body shake

If Peter has to die in Infinity War, even temporarily, I want to FEEL it. No boom, he’s dead, back to the battle.

I want to see Tony hugging his dead body, hear him screaming and crying like any dad who just lost his only child.

I want to see Groot realize that, though he’s just a teen, he’s not invulnerable.

I want to see Wanda cry because she can feel Peter’s death and Tony’s grief and she knows what it’s like to lose your whole world.

I want to see Strange run over and try to staunch the blood flow, do CPR, do anything to desperately try to save his new friend.

I want to see Rhodey pulling a struggling Tony away from Peter’s body, his own voice shaking as he tries futilely to calm his best friend down.

I want to see Clint and Scott pat whatever part of their uniforms holds the picture of their kids while Clint starts moving towards Wanda.

I want to see everyone look at the friends and loved ones they have on that battlefield with shock and grief and a new terror in their eyes because the teenager - the happy, sassy, brilliant teenager with a long life ahead of him who had more protection on that battlefield than anyone thanks to Stark tech and a hoard of protective adults - was just killed in front of them. And if he couldn’t survive… can any of them?

2

     “No one can help me,” said Malfoy. His whole body was shaking. “I can’t do it…I can’t…It won’t work…and unless I do it soon…he says he’ll kill me….”
     And Harry realized, with a shock so huge it seemed to root him to the spot, that Malfoy was crying - actually crying - tears streaming down his face into the grimy basin.

After the Parade

“Hush,” he says.

Above them, Cabal ships drag thick black smoke across the flickering twilight, and flames rise from the Tower. Legionnaires scour the streets, seeking out the cries of the wounded and afraid.

“Hush,” he says again, as the child starts to sniffle, and he pulls her into the shadows cast by an apartment block as a patrol makes its laborious way past. He was made to protect, made to serve, but he feels clumsy now; the hand on her shoulder is almost larger than her head and she has no armor to protect her bruised and burned skin from his rough gauntlets. When he tries to wipe the tears from her face he worries that he will be the one to break her.

He followed her screams, just as the Cabal did. He had no rifle to kill the Legionnaires that would have silenced her; dispatched the first one with his boot-knife but was not quick enough to catch the second unaware. It is dead, but his chest-plate is cracked and burned and the thing that eats the Traveler has also eaten his Light.

She is wearing yellow. A summer dress, for a celebration. When he offered her his gore-spattered hand she took it at once, and did not look back at the splayed and broken limbs visible beneath the rubble around her as though she knew there was no one left to wait for. He brushed dust and chips of concrete from the tight black curls on her head, and when she tried to smile her gap-toothed smile at him despite it all he knew that he would die the second death to save her.

They pick their way through dust-covered streets and alleys, one grimy hand holding his armored fingers, the other wrapped around the silent shell of his Ghost. He told her to keep it safe, and she clutches it to her chest with an intensity that would do any Titan proud.

To those behind the Wall, love and service. To those outside it, fury and fire. He is young: the Order’s maxim has never meant much to him, but here at the end of an Age he feels each word burning in his chest and he wraps his Mark around her shoulders like a cloak, like a little Hunter, to keep the nearness of the night from her as best he can.

When they hear the distant bursts of gunfire he waits until the chatter fades, then leads them in a different direction even though it gives him hope to know the City is still fighting. Perhaps if he ran to the violence he would find weapons or more Guardians, but he will not risk it. And so hours pass as they slink across the city, and as slowly as his wounds force him to move she still takes ten strides for every one of his. She has only one sandal, silver leather wrapped around a tiny leg, but he thinks that a single piece of armor is better than no armor at all.

He finds a battered pulse rifle in a street that leads to a square, tries not to wonder where its owner went. The magazine is full, but it is all he has and there is no Ghost at his shoulder to synthesize ammo. He bends to pick it up, never letting go of the hand that holds his own, just as a troop of Legionnaires turn the corner in front of them.

He pulls the child behind a crumbled wall. Waits one heartbeat, two; no slug throwers roar in response. Even so, they are between him and the direction he has lead, and he doubts he has the strength to cross the City again.

Love and service to those within. Fire and fury to those without.

The Legionnaires do not notice, but neither do they move on. More join them, and they begin to spiral out in all directions, continuing their search. It will not be long before they find him and the child. A narrow street, once hung with banners but now collapsing from the rooftops down, will lead her west, to the walls, away from Cabal patrols - as long as there is a distraction.

He lifts her chin as gently as he can.

“You have to run,” he whispers. He is bad at whispering. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“That way,” he says when she stares at him in silence, pointing with his outsized hand down the shadowed street.

He gives her a delicate push, points again. She blinks, once, then toddles into the dark, Ghost held close as though it will protect her. Perhaps, if there is a way to undo this disaster, it someday will.

He props the rifle atop the ledge, lifts his visor and sights with naked eye. There are so many, he thinks, and then bites back a laugh - there are only eight.

Love within. Fury without.

The rifle barks. One Legionnaire dies and the others spin in confusion, firing in the direction of his cover. He ignores them, squeezes the trigger again. And again. And again.

Love within. Fury without. Love within. Fury without. Love within. Fury without. Love within -

Something tugs his arm. He looks down into the eyes of the little girl, and pure terror finds him.

“I said run,” he growls, but she does not, her face set in a scowl. He shakes his arm and she does not let go.

A micro-rocket bursts against the barricade and he ducks, throws his body over her, sprays the rest of his bullets in response. The child buries her head in his cracked armor, her frail body shaking.

