled at by the entire world, him and the group of heroes that stood beside him; the Avengers, as they called themselves. To you, however, he was your father. 

   A terribly overprotective one, at that. 

  Of course, this was only to be expected of a father, even a foster one, but the lengths the man went to in order to keep his only daughter out of whatever he deemed trouble were rather extensive. You rarely ever left the Avengers tower, and if you did you were accompanied by a team of people you could only describe as rip off Secret Service men. Sometimes, Natasha would replace them, or Steve, but that was a rare occurrence. You were homeschooled by the best tutors his money could pay for- this particular move was less about refining your education and more about keeping you away from any boy in the five boroughs. 

   You chose to spend majority of your time reading in your room and training, always wary of anyone who approached you about being a friend. Your surname meant everything to people, especially the girls that wandered around Manhattan desperate to become the bestie of the daughter of the richest man in New York. You loved your dad with all your heart, but the stigma that ran with the Stark name would never stop irritating you. 

   That, and the impromptu plans he threw at you on a regular basis. 

   “Miss Stark, your father is requesting access to your room. He knows you hate it when he barges in.” Vision drifted into your room without warning, making you jump. You yanked your earbuds out of your ears, giving him a look. 

   “I hate when anyone barges in, Vision. That includes you, too.” You pushed your chair away from your desk, placing your pen on the desk and shutting your notebook. “Tell him he can come in if he lets me become an Avenger.” You raised your voice at this, knowing he would hear you. 

   “He says that he’ll consider it if you let him in.” 

   You raised your eyebrows. “Touché.” You motioned for the door to open, and your father walked into the room, immediately taking his pristinely polished shoes off and lying down on your bed. You stared at him.“Dad, it’s not cool to wear sunglasses inside. You look lame.” 

   Tony Stark rolled his eyes at you. “It’s called a look, sweetheart.” You laughed, pretending to nod in agreement. He placed his hands behind his head as you spun your chair back around to your desk. “What are you working on?” 

   “Something for Bruce,” you muttered, pen cap between your teeth as you continued to jot down important points from his numerous lab reports. You were going to have to hand in a full analysis of his findings for your end of term science paper, and he was more than willing to aid you. “Science report.” 

   “My daughter, beautiful and intelligent, my flesh and blood,” Tony declared proudly. 

   “Dad, I love you to the death, but I’m still not your biological kid,” you smiled all the same, though, and he knew behind the tough exterior you were happy to hear his expressions of admiration. 

    “Who needs a biological kid when I’ve got this great, wonderful adopted one right in front of me.” 

   Not looking up from your notebook, you said, “You’re really laying it on thick today. I’m all of those things, obviously, but I know you want something. So, what is it?” You paused, then said, “Thank you, by the way.” 

   “You sure we’re not related?” He sat back up, clasping his hands together. “What do you say about Germany?” 

   “Nice enough place I guess, interesting history, why?” 

   “I kind of need you to go there for two weeks with me.” 

   With a groan, you dropped your pen and held your face in your hands. “Another surprise trip? Dad, I have school. I have homework! Do you see this?” You held up the thick stack of reports from Banner’s lab, waving them around. “This is gonna be, like, my life’s work.” 

   Tony shook his head. “Kids these days and their homework. Seriously. When I was at school I would have taken any opportunity to shirk my responsibilities.” 

  “You did do that.”

    He waved his hand. “Technicalities. Anyway, as you know the Avengers have been disassembled. Sokovia Accords and all that bullshit. I assume you’ve been keeping up?” 

   “Hard not to.” It was true. Anything in the news was about the great split of the infamous team, Captain America vs Iron Man. It was impossible to turn on the television without hearing about it. And, considering you lived underneath the same roof as half of them, it was quite literally not an option to be ignorant to what was going on. 

   “Good,” he grinned proudly again. If there was one emotion that the man felt whenever he was around, it was proud. Nearly everything you did made him beam with pride, and if you had been placed into an actual high school, there was no doubt in his mind that the person at the top of every single class would be you. You excelled no matter the circumstances. “So, to sum up, there’s gonna be a big showdown in Germany. Western style, naturally. Guns blazing and everything.” 

   Your eyes lit up and you nearly flew out of your chair, rushing over to him. “Oh my god, are you finally gonna let me fight? You’ve seen my training, right? I’m getting so good. I’m like, practically Natasha level good. She’s been showing me that move where I can snap people’s necks with my thighs and-” 

   “First of all, your thighs are not going around anyone’s neck, so jot that down,” he interrupted. Your enthusiasm visibly deflated. “I need you to kind of watch over this kid who’s coming with us. He’s from Queens. You love Queens.” 

   “You’re making me babysit?” You flopped down on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. “C’mon, dad, I’m sixteen. That’s practically an adult. I think I should be allowed to fight this time. I’m Avenger worthy.” 

   “Practically an adult is not the same as literally an adult, as in over eighteen.” You groaned again. “Don’t call it babysitting, anyway. He’s your age. Well, he’s a few months younger, but that doesn’t matter. Just call it… hanging out with a good kid that’s fighting for your dear old dad and making sure he doesn’t get into trouble in Germany or annoy Happy too much.” He patted your knee, standing up. “We leave in the morning, kiddo, so pack up.” 

   “How come he gets to fight if he’s younger than I am?” 

   “’Cause he’s not my daughter. Goodnight, light of my life.” He kissed your forehead before leaving, giving you another encouraging smile.

   “Goodnight, pain my ass,” you grumbled as he left. He popped back in, a stern expression on his face. “If I watch your new protégée can I become an Avenger?” Tony rubbed a hand over his eyes. Teenage girls were exhausting. 

   “We’ll talk about it.”


   You’re sitting at your breakfast table with suitcases piled next to you when Peter Parker strolls into your life with happiness in his every footstep because he is just so, so glad to be there. You’re spooning cereal into your mouth when he sits down directly across from you, a video camera cupped in his soft looking hands and the little red button clicked on, meaning that he is recording you. You place your spoon back into the bowl of milk that is dusted with cinnamon sugar from the Cinnamon Toast Crunch you’ve been eating for the past ten minutes. 

   “Do you mind?” 

   “Mind what?” He asked, peeking up from behind his camera. You gestured toward it, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. 

   “The camera. I’m kind of still in the middle of eating breakfast in my pajamas,” you leaned forward, switching it off. “You must be the Spider-Boy.” The chestnut haired boy feels a blush creeping up his neck and settling along his cheekbones when you say that. 

   “Oh, did Mr. Stark tell you that?” He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly. “Um, it’s Spider-Man, actually.” He mumbled the man part, knowing fully well that he didn’t look like much of a man in the eyes of anyone, his eyes casting down as he fidgeted with the strap on his camera. 

   “Oh good,” you nodded. You took another spoonful of cereal. “I like that better. Nicer ring to it.” You grabbed your box of sugary breakfast and pushed it toward him, an offering. 

   “Huh?” He was a bit dazed. He stared at the box in front of him and then realized he had been doing that for far too long of a time to be considered normal. “Oh, right, um, sure, thanks!” He opened the box and took a handful, shoving it in his mouth. You kept eating your cereal, silently staring at the bowl and willing yourself not to laugh at the boy in front of you. With all his nerves, he was still a bundle of energy and cheerfulness, and, well, let’s face it, he was sort of adorable. “So, you think my name’s cool?” He tried to sound suave, charming, as he said it, tried to smirk at you, but he stopped when he realized that he looked stupid.

   You gave him a half smile. “It’s pretty good.” His face positively lit up with happiness to be taken seriously, and you knew the feeling too well. You stuck out your hand. “Oh, forgot to introduce myself-” 

  “Y/N Stark, adopted daughter of Mr. Stark, probably the smartest girl in all of New York and, uh, correct if I’m wrong but… Black Widow’s best student as well as Bruce Banner’s apprentice.” 

   You gaped at him. The blush he had been sporting crept up to his ears and made his nose turn the shade of a strawberry. “Well, uh, yeah,” you said, flustered. “Should I creeped out or flattered?” 

   “Flattered, please.” The genuine worry in his eyes as he leaned forward made you laugh. He had an endearing personality. 

   “Flattered it is.” You watched the slow sigh of relief leave his mouth, his hands flying up the mess of hair atop his head and fixing it distractedly. Your dad walked into the room, and Peter practically fell out of his chair trying to stand up and seem presentable. Your slouch was indicative that you didn’t care much. He was just your dad. “Morning, pops,” you slid the box over his way.  

   He frowned at it.” Y/N, that stuff is crap. I don’t know why you eat it.” 

   “Wanda and I like it,” you said defensively, a slip of the tongue. You knew your dad was going to get annoyed at the mention of the Scarlet Witch, who had evaded and ignored his attempts at keeping her powers under control. “It’s good. High quality. Right, Peter?” You whipped your head toward him. 

   He felt his heart give a little tug. He grabbed the box out of your hand and shoved more cereal in his mouth, the cinnamon sugar sticking to his lips. “Yeah, Mr. Stark. Best stuff ever,” he said through a mouthful of it. Tony gave them an amused glance, picking up your two heaviest suitcases and beckoning you both to the landing strip. Peter swallowed his food. 

   He didn’t even like Cinnamon Toast Crunch that much. He was just thrilled that you knew his real name.


   Everything about this kid was infuriatingly dorky in the cutest way possible. You came to this conclusion as you boarded the jet with ease, sitting in your usual spot by the window and greeting Happy with your typical friendly smile and idle chitchat. Peter stumbled onto it with awe written across his features as he stared around the place, touching nearly everything much to Happy’s dismay. 

   “Haven’t you been on a plane before?” The man asked, growing irritated with the way the kid was filming everything. You saw Peter zoom in on Happy’s face and grinned out your window. 

   “Nope, never!” Peter exclaimed, his video camera still in front of him as he captured every detail of his trip. 

   “Well, sit down so we can take off,” Happy said gruffly, grabbing Peter’s shoulders and forcefully placing him into a seat. 

  Peter sat still for a moment, then hopped over to the seat next to you. He placed his camera in front of him on the tray table. “Y/N, smile for the camera. I’m recording.” You looked at him, then turned to the camera and gave it a deadpan stare. You even threw in a slow blink. “Good enough,” he shrugged. He kept it recording as he shifted in his seat so that his entire body was facing you, his chin resting in his hand and his elbow on your armrest. His gaze was sort of nice. “So, Miss Stark, I have a few questions.” 

   “Um, okay, shoot,” you closed your book that you had open on your lap. “I’m not that interesting, just so you know.” 

  “I think you’re interesting,” he assured you. You heard Happy let out a choked laugh at Peter’s flirting attempt, but it was just another thing you found sort of lovely. It was a genuine compliment. “What’s your favorite subject in school?”

   You’d been expecting the typical what’s it like being Tony’s daughter spiel, and you were pleased to get an actual question about yourself for once. “I like everything, I guess. I kind of love school, but I don’t go to a conventional school, so. Training is cool, I like that a lot.” 

   “You train with Black Widow, I have to ask- can you show me some moves? I need to refine my technique before the fight,” he explained.  

    “Do you wanna learn how to crush people with your thighs?”

   “Wow! Do you think I could? Could you teach me? That’s so cool,” he beamed, turning to the camera for a split second with an overexcited look. 

   You pursed your lips, staring out your window for a minute. You were up in the air by now, and there was long flight ahead of you. “Maybe. If my dad is okay with it. I have to check.” Peter looked confused, 

   “Why wouldn’t he be?” 

   “He’s, you know, really overprotective.” You put your first against the cheek, leaning the same way that Peter was. You sighed. “I don’t have a lot of friends. Which is fine, but I can’t even attempt to go make any because I have a whole freaking SWAT team on my ass the minute I step out of the tower because he’s so worried about my safety.” You let your head hit the window, your eyes rolling skyward. “And that makes no sense because-” 

   “You’re really strong and stuff. You can protect yourself,” Peter finished. 

    “I think you know me a little too well, Peter,” you said, poking him lightly in the arm. “But… yeah, exactly. I don’t really get to do anything fun. I don’t have adventures. Sure, reading is fun and studying is fun for me and training is great and I love hanging out with everyone in the tower but I’m still a teenager. No fun for me, though. My life is pretty boring, sorry if that makes your little video diary suck.” You stuck your tongue out at his camera.  

   “No worries,” he said, taking it off the tray table and turning it toward you. “Tell me every boring detail, Miss Stark.” 

   “As long as you stop calling me Miss Stark.” 

   “You’ve got a deal.” 

