dinner week

Coworker asking why I’m single: “Well, have you tried a dating app??”

Me: “I mean ‘20-something Vers-looking Non-binary bottom looking for tall top of any gender ID or presentation to meet up twice a week for dinner and a movie, and then leave me alone at all other times so I can play Pokemon, must be dog friendly” doesn’t exactly jump off the page"

Coworker: “…what?”

Me: “What?”

Oh also, I apologise if I haven’t replied to an ask you’ve sent in over the past couple of weeks. Work has been kicking my ass lately, so I’ll eventually get around to answering them 😊

Normally I get angry when people wake me up before noon….

However, the girl from Saudi Arabia is going to be eating Thanksgiving dinner with us and she was very worried about what to wear. I can’t even be annoyed because I’d be worried in her position too :’)

I told Mom to invite her to Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners a few weeks ago. I know she doesn’t celebrate either holiday normally, however, she is in America. She deserves the opportunity to partake in our holiday feasts if she wants, dang it!! (And she said yes to both invites :3)

archiveofourown.org
You'll Be the Death of Me Ch. 3 | Archive of Our Own
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

This story is getting so damn long, there’s going to be at least three more chapters. You’ve all brought this on yourselves by being kind to me and reading it! Once again, thank you to @gwilbs for taking a look! 

         Two weeks of dinner and three bodies confounding the French police had made Hannibal and Will’s shared meals a ritual rather than a fluke. Will knew he should stop before the boy got any ideas, send another reaper to collect the souls Hannibal provided and leave Hannibal and his elaborate meals to cool unattended.

         He had even managed to stay away from one body, asking a colleague to pull the hapless victim to the gates. Will forced himself to collect souls for a few hours before the curiosity overwhelmed him and he hurried to Hannibal’s home. Peering into the window, Will watched as Hannibal fussed with a place setting, his mouth a hard line. When the boy finally gave up, he left the exquisitely plated meal on the table, an offering to an uncaring god.

         Will waited another hour before he entered the dining room, studying the plate. Some type of organ, a liver if he had to guess. Will closed his eyes. He shouldn’t. He should leave and hope this murderous boy didn’t do anything stupid to try and attract him again.

         He shouldn’t.

         Will sat at the table with a small grimace, whether at his own weakness or the knowledge that he was participating in an act that would have Hannibal spouting Persephone metaphors for days, he wasn’t sure. He picked up the knife and cut a piece of the meat, large enough that Hannibal would know he had visited in the night. The meat was cold and tasted of iron, the rich sauce congealed as it rolled over his tongue.

         “It would have been better warm.”

         Death did not jump. He absolutely didn’t.  

         “Hannibal, I’ve-”

         “Been lurking outside my home for two hours, watching me.” Hannibal walked around the table with surprising speed, seating himself on Will’s lap with an insouciant sniff. He twisted slightly cutting a large piece of flesh and pressing the cold meat to Will’s mouth. “Your penance for being a terrible boyfriend shall be eating all of my ruined efforts.”

         Will frowned, but opened his mouth to the fork. He swallowed before narrowing his eyes. “I am not your boyfriend.”

         Hannibal huffed. “Soulmate, then? Lover? Call the relationship what you like.”

         The younger man leaned forward, kissing Will’s prepared objection from his lips. It took a few more moments for Will to remember that he had an objection at all.

         “This isn’t a relationship,” Will murmured between kisses, Hannibal straddling his lap and dinner forgotten. “It’s just dinner and kissing.”

         “Denial is common when death is involved,” Hannibal said with a smirk, running his hands through Will’s curls. “As I’m sure you’re aware.”

         Will shut him up with another kiss and a promise to himself that this wouldn’t happen again.

Read the Rest on AO3…

4

Chanyeol messing with his hair for anon♡
Bonus:

Au where Jack didn’t go to Samwell and after a few years and a cup with the Falconers he gets traded to a team in Canada, so now he lives around 2-3 hours from his parents.

Meanwhile Bitty graduates and is hired by Alicia Zimmermann to be her assistant, partly because he was a Samwell alumni but also because he was super sweet and brought a pie to the interview.

Bob tried to poach him within a week, but Bitty thought he was only joking. So did a lot of the retired hockey players once they tasted the pies including Mario. Alicia doesn’t allow Bitty alone with Bob or his friends anymore.

Which is why she made Jack promise to stick to him like glue during a charity event she won’t be able to attend, but that Bitty will be at.

“Jack, Eric is the most efficient and pleasant assistant I’ve ever had. He’s also charming, hard working and discreet, and when I had the flu last month he made me go home to rest and brought me chicken soup on his day off. If your dad or his friends try to take him from me again, I can’t be responsibly for my actions.“

This is how Jack somehow ends up playing interference and trying to distract Bitty from talking to anybody at the charity event.