Never has he been so afraid to die.

He feels a fool. He tosses the rifle down, wraps one arm around the child and pulls her close. With the other he slams his visor shut. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and when at last there is a break in the constant fire he lurches to his feet, lifts the child to his chest, and runs.

It is hard, so hard, to move full Titan-plate without his Light to drive it. His body aches. Something inside is probably broken, and he does not know how long it takes a body to heal without a Ghost.

A slug hits him in the back and he stumbles but his armor holds, and he sprints down the street where he tried to send the child, the sound of jump-packs following behind. He ducks his head and cups himself around his charge, makes himself as big as he can, plows across the debris-choked pavement. The girl begins to cry again, though to his ears it is not the sound of fear but of fury, and before long he is roaring with it, and the two of them roar together down the long, narrow street as explosions scatter bits of ruins that once were homes. He does not know where he is going, knows only that he must go somewhere, that he will not stop until the child is safe or his legs no longer work; that when he has nothing left he will throw her from him and tear the Cabal apart with fists alone, Light or no.

He has stopped counting the impacts. Every step is a knife in his chest. The Legionnaires must be close but he does not turn, lest the shield that is his body fail. He can feel himself slowing, a sensation that fills him both with wonder and despair, but he cannot force himself to let her go despite his promise. Something cracks against the back of his leg, and he is too tired and too hurt to correct. He lands heavily on one shoulder, slides ten grinding yards, arms still wrapped around the child. At the very least, they will have to rip him apart to get to her. Maybe, if he dies quickly, they will not notice her at all.

Gunfire interrupts his thoughts, along with the sound of footsteps and the roar of Cabal. Hands grab him, drag him out of the street, but still he does not uncurl. He sees Hunter cloaks, Warlock robes, a Titan mark.

“Hush,” he tells the child, head still tucked close, while they cower in a doorway and around them Guardians fight.

“Hush,” he tells her, over their surprised cries of pain.

“Hush,” he tells her, over and over, until at last all is silent and he dares to lift his head and stand.

He helps the child to her feet, and though he leans against the doorway it is her tiny hand in his that keeps him upright. He looks around at their saviors: most are near as bruised as he is. They nod their heads, pat him on the back, and he opens his mouth to ask for forgiveness, for leading the Legionnaires here, but a Hunter shakes her head as though she knows what he will say.

Two Guardians lie dead. Truly dead. One Hunter, one Titan wearing the Mark of the Gatewatch. He waits the half-second for their Ghosts to revive them, feels sick when they do not rise. He swears that he will learn their names and add them to the Order of the Pilgrim Guard.

Someone makes cooing sounds and tries to take the child, tries to give her water, but she refuses to let go of his hand, refuses to surrender his Ghost. For a moment they stand there, all seven of them in a circle around her, and it is as though a different light has risen to bond them all.

They need ships. Weapons. Food, maybe. The child, at least, must eat. The Hunter offers water again, and he wonders how many new scraps of fabric she has taken for her cloak. A different Titan, this one wearing the Mark of the Six Fronts, hands him the dead Hunter’s rifle - then looks down at the child, still clinging to his hand, and passes him a sidearm instead.

They turn their backs to the Tower, and continue their slow march to the western wall. Perhaps they will find supplies along the way. If not, so be it - they are still Guardians, and they will save what light they can.

Love within. Fury without.

The Cabal have no word for ‘retreat.’ Soon, they will learn that the Guardians have none for ‘mercy.’


Words: @themothyards

Art: @artdailybykitty

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.

Blurred Lines (Smut)

MASTERLIST

A/N: Celebrating Shawn’s birthday. Feedback is always lovely. 

Word count: 4,518

Shawn and I had been living together for a little over four months now. Since Shawn agreed to letting me crash for a week while looking for something new after being kicked out of my dorm, things we didn’t count on happened between us and suddenly, we were practically roommates and enjoyed each other’s company for hours a day. 

Keep reading

3

I’ve been having panic attacks cause I can’t breathe (which just makes the breathing worse) here is some gifs of me trying to calm down post attack

Gif 1: Rocking and petting Peridot (our older cat)
Gif 2: shaking my legs and playing with multiple sides of my fidget cube
Gif 3: rocking and playing with the roller side of the fidget cube

Dead Serious Part 3

A/N: LOL SORRY I DIDNT POST THIS SOONER I WAS WATCHING SPIDERMAN HOMECOMING FOR THE FOURTH TIME. ANYWays So I kind of started this with the ending of part 2. Enjoy this smut you smut reading potatoes (you’re not potatoes, you’re all very lovely. i’m also a smut reading potato). Creds to the Periodic Table song for helping me remember the order of all the elements.

Word Count: 1441

Warnings: LOL MORE SMUT

Masterlist

Part 1 //  Part 2

T-11 HOURS UNTIL THE MIDTERM CHEMISTRY EXAM

“So, is the next step studying or something else?” You asked

“I feel like the next step would be you reciting your notes to me while I went down on you,” Peter said.

“All of my notes?”

Peter moved so he was hovering over top of you.

“Fine, Y/N, I’m going to eat you out and you’re going to recite the periodic table to me,”

You weren’t sure whether you should begin reciting it in your head, knowing you would lose focus once Peter put his lips on you.

Peter placed his lips on your neck, peppering sloppy, wet kisses down towards your chest. Peter’s hand moved around to try and unclasp your bra.

