it took me ages to try and make these look nice

thank you — p.p.

summary → there has never been a moment where peter’s words haven’t failed him whilst basking in your presence, so why should they form coherent sentences now?

word count → 3.5k

author’s note → did you guys forget that i write because honestly me 2

  Be it totally and completely out of the blue, you awaken one bright, blazing Tuesday morning in early November, brisk chill whipping through the air, and decide that later that night, when you see him somewhere that isn’t so public and academic like, you’re going to kiss Peter Benjamin Parker.  

  You’re not quite sure what brings it on, perhaps you should just leave it to the raging teenage hormones that the doctors and psychologists and guidance counselors blame everything on, but another part of you understands that this longing, yearning, to let yourself fall in love with your best friend is something far from foreign or new. This loving feels familiar to you, like coming back home after vacations far away and far too long, and it’s warmth in the way that burrowing under your blankets when the chill settles into your bones is. Boys like Peter demand to be adored, and they demand to be kissed as if never before. You’d be damned if you let such prime opportunities escape your grasp, or rather, your lips. 

  The hours in school glide by, which was, admittedly, utterly surprising. Typically, when you’re anticipating something later in the day, any hours before the event that is to transpire drag on as if you’re not impatient, as if you can wait all day without a complaint. But suddenly it’s last period, then two-thirty rolls around and you’re bounding over to your locker where your best friend awaits you, rocking slightly on the heels of his feet the way he has a tendency to do when he’s overexcited. This motion is arguably the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. Then again, anything Peter does, the simplest actions that bear no real relevancy, is something that you mark down in your head as the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 

   Peter glances around the halls, unable to see you through the mounds of students rushing hurriedly past him in order to relieve themselves of academia for the day as soon as possible. He pulls down the cuff of his sweater over his hands, then rethinks this and pushes them back up to his elbows. Blue looks nice on him. There are just these little things you tend to notice about him, silly things that only a person in love would pick up, and these tiny details, like the way the light catches in his eyes and the smiles he saves for certain people, make your heart bright and happy and whisper lovingly to him in a voice he can’t hear. The crowd disperses considerably enough, and you manage to fight your way through the remaining throng of people loitering in the hallway for no real reason- beyond frustrating, you think, but then Peter catches your eye and his already happy demeanor increases tenfold. With a beam that practically stretches out and reaches into your heart, seizing it carefully and determinedly, Peter ambles toward you, trying to appear more relaxed than he felt, and pushes himself into your personal space, as usual, by wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him. 

    “You’re in a good mood,” you note, because at this point in your relationship there’s no need for formal greetings, as he parades you out of the building after letting go of you long enough to allow you to gear up for the cold sweeping through the borough outside the walls of Midtown. He casts a glance your way, sideways but still joyous, then shrugs, nonchalant. “You’re just so happy to see me, aren’t you, Pete?” 

   You’re half joking and not expecting much until Peter gives you a little look, head tilted to the side and his eyebrows furrowed slightly like he can’t believe the question is something you don’t know the answer to. He gives your shoulder a squeeze. “You should know the answer to that by now!” He exclaims, mock disappointment in the head shake he gives you. “The answer is yes. We see each other for, like, two seconds at a lunch all day and that’s it. I’m deprived. I miss you.” 

  “We’re together right now,” you laugh, nudging into his side. 

   “Not enough. I see Ned twenty-four-seven, I need both of my best friends with me all day every day if I’m gonna survive the next two and a half years of high school.” Your heart sort of twitches again, your palms feel warm. He has that influence over you. Love is such a strange thing sometimes, impossible to decipher or make sense of, and then other times it feels like the simplest emotion in the world, easy and steady and everything. You’ll never know what to make of it. “I just miss you, okay? Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he jokes, rubbing your shoulder for a second before letting his hand dangle across the edge of your shoulder. You reach up to intertwine your fingers with his, the way you have millions of times before in the same seemingly intimate way, pretending as if you don’t know the sweet grin that the gesture elicits from him, staring adoringly at the profile of your face like he couldn’t possibly get enough of the view. 

   “Aw,” you coo, pinching his cheek with the hand that wasn’t holding his. Peter flinches away, his eyes squeezing shut and his cheeks pink. “I missed you, too, Pete. So, where are we off to today? Can we go traipse around SoHo? We haven’t been in ages and oh! Look, I see the A train, it’s on every corner, let’s go.” Before he realizes it, he’s being dragged down toward the steps of the subway, his complaints about constantly getting lost there falling upon deaf ears. 

   Much more than a mere few hours later, Peter is shaking his head as you laugh hysterically down the block leading to your apartment building. He has a feigned look of annoyance on his face as you talk, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Peter, we didn’t get lost that bad this time. Seriously, we made it to Union Square, which was right by the R train, then we took it to the mall and hopped on the M which we took to the F, ridiculously simple!” You exclaim, taking a sip from your bottle of water. “You’re acting as if we, like, walked around in a  circle for an hour.” 

   “Because that’s exactly what we did!” He replies, playfully punching you in the arm, but with a carefully light touch. Peter is, and has always been ever since it became a pressing issue, terribly aware of his enhanced strength and senses. He’s so nervous about accidentally hurting you when his intentions were to be playful that he does everything with extra caution now, barely letting himself touch you most of the time or even give a gentle squeeze of your hand. “We did walk in a a circle for an hour! And your phone died while you were trying to use Google Maps, it was pouring rain, you got so cold I had to give you my jacket which made me cold-”

  You interrupt him, “No one said you had to give me your jacket!” 

  He continues on his rant, pretending as if you haven’t spoken even though the smirk twitching at the corners of his lips beg to differ- “we couldn’t figure out where we were which is stupid since we’re supposed to be New Yorkers, then finally I said to just keep walking straight, which we did until we found Union Square due to pure dumb luck.” Peter watches you throw your head back and laugh, high in sound and utterly happy, and he shoves his hands deep in his pockets, a stupidly thrilled grin on his face, too. He hated that he couldn’t stop grinning; it was ridiculous and it hurt his cheeks and made his eyes squint so hard they ached once he was finally able to let his mouth rest. Oh, how his heart couldn’t stop hammering! He was so nervous he could hardly think straight. Peter Parker was drowning, suffocating, choking on these emotions that had been so far buried deep, deep within the recesses of his heart that he hardly knew what to do with them now that they were drifting to the surface like leaves on a pond. 

     You can feel his eyes on you, the soft and sweet, carefully watching gaze of Peter, and so you take the moment for your own. You’re standing in front of the door to the apartment building when you whip around toward him, and he goes in for the hug like he knows what you’re planning to do. Instead, you lean up, take his face in your hands and you note how cold his cheeks are as you avoid his surprised gaze. Then, you’re kissing him. You are kissing Peter Parker in the way you’ve never kissed anyone before; it’s hesitant, over too fast like it never even happened, but you kissed him and he knows you’ve just kissed him, but the thoughts flipping through his brain and the way his stomach is clenching doesn’t allow him to form coherent sentences that you can hear and comprehend. 

   Instead of kissing you again, instead of lifting you up in his arms and spinning you around the street and singing like a madman because the person of his dreams seems to want him right back, he stutters for five seconds. The only words that he can manage to say are, “Thank you,” before he turns back around and quite literally sprints down the block to his own apartment. 

   When he gets home he collapses on his bed, grunting a hello to May before he shoves his pillow over his face and screams into it, unabashed screaming that he drags out for two minutes. He pulls back, red cheeked and panting. He immediately rolls over to call Ned, begging him to come over immediately and no, Ned, he doesn’t care about the comic you’re in the middle of reading because this is an emergency damn it! 


   “You said thank you?” Ned says incredulously, thirty minutes later and trying not to burst into hysterics after what his best friend had just relayed to him. He can’t help himself, and as Peter hugs his pillow to his chest with a look similar to that of someone who is experiencing severe indigestion, Ned wheezes out a laugh held in for so long that it just goes on forever. Peter buries his face in the plush, comforting fabric, emitting a groan that continues for as long as Ned cackles. “Dude, you’re a mess. I can’t believe you said thank you. Who says thank you after being kissed? For the first time? By someone you’ve been dying to kiss for the past, like, three years?” Ned is practically crying by the time Peter  launches his pillow at his so called best friend, resting his fists against his cheeks and letting a pout befall his lips. 

   “Ned,” Peter whines, brown eyes pleading. “I need help. I said thank you! I hate myself, I shouldn’t be allowed to be kissed ever again. I’m… I’m so stupid. I said thank you! To Y/N! Y/N! Of all people! Thank you! Thank you.” He repeats the phrase with a sad, small shake of his head and lies back down on his bed. Ned stretches out across the top bunk, Peter can hear the old bed creak, and they both let out a sigh. “What should I do, man? Do you think Y/N hates me?” 

   Ned is quiet for a moment. “Right now? Y/N definitely hates you right now. I’m not even saying that to be mean, I’m saying that as your best friend. You said thank you.”  

  “I know,” he says, miserable and pathetic and contemplating what sort of injuries he might hypothetically sustain if he attempted a backflip off the edge of the Empire State Building. 


   “He said thank you?” Michelle Jones doesn’t even bother to wait, to even offer a dash of fake but well meant sympathy, before she erupts into hysterics, laughing so terribly hard that she nearly rolls off your twin bed. You stare at her, stone faced, unamused, as she continues her awful wheezing laughter that she has no intention of halting any time soon. “Oh my god, oh my god, I have to-” MJ abruptly stands up, stifling her laughter behind her hand as she leaves your bedroom, then closes the door behind her and starts laughing again. It’s loud, practically deafening, mostly because the laughter feels so mocking and smothering in lieu of recent events that had occurred less than an hour ago. You sigh, hugging your pillow even tighter to your chest as you wait for your so called best friend to return from her stint in the hallway. 