And wow ok this isn’t exactly unpleasant and Bitty is gorgeous and funny, and played hockey.

Bitty is in the middle of trying to explain how increasing his social media would be beneficial, and how he could use his platform for good when Jack sort of blurts out.

"Do you wanna get coffee?”

And Bitty paused, looks at him and smiles, “sure! I’d be happy to go over everything with you again over coffee.”

Jack is too flustered to explain that was a very lame attempt to ask him out, so he goes along with the work orientated coffee situation with the intention of maybe asking him properly afterwards.

Of course, then shenanigans occur where Alicia thinks Jack is now trying to steal Bitty to be his assistant and casually invites herself over for the coffee, so obvs Jack doesn’t ask Bitty then.

“I trusted you,” she says very dramatically when he comes over for dinner that week. “How could you be trying to take my assistant?”

“I am not trying to offer him a job,” Jack groans dramatically, “I’m trying to ask him out!”

Alicia paused, considers this and does a complete 180.

“Jack! This is an amazing idea! I fully support this, oh I can’t believe I crashed your date.”

“It wasn’t a date,” mumbles Jack.

“Ok, we need a plan. You need to woo Eric, he’d be such a wonderful son in law.”

“Maman!”

Meanwhile Bob is quietly watching this whole exchange and making his own plan. He absolutely supports Jack’s interest in Bitty, and Alicia is right he’d be a wonderful son in law.

But also Bob does need an assistant since he can’t seem to keep one for more than 2 months at a time, so he’s now planning to steal Bitty while his wife is distracted playing matchmaker.

Bitty had no idea what’s going on, he just wants to continue working for Alicia since she’s so nice and amazing, save enough money to open his own bakery and try not to let in on the fact he has a massive crush on Jack.

I mean, how unprofessional would dating the boss son would look!?

No, he’s going to keep things strictly professional because that’s who he is, a professional who totally doesn’t have the hots for the son of Alicia Zimmermann.

Concept:

Adrien Agreste is desperate. He’s tried asking Nino, but his friend sort of tripped his way into his relationship with Alya by mistake, and he’s not too proud to admit it. Plagg is no help. He’s asked Natalie, only to get a blank look. Plagg is NO help. Adrien’s even asked Gorilla. The man stared at him through the rearview mirror for a full minute before he burst out laughing and didn’t stop even after he dropped Adrien off at school. It was hard not to pout all day.

So now, Adrien is doing what he should have done in the first place - it’s SO obvious, after all. I mean, obviously HE’D be an expert.

‘Come in.’

Adrien walks into his father’s study with shoulders pushed back in his dad’s preferred posture.

‘What did you need?’ his father asked without looking up from his designs, seven different sketched clothes articles being shuffled around to create various combinations.

‘Yeah,’ Adrien said, trying to channel as much of Chat Noir as he could, ‘so dad, you and mum, huh?’

Gabriel’s hand paused delicately where it was poised over a pair of tan women’s trousers.

'I mean, you two…. Got together and everything, you know?’

Adrien watched in fascination as his father’s eyebrows rose very slowly. He wasn’t sure if it was a good sign so he went on.

'And mum was pretty. I mean, REAL pretty. Well of course she was pretty she was a model. But she was. Nice, I mean. And you TALKED to her. And it WORKED. Of course it worked, she married you and you had ME.’

Gabriel Agreste looked like he was almost afraid to talk, but he put the sketches down, steepled his fingers and finally looked up at his son.

'What are you asking exactly, Adrien? I thought Natalie had adequately covered the topic of human sexual reproduction even before you joined College?’

'Not that, dad!’ Adrien replied, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. 'I know all about that. Natalie tested me and everything and I got top marks. I’m asking about all the rest! That’s more important!’

Gabriel Agreste’s eyebrows joined his hairline. He managed to look vaguely nauseous, which was the face he made when he was in any way flustered or uncomfortable.

'All… The rest.’

'Yes!’ Adrien replied, the word exploding out of him when he couldn’t contain it anymore. A river of more words followed it once it had split the dam. 'The flowers and the complements, and the manners and kissing her hand, and being a gentleman! All of that! But I’ve tried it all and it hasn’t worked, so I MUST be doing something wrong! But you landed MUM, so you must have done something really right, so please dad, please teach me?’

Gabriel Agreste may as well be speechless for the first time in his life. He managed, 'What?’

'How to ask out a pretty girl!’ Adrien said in moan. 'The right way! So she says yes!’