He continued kiss down your neck, fumbling with your bra.

“Need some help there, lover boy?”

Peter pulled away “I-I I’ve never…”

“I know, it’s okay,” You smiled, placing a light kiss on his lips.

You leaned up, and reached around behind your back to unclasp your bra. As soon as it was unclasped, Peter peeled it off your shoulders and tossed it across the room.

Peter moved to place one hand over your breast, kneading it, while his mouth moved to the other. The ran his tongue over your nipple, causing you to let out a small moan.

You ran your hands along Peter’s bare back, knowing your scratch marks would be there tomorrow.

Peter moved his hands towards the waist band of your pants, he swiftly slipped your pants off, reaching down to get the past your ankles.

He continued down, pressing kisses along your stomach.

Peter kissed the edge of your panties, using his hands to spread your legs apart.

“I think it’s about time you started reciting those elements, Y/N,”

You took in a deep breathe as Peter ran a finger down the front of your panties,

“Hydrogen,”

“Damn, Y/N, you’re soaking wet,”

“Helium,”

Peter leaned down and licked the front of your panties. You arched your back up, moaning.

“Lithium,”

Peter slid his hand under your back and lifted you just enough to slide off your underwear.

“Beryllium,”

Peter lifted your leg, and placed his over his shoulder.

“Boron,”

Peter places a light kiss against your clit, causing you to twitch.

“Carbon,”

Peter been running his tongue over your clit in long, slow strokes.

“Nitrogen,” you gasped, and reached down to grab Peter’s hair.

Your other hand was making fists around the sheets on Peter’s bed.

Peter felt your body shaking, so he teased his tongue back and forth, his tongue moving slower and slower.

“Oxygen,”

You moved the leg that was over Peter’s shoulder to wrap around his neck, using it to pull him closer to you.

“Fluorine,”

You began breathing harder. Peter moved his tongue to your entrance, lapping up the wetness that was spilling out.

“Neon,”

You began panting, pushing your hips up.

“Sodium,”

Peter moved his attention back to your clit, ad he teased a finger in and out of you.

“Magnesium,”

Peter slid another finger into you, and began moving them around.

You were moaning. Your leg tightened around Peter, and your grip on his hair got tighter with each lick on your clit.

You were struggling to talk, making the naming of elements difficult.

Suddenly Peter stopped. He moved his head away from you and slid his fingers out of you.

“No, Peter, please,” you begged

Peter licked his fingers,  “The deal was that you name the elements, and darling, I have to say it’s been quite a while since you’ve said anything,”

“Take it as a compliment, Parker. Your lips are so good that you’ve left me speechless,”

Peter began peppering kisses on your inner thighs, “Just start where you left off, darling,”

You’d didn’t want to give in to Peter, but you needed his mouth on you badly.

“Aluminium,”

Peter smiled and quickly moved his mouth back towards your pussy.

“Silicone,”

Peter started sucking on your clit, causing you to moan and thrust your hips towards him.

“Chlorine,”

Peter worked his tongue down, sucking on your lips and spreading you open with his fingers.

“Fuck!” You moaned

“Phosphorus,” you quickly said, remembering that Peter would stop if you stopped.

Peter worked his fingers in and out of you as he teased his tongue over your clit.

“S-sulphur,”

You clenched the bedsheets underneath you, and grabbed a fistful of Peter’s hair with the other hand. You brought your other leg up to wrap around Peter’s head.

“Chl-orine,” you choked out.

Peter pressed his mouth tight against you, flicking his tongue against your clit as he started thrusting his fingers into you harder.

“Arg-argon,”

His tongue was darting around wildly, causing you to arch your back, moaning like crazy.

“Po-pot-potassium,”

Peter latched down hard on your clit, flicking his tongue around in circles. Bringing another finger up to thrust into you.

“Cal-cium,”

You began clenching against Peter’s fingers inside you.

“Scandium,” you breathed

You were groaning every time Peter moved his tongue, he could feel the wetness dripping out of you onto his fingers.

“Ti-ti-ti-titanium,”

Peter pressed down on your clit with his tongue, you pushed your hips up, only forcing him in more.

You thrust your hips once more and suddenly you were coming. Peter began licking the cum that was dripping out of you.

Peter rubbed your clit one last time before pulling away.

“Peter,” you moaned.

You could still feel your orgasm surging through you.

You began to loosen your grip on Peter’s hair, and his bedsheets. You lied back, sinking into Peter’s pillow.

“Fuck, Peter,” you said.

Peter chuckled and came to lie down beside you.

He placed a kiss on your cheek as you continued to come down from your orgasm.

“You didn’t make it through all the elements,”

“I made it through 22. I think that’s pretty good,” you breathed.

“But you didn’t get through all 118, which just means that we’ll just have to go again,”

You turned to look at Peter.

“Are you serious?” You asked.

“Dead serious,” Peter smiled, brining his hand down to lightly swirl around your clit.

“Pick up where you left off, darling,”

“Vanadium,”

T-2 HOURS UNTIL THE MIDTERM CHEM EXAM

You woke up next to Peter, wearing only his t shirt and your underwear. Peter had thrown on his boxers the night before after you had recited much more than just the Periodic Table (*cough* you recited his name over and over and over because damn).

Peter’s alarm was blaring and you leaned over to hit snooze.

“Pete,” you said, shaking him lightly.

“Noooo, I don’t want to get up,” he mumbled into his pillow, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer.