   “Oh, are you done now? Thanks,” you snap, shifting over on the bed to make room for her to clamor back on. “I can’t believe you. I’m having a crisis and you leave to go laugh at me in the hallway. What sort of friend are you, MJ?” 

   She shrugs, the ghost of a hilariously mocking grin still playing at her mouth. “The friend who tells it like it is.” 

   You huff, lying down on the bed and staring up at the glow in the dark stars you had stuck up there when you were fourteen, the July before you started high school. You put them up with Peter, and it was late and hot and your palms were sticky with sweat that sometimes wonder was due to the heat of the summer or the boy sitting next to you in your room, on your tiny bed, rambling on about the rings that Jupiter had, because yes Jupiter has rings, and the reasons as to why stars emit light. Peter was always there, never wavering in his loyalties, your most beloved friend, the boy who promised over and over again that he’d be there for you no matter what. He was Peter, and you loved Peter, and if Peter didn’t love you back that would be just fine- you just wanted to know sooner rather than later. “What should I do? Is he, like, repulsed by me? Why would you let me kiss him, Michelle?” 

   “Uh, excuse me, I didn’t even know you were planning on planting a big one on Peter Parker, so any blame cast on me is henceforth cancelled. Got that? Good,” Michelle brushes her hair out of her eyes, that intense look appearing on her already intense face. “First of all, that loser is physically incapable of being repulsed by you. I’m just telling you that right now before you go off on a stupid tangent about whether or not he hates you. That’s final. Next, he’s never been kissed before! He was definitely overwhelmed, probably freaking out inside, didn’t know what to do, and that was the first thing that popped into his head and he ran with it and then he ran away. Understandable. Finally, boys are just stupid. All of them. They’re all complete morons, and-” 

   “Okay, Michelle, the idiotic tendencies of people who identify as a male is a riveting debate that we enjoy quite frequently, but tonight I think I’m done talking boys. I’m going to just… let things happen as they should? If Peter likes me, he’ll tell me, and that’ll be that. I just won’t bring up the kiss. I’ll pretend like it didn’t happen.” With a satisfied nod, MJ pats your head, then, for a split second, snorts under her breath again. 

  She holds her hands up defensively, exclaiming, “He still said thank you! He’s never living this shit down!”


    The next day at school, Peter is prepared and ready for the conversation he anticipates is going to happen. He is ready to be understanding if you yell at him for being a complete and utter ass after you kissed him, he’s ready to spill his bottled up feelings all over the linoleum floor if that’s what it takes for you to believe that the kiss was the best thing he’s ever experienced, ever would experience, and he’s ready for the beginning of everything he’s ever dreamt of, but none of that comes. At least, not immediately, not in the way he expected. 

   The boy has always thought himself a patient person, but in the months that have passed he’s realized that under no circumstances is he okay with waiting. He’s impatient and annoyed at everyone and everything that comes his way that isn’t you, and then he’s annoyed at you for not appearing to him and acknowledging that you kissed him on the front steps of your apartment building with a fervor that could only be identified as the crashing, burning, raging, bursting power of pent up emotion. He knows he has hardly any classes with you, so there’s no conceivable way you could have an in depth discussion of your relationship status as of this very moment, but still. He’d appreciate a gesture of some kind. And then, after this thought pops into his head, he wonders if he should be the one to make the gesture. 

   Prompt with following his instincts, he sets off to find you before you can avoid him at lunch like he knows you will. He stands by your locker, leaning against the cool metal frame, waiting for you to make an appearance. He sees you first, and by now this is simply rote for him. You don’t have time to even attempt to duck out of his way; Peter is determined, stubborn, and he won’t lose out on his chance by allowing you to go on ignoring him. Even if you don’t want a relationship, a decision he’ll respect wholeheartedly, he flat out refuses to even entertain the idea of no longer having you as his best friend, as his other kind of love. He takes your hand, silent begging scrawled across the weakened, anxious smile he gives you. He leads you toward the front of the school, around a bend of empty lockers, and takes a step back. 

   Neither of you really look at each other until he says, unexpectedly, “You kissed me!” It’s almost accusatory, the way he says it, and, affronted, you look back up at him in alarm.  

   “And you said thank you!” You retort, eyes narrowed. “Who says that!” The entire reason you’ve been avoiding him was to avoid this discussion. It was making you feel feverish. Peter had always made you nervous, it was painfully obvious, but this was so much different than just incessant butterflies in your stomach. This was a post-kiss conversation, and you hardly knew what to say to him other than repeating the previous query of, “Seriously, who tells someone thank you after they’ve just kissed you!”

   The question is rhetorical, so he ignores it. That, and because he’s already embarrassed enough by his tactless reply. He waves his hands around aggressively. “I know! I know I did! I didn’t mean to! You scared me!” 

   “Wow, thanks.” 

   “I didn’t mean it like that! You’re not scary, you’re like a baby deer, a fawn, you’re so cute and non-intimidating, I didn’t mean that you were scary I meant that I’ve never been kissed and being kissed by the person you have a crush on is a scary thing especially when it comes out of nowhere so I’m sorry that I said thank you but I just didn’t- my brain doesn’t work sometimes, okay!” Peter runs his hands through his hair. One curl flips down, curling over his forehead in a stupidly cute way.

   “Peter, you literally drive me up the wall, sometimes.” You shake your head, give a sigh, take two steps forward so that you’re so much closer to him than you were before even though two steps shouldn’t feel like you’re closing the widest gap in history. “Should I not have kissed you?” 

   His pretty brown eyes go wide. “Did you not hear the part where I called you cute? And the part where I said I have a crush on you? Do you have selective hearing? Work with me here,” he pleads, taking holding of your shoulders and giving the gentlest shake he can manage. 

   “So, kissing is a yes, then?” You press, just to make sure, just to tease him a little because you can see the way he grows more and more flustered each time you act like you have no idea what he’s talking about. He closes his eyes. There’s a deep inhalation while you stand there waiting for him, and when he kisses you, you’re the one taken by surprise, hands frozen in midair as he lets his lips move from yours in this painfully slow way you’re almost sure he’s taunting you with. You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to the punch. 

  “I swear, if you ruin this moment and say it-” 

  “Thank you, Peter.” 

  “I think we’re going to have to break up before we’re even together. You blew it, Y/N. Good work.” 

  “Aw, c’mon! It’ll be our thing.”

  “No.”

TAGS : @iusethistoreadfanfics @pbpz @skymoonandstardust @lunastarwatcher @warcriminalrogers @brittyblogs @tiny-friggin-human @heartfrost @gentlethunderstorm @fairydustparker @emmaaolsen @xwinterromanxff @idioticnerd24 @ravenclaws-say-caw @buckysmaingirl @pillow223 @quacksontommy @handsomeholland @tomarvelicious @fluffyavengers @wavy-ley @radicalstars @nedslaptop @nedandpeter @starparker @parkerroos @stephie-senpai @spideytattoo @peterplanet @fullwizardstrawberry @yoinkpeter @linnsweatpants @mossyfeet @sophia1644 @itsssmichelleee

I’ve been contemplating for several days something, and I’ve been trying to distill it into meaning, and put nice little bullet points on how this relates to things that have been bugging me about some common Discourses I’ve been seeing, but at the end, I only really have a story. So here, have a story.

About ten years ago, sometime in the eventful 2006-2007 George W. Bush-ruled hellscape of my identity development, I was just starting to figure out how I felt about my conservative upbringing (not great) and whether I was some brand of queer (probably, but too scared to think about what brand for too long). I was working as a server at a popular Italian-inspired sit-down restaurant that was the closest thing my tiny South Carolinian town had to “fancy” at the time but isn’t really fancy at all.

The host brought a party of four men to one of my tables. It was hard to tell their ages, but my guess is they were teenagers or in their early 20s in the 1980s. Mid-40s, at the time. It was standard to ask if anyone at the table was celebrating anything, so I did. They said they were business partners celebrating a great business deal and would like a bottle of wine.

It was a fairly busy night so I didn’t have a LOT of time to spend at their table, but they were nice guys. They were polite and friendly to me, they didn’t hit on me (as most men were prone to do – sometimes even in front of their girlfriends, a story I’ll tell later if anyone wants me to), and they were racking up a hell of a tab that was going to make my managers happy, so I checked on them as often as I could.

Toward the end of their second bottle of wine, as they were finishing their entrees, I stopped at the table and asked if they wanted any more drinks or dessert or coffee. They were well and truly tipsy by now, giggling, leaning back in their chairs – but so, so careful not to touch each other when anyone was near the table.

They’re all on the fence about dessert, so being a good server, I offered to bring out the dessert menu so they could glance it over and make a decision, “Since you’re celebrating.”

“She’s right!” one of the men said, far too emphatically for a conversation on dessert. “It’s your anniversary! You should get dessert!”

It was like a movie. The whole table went absolutely silent. The clank of silverware at the next table sounded supernaturally loud. Dean Martin warbled “That’s Amore” in some distorted alternate universe where the rest of the restaurant went on acting like this one tipsy man hadn’t just shattered their carefully crafted cover story and blurted out in the middle of a tiny, South Carolina town, surrounded by conservatives and rednecks, that they were gay men celebrating a relationship milestone. 

