i just love the way he nods along with her okay :')

proud

(because I couldn’t HELP myself, okay?)

Jack knew, though. He knew.

There hasn’t been a doubt in his mind. Every time he’s been down to Samwell, every time he watched from a corner in the kitchen as Bitty simultaneously baked muffins and batted away Holster’s interference and counseled the tadpoles on affairs of the heart, it’s been obvious. As much as Jack loves Bittle, this team loves him too. All of them love him.

It’s not just love, though. It’s just that Jack understands the love most. But there’s more to it. Another side to Bittle that he hasn’t been privileged to see, that he can’t see from his vantage point as a former captain and now-boyfriend.

Jack gets his first glimpse of it when the tadpole – Whiskey, his name is – comes in and asks Bittle about his wrist shot. Two years ago, a year ago even, Bittle would have turned to Jack and said, “Gosh, I’m not sure I can – better ask the master.” This time, Bittle out-and-out forgets Jack’s in the room. He picks up a spatula and uses it as a prop to explain launch angles from the stick blade, and Whiskey watches with rapt attention. It’s the look on Whiskey’s face that strikes Jack. He’s never looked at Bittle like that; he’s never had cause to. But Whiskey does.

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Married with Benefits (Part 13)

Summary: In order to not pay out-of-state tuition, you ask your friend, Steve Rogers, to marry you. Things, as always, never go as planned. (College AU)

Word Count: 2,218

“Married with Benefits” Masterlist

A/N: Hope you all enjoy it! Extra long part in honor of today lol.

Originally posted by oursisthefvry


Morning arrived quick enough and soon, Bucky was bursting into the room as you were in the middle of painting your toenails. He gave a large grin and you rolled your eyes.

“You’re supposed to have a hangover, buddy!”

“I’m stronger than any alcohol,” he declared, plopping down next to you on the bed. “Was coming to check in on you. Steve’s a fucking mess,” he scoffed. “How are you?”

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Inner Vixen

Warnings: SMUT (Ages 18+)

 

Summary: You’re fed up with being the blushing, shy girl, usually too insecure to return any of Bucky’s flirtatious advances. But with a little help from liquid courage, your inner vixen makes an appearance.

 

Word Count: 3.6k

“Barnes. 6 o’clock.” Natasha whispered keeping her eyes focused on you standing right beside her at the bar. Tony’s latest rager had started approximately an hour ago and, though you would never admit to nervously awaiting his arrival, she noticed your eyes lingering on the entrance every now and again.

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Angel in the Darkness (M) pt. 8

Originally posted by aestheticvbts

Summary: After a patient urgently pleads you to go and help a friend of his, you naively agree to it. Little did you know, that you would get more than what you agreed to, when he leads you to a brothel, to help a dangerous prostitute named Jeon Jungkook.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (ft. Jin, but not romantically)

Word count: 6.5k

Genre: Smut (M), angst, mafia!au, prostitution!au

A/N:This is a dark and filthy story! Graphic descriptions of sex (oral, penetration, etc), heavy dom/sub undertones, drug use, vulgar language use… This is a mature read! You have been warned!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8



“Again? Didn’t we already talk about this?” your mother scolded with a sigh, as you two entered your small apartment.

She had gotten a call from work at the rehab centre, that you had gotten into another fight with the kids at your school. And this became an alarming concern to her since this was the third time this month that you had fought with others.

“I didn’t mean too…” the nine-year-old you sniffled, as you shyed away from your mother’s harsh glare.

“Y/n this is the third time this month that your school has called me!” your mother exclaimed tiredly from the kitchen, getting ready to prepare dinner for the two of you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered from your spot on the sofa, trying to withhold your tears. You knew your mother hated when you got into fights – you didn’t even like it either, but the kids always picked on you. You just wanted them to stop…

“You said you were sorry last time.”

“I know…” you mumbled in reply.

“Then why do you keep fighting?” she frustrated. “No matter what those kids say, you don’t put your hands on them.”

“But they wouldn’t stop!”

“Then tell the teacher-”

“They hit me first,” you interrupted. This caused your mother to pause in the middle of her footsteps.

“Why?” she asked in confusion.

“They just wouldn’t stop saying those horrible things, even though I begged them…”  you said as your tears started to fall.

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Guys, I have so much to tell you about Will Roland

I may die penniless, unwed, and forgotten, but I will still die happy because I spent four hours of one long-ago summer in a song interpretation master class taught by Will Roland. 

I don’t even know where to BEGIN. To quote Rachel Bay Jones, Will…*bursts into laughter* oh my God, there’s so much Will.

Ramblings about Will Roland under the cut. This is my day with Will Roland.

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Issues (Smut)

MASTERLIST

Request: Jeep sex and a good bit of fluff.

A/N: This is my first story in like 8392 years and I’m so put of practice so please bare with me because it’s not great. Also shoutout to Emily. You’re the real mvp. Feedback would be great. 

Word count: 4,185

We were sitting in the jeep on the highway from Toronto back to Pickering and though we weren’t even half way yet, the drive seemed longer than usual.
Painfully longer. 

Though it was a rather warm summer day, I felt the chills run down my bare arms the soon as we got into the car. The pesky silence between us was smothering, suffocating really and made my entire body linger in the most uncomfortable way possible. 

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Confession - Peter Parker

request -  hey! I love your blog and the writing’s are great and super fluffy and so cute AHHH. Could you please write a fic in which peter and the reader have been friends for a long time and when they finally go to Liz;s party peter confesses his feelings for the reader and could you make it super fluffy? THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR RUNNING THIS BLOG!

a/n - i’m so sorry if this fic seems rushed i went back and forth so many times with different ideas and hopefully it turned out okay :) thank you so much for all the love, don’t forget to request a peter parker/spider-man fic if you’d like!

The bass of the speakers boomed around the house as I poured some soda for Michelle and I. The continuous chatter of teenagers was the only sound I could hear from the music, almost running around the kitchen to collect snacks. I gathered a plate and was ready to share with Michelle, but she seemed to have a piece of toast in her hand, spreading butter on it.

“Where’d you find that?” I asked, eating a pretzel.

“Second cabinet from the left.” She answered, turning to me. “Want a bite?”

“No thanks.” I took a step back, chuckling. She shrugged and continued to eat the bread, taking a sip of her soda. We both continued to talk with one another until we heard Flash’s voice echo off the walls.

“When I say Penis, you say Parker!” He yelled into the microphone, attempting to start the mediocre chant that got really old after five minutes. But, in an unfortunate way, it let me know that Peter arrived. I headed to the door to look for him, catching him in a heartbeat.

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room for two- jjk(m)

Originally posted by rapmonsexpensivegirl

summer in New York has never been so hot.

(m)-mature / 6.5k words / roomate!jungkook / happy reading !

reqs;  jungkook accidental roommate smut? u accidentally buy the same apartment (it happens in dramas often) (+)  Can I request switch!jungkook smut? Like he starts out submissive and then bOOM! He’s dominant af


Summer in New York had never been more depressing. Or hot. Every step outside seems to melt the flesh from your bones, every memory you had of him peeled another layer off your heart. It had been three months of pure hell and although the heat made the thought of being close to anyone impossibly unbearable, you’d give anything to hold him in your arms again. But he had cheated on you, left you, and the best thing to do was move on. Or at least try.

The weather forecast predicted a humid rain, clouds shrouding the ominous sky and a layer of mystery covering the roof of your new home. Or the new home you’d be sharing with four other people. This is supposed to be the city of new beginnings and independent lives. Where one can explore themselves through the city. But sadly, as a transferred college student, the only thing you could afford was a share house in the middle of Brooklyn.  

Sucking in a deep breath, you grunt while lugging your large suitcase and duffel up the short set of stairs, banging on the door somewhat gracefully with your elbow. Almost immediately, as if you’d been waited upon, the door unlatches and an older, thinner woman appears. Her skin is somewhere between tan and gold, wrinkle lines around her eyes and mouth. The hair atop her head is swirled into an artful bun, small wisps of white-gray hair escaping the masterpiece.

“Just on time,” her voice is sweet, slow, and welcoming, stepping aside and waving you in.

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No Strings (X)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jimin

Rating: NC-17 (explicit sex)

Word Count: 5,524

Summary: It started off as such a simple question. How to know if you’re bad in bed? Of course when you asked, you didn’t imagine Jimin would actually answer.