Gabriel took off his spectacles to give himself time to think, polishing them off a silk hanky he always carried in his pocket, to give himself time to think. He didn’t think he’d be thinking about this already. But that was the problem with thinking. Once he put them back on, he’d formulated a reasonable response.

'I would like to know who the young lady in question is, before we go any further.’

Adrien’s brain went into panic mode. Darn, darn darn darn, he hadn’t thought of this! What was he going to say? He couldn’t say Ladybug obviously, his dad would never buy it. Quick, think of girls he knew! Girls he knew, girls he knew- ah! Girls from his class! Let’s see; Chloe- ah ah, hard nope, no way. Alya- nope, no way again, bro code. Mylene, yeah, super taken. Alix….. Just no. Darn it all, all he could think of were black hair and blue eyes and - hang on!

'Marinette Dupain-Cheng,’ Adrien squeaked. He hoped his cheeks feeling hot meant he would convince his father. Gabriel stared at him for a moment before he buzzed Natalie from the intercom on his desk.

'Natalie, send me the file of Dupain-Cheng Marinette from the College research folder.’

'Yes sir,’ Natalie chirped back. A few moments of heavy sweating later - for Adrien - his father’s phone pinged, and Gabriel picked it up, thumbing through whatever Natalie had sent. One eyebrow rose higher than the other in the expression his father often made when he was pleasantly surprised. Somehow, Adrien was irrationally pleased his father approved of Marinette, even though he realised he was now totally screwed.

'Designed an album for Jagged Stone,’ his father said, sounding reluctantly impressed. 'You will invite her to dinner next week.’

Gabriel put his phone down, seemingly done with the decision. Adrien tried desperately one more time.

'But, the advice!’

Gabriel looked him straight in the eyes.

'What I’m about to tell you does not leave this room,’ he said solemnly.

'Yes father!’ Adrien replied eagerly.

'The secret,’ Gabriel went on solemnly, 'is puns.’

'I knew it!’ Adrien hissed under his breath.

'Ah, but not just any puns,’ Gabriel admonished. 'That is why you have been unsuccessful. You need to find her interests, formulate humourous sentence arrangements. Drop them with the correct TIMING. Timing is crucial, especially in one particular way.’

Adrien fairly vibrated in his seat as he leaned forward, waiting for his dad to finally tell him the secret.

'You must take her hand, gently. Look her in the eyes, and tell her, without fanfare, how you feel about her. And how that makes you feel: in that order, son. Then, and only then, must you drop a very smart pun, about something she loves, and beg her to consider giving you a chance. Then walk away, let her think about it, and maybe drop another pun on your way out. Make her laugh, so that when she remembers you, she will smile. She’ll call you back within the week.’

Gabriel was smiling for the first time in a whole year, that Adrien remembered. He looked misty eyed and far away before he snapped out of it.

'Natalie,’ he said into the buzzer again, 'contact mlle Dupain-Cheng, invite her to dinner Friday week.’

'Yes sir. I will inform cook and the household.’

'Good.’ Gabriel looked at his son with a determined look on his face. 'I will allow you to see how it is done during this first dinner. I will then expect you to try and learn, with practice, during following invitations. Do not let me down.’

'No sir!’ Adrien replied excitedly. He raced to his room, almost bouncing giddily with joy at how helpful his dad had been. Real advice! With practice!

Then he froze when he realised he was going to be practicing on his sweet, shy classmate, who was likely going to get the entirely wrong idea, and who he had absolutely not the courage to come clean with; not on this.

'Darn’, he hissed into his room. Plagg ignored him and continued to eat his cheese noisily.

No, I will find him! Shiro is the only person who didn’t give up on me… I won’t give up on him.

youtube

한끼줍쇼 (Let’s Eat Dinner Together) Next Week Preview - Seokjin and Jungkook

I’m Your Idiot

Originally posted by stydiaislove

Requested: By me, Actual Steve Harrington Trash™

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Y/N wasn’t planning on introducing Steve to her parents, but he had a plan of his own.

Warnings: I don’t think that there are any

Word Count: 1,386

A/n: I don’t think that this is that unexpected, but here we are, my first Stranger Things imagine. I hope that you guys like it, because I have a million ideas for this series! If you have any Stranger Things requests, please send them my way. Thank you to @secretschuylersister and @fragmentofmymind for reading this over. Also, here you go, @bullcrappery I hope that it lives up to your expectations!

Steve Harrington was standing on your front porch. He was in possession of one bouquet of flowers, one shit-eating grin, and a hunter green sweater that was tucked into his jeans. He was not supposed to be here. You’d specifically told him that you couldn’t hang out tonight, you were busy with family dinner.