   It was a seven hour trip, and you both passed out by the three hour mark after Peter had pried every excruciating detail from your life out of you. You hated sleeping on airplanes, but your head was slumped against his shoulder and his arm was knocking against your own and his sweatshirt was as soft as pillow. You remembered the shy glance he had given you just before you knocked out on his shoulder for the remainder of the flight. He had a sweet smile. 


    Peter filmed absolutely everything. He filmed himself getting off the plane and then filmed you getting off the plane and nearly shoved the camera in Happy’s face until he threatened to break it and Peter backed off. He radiated enthusiasm. “Look at this, and this, and this, oh shit wow that’s so cool look at this! Oh man this is good stuff!”

   “Peter this is literally just the airport how am I supposed to take you around the actual city?!”

   “OH WOW Y/N have you seen this!” 

    “Yes, Peter!” 

     He zoomed in on your face, your devoid of emotion look appearing again. “Are you ever gonna smile for the camera?” He gave you a pout, doe eyes and all. You turned away. 

   “No. I’m supposed to be babysitting you, please be behave.” You touched your fingers to the bridge of your nose, dragging Peter to a couch. “Please sit. We’re getting the hotel reservations checked.” 

   “Do they juice boxes? I’m really thirsty.” He was just trying to make you laugh at this point, and annoying you was kind of funny for him. You let out an involuntary chuckle when he pretended to claw at his throat, throwing himself on the ground. 

   “I’ll make sure they have juice boxes for you, Petey. You’re such a seven year old, geez.” You pretended to gag. 

   Looking offended, Peter replied, “I’m actually twelve.” 

   Jokingly, you said, “You’re a twelve year old that’s going to get a punch in the face if you don’t settle down right now.” He stood up, directly in front of you with his light eyes and little grin, another feverish looking heat burning at his face. Nevertheless, he still said, “It’d be an honor to get beaten up by you.” 

  His voice, the sincerity he carried within it despite the ludicrous statement, made you feel those famed butterflies fluttering inside you. Maybe it was the way he looked into your eyes as he said it. Maybe it wasn’t. But something within you was starting to like Peter Parker, and you’d barely known him for twenty four hours. 

   Then again, it was hard to not like Peter. The kid was just so damn likable. 


   He had known it from the moment he first set his eyes upon you that day in the tower that he was a goner. If he had known it then, just from sitting down across from you with nothing to him but his lanky figure and a suit that resembled a onesie more than it did a costume fit for a hero such as he, he was sure of it now, a week and a half later. 

   Every day had been the same routine. He’d be up bright and early in the morning so you could help with him his training, teaching him how to utilize the suit your father had given him with ease rather than his usual tactic of jumping into everything blind. You’d been the one to help come up with nearly all of the web shooter combinations. He didn’t know all of them yet, or close to half of them, but he was progressing wonderfully. 

   After training, you’d give him the tour of your favorite places around Germany, close enough to where you’d both be able to get back to the hotel before dark. He filmed the both of you constantly, but you shied away from the cameras every time without fail. He couldn’t understand why, but he didn’t push. He just liked filming in general, and would accept you not smiling in any of his clips as long as you were still in there. 

   There was a beautiful sense of normalcy that came with hanging around Peter. You reveled in it. No one had ever made you laugh so hard with his ridiculous attempts at jokes or made you smile so much at his shy flirting skills that clearly needed to be revisited. 

   It was okay. You didn’t mind. And the fact that you didn’t tease him for it made him so, so happy. 

   Then, came the day of the fight. Peter had his camera out, he was dressed in his spidey suit, and you were standing there next to him dictating who he should and shouldn’t go after. 

   “Don’t go after Wanda ‘cause she could obliterate you in two seconds and Cap could crush you, too, but he won’t ‘cause he’s really nice like that. Bucky won’t care as much, though, so don’t do that- Ant-Man seems pretty cool and harmless but I don’t have as much intel on him and Peter if you get hurt you have to go hide somewhere-” 

   “I’m not gonna get hurt,” he said confidently. 

   You ignored him. “I’m gonna be in your earpiece, figuratively speaking, so I’ll hear everything you do and if you talk I’ll be able to hear you and you can hear me. So, just… keep me updated.” Peter took off his mask for a second, hair sticking up everywhere from the static. You leaned up, smoothing it back into place. Everything about him was soft. You wanted to curl up in it and stay there for as long as you could. 

   “I’ll be fine, Y/N, don’t worry,” Peter placed his hand on your shoulder. You felt your face heat up. 

   “I- I’m not worried.” You totally were. “I know you’ll be fine.” You didn’t want him getting hurt. “I just want you to be careful.” You didn’t want him to fight. 

   You could’ve sworn his face fell a  bit when you said you weren’t worried, but he squeezed your shoulder anyway. Without a moment’s hesitation, you threw your arms around him, your nose pressing against his neck as you took a deep breath. He stood there for a second without doing anything until he realized that if he didn’t hug you back, he’d be the dumbest person on the face of the Earth. You felt his surprisingly defined arms hug you back. 

   You didn’t look at him when you pulled away. You stared at the spider emblazoned on his chest, gave him a quick good luck, then departed from the room. You sat on your own hotel bed with a rapidly beating heart.

    The nerves were killing you. Ten more minutes. You opened your laptop and pulled up the system that would allow you to communicate across Team Stark. You were more focused on your dad and Peter. You tapped into your dad’s earpiece after placing the headset on. “Dad?” You spoke into the microphone. 

   “Hey, kiddo, everything okay?” 

   “Y-Yeah I just-” you took another breath. “Be safe. I love you.” 

   “I love you too, Y/N. Are you sure everything is okay over there?” 

   “Can you just make sure Peter gets out okay? If he gets hurt, bring him right back, please. That’s it.” Maybe it was a stupid request in someone else’s eyes, but you needed Peter to make it back in one piece. Tony Stark looked over at Peter Parker, crouching in his hiding spot and fumbling around with the gloves of his suit and gave the kid a knowing smile. Of course that was the one his  daughter fell for in the end. Perfectly fitting. 

   “I’ll make sure.” You knew your father couldn’t see the grateful smile on your face, the sigh of relief that fell past your lips when he spoke these words.

   Peter Parker, I swear if you make it out of this, I will smile like an idiot in every single one of your stupidly adorable video diary things. I swear. Just be safe.


 “Your black eye is awful,” you told him, dabbing at it with more cream. “Totally ruins your face.”

   “I think I look manly.” 

   “You think incorrectly.” You stepped back, your fingertips tilting his chin up so you could examine it further. “I think I got the worst of it. You did really well, Peter. Exceptionally well.” His face was glowing from your compliment. 

   “Can I get on that tape?” He asked excitedly, ducking under his hotel bed for his camera. You nodded, and he switched the camera on. He held out his arm so that you were both in frame. And you smiled. He forgot all about what you were supposed to say the moment that beautiful smile appeared there. “I- wow, Y/N.” 

   “What?’ 

    His stare was kind as it usually was. “You just-” he paused. “Your smile is really, really beautiful.” There was no way for you to turn away from the camera this time and you were left grinning like a lovestruck idiot at the boy in front of you, leaning up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. 

  “Thank you.” 

  You slept the entire plane ride the way you had the last time, curled up against Peter. This time, it was intentional. One of your arms was flung across his waist and his was wrapped around your shoulders, the sweatshirt he had came in now swaddling you cozily. There were two separate cars waiting for you. You stood in between them when the flight got off, the sleeves of his sweater hanging off your hands as you reached out to grab his. He felt you push a piece of paper into his hand. “You better call me, Peter Parker. I’ll be really upset if you don’t.” 

   He wrapped you suddenly in an embrace that lifted you off your feet just a little bit, his lips pressing against your temple. “I’ll call you every day.” 


   He kept true to his word. Every day without fail, your phone rang with a call from Peter, and you fell asleep on the phone with him more often than not. If you weren’t on the phone with him, you were texting him, and if you weren’t doing that, you wished that you were. The consistent communication was better than nothing, but regardless, you missed his presence. You missed the way you felt walking next to him as he explained why chocolate ice cream was so clearly better than vanilla. You just missed him. 

   “Peter?” You held the phone to your ear, nestled in your blankets already even though it was barely nine o'clock. His sleepy voice mumbled out a yes? “Would it be stupid if I said that I missed you?” 

  She could practically hear his wide smile through the phone. “Of course not. I miss you, too. So much. Probably more than you miss me.” 

   “That’s so not true!” She scoffed. 

    “Wanna bet?” His tone was mischievous, no longer the hoarse, pretty voice of a boy just waking up from his nap. “Open your bedroom door.” 

    “Are you joking?” 

    You hung up the phone, throwing back your covers and not caring one bit that your hair was a dripping mess from your shower or that you were wearing  a terrible set of hello kitty pajamas that weren’t meant for anyone over the age of ten based on the size of the top. You nearly tackled him to the ground when you saw him standing in your doorway, a happy squeal escaping your lips. You were surprised he even got in, considering your dad wasn’t home, but you figured Vision had let him in. Vision always had a way of knowing. 

   “Have I ever told you that you have a really pretty smile?” Peter’s lips hovered over yours, almost hesitant. You took the initiative to kiss first, your hands delving into his silk-like hair. There was no point in waiting anymore. Your noses bumped together clumsily when he tilted his head back, admiring. You could feel your whole being light up when he gazed at you the way that he did, in that admiring, careful, Peter way of his. 

   “Careful, Spidey,” You warned, hands on his chest as you stared right back up at him. 

   “Careful of what?” He quirked an eyebrow. 

   “You’re going to make me fall in love with you one of these days if you keep looking at me like that.” It was only the truth, and you were a honest person.

   “That’s sort of the plan,” he shrugged in a seemingly careless way, but he couldn’t hide it. He was an open book. An open book who loved you, and the way that you smiled at him when he pulled back his sleeve to reveal a web shooter, a strange glint in those brown eyes of his as he said, “You up for an adventure?” 

Some hilarious writing prompts

Alright so a few days ago I decided to look for some hilarious text posts on tumblr and I laughed so much I just had to write some prompts! (is possible to be customized)
(Send me requests with 1/1+ prompt/s. I write about a lot of fandoms and also a lot of different things : one shots/scenarios/imagines/headcanons/chats/conversations/aesthetics/alomst anything) REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

*1. Do I look like I give a fuck?
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*2. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on you again for taking advantage of my compassionate and forgiving nature! HOw dare you.
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*3. Me? Overreacting? Probably.
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4. I used to be passive aggressive, but now I’m aggressively passive. Don’t mess with me kiddo. I’ll be right here. I’ll fucking forgive you.
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5. A: Whar are you doing?
B: Avoiding.
A: Avoiding what?
B: Everything.
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*6. This was impulsive. Probably shouldn’t have done it. WHO CARES?
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*7. You’re really cute and it’s ruining my life because I think about kissing you all the time.
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8. A: It’s okay, I’m not mad.
    A (5 mins later): Actually? You can go to Hell.
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9. I hate people who get personally offended when I’m in a bad mood, likeI’m not mad at you Susan (name), I’m mad at the world!
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10. A to A: Bitch, if you actually applied yourself in like…anything, you’d be dangerous ,damn my lazy ass.
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11. I don’t know what I’m feeling, but there’s a lot of it.
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12. Not to dictate your life, but drop your shitty friends.
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13. That sounds like responsibility and I want no part in it.
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14. Why am I better than everyone? Jesus, life’s hard.
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15. A: How do you make someone holy?
B: You beat the hell out of them.
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16. A: I’m amazed of how insignificant we actually are.
B: Not me, I’m important.
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17. If anyone can do it, then someone who isn’t me can do it.
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18. In the old days of one week ago things were different. Now look at us - slightly older than we were back then, other clothes and such.
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19. I’m not going to claim that I know everything, I’m simply going to act like it.
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*20. You have to “see it to believe it”, so as long as I’m not looking I don’t have to believe in anything.
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21. I’m visualising a powerful mystical energy at the moment.
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22. If I don’t learn anything from my mistakes then I don’t have to consider them mistakes in the first place.
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23. Why the hell is there always this one weak bitch in the group that isn’t down with murder? No offence though.
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24. A: If you ever feel stupid, or weak, or powerless, just remember that I, am not.
B: THanks.
A: You’re welcome.
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25. I wanna do dirty stuff with you like farming.
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26. A: What are you reading?
B: 10 tips for beutiful hair the Government doesn’t want you to know.
A: wHAT the fuck?
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27. A: I’m tired of these constant near-death experiences.
B: (opinional) don’t be a whiny bitch, bitch.
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28. Man, how many eye contact until date?
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29. God has a favourite comedy tv series and it’s called “my life”.
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30. Sometimes all you can say is “yikes” and then just on the fuck on.
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31. Why is everyone having their mid-life crisis at like 19?
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32. It’s a beutiful day to give me money, honey.
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33. Women aren’t complicated, you’re just dumb.
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34. Well this social situation isn’t going the way I acted it out in the shower.
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35. No offence, but my favourite hobby is staying hydrated and beautiful.
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36. I’m actually pretty cool if you give me like 5 tries to get it right.
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37. Today I’m feeling cloudy with a chance of sarcastic.
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38. Be prapared to add a cute emoji next to my name in your contacts list because you’re gonna love me.
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*39.A: Babe, I’m not grabbing your boob, I’m grabbing your heart.
B: That’s my right boob though.
A: Babe.
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40.Every machine is a smoke machine if you operate it wrong enough.
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41.What makes me feel like a failure the most is when I can’t remember the answet to a Harry Potter trivia question.
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42.I hate it when I’m really nice…And then people are just not that nice? Like what the fuck.
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43.Don’t look at me in that tone of voice.
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*44.Is your name candle? Because I wanna blow you.
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*45. So, was that just awkward eye contact, or were we checking eachother out?-

