it takes me a moment to realize how stupid i was

Drarry AU

My brain keeps returning to this idea – what if, in POA (movie universe), Harry never realizes that the crane Malfoy sent him was a note (because I mean, who would)?  Like he just stares at it, confused, then goes “okay” sets it down on his desk and goes back to ignoring Snape

I mean, Draco would be furious because how dare you not appreciate my bullying Potter and the next class they have together, he grabs another piece of paper, writes something along the lines of “You suck Potter”, folds another crane and blows it over – only for it to be left sitting on Harry’s desk again after the lesson, and Harry didn’t even look inside, he didn’t do anything with this damn crane, and Draco is absolutely seething from this lack of attention

So he does it again.  And again.  And again.  

First it’s insults (because of course he hates Potter, they’re archenemies, never mind the actual murderer stalking Harry at this very moment) – “I hope you die Potter” “I wish I met Sirius Black I’d help him” “Your glasses are appalling why do you still have the same ones from first year your prescription can’t possibly be the same you moron” “Eat a bag of dicks Potter” – but a month goes by and he’s running out of things to say and Potter never reads the notes anyway so Draco just starts ranting about everything else he finds annoying


Soon the cranes are just a way of venting – talk about your day, fold a beautiful crane, send it to the person you definitely hate the most.  He still tries to snark and generally antagonize every time he sees Potter, because it’s practically my duty to take the Golden Boy down a peg, Goyle – but he can’t do it the same way anymore, so he takes a step back – in everything except the cranes.  

Every day, every class, and sometimes at breakfast, a crane will land next to Harry Potter’s elbow.  Without fail.  Harry will pick it up, stare at it, and set it back down.  Or maybe slip it into his bag, and Draco’s stomach flips the first time he does that.  

It’s almost like they’re friends.  By now, Draco’s told him things he never even voiced to his friends – that he’s actually terrified of the Dementors, that he keeps feeling like he’s not good enough, because no matter what he tries, there’s always somebody better than him at it – that he still can’t understand why Harry didn’t want to be his friend that time on the train, seriously Potter what did I do?  you didn’t even know me! – and Potter didn’t crumple any of the cranes, so maybe he doesn’t hate him so much anymore?..  Draco knows Potter never reads these notes, but he likes to pretend that Harry knows all these things about him.  And maybe even cares a little.  

It’s stupid, and he really shouldn’t be putting any of such personal details in writing (honestly Lucius would be so disappointed, these cranes are perfect blackmail material and what the hell are you thinking Draco yells Draco’s inner voice) – but he can’t stop.  It’s become a habit, and Potter stared at him for fifteen minutes at lunch today, so he can’t stop.  Draco keeps talking, and making Harry little doodles, and trying not to smile too obviously when another crane ends up in Harry’s pocket.



And meanwhile, Harry’s going nuts.  He just doesn’t understand what Malfoy wants from him, or why he doesn’t run into him so often anymore – and the cranes really seem to be just paper (Ron why does Malfoy know origami is this a general wizard thing or is it just him), and they’re delicate and elegant, and he feels bad about destroying them – so he just leaves them.  

Until, of course, he absentmindedly shoves one in his bag one day – and finds it that evening.  Sighs and sets it on his bedside table, because what else can he do?..  Even if he throws it out, he’ll just get a new one tomorrow.  Or three.  

He’s confused, because Malfoy isn’t even so loud or dramatic anymore, it’s almost as if he’s trying not to attract attention – beyond the cranes – but Harry’s eyes are glued to him anyway.  He knows that Malfoy has to be up to something, because of course he is – but he just can’t tell what, there’s no way to know, and holy shit Ron he just smiled at me what the hell is he planning – and all this time, the pile of cranes on his bedside table keeps growing

He doesn’t lie awake at night, thinking of Malfoy’s smile.  He doesn’t.  Really.  

The next day, when he gets his morning crane, he flashes Malfoy a brilliant smile, and laughs at his stunned expression like ha, two can play at this game!  Gotcha now!  and he’s still thinking that Malfoy’s messing with his mind – except he can’t help but think that it would be nice if Draco was really like that.  If he really just sent the cranes over to brighten Harry’s day.  If there wasn’t something else behind this, because he’s starting to like it.  


All this goes on until Hermione barges into their dormitory again, in the ungodly hours of the morning, like she usually does – and stops dead, staring at the pile of cranes, Ron may have been complaining but she never imagined the true extent of this new, yet age-old obsession.  And of course, Harry tries to protest, that it’s all for science, Hermione, I have to find out what he’s up to and this is the only source of information – but the excuses run dry when she quizzes him a bit and finds out that none of the cranes are cursed, or charmed to yell insults, or anything, really 

So she’s like “well have you tried to unfold one” and no he didn’t, who the heck writes notes inside a crane anyway, isn’t it an artwork??  But hey, that’s an idea, and that night the trio gets together, sitting on Harry’s bed with the crane he just got in Charms, bated breath and all, waiting for it to unleash something nasty (Harry finds himself really really hoping it won’t) 

All kinds of security measures done, and they unfold it 

Hermione’s like “oh.  Oohh,” and Ron’s eyebrows fly away to roam the world

Because inside

there’s a shitty little drawing of Harry and Draco holding hands, with little hearts all around 

4

I’ve been thinking about this game. Personally to me it represents a lot of lost potential - it’s a great concept but it’s brought down by a less than stellar execution. The cartoon designs look more like stickers than anything, just barely resembling a stereotype of a stereotype of the 1920′s-30′s cartoon style. While I don’t like complaining about people’s choices in design and art, I guess the theme is one that I’m rather passionate about, and a little bit of research from the developers would bring the game to a much greater level of quality than it is at the moment. The monsters in the game are also just unimaginably lame, and to me represent just plain blowing off the original idea in favor of more “serious” horror.

(Continued under a readmore because I say a lot; tl;dr I talk more about where the game went wrong in my opinion and how I would recommend changing it.)

Keep reading

OK so since @tom-hiddleston-god-of-mischief and other people showed interest, I bumped up my schedule and so…

Here is my ‘Craig is totally gay and was in love with the MC in college’ post!

So, first off- this is Craig Cahn and the thing that made me first think that he was gay instead of bi. (And fyi I am a Bi myself, so this is more headcanoning and exploring character and not trying to stomp on other headcanons, jsyk.)

Yeah the very first time we met. But look- divorces do happen, and do happen in a chill manner. But… let us note a couple things. One, the divorce literally only happened ‘last year’. Which could mean anywhere from (assuming this is the spring due to college letters and school timetables) 12+ to only 3-ish months ago depending on what counts as ‘last year’.

You only get a SECOND of him being uncomfortable while breaking the news before he is on even ground and is like ‘yeah it’s old news and everything is in perfect order now’. AND THE DIVORCE HAPPENED EITHER WHILE SMASHLEY WAS PREGNANT OR JUST HAD RIVER. Now, this could be a him lying, except… it’s never really brought up again as a thing? Like, we deal with Mat’s feelings for his dead wife, Joseph’s failing marriage, and etc but despite how recent it was we are lead to believe their divorce was perfectly amicable despite the timing.  (Now placing a cut here because this gets long and has more pics.)

Keep reading

Peanut Butter Cookies

*throws allergic!Lance at you and runs away*

Summary: When Pidge’s birthday rolls around, Allura remembers her offhand comment about liking peanut butter. Little did she know that Lance is actually very, very allergic. (angst and fluff, and a bit of established klance because I have no self control and I ship it leave me alone)

I hardly ever post anything because I have no confidence ha so if you like it, let me know! This is very short compared to lots of other stuff I’ve written.

@taylor-tut I don’t think this is that good or even if it counts as langst/whump but I’ll tag you anyway and @voltronpaella thanks for actually getting me to post this my dude


When Allura called the Paladins into the kitchen, Lance expected some sort of emergency.

Why they’d be meeting in the kitchen, he had no idea, but he slid out of bed regardless. After removing his face mask he padded out into the hall, slightly resentful that he didn’t have time to straighten his hair.

Lance nearly bumped into Hunk in the hallway, who was also still in pajamas. The two were the last to arrive in the kitchen. He surveyed the others and found Shiro in full armor, Keith with an activated bayard, and Pidge rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with a laptop tucked under her arm.

“Princess, we’ve talked about this,” Lance grumbled. “You have got to stop interrupting my beauty sleep.”

Keep reading

Some hilarious writing prompts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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65.Are we gonna hold hands, or what?

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

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67.A: I love you.

B: What if I got a bowl cut?

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

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

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70.My opinion is no.

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

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

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

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

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

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76.Read a girl who dates books.

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

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

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

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

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

/PART TWO/


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

Sleepovers and Confessions (Peter Parker x reader)

Originally posted by sexy-stan

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Summary: You come over for a fun night with your best friend Peter. Only to end up spilling all the details on your crush on Peter to Aunt May, and maybe even Peter.