Originally posted by tanktoptiger

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let’s hurt tonight

hello, this was loosely based on a request that i will put below, that scene is in here but it’s definitely not the main focus of the one shot, hope you like it!!

anonymous: hiii i was wondering if you could do something where harry is eating you out but your work calls and you have to answer while he keeps going down on you???

Heels in one hand, purse and phone in the other, you skipped down the stairs to where Harry was waiting, hands in his pockets.


He turned at the sound of your bare feet padding on the hardwood and a grin stretched across his face when his eyes landed on you. You still weren’t used to that look; his eyes flaming with desire as they made their way across your body. You would never admit aloud what that look did to you, but you were sure Harry knew anyway.


His eyes slowly made their way back up to yours, but darted traitorously to your mouth, “I like your lipstick.” Was all he said as he admired the redness of your mouth as it stretched into it’s own grin.

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Patch Up l Peter Parker

Summary: After an encounter with a bad guy, Peter needs a patch up. He goes to the one person who he knows can help him ;)

Warning: Some spoilers

Pairing: Peter Parker (Spiderman) x reader

Type: Sequel to Liz’s Party 

MASTERLIST

A/N: If you guys want to be tagged in these, please don’t hesitate to message me about it. I have already had a few people ask if they can be tagged so I will be adding their names at the end. ENJOY!

Part One Here / Part Three Here / Part Four Here / Part Five Here / Part Six Here


Originally posted by marvel-is-ruining-my-life

A large blast erupted from the horizon, Peter swinging in the neighborhood to check it out. He reached a field and extended his hand out, shooting a web. It didn’t go very far. So instead, he took off running through the golf course.

“This sucks!”

Once he reached the abandoned area, another blue blast was shot from a large gun. “Now this is crafted from a reclaimed sub-ultron arm straight from Sokovia,” the seller announcer. “Here. You try,” he handed the large gun to his buyer.

“Man, I wanted something low-key. Why are you trying to up sell me, man?”

“Okay. Okay. Okay. I got what you need,” the man turned and placed the gun back in his white van. Peter crawled behind a post, sticking his head out to listen to their conversation.

“Look, times are changing and we are the only ones selling these high tech weapons,” another dude said to the buyer.

“Wow,” Peter whispered. “This must be where the ATM robbers got their stuff.” Peter said, referring to the incident that happened a few days ago.

“I just need something to stick up somebody. I am not trying to shoot them back in time,” the buyer said. 

“I got grab climbers,” the man near the van said. This interested the buyer and he neared the van. Suddenly, Peter’s phone rang and he scurried to answer it. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

Peter looked at the screen, it was Y/N. The sellers drew their guns and pointed it towards the buyer. “You set us up?”

“Hey. Take it easy man,” the buyer said, holding his hands up. Peter hit decline on his phone and jumped down from his hiding place.

“Hey! Hey! Come on! If you are gonna shoot somebody, shoot me,” Peter said.

“Alright,” the seller said, turning to aim his gun at Peter. He webbed his gun and pulled it from his reached. He raced over to them and the man grabbed a weapon from the van, attaching it to his forearms. He spun around and punched Peter in the abdomen with it, sending him flying back into the concrete pillar. Peter fell to the ground and groaned.

The men laughed and gathered their things quickly before riding away in their van. “What was that,” Peter asked. He webbed the car door and it began to drag him along the road.

They took a sharp turn and Peter crashed into some trash bins. “We gotta call him,” one of the men insisted.

“Hang on. Hang on,” the other one said, grabbing a gun. He shot at Peter but he dodged the blast, his body flopping around on the pavement.

“Did you get him?”

“Shut up!”

“I’m calling him.”

“OW! MY BUTT,” Peter yelled as he held onto his web as tightly as he could. The driver purposely kept swerving the car in hopes to lose the Spiderman. He drove to the left and Peter crashed into a car. He drove to the right and Peter slammed into some more trash cans. He drove to the left and Peter broke through a brick pillar. Peter let go.

He quickly stood up and webbed the car door again but it just came off. The car drove away. He threw his hands up in defeat.

“Great!” He ran through the neighborhood, jumping over a fence and running to the owner’s backyard. “Hey, hey buddy,” he said as a dog jumped up onto him. “Sorry, I can’t play right now.” He threw the dog a ball and continued running. 

He was finally swinging through the trees but he misplaced his web onto a tree house and brought it crashing to the ground. He fell into a green house and crashed through a fence. He jumped through a bush and swung into a pool accidentally. 

He got tangled in party lights and landed in the neighbor’s yard, in front of a small camping tent. He groaned and sat up, looking at the two little girls who resided inside the tent.

“Oh. Hey guys.” The girls screamed and Peter scurried away. He ran onto the roof of a house. “Almost got them,” he could see the white van as he jumped onto another house. “Thought you could get away from me, could ya?”

He panted heavily and jumped onto another house, pushing his feet off of it and aiming for the van. Before he could land on the van, he was yanked into the air. He yelled in protest the higher and higher he got.

“What the hell?” He looked up into the monster’s glowing green eyes. Peter was suddenly thousands of feet in the air when he was pulled from the monster’s grip. He collapsed back into his deployed parachute and was tangled in it as he fell from the sky. Peter yelled as he plummeted from the sky. The last he remembered was landed in a lake, his body jointing like it was hit by a ton of bricks.


Y/N had gone home after the party and changed into her pajamas. She quickly pulled out her textbook before turning to a certain page and reading her assignment for the weekend. A loud thump came from her window and when she turned her head, she gasped and scurried out of her chair.

Y/N opened the window and pulled the limp body of Spiderman through it. He fell onto the floor and groaned in response. “Oh my god. What happened?”

“I-I…fell…bad guy…Iron Man…water,” he panted. 

“Okay. Okay. Okay,” she laced her arm under his and helped him to his feet. “Come and lay down.” He collapsed onto her bed and held his side in pain. “Stay here,” she ordered.

Y/N ran out of her room as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake up her parents. She grabbed the first aid kit and an ice pack before making her way back to her room.

“You’ll have to take off your suit,” she said, closing the door behind her. Peter touched the emblem of his shirt and it deflated off his body. Y/N helped him pull it off the top half of his body. She pushed him to sit up against the headboard of her bed. “Tell me where it hurts.”

“My abdomen,” he grunted. Y/N nodded and shakily moved her hand to touch his ribs. He winced in pain and she apologized immediately after retracting her hand. “I-It’s fine.”

She moved to examine him again, gently touching his skin and sending sparks all throughout the boy’s body. She glanced up into the Spiderman’s mechanical eyes but then turned her attention back to his stomach. 

Peter couldn’t help but gaze at her sleeping attire, a tank top and shorts. Her hair was wavy, falling gracefully over her shoulders. However, through all this staring, she could feel his gaze on her.

“Eyes up here, Spider-boy,” she said, not taking her eyes off his bruised stomach.

“Y-Yeah, yeah. Right. Okay,” he cleared his throat and turned his gaze back up to her face. She sighed in defeat and motioned to his abdomen.

“You’ve broken four ribs,” Y/N said in horror. He grunted and tried to sit up but Y/N gently pushed him back down. “Lie still.” She reached over and grabbed and ice pack off of her night stand. She gently pressed the ice against his bare abdomen, Spiderman wincing slightly at the coolness of it.

“Thank you,” he grunted out, adjusting to the cold. She smiled at him before silence overtook them.

“So you and Peter Parker really are good friends?” Y/N asked out of curiosity.

“Yeah, h-he uh, works over with Stark,” Y/N nodded her head and went back to wrapping a gauze around his abdomen. “He talks about you a lot,” Y/n smiled in response.

“I know. You told me.”

“He likes you. You know that right?” Y/N smiled in response. “I’m serious! I mean…he really likes you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the boy was in love with you.” Y/N halted her actions. For Peter, this was easy to say because she didn’t know it was really him. Had he not had his mask on, he probably wouldn’t have been able to say those words.

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Y/N turned to hid her blush. “W-What about y-you? D-Do you love him back?”

Y/N looked up at him with a curious grin on her face. “What’s it to you?”

“I-I-I was just wondering,” Peter said, shaking his head.

“And why should I tell you? So you can go and blurt it out in front of Peter?”

“I wouldn’t tell him. Not if you don’t want me to,” Spiderman insisted.

“I’d rather not take any chances,” she said, pining the gauze in place. “I’ll keep quiet if that’s alright.” Spiderman shook his head.