46.You know, having feelings is ruining my reputation of being a heartless bitch.
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47.My turn ons? Well I don’t know, maybe some fucking common sense.
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48.I may seem like an angry person on the surface, but deep inside I’m actually angrier.
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49.I ship me and that boat.
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50.Listen. I did mean to make you upset and I do think your opinions are shit. But you’re still my friend so it’s okay.
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51.Because my two moods are like glitter and death.
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*52.My kink is closing the fucking bathroom door, because no one wants to see you fucking pee!
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53.If I go to Hell I’m gonna constantly torture everyone by continuously asking if it’s hot in here or is it just me.
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54.Oh my God are you seeing this shit?
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55.Graduated top of my class from Hogwarts school of bitchcraft and misery.

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56.A (shows up at your door 10 years after we had an argument): aND ANOTHER THING

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57.I’ll betray all of you in the Hunger Games.

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58.Well, well, well, if it isn’t my old friend, the dawing realization that I fucked up real bad.

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59.I’m a screamer. Not sexually, just life in general.

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60.I’m not racist, I hate everyone equally.

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61.Tell me I’m cute or something, so I can roll my eyes at you, but then blush when I think about it later.

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62.You know when your hair is greasy and it makes you feel so bad about yourself? And your entire life. Everything is awful because my hair is greasy.

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63.True love is having a crush even when he got a haircut you know.

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64.Emotions? You know, I just push my tear back into my eye and tell it “Not now, you little bastard!”.

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65.Are we gonna hold hands, or what?

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66.My soul leaving my body, but with one of those slide whistle sound effects.

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67.A: I love you.

B: What if I got a bowl cut?

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68.I should really stop planning my future around being rich or famous…but I can’t.

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69.I’m aggressively thibking about having sex with you and trying to keep a straight face at the same time. Do you know hOW hard that is?

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70.My opinion is no.

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71.Did you fall from heaven, because so did Satan.

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72.What to hear a fairytale? Once upon a time you weren’t such a little bitch.

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73.Which is messier - my life or my hair?

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74.How can you face the problem when the problem is your face?

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75.Sometimes I wonder what it feels like to know wHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON.

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76.Read a girl who dates books.

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77.My hands are cold let me put them in your pants.

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78.I’m sorry, you must be at least level 4 friend to unlock my tragic backstory.

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79.My therapist once told me that I have this obsession with seeking revenge…we’ll see about that.

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80.You have lips, I have lips…interesting.

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81.Do my dark undereye circles and unwashed hair turn you on?

/PART TWO/


/170715 ; a Temporary side note: please for the moment don’t send me requests with the numbers that have a (*). I’ve received so many requests with those, I’m starting to run out of ideas :D Thank you ! / - persuasivus

Say That Again

Summary: Soulmate AU. Everyone hears a key word or phrase in their head from their soulmate, something only heard in person when the moment is right.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,543

Warnings: language, self-consciousness, fluff, that’s basically it

A/N: This is my submission for the lovely wonderful talented @bladebarnes’ 2k Celebration Challenge. My prompt was 35. quote: “Say that again.” I saw Baby Driver recently and couldn’t get the diner thing out of my head.

Originally posted by coporolight

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The Dress

Hey guys! This is an imagine about the reader doing her best to tease her friend, Tom, because she’s unsure of his feelings for her, in a really hot dress. I’m not even going to lie to you, this story is pure smut? The middle is soft and sweet, but everything else is ?porn? I hope you like it!

The Dress

She and Tom had been ambling through the various art exhibits at her city’s center since before ten A.M., and after they were invited to a lavish restaurant with a group of their friends, she insisted that she change her clothes. From a simple, floral sundress, she slipped into something a little more uncomfortable while Tom waited in her living room, doing his best to keep his integrity and not to sneak a peek. Truth be told, he thought that she looked beyond fine in her sundress. The back dipped low and he could tell that she didn’t have a bra on, plus the flowing fabric of the dress shifted around as she walked and Tom enjoyed flashes of her smooth legs. She looked sweet and innocent, and there was something absolutely perverse in Tom that just wanted to mess it up. Alas, they had chosen to take it slow, so take it slow he tried.

    As soon as they had met, Tom knew that she was the only girl for him, but as of then, she wanted to focus solely on her education. He understood, of course, seeing as her schooling was on the same level of importance as his acting, and he didn’t want to disturb her. He couldn’t bare to be without her once he had began to know her, so he settled for being her friend, but he was positive that it was slowly killing him.

    She was the most kind-hearted person that he had ever come across, always doing what was needed to help others. Beyond that, he’s made the mistake of accompanying her on her trip across town to babysit her cousin’s children where he discovered that she was also the most nurturing soul out there. During their stay at her cousin’s home, he had watched as she simplified Philip Roth’s, ‘A Defender of the Faith,’ into terms so easily understood that four year olds could pick apart the intended theme. Beyond that, she answered all of their questions, even the ones that had him snorting under his breath, with complete respect and sincerity. It was right then that he could feel himself drifting into the haze love with her.

    He felt his heart warm towards her again when they went out for dessert and she took a bite of her sundae, eyes blissfully shut as her lips closed over the chilled spoon. As soon as her lashes fluttered open, she offered Tom the next bite. Ever since then, sharing had been their thing and it was hurling him into love with her.

    She wore his clothes, always giving them back smelling of her perfume. He borrowed her favorite books, films, and favorite places in the city to hide out and be alone. Time and time again, when he was in immediate need of a vehicle and couldn’t find one to rent fast enough, she had handed over her car keys without a second thought. Tom smiled as he waited for her to get dressed, fiddling with the ginormous copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories, a personal favorite of theirs to read.

In her room, she stood between two options. One dress was wholesome and cute, a typical outfit of hers, and the other was daring, sultry and, for lack of a better word, tiny. She hopelessly coveted Tom’s affection, but she was unsure of how to obtain it. Sure they had flirted from time to time, but she wanted to make him want her indefinitely, and if the dress would help her accomplish that, than so be it. He was all that was in her heart and all she wanted to do was to immerse him in love. Her best friend had encouraged her to purchase the dress for this very reason, and she refused to let something so pretty rot in the back of her closet. Slipping on some high heels and adding another coat of mascara, she exited her room.

“Are you ready, my love?” Tom called as he listened for the sound of heels clicking against her wood floors. He turned around and saw her before she could respond.

    She looked so lusciously risque that Tom couldn’t even form an eloquent thought in his brain. In the crest if the hallway, she stood in front of him wearing a dress so small and delicate that Tom was certainly convinced he could tear off her body using only his teeth, and sweet heavens, oh how he wanted to.

    “Holy mother of fucking hell,” Tom hissed through gritted teeth, “you’re going to fucking kill me, babydoll.”

    Truth be told, her dress had been located in the lingerie section of the store, but after sending photos of the dress to practically every contact in her phone, despite Tom, she decided it was approved nightwear. People wore less and got away with it all the time, she thought.

She was dressed in a soft, blush-toned, silk nightie that barely reached the top of her thighs. The straps were made of lace and the front dipped low so low that if she were to bend down to touch the floor, the dress would move to reveal her bellybutton. Her back was exposed, seeing as the nightie was backless and she’d made sure to get the next size up so it would be just baggy enough to show a little side-boob. The heels she wore were tall and nude, and they elongated her legs so well that they looked endless.

“Ready?” She chirped, making a show of swinging her hips as she walked past Tom, eager to unveil her dress’s scandalous lack of backing. She heard him mumble unintelligible curses once more.

“You, are you, wearing, you’re going to wear that out?” Tom asked as he locked the door, realizing that there was absolutely no way that he was going to make it through dinner with her when she was practically naked in front of him. He knew it was not his place, or anyone’s place, to dictate what she wore, but he was seriously concerned for his sanity at this point. He was either going to need to leave early or masturbate in the bathroom.

She cocked her head to the side to gaze up at him through her lower lashes, “yes, Tom,” she said, placing her hands on his chest, “why wouldn’t I? Don’t you like it?” She knew full well that she was laying it on thick, but she was determined to break him down.

He swallowed thickly. She was looking at him how he always imagined she’d look at him in bed. Her eyes were glossed over, she rolled her lower lip beneath her teeth, her chest moved rapidly up and down, she smelled like freshly picked daisies and Tom knew he was so beyond fucked. Was she doing this to him on purpose?

“I just don’t want you to be cold is all,” he stuttered out, which was true, but not his only unease about her napkin of a dress.

She’d thought this out as well. It had come to her understanding that Tom liked to see her in his clothes, so she smiled up at him, leaning even closer if humanly possibly and with her lips pressed an inch away from the base of his throat, uttered, “could I borrow your jacket? I don’t have one that’ll go with my outfit, but I really like yours.”

Tom coughed, “yeah, of course you can, sweet girl,” before removing his jean jacket and draping it across her shoulders, praying that she would at least button it up.

Curling her arms around Tom in a hug, she whispered words of thanks and left his coat perched gently atop her shoulder blades. She turned and began to make her way down the apartment complex’s hallway, not waiting for Tom to catch up.

“I’m going to die,” he mumbled before readjusting his jeans and hurrying after her.

On the walk there, she had teased him like no other, and Tom was becoming not only extremely hot, but very bothered.

First, she’d paused and asked him if he could check to see if her buckle on her heels was broken. She had rationed that she would do it herself, but her dress was too short. Once he’d knelt down, she’d shifted so that her leg was lifted almost over his shoulder and ruffled her hands through his hair, claiming that she needed to steady herself so she didn’t fall. She let out at airy groan as soon as his hand curled over her ankle to hold her still, brushing off his raised eyebrows as her just being sleepy. Tom had gotten a clear look at the white, lace panties she was wearing by accident, but he suspected she had done moved just so he would see.

Then, she had asked him if he could hold her phone for her, seeing as she had forgotten her bag. When Tom said that he could, she ignored his outstretched palm and slipped her phone directly into his jean pocket herself. Frankly, Tom was getting a little pissed off.

To make matters worse, when they rode up in the elevator together to reach the restaurant, they’d unluckily gotten stuck on the busiest ride. When he crowded into the corner, she had made sure to rub her bum against the bulge in his jeans the entire way up, apologizing when they got to their floor, telling him that she was just too close to the man in front of her. At this point, Tom knew better. He didn’t know what she was playing at, but he was going to demand to be informed as soon as they were alone.

He’d just have to make it through dinner.

    However, Tom couldn’t even make it through the appetizers before he demanded to speak with her alone. Their friends had taken notice to her attire immediately after she took off his coat because it was so different than what she normally wore and had teased the pair throughout the entirety of their time together.

    Everyone was well aware of their feelings for one another, and did their best to mush them together as often as possible. Due to their party being so large, she was practically sat on Tom’s lap and she offered him food straight from her fork, which wasn’t unusual for them, it just felt different tonight. There was nowhere Tom could put his hands without touching her bare skin and he’d just about lost his mind.

    Securing a firm hand around her waist, Tom yanked her back roughly against his chest, “we’re going out outside right now.” They were sat so close together that Tom could hear her heart beat faster.

    “Why?” She asked, her brow furrowing.

    Tom stood, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her away from their meal, “are you honestly asking me why?” He scoffed, grumbling out a half-assed lie about where and the reason that they needed to leave. Tom was all too prepared to endure the taunts from their friends, he didn’t care anymore.