Warning: slight language

Requested: @summersimpkins-blog

Hope you enjoy this!! It was what you requested but I got a little writer happy with this haha, hope you still like it! Send me requests, I’ll write about your fav marvel character, etc.:)

_______________________________________________________________

“Shhh, May! Keep your voice down!” You quickly brought your forefinger up to your pursed lips, eyes wide as you sat down next to Aunt May.

She smiled widely at your sudden confession, excitement poured from her she began to squeal, almost jumping up and down, “Okay, okay! I’m sorry, I’m just- it’s just so exciting!” she belted out, both of her arms outstretched in your direction, signalling a hug. Leaning into her small frame, you squeezed her tightly. Letting go of one another, you smiled widely at her once again in a span of thirty seconds, nervousness and the pace of your heart rate caused the giddiness in your entire body.

You sighed tucking back a piece of hair behind your ear, “I just don’t know what to do. We’re just such good friends, best friends, you know that-” you interjected a different thought into the subject, looking to face her. She rapidly shook her head in an understanding manner, stopping to let you finish.

“It’s just, we’ve been friends for close to eight years. I just don’t want to ruin anything. And don’t even get me started on the whole Liz situation. That’s why I’ve been so distant from him these past few weeks,” you heavily exhaled, defeat instantly creeping up on you as the name Liz rolled off your tongue. It just put a bad taste in your mouth.

May smiled weakly at you, with a slight spark in her eyes, which you couldn’t help but find curious, “Y/N, don’t worry about Liz right now! You’ve known me and Peter basically your entire life. Trust me, I think once you tell him, he’ll feel-”

“How will who feel?”

Your mouth instantly intakes a sharp breath at the sweet sound of Peter’s voice, interrupting your entire conversation about… well, him. May’s eyes widen at the new position of her nephew, from the bathroom to the living room, which was quite inconvenient at this moment in time.

“Oh!” May interjects. You can instinctively realize she’s analyzing a plan in her mind, “Me and Y/N were just talking about… how my boss will feel if I’m late again for the night shift!” she says with a tense voice. You looked at her with thankful eyes, blessing her for saving your ass in yet another tight situation with Peter.

Peter looked skeptical at her sudden tactic. His bright brown eyes narrowed in both of you directions, eyebrows playfully scrunching, “Ohh-kay?” he questioned slightly. You looked over at him, a weak, but hopefully believable smile painted across your lips as May got up to leave for her ‘night shift’.  She said her goodbyes to both of you, winking at you before exiting the apartment.

Peter watched her leave, waving to her sweetly before turning towards you, his pink lips curled into a bright smile, eyebrows raised, “You ready to watch Return of the Jedi?”

You smiled at his excitement, the butterflies beginning to erupt in the pit of your stomach at his smile, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

__

Halfway through the movie, you began to notice you couldn’t keep your eyes on the film. Your Y/E/C eyes slowly began to daze over to Peter sitting next to you. His soft, lightly curled brown hair was left loose today, going perfectly with his blue sweater and matching new balances. Your gaze flew up to his narrowed, sparkling brown eyes paired with furrowed eyebrows, focused intently on the movie.

God, those eyes make you go insane. And those thin pink lips you yearned to forever be placed on yours. Why couldn’t you just admit to him how you’ve felt for him all these years. Why couldn’t you just say, “Peter, I-”

“Y/N?”

The soft voice snapped you out of your deep thoughts, “Yeah?” you questioned, breath heavy as your head whipped in the direction towards him.

His eyes scanned your face completely, wondering if you were okay, due to the fact you had been in outer space, dreaming of him for a very long time, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine Peter. I’m just tired-”

“Cut the crap Y/N.”

Your heart instantly picked up at the new and unfamiliar sound of his voice. Your eyebrows scrunched together, your eyes wide yet peeled in his direction, curiosity running through your veins. He never sounded like that. He sounded almost, hurt? Guilty? You couldn’t quite detect it, “What are you talking about?”

He scooted closer to you, putting one arms behind the back of the couch and one by his side, mere inches from yours. You snapped your head down to your close proximity. Sure, you’ve sat much closer than this before, but right now, it felt strange. Almost as if you were unsure of what to say to him.

“The past couple of weeks you’ve been acting weird. Last week, I was walking with Liz to Calculus and I saw you, but you sprinted off! At lunch two days ago, you and Ned were sitting at the lunch spot and once you saw Liz and I make our way over, you muttered something to Ned before you got up and ran off! Oh, and yesterday Liz walked with me to-”

“That’s the problem, Peter! Don’t you see the recurring issue in every one of your stories!” you cut him off, hopping off the couch in a rush, standing right in front of Peter. Your mind instantly seem to forget how to choose the correct words to say to Peter in this type of situation. It was as if you didn’t know how to hide your feelings anymore. Your mind clouded, not anywhere near stopping.

Your hand flung out by your side, signaling to the outside world before belting out another stupid confession, someone careless seeming to take over, “You were with Liz! You were with her and not me!”

Peter slouched slightly, his eyes beginning to widen at every growing word that rolled off your lips, mouth barely ajar as he seemed to be aware of where this situation was going.

You continued, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes as your stomach did somersaults, and your heart ready to explode, “Don’t you see! You pine after girls like Liz for fucks sake! That’s why I’ve been so distant lately! Me knowing and witnessing  you falling in love with someone like her made me realize I would never have a chance with you, Peter,” your throat closing up at the sudden confession, you eyes widening as he stared intently into your eyes, slowly rising from the couch, stepping right in front of you. His couple steps felt like miles as he made his way towards your downcast figure. Once he approached you, you could lightly feel his breath hitting your nose.

This was it. He was about to tell you the truth, and it wasn’t going to be good. Who would’ve thought a simple sleepover would’ve turned into this?

You could feel the atmosphere in the room quiet and thicken, your eyes still staring deeply into Peter’s. Your eyes glossed over with guilt and disappointment. While his portrayed sneakiness and adventure. It felt like years for either of you to have the courage to speak up and say anything involving the matter. You took matters into your own hands.

“You know what, I took this way too far. I-I’m sorry, I’ll just leave and we can forget all about-” except you were cut off by Peter’s calloused palms quickly yet gently grab your face and bring your lips up to his softly. Your eyes widened in surprise, but you couldn’t of cared less. Your mind once again clouded with nothing but thoughts of Peter. You kissed back, gently pressing your lips back against his, hands wrapping around his neck, to rest in that soft brown hair you yearned to tug on for years.

He pulled away, his lips lingering on yours for a few seconds before slowly opening his eyes to meet yours in a loved daze, “Liz means nothing. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Y/N Y/L/N.”

Your eyes lifted with happiness at his words, heart prepared to explode with happiness and love, pulling him against your slightly shorter frame. His arms instantly wrapped themselves around your waist, causing an ignited feeling you’ve never felt before.

“I knew May was lying,” he said slyly, hugging you tighter as his words echoed in your ear.

You smiled to yourself, rolling your eyes at his cockiness, snuggling into his warm embrace, “Of course.”

anonymous asked:

What if Stiles and Derek's first kiss is post-nogitsune? Would he feel like a thief? Would he mourn the body that Derek never held? Would each brush of fingertips or kiss to his temple be a betrayal? They'd probably talk about the scars too. Derek would understand-- to an extent. But he grew up not without his history on his skin so he'll never understand how it feels to have that ripped away.

Their lips brush and Stiles turns away a second later, breaths shallow, hands twitching against the folds of Derek’s shirt. There’s warm breath on his cheek, the ghost of beard still so close and all Stiles can think is that he wants this. He wants this. And…

It’s wrong.

Those fingers, twitching against Derek’s shirt, smooth and uncalloused. The scar that used to live above his third knuckle just a burn-hot memory in his mind.

Everything still feels off in his body, out of balance, and he remembers the way Derek used to look at him. All tension and frustration in ways he couldn’t start to make sense of. And now Derek’s lips are in reach, a short turn away, and he’s murmuring out “Stiles…?” and all Stiles can think is…

“Do you want me?”

He can feel the stall in Derek’s thoughts like a physical reaction, and he wonders if there was a subtle tell or if… if he’d just felt it, inside, the confusion a flicker of chaos in Derek’s chest. Can he do that? Feel chaos? The Nogitsune drank it in and Stiles…

“Stiles,” Derek breathes again, a quirk of amusement in his tone. Thumbs smooth down his hips and Stiles fights the urge to rise into the contact. “Thought I’d just answered that question.”

And Stiles could leave it at that, asked and answered. Except…

There should be a scar on his hip, long and thin, from a fence he’d scaled once and dropped down five times faster. Derek should be feeling that right now, that piece of Stiles’ history, that stupid ten year old adventure laid out across his skin. But the skin’s smooth. Blank slate.

He shivers, gripping tighter into Derek’s shirt.