“Peter, we’ll be late for the midterm,”

“I mean I guess we did kinda study really hard,”

You laughed, “c’mon Parker, we’re gonna be late,”

You placed a kiss on Peter’s forehead, and then rolled out of bed.

T-1 HOUR UNTIL THE MIDTERM CHEM EXAM

You ended up walking out of Peter’s house in the same pants as the day before topped with one of Peter’s sweaters. You actually felt very prepared for the exam. Usually before exams you would spend hours on end studying but by the next morning you would forget everything. Last night was something you definitely would not forget.

T-2 HOURS AFTER THE MIDTERM CHEM EXAM

At lunch you came to sit down with Peter and Ned.

“Hey, Y/N,” Ned said.

“Hi, Y/N,” Peter smiled.

You smiled at Peter, and sat down across from him.

“Okay, what’s going on here?” Ned asked.

“OH MY GOD SOMETHING HAPPENED ON YOUR STUDY DATE!” Ned exclaimed, not letting you answer his initial question.

“I mean, we studied,” you said.

“Yeah, Y/N, spent a long time reciting the periodic table to me,”

You blushed when Peter said that, a small smile creeping up on your face.

“Peter,”

“SOMETHING TOTALLY HAPPENED. Y/N IS EVEN WEARING PETER’S SWEATER,”

You and Peter didn’t say anything, only exchanged a small glance.

“Please tell me what happened guys,”

“Can’t,” you said.

“Are you serious?” Ned asked.

“Dead serious,” Peter said, smiling at you.


Tag List: Tag List: @thenerdherd1294, @notgonnaliekindagayasffff, @miraisnotavailable, @the-girl-with-no-plan, @raindancer2004, @tomhollandgavemecooties, @themusicorthemisery

Two Haunted Souls

Note: this wasn’t a request, but I’m hoping this kick-starts my writing again. I haven’t had the motivation to write lately :( which sucks, but it happens ( a lot ). I hope you all are doing well! school is starting for some of you so I wish you the best! I’m just ready for Fall. also, Fall means cozy sweater!Seb. I’m very excited for that! but without further ado, enjoy this. feedback is welcome! .c

Originally posted by imaginemarvelbae



1:34am

Your nightmare clawed at your eyelids, your nails were digging into the sheet on the bed that had been pulled from the top corners of your mattress. A light layer of sweat lay on your skin, dampening the hairline on the base of your skull. It took everything in you to wake yourself up. An ear-piercing scream erupted from your chest and broke out of your dry lips, scratching at your throat. You’d feel it later on, no doubt. You always did.

Your body quickly shot up, your breath caught in your throat. As you looked around, you found yourself safe and in your room - not in the torture chamber you had been kept in for most of your teenage years. The memories plagued your thoughts day in and day out. When it was time to sleep, that’s when the demons came to play the most. 

It was hard accepting Tony’s offer for you to live in the Avenger’s compound. It wasn’t something you were used to. In the base Hydra kept you in, you had to stay in a broom closet, so it seemed, it was way too small. You were locked away like a prisoner of sorts, used for testing – like a lab rat.

Eventually, you knew you had no other choice. They wouldn’t let you become homeless, and now that you had been rescued, keeping you safe was their priority. Hydra was still out there. Everyone was easy to talk to, but more often than not, you chose to stay quiet or to yourself. 

Your feet padded down the chilly hallway as you made your way to the elevator. You knew sleep wasn’t going to be on the agenda now. Something tugged at your gut and you just needed to get out of your room. It’s like you could feel the demons staring at you, ready to pull you under and drown you again. Taking the elevator a few floors down, you exited and walked into the living quarters. You were slow-moving, slightly swaying on your feet as exhaustion swirled around your head.

To your surprise, you weren’t alone. You looked up at Bucky and met his blue eyes as he sat still in the recliner; eerily still, like if he moved, his demons would pounce on him. The lamp on the other side of the room was on, illuminating enough light to see the details on his face. 

It was covered in sweat and his eyes were bloodshot, the underside decorated with dark circles. You knew he had nightmares and that they were the very reason he’s awake at such an unholy hour. Countless times you’ve heard his painful screams on the floor above yours. 

Steve had introduced the two of you when you arrived and he was just as quiet as you had been. There were walls built up and a sort of fear of being around anyone. He had simply shook your hand, muttering a small hello while keeping his metal hand out of the way. His past with Hydra was no secret to you. 

Taking a seat on the couch opposite of him, you sat in the middle with your knees pulled to your chest. You hugged them close and kept your eyes on your feet. As you sat, you could hear Bucky’s breathing slow down. It was heavy and labored when you entered, and you found that yours had slowed as well. Being in the same room as someone that had been through much of the same thing as you, comforted you in some twisted way.

Neither of you spoke, neither of you moved from your spots, neither of you dared to close your eyes long enough to be drug back down.

3:41am, one week later

It was as if lava had been poured on your skin. You were burning, screaming as loud as you could with no voice, the demons clawed and grinned devilishly as they ripped you to shreds. Only when you shot up in your bed once again, was your voice found, a loud scream echoing throughout your room. Your chest heaved and your fingernails nearly ripped through your sheets, the soreness evident as you relaxed them. 

You sat for a moment, taking in your surroundings. Suddenly being in your room felt foreign and unsafe. You took the elevator down to the living quarters again, keeping your eyes on your feet. You took your usual spot on the couch after switching on the lamp, pulling your knees into your chest. Your eyes looked for Bucky, but he wasn’t to be seen.