“No, its fine. I get it.” Y/N cleared her throat and stood to her feet after she was done. “Well, thanks again.”

Peter stood to his feet and pulled his suit back over his body, Y/N taking one last glance at his well defined body. He pressed the emblem on his suit and it tightened to fit his body perfectly.

Y/N escorted Peter over to the window and opened it for him. The two stare at each other for what seemed like eternity. Peter gently pulled to end of his mask over his face, just past his nose and leaned in close to Y/N face.

“I owe you,” he whispered before placing a kiss on Y/N’s cheek. His lips lingered for just a few seconds before he pulled away. Y/N looked down, hiding the blush evident on her face. 

“Well, just be careful next time and don’t–”

“I’ll be fine. I promise.” Y/N threw his a small smile. “Thanks for the patch up.”

“You’re welcome, Spiderman.” He winked at her before climbing out of her window and swinging off into the distance. “Please be careful.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

TAG LIST:

@miraisnotavailable @johnmurphys-sass @lovingrevolution @francezka10 @littlevelvethearts @imhereforthewaffles @robberytom @harrysbbby @dcnerd98 @ivy-rxse-posts @johnsonxstilinski @untitled4666 

Tag list is always open!

Jake Peralta: Stepdad!AU

So this was going to be an actual fic, but, alas, any sort of narrative wouldn’t come, so instead allow me to offer a series of (not at all canon-timeline compliant) headcanons about Amy Santiago’s tiny daughter taking Jake in as part of the family:

  • When Amy starts at the Nine-Nine, she is Very Adamant that Jake will never meet Maya, largely because a) He’s the worst, and b) Maya doesn’t need to see her mother curse out a fellow employee, but mostly c) He’s The Worst.
  • Except she only lasts twelve days, at which point Captain McGinley calls her in on her day off because he’s finally realized that his new detective has started and he wants to meet her, even though they have met four (4) times and he’s assigned two cases to her and Jake
    • It’s supposed to be a short meeting and she promises a very teary-eyed Maya that she’ll be real quick, but she needs to go in without Maya because McGinley looks like he might yell for some reason, Amy can just tell, and Sarge isn’t here and Amy barely knows anyone else and Jake offers, basically
    • Maya is just v. v. teary when Amy blows her a quick kiss before entering McGinley’s office
    • The meeting lasts exactly forty-seven minutes
    • Amy expects A Disaster when she gets out, or at the very least a very stressed-out Jake trying to pass her daughter off on someone else
    • But instead Maya is sitting in Jake’s lap with two of his superhero figurines gripped between her sweaty little hands, patiently telling a story while Jake writes on a piece of paper next to her
    • “And then there’s a dragon,” Maya says breathlessly, and Jake nods along patiently
    • “Fire-breathing or bearded?” he offers, and Maya really considers it for a moment before deciding on bearded. “Got it, I’ve jotted that down.”
    • “I thought no one was allowed to touch your dolls?” Amy asks when she gets to them, and she’s a little stressed out about this whole situation because Jake is suddenly, like, a kind person? Who’s been watching her daughter for forty-seven minutes and counting?
    • “Uh, obviously this is Red Metal Man and Mr. Star, okay.”
    • It’s not. It’s Iron Man and Captain America, and Amy can tell because she’s not totally out of the loop of the cultural zeitgeit, okay, and she sometimes pays attention to movie posters and has very definitely seen at least two of the superhero movies
    • “Plus I believe I said no Santiagos, and that was back before I knew there was a cool Santiago in the clan.”
    • Maya, meanwhile, has grabbed a pen off of Jake’s desk and is now leaning precariously over said desk and drawing on some of the large blank spaces Jake had left on the paper
    • And Amy realizes that Jake was writing down Maya’s story but made sure there was room so she could draw
    • Jake grins at her sheepishly, braces Maya with one hand on her back to make sure she doesn’t slip, and says, “It’s her vision, and she’s, like, a really good storyteller.”
    • Amy swoons, but in a low-key, subtle way. Probably.
    • Anyway, but Jake is also The Worst, so it doesn’t matter

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She’s Just Not That Into You » Part III (A Harry Styles Miniseries)

Miss the previous parts? Part One » Part Two

As always, this miniseries is dedicated to @stylesunchained. Thank you so much for reading the first two parts!  I hope part three is just as enjoyable for you all.

Let me know what you think! Happy reading.

Originally posted by glamour-divine

Although Harry had been disappointed to not receive your personal phone number, he still called “Megan” the next day to set up an appointment to see you. The earliest you can see him for a consulting appointment is in two weeks, and when Megan breaks the news to him, he nearly chokes on his morning tea.

Two weeks?

There wasn’t a logical way to see you sooner. There wasn’t a way to spin it in order for him to pop into your shop, especially considering he still had to sign the final papers to make the house his. How could he explain to you that he hadn’t quite sealed the deal yet, so you’d be decorating a completely hypothetical space? He’d already felt like an idiot in front of you, getting caught snooping around your bookshelves, and he wasn’t too keen on feeling like that around you anytime soon.

So, he waits.

He busies himself with packing up the items he knew he wouldn’t need: small, decorative sculptures, a majority of his books, the picture frames that littered nearly every spare surface of his home, his summer clothing that he knew would be completely unnecessary for at least five more months. Once he gets news that the final papers are ready to sign and the house is his, he cleans every nook and cranny of his current house, figuring it might as well be good to spruce it up for the new owners. He meets old friends for lunch, he takes his mother out for dinner, and he begs his sister to come over for a movie night.

And, of course, he reads. He reads the book you spoke so highly of, immersing himself within the worlds of each character, wondering which one you connected with most. Did you cry at the same parts he did? Did you have the same pit in your stomach that he experienced whenever the subject matter turned particularly dark? He needed to know what happened next, reading late into the night, promising himself he would go to bed after he finished the page he was on, but knowing he wouldn’t stop until he could no longer open his eyes.

The two weeks pass, but they feel more like a month and a half than they do a fortnight.

When the day of the meeting comes around, he peeks into the storefront, smiling at your name on the door. He meanders around your shop after checking in with Megan. She nods when he states his presence - a meek little thing with big brown eyes and a nervous giggle - and notifies you that “Mr. Styles is here,” via the bulky black telephone on her desk. He can feel the girl’s eyes on him as he walks around, recognizing some of the pieces from your website.

“Hi!” your voice echoes from behind him, your heels clicking against the concrete floor.

Harry turns around, fully expecting a normal salutation to escape his lips, but instead, his voice catches in his throat. You’re wholly professional, the version of yourself he saw in the magazine shoots. Cropped black pants with pointed-toe heels, a blazer rolled up to your elbows.

You look like you run the place - which, of course you do.

“How are you?” you ask before kissing his cheek and bringing him in for a hug.

That’s a bit better, he thinks to himself, remembering how previously, you’d greeted Nick more lovingly than you had Harry.

“Good, good,” he takes a step back from you, hoping your perfume had transferred onto him so he could smell you on him later - so he could pretend that reality wasn’t against him and that your scent was stuck to him for reasons other than a professional greeting. “Yourself?”

“Excited!” you clap your hands together. “Before we go back, let’s walk around a bit so you can get a sense of where I’m coming from, design-wise.”

He nods, pretending not to have already extensively researched “where you’re coming from,” and follows you until you stop in front of the mock room setups, pointing out some of your favorite pieces.

“Marble is really in,” you explain, tapping a stone coffee table. “But I try not to overdo it. If you like the look of marble - if you like this exact table, even - this would be the only marble piece I’d choose for whatever room.”

Taking his chin between his thumb and forefinger, Harry nods, inspecting the table and picturing it in his new living room. He likes it. Come to think of it, he liked everything. And it wasn’t just to appease you - there was no reason to like a chair just because you liked it - but he could envision nearly every piece in his new home.

“Just got these lamps in,” you turn one on. “I’m obsessed with them. Might snag them for myself,” you smile, clicking the remaining lamp on.

“How often does that ‘appen?” Harry smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“More often than it should,” you laugh. “I’m on this kick of deep greens, navy blue, and gold. Realize it’s not everyone’s cuppa tea, but if you see anything you like, there will almost always be different colors available,” you fluff a throw pillow, adjusting its position next to another.