“No, I––” He can’t think of how to explain it. The thoughts are a choked feeling in his throat, a twist in his gut. Something like guilt and fear and he doesn’t even know what answer he wants when he leans back enough to find Derek’s eyes and say: “Since when? Did you… I mean, before…”

He’s not sure Derek knows what he means, but there’s a hint of flush under that dark beard suddenly, and Stiles gets a little bit lost in the contrast.

“Last summer.”

“Last––?” It pulls Stiles back, his eyes startling up. That was… most of a year, that was before…

A sick lurch sets him falling back out of Derek’s grip. Too-smooth fingers (uncalloused) slip too easy from Derek’s chest. His sneaker-covered feet might as well be walking over glass and he’s being dramatic except that he’s really not. Because if Derek wanted him last summer…

“That wasn’t me.” It sounds wrong as he says it, stupid, because… he was there that summer. He remembers every moment spent with Derek, researching the Alphas, searching for hints of Boyd and Erica. Charged smirks and snark and quiet moments that felt more comfortable than they should. He remembers the moments before summer too, when the thought of Derek made his heart pound and his body thrum in a way that could have only meant fear, except it hadn’t only been fear. He’d been scared of the Alpha too, and the hunters, and that coil of electric heat only sparked through his gut for Derek. He remembers that, like he remembers the scars that aren’t there anymore, and he can’t help running his too-soft fingertips over the smooth flesh of his knuckle as he breathes out, faint and lost, “…Was that me?”

There’s a too long pause while the question burns back into his throat, buzzing through his limbs like a current until he realizes he’s shaking from them. Was that him? Helping Derek track the Alpha pack? Helping Scott learn to control his wolf? Sitting by his mom’s hospital bed, watching her lose the long war to her illness, pieces of her flaking away like old scars, like a whole identity, like––

A warm hand closes over his, large and gentle, grounding.

“It was you,” Derek says, simply. Like there’s no question, like nothing’s changed. Like Stiles hasn’t changed. 

But that’s wrong. He’s not the same person he was before the Nogitsune, and he’s not talking in the experiences change you, huh kind of way. He’d had scars before. He’d had… a whole life written on his skin. And then he’d crawled out from inside his possessed body’s throat, spawned out like some alien parasite or… clone and––

“My body died, back there.” Four months past, and he still can’t wrap his head around it. That he’d watched himself bitten and impaled, spasm and cracking and shatter to dust.

The scarred body. His real body.

And he was left in… this.

Long fingers uncurl, stretching out slow. Thin, pale digits fitting strangely perfect between Derek’s, and Stiles can only wonder what it would have looked like before.

“…What if I’m not real?” He watches Derek’s fingers twitch, barely perceptible, tightening like they’re fighting to hold onto him. And Derek’s lost enough in his life, too much. It’s a dick move to say this, to take anything else away from him, but… “What if the guy you wanted last summer… what if he died inside the Nogitsune, and I’m just––”

No.”

The sureness of it has Stiles’ throat clenching. He tilts his head, challenging. Finds Derek’s eyes again.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you.”

Which is just… it’s stupid how that makes Stiles’ heart jump. Flutter around like it’s fighting to leap the distance between them and plaster itself all up against Derek’s stupid, muscled, secretly sweet as hell chest.

Which… yeah, that’s nearly a gross enough visual to stomp his fondness boner in the bud. He sets his jaw.

“Did you know I used to have a scar on––”

“Your right hand? Just above the third knuckle, a burn.”

Stiles’ argument stalls out. He blinks, finger shifting to rub over the space, but Derek’s is already there, soothing the phantom mark over his skin.

“I… was eleven.” Because silence has never been safe for him. Because noise distracts from the too-easy pleasure rippling up his arm. “First time I tried cooking dinner for me and dad. Mac and cheese, it… didn’t go great.” He wets his lips. Looks away “Or… the other me did, I don’t––”

You did.” And Derek still sounds so damn sure. Stiles wants to believe him. He parts his lips, can’t. Because––

“Stiles, I’ve never had scars on my skin. I… can’t relate to what it’s like to lose them. But the things that have happened to me… they’re not any less real because I can’t see them. Every bullet, cut, punch I’ve taken…” He might sense the wince forming on Stiles’ face, and shakes his head, shrugging that off like it’s not important. But that’s an argument for another day. “Every scar life gave you… they’re still there. You’re still carrying them, inside you.” He flits his eyes down Stiles’ frame, then away, finger soothing over the ghost burn. “There are plenty no one would have ever seen anyway. But they made you. Who you are, and who you are…” He shakes his head, looks back to meet Stiles’ eyes squarely. “You recognized me when I was a teenager. That’s the same person who recognized me in the preserve.” Stiles feels his face heat because… even knowing Derek’s a werewolf now, he’d never put together that Derek would have heard his fangirl moment to Scott after Derek had walked away.

Before he can speak up, though, Derek’s going on. “You tracked me to Mexico. Faced down the Calaveras to save me. That’s the same person who stared down the Argents, drove a Jeep into a kanima, who hit an Alpha with a wooden baseball bat––”

“Two Alphas,” Stiles cuts in, because props, ok? “Two, that were…” His free hand mimes squishing, and Derek’s lips twitch.

“Two,” he agrees, and Stiles can’t not smile back. Just for a second –– fond, helpless –– then he’s ducking his head. Derek sighs, catches his chin. Guides it up until their gazes lock again.

“That was you,” he says, so firmly Stiles can’t help believing this time. “Was the man who clawed his way out of his own possession. Followed Scott’s howl back to the real world. And whatever happened to your body, whatever… magic gave you a new one, Stiles came out with it. Your scars are still there, just…” His fingers trail to Stiles’ chest, and something thumps out eagerly to meet them.

“Inside,” Stiles breathes, and the way Derek’s eyes warm makes him shiver with a proud ripple of pleasure.

“Inside,” Derek echoes. Runs a thumb light along Stiles’ lip. “You could have come out of the Nogitsune looking like anything. Wouldn’t change who you are.”

And damn, Stiles has fallen for a goddamn poet in a grumpy wolf’s body. …But then, Stiles is pretty sure he’d known that already.

His fingers go up, curl gently into Derek’s shirt.

“But… you like this body,” he prompts, and Derek gives an exasperated huff, pulling him in.

“I like this body,” he confirms, and it doesn’t feel wrong to hear that.

When Derek kisses him this time, Stiles doesn’t pull away.

NHL!Bitty, Pt. IV - RPF

@missweber requested NHL!Bitty dealing with Hockey RPF. This got a little longer than expected, with a side pairing of Jack/philly-cheesesteak. Takes place a few months into Bitty’s second season with the Schooners. 

Origin: From Samwell to SeattlePart I - Hug Check | Part II - Chirping | Part III - Post-Season




The most annoying thing is that for all of the ‘Jack/Parse’, ‘Jack/Tater’, ‘Jack/Sid’‘Jack/fucking-every-player-on-the-east-coast’ fic, there are a whopping SIX  ‘Jack/Eric’ fics on Ao3. Six.

On one hand, Eric’s proud they’ve hidden their relationship so well, on the other, Eric is insulted. But really, with their disappointing portmanteau of ‘Jeric’ or ‘Zittle’, it’s not surprising they’re horribly under-appreciated.

“I just wish my fans were more creative.”

Over Skype, Eric watches Jack plow through a Philly cheesesteak with no small measure of jealousy. He’s lonely and hungry, and his asshole boyfriend is doing this on purpose.

“You know,” Jack says, talking out of the side of his half-full mouth, “if you let the Schoons call you ‘Bitty’ our name could have been ‘Zimbits’. That’s kinda on you.”

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Try to get rid of me in an overseas big city? We'll get rid of you instead.

(long story. tl;dr at the end)

Context:

Back in 2011 me and my immediate family traveled to Saudia Arabia for Umrah, or what’s known as the lesser pilgramage. You visit Makkah, make rounds around the Kaabah, pray with all your heart and soul, you get the picture. My dad and I were excited because we were all about going on a spiritual journey and casting away the problems of the world - but as it turns out, some problems just wouldn’t leave us.

As soon as we landed in Jeddah’s airport, our plan was to take a taxi to Makkah and get the Umrah done while we were still gung-ho about God. However, we were instead diverted to our relatives’ house in Jeddah, where we discovered that 4 or 5 of my mothers’ relatives and their families had gathered up and spontaneously crashed in my grandfather’s house for one giant family reunion. Naturally, my dad and I, as well as my maternal grandfather, were really upset over this development as my mom’s side of the family is full of … for the lack of a more polite word, the shady folks. Most of them I was on good terms with, but once I realized that my least favorite Uncle and Aunt had come with the crew, my enthusiasm just deflated like a balloon.

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Dean Thinks You’re Hot

Title: Dean Thinks You’re Hot

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 2,122

Anon Request: you think you could write one where the reader feels insecure about her stretch marks/size and Jensen is her best friend and tries to help her feel better?

