loved-anyone

Dear Peter

Request: Can I request a peter parker x reader where the reader is a hot mess and one day peter decides to help her clean her room? And while cleaning her room she leaves to get pizza or something. And he finds multiple little letters to peter about how much she loves him but she never sends them to him? (like they are buried underneath her messy room). Lots of Fluff (and a little angst in the letters). I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR WORK BTW I’m a huge fan!

A/N: So I loved this idea so much that I started writing it right away. And as a person with an extremely messy bedroom I am taking offence to my own words. And this is actually kinda personal to me, I’m partially including notes I wrote to someone, exactly one year ago this month, actually. Hope this is what you were looking for!

Word Count: 2576 (Wow this Is the longest fic I’ve ever written)

Warnings: Nah

Masterlist

Day after day, you showed up to school late and in a clutter. Your notes were never in order, when you would open your bag, things would be falling out. You’d given up on your locker. Why bother using it if every time you opened it, something would fall on you?

You ran into chemistry five minutes after the bell, “Y/N, how nice of you to join us,” your teacher smiled.

“Sorry i’m late,” you mumbled, heading towards the back of the class where you shared a lab desk with your best friend Peter Parker.

“Let me guess why you were late today. Couldn’t find your homework in that mess of a bedroom,”

“No,” you said.

Peter raised his eyebrow.

“Fine, yes. You’re right,” you admitted.

“That’s what I thought,”

“Apparently I threw my sweater on top of it, and a pair of pants, and maybe I kept piling things on top while I was looking for it,”

“Christ, Y/N, that’s it, I’m coming over tonight and we’re cleaning your damn bedroom,”

“My bedroom is fine, Peter,”

“Clearly, it’s not. I’m coming over, and we are cleaning,”

“Fine,”

You were certainly going to have to figure out a way out of this one. You had a few things in your bedroom that you really didn’t want Peter to find.

As promised, later that evening Peter showed up at your door.

“Peter, what if I told you that I don’t want you cleaning my bedroom,”

“I’d tell you too bad,”

Peter moved past you and walked into your home.

“Peter, come on, I really don’t want your help,”

“C’mon Y/N, you really need to get organized, you’re going to start getting detentions if you show up late many more times,”

“But what if there are things in my room that I don’t want you seeing?”

“Don’t worry, Y/N, I promise to avert my eyes if there’s any underwear lying around,”

“Not what I meant, but I can see that you’re not giving up, so fine, enter my lair,” you said, stepping aside and allowing Peter into your bedroom.

Peter stepped inside and kind of sighed, “I forgot how messy your room was,”

“Now you know why I always study at your house,”

“And I always thought it was because of little old me,”

“Meh,”

“I don’t even know where to start,” Peter said, looking around.

There were piles of clothes on your floor, books staked on your desk chair, old homework was scattered everywhere, and half your bed was taken up by your computer, clothes, books, and even a few water bottles.

“Ok! So we’re going to start with the garbage,”

“You can’t throw me away, Parker. Not in my own house,”

Peter rolled his eyes, “Just go grab a garbage bag and we’ll get started,”

You and Peter spent what seemed like forever cleaning.

“I’m going to start on your desk while you finish sorting though your clothes,”

“Or…. You could order some food?” Peter added 

You sighed, dropping the shirts you had in your hand, “Pizza okay?”

“Better than okay, I’m starved, and I most definitely don’t want to eat anything else that we’ve come across,”

“Ok, back off Peter, my room’s messy but I don’t have rotting food in here or anything,”

Peter pulled two completely squished chocolate bars off your desk and held them up in front of you, “I beg to differ,”

 “I’m going to go order the pizza,” you said, flipping Peter off. 

You walked out of the room and left Peter to clean off your desk.

Peter continued to clear off what he believed to be was garbage, hopefully he wasn’t throwing away anything that you may need.

There were a few pieces of paper folded up on the corner of your desk under an old coffee mug.

Peter lifted the mug, and placed it at the foot of your bed along with the other three you had found.

Peter began sorting though the papers and came across an envelope with his name on it.

Peter put the rest of the papers down and held the envelope.

I can’t open it, can I?

No.

I shouldn’t.