    He led her through the sea of people, pushing past without a single ‘excuse me.’ Tom knew that he was being a dick but he didn’t have it in him to care. If she wanted to make it her mission to provoke him, as she clearly had, Tom was sure as hell going to let her know that she succeeded.

    As soon as they were far enough away from the crowd to not be overheard, he whipped around and exclaimed, “what the fuck is this about? Have I done something to you? Have you lost your mind?” Tom began to pace up and in front of her, “like I know you must realize what you’re doing to me?”

    All of her bashfulness returned. Teasing Tom all day had honestly worked her up too. He made her feel so wanted, and thoughts of him touching her and her touching him had wormed their way into her mind throughout their evening. She’d never thought that he would confront her about her actions, and now that he was, and he looked so good doing it, she didn’t know what to do with herself.

    “What do you mean?” She asked, focusing on the uneven sidewalk rather than to meet Tom’s gaze.

    Sighting a cramped corridor near behind a closed shop, Tom took ahold of her hand and dragged her into the corridor’s cover. Now, they wouldn’t be seen by anyone as long as they were quiet.

    He breathing hard and he knew he was pressed into her and she could feel his hardness poking against her leg. “Darling, don’t you dare play like that. I swear I’ll lose my mind,” he raked a hand through his hair, “well, more than I already have.”

    She gnawed on the inside of her cheek, knowing that as of right now, she could either be brave and possibly turn their friendship into something much larger, or she could apologize and have things stay the same. Harrison had mentioned that Tom had feelings for her right after they’d met, so she prayed that he still did.

    She fluttered her long eyelashes and stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck. “Do you want me?” She asked, doing her best to make her voice as sultry as she could.

    Tom was hesitant to move from her touch. She smelled like freshly picked flowers, he could feel her breasts rise and fall with her intake of breath, and she was looking up at him through her lashes with parted lips and it was too much for him to handle. “What do you mean?”

    Her next sentence was almost impossible for her to choke out. She was losing her confidence, did he really not know what she meant or was he playing dumb to avoid hurting her feelings? “Do you wanna kiss me?” She averted her eyes before quickly adding, “it’s okay if you don’t.”

    “Sweetheart,” Tom started and she stumbled away from him, not even waiting to hear what he had to say.

    “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” She stuttered, ignoring his pleas for her to come back to him. She couldn’t believe that she had just spent the entire night humiliating herself.

    Tom jogged down the street after her, thanking the universe that the heels she wore were so high that she couldn’t really move too quickly without falling over. He curled a soft hand around her arm, pulling her back into his chest.

    “You didn’t stop and listen to me,” Tom chided, before wrapping another arm around her to keep her in place. “What I was going to ask you is where this is all coming from? You said you didn’t want anything other than friendship, and I don’t want this to be just a one night thing. You mean too much to me for that. I’m just confused is all.”

    “I wanna be with you, Tom, isn’t that obvious? I really like you, and I just thought that if you didn’t like me, maybe this would help?” Her eyes were tearing, her brain was melting and her hands shook. She couldn’t concentrate on anything but him.

    Tom let out a belly laugh, “what are you talking about? Of course I like you, I’ve been telling my mum for months that I love you! This is ridiculous, you didn’t need to do all this!” Tom exclaimed, his words not registering in his mind until a soft ‘oh’ fell from her lips.

    “Can, could, you, do you want to say that again?” She stammered, covering his lips tenderly with her own before Tom even had a chance to respond. Breaking away almost as soon as she started, she took his cheeks in her palms and whispered, “I love you.”

    Everything was happening so rapidly, and Tom firmly grasped her waist and pulled her in to kiss him. They made-out so furiously on the sidewalk that they got numerous honks and catcalls from passing cars and bikers alike.

    Tom groaned into her mouth when her body brushed up against the hardness constricted by his black jeans. “I love you and I wanted our first kiss to be romantic, but I swear to god darling, if we keep at this, I’m going to ruin these pants.”

    She kissed the corner of his mouth before taking his hand and pulling him behind the corridor Tom had found a few minutes before. As soon as the corridor’s pillars provided them coverage, she sank to her knees in front of Tom. “I’ve never done this before, so you’re going to have to teach me.”

    “No, no, I didn’t mean that you had to do this, not if you don’t want to,” Tom said, urging her to get up as the image of her on her knees for him made his jeans even tighter, if that was even possible anymore. He couldn’t imagine her doing it to him here, well he could, but he didn’t want her to feel obligated to suck him off before she was ready, especially seeing as this was her first time.

    “Tom,” she said, without budging, “I want to. I think about it all the time.”

    He cursed again, the thought of her getting off to thoughts of him was almost too much. Tom palmed himself through his jeans.

    “Just tell me how you want me,” She said, her voice sounding as Tom imagined silk would feel against his skin.

    “Fuck,” he mumbled, “you’re sure? If you wanna stop, just say so and I’ll be okay with it.” Tom bent down to kiss her, already planning to reciprocate back at her apartment. “I’m not going to last long because you’ve been prancing around nearly naked all night long.”

    A blush spread across her cheeks as she began to undo his jeans.

    Tom moaned as soon as she touched him, and he moaned even louder when the warmth of her mouth slid down his length. “Fucking hell, baby,” he rasped out, begining to instruct her on how to take him.

    After about ten minutes, he was done. He was struggling to still his hips and his hands had tangled themselves into her shiny locks, and Tom knew that he was going to finish. He swore that if she gagged again, he’d blow right there.

    “You’ve done so well, sweetheart,” Tom groaned, removing a hand from her hair to place it on the hollows of her cheek. “Let me finish it.”

    She didn’t halt her movements but Tom could tell that she was confused. At this point, she was taking him so deep that he could feel her fluttering lashes against his skin.

    “No, darling, I’m going to cum. If you don’t wanna swallow, you need to stop.” Tom advised, not having the willpower to move away from her heavenly mouth.

    On that note, she started bobbing her head even faster, and taking Tom so far back that he was almost positive he was going to hit the back of her throat. He cursed, unable to form a coherent sentence, all he could think of her how good she felt. A moment later, he came down her throat, and she sucked him off even through that.

    When she released him from the slickness of her mouth, the first thing Tom did was bend down to kiss her swollen lips. “I fucking love you,” he groaned breathlessly.

    Her eyes closed and she drifted into the warmth of his touch, “tell me again.” And Tom did, helping her to her feet and removing the jean jacket she’d given back to him at the restaurant. Tom helped her slide it on and buttoned it up almost all the way.

    He kissed her nose, “what do you want to do, my love?”

    She beamed shyly up at him, “can we go home and do it again?”

    Tom pressed an openmouthed kiss to her neck, “oh yeah, baby, you haven’t had your turn yet.”

   


Insecure (Peter Parker x Reader)


Authors note: this was requested by the lovley @signethatsmelol, also I hate myself bc I turned my precious babies against each other for the sake of fiction

Warning(s): some swearing, violence, angst BUT DW BC FLUFF AT THE END

Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. Maybe it was the unusual silence of the school halls after class or the fact that Peter hadn’t come to find you but something was definitely up.

You frowned as you made your way to your locker, your boyfriend of a year nowhere to be seen.  Opening it up, you loaded in your calculus textbook and a few other things before heading your academic decathlon club. You often found yourself looking forward to your team meets as you’d get to spend more time with your boyfriend, Peter and best friend, Flash.

You’d actually met Peter through Flash, when you’d first joined Midtown high. Flash had been your ‘tour’ guide as such, and he was extremely sweet towards you, he’d made you feel comfortable with the move to a new high school and even invited you to the team’s first meet of the year, although he was very flirtatious and you weren’t into that. Peter had joined the meet a little later than it had started because of his Stark internship and it was pretty much love at first sight from then on.

You’d grown to love his little stammer every time he talked to you, and that blush that spread from his cheeks to his neck every time you held his hand in public. You could even say you loved Peter Parker . That’s why you were so worried when he hadn’t come to meet you, the pair of you were inseparable so you knew something was wrong.

You were pulled out of your thoughts as your friend Michelle came running towards you, panic etched across her features. “Michelle?” You asked, turning from your locker to face her, concern stitched into your voice. She was hunched over, hands gripping  her knees as she struggled to catch her breath.

“I-it’s Peter” she began, drawing herself upwards. “He’s gotten into another fight”

Your eyes widened as she spoken, you slammed your locker shut as the curly haired girl lead you towards the fight. Within a matter of minutes, you found yourself behind a large gathering of people, formed into a circle. People were cheering and filming the ordeal. Hurriedly, you pushed your way through the bands of people, trying to get a better look at the scene.

“Excuse me, sorry. Pardon me”

What you saw after weaving your way through the crowds made your heart drop. Your friend, Flash and your boyfriend Peter.

They were currently standing opposite each other, faces swollen and bruised. Flash had clearly gotten the brute end of it, and looked like he was on his last legs. Peter on the other hand looked significantly less injured and you knew in that moment he had been the one to start the fight. You knew Flash had picked on Peter, that’s what made it hard to maintain your friendship with him but you never thought Peter would lash out on him like this.

“Say that again, I dare you” you heard Peter spit, bouncing his fist up and down menacingly. Through the pain, you could see Flash draw his lips into a cruel smirk.

“She doesn’t want you, she never has. She’s only with you to get back at me”

That was all it took for Peter to launch himself at Flash, you covered your eyes and bit your now quivering lip, as you heard the pair’s grunts of pain. You knew know that this wasn’t some stupid spat between boys.

This was about you.

Opening your eyes, you rushed out into the circle, the cheers from the crowd only sky rocketing. At this point, both boys were at either side of the circle, you rushed between them in an attempt to stop the violence. “Stop it!” You yelled breathlessly, looking between them. “Just stop it! You’re hurting each other!”

Both boys fixed their posture before looking at you. You stared Peter down, meeting his gaze with a confused look, you could see the guilt swirling in his eyes. Your attention was stolen, when Flash begun to speak up. “Get outta the way (Y/N), I gotta let this punk have it

Don’t talk to her like that” Peter seethed back. You shook your head, begging yourself not to cry as the two boys you cared about glared and growled at each other. You could see that Peter was tired and could tell that he was feeling guilty.

“Leave it Flash” you called out as he tried to advance. You turned to your boyfriend and grabbed him then by the wrist trying to get him out of there. You pulled him into a guest toilet and locked the door behind you. You sat him down on the lid of the toilet,  grabbing some tissue and running it under some cold water before pressing the compress to his bruised knuckles.

“What the fuck was that Peter?” You said, as you worked in silence. Peter could only watch as you moved about, making more compresses for his cuts before they bruised.

“I’m sorry” the brunette boy whispered, not meeting your eyes as you inspected his face. You paused, looking into his chocolatey orbs, anger swirling in them.

You’re sorry?!” You yelled, your calm facade breaking down. This wasn’t the first time Peter had gotten into a fight over you, in fact, they’d been happening a lot more recently. You’ve never mentioned it to him before, at first you thought he was being over protective, but now you could tell it was much more serious. “Sorry doesn’t cut it Peter! Do you know how many times I’ve had to pull you out of these situations? Do you know how many times I’ve had to save your ass from being beaten into the ground? Do you know how much that scares me? I don’t know what’s going on with you Peter but you need to sort this out.”

Your boyfriend flinched at every word you spoke, as if he was being

sprayed by acid. He knew what you were saying was true, but he couldn’t help it.

“Peter, I love you!” You cried out, as he gazed at you intently. “But you can’t keep fighting people over me! Flash is one of my best friends, and to see you both almost kill each other out there breaks my heart! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but if it keeps happening, I don’t know if I can stay”

This time, Peter’s head snapped up, looking you directly in the eyes. “W-what are you - are you saying?” he whispered, voice low and uneven. He was standing now, and you could see his body shaking.

“I’m saying that maybe…” you sighed, backing away from Peter. “We should…take a break?”

“No!“Peter practically screamed, his voice cracking as he did so.

In the dim light of the bathroom, you could see his eyes glaze over as his body begun to shake. “P-please”

Peter…

“I meant it when I said I was sorry” he tried, his voice betraying him. “I don’t know what came over me, F-flash was just saying these awful things about you, a-about us and I began to doubt myself”

You neared your sobbing boyfriend, immediately feeling guilting for suggesting that you end things. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his head down to rest on your shoulder as he cried. “T-they say I don’t deserve you, all the guys. T-they say you’re too good for me… and it’s true”.