Your thoughts were loud as you sat alone. Your body was still slightly shaking and you couldn’t ignore the images that circled around your mind, until the faint sound of heavy breathing sounded through the room. Your head snapped up and your eyes landed on a rather shaken up Bucky. His chest was glistening with sweat, his hair matted slightly.

The feeling of comfort washed over you and you sighed softly, watching him take his seat in the recliner again. His eyes remained on the ground as he leaned forward, his hands clasped together with his elbows on his knees. His hair fell around his face and you didn’t want to stare at him any longer, but just as you were about to look away, he glanced up at you through his lashes. No words were spoken, only a short glance of eye contact was shared.

Until the morning sun rose, you two remained still and quiet.

2:17am two days later

You hadn’t slept. You stayed awake and wondered about Bucky. The past few nights, you both stayed in the living quarters, silent and un-moving after nightmares brought you both out of a deep sleep. It was calming, but something made you want more, in a non-creepy way. You wanted to help him, but you couldn’t even help yourself. 

What happened to you both, haunted you two to the point where closing your eyes even to blink seemed like a horrible task. It made you nauseous. You wanted to speak to him, but you could never find your voice. Especially after so many nights of waking up from your own screaming.

You sighed and sat up in your bed, feeling like you were going to suffocate in this room if you stayed in it any longer. Slipping out of your door, you made your way to the elevator. It arrived at the living quarters once again. Your hugged your arms around yourself as you walked into the room. Out of reflex your eyes went to the recliner. It was empty. You sank into yourself.

You turned towards the couch and was shocked to see Bucky sitting on the side, his eyes on his hands in his lap. He looked like he was deep in thought, and you hadn’t heard his screams all night. You weren’t sure if you should sit in your usual spot – the change in seating was odd – so you made your way over to the recliner. 

You heard a faint whimper come from Bucky before you could sit down. It sounded desperate and broken; it made your heart sink in your chest. You turned to look at him and his eyebrows were creased, his hair framed his face and his eyes were staring right at you. Did he want you to sit beside him? You bit your lip nervously as you stood there, unsure of your next move.

Taking any ounce of courage you could muster, you cautiously walked over to the couch and sat down in the middle. Bucky didn’t move and neither did you. You weren’t close enough to make skin contact, but you were close enough to feel the body heat radiating off of him. His breathing eventually slowed and you felt yourself starting to fall into that wave of comfort. You felt safe and you only hoped he felt the same way.

3:03am one week later

The closeness between you and Bucky felt natural. Many times you’ve found yourself wanting to hear his thoughts, to ask him if he’s okay, what his nightmares are about, and if he felt any relief with you beside him, like you felt. But you were scared that that itself was a dream, as well. If you spoke, he’d disappear – all of it would disappear and you’d wake up in the torture chamber.

Your body felt drained of it’s energy tonight. Your nightmares only seemed to get worse. Your throat throbbed from your screams. It lasted longer and you managed to rip your sheets up this time. It’s the worst nightmare you’ve had, and that’s saying a lot. You were taken prisoner again, but you weren’t alone. Bucky was there, tied up and tortured like you had been. You screamed out and tried to save him, you did everything you could yet nothing at all to get them to stop. You couldn’t move, you were bound to that damned chair, needles poking into your skin, injected with anything they came up with.

You entered the room and avoided looking at Bucky. You knew you’d break at any moment. Crying wasn’t something you did, or even wanted to do. It was a sign of weakness, you had been told. You cried nearly every day during the time Hydra had you. Until one night, you became numb and accepted your fate.

Bucky was exhausted, like he always was. You heard his screams moments after you woke up. When they stopped, you knew he was making his way here. His eyes followed your body as you sat down on the couch. Your hands rest either side of you on the cushion, your legs hanging off the edge. 

Your breathing was ragged and you could see Bucky’s head slightly turn, his blue eyes looking down at you with a hint of worry. You kept your eyes straight ahead, trying to keep your tears inside.

Bucky watched your lip tremble and your eyes water, the rise and fall of your chest hiccuping in motion while you struggled to hold it together. Your eyebrows creased as the images and screams flashed through your mind. The look in Bucky’s eyes in your nightmare caused you to finally break. A sob fell from your lips. The sound shot through Bucky and he looked away slowly, biting his tongue. His heart broke at the sight and sound of you breaking.

Your right hand had formed a fist and you felt a touch of metal bump against the side of it. You gasped and looked down, seeing Bucky’s hand resting palm down like yours had been. His pinky nudged your hand and you sniffled, blinking away tears as you un-clenched your fist. Both of your movements were slow and you let his hand rest on top of yours. The cool metal was nice against your heated skin. You knew how hard this was for him, but both of you needed it. He knew that.

Flipping your hand over underneath his, you watched him link your fingers together. You took a brave glance at him and looked into his blue eyes. During your crying, he had shed a few tears himself. Pain crossed his features as he held onto your hand. His metal arm was something you knew he struggled with. It wasn’t something he wanted. Neither of you had a choice in your past.

As time passed by, he relaxed into your touch and you did the same, gently tightening your hold on him. His metal thumb slightly caressed your skin. All through the night, you held onto his hand and listened to his deep breaths.

1:47am, three days later

Holding hands had become the new “normal” for you and Bucky when you two sat in the living quarters. It’s not intimate, or if it was, it was only a slim percentage. Gentle human contact was something you had been without for most of your life – you figured the same for Bucky. Only tonight, you knew for sure he would need more contact. His screams jolted you awake. For the first time, your nightmares hadn’t been the thing that woke you up, or your own screams.