Oh, god. You had told Steve about family dinner.

Steve had been asking about meeting your parents for months now, insisting that it was unfair that you had said hello in passing to his parents, but he had never met yours.

You blinked a few times, hoping that you were imagining him and that you could have a normal evening. But no, he was still there and if you waited much longer, he would ring the doorbell and you would have to explain this mess to your parents.

You threw the front door open, ignoring the smile on Steve’s face and stepping out onto the porch, closing the door behind you. “What are you doing here?” you asked, eyeing the flowers in his hand suspiciously.

“Well, you wouldn’t come over, so I thought that I would come to you.” He said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“You know that I am busy tonight.” you hissed, glancing over your shoulder, hoping that your parents would be too busy finishing dinner to notice that you had disappeared from the living room.

“Actually-”

“No Steve, not actually. I told you that-” before you could finish yelling at him, the door swung open behind you. You held in a groan as you turned around to face your mother.

“Steve! I’m so glad that you could make it.” She said, ushering the two of you into the house.

“Actually, I ran into your beautiful mother at the supermarket earlier today, and she invited me for dinner,” Steve said, the condescending tone of his voice only apparent to you. “It smells delicious, ma’am,” he said, handing over the flowers.

Your mother fussed over them for a few moments, before announcing that she was going to put them in some water.

“You ‘ran into her at the supermarket’?” There was no way that Steve hadn’t planned this after you had let it slip that you had family dinner that night, and therefore couldn’t hang out.

“I had to pick up the bouquet somewhere.”

“You planned this.” you hissed, punching Steve in the shoulder.

“I had to. It’s unfair that you have met my parents, but I haven’t met yours,” he complained, sitting down in his usual spot on the sofa.

“I saw your parents in passing one time.” You said, pointedly ignoring Steve’s attempts to get you to sit beside him. “You are unbelievable, you know that?”

Steve simply chose to smile at you, and grab your wrist, pulling you into his side on the couch. “I’ve been told before,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck.

You weren’t proud of the smile that slipped through your ironclad resolve, but Steve was laughing and there was no way that you were going to escape from the situation anyways.

“Are you embarrassed of me?” Steve was so quiet you almost didn’t hear him.

“What?” You were almost sure that you had misheard him.

“You didn’t want me to meet your parents. I don’t know, I just thought that maybe-”

“Steve Harrington, you are absolutely insane.” You said, sitting up. You forced Steve to look at you before continuing. “My parents are embarrassing and nosy, and even though I love them, I don’t bring a lot of people home.”

“Are you serious?” Steve’s voice was painfully soft, and you could almost feel your heart shatter.

“I just, I didn’t want to scare you off.” You refused to meet his eyes, choosing to stare out of the window.

You felt Steve’s hand gently wrap around yours, and his lips pressing onto your palm. “Me? Scared? Impossible.”

“Yeah?” you asked, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Of course. I have my bat in the car.”

“You are such an idiot.” you laughed, snatching your hand away from Steve’s grip.

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his lap. “Nothing is going to scare me off, you know. You are absolutely stuck with me,” he said, brushing the hair that had fallen in your eyes away.

“Kids,” your mom called from the dining room. “Dinner!”

“I think that’s our cue,” Steve said, sliding off of the couch and offering you his hand.

You stood up on your own, shoving him slightly, before making your way into the dining room.

You had somehow managed to make it through a family dinner with no issues at all, and it was all because of Steve. He made your parents laugh harder than you thought possible, while calming you down at the same time. He had even offered to help your mother clean up. You could hear the two of them cackling from the living room.

“He’s sweet”. Your father said, pulling your thoughts away from the laughter echoing through the house.

“What?” you asked, sure that you had misheard him.

“The boy, he’s sweet,” he said, not looking up from the newspaper in his hands. “The hair is a bit much for me, but he clearly makes you happy. And that makes me happy.”

You smiled to yourself, glad that Steve had made a good first impression. Before you could think of a way to respond, Steve and your mother turned the corner. They were both beaming, and Steve had a container of leftovers in his hand (a true seal of approval from your mother).

“You drive home safely, now.” Your mother said, taking a seat beside you.

You hopped up off of the couch and looped your arm through Steve’s. “I’ll walk you out,” you announced, dragging him out the front door.

“Thank you,” you said quietly as the two of you made your way down the drive.

“For what?” he asked, leaning up against the hood of his car. He placed the tupperware down beside him and pulled you closer, wrapping both of his hands around yours.

“Being yourself, I guess. They usually hate my friends.”

“Well, that’s why they like me.” Steve cut you off, before you could explain further.