You stroked his hair softly as he let out his emotions. You never knew that he’d felt this way, that this could have ever been the reason for his outbreak. That Peter Parker was insecure.

Baby no” you whispered but he didn’t stop there.

“You’re the kindest and sweetest soul and I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you. You’ve been with me through everything and I-I’m just… Peter” he hiccuped, pulling away from you with bleary eyes. “P-please don’t leave me, you’re everything I have”

“Peter…” you sighed, holding him close until he’d calmed down. “I-I’ll never leave you, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry”. You clung to him, trying to tell him that you were there and that you weren’t ever going to let go, you cursed yourself for being such a terrible girlfriend. When you both pulled away, you looked up at Peter, feeling his love for you radiate off of his body. You stood on your tip toes and slowly pressed your lips to his, the taste of his cherry lip balm invading your tongue. His warm and familiar hands snaked their way around your waste, pulling you closer to him. You gripped the collar of his plaid shirt from under his jumper and tugged him towards you, wanting to be as close to him  as possible, wanting him to feel the love you had for him. All of Peter’s insecurities melted away in that moment, he knew that you would never leave him, he knew that you loved him and that none of the other guys meant anything to you, not even Flash.

When you’d both come up for air, a small smile graced your lips. Peter returned your smile, going to bury his head in the crook of your neck again. “I’m so in love with you” he whispered against the  skin of your neck.

“I love you too Pete”

You both stood in silence, holding each other, the only sounds being made were your giggles as Peter pressed kisses to your neck. “I really am sorry about Flash though, I know how much he means to you” Peter spoke, after a few moments.

You rolled your eyes, before ruffling Peter’s hair. “He was an asshole anyways, you’re all that I care about”

You both laughed before you pressed a quick kiss to Peter’s lips, making him blush. “Now we should probably get out of here before people think we’re up to something” you winked at him playfully , as he shook his head at your antics.

Peter only let out a laugh as you pulled away to unlock  the door. You  grinned back at him, admiring his smile, and the way it reached his eyes. You really loved Peter and god help anyone that tried to make your baby insecure again.

“Kissing Booth”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (College AU)

Summary: After Nat volunteers your services at the kissing booth, you find yourself sitting across from you is none other than your best friend.

a/n: i swear this is my last unedited 7-minute one-shot. but today i was reminded of a personal experience and quickly jotted it down in story format. 

You feel sick to your stomach as you clutch your water bottle to chest. Alarms ring in your head as you take in the long line snaking around the booth. “I hate you.”

Natasha smirks and gently pats your shoulder. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes,” she coos, her tone so saccharine that it almost betrayed the sharp sarcasm underneath.

Grimacing at the redhead, you chug down the remaining contents of your water bottle. “Who’s brilliant idea was it to have a kissing booth? And I’m not even a part of this sorority! Why am I here?!”

“Because you owe me. I’m not a fan of the kissing booth, but we might as well commit since we’re here. And we’re bringing in some major cash for charity, so look pretty and keep going!”

You grumble under your breath and slump back onto your stool. If past-you hadn’t asked Natasha to look over and edit three major papers on Russian literature for you, you could be eating cotton candy or riding the ferris wheel. But no, here you are working off the last few minutes of your shift at the dreaded kissing booth.

Keep reading

To be foolish

Title: To be foolish

Pairing: Reader x Peter Parker

Summary: Y/N has lived next to Peter since the 3rd grade and since has fallen hard for him, but Y/N doesn’t know he’s fallen just as hard.

Word count: 1,761

Songs: Slow Burn by Autograf

AN: So here’s part 2 of To be young! this part feels a little slow to me but I’m really excited about making the next part, so just bare with me lol. I hope you guys enjoy this part!

Heres Part 1: To be young

tagged@emrysaaryn@bubbles2428@dreaxs@marauder-lover@purecout-ure@therealme13posts , @tomllholland , @manyfandomstohandle

Originally posted by tomhollanderr



Its been about a week since Liz’s party happened and during that time Peter had completely started ignoring you, every time you sat by Peter he would get up and leave. In gym Ned and him started doing their stretches on the furthest part of the gym from you.

You were hurt. More then hurt actually, you felt broken. The guy of your dreams almost kissed you and now you could feel he regretted it, a lot. Hell he could barley even stand looking at you. Michelle finally spoke kicking you out of your horrid thoughts “Hey Y/N how ya holding up?” You felt her hand slowly rub your back in an attempt to comfort you. “Well MJ not very well, I’ve liked peter ever since he moved into that stupid apartment and when i finally got the chance to kiss him, he left me..” you paused looking up from the library table you’ve recently started coming to to seek comfort in being alone, “and he regrets it, he regrets trying to kiss me and won’t even do as much as give me the time of day.” Michelle’s hand dropped from your back and found their way onto your face and turned you to look at her. “Listen Y/N, maybe Peter has an explanation for all this.” She looked deep into your eyes feeling the sadness radiate off of you.

“Just maybe try talking to him?” she suggested pulling her hand away from your face. You sighed, she’s right i need to just woman up and talk to him instead of treating him like he is me. I need to be the mature one in this situation. You grabbed your books off of the table and made your way out of the library and towards Peters locker, Its almost the end of 6th period, the last period of the day.

The bell rang right as you made it to Peters locker and waited silently to confront the boy who made you feel broken, but he never came.

“Uh hey Ned?” you asked when you passed by him on your way to debate club, tired of waiting. Ned shut his locker and mad his way over to you with a smile on his face “Yeah whats up Y/N?” you felt a sick feeling over come you before asking whats on your mind, “Have yo-you seen Pete-Peter anywhere?” You stuttered out your question, averting your eyes from Ned’s suddenly feeling a gross kind of embarrassed over run your feeling of sickness. “No, actually i haven’t seen him since gym.” Ned replied as you two began to walk the same way towards the debate club. “Maybe he’ll be at the debate meeting today.” Ned said with a happy glint in his eyes, “How come you’re looking for him?” your heart drops into your stomach trying to think of something to say other than the truth, “We uh-we’re doing a project in chemistry together and i haven’t been able to get ahold of him.” You lie with a sick smile on your face, the lie seeming to convince Ned as you two walked through the doors of the gym to your now daily debate club meeting.

“Hey you two, hurry up and take your seats.” Liz spoke gleefully with a smile on her face before going back to asking questions to the 4 people sitting at tables on the small school stage for nationals that happen in 2 days.

You were getting settled into your seat next to MJ at the front table when you heard the door open to the small theater room open. You looked up from pulling your binder out of your backpack when you caught eyes with the beautiful chocolate ones that were so intimate with you just a week ago.

His gaze averted from yours making you feel guilty for even meeting his eyes in the first place. “Mr. Harrington, I need you to let me go to nationals.” Peter rushed his sentence out. You let out a small laugh you were trying to keep in. Peters head snapped over in your direction and the smile on your face grew wider and your laugh grew louder at his unexpected look. Not even 2 days have passed since Peter said he wasn’t going to nationals and now he wants to? “Well i don’t know whats up with Y/N but you can’t just show up at the last meeting before nationals and expect to be put back on the team” Flash spits confidently at Peter “Well actually Mr. Parker..” Mr. Harrington shot Flash the “shut up” look with his eyebrows raised “Yes you can, Flash can you grab Peters jacket out of my office desk please.” Mr. Harrington flashed a smile at Flash.

“Peters coming to nationals now?” Michelle lowly whispered just barely audible for you to hear, “this should be interesting.” She smiled down at her notebook as she began drawing god knows what.  


“Alright everyone needs to behave and no sneaking out after the curfew I’ve set, ten o'clock.” Mr. Harrington lectured you and the group of 10 teenagers. Liz, Michelle and you grab your key cards from the front desk and make your way up to your shared room with them. After getting settled in you decided to relax and watch some tv.

“Hey..” your attention got jerked away from the tv when it turned off suddenly “how about we go to the pool?” You looked over to see Liz gleefully smiling at you and Michelle with her bathing suit on. “Now?” you asked getting up off the bed you were sitting on “it’s 10:30 and isn’t the pool closed?” Liz slipped on her flip-flops “No it doesn’t close till 11:30 and Mr. Harrington does have to know, Plus being rebellious is good for moral…” she paused looking between Michelle and you “so hurry up and get your bathing suits on while I go tell the others.” you quickly agree with her and grab your suit out of your draw of the dresser.

“Michelle, you gonna come?” you ask from the bathroom while putting on your swimsuit on “No, I’m good here with the tv.” she replied as she plopped back down on the bed. You shoved your dirty clothes into your suitcase “Well you’ll just miss out on all the fun!” you called out leaving the room and making your way to the pool.

the pool is on the same floor as your shared room so all you have to do is walk down a few hallways, you make a round around the 2nd to last corner when you collide with something, or someone.

You fall back on your butt letting out a few mumbles of cuss words, “Oh god I’m so sorry, that was my-” The person stops when your eyes meet the familiar chocolate ombré orbs, this moment feeling more intimate than intended, you break your eyes away staring at the floor and taking peters now stretched out hand to help you up.

“Ok so-” a voice interrupts the moment you and Peter were having, “oh hey guys!” The smile of Liz comes into your view, “Hey Liz.” Peter coughs and you see a pink shade take over his face, you lowly scoff and roll eyes taking your hand slowly from Peters. “Are you coming to the pool too Peter?” Liz asks as everyone passes by the three of you “I wasn’t planning on it.” He laughs slightly catching your eyes only to look back to Liz just as you were about to say something you might’ve regretted Liz spoke, “Well you should, so hurry up and get your trunks on!” She whisper shouted the last part of her comment and the same pink shade that took over peters face took over hers.

You felt uncomfortable, like you were intruding on a private moment. “Please, its gonna be like a good luck charm for us!” She spoke as she walked away towards everyone else. Peter turned his attention back to you “You’re going swimming i’m guessing?” He scratched the back of his neck, looking everywhere but your eyes “well you heard Liz, it’s gonna be our good luck charm.” You sarcastically spoke trying to meet Peters eyes with your Y/E/C ones just once.

“Look could we talk about what happened last-” Peters eyes finally caught yours taking you off guard and causing you to choke on your words, the feeling of be unwanted right here in this moment overran your body making you slouch slightly “Look Y/N…” he paused as his phone buzzed in his pocket “I really have to go, could we talk later?” He sighed running his hands through his soft, fluffy brown hair. “Uh sure.” You whispered breaking eye contact with Peter and looking at the floor, Peter sighed once more before walking away “just- just please don’t forget!” You called to him as he turned the corner and out of your sight.

You started making your way to the pool again thinking about what just happened, did Peter even really want to talk? He hasn’t wanted to talk to me at all this past week so maybe he really did regret what could have happened that night. You reached the door to the pool and slid your keycard through the small slot and the door clicked open. You slapped your card down on one of the small tables “there you are!” Flash shouted from in the pool, “I was starting to think you ditched us for penis.” He laughed making your mood even worse than it already was. “Whatever Flash.” You slipped into the pool and just floated on your back looking up at the ceiling with a couple of windows at the top, just admiring the stars and wishing how you could just be one right now instead of having to deal with all of this .. drama? no that’s not the right word for it, but I’m not sure what is maybe- your thoughts get cut off when your eyes meet the ones you saw in the hallway not even 5 minutes ago.

“Peter?” You whisper so quiet no one else hears you, you see Peters eyes widen and then he disappears. You stop and stand on your feet in the small hotel pool still staring up at the window. What is he doing on the roof? Why was he staring at me?

You get out of the pool and grab a designated towel from a small rack in the corner of the room and sit down at a lawn chair.

What is going on?

We had just finished our first quest, where none of us really were experienced DnD player, and I did some feeble attempts at solid DM'ing. The goal of the quest had been to find an antidote for a farmer’s son who had gone into a magical coma.

(ps: due to an inside joke, Winnie the Pooh is in the party like, just there. Christopher Robin is the farmers son who fell ill. The party coloured winnie the pooh neon pink. I don’t know why.)

DM: You reach the farm. You don’t have to roll shit to figure out these peeps are poor. They have a cow and a goat in a small pen that don’t look too hot. Oh, and there’s a donkey tied by the door to their shedlike home.

Elf Ranger: guys i think these peeps are super poor.

Half-Elf Cleric (only good aligned partymember): oh my god really????

DM: just as you say that, the door creaks open, and a thin, a bit aged man peeks out, and when he sees you, his eyes go wide and he steps fully outside, and he says “Are you the ones my daughter sent to- have you found it? Did you find the antidote for my son?”