He was screaming continuously and your body moved before you could think. You ran towards your door, but stopped upon hearing something you never would’ve guessed he would yell. ”Y/N!” He was screaming your name. Your hands trembled and for a moment, you couldn’t move at all. You were stuck and planted, unable to move as you listened to Bucky scream for you. 

In the short time you’d spent together in silence, a bond had formed. You felt it, you knew he did, too. When he appeared in your nightmares, you didn’t think you’d appear in his. But you were wrong.

A particularly loud scream jerked your body back in motion. You started running as fast as you could to the elevator, pressing his floor number. Luckily he was above you so you’d get there quicker. Your breathing was fast and heavy, your own nightmare still fresh. But you couldn’t think about that this time. Bucky was screaming for you and you knew tonight was the night you needed to focus on him, instead of the both of you.

You ran up to his door, the sounds of his screams louder than ever. You opened his door gently and peeked inside. He was writhing around, his metal arm gripping his pillow before throwing it across the room. You rushed over to his bed and leaned your knee on his mattress. “Bucky!” You whispered, not wanting to scare him. If you did, that metal hand wouldn’t be gripping his other pillow. He was screaming again and it hurt your eardrums but you had to do something.

Your hand reached out for his shoulder and you shook it. “Bucky, wake up!” Your voice was firmer and louder, it broke him out of his sleep and his breath hitched. He jolted up, nearly knocking you off of his bed. You backed away slowly, your hands shaking at your sides. He stared at you, not believing it was you. His eyes were wide and his chest rose and fell rapidly. 

“I’m here.” You whispered, your bottom lip trembling again. A tear fell down your cheek as Bucky reached his hand out towards you, his fingers trembling. Taking a step forward, your hand slid into his. Before you could get onto his bed, Bucky pulled you into his broad chest. It was damp with sweat but you didn’t care.

His arms held you close as he sobbed into your shoulder. Your arms loosely rest around his neck, your bodies rocking back and forth. “I’m here.” You cried, tangling your hand into his long, damp, dark hair. He nodded against you, his own sobs hiccuping as his hands gripped onto your shirt, his arms nearly crushing you against him. You two stayed in each other’s arms, holding onto the other as if it were the only thing that helped, the only thing that kept the demons away.

Slowly but surely, your breathing started to calm and match in rhythm. For once in both your lives, you felt like everything would be okay; as long as you had each other to hold onto. 

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Hang on To That Feeling

MASTERLIST

A/N: This is a planned post. I’m going to put a trigger warning on this just in case. This one is a bit different, so feedback would be lovely. 

Word count: 3,278

”Hey Brian, I don’t have much time. What is it?” I asked, struggling holding the phone to my ear using only my left shoulder. 

My fingers moved across the keyboard on the computer without my eyes gazing down once as I continued to type. 

Multitasking had never been my thing and talking on the phone while typing in corrections for the next meeting at work, wasn’t really working out for me. 

“It’s Shawn” he stuttered and then the air in my lungs what punched out entirely. 

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5 Years

- You and Harry are poor and Harry hasn’t seen Anne in years. He misses her so much that you suprise him with plane tickets to visit her.

A/N: This is quite short, but it’s such fluff I am in love.

Masterlist linked in bio.


“This is shit! All of this is shit!”

Harry’s hands violently shoved all his crumbled pieces of paper and music journals off of the kitchen table before pounding the sides of both of his fists against the wood, refusing to contain all the frustration that had only seemed to increase inside of him any longer.

He had been trying to write new music for the past three weeks. After visiting the local record label for what felt like the hundredth time since he’s moved from home, they still refused to sign him until he figured out a way to produce music that “didn’t sound like everything else.” He’s tried everything—from writing about his love life to writing about all the angry shit scrambled inside his head—yet nothing seemed to gain their interest.

At that point, Harry had run out of ideas. There was absolutely nothing else he could think of writing about that he hasn’t already, and it was as if every possibility of making music in his future had suddenly turned into a false hope.

It was all he had, though—writing and producing music was the only thing he had going for him and the only chance he had to make money. But it was so much harder than he ever thought possible, for he had been trying for years to gain recognition for his creations, yet nothing came to his avail.

He was on the brink of giving up on everything at that moment—everything.

“Fucking shit!”

Y/n ran from their shared bedroom into the kitchen after hearing the chaos Harry had riled up. By the time she reached the dining table—which was normally used both as a place for them to eat and Harry’s office—he was an absolute wreck. Between the mess upon the floor and the cries that seemed to obstruct the silence that had once been, she had absolutely no idea what to do.

“Harry, wh—what?”

“I can’t—I can’t live like this anymore!” He sobbed, his head in his hands as his lungs began to fail him through his words.

He couldn’t continue living through their financial crisis; between his dead-end attempts to make a career out of his music and Y/n’s minimum wage salaries, it was nearly impossible for them to live a life they both deserved. Their memories were trapped inside an apartment that could barely fit the two of them, all their passionate nights were shared on a mattress with no bed frame, and their life together remained stagnant for far too long.

Harry loved her more than he’s ever loved anything before, and the thought was enough to terrify him.

She deserved so much better than him—she deserved a man that could provide her with all her needs and wants. She deserved every bit of the earth and Harry could barely offer her a fraction of it. He could only provide her with his love and the scraps he made from his failures.