“What are you talking about?” you said through your laughter.

“I’m your boyfriend. Of course they love me.” Steve said with a grin before placing a kiss on your cheek and standing up.

“That’s all I get?” Usually, Steve spent a while saying goodbye, placing little kisses all over your face before one more on your lips.

“We have an audience, babe,” he said, shifting his eyes between you and your front window a few times.

You turned around to see your parents both hovering by the window. They at least had the decency to scatter once they realized that they had been found out.

“I can always make it up to you later. My parents won’t be back for a week,” he said with a cheeky smile, sliding into the front seat of his car.

“Maybe,” you said, closing the door behind him. “We’ll see.” You leaned down to kiss him goodbye properly as he started the car.

“Speaking of my parents, I told them that you would be coming to dinner next week.”

“I’m busy that day,” you said automatically.

“I never said what day.” he laughed, knowing that he was winning.

“I’m busy every day, Steven.” You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face made your facade less convincing.

“Next Thursday, at seven?” he asked, his hand reaching through the rolled down window to find yours.

You nodded, trying your hardest to hold the smile back and failing miserably. He held your hand as the car rolled out of the driveway, maintaining contact for as long as possible.

“I love you!” he yelled, as he drove away.

He was long gone before you managed your reply, too caught up in listing all of the ways that you loved him in your head. “I love you too,” you said quietly, before making your way inside, unable to suppress the enormous smile on your face.

Steve Harrington may have been an idiot, but he was yours.

I cannot, will not, bear you. (vent art, sort of)

2

Alfred: Mr. Potter, we missed you at dinner last night!
Harry: Yeah, well. Sorry about that. My wife had an important match. It lasted 7 hours so I didn’t have time to attend the dinner.
Alfred: WHAT. How come? I never miss a Holyhead Harpies game! I didn’t know they played last night!
Harry: It was… er… a private match. Only a few people watched it.
Alfred: Oh… well… Anyway, Cameron is going to make another dinner next week…

Ginny: You know we’ll have to go to one of your co-workers’ dinners at some point of your career, right?
Harry: What if I tell them you are pregnant and needs to rest? I have never used this excuse before.
Ginny: Yes, you have. But I was actually pregnant.
Harry: Damn it.


[instagram @potterbyblvnk] 

know it all — p.p.

summary : may parker can’t fathom that you and her nephew aren’t dating yet- she can’t wait forever, you know, and she knows it’s going to happen eventually. when has may ever been wrong?

word count : 3k

author’s note : long time no see?? LOL sophomore year is successfully kicking my ass but i wrote this and it’s semi long so?? 

   May Parker prides herself on a lot of things- namely, her stunning resilience in the face of immense adversity, and the way she just seems to know things. She can’t help it, it’s her not so lame superpower and she uses it on Peter all the time, much to his annoyance. She earns a roll of the eyes whenever she says something out of the blue, so profound Peter can’t help but contemplate its credibility for the hours that follow their interactions. She knows things, she does, and she knows that you and her nephew are as meant to be as her and Ben were- are, she chastises herself sometimes- and she knows it so truly in the deepest recesses of her heart that the fact that you and Peter aren’t together is something that goes right over her head. 

   “Peter, hon, when’s your girl coming over? I miss having other ladies in the house,” she says one day, interrupting the silence that had settled upon the pair  as Peter recited the periodic table of elements so naturally in his head in preparation for a quiz the following day. Peter loses track somewhere between lithium and beryllium or maybe it was phosphorus, he doesn’t know anymore, when he hears May call you that, his girl, and he shakes his head at her wildly. “What? What’d I say?” May points her wooden spoon at him, and Peter’s reminded that she’s Italian for the fifth time that day. 

   “May, she’s not- she’s not my, like, girlfriend,” he stresses each syllable the word carries, practically throwing his pencil across the table when he turns his chair to get a better view of his aunt as she prepares dinner- pasta, again, because she claims it’s the only thing she can’t possibly mess up. “You know that! Y/N’s been my best friend forever.” 

    “You realize you can be best friends with your girlfriend, don’t you?” Peter can sense May’s eyes rolling even though he can’t see her since she’s facing the stove with her back turned. “You two have definitely kissed. You can’t tell me you haven’t.” 

    Peter’s entire face feels hot when she says that, his hands clammy when he presses them together against his cheeks, placing his elbows on the table to prop his head up. “That’s embarrassing, May. Why would you ever ask me that?” He runs his hands through his hair and the gel is so terribly packed on it that the carefully prepared hairstyle comes undone with one swift movement. “We haven’t, in case you’re wondering, which I know you are because you’re nosy.” Peter feels the spoon lightly poke into his back, a playful warning. 