Peter very much so wanted to open the mysterious envelope that had his name on it.

Peter was still looking at the envelope when you walked back in.

“Y/N, what’s this?” He asked, holding up the envelope to you.

“You didn’t open it, did you?”

“No, of course not, I respect your privacy, I was just wondering what it was,”

You walked towards Peter, and grabbed the envelope from him.

“It’s nothing,” you lied.

“Right,” Peter said, staring at you for a moment before going back to clearing off your desk.

You and Peter cleaned in silence for the next while until the pizza arrived.

“I’ll be back,” you said, leaving the room.

When you came back, Peter was sitting on the ground of your balcony, letting his legs hang out the side through the bars.

You went out and sat down next to Peter, opening the box of pizza to offer him some.

“Are you mad at me?” You asked.

“No, why would I be mad?”

“Because I wouldn’t let you read the letters,”

“No, I understand. There are some things you want to keep private and other things you’re willing to share,”

You took a deep breath and pulled the envelope out of your pocket.

“Christ, I can’t believe I’m doing this,”

Peter watched you, waiting to see what you would do.

“Fuck. Okay. Peter, here,” you said, outstretching your hand to him, giving him the envelope.

“No, Y/N, you clearly don’t want me to read whatever’s in there,”

“Please, take it, Peter. Just, wait until you get home to read it. And, remember that I don’t want what’s in this envelope to change our friendship. You’re still my best friend and I really can’t lose you,”

“Did you confess to a murder in here or something?” Peter joked.

You rolled your eyes, “No, Parker, just, eat your pizza,”

Peter shoved the envelope into his pant pockets and the two of you went on with your evening. You finished your pizza and went back inside to finish cleaning.

It didn’t take you much longer to completely clean your room.

By 10pm your room was rid of garbage and old homework, your clothes were put away in your dresser, and all your old coffee mugs were in the dishwasher.

“I guess I better head home before Aunt May gets worried,”

“Oh, okay,”

Peter walked towards where you were sitting on your bed.

“I’ll read your letters when I get home and talk to you tomorrow,”

Peter kissed your cheek and left.

You said on your bed, heat fluttering from Peter’s kiss. You knew you weren’t going to sleep tonight. You were too worried about how Peter was going to react to your letters.

When Peter got home, he shouted a simple hello to May and ran into his room.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, and pulled out the envelope.

He ripped it open and a handful of letters came out. 

Peter opened the first one, dated just over a year previous, a few months before he had gotten his spidey powers.

Dear Peter,

First of all, fuck you.

Second of all, I can’t believe I’m writing this stupid letter.

I read somewhere that writing things down is a great way to let everything out, so that’s what I’m doing. I’m writing you a letter to tell you how I feel.

You’re my best friend. I love you with all my heart. More than you’ll ever know, really. And if you’re reading this, stop? Because never in a million years would I actually give you this to read. Quit snooping, Parker.

Regardless, I’m always wondering if I should tell you how I feel, so I guess i’ll just do it here because I am WAY too much of a chicken to tell you in person.

I, Y/N Y/L/N, am in love with you Peter Parker.

I can’t remember a time I wasn’t in love with you. I can’t remember a time that you weren’t my entire world. Peter, If you asked, I would find a way to  make a million waves in the ocean crash all at once, just to make you smile.

I still can’t believe I’m writing this down.

I really am in love with you, Peter.

Y/N.

Peter had to re-read the letter what felt like a dozen times. You were in love with him. He didn’t know what to say. He quickly pulled out the next letter. It was dated only a month after the first one.

Peter,

This is so ridiculous that I’m writing to you again. But you drive me insane! Every time I look at you I just want to run my hands through those damn curls of yours and kiss your perfect lips but I can’t. You’re my best friend and I can’t.

You make me so furious. I hate looking at you knowing that I can’t kiss you or be with you, but I also can’t not look at you because i’m in love with your stupid face.

I stand by my statement of fuck you.

Y/N.

Peter looked at the dates on all the letters, they were each dated almost a month apart.

Peter,

I miss you so much, Peter. I know I see you every day, but you’ve been hanging around me and Ned after school a lot less. I love you more than I thought I would love anyone, ever, and I’m scared to lose you. It feels like I’m losing you. I wish we could run away and leave everything behind, just you and me. Please, Peter. I miss you and I’m crying and I wish we were together.