Half-Elf Cleric: Hello we are here to speak to you about Jesus Christ- I mean, Njord. That’s my deity, right?

Elf Ranger: Yeah, the word of Njord.

Dward Fighter (whose alignment is sorta fuzzy): Yeah we got some antidote dude but uhh time cough up some gold pieces, aight

DM: So- these news fills him with both glee and fear. He sinks down on his feet-

Half-Elf Cleric: What was he on before

DM: -His knees. He sinks down on his knees, and he brings his hands together in your typical prayer like- he’s begging you. “Please, we have… nothing.”

Tiefling Warlock (Chaotic Neutral): sad trombone

DM: “Please, I- I have but one son, he and my daughter are- we won’t be able to do the amount of work- we need him!”

Tiefling Warlock: “Shall we move on, my fellows?”

DM: As you guys speak about this, Winnie the Pooh slides down from /Half-Elf Cleric/’s shoulders, where he’s been perched, and sort of waddles forward, past the begging father, and into the house, to join Christopher Robin.

Half-Elf Cleric: AWWWWWW

Dwarf Fighter: Ey he didn’t swipe the antidote from us, did he?

DM: No- no, you still got that.

Tiefling Warlock: I would’ve Eldritch Blasted his ass if he had.

Half-Elf Cleric: I think we should just give them the antidote.

DM: Like- just to clarify: the antidote is not like- a valuable thing. It’s just this one specific conconction for this particular- you won’t get more cash out of this anywhere else, nobody is gonna run up to you and go “oh, my father is in a magical coma and needs an antidote that-!” like. It’s literally worthless except for these people.

Tiefling Warlock: But we won't have to help someone pro bono.

Half-Elf Cleric: *annoyed sigh* I don’t give a damn about money.

Everyone except her: *horrified gasps*

Dwarf Fighter: … well, you guys do got a nice ass-

Everyone: WHAT

Dwarf Fighter: the donkey. You got a nice donkey.

DM: You… want the donkey.

Half-Elf Cleric: IS IT EEYORE

Everyone: YES we want the donkey.

DM: … The man looks at the donkey and then at you, and he goes “I- If it is a trade between the life of my son and my donkey, it’s- then it’s yours.” And- and Eeyore looks up at you all-

Everyone: YES IT’S EEYORE

DM: -and he goes “I figured I was going to get sold anyway…”

Half-Elf Cleric: AWWW

DM: and the farmer goes “AAA” cus he didn’t know he had a talking donkey

Dwarf Fighter: eyy hasn’t he seen Shrek talking donkeys means cash

DM: yeah well that doesn’t matter now cus he’s giving him to you guys

Dwarf Fighter: right you are

DM: and the man unties Eeyore and he sighs deeply and he goes “this surely won’t make things easier for us… but in exchange for my son… *sigh*”

Tiefling and Dwarf: oh stop moping around jesus hell

Half-Elf Cleric: EYY if I have a ‘set of commoners clothes’ can i give them to them cus they look poor right

DM: I guess

Half-Elf Cleric: EYYYYYYYYYYYY

DM: but then you’d be naked

Half-Elf Cleric: NÄÄÄIJ in that case fuck it you don’t get shit i’m sorry i tried

DM: -and you just start taking of your clothes to give them to the man, but you realise halfway through what you’re doing and you get dressed again

Tiefling: cover yourself, woman

DM: so- let me get this straight. You guys literally have a box on wheels that you pull along with you, and it is filled… with the golden heads of a pair of statues AND YOU WANNA TAKE THIS POOR FAMILYS DONKEY.

Tiefling: survival of the fittest, honey *grabs rope with Eeyore on the other end*

-they go inside and give Christopher Robin the antidote-

Christopher Robin: what the fuck

DM: And the family all rejoice at the awakening of their son, and they turn and thank you, and they’re in the middle of hugging you all when the farmer murmurs “They… they took the donkey.” and the whole family just. Goes quiet-

Dwarf Fighter: fucking tattletale?

DM: - and the mother sort of sinks down on her chair and she whisperes “How will we surviv-”

Tiefling: Oh for fucks- “look, woman, if you don’t shut up I’ll Eldritch Blast your ass-”

Half-Elf Cleric: “HEY WHAT”

DM: The woman gasps loudly and pales-

Dwarf Fighter: “Yo what’s the problem don’t you want a talking donkey”

Half-Elf Cleric: “I meant the whole threatening to KILL HER actually”

Tiefling: “I wasn’t threatening her, I was just stating a fact”

DM: That if she wouldn’t shut up you’d kill her?

Tiefling: It’s a very known fact.

DM: Winnie the Pooh is looking at Christopher Robin with such glee; it’s really indescribable how happy he’s looking, and he’s hopping around happily and he’s climbing up on the bed to give him a big old hug, and Christopher Robin, he goes- “What the- could you guys like take the bear away from me.”

Everyone: “WHAT”

Half-Elf Cleric: “Isn’t he like with you?”

Christopher Robin: “Wh- no? I just went into the woods and he just came up to me, and I found this ruin and he just followed me? And then I got stung by something and that’s all I remember? Could you like take him away he’s a bit creepy. And why is he pink?”

Half-Elf Cleric: “Well uhh he’s yours now. You don’t have a donkey anymore, so-”

DM: And this sorta comes as news to him cus when the father told the fam he had just woken up so he was a bit disoriented so now he goes “Wh-Why is-? What happened to our donkey?” And the father, he goes “Well, son, it was their demand to give you the antidote… and-”

Tiefling: “By the way… can we get this transaction on paper?”

DM: - and the boy turns to you incredulously, and he goes “But-! You can’t! We need that donkey, without it we’ll die!”

Dwarf: “You’re young and strong, boy, time to saddle up.”

Tiefling: “You got a bear now.”

DM: - And Christopher Robin starts to cry too, and he goes “You might’ve saved our lives, but you’ve killed our family-”

Dwarf: “Anywho, gots to go.”

DM: So, you go to leave the shedlike home, and the athmostphere is next to devastated-

Dwarf: “Okay, okay, I ain’t okay with this. We go here and save your life, and you guys are devastated? Really?”

Tiefling: “I agree entirely. Ungrateful runt.”

Cleric: “I-”

DM: “And Chrisopher Robin slams the door in your face.”

Cleric: “No, I was- I was gonna whisper to him “I didn’t want this, I wanted to let you have it for free-”

DM: -Okay, so you whisper that, and he just stares you down, and he shakes his head, and tears are falling down, and he just spits out “You’re just as bad as them for letting it happen anyway,” and he throws the door shut in front of your face after doing that.

Cleric: “GODDAMNIT”

DM: okay so like just to state- like, you guys are super welcome to just. give them something on your own accord, like, out of your own pocket, you picked up som gold in that temple, so if you want to-

Cleric: I WANNA GIVE THEM 100 GP

Tiefling: WHAT “NO, NO, DON’T” ok so I try to pursuade /cleric/ not to do it.

DM: You- you can’t roll to make another player do stuff they don’t wanna do.

Tiefling: Okay, uh “Hey, /cleric/. Don’t do it.” There, you’re pursuaded.

Cleric: … yeah, nah. I give them the gold.

DM: So- you hammer on the door and you shout “I GOT GOLD FOR YOU” or something like that, and Christopher Robin opens the door, and once he sees the gold you’re extending, he- he is so happy. He takes the gold and he goes to hug you, and the entire family comes out and does the same, they can buy like 3 donkeys now i dunno how GP works in dnd yet uhhh so-

Tiefling: Fuck this, I eldritch blast Christopher Robin.

Cleric: NO YOU DON’T i stand in the way.

DM: -Fine? Uh, roll an attack roll.

Tiefling: Twelve.

DM: You miss. You hit the ground.

Tiefling: … don’t I hit the house at least?

DM: NO YOU- WHY DO YOU WANT TO BURN THE HOUSE DOWN

 Cleric: WHY WOULD YOU STILL ROLL WHEN I WAS STANING IN THE WAY- YOU TRIED TO KILL ME

Ranger: All of this for a donkey

DM: Nah, dude, you got the donkey. This is because /Cleric/ gave them 100 GP

Ranger: Oh okay

Dwarf: Yeah, but they’re super ungrateful. Bastards.

Cleric: Yeah but we can’t KILL THEM for that??

DM: so the family, they- after the attempted murder, they run back into the house. 

Dwarf: Did they take the gold?

DM: Yeah.

Dwarf: Rat bastards.

DM: Does /Tiefling/ want to keep his spree of ‘teaching people some manners’ going or?

Tiefling: Nahhh. But he does cast sleep on /Cleric/ cus he’s pissed.

Cleric: haHA i’m a half elf and I can’t be magically put to sleep!

Tiefling: Nvm then I’m tired.

DM: So- you guys walk away from the house, and just for a moment you hear the door opening and then quickly closing-

Ranger: No

DM: -and you turn, and- Winnie the Pooh has been tossed out of the house.

Dwarf: THIS IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT when Njord taketh a donkey he giveth thee an illuminescent bear, and they just TOSS HIM OUT

DM: - and Winne the Pooh sits on the ground very- very sadly. Had he had tear ducts, he would cry a single tear. He is on the ground-

Ranger: Still pink?

DM: Still pink.

Cleric: :’(

Ranger: ugh FINE let’s take him with us.

DM: You go and pick him up, and he is so happy. So, so happy.

Dwarf: what are we, collecting Winnie the Pooh characters?

DM: He’s on /clerics/ shoulder again-

Tiefling: Can’t we put him on Eeyores back?

Dwarf: Can’t we put EEYORE on WINNIE THE POOH’s back?

DM: You put Eeyore on Winnie the Pooh back, and you now have a donkey on top of a bear on the ground. They are not moving.

Cleric: Oh dear.

DM: And Eeyore sighs and goes “I knew I’d be too heavy”

Everyone: “AWWWWWW”

anonymous asked:

Do you think sasuke loved sakura?

This will get a little complicated. 

If you’re asking ‘was sasuke in love with sakura’ in the romantically smitten sense of the term, then my short answer is: No, he was not. The longer answer would be: it’s complicated, but not hard to see or understand.

One thing that is important to remember is that Sasuke as a character has some of the most complicated relationships in the entire series; this was what gave us the giant plot twist that was Itachi, this was what gave us his intense relationship with his dad, and that was what made his feelings towards naruto come off a lot more complicated than that of naruto’s towards him. Let’s break this down.

Did Sasuke love Sakura? Yes, Sakura was, and still is, in fact one of Sasukes most precious bonds. He cared about her a great deal; so much so that he was willing to kill in the forest of death, going against his morals, as well as die for her to escape in the Gaara fight which would have meant he’d have to kiss his revenge (what he views to be the sole reason for his existence) goodbye. There are various scenes where sasuke shows how far his feelings towards Sakura (and team 7 in general) run. To list a few:

But he was not in love with her?

No. Sasuke had far more heavy things weighing on his mind to sit down and dissect the nature of his feelings towards team7, and hell, later on had hate clouding his every move. The first time he did do that was in chapter 698 when he was free of his hatred and given a chance to think clearly and put some dots together. But when his character arc includes and focuses on things such as

It really becomes no wonder that Sasuke just did not allow himself to indulge in a ‘fantasy’ that includes him being happy and healing with team 7

It wasn’t that sasuke didn’t have feelings for team 7. He himself was aware of the bonds they share and how much they affected him, and he himself was aware of the romantic context of the relationship between him and Sakura. It was more like him taking those feelings and pushing them aside as to not dwell on them.

sasuke @ feelings 


bc feelings made him go like this

Given a different circumstance however i have 0 doubt in my mind that sasuke would have fallen for sakura quite quickly. Why am I sure? To answer that question we will have to ask a different question.

What was the context of their relationship? 

Hella romantic. 

The scenes they share are mostly romantic in nature. Sakura was always the only girl that could get a reaction out of sasuke by doing something lovey dovey, he always had a softer spot for her and treated her marginally better than he did most people

My favorite is definitely the one where sasuke winked, it gives a little glimpse of what they must be like married

just scenes like this showing them having chemistry and wanting to be around each other make me 100% sure sasuke would have had a huge crush on her given different luck in life

but noOoo, you CanT cATch mE fEElingS

So, when was he ready to ~play at romance~?