Warnings: Negative Thoughts, Low Self-Esteem, Fluff, Implied Smut

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated, friends! xoxox

x

Your name: submit What is this?


    Pacing back and forth around your trailer almost drove you dizzy. Back and forth. Back and forth; as if that was going to simultaneously solve all of your problems. It wasn’t. Not even close.

    You had just gotten the memo that your intimate scene with Jensen was moved to today, not that you weren’t sweating buckets the second you got the script, but the fact that the scene was moved to today instead of five days from now had you ripping your hair from your head. You were going to be very exposed to him, and no matter how long the two of you had been friends, this was something you weren’t comfortable with on so many levels.

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Jealousy || Stiles Stilinski Imagine

Originally posted by elizabethccoper

Request: Do you do one shots too or only imagines? If you do, I was thinking maybe an teen wolf x Riverdale crossover. Like the reader goes to Riverdale for the summer to hang out with her cousin that just moved there (Veronica) and she meets jughead and he reminds her of stiles the guy she’s been in love with since forever and she starts getting close to jug and Stiles finds out and gets jealous bc he’s lowkey in love with her too and he goes to Riverdale to get her and maybe there’s some angst and smut

A/n: I haven’t posted anything in months (probably 6 months? Idk) and I’m really sorry about that. I had zero motivation to write anything and if I did nothing would come to me, so I’m really sorry. But now I’m back with school almost being over, I have a lot of time now. So enjoy this imagine that I wrote and sorry if it isn’t perfect and sorry if there’s any grammar error. Love you guys x

“Do you have to go?” A sad looking Stiles asked from across the room. You sighed, nodding your head as you packed some clothes in your suitcase. Stiles let out a puff and got up from the chair he was sitting in and walked over to your bed. “I don’t want you to.”

 “Stiles, it’s just the summer. It would go by pretty fast.” You told the brown haired boy and gave him a smile. He gave you a forced smile and you threw the shirt you had in your hands at him. Stiles let out a loud squeak, making you burst out laughing. 

 “That was so not cool.” Stiles claimed, glaring at you. You stuck your tongue out at him and giggled a bit. “Tell me again why are you leaving?”

 “I haven’t seen my cousin, Veronica, in a really long time and she always lived on the other side of the states and now that she’s 5 hour away I can finally go and visit her.” You exclaimed, getting excited about the fact that you’re going to see your beloved cousin after so, so long.

 “What if a monster invades the town?” He asked and you stopped folding your clothes to look at him, raising your eyebrows at him.

 “Stiles, if anyone invades the town there’s always Scott, Malia, Lydia…” you started to say, your face feeling hot before finishing your sentence, “and they have you. If anyone can stop those monsters, it’s you..”

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You’re His Ex Girlfriend and You See His New Girlfriend Wearing Your T-Shirt: Part 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist linked in bio


Harry watches the wall clock as he waits patiently on his couch, counting the minutes until Y/n finally wakes up.

He’s barely slept all night, feeling a mix of anxiousness and misery as he thought of all the outcomes that could happen today. He also found himself looking at Y/n all night, watching her in her calmest state of mind and feeling a sense of tranquility as he sees her in her most beautiful form.

He could never get tired of it—admiring her in her sleep. But as the morning passed and the late afternoon started approaching, Harry didn’t know what the hell was going on.

She was still asleep, crashed on top of him as snores raided her mouth and the only movement being the slight rise and fall of her chest against his. He started to worry, solely for the fact that she slept at a completely reasonable time last night and was known to be an early riser. And since he barely got a blink of sleep, he knows she didn’t wake up for a second during the night.

At first, when it hit 12 hours since she’d fallen asleep, he tried to brush hair out of her face in an attempt to wake her from her slumber. Nothing came to his avail, however, when all he got was a slight shake of her head and a small smacking of her lips.

When the afternoon started to approach, he started to move his fingertips along her back and neck. But again, nothing; just a slight groan and a movement of her hips to get away from the sensation.

He gave up after that, helpless in disturbing her sleep and trying to get some sort of reassurance in the midst of his worrying. He really needed something, because his nerves were getting the best of him and he needed to rid the anxiety building inside of him.

That’s when he decided to call Gabby.

“She fell asleep at around 10:00 last night and it’s nearly 2:00 now. She’s barely moved, she’s still right on top of me and doesn’t even flinch when I turn. I’m really worried.”

Harry lifts his hand to her hair, softly brushing the knots out with his fingers, waiting to see if there’s any sudden movement. But there’s nothing, just the movements of her soft breath and the occasional repositioning of her neck.

“She’s barely slept in months, Harry. She’s not fully comfortable here, no matter how much she tries to tell me she is. There are nights she doesn’t sleep at all. She’s completely incapable of being alone anymore, she’s always thinking and it doesn’t let her calm down in the slightest, you know? And mixed with everything that happened last night, she’s probably extremely exhausted. Just let her get her sleep, yeah? She really needs it, trust me. Besides, you being there is helping her in the most.”

He looks down at Y/n, where her cheek is pressed against his chest as her eyes are closed in a dream. She looks most beautiful this way. It’s the peaceful, angelic side of her that he always remember her being.

She looks safe, too—away from any potential hurting and pressed so close against him as if he were the protector of her heart. He almost laughs at the irony of it all, how she’s the exact opposite of peaceful and nowhere near protected from any harm—especially in his arms.

And there’s a part of him that wishes he could stay in this moment forever, holding her to him as he watches her in her must vulnerable state. She doesn’t push him away, or tell him to stop staring at her, or cry because he still can’t figure out what to say. She’s oblivious to his admiration, and the second she regains consciousness in her reality, he knows this moment can’t last much longer, no matter how badly he wants it to.

“Yeah, of course I’ll let her sleep. You think I can move from underneath her without waking her? Might make her some food, can feel her stomach growl.”

“Yes, please make her something. She gets really upset sometimes and forgets to eat. They’ll be days I have to remind her. She really needs you to provide for her right now, more than anything. She shouldn’t wake up, though.”

It doesn’t take much convincing to get Harry up from the couch. Although it was a bit of a struggle to maneuver himself from underneath Y/n’s body and out of her tight hold on him—especially between her occasional whimpers and groans from the sudden movements—he managed to do so without waking her up too much.

He decides to make her her favorite breakfast, as well. He knows it won’t distract her from the problems they have to face, but it’s something—it’s something as opposed to all the nothingness he’s been giving her.

It doesn’t take much longer than half an hour before Y/n finally wakes up from her slumber. She’s confused upon her awakening, groggy and the remaining amount of exhaustion still present in her body.

She’s comforted, though, when she acknowledges that she’s back home with the aroma of breakfast filling the air. It reminds her of old times—mornings of her anniversaries with Harry and mornings of their birthdays or purposeful events. It’s everything that she’s missed and it brings a soft smile to her face. Only for a second, though.

“Afternoon.” He smiles softly, eyes watching her every movement as she leans against the doorway of the kitchen.

In any other circumstance, he would have greeted her with a proper kiss and held her against him for a while; but as he observes her red eyes, her tear-stained cheeks, and her overall broken down structure, he knows not to overstep his boundaries.

Y/n frowns, watching what would normally be the most heartwarming sight of her life—Harry cooking in the kitchen of their home, a smile on his face while the sun peeks through the windows—but is now only seeing it as something that could have been.

She wonders if this is how he spent his mornings with Jessica.

He frowns slightly, too, when he sees her in the way she is now. There’s absolutely no life to her. He can tell that the Y/n that he knew is long gone—now replaced by a much more miserable soul. It almost brings tears to his eyes, seeing how much damage and destruction he’s caused onto her. He feels as if he’s taken away Y/n’s heart entirely, only leaving her to suffer through the loss.

“I, uh—" he mutters softly, realizing that he’s been staring at her for longer than he’s probably supposed to, “I made you some chocolate chip pancakes. I know it’s a little after lunch time but Gabby told me you haven’t been eating as much and well, I kind of figured I’d make you something I know you can’t resist.”

She wants to appreciate the gesture, she does. She wishes that she could look past the gloomy side of the situation, and instead focus on the fact they’re together again. Even if it’s the bare minimum—where Harry does all the speaking while she just listens with a stupid pout on her face—there’s a reflection of what their relationship was like before their time apart, and she feels as if it should be making her feel something other than sick to her stomach.

But she just can’t, no matter how hard she tries. She can’t quite understand how he’s doing so well. Not a part of him resembles her ruined self. He’s so put together, even after everything that’s happened. He’s still alive, which is almost the exact opposite of how she feels; and she can’t help but to wonder if he ever felt the way she did—broken and helpless. She wonders if he even cared.

And if there’s anything that can make her feel worse than she already does, it’s if Harry continues to pity her—to treat her like a charity case when he was the reason for all of this. He should be the one sulking from his mistakes, on his knees begging for mercy, but it’s her. She’s suffering the pain for the both of them and she doesn’t know how much longer she can bare it.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” She whispers, tears flowing from her eyes and she’s genuinely surprised that there’s still some left to cry.