Harry nods, imagining what his new place would look like decorated with a darker color scheme. He’d never been one for bold rooms - white was his go-to, with him being more concerned about how comfortable the furniture was instead of the color of the walls. You’d done Nick’s living room in bold, dark colors, and Harry loved it. It was his home, he’d told Harry. It wasn’t just a place he stayed and passed the time until he found somewhere else to live. It somehow felt right, even in the summertime, which Harry had initially worried about after seeing it for the first time. The home had Nick Grimshaw written all over it, and Harry was envious of how easily his best friend’s personality was packaged within every room.

He’d wanted that for himself, and you would be the one to give that to him.

He relishes in watching you work the room. You’re completely in your element, answering a couple of questions from Megan when the girl timidly approaches, letting her know that she was free to take lunch just as soon as your meeting with Harry wrapped up. You thank a middle-aged man for his order when he stops in to retrieve a rug, running to hold the door open for him as he heaves the rolled-up carpet over his shoulder. You make a joke with him as he leaves, winking at him with a smile and a wave of your hand.

Were you always this beautiful, or had Harry neglected to see how effortless your charm was?

No, that couldn’t have been the case. He’d noticed right from the second he laid eyes on you that you were something special; something different.

You lead him to the back of the expansive store, asking him questions about his current living space, wondering what pieces of furniture he wanted to keep and which he wanted to ditch.

“Oh my gosh!” you stop abruptly in the doorway to your office, clutching Harry’s shoulder as your eyes widen. “I didn’t even ask you if you wanted anything to drink! Water, coffee, tea?” you shuffle to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room, opening it and then closing it again. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I jump the gun sometimes. Get excited over the idea of a new space to transform and all that,” you laugh, rolling your eyes at yourself.

“Water would be great, thanks,” Harry smiles. He tries not to touch a hand to where you’d touched his shoulder, but he was worried you’d burned a hole through his shirt, what with how hot the area felt to him now.

He notices the familiar smell when he walks into your office, nodding his head when he sees that you’ve got yet another Diptyque candle burning on top of a filing cabinet - he can tell it’s pomegranate without even reading the label. He inspects the decor, loving the juxtaposition of clean lines set against rustic elements which make the room feel comforting and clean.

You pull out a chair with brightly colored fabric across the cushions, offering it to Harry before placing a bottle of water in front of him and walking to the opposite side of your desk.

“Okay,” you wake your computer up, scooting your chair closer to the screen. “I normally take clients through my portfolio so they can see the spaces I’ve completed, before and after I’ve gotten my hands on them.” You adjust the large monitor so Harry can view the screen as well. “Does that sound alright?”

“Of course,” he rubs his hands on his knees. “Whatever you normally do.”

You click on a file, asking Harry if he could see the screen properly. You show him your bigger projects - cafes and restaurants, along with office buildings - as well as clients who had hired you to renovate their houses. You mention how you tend to be inspired by patterns and colors, along with custom fabric you use to reupholster vintage, antique furniture.

“Do you reupholster them yourself?” he asks.

“The smaller pieces, yeah,” you nod, taking a sip from the cup of tea in front of you. “Like that chair you’re sitting on. I usually spend my free time refurbishing the pieces I find. I’ve done chairs, side tables, desks - all that,” you go on, clicking open a picture of one of your completed pieces. “Stopped doing the big stuff when my schedule got busier. Now, I work with a father-and-son team and they do the couches and loveseats,” you click again, a picture of you and two men sitting on a couch in what seems to be a workshop. “There we are,” you chuckle, quickly moving on to the next picture.

Harry knows that he can’t ask you to go back - what would you think of him if he’d insisted upon you showing him the picture again, just so he could see the way your legs crossed one over the other at the knee; how you smiled so easily, your eyes bright and your arms wrapped around the shoulders of both men. You were happy - genuinely happy - and it was a look you wore well.

“So which pieces from your current place do you want to keep?” you ask, meeting Harry’s eyes when he looks up from his lap. “If any…”

“Thinkin’ maybe,” he pulls at his bottom lip. “I’d wanna start fresh? To keep consistent?”

“Perfect,” you nod, minimizing your portfolio and bringing up a calendar. “Okay then,” you begin, moving the monitor back to its original position. “I’ll need to see your new place before I do any work-ups for you. Is there a time this week I can come and see the space?”

Harry’s heart jumps at the thought, even though your intent is purely professional.

You’d said the words, though.

You wanted to come over to his house. To his place. To his home.

“All I ‘ave is time,” he smiles. “So whatever works for you.”

Two days later, Harry finds himself waiting for you at his new property, the wintery London rain keeping him indoors as he paces back and forth in front of the large window overlooking the drive. It was just like London to rain on such a day - a day that should’ve been filled with bright sun to match the occasion - but he was used to the drizzle, no matter how much he didn’t agree with it.

His phone rings, the vibration in his back pocket causing him to jump. An unknown number flashes on the screen, and when he picks up, he’s surprised to hear your voice on the other line.

“So sorry, Harry!” your plea causes him to smile. You sound different on the phone - your voice is less smooth, but he lets the sound of it was over him, regardless. “I promise I haven’t stood you up! My shoot on the other end of town ran long, but I swear ‘m on my way! The GPS says ten minutes.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles. “I’ll be here. Drive safe, alright?”

You say you will and apologize again before hanging up. He grins as he looks out the window, biting his lower lip and furthering the dimples in his cheeks.

You’ve got his number saved in your phone.

He’s got your number now.

Whether it was your business phone or your personal phone didn’t matter. He had a direct line to you, and you to him. Knowing that he’d most likely never use it for reasons other than strictly professional, he felt nearly giddy as he saved your number, creating a new contact for you.

When you arrive, he’s surprised to see that it’s in a van with your logo on the side. Why - based on everything he knows about you thus far - is that the thing to make him hard? And why does his stomach flip so dramatically when he sees you step out of the driver’s seat, dressed in a worn-in flannel and jeans with paint splatters on them? You shuffle quickly over to the passenger’s side, shielding your eyes from the rain. When you emerge into sight again, you’ve got your arms full of materials like folders, tape measures, and a ruler. You laugh as you run up to the front door, shielding your papers beneath your plaid shirt.

How was Harry supposed to make it through the afternoon without a full-on stiffy with you looking like that?

“Hi,” he smiles when he opens the door, the security system beeping throughout the empty house.

“Hi!” you jump into the foyer, trying to catch your breath. “I’m so sorry - I hate being late!”

“Not a problem,” Harry assures you, noticing the pencil tucked behind your ear.

“And I’m sorry for looking suck a mess,” you peel your boots off with one hand, clutching your supplies close to your chest with the other. “Just set up a shoot and didn’t want to be even later in the name of looking presentable.”

Harry looks down at his hoodie and torn jeans, his hair flopping down onto his forehead, “Look more presentable than I do,” he chuckles.

You scoff, placing your boots neatly together, just as Harry did at your flat. He smiles at the unnecessary gesture, appreciative that you didn’t even bother ask whether or not he’d prefer you take your shoes off. Not that he’d have a problem either way - you could traipse mud and leaves all over his new home and he’d thank you for it.

“‘ve got the measurements and whatnot,” he explains as the two of you walk into the kitchen. “The original contractor has the blueprints and sent them over so we’d ‘ave ‘em.”

“Great,” you nod, inspecting the cabinetry from afar. “Think today’ll just be me scoping out the rooms, taking some measurements just to double-check,” you run your hands through your hair after setting down your armful of materials onto the counter. “Not that I don’t trust the contractor’s numbers. I’ve got my own system, though. Years of doing this makes me a creature of habit,” you smirk, flipping open a folder labeled STYLES, H. in bold letters. His heart jumps, thinking that you could’ve been the one to write it. “Wanna help me measure?”

“Of course,” he nods - maybe a bit too eagerly - as you reach for your tape measure and clip it onto the back pocket of your jeans.

The two of you walk through the empty house in your socked feet, Harry remaining quiet until you say something. You inspect each room, writing down how many windows are in each, commenting on where some crown molding will need to be replaced, recommending that the carpet be taken up and replaced with real hardwood to give it a more modern feel.

“Which colors are we thinking so far?” you inquire, unclipping the tape measure. Pulling out the free edge, you hand it to Harry, your fingertips touching his while you cock your head to the other side of the room with a smile. He’s frozen for a moment, willing you to reach out and grace your hand over his once more, but he’s snapped out of it by you walking away from him. He follows your lead, walking to the opposite wall from the one you’re standing against, holding the bulky measure down against the floorboard.