   “Anyways,” May continues loudly, “as I was saying before, your girlfriend should come over for dinner sometime this week. I’m making pasta.” She grins before placing a bowl of penne in front of Peter, his least favorite pasta shape. Peter scowls at the penne but picks up his fork anyway and shoves some in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before giving May a thumbs up. At least she was proud of it. “I won’t make penne if you get her to come over.” 

    She knows she’s got him when she sees the slow, unsure nod start. He sticks his hand out, and May shakes it happily. “Only because of the penne. I want bowties. Please,” he gives his aunt his best, brightest, sweetest smile he can form, much like the ones that come so naturally when he turns his gaze to look at you- but May won’t bring that up just yet. “And don’t make girlfriend jokes in front of her.” His utensil stabs into the pasta as he thinks to himself, ‘cause if you keep it up in front of her, she’ll think I’m a weirdo and I’ll never genuinely get to call Y/N that, ever. Honestly, he’d much rather launch himself headfirst off of the Empire State Building than never get to experience kissing you, holding your hand, being with you in all those sorts of hopelessly romantic ways that he daydreams about regularly. He’s doing it again, slipping into that endless reverie he always seems to find himself lost in. But it’s okay. His mind is a chasm of soft loves and sweet words shared between the two of you. It’s a beautiful, long mess of a dream. 

   “You lost, Pete?” May snaps her fingers in front of his face, bemused. 

    “A little,” he sighs in that dreamy tone she recalls her own self indulging in so fondly in her younger years. His gaze becomes hazy again, like he’s on another plane entirely, but she lets him be. For now. 


    Peter knows he’s dressing up a little too much for just a friend. He’s spraying too much strong cologne and gelling his hair excessively and praying you won’t notice the fact that it’ll be dryer than the leaves in the wintertime, but it’s all too much for someone he insists is his best friend and his best friend alone, nothing more and nothing less, certainly not his girlfriend. Never that, right? Peter frowns at his reflection and tilts his head down, rubbing his head in attempt to remove most of the gel that had been a serious mistake in the first place. You preferred his hair curly, anyway. Not that he cared. Not in the slightest. He puts on the sweater that you once said looked lovely on him and he wears his nice jeans, the ones without that stupid hole near the butt cheek that you can’t really see unless you’re trying

   His cheeks flush when May gives a tiny, satisfied smirk upon seeing his perfectly put together outfit. He acts as if no time at all was spent on his appearance, but she knows him, like she knows everything else, and she knows that he’s been holed up in the bathroom for over twenty minutes now trying to see which shirt matched his eyes best and debating the chances of you realizing that this was the sweater you liked the most on him before he put it on and beamed at himself in the mirror. Maybe it was the color or the stitching or the fabric but he was starting to like this one much more, too. 

   “You look very handsome, sweets,” May says to him, squeezing his shoulder as she brushes past him to place a salad on the table. Peter surveys the salad with a strange look on his face. 

   “Why’d you make a salad? Since when does Y/N eat salad?” He raises his eyebrows at her, before adding with haste, “not that I don’t love your salad, Aunt May, ‘cause I do. I promise.”  

   Aunt May places her hands on her hips, peering at him through the tops of her glasses in a way that makes her look too wise for someone as young as she was. “I’m making a good impression, obviously.” 

   “You’ve known her for like ten years now, the time for good impressions is over, May. You missed your chance.”

   “This is the first time I’m seeing Y/N as your girlfriend, though!” Peter lets out the loudest groan imaginable, running his hands over his cheeks and slapping his forehead with great vexation. 

   “Still not my girlfriend,” he insists on insisting, taking the extra plates out of her busy hands and helping to set the small kitchen table. 

   May smooths back a loose strand of hair from his forehead with a kind, teasing grin on her face. “Doesn’t mean you don’t want her to be, kiddo.” 

   He can’t possibly argue with that sort of logic, especially not when his aunt hits the nail right on the head in that peculiar way she has a habit of doing, so he just smiles and kisses May on the cheek. There’s a knock on the door less than a second later, and the pair scramble for the upper hand before Peter beats her to it and nearly flies to grab the handle of it and yank it open so he can greet you accordingly, slightly out of breath with his hair flopping to one quite nicely and a joyous smile making its way across his mouth when he sees you for the first time that day. May hovers earnestly behind him, hands fluttering over her nephew’s shoulders so she can push past him to wrap you in a hug if need be. Sometimes Peter has the impression that May adores you even more than he does; he wasn’t sure if he should be glad for that, or a bit offended that you seemed to return the blatant favoritism with ardency. 