Harry’s heart stops as he watches her break again. He doesn’t want to witness her in that form again, he doesn’t even know if he can; and imagining the pain that must be bursting through her veins is only making this harder for him.

“You’re just going to pretend like everything is okay? While I stand here, practically begging you to say something to me about all this, you just continue to show off how perfectly fine you are?”

“What?” He asks, nearly dumbfounded by her accusations. “No, baby. That’s not—no.“

He doesn’t know exactly where all this came from, considering there isn’t any part of him that’s feeling any sort of sanity. He’s been suffering, too, no matter how much he tries to hide it for her sake. The masking his hurt has been hiding under has been wearing thin over the past couple of weeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to show her how much this affected him.

He was always the one to stay strong for the both of them. No matter what came their way, he was always the one to bottle up all of his emotions and get them through whatever it was bringing them down. He couldn’t break, especially not in front of her. He has to be the one to mend them back together; he doesn’t have a choice, considering he was the one who broke it up in the first place.

“You think I’m fine? You actually think I’m okay with all this? You haven’t even—you haven’t even seen me before last night, and even then I was a wreck. Y/n, how could you even think like that?”

“Look at you!” She yells, eyes widened and teeth clenched as she speaks. Her hands are at her head, pressing at her temples in complete hysteria and despair. “All fucking pretty and perfect! I don’t see anything wrong with you, like there’s nothing gripping at your throat or feeding your insides with the guilt that should be eating you fucking alive right now!”

“Y/n—“

“And look at me! Just take a goddamn look at me and how fucked up I am! Do you see what the problem is? Do you see how none of this is fair to me? Fuck you and fuck your precious happiness, and fuck your selfish decisions and just fuck you, Harry! Fuck you!

Her voice is harsh and loud enough to nearly echo from the walls. The cries and whimpers haven’t stopped, either, and there’s a certain type of tension building between them that’s nearly sucking the air from their throats.

But she’s not stopping, not yet. She still has so much to say and nothing is getting in her way, not now.

“How did it feel, Harry?! How did it feel to love on some other woman while your ex-girlfriend was alone and breaking on her bed?! Was it nice?! How did it feel?!”

Harry’s jaw clenches once the words leave her mouth, and his hands are balling to fists at the side of his thighs. He’s frustrated—frustrated because she’s so blinded by her own pain that she hasn’t eve acknowledged his. And the way she’s making it sound—like he doesn’t love her, like he doesn’t care—almost makes him throw up.

As much as he fucked up, he never imagined to be perceived as such a villain. She’s looking down on him, digging into his insecurities and accusing him of being a man he knows he’ll never be capable of being, and he doesn’t like it one bit. As much as he had done wrong, he never found pleasure in her pain and he doesn’t even want to think about how that thought processed through her brain.

“Are you being serious right now? You really need to tell me this isn’t some sort of sick joke.”

Her eyes narrow up at him, and for the first time since he’s seen her, she starts to laugh.

It’s a habit she’s obtained whenever she tries to hold back all the anger boiling inside of her. It’s a rare occasion, considering she never really gets mad, especially at him. But she’s on the edge of complete rage, and she feels it building inside of her.

She still has tears falling from her eyes, and they’re both unsure whether it’s from the laughter, the pain, the anger, or all three of them.

“You think I’m joking? You want to hear a real joke, Harry? You saw me. You saw me at the grocery store, you saw me looking at Jessica wearing our shirt and you didn’t do anything! You did absolutely nothing, you just fucking stood there and watched me fall apart. What kind of twisted shit was that, Harry? Did it make you feel good about yourself? Or was it a nice image to look back on while you fucked Jessica the following night?”

All his frustration subsided when her voice started to crack and shake between her words. Her emotions are scattered, along with his, but he can’t help but feel an aching in his chest when he sees how helpless she looks.

Looking back at it, Y/n gets the same exact feeling she did that morning—betrayed, broken, and completely hated. There is no other explanation for it. He had to have hated her, for whatever reason it may be, it’s the only thing that makes sense.

The Harry that loved her would never leave her to fend for herself. He wasn’t the same man she remembered him being. The kindhearted, selfless, loving man she fell in love with was not the man she came to contact with—standing with a mysterious girl, showing her off in the t-shirt that meant everything to him and Y/n.

He had to have hated her.

“Is that—“ his voice cracks, and he has to swallow the lump building in his throat before he continues to speak, “Is that what you think? That I just watched because I’m heartless?”

She sighs, shaking her head softly. She crosses her arms at her chest, tucking her hands beneath them as her eyes drift away from his.

She never thought he was heartless, but there must have been something he had against her for him to not say anything to her. She deserved an explanation, or even a half-assed apology at the slightest. But she got nothing. All she got silence and heartbreak and everything inside of her knew that she didn’t deserve it.

There had to have been something.

“No, I just—I never felt so hated before. It was like—like you found some sort of comfort in watching me suffer. You never did that, Harry. You never did that to me, not in all the years that I’ve known you and knowing that you didn’t want me anymore was like all the life was sucked out of me all at once.”

She closes her eyes as she sobs, clutching the fabric of her shirt in her hands right where her heart is.

“Just imagine feeling your heart stop beating and your lungs collapsing all at once. I thought you hated me, Harry. Nothing was worse than feeling that, nothing.”

An inhumane sound emits from Harry’s chest—something between a sob and a growl—a sound she’s never heard before and it’s utterly pitiful.

He’s never thought of it in that way. The thought of Y/n thinking he’s hated her never crossed his mind, always just assuming that she was so upset because Jessica crept her way into his life. But the more he thinks about it, all the more it makes sense.

When he saw Dan wearing Harry’s ring, all the hope that Y/n was ever going to love him again was ripped away from him. The feeling of betrayal and heartbreak was so overwhelming because while he was suffering from the loss of her, she was finding comfort in somebody else and nothing brought him more pain than thinking she didn’t love him anymore.

And that’s exactly what he did to her. She was waiting for him—waiting for him to come back and fight for their relationship. She was alone and hurt all throughout the nights while he was finding pleasure in another woman to get him through the pain.

He’s put her through so much that she didn’t deserve, and he doesn’t know how he can live with himself for it.

He whimpers, tentatively reaching out for the hand that’s decorated with his rose ring, and slowly brings her against his chest. She buries her face in his t-shirt as she weeps out the rest of her tears, tugging at the back of his t-shirt in agony.

“No, baby. No. Please don’t ever think that. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what to say, and everything that I wanted to say was getting so scrambled inside of my brain that I couldn’t even understand what was happening. There were so many things, my love. There were so many things I wanted to say to you but I just couldn’t, and it’ll be something I have to live with for the rest of my life.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, squeezing her a little tighter in his arms as he brushes out her hair between his fingers.

She feels his tears at the top of her head, but she doesn’t pay any attention to it. All she can wrap her head around is that Harry’s holding her again, shielding her from any other hurting that could get to her. And as much as she does want to push him away, she can’t, because she can finally fucking breathe again.

“And I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m so sorry for all of this. I could never hate you, my love. I love you so goddamn much, you have to believe me. You don’t deserve this pain, sweetheart. I’ll do whatever it takes to mend you, okay? If you give me the chance, I’ll take the time to fix you. You just have to work with me.”

She nods against his chest, pushing him away from her a little bit so that she can look at him in the eyes. They’re red and soaked with tears, but she’s missed them all too much and they still make her weak in the knees.

“This will be a slow process, do you understand me? There’s a lot of lost trust and a lot of work that needs to be done when it comes to our relationship. I’m not risking this again, so we’re taking this slowly. I’ll stay at Gabby’s for another few weeks until I can fully trust you again. You’re not pulling that shit on me where you call Jessica when you’re lonely, you hear me? You call me. We’re in this together and we’re in this for a long time, but we have to do this my way.”

He nods feverishly, closing his eyes as he does so. His fingers dig into her back as he exhales strongly, almost as if releasing a breath he’s been holding in.

“We’ll go at your pace, sweetheart, I promise.”

She smiles softly—a true, heartwarming smile that Harry swears he could look at for the rest of his life. It somehow mends the ache in his chest and he starts to cry from happiness, this time, and he’s never been so relieved in his life.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” She giggles, running her fingertips along his back. “We’re really starting this all over again?“

He smiles down at her, admiring the woman he’s loved with every bit of his heart. She’s never looked so goddamn perfect, either, in this moment of complete serendipity.

“Yeah, we are.”

Involved: Part 4

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader 

A/N: okay so there is smut in this but it isn’t very detailed because like? this is a big part and i needed it to be about more than the horizontal hanky panky anyway im pretty sure im only gonna do one more part after this so here we go PSA this is not good, it’s 3:30 am and im locking that in as my final excuse

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 5

Originally posted by tomshollandss

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allergic-addiction  asked:

Do you know anything about grief? If so, my character Vivian spent 6 months with a group of friends and fell in love with another character. The character he fell in love with head over heels for dies the night after they kiss. How would this grief affect active fighting ?