“Like the thought of a dark blue for this room,” he looks around, squatting on one knee when he reaches the wall. “Cozy livin’ room ‘n all that.”

“Good, good,” you grin. “Don’t want you to be swayed by my own likes and dislikes, but I promise you it’ll look good.” You make a quick chart with the ruler you’ve brought on the inside flap of the manila folder, muttering something about always needing to have straight lines, no matter if it was written in on an official document or the inside of a folder. It makes Harry smile, the admission of your quirk. “And if not, we can always change it. Paint is easy to change.”

“Don’t think’ll want t’ change it,” Harry assures, walking slowly backwards with the free end of the tape between his fingertips, crouching down once you’ve met him to measure the width of the room. “Whatever you’ve shown me so far, I’ve loved.”

You peek up through the hair that’s fallen down into your eyes as you scribble more numbers onto the folder, smiling at him in a way he forces himself to remember. His heart pounds in his chest - so much so that he hopes you can’t hear it - and he finds it difficult to swallow the lump that’s housed in his throat.

You work easily together as walk through each room, speaking vaguely about the initial ideas both of you had for the house. You don’t try to sell Harry on one idea or another - you offer a suggestion and if he doesn’t like it, you offer another until he’s comfortable. He feels relaxed, especially once you assure him that nothing is set in stone and that your feelings won’t be hurt if he doesn’t like something you suggest. This is his home, you remind him. It’s all up to him.

“What was the shoot about?” Harry asks as you measure the windows in what will eventually be his bedroom.

“Uneven decorating. Odd numbers look better,” you explain, sniffling slightly. “Always want to have one, three, or five of something, unless it’s like a side table or lamps. But anything on a wall - like framed art or pictures - and table decorations like figurines or candles look best when there’s an odd number of them.”

“You allowed to tell me which publication?” he smirks slyly, leaning up against the wall.

You twist your mouth, trying to conceal a smile. You think on it for a second, tucking your pencil back behind your ear. “Promise not to tell?” you reach out with your pinky, a pseudo-stern look on your face.

“Promise,” Harry links his pinky with yours, trying to conceal his smile by keeping his lips pressed tightly together. How could he say no to a pinky-promise imposed by a gorgeous woman? There were laws against it, he thinks.

“I’m serious!” you scoff, dropping your hand to your side. “I’ll know it was you if you say anything. If you even mention it to anyone - especially Nicholas Grimshaw - I’ll never speak to you again.”

He clears his throat, rubbing his nose twice. He closes his eyes, forcing himself to wear the same stern look you’re sporting. When he opens his eyes, you’re still staring at him intently.

“Swear,” he nods.

“And then you’ve gone and broken a pinky promise, too. Which in my books…” you raise your eyebrows and shake your head with a twitch of your pointer finger in front of you. “It’s HGTV Magazine. From the US.”

“That’s like a major TV channel there, innit?”

“Yeah,” you nod slowly, your eyes widening at the thought. “Now they’ve got magazines. And paint. And furniture. And decor. ‘ve got the market cornered over there. Huge, huge company. Like…massive.”

“And you’ve never been featured in the States, ‘ave you?”

“No,” you nearly whisper.

“That’s a big fuckin’ deal, then!”

“Guess so,” you chuckle, running your hands through your hair. “Thanks for that.”

“Absolutely,” Harry laughs, knocking your shoulder with his knuckles. “Congratulations. It really is a huge deal.”

He knew you were successful, but hearing about how you set up the studio to look like a living room today and would be going back tomorrow in order to get your portrait taken in the room makes him realize just how successful you are. A four-page spread, including an interview on how you’d taken London by storm and your influences would be seen within the American market soon. Their words, not yours, you assured Harry.

As the two of you walk through the rooms on the second floor, he asks how you started within the industry. You explain to him that you went to school to be a financial advisor and specialized in small business accounts. You were a pencil-pusher, you told Harry, and you were stuck in an office all day long. You’d spend your weekends refurbishing antique furniture, finding that you’d had a knack for it. It made you happy - so happy that it was the only thing that got you through the monotony of your work week. Although you loved your clients and always enjoyed the pride that came with their wins, you weren’t especially happy in your job. Something had to change.

After agreeing that all of the light fixtures upstairs would have to be replaced, you went on to talk about how even though you saw how much stress your clients were under running their own businesses, you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to begin your own business.

“Put my life savings into my first shop,” you flick off the hallway bathroom’s light. “I was eating Ramen nearly every night. Went without electricity in my apartment for a week because I didn’t ‘ave enough money to pay for lights at the store and lights at home,” you laugh. “Feels like such a long time ago…”

You started out selling furniture and other decor items. It was tough, but little by little, you made progress. Eventually, one of your regular customers asked if you were interested in working with her as an interior design consultant for her company. It helped get your name out, and soon you were redesigning spaces for people you could’ve never imagined.

Harry admires how smart and brave you are - he can understand how scary it is to go it alone without knowing the results. He was going through it right now. He was in a more privileged position, sure, but he was still unsure of what the future held, and he could appreciate how much courage it took to start over. It made him look at you in a different light - a light that allowed him to see the struggle you’d gone through, working you way from nothing to one of the best in your field. He’d envied the confidence that you sported when it came to your work and wondered if he, himself, would ever feel that.

Once you’re finished taking down all of the information you need, you follow Harry back downstairs.

“Still raining,” you frown, gathering all of your materials. “Does wonders for the hair.” You pretend to flip it over your shoulders. The natural state of it brought out by the weather makes Harry want you all the more.

“Ye’ look great.”

You tut, rolling your eyes a bit, but thank him nonetheless. “So, ‘ve got to take off,” you state, your body language pulling you back to the foyer. “But I really am so excited to get started on the mockups,” you hop a little. “It’s a beautiful space and we can start from scratch, which is when I have most of my fun.”

“‘m excited too,” Harry smiles.

“‘ll have Megan call you when I’m done with the renderings,” you slip your boots back on. “Should take no longer than a week. So count on next Thursday?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “And congratulations again on the magazine - really is a big deal.”

You tilt your head to the side, all of your features softening. “Thank you, Harry,” you smile coyly. You squeeze him a bit as you hug goodbye, the materials in your arms pressed between the two of you creating a barrier that Harry would rather be without. “I had fun today.”

“I did, too.”

He watches you run to your work van, leaping over a particularly large puddle. He laughs to himself as you struggle with your keys before unlocking the driver’s door, diving into the vehicle with a sigh that he can’t see. He watches as you push your mussed-up hair back, noticing him standing in the front window. You wave with a knowing smile before turning on the engine and backing out of the drive.

It’s that smile - that sly smirk - that pushes Harry over the edge that night.

He didn’t want to touch himself, but he’d been rock hard ever since he saw how beautiful your ass looked in your paint-splattered work jeans as you ran to the car. He didn’t want to defile you in his mind as he stroked himself in the shower, water running down his shoulders and back as he faced away from the spray. He didn’t want to moan your name as his balls tightened, the images of you naked and begging for him littering his mind to the point of no return.

But, he did.

He had to.

Nobody would know - it would be his secret - but if he didn’t jack off to the thought of you, he was sure he’d lose his damn mind.

He pictures you sporting the same upturn of your lips from earlier as you ride him, your flannel from that day still on, yet unbuttoned to reveal your breasts as you grind down against him. You know what you do to him, and your smile tells all. He imagines how beautiful you’d sound as he gripped your hips, slowing your movements to nearly a stop while he pushes up into you, groaning at the gasp you give him in return.

He’d never wanted to be inside someone as much as he wanted to be inside you. He wants to feel your breath against his ear, his name across your lips, your fingertips gripping his shoulders. He wants to know what you taste like - sweet, probably, like the candles you burn. He wants to know how warm you are; how wet he can make you by just the touch of his lips to yours. He wants to hear your moan - feel it vibrate down his cock while he’s in your mouth, that gorgeous pout of yours wrapped around the head of him.

He wants it all, but he can’t have it, so his hand will have to do.

A part of him feels guilty when he cums on the shower wall, his splotchy vision and ringing ears indicating that he gave in too quickly. But, fuck. What was a man supposed to do? You’d smelled so good; your stories never bored him; you were becoming a global success and you’d accepted to work with him.

And your ass? In those jeans?

He was done before he ever began, as far as that was concerned.

He walks out of the shower on shaky legs, a white bath towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he takes his head in his hands and grunts.