The first time he really wanted to regain her as a part of his life was when he apologized, i’d say that was a moment when he realized how much he wanted to do in order to keep the people who mattered to him close. We aren’t really given much about the blank period but i’m assuming they were rekindling the bonds they shared and that was when sasuke wanted to give romance a shot, after he felt redeemed enough to indulge in such aspects of life, and after he understood the world without burdens clouding his eyes. This is a very mature move in my opinion, they both deserve a happiness they can both fully enjoy without personal issues weighing heavy on them. Hence the famous ‘i’ll see you when i’m back’ forehead poke. It’s intimate and romantic enough to signify something will happen in the future, but it’s not a make out session since it’s not quite right now. It’s honestly very sasuke.

He’s in love now, but when did he fall in love?

Definitely when they traveled but it’s up to your own hc to imagine how it happened. I’d say during their travels the chemistry they once shared flows with a lot more ease; they talk a lot more, impress each other with their strengths, share things about each other, have moments with each other that allow sasuke to experience what romantic love and being smitten with someone feels like and boom, he’s like ‘I think I want to marry this girl?’

Keeping with the The Office theme i’d say it was a moment like this when he realized yeah let’s get married you make me very happy

because c’mon let’s be real, they’re a pair of dorks.

On Camera

Or that one time Lance decided to live-stream when he really should’ve been resting. The (established) klance YouTuber AU that no one asked for, but you’re all getting. Domestic klance sharing an apartment is my jam, and throwing a little angst in there is a bonus.

I’m actually really happy with this, and if people like it I might do an actual long AU thing with this setting, so feedback is appreciated! For now though, just a one-shot. This is also proof that the best writing for me happens at 3 AM… oops. I hope you enjoy!!

Psst @taylor-tut this is that thing I not-so-discreetly mentioned in my tags, have a wonderful day.


Lance McClain was a rulebreaker in every way, except for one thing. He believed it was always necessary to have a routine, and never stray from it. If asked, he’d inform you that a steady routine was the foundation for a steady life.

Showering every morning, brushing his teeth every night, thinking of a cheesy one-liner for Keith each day without fail, the list went on. Little things.

One of his many routines was to live-stream, always on Sundays. Because who did anything besides sit at home, definitely not with a hangover, on Sunday?

New videos went up on Wednesdays, but the carefully edited ones on YouTube and his live-streams were very different. Many fans even preferred seeing him live, mainly because he couldn’t stop himself from making bad jokes, and was usually too lazy to straighten his bedhead.

And they would always ask him to go bother Keith in the next room, which Lance more often than not was obliged to do.

So when he woke up late one Sunday with a killer headache and a stuffy nose, Lance wasn’t about to let it get in the way of his routine.

He discovered a note from Keith on the kitchen table that said he’d be out running errands, and Lance lamented that he hadn’t been awake to tell Keith to get soup. After shooting him a quick text, the only response Lance got was “You don’t even like soup.”

Lance chuckled softly, which quickly led to a series of wet coughs. Clearing his throat, he began to set up his camera, wrapped himself up in blankets, and started the stream.

“Hey guys,” he said with a small wave, and winced at how raspy his voice sounded. He sniffled, and edged the off-screen box of tissues closer to him.

The chat was quickly flooded with “HELLO”’s and “LANCE!”’s. By now, all the fans knew when he went live. Lance was, however, surprised to see several inquiries about his health.

There were quite a few “Are you okay”’s, and even some “You seem sick”’s, with one of Lance’s personal favorites being “You look like shit.”

He read off the last comment with a short laugh. “Thanks, KeiththeKutie05.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Nice name.”

After a short pause of him continuing to scan the chat, he spoke again. “I’m fine though, just got a cold or something. Nothing could stop me from live-streaming!”

As the viewers seemed satisfied with this response, Lance wasn’t surprised to see the usual repetition of “Where’s Keith?” in the chat. He sighed.

“Mullet Boy is running errands,” Lance told them, rolling his eyes for effect. “Probably going out to buy a new pair of fingerless gloves.”

Keith and Lance had been sharing an apartment for some time now, and the Internet was very invested in their relationship, or so it seemed. Keith was annoyed by the whole thing at first, but Lance found it entertaining that his fans seemed to like Keith better than him. Lance could, admittedly, relate.

Eventually, the accidental publicity that came with dating a YouTuber inspired Lance to make a collab channel for them, though Keith never got his own. He insisted that he was too awkward to film anything by himself, which Lance secretly found adorable.

Numerous people began telling Lance to prank Keith when he came back, to which Lance grinned. Playing tricks on Keith during live-streams had become somewhat of a tradition in and of itself. “Maybe I will,” Lance tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You guys got any ideas?”

Lance read through some of the responses but saw nothing particularly appealing, then perked up at someone asking when he’d do a video with Hunk again.

“Actually, I got some good news for you guys,” Lance declared, sneezing into his elbow before continuing. “Hunk and I are going to be playing videogames on Pidge’s channel sometime next week, and Hunk has both of us coming over to his and Shay’s for a baking video. I haven’t decided what we should do for my part yet. Maybe a Q & A?”

Once again, Lance’s eyes scanned through the suggestions until his eyes snagged on one he liked. “Cards Against Humanity, huh? With YouTube’s shitty new rules it could get demonetized, but I do love that game, so why not? I’m positive Pidge owns it, and I can tell them to bring it over. Maybe I can even convince Keith to play with us.”

Lance couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiastic response that got.

“I think I’m going to get myself some more coffee,” Lance decided, looking down at the empty mug resting on a coaster. “Last night Keith made me watch this really scary movie, so I naturally had trouble falling asleep. Gotta have coffee to keep myself functioning. Do you guys prefer coffee or tea? Keith and I are both coffee people, but he likes his black. No sugar or anything, disgusting if you ask me.”

Lance almost regretted this comment as a war of opinions on black coffee slowly took over his computer screen.

“Well, anyway, I’m gonna go to the kitchen real quick. I’d bring my laptop but… I’d probably spill coffee on it, and we can’t have that.”

Lance stood, and was about to start towards the next room when his vision abruptly blurred and refocused. He knew immediately something was wrong.

His legs felt like jelly, and the room seemed to spin as he took a single step forward. Had he only been fine when he was sitting? Lance had half the mind to sit right back down, but his brain was growing muddled, and direction simply didn’t make sense.

Lance’s migraine flared abruptly in intensity, and then suddenly the wood floor was rushing up to meet him. Everything went dark.


Keith glanced at his phone as he moved around to the back of the car, where he’d stored the groceries, and had to repress a fond smile at the Twitter notification on the screen. Lance was, apparently, live-streaming. Keith thought he might actually miss his time-slot for once, but he figured by now he should be used to the Cuban boy’s dedication to routine.

Lance’s channel got some negative feedback from more ‘sophisticated’ YouTubers for being… all over the place. A dedicated beauty guru, or PrinceLotor as his channel was called, had dragged Lance on Twitter on more than one occasion.

Lance was anything but consistent when it came to videos. He did whatever he felt like doing that week, and the fans loved it. Sometimes he played songs on his guitar, sometimes he did prank-calls. He would film Q&A’s, or tell stories about all the interesting stuff that happened in his life— Lance’s bad luck was rather famous. He recommended TV shows, did hauls of what he got for holidays, vlogged on occasion when he went to stores, you name it.

But Lance’s favorite thing to do were collabs.

Hunk, an incredibly smart engineer, had a baking channel as a hobby, and Lance was his favorite assistant.

Pidge was a newer gaming channel, but their obsession with theorizing about the game’s lore while playing and busting other fan theories made them grow in popularity quickly. For two player games, Lance was ideal.

Allura was an extremely popular beauty channel, and Lance let her give him makeovers whenever she wanted to. Shiro could use extra actors in his short films.

And Keith… well, the two of them had a channel together that had no pattern whatsoever, much to Lance’s dislike. Absolutely spontaneous and random, usually doing things by popular fan request, like dancing or karaoke. And uploads were by no means regular.

Keith was surprised at how much he had started to enjoy it. Lance had been telling him he should start an art channel, with animations and speedpaints and the like, and Keith wasn’t… that opposed to the idea. It could be a useful source of income, to help with all the debt he would come into after graduating college. But he’d never tell Lance.

Without thinking too much of it, Keith swiped right across his screen, taking him to Lance’s tweet about the live-stream in order to like it. He was about to close his phone again and begin taking groceries up to their apartment when his eyes snagged on something odd.

Lots of the replies to Lance’s tweet mentioned him, particularly the recent ones, even tagging him in it. Keith couldn’t fathom why they would be talking about him if he wasn’t on the stream, unless Lance was complaining about him live again.

Keith bristled. Lance better not be still annoyed at him for the movie the last night. Signs wasn’t scary at all, and not even a real horror movie! Lance simply stated that ‘he didn’t mess with aliens.’

But when he looked at all the mentions, Keith felt his irritation give way to confusion, and then panic.

“KEITH GET TO UR APARTMENT”, “YOU BETTER GO CHECK ON LANCE”, “HOLY SHIT HES COLLAPSED KEITH HURRY YA ASS UP”, and the one that really sent Keith reeling “UH GUYS IS IT JUST ME OR DID WE WITNESS LANCE’S DEATH ON CAMERA?”

Keith slammed the trunk, all groceries forgotten as he sprinted into the apartment building and ran for the stairs. They only lived on the third floor, and he was not about to wait for the slow, crowded elevator.

He fumbled to fit his key in the lock and opened the door to the living room, only to spot the live-streaming set up, with no Lance. Keith rushed forward, but drew up short when he realized that Lance was in fact passed out on the floor in front of the couch.

“Oh my god— Lance!” Keith sank down beside him, turning his boyfriend over. “Lance, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Lance’s eyes opened slowly, and Keith felt relief flood his system, despite the uncharacteristically pale skin. “K-Keith? Wha… I thought you were shopping?”

“I’m back,” Keith answered shortly, wincing as he pressed a hand onto Lance’s forehead. “Jeez, you’re on fire. Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?!”

“Are you a fire?” Lance mumbled under his breath, and Keith furrowed his brows in confusion.

“What? No, Lance, I was saying you have a fever.”

“Because you’re hot and I want s'more,” Lance continued, as if he hadn’t heard him at all. Keith was suddenly painfully aware that the live-stream was still going, and that his face was even more flushed than Lance’s, and not because of a fever.

Keith glanced at the computer sitting on the coffee table briefly, noting that most of the chat was full of random keyboard smashing. He smiled apologetically. “At least he’s conscious,” he shrugged, hoisting Lance up off the floor and propping one of his arm’s around Keith’s shoulder. “I’m going to take this idiot to the hospital, he’s way too hot.”

“So you finally admitted it,” Lance’s voice was barely audible, and Keith glanced back down to see him grinning up at Keith tiredly.

“I meant your temperature, dumbass. Next time, tell me when you’re not feeling well.”

And with that, he shut off the stream.

Mister Hockey and the boy crying in the kitchen

(complete version)

Alternate Universe where Bitty is a figure skater at Samwell. He and Jack meet for the first time at #Epikegster 2014.

warning labels: Alcohol, mentioned homophobia, Parse. 


 Jack went down the stairs with a huff of annoyance. The first floor of the Haus was packed from wall to wall. Loup thumping music, laughter and yells that were barely tolerable from his room now seemed almost tangible, crushing him from all sides. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache.

 He pushed his way through and managed to reach the kitchen unscated. Only three guys were sitting at the table, loudly debating Plato’s cavern versus the Matrix, and another was leaning on the counter near the stove, muttering to himself.

Jack opened a cupboard, swore under his breath when he saw that it was empty of their usual mugs, glasses and bottles. He took a new red solo cup from the enormous pack available to all, and filled it with tap water, trying to ignore the guys at the table.

 ‘…aren’t you the most precious thing, baby…’

 Jack turned around. The guy next to the oven was muttering endearments with a southern drawl- but there was no one next to him. He wasn’t even holding a phone.

 Jack had a doubt. Was the guy talking to him?

 ‘Yes, you are lovely, a bit old, but I would love you, and take care of you, and create glorious things with you, oh sweetheart, if only…’

 The guy was not talking to Jack. He was talking to the oven.

 He was also, apparently, completely drunk.

 ‘… better things than pizza rolls, you can be sure of that, you sexy thing…’

 Jack was a moment away from heading back to his room when he heard a sob.

 ‘… but it’s not to be, pretty thing, you and I will have to go our own separate ways and- sniffle- get with our own lonely lives and - oh lord, I’m being ridiculous-’

 ‘Huh-’ started Jack. ‘Are you okay?’

 The guy turned around. He looked older than Jack expected. At least, he seemed to be over eighteen. Jack only had an impression of eyes and blond before he got the drunkest and fakest smile he ever saw in his life.