And I didn’t know what I was yet, but I knew I wasn’t an asshole, and I knew these men were family, and I felt their panic like a monster breathing down all our necks. It’s impossible to emphasize how palpably terrified they were, and how justified their terror was, and how much I wanted them to be happy.

So I did the only thing I knew to do. I said, “Congratulations! How many years?”

The man who’d spoken up burst into tears. His partner stood up and wrapped me in the tightest, warmest hug I’ve ever had – and I’ve never liked being touched by strangers, but this was different, and I hugged him back.

“Thank you,” he whispered, halfway to crying himself. “Thank you so much.”

When he finally let go of me and sat back down, they finally got around to telling me they were, in fact, two couples on a double date, and both celebrating anniversaries. Fifteen years for one of them, I think, and a few years off for the other. It’s hard to remember. It was a jumble of tears and laughter and trembling relief for all of us. They got more relaxed. They started holding hands – under the table, out of sight of anyone but me, but happy.

They did get dessert, and I spent more time at their table, letting them tell me stories about how they met and how they started dating and their lives together, and feeling this odd sense of belonging, like I’d just discovered a missing branch of my family.

When they finally left, all four of them took turns standing up and hugging me, and all four of them reached into their wallets to tip me. I tried to wave them off but they insisted, and the first man who’d hugged me handed me forty dollars and said, “Please. You are an angel. Please take this.”

After they left I hid in the bathroom and cried because I couldn’t process all my thoughts and feelings.

Fast forward to three days ago, when my own partner and I showed up to a dinner reservation at a fancy-casual restaurant to celebrate our fifth anniversary. The whole time I was getting ready to leave, there was a worry in the back of my mind. The internet web form had asked if the reservation was celebrating anything in particular, and I’d selected “Anniversary.” I stood in the bathroom blow-drying my hair, wondering what I would do if we showed up, two women, and the host or the server took one look at us and the “Anniversary” designation on our reservation and refused to serve us. It’s not as ubiquitous anymore, but we’re still in the south, and these things still happen. Eight years of progressive leadership is over, and we’ve got another conservative despot in office who’s emboldening assholes everywhere.

It was on my mind the whole fifteen minutes it took to drive there. I didn’t mention it to my partner because I didn’t want to cast a shadow over the occasion. More than that, I didn’t want to jinx us, superstitious bastard that I am.

We walked into the restaurant. I told the hostess we had a reservation, gave her my last name.

She looked at her screen, then looked back at us. She smiled, broadly and genuinely, and said, “Happy anniversary! Your table is right this way.”

Our server greeted us, said, “I heard you were celebrating!”

“It’s our anniversary,” Kellie said, and our server gasped, beaming.

“That’s great! Congratulations! How many years?”

And I finally breathed a sigh of relief, and I thought about those men at that restaurant ten years ago. I hope they’re still safe and happy, and I hope we all get the satisfaction of helping the world keep blooming into something that’s not so unrelentingly terrible all the time.

Okay I’m about to spill some tea

SO “oh look, taylor swift is dragging up past drama to sell her new album, look at her playing the victim again, you’re still over”

is what all the haters happen to be screaming (among over ridiculous things) tonight, following the release of Look What You Made Me Do, the lead single to Swift’s 6th album: Reputation. But let’s take a little trip down memory lane to see if Taylor really is playing the victim. Hold on ladies, it’s gonna be a long one. 

2006-2008  

Taylor broke out in 2006, and when Love Story stormed the charts in late 2008 she became a global superstar and thus named “America’s Sweetheart” a bittersweet and dangerous title for any young female star, because it’s so easy to fall from the top. She was immediately held to an impossibly high standard of perfection, in every aspect of her life, and she handled this with grace. 

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Notes to the girl whose house I live in

by reddit user JJX2525

It took me a week to find where you keep your wifi password. A whole week! I was really worried you’d thrown it away, but lo and behold, there it was in the cutlery drawer of all places. Everything about the way you organize things confuses me. I guess because you live on your own now you just put things any old place. I know there was someone else before, I heard you talking about him on the phone. Johnny, I think? Jimmy? Anyway, I know because you said it was tough being alone. But you’re not alone, of course. You have me!

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I can’t help but think about Yuuri being constantly mesmerized but also FULL OF SALT because Viktor, like a fine wine or good cheese, just gets BETTER with age. He is the SILVEREST OF SILVER FOXES. Yuuri can’t handle it.

Like yes his forehead gets bigger, but that just makes him look distinguished somehow? And the lines around his eyes give him this graceful wisdom. The glasses he has to wear later in life make him look like one of those beautiful professor-type men in movies–just looking at them, you know they’ve got to be over the fifty hump, maybe even pretty far over, but you still really want to see them with their shirt off? 

Viktor plans a beach trip for their thirtieth wedding anniversary and Yuuri watches as his sixty-year-old husband shakes salt water out of his hair and rubs sunscreen into the freckles on his shoulders. What the fuck. Yuuri is sitting here in a giant T-shirt and shorts with an overlarge sunhat and sunglasses, and next to him Viktor is reenacting the ads for Gucci’s summer 2049 beachwear ad. The only thing missing is a lion cub and a yacht.

“Aren’t you going to swim?” Viktor asks, leaning back on his elbows, legs crossed at the ankles. His whole body is laid out as though to soak up as much sun as possible, and Yuuri is huddled under the umbrella, every bit of him that will fit in the shade folded into it.

“My hip is bothering me today,” Yuuri tells him, mostly as an excuse.

“The water might help with that,” Viktor tells him, and kneads a hand into the meat of Yuuri’s hip. “It’s nice and cool. Aren’t you having fun, Kitten?”

Yuuri bows his head towards him, smiles and butts their noses together. Viktor has a smear of unincorporated sunscreen on his nose that transfers onto Yuuri’s cheek. “Of course I am. I’m with you.”

Viktor makes a weak little sound against his shoulder. “The things you say. Even now.”

“They’re true,” Yuuri says, and takes his hand through Viktor’s hair.

“I know,” Viktor sighs. “But sometimes I still can’t believe that you’re spending your life with me. Thirty years, can you believe it?”

“No,” Yuuri chuckles honestly. “I can’t. But I’m glad it happened. And that it’s still happening.”

“Thirty years and you’re still just as beautiful as they day I married you,” Viktor says.

Yuuri looks at his husband, Number 27 on People Magazine’s list of Fifty Sexiest Men Over Fifty, and blushes harder than he has since he was in his twenties. 

“Says Russia’s Golden Silver Fox.”

“I hated that article,” Viktor says. His fingers are tracing patters on Yuuri’s thigh. “It made no sense. Silver and gold clash. Anyone with a brain knows that.”

“I don’t think that was the point, Vitya.”

Viktor grabs his hand. “Come swim with me!”

“No!” Yuuri laughs, halfheartedly trying to tug his hand back. “We’re on a beach surrounded by twenty-somethings and unlike you, I have the waistline of a fifty-six year old man.”

“Then come back to our hotel room and I’ll show you the things your fifty-six-year-old waistline can do to me,” Viktor murmurs, and nips gently at Yuuri’s thigh just below the hem of his shorts.

“Well…” Yuuri twirls a lock of Viktor’s hair in his finger. “We do have a few hours before dinner.”

Yuuri lets Viktor cling to him like an octopus on the walk back to their room. Yuuri may be thirty-two years older than he was in the winter of 2016, but he is still the man who took pride in stealing Viktor Nikiforov out from under Russia’s nose–and he is still the only man who Viktor Nikiforov, Certified Fine Wine, Good Cheese, Silver Fox, has eyes for. It’s enough to make anyone feel good about their love handles. 

(Viktor thinks that Yuuri’s love handles are to be celebrated. But that’s another post.)

Fruits - Peter Parker

request -  hi! i was wondering if you could write something about a peter x fem!reader where she’s homeschooled and doesn’t have friends and then she meets peter and they become close ? thanks!! 

a/n - i changed the request up a bit, and made the reader tony’s daughter to give it an even more ‘fluffy’ feel to it and i think it failed horribly BUT thank you so much for 1k!!! i can’t even believe all the love i’m getting for these fics, it makes me so happy to know you guys like them :) don’t forget to request a peter parker/spider-man fic if you’d like and follow!

I sat at the dining table just across from the living room, headphones in as I watched a math lesson that was just uploaded onto my school’s website. It was just around 10 AM when my school day started, a bowl of freshly cut fruits on the table as I took notes in my small book, sometimes glancing around to see if something more entertaining was going on.

Being the kid of a billionaire had it’s perks, but some downsides to it as well. Sure, I was able to access anything through money, but I was stuck at home a good 99% of my life, hidden away from the public eye at the request of my father. I’ve never been able to go to school and have a ‘normal’ life, with my only friends being the middle aged people the world calls the Avengers.

I paused the lesson and took my headphones out, heading out to the kitchen counter to pour a cup of coffee for myself, only to hear the door opening.

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Maybe More Than Friends (Peter Parker x Stark!Reader)

Word Count: 4,729

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: After Peter joined the Avengers, you were basically forced into spending a lot of time with him, being that your father is being that your father is the Tony Stark. Your relationship starts off fairly innocent being as Peter was fairly shy around you, and not to mention that Tony had strictly forbid you two from dating. But despite your best efforts, the sexual tension between you two is undeniable. And one night while the rest of the Avengers are out on a mission, leaving you and Peter alone, the sexual tension comes to a peak. Peter is 18 in this fic.