   There was a brief second where your eyes raked over your best friend’s face with soft admiration, hidden as carefully as you could manage. When you met his appreciative gaze you felt the palms of your hands clam up and so you cast your look back to his aunt and playfully pushed past him to give her a hug. 

   Peter, offense overriding his previously somewhat moonstruck expression, backed away from you when you finally turned toward him with your arms outstretched. “Oh, now I get a hug? Interesting,” he rolls his eyes in a teasing manner, unable and unwilling to conceal his little, loving smile that appeared when you pried his arms off his chest and defiantly wrapped them around yourself as you hugged him. “Didn’t seem so interested in hugging me when you were shoving me away to get to May,” he says, craning his neck to stare at you whilst continuing to drag the embrace out for as long as possible. 

   “You’re still my favorite Parker,” you reply, poking his chest lightly. Then you turn away before you can say anything else that could be considered too revealing of certain, carefully concealed feelings that had the possibility of being detrimental to a beautiful friendship that had manifested over the years into something more, but not quite, not yet. “Sort of,” you put as an afterthought, lest he get any ideas about you feeling… something for him. “Anyways, what’s for dinner, May?” You anticipate pasta, and when May announces the dish with a great flourishing of her hand, you grin. Typical, yes, but nothing if not welcomed. 

  Peter, gentleman that he is, pulls out your chair for you, and you let yourself imagine that he’s doing it as a chivalrous boyfriend and not simply a polite friend. He imagines the same, though. Imagines that he’s on a date with you and he pulls out your chair and smiles kindly and lovingly- and he basks in this image for as long as he can. May calls you over then, and the daydream is shattered. You make your way over to her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. 

   May lowers her voice before speaking, “Y/N, I’m gonna need you to explain something to me,” she starts. You nod, raising your eyebrows at her. “Explain why you and Peter aren’t together yet. Honestly, honey, I just can’t understand it.” She talks with her hands the way Peter does. 

   “Uh- what? I, um, I don’t… understand?” Your voice cracks a little, as if having May practically shove your less than friendly feelings for Peter back in your face wasn’t embarrassing enough. “We’re, um, you know, like, friends.” 

   Her hand waves dismissively, pushing that sentence away. “No, no, see that’s what he said, too! I have to disagree. I know everything, kiddo, and I know that you two are going to make it as a couple, so if that’s what your afraid of, don’t be. Go for it. I see the same thing in him that I see in you right now, and that thing is love. So, I’m going to need you to go make my nephew the happiest kid on Earth and tell him you’re falling in love with him, and you’ll see that he’s going to say the same thing to you. Trust me. Aunt May knows all,” she shrugs in a casual manner, brushing her confidence off, before she steers you around and gently pushes you back toward the tiny dining room table where Peter sits awkwardly fiddling with his thumbs with his lip caught between his teeth. 

   “Hi,” you almost whisper, settling down in your seat across from him. 

   He glances up. “Hey,” he says, smiling again. A reflex, in your presence. He clears his throat, then asks, “So, what’d you and May talk about?” He knows May loves him as if he were her son, which for all intents and purposes he is, but he can’t be sure of her secrecy. He wouldn’t put it past his aunt to let slip “accidentally” that he liked you, loved you, cared for you. 

   You take a sip of your glass of water that Peter must have filled in your absence from the table. You had a tendency to take sips of your drink when in uncomfortable conversations, or conversations you felt nervous in. He notes that. “Oh, um, nothing really… but if were gonna talk about it, I’d wanna do it in, like, private?” You twirl your straw around your drink, mixing the ice in the glass. Peter abruptly stands from his chair. You watch him sling a jacket around his shoulders and throw one of his sweaters at you, which you catch easily. “You wanna go now?” 

   He nods, licking his lips anxiously. “No better time than the present, right?” If you’re going to confront him and crush his heart with a single sentence that stands along the lines of I see you as a friend, he wants it done sooner rather than later. He wants it over with, so he can go back to his suffering in comfortable silence and start an attempt to move past this crush the way he had easily drifted away from his crush on Liz Allan. You fumble with the sweater as you stand. “May, we’re gonna step out for a bit!” Peter announces, opening the front door of his apartment and letting you slip out first. He doesn’t wait for her response before he disappears, too. May watches the two of you leave and feels her heart grow twice its size. 

  You’re standing outside the apartment building ten minutes later in the chilly autumn breeze, thankful for the cologne scented sweater that rests over your body like a warm blanket. Peter’s hands are never cold, and so they linger outside of his pockets as opposed to yours, shoved inside the front pocket of the sweater he’s given you. He reaches for your hands wordlessly and rubs them over his. “You’re always freezing,” he laughs quietly, lacing his fingers through yours with a new burst of confidence that you find endearing as you squeeze his hands. “Hey, wanna know something? You might know it already but, I figure I should tell you myself, if you wanna know.” He swings his hands back and forth, and yours swing along with his. 