She deserved so much more than him.

“Oh, baby.” She whispered.

She kneeled down to where he was sitting, pressing her forehead to his as she played with the hairs that raided the nape of his neck. She was well aware of how hard their living situation was—especially for him.

He worked hard enough for the both of them. He worked relentlessly, often times skipping meals or refusing to have a proper night’s sleep until he had something done—whether it was a new song idea or even a newly written verse. Stress took over his every move and Y/n knew he wasn’t living a healthy lifestyle.

He was losing himself slowly, and it pained Y/n beyond words to see him live the way he was. She wished she could offer him more help than she was already giving him, but she was busy, too, and she never felt more upset with herself.

“I need my mum.”

The words he’d spoken an innumerable amount of times fell from his lips without much thought.

He hadn’t seen her since he decided to move away with Y/n, which was four years ago at the time. He had sacrificed his entire life to start a new one with Y/n. He figured that moving away with her to a different city would be his opportunity to start fresh on his music career and start making enough money for him, Y/n, and his family.

He had sketched plans upon backup plans to get his music going. He searched through all the different venues, music companies, music managements—everything he could think of—and spent nearly every hour practicing and writing.

He never expected that what he had to offer wasn’t good enough.

To those he showed his music to, there was a list of improvements they felt he had to make. They claimed that his music was either too mainstream or too different, and there was absolutely no in between. He found himself in a rut with his creations and it was far too late to move back in with his family since he nor Y/n were making enough money to pay their rents, bills, and a plane ticket back home.

Anne wasn’t able to afford visiting him either, though, so there was absolutely nothing the either of them could do besides wait until Harry’s music career started to take off—if it ever did.

He missed Anne more than anything. Although he was in love with spending every day with Y/n and getting to experience all of his miserable life with her, he missed the feeling of his mum being around him all the time. He missed absolutely everything about her, especially when he had his emotional breakdowns.

She was his rock and his provider his entire life, and he relied on her for everything until he decided to move away. She kept him sane through all his hectic times and was there for him when nobody else was.

Anne wasn’t only his mum, but she was his best friend, and continuing to live without knowing when he’d be able to see her again was Harry’s own personal hell.

“I know, darling.” Y/n whispered as she let his tears soak her shirt and his body shake in her arms.

He kissed her where her heart was as he squeezed her more into him. His entire world was in his arms and he’s never needed the weight of it more.

“Don’t ever think I regret my life with you, love, please don’t. But my mum, Y/n, my mum—I miss her so much. Phone calls don’t mean shit to me because I’m not w—with her.”

She only nodded, letting him vent to her without any interruption. It brought her comfort whenever Harry was having a breakdown, as sick as it sounded—it just brought her peace knowing that he was letting out all of the emotions he kept in for her sake. He was human, after all, and he deserved to have his moments.

“I need her, Y/n. I need her to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be okay. I need her to kiss me and tell me how proud she is of me even though I’ve done nothing but fail those around me—like I fail you—and just hold me like she did when I was a kid.”

She shook her head instantly, slowly pushing his body away from hers in order to her eyes to meet his. They were red and soaked with tears, but they were beautiful and was always what got her weak in the knees.

The pads of her thumbs wiped away the tears that fell onto his cheeks, making sure to kiss him a couple of time while doing so.

“You never fail me, Harry. You give me a new reason to fall in love with you every single day and I thank God for you every time I look at you. Your love never fails me, nothing you do fails me. So never think that again, you hear me?”

And she really meant it more than ever, especially in that moment of Harry’s vulnerability. Her heart always hurt knowing that he wasn’t aware of how much she actually did give her, even if it wasn’t materialistic. Nobody provided her with as much love and safety as he had, and it was something she’d never be able to get enough of.

He got her through all her troubled times and all her insecure moments. She needed him and wanted him more than anything money could buy, and she’d spend the rest of her dying days attempting to make him believe it.

“You’ll see your mum soon, okay? If I can promise you one thing, it’s that you’ll see her soon.“

She kissed his cheeks again before they sat in silence together, all wrapped up in each other’s arms as they waited for Harry to finally calm down. They hadn’t found a lot of time within the past three weeks to spend loads of time together, so even just the half hour of holding one another was enough to mend him quite quickly.

“Can you promise me something else?” He breaks the silence, his voice slightly hoarse from the screaming that took place earlier.

She nodded.

“Can you promise me that whenever I see my mom again, that you’ll be there? I want you to meet her so properly and make her see why I want to marry you someday. I really want her blessing.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, grazing her lips softly against his forehead before muttering a small “I promise.”


That was a year ago.  

Ever since that night, Y/n made it her first priority to find a way for Anne and Harry to reunite. She never wanted to see that side of Harry again, and she’s been through the God awful pain that came from missing a parent. Y/n had lost both of her parents in a car accident, and she never wanted Harry to go through what she had to for the following years.

So, she started working double shifts at her job—gathering and saving as much money as she possibly could for a couple of months straight. Airfare was quite expensive, especially since she planned on buying two round-trip tickets and intended on being able to pay the rent and bills for that month and somehow buy food and necessities during the trip.

She intended on leaving it a surprise for Harry, as well, and was able to make up plenty of excuses as to why she wasn’t able to be at home as much. He was quite upset, but she found it was quite easy considering Harry was keeping busy with his music throughout that time as well.

To say she was exhausted was an understatement. She had never worked so hard in her life and never thought she had it in her to make as much money as she did. It made the living situation slightly easier during the time. She knew every lost hour of sleep and every extra second spent working would all be worth it in the end.