Warnings: Extreme fluff. Language. Smut smut smut

You remember the first time you met Peter Parker. It was embarrassing, to say the least.

It was a pretty unexpected meetup. You didn’t even know that he was in the tower. You were working in the lab with another one of your dad’s employees, helping design a suit for the new Avengers recruit, Spiderman. It was your first major job, and you were so focused that you hadn’t even noticed when your dad and Peter walked in.

“Hey, Y/N, meet the new recruit, Peter. Peter, meet Y/N, my daughter.” Tony said loudly as he entered the lab, startling you and making you hit your head on the wall.

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transcript of the speech i gave at Vassar’s black baccalaureate service

Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, and the Vassar class of 2017.
Just saying that aloud made me feel old. Class of 2017? Most of y'all were born after dark-skinned Aunt Viv left the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. That’s wild.

I want to first thank you for allowing me to be a part of such a special moment in your lives. I am honored, privileged, and a bit in disbelief that you asked me of all people to give this address. I try not to have feelings, and I’m going to do my best not to cry today, but no promises.

I’m here to stand in the gap between you and your parents and guardians and any other elders in your lives that you stopped listening to because you thought they were wack and out of touch. I remember being in your shoes not TOO long ago, and it is my fervent prayer that something that I say here today will help you avoid some of the mess I went through.
To be honest I’m a little nervous, but I figured there was no way could this be worse than when Betsy DeVos went down to Bethune-Cookman, so let’s get started.

As you transition to life after Vassar the changes will be both inevitable and swift, so I’d like to begin by giving you some well-intentioned advice and warning you about the continued process of becoming an adult.

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Losing A Friend (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Originally posted by mikkeljensen

Best Friend Series Masterlist

Author Note: As requested here is part 2 of Best Friends... let me know what you guys think!


“(Y/n) how’s my best friend?”

(Y/n) let out a slight sigh turning towards Steve. Her eyes narrowing slightly at the question. Deep down she knew what he was going to say. He’s done this for a month now.. So why would this time be any different? Yet there was that stupid hope that she seemed to choke on every time. The one that caused the wounds to go so much deeper. The ones that left her heart hammering in hopes that this time would be different. “I’m good… Why what’s up?” She asked cautiously.

Steve leaned against the locker besides her with that anxious smile. Her stomach dropped realizing that this wasn’t any different. “So I totally forgot that I promised Nancy I’d-”

(Y/n)’s locker slammed shut making Steve jump. She shook her head swallowing down the bile that rose in her throat. She clutched her books tightly to her chest making her knuckles white. Her whole body felt like it was burning as anger and sadness swirled beneath her skin. “It’s fine Steve,” She grumbled.

Steve frowned slightly. His eyes studying her face for a moment. For the first time in weeks he truly looked at her. Her eyes were blazing with mixed emotions and she seemed to be clenching her jaw. She was tense and refused to meet his gaze. “Are you sure? I could-”

“So now you care?” She snapped startling Steve. Her eyes were narrowed and Steve watched in horror as her eyes began to swell with tears. She ran a hand through her hair scowling slightly. “For the first time in a month your actually caring?”

“(Y/n) that’s not-”

“Not true?!” (Y/n) laughed bitterly shaking her head. “Are you that fucking love struck Harrington? We haven’t hung out in forever!” (Y/n)’s vision was blurring and burned with unshed tears. Her chest tightening painfully as she struggled to keep back sobs. “Ever since Nancy came around you’ve all but forgotten me. My recital that I worked so hard for. You blew me off. That movie you promised not to watch without me. You took her for your date.” (Y/n) felt this hollow all of a sudden. Her heart practically aching as she remembered these things.

Steve felt anger bubbling beneath his skin. “Look (Y/n)! I’m sorry, but you know I really like her!” He snapped catching the girl off guard. “So will you stop being so selfish?!” Deep down Steve knew that he was being a jerk again. That his defensive walls were pulling up and that (Y/n) was completely right. 

(Y/n) tried not to cry, but those damn tears started falling. She scowled at Steve as her whole body burned. Everything seemed to be burning within her as She snapped, “So that’s it huh? Eight years of friendship down the drain?” Steve was silent causing another wave of tears to drip down (Y/n)’s cheeks. Today was no different, except for the fact that (Y/n) couldn’t take it anymore. “Thanks Harrington. It’s nice to know that now. Just stay away from me.”

(Y/n) shoved past him trying to dodge through the crowd of blurring colors. She felt sick to her stomach, and for a moment she thought she might hurl. She wiped the tears away furiously searching for a exit out of this damn school, when she ran right into someone. She went sprawling on the floor and her books scattered in every direction. She huffed and wiped at her eyes sniffling slightly. “Sorry I just-”

“It’s alright I wasn’t paying attention either,” They said before crouching down. It was a boy about her age and a camera was dangling from his neck. He had a few of her books in his hands and his eyes met hers. He frowned slightly. “Are you alright?’

(Y/n)’s face flushed with embarrassment as she quickly wiped the remaining tears away. “Y-Yea…” She quickly took the books from him and gathered the rest and stood up. The boy stood up as well and held out his hand seeming hesitant.

“i’m Jonathan by the way.”

(Y/n) was confused slightly as she began to relax. She put the thought away though and instead shook his hand smiling just slightly. “It’s Nice to meet you Jonathan I’m (Y/n).” 

Jonathan smiled and let go of her hand. “Well (Y/n) maybe I’ll see you around,” He said nervously. He turned away and made his way down the hallway leaving (Y/n) alone once more.

It was a horrible though. (Y/n) knew so, but she couldn’t help it. Perhaps Jonathan could be her friend considering her best friend was practically gone. In fact, he could probably help her forget. Forget Steve and perhaps she could be happy again. Yeah that sounded like a plan.


Tags:

@slythergirlimagines @storrmynights @deadpoolgirl23

internet friend!tom headcanons

for my girls over at spiderjizz, especially ruby who came up with this and let me steal the idea for this, larb you rubs!
tags: @grant-valdes-holland @sunrisehunny @spideyboys @lil-spidey @peterletmebeanavengerparker @captainswriting @quacksoff @spideryr00s @spideyyss @tomhollandisthicc @underoosie @marvelsdaughter @ladysnowren @spideyyparker @rooyeun @focused-on-holland @toms-spidey