My grandmother on my mother’s side died when I was eleven, my father died when I was thirteen (the day after my birthday), my dog died a day before my college graduation, and my grandfather on my father’s side died from Alzheimer’s a few years ago. That’s not counting the friends and non-blood related family members who’ve died over the years.

So, yeah, I’ve got a little experience with grief, and grief counseling, and therapy, and… well, other people who’ve also lost friends and family.

I will say upfront that experience with grief can’t be faked when translating it into a fiction. You’ve either lost someone or you haven’t. You will never truly understand until you’ve experienced it yourself. And, if you haven’t, honestly, I hope you don’t join this unhappy club for a very long time.

Grief happens in stages, we consider them as five to be exact. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. There is no one size fits all here, or rules, no guidelines for the amount of time it takes because we work through it in our own time. You can and often do go through all five just to accept the physical truth someone you love has died, then all over again with the emotional fallout in the months even years afterward. It’s possible to go forward and back between the stages, and it isn’t a steady process. I’ve come to terms with a lot of the deaths in my life, but some took around a decade to reach the acceptance stage.

In initial the months after my father died, I waited to hear his car coming up the driveway at the time he usually arrived home from work (around 5:30). Anytime the doorknob turned, I’d feel a small bit of hope that it’d be him walking in. I still hope, sometimes, nearly twenty years later, that he’ll come through the door.

I tried to hold on to what he sounded like when I realized a month later I was forgetting. I managed a single word, the name of a friend’s father.

The problem with writing grief if you’ve never experienced it is this: you will over focus on the emotion and forget the detail.

Grief is not being able to remember where you live when you dial 911 for the ambulance. It’s the adrenaline leaving your hands shaking when you reach for the body, and the cold stiffness beneath your hands. The chalky white skin, and one eyelid half open. A frozen, milky, blue-white pupil pointed nowhere.  The faint, sour smell in the air. The way you shake it, and shake it, and shake it like that’ll bring the body back to life.

The way you still describe it as the body years later instead of referring to it as him and in second person instead of first.

Grief is never being able to watch Oliver and Company again.

This detail is part of why it’s so difficult to describe or write grief if you’ve never experienced the loss of a loved one first hand. You’ve also got to describe that loss through the eyes of your character, re-imagine it so the experience is not only tailored to their experiences but laser specific to those exact moments when they learned or came to the realization someone they loved died. One of the first things to understand about death in fiction is that it won’t do the work for you.

My father died a week before my first degree black belt test, and I’d just turned thirteen. I honestly can’t remember much about that week. It was Spring Break, so I didn’t have to go to school. My days were mostly filled with martial arts and emptiness. There were moments I’d remember, then grow sad or try to avoid it by focusing on what was coming ahead of me. People told me how brave I was, clapped when I came back to training a day later, but the truth is that doing that was easier than remembering what happened. I was in the shock stage all the way through the test. Numb to the world, I didn’t feel anything. Not pride, not happiness, not “oh good we’re done now”, nothing at all. It wasn’t bravery, so much as it just was. The world moved around me and the rest of it was gray.

In that moment, I became “the Girl Whose Father Died The Week Before Her Test” in the organization and everyone knew who I was for years afterwards.

However, the moment I really broke down was when I returned to class afterwards and began to cry when one of my classmates pushed a crossword onto my desk that read “Father”. I cried so hard, then I went out into the hallway and cried through the rest of the class that day.

That’s one experience, though. Like I said, there’s no one size fits all and every experience is unique. If you’ve got a character whose lost a lot of people over the years, then it does get easier.

However, if you’re writing a character who experiences death on the regular then their experience is going to be different. You could get someone who numbs themselves out to the world, defers the loss until later, and deals with it then. A person for whom “doing things” is them showing their grief. They could crumple up into a ball, give up and just cry. They could get angry to the point they want to kill the person who took their loved one and want to kill them. They could be compromised to the point of they are incapable performing their job, and need to be scrubbed from a mission for their safety and their teammates.

They could get triggered by the violence to the point where they lock up and can’t mentally face it anymore, where it becomes too much for them to handle. Sometimes, they break all the furniture in their apartment. Sometimes, they don’t clean out the other side of the closet for six years. They may get angry and lash out at those close to them who aren’t experiencing this death as keenly as they are. Or the might do it just because, without reason. They might close themselves off from everyone they know and love. Wall up out of fear of losing another person, find it difficult to build new connections. Become a different person.

Or, rarely, they could be completely fine. Or, seem like they’re fine on the surface. Others who are suffering will get pissed at them if they’re fine. When it seems like you’re fine, others will call you a monster. How dare they.

Grief is not guaranteed to get you killed in combat, but it can. It leads to stupid mistakes because you’re mentally compromised, even when you don’t realize it. We run from it sometimes. It’s so big, and heavy, and dark, crashing down all at once with no easy answers. No platitude satisfies. Numb, angry, stricken, despairing, you can move through these states so rapidly that it’s almost impossible to follow. Grief just is.

In a situation where you need to be able to focus or your life and those around you are at risk, then grief becomes detrimental. If you’re mentally compromised and refuse to recognize it then it will only put others at risk. Many people will insist they are “fine”. That it doesn’t affect them, that they can still work. It does though. It will. As a result, events can be disastrous in the fallout.

Even if they can fight, revenge isn’t satisfying. It’s empty. Grief-fueled rampages will only lead to more sadness and more emptiness and a re-experiencing of the loss all over again. Usually, it causes more tragedy.

How will your character react? I don’t know.

How does grief affect fighting, even years afterward? It can be really bad, my friend. Really goddamn bad.

You’ve got to find an equilibrium in your mind and acceptance, real acceptance too. You can’t just tell yourself you’ve accepted it, and that difference can be difficult to grasp.

Understand loss is not the cause of grief, and not death itself. We will grieve lost relationships and broken down friendships, when what we love disappears from our grasp. Don’t assume it’s in the death, look at the loss and how they feel about them being gone.

As a writer, your answer is they need to find a way to come to terms with this loss and that is a journey without an easily defined destination. I mean “come to terms” and not “get over”. Loss is with you forever, but whether we accept it or it continues to haunt us will be up to the person in question.

From me to you, here are some ways I dealt with my father’s death in my teenage years:

1) I went to counseling.

2) I read all the books of his on the shelf that I could scrounge from my parent’s bedroom, even when I didn’t like them. I still have a few of his fantasy hardbacks squirreled away.

3) I tried to play Star Wars: Tie Fighter.

4) I cried when I tried to tackle the Walkers in Rogue Squadron 2, because I’d always run to him and beg him to help me pass the level.

5) I’d go smell the shirts my mom left when she refused to clean out his side of the closet until they didn’t smell like him anymore. Then, I felt sad all over again.

6) I dedicated my open form during my second degree test to him, and picked a really sappy country song.

7) I read and re-read L.E. Modesitt Jr’s entire “Saga of Recluse” over and over again because Colors of Chaos was the first fantasy book my dad handed me to read.

8) I named my Sovereign Class ship in Star Trek Online after him.

I once sat with another student at college and we commiserated over our shared bond as members of the “Dead Parents Club”, telling stories about how our parents died and laughing about where we were now. To another student, who’d never experienced what we had, this seemed incredibly insensitive, they were confused, and they said so.

We said, “Dead Parents Club”. Then another student who’d recently lost their aunt asked if they could join us, and we expanded to members of the “Dead Relatives Club”.

It’s not all sadness and pain, misery and angst. In fact, if you go this route then it’s not really real. Much as it might seem like it on the surface, grief isn’t the same as literary angst. You need to show, not tell and that begins with actions. Start figuring out how this loss affects your character before you take a stab at how it’s affecting their ability to fight. Grief is about individuals, and there are no easy answers. Only actions, decisions, and struggle for good or ill.

-Michi

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Cradled In Love

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Words: 2217

Warnings: “Angst to fluff to smut”. NSFW gifs (you know me by now!!)

Anon asked “I’m on vacation with my so called family which is breaking apart at the moment and um it’s really hard to be here with them and I can’t really enjoy this vacay so is there a possibility if you could write a tom holland one shot to cheer me up maybe with angst and fluff and smut and beautiful words of yours.. I don’t want to be here with these people and I want to cry every second of the day.”

A/N: So this is my first non-Bucky/Sebastian fic. It’s special because the anon who asked is having a super bad day…I know how it gets when family is a bitch to deal with (trust me all my extended family are a bunch of assholes!!!!) Anyway, here you go and I hope I did him justice. SENDING HUGS AND KISSES YOUR WAY LOVELY PERSON.