“Fuck’r you on, Styles?” he asks himself.

He leans back onto the covers, his feet dangling off the edge of his bed that he’ll soon replace with another one, based upon your recommendation. He falls asleep that way - sleeps deeply, too, his hair wet and his towel coming undone after he shifts slightly in his slumber. It’s a deep sleep, one that doesn’t produce a memory of a dream, and Harry is thankful for that.

He doesn’t think he could take another night of dreaming of you.

Not if he wasn’t able to turn those dreams into a reality so that his mind could stop wandering day in and day out…

Not if he wasn’t able to get what he wanted…

Not if, he knows, he wasn’t able to make you his.

Long Lasting Lies [p.p]

Originally posted by dailymcugifs

Title: Long Lasting Lies
Fandom: MCU/Spider-Man
Characters: Peter Parker x female!reader, Ned Leeds, May Parker, Michelle, mentions of Tony Stark,
Warnings: mentions of cheating on a partner, description of mugging, mild swearing
Word Count: 3,343
Requested: No, this is just me having major Peter feels at the moment due to me seeing Spider-Man: Homecoming last weekend
Blurb: You, Peter Parker’s girlfriend, have noticed that Peter has distanced himself, and have caught him lying on multiple occasions. When you confront him after being saved by Spider-Man, you are unaware that his excuse is only another one of his lies.
A/N: I have been super busy with exams, school and other personal things, which is why I’ve been so absent, but I’m hoping to update more frequently now that they’re over but I can’t be sure! Remember, I live in Australia where the school year ends in December so we’re only on winter break at the moment. ALSO I ONLY PROOF-READ THIS ONCE I’M SORRY IT’S LITERALLY 1:33AM DON’T KILL ME

Disclaimer: not my gif

[Y/N] = your first name
[L/N] = your last name 


The first time that Peter Parker lied to you was over the phone. You had just gotten ready for the date you had both planned as a post-midterms celebration when the familiar tune of your ringtone graced your ears. At the sight of Peter’s Caller ID, you had managed to grin before picking up. 

“I’m absolutely starving, Parker.” you greeted, taking a seat on your bed and tucking your left leg under your right. “You better have made reservations at the pizza parlour because you know how busy they can get on Fridays,” you added, and when Peter said nothing, you raised an eyebrow. “Peter?” 

“I’m here,” he assured you since it sounded like he wasn’t present in the conversation at all. “I’m here, sorry,” Peter mumbled his apology before taking a deep breath, one that you could hear even over the phone.

“Are you okay?” you inquired, immediately noticing the edge in his voice. “What’s up?”

“I’m so, so incredibly sorry that I’m doing this to you,” was what Peter chose to lead with. “But I can’t make it tonight.” 

For a moment, you the nervous feeling in your stomach turned into disappointment, but you shook it off quickly, knowing that there was always a good reason for Peter’s cancellations. “That’s okay. What came up?” you asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, don’t worry about it.” something about the way Peter was speaking — perhaps it was the way his usually nonchalant voice seemed strained — made you immediately come to the conclusion that he was lying to you. 

“Peter,” You began slowly, putting a smile on your face, knowing that this would make your voice sound less worried than you truly were. “If there’s something going on, I’m not going to hate you for telling me. I’d really rather know than, well, not know.” you paused, giving Peter a minute.

“It’s nothing, I swear. Just some emergency stuff came up with Ned and I really have to be there for him is all.” Peter lied so smoothly that you almost believed him, but the waver in his voice when he swore he was telling the truth was enough to expose his fibbing.

“Alright,” you allowed yourself to frown. “Well, I hope everything’s okay with Ned. Let me know what happens when you can, okay?”

“Of course, love you!” and with that, Peter hung up the phone. You were sat on your bed for a moment, phone pressed to your cheek before you realised that he was gone. You lowered your phone onto your bed and sighed, glancing around your room, digesting the conversation you had just had with your boyfriend. Things with you and Peter were still relatively new, going on roughly five months, but you had known Peter since the beginning of high school, which was over a year and a half ago. In this time, you had really gotten to know Peter and his quirks, including what he sounded like when he lied.

Deciding that you still deserved some sort of post-midterms treat, you reached for your phone again and dialled Michelle’s phone number as you pulled off your black lace-up heels. 

“Hey, Y/N.” Michelle greeted you, her voice slightly more vibrant than usual. “I thought you were going out with Peter tonight?” 

“I was,” you confirmed, getting to your feet and comfortably pacing your room. “He just cancelled though, so I’m all free! I was wondering if you might accept a stray into your Friday night plans?” you asked hopefully. 

“Well you know how I feel about taking in strays, everyone’s welcome,” Michelle continued your banter. “Actually, Ned and I were just going to get something to eat so why don’t you join us?” This made you frown.

“You’re heading out to eat with Ned? Like, right now?” you questioned slowly, letting it sink in.

“Yeah, we’re on our way out, but we can totally meet up with you! Ned scored us a table at that pizzeria that we all like by promising that we’d be there in at least twenty minutes. Are you up for that?”

You paused. “Yeah, totally.” you agreed. “I’ll meet you guys there. And Ned’s good?” you asked, making sure that you weren’t imagining things.

“He’s pretty jazzed that midterms are over and his deteriorating test-stress has finally been demolished,” Michelle said, and you heard Ned loudly protesting over the phone. “We’re all good. So we’ll see you in twenty?” 

“See you then.” you agreed before bidding Michelle farewell. You hung up and frowned, the idea that you had about Peter lying confirmed. If there was an emergency with Ned, why would he be going out for pizza with Michelle? Suddenly, the combination of your lace camisole top, skinny jeans and leather jacket seemed a little too dressed up just to get pizza with Ned and Michelle. Going on a date with Peter allowed for the camisole and heels, but dinner with friends didn’t seem like it needed as much special effort. 

Frowning, you stripped off the leather jacket and began to rummage through your closet in order to find a replacement for the camisole, choosing a Nasa t-shirt — which you were certain belonged to Peter — and pulled that on instead. You opted for a pair of old sneakers and pulled the jacket back on before grabbing your bag and phone heading out the door to meet your friends.

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Hiraeth | Pt.13

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4 | pt.5 | pt.6 | pt.7 | pt.8 | pt.9 | pt.10 | pt.11 | pt.12 | pt.13 pt.14

Words: 5,388.

Genre: Zombie apocalypse au, angst.

Summary: A world full of dwindling hope and lost loves and yet you and Jungkook are all the other needs to feel at home.

Warning: Contains mature content (such as coarse language, violent themes, and intense subject matter).

A/N: This part was inspired by a scene in the series for The Maze Runner (I can’t say which scene for sake of spoilers but you’ll know).

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His || Jungkook || 0.20

Member: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Teaser | 0.1 | 0.2 | 0.3 | 0.4 | 0.5 | 0.6 | 0.7 | 0.8 | 0.9 | 0.10 | 0.11 | 0.12 | 0.13 | 0.14 | 0.15 | 0.16 | 0.17 | 0.18 | 0.19 | 0.20 |

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Peter Parker - Its Not An Internship

this was not requested but i loved writing it, it is a peter parker x stark! reader imagine!! i hope you enjoy it and there will be a definite part two!!

part 2

requests are open:))

Originally posted by parkrpeters

i smiled as i heard the door chime ring. the usual nerdy boy who usually sported science puns on his clothing walked in. his friend was quick behind him trying to speak quietly but it obviously wasn’t working out for him.

“peter this is amazing, we have to tell everyone” the friend of the brown hair’d boy attempted to whisper but it was loud enough for me to hear. his hands were flailing in the air excitedly while peter just looked annoyed.

“ned shut up!” peter snapped at his friend ned. he looked back at him he sent a glare his way as they both pulled out their books from their bag.

“okay the teacher was making no sense tod-” peters friend began rambling on and on about something but my eyes were focused on him, the way his eyes scanned through the text, the way his smile starts at the far corners of his mouth.

i was starring from the counter pretending to be at the cash register but no one was paying. someone bumped my hip, i looked up to see my co-worker olivia nod her head toward the table. i blushed while grabbing a note pad and a pen.

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Heartache

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 3,099

Summary: A look at the reader through Dean’s eyes, focusing mostly on Dean’s emotions throughout the day and how he reacts to even the simplest of words. This is the raw and vulnerable side of Dean. 