  • okay so to start you had no idea it was tom to begin with
    • his username was “marvels-biggest-fanboyxx”
    • and he obviously didn’t go by tom but by his middle name stanley instead
    • there was never really a tip-off that it was tom
  • you just knew whoever was behind this screen made some badass edits
    • seriously they were some of the best gif edits you had seen
  • you also knew he posted some photos and videos of tom that no one had really seen before
    • “where’d you get that picture of tom? i’ve never seen it before?”
    • “oh i got it from a friend.”
    • “i’ve never seen that video before, where’d you find it?”
    • “i had to search through a lot of youtube videos”
  • anyways, you messaged whoever this stanley was because he seemed cool and you were really just looking for friends
  • you would have been building this friendship for months
    • he had basically become your best friend on this website
    • you send “stanley” pictures of tom all. the. time.
    • “snslsnsos did you see tom’s hair in his latest ig story like stab me in the fAcE”
    • “ahahahahah yeah same”
    • “tom had such a nice ass i wonder what it feels like”
    • and tom is laughing at this, thinking “real nice. it feels real nice.”
    • but you just get “i bet it feels really nice” in response
  • aside from him being your best friend, you don’t know much about him personally
  • and you totally respect his privacy about that
  • and one day “stanley” finally asks if you wanted to skype
  • and you of course jump at the opportunity because you had become so close to each other
    • you told him practically everything
    • he told you everything he could without giving away the fact that he was actually tom
  • you swap skype users and very soon after you call him
  • and you’re sitting there waiting for it to connect and wondering why the hell you’re so nervous about this
    • he’s one of your best friends for crying out loud
  • anyways it connects and you don’t see his face instead you see Tessa
  • at first you’re thinking “stanley what the hell”
  • and then it clicks like “wait a minute, i know that dog” and your eyes widen and the only thought in your brain is “no way, this must be a joke”
  • tom them pops onto the screen, holding tessa all “hello darling!”
    • mainly because he knows how much you love it when he says that
    • and you definitely ranted to him about how badly you wanted him to call you that
  • you just kind of sit there somewhat in shock going on and on about how “this is a joke. this is seriously a joke. there is no way i am on a skype call with tom holland”
  • and tom just laughs and says “it’s not a joke, darling, it’s actually me”
  • and you’re feeling so flustered and slightly embarrassed because you had basically talked about him all the time to him
  • lots and lots of blushing from you
    • tom finds it completely adorable
  • after your first initial call you guys become skype buddies
    • you’d try to call nearly everyday when you could
    • it took you ages for you to stop blushing at the SIGHT of him
  • it took a while for you to be calm around him and not blush every time he looked at you
    • tom found this absolutely adorable
  • you soon realize you don’t really have much to talk about
  • mainly because all you did was talk about him with him
  • so you talk about spider-man and all the other avengers because he’s such a marvel nerd
  • you take quizzes online to see who’s better and smarter with their avengers trivia
    • there’s lots of teasing afterwards from the winning party
  • after a while, tom gives you his phone number which is a huge step for him
  • just so he can call you and have late night calls over the phone
    • you always want to talk but you don’t want your phone bill to be absolutely insane
    • “tom i really wanna talk but my phONE BILL”
    • “pfft i’ll pay for it now please just stay on the phone with me, i wanna talk to you”
  • you guys fall asleep on the phone quite frequently because neither of you want to hang up
  • okay and hear me on this
  • tom would definitely be the type to surprise you by paying a visit to your hometown
  • and not telling you a single thing about it
  • he just sits and waits for you to figure it out
  • you’d be sitting at home in your pajamas having only woken up a few hours ago
  • and tom would skype you while he’s walking around your city/town
  • and you’re just casually talking until “hey wait a second I KNOW THAT THE CAFE”
  • he just laughs at you and probably winks
  • you’re in a slight bit of denial and don’t think twice about it before running out on the streets in your pajamas
    • which typically consist of spandex shorts and a hoodie most nights
    • it didn’t matter if it was two miles away you ran the whole entire way there
  • and your first real life meeting you run into him, knocking him backwards because you had been running so fast
  • you just stand there in front of him in your pajamas, red in the face and out of breath with your hands on your knees
    • “i just ran…two miles…to see if you…were actually here”
    • he laughs because there’s his adorable girl in front of him in her pjs who ran into town just to see him
    • he feel pretty flattered
  • it’s a little awkward though
    • he goes for a hug and you go for a handshake
    • you both kind of awkwardly laugh and switch the roles
    • more awkward laughing ensues because we’re good friends but we’ve never actually met in person before oH nO
    • but he just pulls you into a tight hug and your cheeks flush and you realize that he smells really good
  • tom offers to talk you out to breakfast in your pajamas
    • it’s pretty adorable to say the least
    • he definitely makes a comment about them
    • “by the way i love the outfit darling”
    • you just sit there pretty mortified
    • “alaodjsosnSHUT UP TOM”
  • and after he takes you to breakfast he begs you to show him around
    • “please y/n i really wanna see where you grew up”
    • “tom”
    • “please please please”
    • “tom i’m iN mY pAJAMaS”
    • “i don’t care, cmon please”
    • “!!!no i’m at least going back home to get actual pants”
  • and toms pretty confused and he’s like “what am i supposed to do then?”
  • “you come with me doofus”
  • he’s pretty shook because he actually gets to see where you live
    • even if it is for two seconds while you change
  • you get to your house and go to change completely forgetting about the old baby, school, and family photos hanging on the walls
  • he’s completely enthralled by them all
    • “aw y/n look at you! you’re so cute and tiny”
    • “jsksl thOMAS NO STOP”
  • you’re completely mortified because all of  those are the worst photos of your entire existence
  • and when you actually change you have to physically drag him out of the house
    • “aw but i wanted to see more pictures”
    • “you can see more later”
    • that’s a lie you don’t ever want him seeing old pictures of you again
  • the whole time you’re showing him around he never stops smiling
  • because you’re actually glowing when you explain things and tell him your different childhood stories
  • and then you suddenly remember that time you talked about how nice his ass is
    • you just stop in the middle of the sidewalk and tom’s looking at you so confused
    • “oH mY GOD IM SORRY ABOUT THAT ASS COMMENT I MADE BEFORE”
    • he just sits there and laughs at you
    • “it’s okay love i promise”
    • you’re still mortified by it
  • so!! much!! blushing!!
    • not just from you but from him too
  • overall you spend the entire day together creating so many new memories and inside jokes
    • you take lots of silly pictures together
    • and of each other
  • you’re pretty bummed when he has to leave to go back home
    • “do you have to leave?”
    • “unfortunately love”
    • “i’ll miss you this was fun, next time warn me though”
    • and he laughs and nods and promises he will
  • “i’m serious though i’m really going to miss you”
  • “i know darling i’ll miss you too”
  • and wow i need tom as my internet friend right now
Call Me Mistress – Ramen (M) (Part 1)

Summary: A long-term client hires the Mistress to help celebrate his best friend’s birthday.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, with guest appearances by Jimin and Jooheon (Monsta X)

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 10,537

Warning: Sub!Jungkook, Domme!Reader, BDSM, femdom, sexual themes, spanking, public humiliation, sexual harassment/groping, alcohol, profanity

Series: Call Me Mistress

A/N: Jungkook’s story will have multiple parts because the opportunity to share the Mistress’ business practices with new clients was too good pass up. Hope you enjoy!

Client List: Prologue | River (Namjoon) | Ramen (Jungkook): Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3 | (more forthcoming)

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Sweet Creature (M)

*I have no words*

Request: Can I get a Sub Jungkook smut where their on the couch and he cums in his pants while the reader is grinding on him on his lap and dirty talks to him in his ear??? Thanks☺️☺️☺️

Word Count: 6.9k words (heh heh)

Let me ruin you goddammit


Let’s get one thing straight. You never claimed to be a good person, never did charity work, never been the perfect daughter for your parents. And you sure as hell wasn’t someone’s little girlfriend.

You did what you want, who you wanted and slipped out of their sheets before they murmur good morning in your ear. You were a ‘no strings attached’ girl, making sure that you would never become someone’s puppet. Of course, you weren’t immune to the disease called ‘love’, your innocent high school days plagued with your naive mindset of finding the ‘one’. It still haunts you, one of the reasons your night doesn’t end with a shot of whisky and half a pack of beer. The only person who was willing to put up with you was your best friend, Jungkook.

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Bat Boy Headcanons Bed Partners

We are looking at the batboys as bed partners. Not necessary with a focus on NSFW themes, but they’re there.


Dick:

-Blanket. Hog.

-Say it one more time, all together now, this man is a blanket hog. After many a night waking with shivers and losing the battle to wrest a sliver of your bedspread to cover yourself (good God, what is his grip strength?), you begin to keep an old comforter at the end of the bed. When it’s time to sleep, if Dick happens to be staying over, you split the blankets in two. He can have the top sheet and the fluffy, fancy duvet. You’re fine curled up in the worn floral cotton cover that had been on your bed in girlhood. Warmth is warmth, Martha Stewart home-goods be damned.  

-The added comforter makes for awkward, bulky snuggling. You tried to maintain the post-coital sleep cuddles a handful of times, but with the burrowing nature of the sleeping Richard, spooning through the night was abandoned in favor of pressing your backs together. Most times, sex or no sex, you take a shower and emerge to find him curled under the fancy covers facing the wall. You know he’s not sleeping, but you both pretend. By the time you’ve gone for a shower, everything that needed saying was said. You creep into bed and settle in. Slowly, wordlessly, you inch together until the lengths of both your bodies are pressed tightly against one another. He even points his toes.

-Bless him.

-In the morning, fucking morning glory jostles you a few times before rolling his entire body weight over you to “squish you awake.” He chuckles and coos at your angry huffs and groans. Asshole.

-He makes you breakfast to make up for the squishing. Gross whole-grain related hot cereal breakfasts, but whatever. He didn’t hafta’ make it, and that’s what counts.

-You’re not a morning person, by nature. The inherent conflict between someone with your night owl tendencies and his cheery, perky, frighteningly sunny disposition before noon tends to cause friction. At least… you expected it to cause friction. In actuality, he’s just infectiously chipper? It’s hard to stay upset when your house smells like brown sugar and fresh fruit and he’s all smiley.

-Damn him.


Jason:

-This poor boy generates more heat than a top of the line WE radiator. We’re talking damp sheets and a bunched up comforter kicked to the foot of the bed every frickin’ night. You own pajamas. You used to sleep in pajamas. Now you’re too damn hot. Not in a fun, hot and bothered way. No. Hot in the “Jason, I swear to God, if you don’t get your heavy, sweaty arm off of me, I’m kicking you” sort of way.

-For the most part, he doesn’t really sleep. At least, you don’t think he does. He seems to nap in quick bursts, but will stay with you through the night without protest or excuse when asked.

-He sleeps so hard when he rarely slips past his usual doze to full unconsciousness that it doesn’t really matter what you say, nothing can be done. You are trapped in the crushing embrace of your sweaty boyfriend.

-At least he mostly smells good, cigarette breath aside.

-You like cuddling. Previous boyfriends had requested separate blankets or a pillow wall because, Jesus, you are a monster. What Jason does cannot be called cuddling. It’s huddling. He huddles you.

-Your back to his chest. One bicep under your neck and, somehow, that same forearm is positioned in a bar back over your chest so your cheek sits on his elbow. Is it still a headlock if done out of affection?

-You don’t know.

-The other arm gets tossed over your belly. It fastens your torsos together with a firm hold kept in place because he burrows that hand beneath your hip. When he takes deep breaths you’re sort of squeezed. It’s a happy turn of events that you aren’t claustrophobic.

-You’re not sure what happens to your legs. You’ve never managed a look down at them while being huddled. Suffice to say that they are not your own.

-When you absolutely have to extract yourself from him, a lot of squirming is involved. 100% honesty, you have elbowed him awake. You had half an hour before work and were dangerously close to pissing your scant pjs.

-Drastic times, yo.

-On the nights when he just naps, mornings are whatever. The huddling is not at DEFCON 1 levels of nuclear crisis, so you just slip out of bed with some wiggling and start getting ready for the day. Within 30-45 minutes, he drags himself out of bed and gloomily sucks down the coffee you offer to him.

-The morning of the elbowing incident he stayed in bed. You haven’t talked about it.

Tim:

-The first time you invited Tim over to stay the night, you tucked yourself in while he was hunched at the foot of your bed working on some big project for his company. When you woke up he… he was at the foot of your bed clacking away on that project. He had not moved. He had not slept.