   “Yeah, please,” you insist, twisting your head to the side to sweep the windswept hair out of your face. One of Peter’s hands comes up to brush it out of the way, typical and cliche and an overplayed move but none of that matters when the action is being carried out, because it makes your stomach constrict in that funny way and your heart melt into a puddle on the dirty sidewalk. His fingers linger over the softness of your cheek, and he keeps his hand there to see what you’ll say about it. You say nothing, let remain there. “You gonna tell me or not?” 

  “Should I- I could maybe…” he sucks on the bottom of his lip. “Forget it, I don’t know how to speak properly around you like this.” You start to protest, demand he tell you because you won’t be able to stop thinking about this if he doesn’t, but every word dies before it can touch the edge of your lips. Peter has his head lowered down toward you and he’s kissing you, a thought that’s crossed your mind more times than you were able to count but now, it’s happening. Real lips pressed against yours feverishly, shyness forgotten in the heat of the moment. When he pulls away first, it returns and collides with him as if he’s hit a brick wall, and his cheeks burn red. He makes no move to back away, still. “D-Did I step out of line? Was that okay? Do you hate me? ‘Cause if you do we can go back upstairs or you can leave and then on Monday we can pretend that this never happened because you’re still my best friend no matter what even if it’s awkward-” 

   Your hands clasp together around the back of his neck as you yank him down toward you again, and this time you kiss him back. You can feel him smiling so hard it makes it difficult to kiss him, but when you break away to tell him that, he just laughs and smiles harder and keeps kissing you. He doesn’t know how to stop now that’s he had the opportunity. You’re both laughing hysterically and trying to kiss properly and his nose bumps against yours repeatedly, and it’s the most perfect first kiss in the world. 

   He keeps his hand firmly grasped in yours when you go back upstairs to his seventh floor apartment, opens the door for you and everything. May is sitting at the table, turns her head to the both of you and peers at you from the top of her glasses. Peter raises his hand and yours, triumphant. May claps her hands together as he, your boyfriend, declares proudly, “Aunt May, I would like to formally introduce you to my girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N, who I hope will be sticking around?” He looks to you for reassurance, and gets what he needs from the happy kiss you bestow upon the side of his face. 

   “I told you two I know everything!” Is what breaks the joyous silence, and then the laughter starts again; a perfectly lovely family. 

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I should be writing a paper but (OTP PROMPTS)

- “Okay so I was dared to go into this haunted house, and not only is it not haunted, a nice old lady and her really pretty granddaughter live here and they invited me over for dinner next week”

-”So I dated your friend and we broke up because she assumed that I had a crush on you after meeting you. She wasn’t wrong.”

-”So I was driving to my parents house in the middle of a blizzard when my car broke down. You noticed I was here and offered me a ride, do you maybe want to get some cocoa later?”

- “So you came over to my house mad that I dumped your friend, so you keyed my car and kicked me in the balls. The next day you came over to apologize after finding out that I dumped her cause she cheated on me, oddly I still think your cute.”

-”You transferred to my school this year and I have been showing you around for the past few weeks. You get along really well with my friends and they think you and I are dating. I am not against the idea.”

- “Someone was grabbing my butt and you decked them so hard he lost a tooth. Do you want to get coffee sometime?”

- “We both got really drunk at a party and ended up getting matching tattoos. Laser surgery is expensive and going out on a date would be cheaper.”

“ You have been my best friend for years, how dare you get really hot and… Omg is that a six pack?”

Hi, Momma.

(Series Masterlist)

Summary: Be the mother of all angels isn’t easy, specially if they’re already adults. 
a.k.a. = The written proof that if the angels had a mother, the apocalypse would be solved in less than an hour.
Pairing: Chuck x Reader
Prompt: Imagine being able to see every Angels’ wings because you’re Chuck’s Mate. Thus making you mother of all angels and them being very protective of you. - @dirtysupernaturalimagines (x)
Characters: Reader, Gabriel, Mentions of God!Chuck,  Raphael, Lucifer, Michael, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Crowley
Warnings: Mom!Reader;
Word counting: 1.5k words

(Series Masterlist)

“Gabriel.” You called.

The young archangel’s whiskey eyes widened when he heard your voice, and he dropped the weird animal behind him, trying to hide it with his figure and wings.

“Hi, momma.”

“What is it behind you?”  You asked calmly.

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