A/N: I haven’t written something like this, I think ever before. It’s heavily focused on Dean (especially since it’s his POV). Even so, the reader is a huge part of it, but once again, through Dean’s perspective on the matter. Hopefully, you love it. I spent a long time on it, trying to really get into Dean’s head. It’s not the light side of Dean, not many jokes or wise cracks – it’s him in his raw emotional state. Also, this would not be possible with @thefangirllifeismine who not only corrected all of my shitty grammar, but stayed an inspiration throughout. Please, send in your feedback. It’s extremely important to me, I’d love to hear what you thought about this, especially since it’s definitely different from what I usually post.

Originally posted by canonspngifs

– – – – 

DEAN’S POV: 

Her lips were moving, but my eyes were stuck on her hair. It was wet, and dripping a river down her shirt. I don’t think a towel ever touched her head.

“Dean?” Her voice was warm, inviting. It always was. She was never harsh with her words. Sam constantly tried to poke at her, just to see what her voice would sound like if she raised it.

“Yeah?” I met my eyes with hers, catching her gaze.

I felt my brother’s eyes on me as well; his brow was raised and a smirk played on his face.

“We were asking if you wanted to go to the bar tonight.” Sam filled me in.

A laugh came up from my throat as I raised the glass of whiskey in my hand. “I’m fine right here.”

Y/N smiled and looked at Sam, “You’re still in, right?”

He nodded and got up from his chair. “I’ll go shower.”

I tipped my glass in response, and took another swig from it.

“Have you been out in the sun?” Y/N asked, suddenly.

I furrowed my brows, “I was working on Baby earlier, why?” Then, proceeded to lift up my shirt and smell it. “Do I smell that bad?”

“No,” She let out a light laugh, “Your freckles are darker.”

“My- my freckles?”

She leaned forward in her seat, her nose a mere foot from mine, “Freckles get darker in the sun.”

“Huh.” I muttered and took another sip of my drink.

“It’s cute, Dean.” She said and the whiskey managed to go down even slower. My lip twitched upwards.

Without waiting for me to respond, she gathered her hair to the side and wiped her now wet hands off on her jeans before jumping out from her seat.

“I’ll go change for the bar. Invite’s still open.” She smiled, turning on her heel.

I watched her leave, shamelessly.

The first time Sam and I met her, it was an accident. Neither of us knew we had been working the same case, so when I approached who I thought was the legitimate FBI agent on the case, Y/N’s face beamed back at me instead. After a few back and forth questions, the three of us discovered none of us were agents, and went to grab drinks instead. It was supposed to be a one time deal.

But, one night turned into two. Eventually, three. In no time, I was helping her bring boxes into the bunker from the trunk of her run down car.

“We can’t let anything happen to her, you know that right?” Sam said to me the night she moved in. The shower water was running loudly, and in that noise, we had a discussion.

“I know.” I replied to my little brother. Worry etched itself into every wrinkle on his face, just like it did on our mother’s. He would never know just how much he looked like her.

“That means relationships, too.” Sam narrowed his eyes at me.

I looked away, forgetting how easily he was able to read me.

He continued speaking, “Everyone we get too close to…”

Sam never did finish his sentence. The shower water shut off abruptly and out bounced Y/N. Her face was flushed and her hair dripped down her bare shoulders.

My thoughts were interrupted as Sam strided into the room.

“You sure you’re not coming?” He asked, cuffing up the sleeves to his shirt.

It was tempting. I knew the bar had better whiskey than the shit that was currently burning its way down my throat. Better yet, the bar had Y/N. Whenever she entered a bar, I could see everyone’s attention land on her. Her warmth radiated through her big eyes and genuine smile. Who wouldn’t be attracted to that?

“Nope,” I shrugged, “Not tonight.”

He nodded his head and walked towards the door, waiting for Y/N to meet him there.

“See you.” Sam shouted, his voice echoed down the hall.

Moments later, Y/N came out from her room. A short navy dress was hugging her skin, but what stole my attention was the jacket draped across her shoulders.

“I hope you don’t mind.” She said, pulling my black jacket around her.

“Looks better on you, anyways.” I said. It was the truth.

“Thanks, Dean.” She smiled at me before opening her small purse, reviewing whatever items lay inside of it. “See you later.”

With that, she was gone.

It may have been another hour before I got up, but when I finally did it was solely because I needed to go to the bathroom.

I stopped at the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, but this time it was different. Usually, I don’t look in the mirror.

Not when I wake up.

Not before I go to sleep.

If I do, I hate it. Plain as that. I never did like the man staring back, and I don’t know if I ever fully will. What changed though was that this time, someone liked what they saw on me.

My fingers reached up to my cheeks, running along the freckles on my skin.

Y/N liked them.

She honest to god, found something of mine that she liked. So, I did too. Immediately, I loved my freckles. I loved that my cheeks and nose were dusted with them, and that the most beautiful woman that I had ever laid eyes on, had found beauty in me, as well.

– – – –

It couldn’t have been earlier than two o’clock in the morning, when I heard familiar footsteps stumble down the bunker’s staircase. I kicked the sheets off of myself and went to see the state they were both in.

“Come on.” Sam mumbled, trying to hold Y/N up, but he was hardly walking himself. “Dean!” Sam shouted, his drunk self wearing a huge smile.

“Oh, it’s Dean!” Y/N exclaimed, a laugh bubbling out from her lips. She gripped the edge of the staircase with both hands, leaning forward as she spoke.

I crossed my arms and raised my brows, watching the two of them stumble through the bunker like baby deer.

“Here-” Sam tossed me a pair of car keys, “We called a cab, the car is still in the bar parking lot.” The keys hit the floor with a loud jingle, his aim completely skewed from the liquor.

Y/N rounded the edge of the table and began to fall towards me.

“Woah, there.” I grabbed her by her arms and steadied her.

“Thanks.” She laughed once more, at nothing in particular.

Behind me, Sam had already found his way to his room. Eventually, I’d have to check on him. For now, I gripped Y/N’s shoulder and guided her to her own bedroom.

“Oh- I forgot!” She looked up at me with wide eyes. “Remind me in the morning.”

I looked at her, waiting for her to explain. When she didn’t, I asked her what she was talking about.

“I have-” she stuck her hand in the pocket of my jacket that she was wearing and pulled out a napkin. A number was scribbled onto it. “His name is Matt. I have a date with him tomorrow night. Remind me, ok?”

I took the napkin from her, fighting the urge to rip it to shreds.

“Okay.” I stated, turning on the lights as she walked over to her bed.

“Promise me.” She kicked off her shoes sloppily. “He’s so nice-” I could tell she was beginning to ramble. Once she’s had enough to drink, she tends to.

“I bet he is.” I cut her off, helping her unzip her dress.

“And Dean-”

“Yeah?”

“He just has the most gorgeous freckles!”

In that moment, I worried that she could actually hear my heart drop into my stomach. I swallowed thickly, and within seconds, she continued on her drunken ramble.

“Goodnight.” I stated, simply from habit.

“Night, Dean!” She dropped onto her bed.

I should have gone back to bed. I should have crawled under the covers and shut my eyes. My feet had other plans, though. Step after step, I was trudged through the halls and into the library where my hand found a bottle of brown and an old glass.

Sam’s words spun through my head. She had to be protected. I thought back to everyone I had ever gotten close to; Charlie, Jo, and Bela were long dead. Just like every other fucking hunter that I had ever met and let into my life.

Sam tried to show me the positives. He brings up names like Jody and Cas – but who knows what will happen to them too?

I took another shot.

Eventually, it got dark.

– – – –

“Hey, sleepy.” Y/N’s hand gripped my shoulder. “Wake up.”

I opened my eyes and everything was sideways. Fuck.

“You fell asleep here, again.” Her soft voice explained my current situation. It was embarrassing. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, looking at the scene before me. A mostly empty bottle, a half drunk glass, and what I think was a little bit of drool, lay on the table.

“What time is it?” I asked, quickly getting up from the chair and brushing past her. She smelled like her shampoo. Always vanilla.

She turned her wrist towards me. Nearly noon, her watch read.

“Thanks.” I muttered and began walking towards the kitchen.

“I should be thanking you.” Her voice called from behind me. Then, her footsteps began to draw nearer. “I couldn’t have been easy to take care of last night. Sam and I, we kind of let loose.”

I grabbed the coffee pot and turned it on. The sound of boiling water dripping down filled the silence.

“No, it was fine.” I replied, then remembered what she asked of me last night. “Except-” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a crumpled napkin. “Matt.”