-Like, thanks Edward. I totally invited you over so that you could watch me snore and drool on my pillow instead of fall into a similar state of vulnerable unconsciousness as a relationship building exercise.

-I’m not inviting you back.

-You do invite him back. You also impound his laptop, his tablet, and his smartphone after 11:30 and physically wrestle him into bed. He resists. Desperately.

·         “I have to finish that in the next  36 hours. I don’t have time for sleep.”

·         “But I’m working on a project for Bruce! I can’t stop until it’s finished.”

·         “I took a long nap today. I’m not sleepy.” (Spoken as he yawns.)

It almost reminds you of tucking your kid brother in when he was spoiled and four, but you don’t want your brain making those kinds of connections, and wait… what? No.

-He falls asleep in exactly 23 minutes. Yes, you timed it. If that’s creepy, you don’t care.

-Once actually bedded, Tim is a pretty ideal sleeping partner. No snoring. No copious drool. Mild mumbling here and there when repositioned. You even manage to arrange the both of you into one of those cute couples’ sleeping positions from the movies with your head all on his chest and his nose resting in your hair.

-It is comfortable for 10 minutes, then you move because your arm is asleep and your neck sort of hurts.

-When you wake up, he is gone. There is fresh coffee in your kitchen and also a note signed with the extremely professional full signature of Timothy Drake. You don’t know what to make of that, and honestly, the fact that it is sitting so neatly beneath a sloppily drawn heart doodle serving as the “sincerely” only serves to further confuse you at such an early hour.

-Nights with Tim are always one of these two options: he is up doing some ungodly thing on the internet or sleeping like a rock that somehow rises gracefully before the dawn and never, never wakes you up to say goodbye.

Damian (obviously, significantly older):

-He is surprisingly calm? You are a bundle of nerves strapped into the fourth pair of pajamas you tried on before leaving the closet, and he’s just standing there in pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt staring at you like, “What the hell took so long? Please tell me you know how to dress yourself by this age.”

-Every time it is like this. This is not the first time you have slept beside him, but you just want to tie yourself into a knot and die because, oh my GOD, why is he so  p r e t t y?  

-Your roles in this relationship are utterly reversed every time it comes down to crawling under some covers. Unfortunately, he even does awkward with more grace than you. Where he usually is painfully formal and stilted in old fashioned ways that amuse you to no end, you’re just like… a mess. A hot mess in blue striped pajamas brimming with nervous giggles and a distinct lack of eye contact.

-He insists that you sleep on the wall side. When you ask, horrified by a premonition of you crushing him in the middle of the night trying to scramble for the bathroom half-asleep, he patiently explains for the seventh time that he has made an honor-bound promise to protect you. You cannot sleep on the outer edge of the bed. If there were to be an assailant, they would have easy access to you while he was hindered by an inferior position deeper within the gully of the mattress.

-Yup. Used the exact words “gully of the mattress.”

-What were you worried about? He’s still your scrub. A pretty scrub, but an awkward scrub who cannot hold a conventional conversation in a bucket with a speech guide.

-When your strange, flighty demeanor calms into your more usual behavior, you settle in nicely. You both like sleeping on your back. He stretches one arm beneath your pillow, and you tuck neatly into his side.

-He is warm. Damian smells like soap and tea and something musky and mannish that isn’t indicative of cologne. It is a good smell, and you always sleep wonderfully when he stays over.        

⇁ dick n’ go (m)

Originally posted by is-your-mac-fully-loaded

pairing⇁Seokjin x Reader

 genre⇁smut, crack || shopping for dicc!au

warnings⇁male objectification, superficiality, fuckgirl!reader, dirty talk, and cocky!jin if that isn’t your thing

word count⇁12.8k 

After trooping through a series of horrendous first dates and mediocre hookups, you were convinced you would never find a man capable of satisfying your needs. Your friend recommends you try a slightly unconventional method to remedy your bad luck.  

alternatively: seokjin has a five star dick and you decide to give it a go

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Games [M]
  • Pairings: Reader X Jungkook
  • Genre: Filthy smut
  • Word Count: 4200
  • Summary: It’s Jungkook’s birthday and a late-night game leads you into a bit of a situation.
  • A/N: We’re baaaaaaaaaaaaaack! Please enjoy this extra-long, Jungkook birthday fic as a bribe for being away from writing for so long. This time, for sure, we’re going to be doing fics regularly again so look out for the continuation of the Vacation Series and also more sexy shenanigans in general.

Originally posted by jimiyoong


“Come in!” you call over your shoulder, tightening the towel around your body.

“For a change,” you say to the light footsteps behind you as you pull a dress out from the cupboard. “You’re actually early. I just have to get changed and do my make-”

You turn and let out a squawk, clutching the dress to your chest in alarm. “You’re not Hoseok!”

“Hoseok-hyung said he messaged you, noona,” Jungkook responds with the faintest trace of a smile. “He couldn’t make it and told me to fetch you instead.”

Your eyes skirt around Jungkook and land on the bed where your phone is silently charging, the pulsating purple light emitting from it letting you know you have unread messages.

“Uuh,” you say.

Jungkook’s head cocks fractionally to the side and you resist the urge to throw the dress at him and make a run for it.

Okay, fine; Hoseok wasn’t able to pick you up. But of everyone else did he have to send Jungkook?

You fight the grimace eager to cross your face and your eye twitches from the strain.

Jungkook. Here.

Here in your tiny little flat where the bed is also the couch and you can barely fit into the bathroom when the door is closed.

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GOT7 / Mafia AU – You start to have feelings for them after an arranged marriage

Request: The first reaction was so beautiful:) I would like to request another one: MafiaAu, Arranged Marriage, you start having feelings for him but don’t give in and admit it.:) So happy that you make reactions*_*            

Thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy!

TRIGGER WARNING! Some strong language and some violence

EXO VERSION IS HERE


Mark

Originally posted by jo-sielala

You two were supposed to sleep in the same bedroom but you kicked Mark out. Well, technically, he didn’t even suggest sleeping together, he just grabbed his stuff and slept in the guest bedroom next-door.

This worked well for about a month. But then, in the middle of the night, you heard your bedroom door open. Certain that someone was about to kidnap you, you opened your nightstand drawer to find the gun that your husband was forced to give you as a wedding gift.

“If it takes you this long to find the gun,” a familiar voice said. “Then you’ll be dead before you even open the drawer.”

“Mark?” you said, squinting at the dark silhouette that was making its way towards your bed. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve decided it’s not fair I have to sleep on the cheap guest room bed,” he said. “So I’m crashing here.”

“What—you can’t,” you started to panic. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“Um, wherever you want?” he said, putting his pillow and duvet onto your bed and climbing into it. You scooted to the very edge of the bed, further away from him. “Relax, I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

“Ugh,” you rolled your eyes. “You should have talked to me about this.”

“Why? Because you’re my wife and we’re supposed to make decisions together?”

“Yes, actually, that’s exactly why.”

“Well then, wife,” he said with a smirk. “If you’re so keen to pretend we’re happily married, you might as well sleep with me.”

“Excuse me?” you asked, shocked.

“I meant in the same bed,” Mark groaned. “Jesus.”

You huffed. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Then leave because I’m not going anywhere.”

You couldn’t believe how rude he was being by just barging in like that, although the sensible part of your brain knew that sleeping with him in the same bed would be inevitable sooner or later. So, you chose to stay and sleep miles away from him, on the different side of the bed.

In the morning, however, his arms were around you and you were cuddled into his chest as if the two of you were really just married and overwhelmed by your love. Once you opened your eyes and realized how close you two were, you jumped back in disgust, waking him up and making him laugh for almost five minutes straight.

“You’re such a child,” Mark finally said through laughter.

“How am I a child?” you asked grumpily.

“Freaking out at the slightest touch,” he said, getting up from the bed, too. “You can’t even make eye contact with me for longer than five seconds.”

Suddenly overcome with anger that he had legitimate proof for calling you a child, you strutted up to him confidently and before you could talk yourself out of it, you stood on your tippy-toes and kissed him on the lips without a warning.

You pulled away a second later before he could even understand what happened. “How’s that for a child?”

Mark regained his balance.

“Wasn’t so bad,” he said, taking a step closer to you. “But let me show you how it’s really done.”

With that, he leaned down to connect your lips again, only this time, the kiss was deeper and much more intimate. And it finally made you realize that maybe the only reason why you tried to avoid Mark wherever you went wasn’t because you hated him. Maybe it was because you were afraid to develop feelings for him.

And after he pulled away from the kiss with the biggest smirk on his face, you realized it was too late. The feelings were already there.

“Cat’s got your tongue?” Mark winked at you after you haven’t said anything for almost a minute.

“Whatever,” you replied and turned around dramatically to leave the room.

read PART TWO of this reaction here


JB

Originally posted by noxarcanax

You were afraid of him. You’ve seen him with a gun and you knew he could control it. The two of you were only married for a month and you were afraid that if you made him angry, he’d use his talent with guns on you.

You begged your parents to choose a different partner for you but they seemed to think that no one would take care of their daughter better than the heir of the biggest Mafia family in the city. You had no say in this and were basically kicked out of your parent’s house right into the house of your new husband who was rarely ever home anyway.

One of the nights when you were all alone in your huge mansion, you thought you heard steps coming from the kitchen. Knowing very well that it was impossible for anyone to be walking around here this late, you ignored it, thinking it was just your over-active imagination playing a trick on you.