 ‘HI!’ said the boy. ‘Gosh, you’re big.’

‘… are you okay?’ repeated Jack.

 ‘Why, yes, of course! I’m peachy!’

 ‘You’re crying.’

 The guy seemed surprised by this fact. He dried his tears with the sleeve of his hoodie and made a dismissive gesture with his other hand.

 ‘Don’t mind me, sweetheart, I’m being silly.’

 ‘…You were crying,’ insisted Jack. ‘And talking to the oven.’

 ‘Well, no one else seemed to give her love, so I figured-’

 He stopped himself and looked at Jack.

 ‘You’re the Captain of the hockey team,’ he realised. ‘This is your house. This is your oven.’

 ‘…Yes? In a manner of speaking?’

 ‘What’s her name?’

 ‘Whose name?’

 ‘The OVEN,’ insisted the guy.

 ‘She- it doesn’t have a name?’

 ‘Blasphemy. If I had the chance to own such a lovely baby, I would name her something adorable! Like Daisy, or Betsy, and I would bake everyday, I would make pies and cookies and biscuits and-’

 He burst into tears.

 Jack threw a look around. The guys at the table were staring at them.

 ‘Dude, what’d you do to him?’

 ‘Nothing!’

 ‘D’you break up with him or something?’

 ‘No! We just met! He was talking about the oven- and then- and then-’

 He made a helpless motion towards the crying boy.

 ‘Maybe you should do something about it?’ suggested one of them.

 ‘Like what?’

 ‘Dunno. Something. To make him stop crying.’

 Jack hesitated. He thought about retreating to the safety of his room, where the music didn’t hurt his ears and blonde strangers didn’t burst into tears at the sight of a kitchen appliance.

 Awkwardly, he lifted a hand and patted the guy’s shoulder.

 ‘…there, there,’ he muttered, feeling like the most ridiculous man on Earth.

 He got several thumbs ups from the table residents. Which didn’t help his predicament at all. The boy was still crying.

 ‘Hey, hey, shh, don’t cry, everything is going to be okay…’

 ‘You don’t know that!’ wailed the blonde boy.

 ‘Okay, you’re right. Maybe, huh, what could make it right?’

 ‘I want to BAAAAAAAAAKE!’


(more under the cut!)

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‘Hot Guy’

Summary: It’s finals week, and that means lots and lots of studying in the library. However, a certain stranger keeps distracting you from your studying. (College Alternate Universe, Possible Drabble Series)

Author’s Note: Based on real life events. I’m thinking about turning this into a series! Let me know if you guys would be interested!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 935

Originally posted by yourlipbalm

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In Reverse.

Just an idea that i have in mind. 

Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

Ao3: Click me to read. 


Lance had many hidden talents. He could sing, he could play the guitar, and was the only one in his family that could rival his mother cooking. 

And, to everyone’s surprise, he was really good at flirting. Yes, he liked to joke around and tell girls stupid pick-up-lines, but he knew none of the things he said were going to get him somewhere with them. To be honest, it was only a game for him. 

His stupid flirting always got people to laugh, to relax, which was his main goal. 

But his actual flirting? Well, it always got him whatever he wanted.

Do you want to get into a place for free? Just bat your eyes and giggle a little. If you can, show a bit of skin. Do you need a favor? Call the person pretty names, hug them. Be a little more touchy, but still keep a distance. You don’t want them to think they can touch you whenever they want. Do you need money or need to buy something? Well, you need to work more for that one. Be nice, have little details with them. Hug them, hold their hand. Let them know that you care and you want something more than just a friendship even when you don’t. Be subtle, act naive and just drop hints that you want or need things. If you have them well wrapped around your finger, they will get anything that you ask for just to make you happy. Don’t forget to give them a few kisses, you need to keep them interested! If they start asking for more just leave them immediately.

To be honest, Lance was not… Truly proud of this talent. He didn’t like playing with other people’s feelings, but he did what he had to do to help his family. They didn’t have much money, and his mother and father struggled a lot to make sure they could attend to school and had something to eat everyday. 

His flirtation was something he did to have fun once in a while, but after he realised how much he was getting from it he started taking advantage. At first they were simply stuff. Being able to go to places without spending a penny was good. He could still have fun without wasting his parents money on unnecessary things.

But then he started meeting new people. And these persons he met were wealthy as fuck. And Lance use this on his favor… He befriend them, he started flirting, and then manipulated into paying his family debts. Of course, for them it was nothing. Just more money to throw away in order to impress Lance and get on his good side. 

For him? It meant everything when the bills arrived and saw the relief and confusion on his parents faces.

He stopped doing when he thought it was enough and spent the rest of his days studying to get a full scholarship on the Garrison to try to fufill his dream of becoming a pilot to travel the universe. 

Of course, he never expected going so soon and becoming a part of as important as Voltron. To be honest, Lance felt really out of place. All of his teammates had amazing skills and great things to offer. Him? He didn’t have much, really. His talents weren’t a thing people usually looked for in a warrior.

Yes, he was smart ans was getting so much better in battle. But he didn’t have anything especial. 

They took Zarkon down. They didn’t kill him, but he was to hurt to keep fighting. Everyone saw this as an opportunity to take the Galra Empire down now once and for all thinking that now they didn’t have a ruler it was going to be much easier. 

Needless to say, they were wrong. 

A new ruler arrived. His name? Lotor. An old friend of princess Allura. He asked for an audience with her. She accepted, claiming that she once knew him and that he deserved the benefit of the doubt. 

They introduced themselves to the prince after he greeted Allura. They took their helmets off. Lance didn’t fail to notice the look Lotor was giving him. 

Lotor was… Different. For the way he talked, everyone could see Lotor wasn’t too comfortable with following his father’s wishes, but was too loyal to go agaisnt him. 

The prince, unlike his father, had feelings.

Voltron and Allura talked with the prince for hours. Once they realised they wouldn’t conviced Lotor to give up the fight, Allura changed the topic to more personal matters. Even when he was an enemy, he used to be her friend and was the only one apart from Coran and Zarkon who was left from her time. 

Lance stared at the prince, shared some coy smiles and exchange a few words. When they changed from room, he put himself besides him and touch his shoulder after telling a joke. 

Some laughed, some rolled their eyes. 

Maybe he wasn’t as skillful as his friends, but Lance wasn’t an idiot either. If there was something Lance knew how to do, it was playing with people’s feelings.

The prince blushed, and he called it a victory.



I asked myself many times, “what if instead of Lotor manipulating Lance feelings, it was Lance who did the manipulating?”  and this came out. i may write more if people like this ???? and leave comments ???? idk love you all ♥  

YouTube AU

Okay my friends sit your cute little asses down and get comfy because we boutta take a fucking trip.

First of all, Keith and Pidge share a YouTube channel. It’s definitely a conspiracy theorist, cryptic one. They just share different theories for things, including government like shit and skinwalkers and aliens and ghosts. They also talk about Shiro, Keith’s older brother that dead ass up and disappeared and there was no sign of him anywhere. They talk about that a lot, fans sharing their own theories. For a while the following hashtags were trending/used all the time: #Whereisshiro #whereiskeithsbrother #noseriouslywherethefuckisshiro. Also, there’s a count for every time Keith says ‘shut the fuck up pidge’ and every time pidge says ‘suck my dick, Keith.’ A few years into the channel, and it’s hella popular, Shiro comes back with no memory of where he’s been and they ask him on and Keith’s just. “Okay yeah we haven’t posted anything but there’s a good reason. Boom” and shiro just dead ass shows up. All the fans simultaneously shit themselves.

Shiro has his own channel before he disappeared. It was literally just sims 3-4 speed builds and a few self defence videos. When he comes back he just starts uploading like nothing happened. He said he couldn’t be bothered to explain so everyone should just check out his brothers YouTube channel. (Also he watches their videos and he’s annoying because he finds himself laughing really hard at those two dorks.) He eventually teams up Matt and becomes a gaming channel with sims speed builds happening. Them and Keith & pidge have sibling wars a lot.

Lance and Allura dead ass have a beauty channel with advice and dumb games. Everyone is always like 'I wished I loved myself as much as Lance loves himself’. They do hair and nails and make up and frequently have make up off’s to see who’s better. Every single time the other wins. They’re currently at 34-34 and it’s the quickest way to rile them up. They also did a whole video on which colour the dress actually was. (Lance: so yeah it’s obviously blue and black. Allura: um, I love you but no. It’s white and gold. Lance, under his breath: this bitch). Also if anyone’s wondering then they use lance’s sibling as dolls for their make up off’s.

Hunk has his little cooking channel, and mainly people tune in because he’s adorable and actually really funny, besides he creates some seriously good recipes. His fans (and Lance) all boost his confidence and he opens this little bakery that gets very popular. He frequently meets fans there and ALWAYS gets incredibly flustered and they give him little gifts and stuff and keeps every single one. Also, Lance is a guest quite a lot and they love it because their friendship is pure and goals. (Hunk: so yeah, here is our finished- Lance: no but guys this shit is really good honestly I’d probably kill for it. Hunk, blushing: er, anyway…)

Everyone is super shocked when they find out that Keith and Lance are together (many a hance advocated were disappointed that day, but happy they were happy). Keith is asked in a Q&A about his relationship and he, being a little tipsy because of a dare (don’t worry, pidge was worse) he just says “oh right yeah, Lance from that beauty channel.” And everyone doesn’t really believe him so he got his phone out and proved that shit. Don’t ever question a tipsy conspiracy theorist and on something they know. They all do this big ass video, Hunk, Lance and Allura, Pidge and keith. They had some purpose but they forgot about it immediately, Lance and Keith bickering constantly and Pidge rolling her eyes, occasionally mentioning some skinwalker theories. Allura just did Hunk’s make up as he talked about shay. Also, Keith says 'shut the fuck up you lovable dork" and it dead ass gets so popular they make t-shirts with that slogan. Shiro and Matt come over in the middle of this video. All the viewers see is them walking in, realising what the fuck was going on, looking at each other (Shiro: Chinese? Matt: sounds good let’s go.) and leaving without announcing themselves.

Coran is just the tech for them all but they hear his voice a lot (“Lance you’re my favourite don’t die.” “Keith if you do that I’m not taking you to the hospital. Again.” “Shiro, my son, that’s a nice ass fucking house.” “Pidge, I agree with Keith. Shut the fuck up.” “Allura don’t make me call your father from beyond the grave, I do not want an angry poltergeist on my hands but so help me god I’ll do it.” “Hunk you genius that food is amazing but have you considered my green goo?” “Matt, control your best friend. No wait, control yourself first, then him.” “No but guys if I hear me out, the green goo isn’t that bad.)

Aight my lovable dorks my dead ass is done and if you’re really still here then wow a gold star for you.

Someone to Watch Over Me

Title:  Someone to Watch Over Me (A Bodyguard AU)

Series Masterlist (coming soon)

Author:  Dean’s Dirty Little Secret

Six months ago, everything changed. Widowed and alone, Dean Winchester is determined to pick himself up and move on, so he goes back to his job as a bodyguard for Singer Protective Services. His first assignment? An actress receiving death threats, an actress with an uncanny resemblance to his wife.

You don’t want protection, don’t need it. Especially from someone as cold and impersonal as Dean Winchester. You’re not afraid of a bunch of stupid death threats, you just want to be left alone to live your life.

Two people, two very different lives. Who will be the first to let the armor slip?

Characters:  Dean Winchester, Female reader, Bobby Singer, Tiny, Sam Winchester (mentioned), Georgia (OFC), Melissa (OFC-mentioned)

Word Count:  2936

Warnings: language, mentions stalking, death threats, mentions of blood

Author’s Notes: This was written for two challenges: @impala-dreamer One Prompt for All (had to be Dean x Reader, no more than 3,000 words, and the prompt: “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me.”) and @luci-in-trenchcoats AU & Things Challenge (I chose Bodyguard AU). I’m not gonna lie, a lot inspiration for this came from the Whitney Houston/Kevin Costner movie The Bodyguard.

***My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

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MASTERLIST

Word count: 2,557

“This is amazing, Shawn” I muttered, my jaw dropping amazed. 

“Dude, it’s dope” Brian agreed, nodding excited. 

Shawn had invited us all around to see his new flat and though the rooms were impressive, Shawn’s view over Toronto beat every view I’d ever seen in my entire life. Even the sunset Brian and I once watched in Sri Lanka didn’t do this one justice.

“Your mother outdid herself finding this” I said, looking out at the CN Tower lighting colourfully up in the dark. 

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