Her eyes went wide, “Oh god.” She took the napkin from my hands. Her hair fell before her face as she read the number, and she combed it back with one hand.

“I totally forgot. Shit.” She pulled out her cell phone and checked for any notifications. “I’ll just text him.”

I turned from her, unable to watch her any longer, and grabbed a cup for my coffee.

“Want some?” I asked over my shoulder.

“No, thanks.” She said, just as her phone beeped. “He already answered!” She exclaimed.

I kept my eyes glued to the cup in front of me, not daring to see her face light up as she saw his name and not mine.

“Smells good.” My brother’s voice carried into the kitchen. He opened the cabinet and grabbed a cup as well, waiting until I finished pouring my own before taking the pot.

“Feeling good, Sammy?” I threatened a laugh and he rolled his eyes.

“I haven’t been this hungover in ages.” He grabbed a bottle of Advil and returned to the table. “It was worth it though, you should have joined.”

I shrugged and took a sip of my coffee.

“Who are you texting?” Sam directed his question at Y/N, who still stood in the middle of the kitchen.

She looked at him and dangled the napkin in the air, “Remember that guy at the bar last night?”

“The really funny one?” He asked.

She nodded fervently, “Yeah, Matt. I got his number and we’re going to grab dinner tonight.”

Sam glanced at me, before returning his gaze to his breakfast.

“He’s a good guy.” Sam said. I think it was more to me, than Y/N.

“I bet.” I mumbled into my drink.

– – – –

Sam decided to watch a movie tonight.

“Batman?” I questioned. He wasn’t one for the superheroes.

He popped it into the disk slot and dropped onto the couch. Looking at his huge frame swallow up the furniture, I remembered being able to hold him in my arms.

“Last time Y/N picked, it’s your turn.” He said while pressing play.

“Good. Wouldn’t want one of your history documentaries to bore me to death, tonight.” I began to laugh and he rolled his eyes.

“Whatever.” He muttered and grabbed the bowl of popcorn he had prepared.

An hour into the movie, the bunker door swung open. The loud creak it made reminded me to oil it later.

“Y/N?” I called out her name. The heels she was wearing when she left were no longer on. Her bare feet padded against the hardwood floor until she finally reached us.

“How was it?” Sam asked, lowering the volume.

Her lips formed a fine line, “I’m just going to go shower.” She grabbed a fistful of popcorn before disappearing.

I looked at my brother. His brows were raised as he shook his head in confusion.

“I’ll go-” I sat up from the chair, “I’ll go check on her.”

Her door was shut. I raised my fist to knock, but she opened it before I got the chance.

“You walk loudly.” She stated. My lips formed at ‘O’.

“What was that about?” I motioned towards the other room with my thumb.

She shrugged and put her heels away in the closet.

“Sorry about that.” She looked up at me with her big, bold eyes, “I think Matt was a lot nicer when he was drunk.”

I crossed my arms and sat on the edge of her bed. “Huh?”

“Well, we ordered our food and everything was great. I mean finally, a break from hunting.” She explained, and I sighed.

She pulled her bouncy hair out from the pins it was in while she continued, “He was sweet at first, really. But I could tell something changed. Matt wanted more than what I did…”

My arms fell to my sides, “Did you leave?”

“Yeah, but that was only after he asked me four times to go back to his place.” She was on the floor, her legs bent underneath her. She dropped her hands onto the floor from frustration as she spoke.

“What a douchebag.” I stated, no other word was able to form itself. “You don’t deserve that.”

She looked up at me, and a smile formed itself against her cheeks.

“I’m gonna be single forever.” She joked. “I mean, who am I kidding?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

From her spot on the floor, she reached out and gripped my leg with her hand. “Come on, Dean. We’re hunters. Let’s say it did work out with Matt – who’s to say he wouldn’t freak out the second that I brought him down into the bunker or told him that vampires are real!” Her grip tightened as she spoke, “It’s so fucking frustrating sometimes.”

“Dating is the worst.” I agreed with her.

“No.” She ran her hand down my leg and to my ankle, where she removed it.

I furrowed my brows and looked at her, every bit of me confused.

“Then what?”

“Being alone.” Her eyes dropped from mine and my chest suddenly felt heavy. I knew the feeling of being alone, too well. It was heartbreaking, yet familiar at the same time. It was relief, yet yearning.

“You got me.” I blurted out.

She got up from her spot on the floor by my legs, and situated herself on the bed so she sat next to me.

“I know that, Dean. I meant… more.” Y/N’s voice dwindled into a whisper. I turned my head to face her, and in that moment, I couldn’t lie to her.

“Exactly.” I stated, and her eyes first searched my face. They traveled from eye to eye as she thought of what I could possibly mean, until her lips parted.

I didn’t know what to expect. My heart hasn’t raced this fast since for someone else since high school. I either just started the relationship I had been waiting for, or ruined a friendship that was worth more to me than anything else.

I was so focused on her face that I hadn’t realized her hand found mine.

I wanted to keep her hand there, to squeeze it tight. But, Sam’s words found their way back into my head.

“I’m selfish.” I stated simply, standing up from the bed.

“What?”

“I’m being selfish, you deserve better.”

She tilted her head at me, her hair falling with it. “What are you talking about, Dean?”

“Everyone I touch, they-”

“I know what you’re going to say.” Y/N cut me off. “Don’t you dare say it.”

“They leave.”

“You know I’m not going to.” She stood up from the bed and walked up to me, placing her open palms on my chest. “I’m not just somebody.”

“That’s the point!” I exclaimed, voice rising. “You aren’t just somebody! What if something happened to you? I can’t let you get hurt.”

“You’re not my keeper, Dean.”

I laced my fingers around her wrists, holding her palms tightly against my chest. “From the first time you walked through those bunker doors, I wanted no one but you, and you know why I haven’t told you?”

She looked up at me through her lashes.

“I have been torturing myself every day, because I want you safe. I need you safe.”

For a few moments, no one said anything. Y/N just stared up at me with a look I had never seen before.

Then, she stood on her toes, and pressed her lips to mine.

And God, it was everything I thought it would be. She was warm and sweet, like honey. Her hands were squeezing at my waist and I knew right there that I was done for.

My hands traveled up to her neck, grazing every inch of her skin.

“Since the first day?” She teased, speaking slowly against my lips.

I laughed, “Since day one.” I affirmed and she smiled so wide that all I wanted to do was kiss every inch of her bubbly cheeks.

“How about we get dinner tonight, sweetheart.” I asked, hoping she was still hungry after the shit dinner she described with Matt.

“I’d love to.” Y/N’s fingers found mine and she led me out of her room.

Sam was still seated on the couch. His hand was glued to the remote and I could hear the channel being changed every other second. When we passed through, my hand still in hers, he raised his brows and stared at me.

“Woah, wait-” He called out behind us.

“We’ll be back soon!” Y/N called over her shoulder.

A smile remained on my face for the rest of the night, never faltering.

Misguided Texts Part 2 // A Dylan O’Brien Smut

Part One

Relationship: Dylan O’Brien x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Oral (Male on Female), Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Fingering, Public Sexish, and Swearing.

Word Count: 3,311

Song: Earned it by The Weeknd 

A/N: After the overwhelming amount of requests, here you have it y’all! I hope you guys like this, it’s very explicit and detailed much like part one. Also, thank you to @stilinski-jpeg for proofreading this. 

PSA: Here’s the black widow scene playing out in case you’re confused.

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since the hotel room incident and Dylan hasn’t done a single thing about it. My phone has never received another text from him nor did he ever talk about it with me again. The topic was completely avoided when we were together, but I certainly didn’t miss the other signs he was giving me. What with the knowing glances, the winks, the smirks, the lingering touches on my arm that aren’t necessary, the way he stares at my lips whenever I talk to him as he licks his own. I knew exactly what he was doing…

Dylan was fucking teasing me. And the worst part? It’s actually working.

Keep reading

“Paying Guests” (Part 1)

Pairing: Steve x Reader x Bucky

Summary: When a need arises, Steve and Bucky on a whim lie about their sexuality to you. Unbeknownst of their purpose you let them stay with you, in your apartment. But what happens when they start falling for you? And what will be the outcome of their harmless tall tale?

Word Count: 3341

Genre: Pure floof, throughout the series

Warning: none

Author’s Note: enjoy! 

Next Part 

(not my photo*)

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