You went to the bathroom to get ready for bed, and once you finished your night routine and were about to head to the bedroom, you heard steps again. Only this time, they were coming from the hallway outside of the bathroom. Carefully, you opened the door, wanting to take a look what was making the noise, but you didn’t manage to have enough time to do that.

You felt something cold against your head and a strong body pushed you flat against the wall.

“Where is Jaebum?” a dangerously low voice asked.

Your heart almost started to beat out of your chest. There was an intruder in your house. And he was holding a gun to your head. And Jaebum wasn’t there. You were sure you’d die.

“I d-don’t know,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, you better start thinking, bitch, or—”

“Or what?” a different voice called out from the end of the hallway. You quickly recognized your husband. “Back up from her if you want to live.

“Ah, there you are,” the intruder removed his gun from your temple and instead pointed it at Jaebum.

Jaebum, using the fact that the intruder made the critical mistake of removing his gun from his hostage, fired a shot from his own gun immediately.

The sight of a dead body falling right in front of you forced you to gasp loudly and grab onto the wall next to you so you wouldn’t fall down on the floor right next to him.

“Y/n,” Jaebum jogged towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist without a warning as he looked deep into your eyes. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“N-no. I’m okay,” you said. “How did you get here so fast?”

“I was on my way home when I saw someone break into the house. I didn’t realize they’d attack you to get to me, I thought they were just… I don’t know,” Jaebum said, pulling away from you. “Honestly, I should have realized you were in danger and hurried, instead of just staying behind until the last moment.”

Your heart started to beat faster again. “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

“I’m here,” he nodded. “I promise this is the last time I leave you completely alone. I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t reply but instead focused on calming yourself so your hands would stop shaking. Jaebum noticed that and took your hands into his own.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered. “I’m here with you. You’re safe with me.”

And you knew he was right. And somehow you realized that there was no other place where you’d feel safer.


Jackson

Originally posted by irrational-obsessions-gottcha78

Jackson was going out of his way, attempting to get you to, at least, like him. Because you seemed to be fuming with rage whenever you saw him and he knew you had impeccable gun training, and even though he wasn’t so bad with guns himself, he still didn’t want to get into a fight with you.

“Look, I’m sorry you had to marry me,” he told you one day when he found you in the middle of your boxing practice. “And believe me, it takes a lot of guts to just come up to you and talk when you’re hitting that punching bag like that. I’m just hoping you don’t imagine it’s my face you’re kicking instead of the—”

“Don’t be so full of yourself,” you cut him off. “It’s just a punching bag.”

“Okay,” he raised his hands in defense. “Hey, when you’re done, why don’t we go do something!”

“Like what?” you asked. “Shoot some bad guys? Deal some drugs?”

Jackson sighed. “Look, I know you wanted to get out of the family business. And I know you feel like it’s my fault you had to marry me and now you’re stuck here, but… if you get to know me, I’m really not that bad. And I bet if you opened up, this life wouldn’t suck that much, either.”

You stopped punching the punching bag and turned to look at him.

“Jackson, I’ve killed more people by the age of ten than psychotic serial killers kill on murder sprees,” you told him with a straight face. “I know all about this life. Don’t act as if I’m new to this.”

“Alright. I was just trying to help,” he muttered quietly. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“I didn’t hear a question.”

Jackson never realized how much of an attitude you had and he had to be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying it a little.

“Let’s go out to have dinner,” he said, resisting the urge to smirk. “You and me.”

“If I say yes, will you leave and let me train in peace?”

“Absolutely.”

You sighed. “Fine, then. Seven o’clock. Don’t wear a suit or I’ll literally shoot you.”

Jackson laughed. “Noted. Dinner at seven.”

After he left, you realized you were kind of looking forward to the dinner with him. He did seem like a nice guy and he wasn’t thrown off by your coldness, which you appreciated since every other guy seemed to cower and run away when you looked at them wrong.

Maybe Jackson really wasn’t that bad. Not that you’d ever admit these thoughts out loud.


Jinyoung

Originally posted by defxoul

Jinyoung was just as awkward as you were about this arranged marriage thing. You weren’t strictly against it because it was the norm in your family, but you weren’t excited about it either. You were actually pretty nervous, so to find out that your husband-to-be was just as nervous, was exhilarating.

After the wedding, the two of you stayed cautious of each other, not forgetting your manners, but also not being particularly keen on getting to know each other better. Until one day, both of you were assigned to do a job together. It was just a meeting with a foreign businessman but this would have been your first official outing since the wedding, so both of you needed to act like you were actually married and maybe even in love.

The night before the meeting, Jinyoung knocked on the door of your room.

“Come in!” you called out from the bed, where you’ve been trying to find the perfect jewelry to go with the dress you’d be wearing tomorrow.

Jinyoung entered and smiled at you awkwardly. “I was just wondering what color dress you’ll be wearing so I could match my tie.”

“Oh. Actually, I wasn’t sure. I was thinking either blue or white,” you told him as you got up from the bed and got two clothes hangers with the dresses out of your closet. “I also have a black one but—”

“Wear the white one,” he said before you could finish. “It accentuates your eyes.”

You never realized Jinyoung ever looked at you long enough to actually know the color of your eyes.

You looked down and nodded, hoping that you didn’t start blushing as you could already feel the hotness spread to your cheeks.

“So,” Jinyoung said, walking towards your bed and taking a seat on the very edge. “Are you nervous before tomorrow?”

“Actually, yeah,” you admitted, removing your jewelry box from the bed next to him, so you could sit there. “I’ve never done anything like this on my own. Usually, my dad or my uncle went with me.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jinyoung nodded. “But you won’t be alone this time, either. I’ll be there, too. And I think we can do it.”

“Really?” you smiled softly.

“Of course,” he replied, smiling, too. “You could just charm them with your looks, to be honest, and no negotiation would be necessary.”

Because of a huge smile spreading on your face, you turned to look away.

Jinyoung watched you for a moment and then looked down. “Is that the necklace you’ll be wearing?”

He was pointing at the small silver chain with a heart charm that your dad had given you for your eighteenth birthday.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “It’s my favorite one. Somehow I feel a little more confident when I wear it.”

“Can I put it on you to see what it looks like?”

You swallowed and, not finding your voice fast enough, just nodded.

Jinyoung took the necklace from you, his fingertips softly brushing against yours, creating a spark that almost caused you to flinch. You turned your back to him and Jinyoung slowly put the necklace around your neck. You breathed deeply at the feeling of cold metal against your skin but then almost suffocated when you felt his warm hands brush against your back when he finished clasping the necklace.

You turned around to look at him, too flustered to even smile.

Jinyoung watched your neck for a moment and then raised his glittering eyes to meet yours.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “With or without the necklace.”

There was no doubt that you were blushing now. It felt as though your entire body was on fire and he didn’t even do anything. You never knew anyone could have this much effect on you and you weren’t sure if you enjoyed feeling this flustered after a single touch.


Youngjae

Originally posted by seventheavenly

Both of you were rarely home. Youngjae was out handling unfinished business, while you were making new business deals. Your marriage united two of the most powerful Mafia families, so it was fairly easy to influence unsuspecting young businessmen.

Your last meeting of the week was with a young, promising businessman who was a little smugger than you liked.

“What do you say we get a coffee sometime next week?” he asked at the end of your meeting, a huge smirk on his face.

“I’m actually booked for the whole week,” you tried to remain polite even though you found him nothing short of disgusting.

“What about the week after that, then?” he persisted. “Come on, you have to have at least one afternoon free.”

“I’m not sure if you know this,” you started. “But I’m actually married.”

And you flashed him your ring that was ten times more expensive than necessary and weighed your hand down. It was impressive though, you could see that even the young businessman thought so. Your ring probably cost as much as he made in a year.

“Well,” the sleazeball smiled, nevertheless. “He doesn’t have to know.”

You were about to shoot him then and there, not even caring that you were in a restaurant full of people.

“Who doesn’t have to know what?” someone asked suddenly. You turned around to see Youngjae making his way towards you.

The annoying businessman looked at the approaching man with his eyebrows raised.

“Hello, my darling,” Youngjae told you once he reached you, and placed a quick kiss on your cheek.

This was the first time either one of you has touched each other in a somewhat intimate way and you were dizzy from the sudden display of affection despite it all being for show.

“This is my husband,” you told the businessman who kept staring at you with a confused expression.

“Nice to meet you,” the businessman said, extending his hand but Youngjae wasn’t even going to be polite.

“Are you done here? Can we go?” he asked you, leaving the other young man hanging. He removed his hand awkwardly.

Trying not to smile, you nodded. “Yes. I think we’re done here. Thank you for making time for the meeting.”

“Yeah,” the businessman scoffed as you and Youngjae walked away, his hand on your waist. “No problem.”

Once you and Youngjae were out of the restaurant, you turned to look at him with a playful smile. “How come you’re here?”

“I have a sensor that starts to vibrate whenever there’s a douchebag harassing my wife,” he told you with a straight face.

You didn’t know why, but hearing him call you his wife caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach and that feeling was so new that you almost stopped walking in shock.

“You okay?” Youngjae asked, noticing your weird expression.

“Yeah, yeah,” you nodded, trying to play it off. “Just tired. It was a long day.”

Youngjae smiled at you (cue another butterfly attack). “Let’s get you home, then.”


BamBam

Originally posted by bamethyst

BamBam probably wanted to get married even less than you. He enjoyed that single life and was known for having different female companions every night. Needless to say, he wasn’t exactly your dream husband.