Permanent Tag List: @meganlane84 @mizzzpink @bringmetheemobands @kimistry27 @fireandicewillsuffice @vacam79 @amrita31199 @badassbaker @feelmyroarrrr @aekr @sexy-sea-basss @isaxhorror @actual-bucky-barnes-trash @cassandras-musings @kimistry27 @mo320 @ssweet-empowerment

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Notebook Journal

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warning: Super long and rambly but pretty fluffy?

Words: 2201 Longest yet

Prompt: “I did not mean for stripping to come from this.” 

Tags: @captainswriting


  You’ve known Peter your entire school life. In preschool, you sat next to each other and that must’ve set a pattern for you both, even though you became friends in fifth grade. He was never the toughest guy, still isn’t in your opinion, he was more like a small, fluffy puppy. That didn’t have teeth. Or nails.

  Okay, so he’s a stuffed animal.

  So, one fateful day at recess, you saw your next desk over classmate getting picked on. Being the type of girl that never cared about getting dirty or danger, you walked up behind the bully and kicked the back of his knees. Needless to say, after you served detention time, you hid for a couple days.

  You almost regretted it when Peter started following you around. Sure, you were, and still are, tough, but you’re no bodyguard. However, the brown-haired puppy-boy grew on you and soon he didn’t have to follow you; you met at the bus stop.

  So grew a strong friendship. You added Ned to your small group, then Michelle (sorta, she sort of just kind of hung out with all of you), though it made people call you the Nerd Patrol. Did any of you care?

  Well, a little at first, but not now.

  When you turned fourteen, something changed. You didn’t see Peter as your puppy boy friend (even though he still is). You saw his awkward, lanky, adorable shyness and how much he cares about his friends. You started noticing little things about him. How he’d mess with his hair when he’d stutter nervously, how he’d send you adorable smiles when you walked by in the halls, even how he’d chew his lip during a test. 

  Then you realized.

  You have a crush on your best friend.

  Except, he has a crush on Liz and you can’t blame him. She’s beautiful and smart and they look adorable next to each other. Who really wouldn’t love Liz? And you? Just some tomboy, dorky, nerd. Sure, that’s who Peter is, minus the tomboy part, but he deserves someone perfect, like Liz.

  You slam your locker shut in frustration as your thoughts race, followed by your heart when you think of Peter. All you wanna do is bang your head into it, but a quick glance to your left shows Michelle leaning against the wall with a granola bar in hand. She holds it out to you and your stomach grumbles.
 
  “How’d you know I didn’t eat breakfast?”

  She looks you over with a somewhat bored but knowing look. “Your hair’s in a messy ponytail and looks kinda greasy, you’re wearing a pair of your sweats and a loose T. Usually, you have your hair up neatly, you wear graphic Ts, and camos. So, no shower, slept in, and didn’t eat yet. Also, you’re upset.”

  You sigh and take the bar from her. “You know, you’re incredibly scary when you do that.”

  She shrugs, pushing off the wall. “Come on, don’t wanna miss an opportunity to draw people in distress.”

  You shake your head, following her slowly. “God, you’re so strange.”

  Settling into your seat, you bring your notebook out and start jotting down some thoughts, mostly about how you’re trying and failing to control your emotions for your best friend. Who just happens to choose now to sit next to you now.

  “Hey, Y/n. Whatcha doing?” Peter tries to lean over to see your writing.

  You shut it quickly, sliding it into your backpack and bringing out your notes for class. “Just waiting for class to start. Where were you last night? I thought we were supposed to be studying together.”

  He facepalms, groaning into his hand. “Oh, crap…look, I’m so sorry, I-something came up and I had to take care of it. I am so sorry.”

  “What’d you end up doing, then?” You can’t help a little suspicion from lacing your voice.

  Peter seems to think hard for a moment and your heart sinks. Is he trying to think of a lie or hide something from you? Maybe you guys aren’t as good of friends as you thought.

  “I had promised Ned that I’d help him his Death Star Lego set. I’m really sorry, I should’ve called.”

  You nod slowly as the teacher begins the class. You try to distract yourself with small notes that probably mean nothing to this class. He was lying. You knew he was, they did the Death Star last week. What was he doing? Maybe with Liz.

  That thought just makes your stomach burn.

  School ends in a blur for you as you can’t focus more than four seconds without going back to why Peter would lie to you. You throw your books in your locker and grab your journal notebook to bring home. If you can just get home without getting stopped-

  “Where are you going so fast?” Michelle is leaning next to the door with her arms crossed, her usual bored expression on her face.

  You huff, pouting a little. “I just wanna go home. I need my shower, okay?”

  “You’re hiding something.”

  “What do you mean?” you sigh, just wanting to leave before Peter finds you.

  “You’ve been avoiding Peter, so I’m guessing it’s because of him. What happened?”

  You shift your weight uneasily. You hadn’t told anyone, not even your parents, about your huge crush on Peter Parker, so telling both of you guys’ friend…who could turn around and just tell him…but she won’t stop asking or probably let you leave until you tell her.

  “Peter, okay? He happened.”

  Her eyes flare slightly in realization. “I see. You’re a little jealous of the attention he gives Liz because…I see.”

  You shrug and walk past her. “Like I can compete with Liz, though.”

  Michelle just sighs as you leave, shaking her head slightly. You walk home quickly, not wanting to stop again before you can scream into your pillow and basically just die. You told your biggest secret to your friend and you have no idea how to process all the things that could go wrong. Running inside, you lock yourself in your room and flop on your bed.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! Why are you so stupid?”

  You bury your face into your pillow for a while until you look up to check the time. The sun is already down and your room is flooded with a street light as you roll onto your back. Your notebook and backpack had fallen onto the floor next to your bed when you flopped onto your bed. You don’t bother to try and get them, though, you’d rather just die.

  Or take a shower.

  Deciding to do the latter, you scramble to get up and take a quick shower, coming out in a pair of shorts and old tank top with a towel to dry your hair. What were you gonna do if Michelle told someone? One thing is for sure, you were running away from New York.

  You freeze as your window is pulled up and open. Now, you don’t believe in ghosts, but that there was reason to think they’re real. However, you’re sure there’s a perfectly good reason for it to open like that…on its own. Yeah. I mean, that’s what you and Peter always say when Ned tells ghost stories. So it must be true. Right?
 
  You let out a loud sigh of relief when Spider-Man crawls in through the window, though that turns into confusion, which then turns into concern for the wall crawler as he drops with a loud groan of pain.

  “Um, excuse me?” you ask softly, not wanting to startle him too much.

  He tilts his head back to look at you, his mask eyes seeming to wince as he does. “Uh, y-yeah…sorry about, uh…dropping in on you.”

  You chuckle softly at his quip, as lame as it may sound. “Think I can help?”

  He nods. “That’d be much appreciated, thank you.”

  You quickly run back into the bathroom to grab your medical supply box that your mom had made you make in case of emergencies. It’s not that big, but it has some peroxide, anti-biotic cream, bandages, and cotton balls to use. You jog back into your room to see him trying to stand up on his own, legs shaking slightly. Dropping your bag next to your bed, you grab his arm and have him sit on your bed.

  “Easy, Mr. hero. Don’t over exert yourself.”

  He huffs, groaning softly. “Fine.”

You grab your bag again and stand in front of him, shifting your weight slightly on your feet. “Um, okay, so…I did not mean for stripping to come out of this.”

  He tilts his head slightly, wondering where in the world you’re going with this.

  “I need you to take your suit off.”

  “T-the mask, too?” he asks, suddenly very worried.

  Your eyes widen. “No! No, no no, not unless you wanna…I just wanna help with where it hurts the most.”

  He nods slowly, agreeing with you finally as he presses the button in the middle of his suit, loosening it up so it just slips off. You look down into the bag, blushing a dark red. If you paid more attention to guys’ body types at school or around you, you might be able to tell who he really is with him bare in front of you. Well, besides his boxers and mask. That only makes you blush darker.

  You kneel in front of him, soaking a cotton ball in peroxide. “This is gonna suck,” you mutter.

  He chuckles softly and you swear you’ve heard it before. “I took the hit, I can take the cleaning.”

  You shrug slightly, pressing the cotton ball to one of the cuts that litter his torso. You hear him hiss under his mask, his muscles all tense, but he doesn’t pull away, so he’s pretty disciplined. You gently blow on it to keep the sting down and to dry it before you put a bandage on it, just like you’d do with a child. You don’t know he’s blushing under his mask.

  Just as you go to put some anti-biotic on the bandage, only to find out you didn’t have enough. You growl, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

  “Everything okay?” Spider-Man asks with concern.

  “Yeah. Just stay put, I gotta run downstairs for more Neosporin which is in the downstairs bathroom because my house is dumb, so stay.”

  You quickly run down to the bathroom, searching the drawer for the Neosporin before sprinting back upstairs. You sigh in relief as you don’t hear anything moving in your room, thinking he’s still sitting where you left him. You open the door and look up from the tube in your hands to talk to him, but you freeze.

  He’s reading your notebook.