And it was all worth it, especially now.

The confirmation for her order is right in front of her; two round trip tickets to Holmes Chapel. It’s a sight she’s been desperate to see for a year now, and she lets out a sob as she reads the words over and over again. It’s real, it’s happening, Harry’s ticket to happiness is right in front of her and she has never felt so accomplished in her life.

As she prints out the tickets from her nearly broken down printer—that took her almost two hours to fix—she contemplates whether to wait a week for their sixth year anniversary or just go to him now and gift it to him.

But as she stares at the plane tickets in her hands, she just can’t keep it a secret any longer.

Y/n’s holding everything Harry’s needed right in between her fingertips. Everything that Harry has worked so hard for is right here, inked on printer paper right in front of her and there’s just absolutely no way in hell she can keep this information from him—he’s waited long enough.

She eagerly makes her way to their bedroom, a slight squeal leaving her lips as she makes her way to the doorway of their room. She sees Harry in the bathroom, dressed only in a pair of black boxers as he shaves the stubble under his chin.

He smiles softly upon her entrance, but quickly goes back to shaving the extra bits of his facial hair. She bites her lip at his nearly fully exposed body, but quickly regains her composure as she remembers exactly what she’s here to do.

“Sweetums?”

Harry pats the excess hair from his razor as he looks up.

“Hm?” He hums, his eyes drifting away from his reflection in the bathroom mirror over to where she stands beside their bed.

She has tears in her eyes, but they’re much different from those Harry has seen before. Normally, along with her tears comes a frown on her face and red-tinted cheeks—only the smallest examples of how much her features drown in sorrow whenever she’s upset. But as he stares at her in the way she looks now, there isn’t a trace of sadness within her. Instead, her lips are up in a slight grin and the eyes that are filled with tears are staring at him in admiration. She’s glowing, too, and he swears he wants to look at her in this way for the rest of his life.

“What’s that, love?”

He nods his head slightly, referring to the two pieces of paper that are clenched between her fingers.

She takes a step closer to him as her eyes gleam at the man she’d do anything for. She wishes nothing to be as close to him as possible in this moment, but also wants to be far enough so that she can fully see the product of a man who’ll finally be reuniting with his mother.

“I got you tickets to see your mum, Harry.”

As soon as the words leave her lips, Harry nearly chokes. He drops everything on the floor—his shaver and his comb hitting against the counter and nearly breaking to pieces around his feet. His hands grip along the edge of the sink, face paling and eyes widening at her through the bathroom mirror.

He almost thinks he misunderstood her somewhere—that maybe what she actually said got scrambled in his head to somehow make him hear what he could only dream of hearing. But her face reassures him that he did, in fact, hear her currently and that he just couldn’t believe it.

Y/n’s tears fall down her cheeks as she giggles, observing how he still hasn’t moved a single muscle and the color in his face still hasn’t returned.

“You’ll be at home for a month and you’ll be leaving in two weeks.”

She takes another step closer to him, her smile never fading as he finally lets out a choked sob. Tears are already forming in his eyes and his hands hold tighter against the sink, but words seemed to be trapped in his throat and all that his brain can process is the pounding of his chest and the air that has yet to be knocked out from his lungs.

“I know that when we talked, you said that if you ever had the chance to see your mum again that you’d want me to come with you. I figured that that would be unfair to you, since you have spent so much time with me and haven’t been able to see her in so long. I decided to compromise and—and I’m only visiting for the first week but I figured it’d be enough time to—Harry?”

Her eyes narrow i concern as she watches him nearly fall backwards from his prior position, nearly tripping over his own feet as he finally turns around to look at her properly. Neither of them say anything as Harry stumbles towards her frame—eyes still bewildered and face still pale. He nearly trips over the sheets on the floor, but he quickly regains his balance before his hands find their way upon her cheeks.

He wants to say everything he’s thinking—he wants to tell her how thankful he is and how much he loves her. He wants to express every ounce of gratitude and give her everything she’s ever deserved in this moment. Hell, he wants to get on his fucking knees and worship all the blessings she’s ever given him and love on her until she can barely speak anymore. But all that falters nearly seconds after he reaches her.

“Harry—“

He sobs—complete soul shaking sobs. Everything he’s feeling completely overwhelms him to the point where he ends up on his knees. His body collapses and his lungs are constricted but he has never felt so good in his life.

Y/n falls with him, cradling him again her chest as she presses chaste kisses along his forehead. Her hands rub up and down his back in an attempt to calm him from his cries, but he doesn’t back down. He’s hasn’t felt this amount of happiness in so long that he feels there’s nothing else his body can do.

He reaches his hands up to her face again, admiring her from what he can see between all the tears in his eyes and the squinting of his lids. He presses his lips to hers, but the kiss doesn’t last long before he’s sobbing again—bringing her face down to the dip of his shoulder while he holds her there.

She giggles, shaking her head softly.

“Didn’t I promise you, love?”

Boys Like Him

MASTERLIST

A/N: Everything I write at the moment doesn’t turn out how I want, so I apologize in advance for this. 

Word count: 3,143

I had been on tour with Shawn for about a month now and though we’d been dating for almost a year, I had never tagged along his tours before nor had I ever really gone to one of his shows, so sitting on the floor of the hotel room and doing my homework was a rather big step for us. Bringing me along and sharing this part of him was a rather big step for us. 

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