You have expected him to stay exactly the same way after the wedding, and you knew you wouldn’t have a right to tell him that it wasn’t okay to see other people because the two of you weren’t really in love, and most arranged marriages that you knew of, only worked because both partners had the freedom to see other people.

Which is why when you called your mother one night, telling her how bored you were, her response “why don’t you hang out with your husband?” caused you to laugh loudly.

“He’s either out there working,” you told her. “Or with girls.”

Girls?” your mother repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean exactly what you think I mean,” you said nonchalantly, not understand why she seemed so surprised by this.

“You mean he’s cheating on you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, considering we’re married but we’re… not really married, you know?”

“Hold on, honey,” your mum said suddenly. “Let me call you back.”

And she hung up without explaining anything.

You waited for her to call you back for at least an hour before you realized she must have forgotten to do that. Wouldn’t have been the first time.

You sighed and were about to head to the kitchen to look for a quick snack when the door of your bedroom opened and a very angry looking BamBam entered.

“I just got off the phone with your mother,” he said and suddenly you went cold. “Why the hell does she think I’m cheating on you?”

“You-you’re not?” you asked, awkwardly, taken aback by the news that your mother actually called him.

“What the fuck, Y/n? Of course not!” he shouted. “Why the fuck would I cheat on you? I’m your husband!”

“But we’re not—we’re not really… I mean, you can do whatever you—”

“No, that’s not how marriage fucking works!” BamBam continued. He looked furious and you weren’t sure if you’ve ever seen him like this. “I take it seriously. And I would very much appreciate it if you weren’t walking around telling your relatives how shitty of a husband I am.”

“Wha—I don’t even refer to you as my husband when I’m talking to them,” you told him a little louder, too. “I don’t understand why you’re freaking out about this, I literally just gave you the green light to go out with whoever you want.”

“I don’t want to go out with anyone,” he answered, still just as angry as before. “You’re my wife. I’m supposed to go out with you.”

Your heart started to beat faster. “You said it as if being married was a job.”

“It is,” BamBam nodded and then sighed deeply. When he spoke again, his voice wasn’t as loud. “Okay, I’m sorry I yelled at you but I just… I’m really kind of hurt that you think this badly of me. I mean, I know we’re probably not as close as a husband and wife should be—”

“Probably,” you repeated sarcastically.

“Let me finish,” he said. “I’m trying to make this work. I know it sounds weird since I’m barely ever home – which is temporary, trust me, there’s just some work that I need to take care of – but I do want to get to know you. And if it seems to you like I regret getting married, then you’re wrong. I don’t. I’m happy I did. It was about time.”

“Maybe you’d be happier if you could actually choose your own partner instead of having your parents pick one for you,” you said.

“Sure,” BamBam shrugged his shoulders. “But in this case, I think my parents did a pretty good job choosing a partner for me.”

A smile appeared on your face before you could stop it and this caused BamBam to smile back at you.

“I’m free tonight,” he said. “If you don’t have any plans, I could take you out for dinner. How does that sound?”

“That sounds great,” you said honestly, already starting to feel somewhat excited.

“Okay,” he said and turned around to leave your room but then stopped. “Hey, and please call your mum, yeah? I don’t want her to think her son-in-law is an absolute piece of garbage.”

You laughed at this. “Will do. Sorry about all of that.”

“No worries,” he said. “I’ll be seeing to prove to you that I’m very faithful.”

You thought you were somewhat excited before. Well, now you were basically over the moon.


Yugyeom

Originally posted by pizzawasabi

You knew Yugyeom since you were nine years old. Both of your families were really close, your older sister even married his older brother so it was only logical that you’d be marrying Yugyeom once you were eighteen. And you didn’t fight this, you knew he was kind, sincere, and hard-working, which was more than enough for you.

You weren’t very close to him, though. Which is why, although it was awkward at the wedding, the first few months after the wedding were even worse.

You wanted to get to know him but somehow it seemed as though he was avoiding you.

Finally, one night, three months after the wedding, you were done with it. You stormed into his bedroom, startling him, and stopped in front of him angrily.

But then you realized you haven’t really given much thought to the actual words you wanted to say to him, so you just stared at him for a moment.

“Are you okay?” he asked, awkwardly.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked finally. And only because he looked really taken aback by your words, you realized that you probably phrased it wrong. “I mean, wh-why have we not once had a conversation after saying ‘I do’ at our wedding?”

“Oh,” Yugyeom said. “I, uh, I didn’t realize you wanted to talk to me.”

“Why wouldn’t I? We’re married and I don’t even know what your favorite color is.”

“It’s blue,” he answered. “But I’m not sure why that matters.”

“I’m just trying to get to know you,” you said, sighing once you realized that this was pointless. “But I guess it’s whatever. I’ll leave.”

“No, wait, I’m sorry,” Yugyeom said quickly. You stopped. “It’s just really weird for me.”

“It shouldn’t be,” you said.

“My parents met because of an arranged marriage,” he said. “They may appear like they’re in love in public but I don’t think I’ve ever seen them actually talk to each other at home.”

This was news for you. Slowly, you sat down on his bed next to him, wanting him to keep going.

“So, I don’t know how to do this marriage thing, either,” he said. “I’m sorry if I appeared cold.”

“No, that’s okay,” you said. “I didn’t know that about your family. Tell me more about them.”

And he did. You finally got him to open up by asking questions. He was a little cautious at first but then he seemed to relax and the two of you sat cozily on his bed for at least three hours, just talking and getting to know each other as if you were on your first date.

By the end of the night, when you were too sleepy to even form sentences anymore, you rested your head comfortably against the headboard of his bed and listened to him tell you about his childhood pets.

“Hey,” he said softly, a few seconds later. “Did you come into my room to fall asleep while I talked?”

You smiled, suddenly too tired to open your eyes that you haven’t even realized you closed in the first place.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said. “I should probably head back to my room.”

“You can stay here,” he suggested. “I can keep talking to help you fall asleep.”

“That would be nice,” you admitted and he proceeded to tell you about the day he had, obviously skipping the extremely violent parts so you wouldn’t suddenly jolt awake.

Right before you fell asleep, you realized that this evening, in Yugyeom’s room, was one of the coziest nights of your life, and butterflies fluttered in your stomach when you thought about having nights like that every night for the rest of your life.


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“Really, Peter, my daughter ?” - Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Summary : Peter starts to date Tony Stark’s daughter and the Iron Man isn’t sure he’s liking it…Well, actually, he’s pretty sure he hates it. 

I wanted to write something else than Batfam or DC related for once sooooooo…Here’s a Peter Parker story yo. It has probably been written a thousand times, but after I watched “Spider-Man : Homecoming”, all I wanted to do was writing a story with Peter starting to date Tony’s daughter so…yeah. Here it is. Hope you’ll like it : 

My masterlist blog : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com

__________________________________________________

Peter didn’t really mean for this to happen. Far from it. Oh it would have avoided him a world of troubles if none of this ever happened. 

Nope, totally didn’t mean for this to happen. Besides, when he first met you, he had a massive crush on Liz and had eyes only for her. Oh he was head over heels for her. And, your first encounter wasn’t exactly…a smooth one. 

************

Months earlier, when Peter helped your father against Captain America: 

It was very soon after the big fight between “Team Iron Man” and “Team Captain America” that you met him. Peter was waiting for  “Mr. Stark” in the Avengers’ watchtower, in one of the waiting lounge. 

An annoying elevator music was playing and Peter was awkwardly sitting in one of the ridiculously fancy chair of the lounge, waiting for…Someone. Anyone really. 

He had been waiting for hours. Did…did they forgot about him ? Nooooo, Mr. Stark would never do that to him. 

And when the door opened, Peter’s heart leapt at the thought of talking to his hero again and…A girl he only saw on TV appeared, hurriedly closing the door behind her. 

You. It was you. The famous (Y/N) Stark, only daughter of the even more famous Tony Stark, and therefor, sole heir to the Stark’s fortune.  

You didn’t even notice Peter at first, as he was sitting in the chair furthest to the door, and when you did, the face you made made him flinch. You seemed so unhappy to see him…

-Who the Hell are you ?

You ask without any other preamble. Peter stands up and clears his throat…and oh he wanted to slap himself when instead of telling you his name he said : 

-You’re…You’re (Y/N) Stark ! 

You roll your eyes at him and approach him slowly, giving him a suspicious look before saying : 

-Thank you, without you, I think I would have never known my own name. I’m so grateful right now…

The sarcasm in your voice was so strong Peter thought he could feel it squeezing his heart and self-confidence. It took him way too long before he finally answered : 

-Peee…Pee…Peter Parker. 

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Love Me Do - h.s. a.u. one shot

You met him at a low point, and looking back on that it was probably for both your own good. You met him after 21 years of being single, being the single best friend, being the awkward third wheel, and being the obligatory best friend that was always there for advice and encouragement and comfort, but never comforted yourself.

You were tired of being single. You were tired of the hole in your heart and the tingling heavy feeling of longing for someone to hold. All you wanted was for someone to be worried about you, to talk about you to others in a loving way, to get nervous around you because of their feelings.

You watched a lot of TV and cinema. It was your true passion to direct and be involved in the film industry. Cinematography was your guilty pleasure of a lifestyle you longed for, and film school wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to be in the big leagues, but instead you were just the coffee girl assisting your professors for extra credit and learning their coffee orders by heart.

But mostly, you were lonely.

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