  “What do you think you’re doing?!” you yell at him, making him jump and fumble the notebook, failing to catch it, so it falls back to your floor. He scrambles to sit as casually as possible, only looking more tense.

  “I, uh…oops?”

  You growl, grabbing your hair tightly. “How much did you read?”

  “Just that…you have a crush on m-your best friend. Peter Parker?”

  You nod slowly, sighing heavily as you walk back over to him. “Yeah…but it’s dumb. He doesn’t like me back, he likes this perfect girl named Liz. I don’t have a chance.”

  “How do you know that? Have you asked him?” his voice sounds tense to you.
You give him a look as you start wrapping the bandages around his body. “Like I could.”

  He stays quiet for a while before you see him reach his hand up towards his mask, slowly pulling it off his head. It comes off in almost slow motion for you, first revealing tousled brown hair, then nervous looking eyes that you know so well, then finally the face of your crush and best friend.

  “Peter?!” you screech, stumbling back away from him. “What the fu-“

  He jumps off the bed and covers your mouth with his hand, though that pretty much left him hovering over you. “Don’t scream! Please. No one else can know, okay?”

  You tear his hand away and scramble up, gasping softly for air. “Oh, my god, you’re Spider-Man…oh, my god…”

  He watches you pace nervously in front of him, rubbing his arms slightly. It’s kinda cold being pretty much naked.

  You pause, turning towards him with wide eyes. “So, you know Iron Man? And Captain America, Thor, Black Widow, all of them?”

  He nods slowly. “Yeah…I mean, I’m pretty much an Avenger.”

  A huge smile graces your lips. “Oh, my god! That’s so awesome! You have to tell me how everyone’s like! Is Iron Man really such a playboy? Is Cap’s shield really heavy? Can you lift Thor’s hammer? Is Black Wi-“

  You’re cut off by him pulling you close and pressing his lips to yours gently, shutting you up.

  “In case you were wondering, I do like you, too.” He chuckles softly as you gape at him.

  “Well…you could’ve just said so,” you murmur, connecting your lips again.


  “…Okay, but seriously, answer my questions and put some clothes on. I ain’t like that.”

Imagine Jensen flirting and giving you his number while you take pictures of him during an event.

“Mr Ackles! Mr Ackles right here! Here!”

“Jensen! Jensen here!”

“Mr Padalecki please here!”

“Jensen can you look here? Please!”

“Mr Padalecki, here here!”

“Here! Jared!”

You could almost feel dizzy at times like this, with everybody shouting around you, pushing and pulling to get a good picture of whatever celebrity it was that was walking in front of you at the moment. But it was your job. The flashes, screams and shouts, some hits here and there were all part of your job and you loved it to pieces. You were a photographer, one unlike any other though. Apart from the photoshoots you did for the numerous magazines you worked in you loved stepping outside your comfort zone and taking pictures of celebrities in whatever event it was yourself. Most of your bosses were skeptical about it at first but once you actually showed them the photos you’d take they would immediately let you do your thing. So you could say you did some of the reporter part as well.

You chuckled at everybody’s enthusiasm and continued with taking your photos, not really caring if they’d look directly at the camera. You’d taken some of the best photos in your life when they wouldn’t look in the camera and do their thing. That and maybe, just maybe, it was because you felt your breath and all words get caught in your throat whenever you noticed that the green-eyed older man was getting closer. You had a crush on him, and he was just one of the few men you really admired so much in your life – both of his work and character. Your friend’s would tease you endlessly about it but you were willing to take it. It was Jensen Ackles after all, you could take anything for him and from him.

You snapped more photos of him, looking occasionally at them to see if they were good enough. You continued, smiling softly when you saw that boyish grin that would make your heart flutter. You tilted your camera to get a better view of him and that was when you noticed it. Your breath got caught in your throat when you actually saw him look into your camera. Of course you tried to tell yourself not to think much about it because you were just another photographer in a sea of people, cameras… oh yeah and fans of course with plenty of posters and photos to sign.

But then his eyes remained focused on you and you actually frowned. You bit your lip and looked down at your camera. You glanced up only to see him take off his glasses and his smile turn into an almost smirk. The shouting kept going but he didn’t seem all that interested in any of them like his friend seemed to. You heard some whines from fans that were nearby, when he walked past them and you felt a little bad for them because they really wanted them to sign their photos.

“Jensen, Jensen please!” you heard some of them and he paused, giving them a charming grin.

“I’ll be right back, just a second yeah?” he shouted, trying to be heard over all of the noise.

Your eyes all but widened as while taking the photos you actually saw him turn in your direction and get closer. You snapped more photos but for a moment you felt frozen in your place when he flashed you that smile so you decided to focus on your camera. You looked down at it, supposedly interested in the photos you’d taken more than the man approaching you. Because he was. And how did you know that? Well:

“Hey there” you heard a deep voice say, not as deep as you were used to hearing on the show. But sure as hell your head snapped up before you could realize it.

Your eyes were wide as you looked right and left, even behind before finally meeting his eyes “Me?” you pointed at yourself and he chuckled, fixing his glasses.

“Yeah, yeah actually you. Don’t think there is a single man that would want to talk to anyone else with you in the crowd.

“I uh-” you giggled – like a freaking schoolgirl! - and looked down for a moment “Thanks, I guess?”

“Don’t thank me, miss (Y/l/n).” he shook his head, smiling a little nervously (for real?). You glanced down to see you really had your ID of sorts hanging from your neck.

“I’m sorry.” you laughed, shaking your head at realizing how stupid you really must have sounded “I just- I am trying really hard not to fangirl

“No, for real. Don’t- Don’t apologize.” he rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Jared for a second “I am really the one that should be fanboying.” he chuckled and your eyebrows shot up.

“Wh-what?”

“You- I just really admire your work, and I don’t mean just the magazines. I’ve been following your blog for as long as I can remember.” he breathed out and at that moment you felt all air get knocked out of your lungs.

You opened your mouth to speak but another voice was heard that made him look the other way “Jens?” you recognized it as Jared’s voice and once you looked back at the man in front of you, you heard him sigh.

“Always the worst timing.” he mumbled to himself and you chewed on your lower lip.

“Uhm so (Y/n)-” pursed his lips for a moment, chewing softly on it for a moment “Uh can I borrow that?” he spoke to a fan right next to you that was holding a pen for Jared as it seemed to sign along with a small photo.

“Sure” she giggled and you watched curiously.

“Thanks sweetheart.” he grinned before turning to you. You almost jumped as you felt a shock of electricity that ran through your hand once he took hold of your palm.

You saw him scribble down something before handing the pen back to the girl, just in time as Jared came to sign the photo. Jensen gave you one last big smile before he was shoved by his friend to move forward.

The last thing you heard was “See you in a week.” from before looking down to see a number written on your hand with a ‘Call me ;)’ below it.

You could swear your heart stopped beating at that moment and everything stopped functioning in general. But there was only one question that still was not answered: What was it in a week?

falling for you?

wooo i’m not useless, i actually wrote something woo! but yeah, sorry for people who requested stuff but like this blog works like: whatever my brain can spit out first will come first

and i think one person asked to be tagged? sorry if i’ve forgotten you!! @thequaksonclackson tell me if you want to be tagged and i’ll make a list cause lmao i dont have one rn 

Originally posted by koenigreus

thats peter thinking bout chu ^


You describe it as mortifying. Peter describes it amusing. 

It’s the story of how you two met– a chance encounter on public transport that lead to so much more than ever expected. Despite how adorable your relationship came to be now, it didn’t mean it wasn’t utterly embarrassing for you, and everyone involved back then.

Peter loves to joke about it, “she fell for me the moment she met me!” but in reality, it was a bit less cliché than that. Not love at first sight—but there was definitely something there when you collided with your to-be boyfriend on the subway that morning. 

And to be fair, you were running off three hours of sleep.

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Memory Lane ft. Yoongi

Originally posted by allforbts

Drabble game #100: “I adore you.” 

grumpy husband yoongi au aka lots of fluff (mentions of sex)
→ 1.7k words

A/N: I recently had a realization that the way my blog is structured doesn’t really give me a great leeway to express my creativity and feels for the members at random. So this is the start to a really short series of drabbles for all of the members in super short (less than 2k) drabbles! To be continued! :) Hope you guys like it. 

more from this au: here, more drabbles: here


“You’ve got a wonderful wife there, son.”

Yoongi gives the elderly man a small smile and nods in agreement, clinking his beer can against his and tipping back the cold liquor into his throats with his eyes trained on you, a feat that happens quite often.

Often Yoongi finds himself just staring at you, in awe of how someone like you ended up with someone like him.

Your friends would describe you as sweet, bubbly, kind, selfless, and bright. His friends would describe you as “the light that shined in Min Yoongi’s horribly dreadful bitch ass life.” And although he always gives them a glare or just brushes their comments off with an eye roll it’s moments like these when he feels like the six dickwads’ words can never be any more accurate.

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