Y/N.

Peter’s heart began to ache, he had no idea you felt this way about him. The next letter was dated after he had become Spiderman and had begun his Stark internship.

Peter,

It’s not fair that everything reminds me of you. It’s not fair that while you’re off doing whatever it is you do after school, whether its the Stark internship or not, I’m lying here awake, crying, trying not to think of you but all I can do is cry over the fact that I’ve lost you. It’s not fair that I’m going to cry myself to sleep. It’s not fair that we broke. I’m a good person. I don’t deserve this pain. I haven’t done anything to deserve this much pain. It’s not fair that life is so painful. I don’t deserve this pain. I just want you back. That’s all I want. I just want you. Why does living have to be so hard?
I still feel numb. After crying for three hours tonight, I haven’t felt anything. Nothing feels real. This isn’t real. I don’t know what I’m doing, how I’m living. But it’s so hard without you, Peter. It’s so hard to not have you. I went from having everything I’d ever want or need, to nothing. Absolutely nothing. All I have is the memories of the old us. And my memory is shit. Imagine how hard this is for me. I don’t even know if you’re missing me like I miss you. I don’t even know if you’re thinking about me. I hope you are. I’d like to think you are. But, then again, who knows. I barely feel like I know you anymore. You’re my entire life. I just lost my entire life.

Y/N.

Peter couldn’t stand to read anymore. He dropped the letters on his bed, and climbed out his fire escape.
Peter began swinging towards your apartment. He landed on your balcony and knocked on the glass door.

You suddenly jumped up, and the sight of someone at your window. When you realized it was Peter you climbed out of bed and went to open the window for him to get in.

“Peter what are you doing here? Its almost 1am,”

Peter looked down at his watch (ok I know he doesn’t wear a watch cause of his web shooters but I have this weird thing where I find it so attractive for people to wear watches like?) and checked the time. You were right. He hadn’t realized he had been reading for so long.

“I needed to see you,”

“Is something wrong?” You asked, placing a hand on his arm.

“I read your letters, or, I read some of them. I couldn’t bring myself to finish them,“

“Oh,” you slightly pulled away from Peter.

“No! No! Not like that. I just meant, I got to the one when I had just become Spiderman and I would spent all my time out and I ignored you and Ned, just, the letter broke my heart Y/N. I didn’t know you felt this way,”

“Well, I do. You kinda broke my heart when you stopped coming around,”

“I knew you were mad at me, I just didn’t realize that you were this upset,”

“I wasn’t just upset Peter, i’m in love with you. I cried myself to sleep every night because I thought you hated me and that I had lost you for good,”

Peter walked towards you and gently placed a hand on your cheek.

“You could never lose me, Y/N. I’ll always be here for you,”

“Don’t make promised you can’t keep, Parker,”

“Darling, I’m in love with you too, I’m not going anywhere,”

You could feel tears in your eyes, and the back of your throat felt thick (thicc). You were so mad at yourself for not telling Peter sooner.

Peter leaned in and placed a light kiss on your lips. Pulling away only for a moment before you leaned back in to deepen the kiss.

You wrapped your arms around Peter, he puled your closer to him, and moved his lips from yours, engulfing you in a hug.

“Are you telling me, I could have saved myself so many sleepless nights over you if I had only told you sooner?”

“I guess I could have saved myself some sleepless nights because of you too if I had only had the guts to tell you how I felt,”

“Do you have to go home or can you stay?” You asked.

“I’m not leaving,” Peter said, bringing you in for another kiss.

Maybe it wasn’t such a horrible thing that Peter found those letters.


Tag List: @tronnoristheotp, @isabellyduh, @spiderrparkerr, @lots-of-liz, @darlin-you-bitch, @a-smol-badger (I’m sorry if I forgot anyone, please let me know in an ask or private message if you would like to be included in my tag list

Lancelot: How long have you been in love with Merlin?

Arthur: That’s disgusting. And wrong. I don’t even get - why would - I’ve never been in love with anyone, anywhere. It’s none of your - you have - the nerve, the audacity!

Arthur: Merlin is my manservant, technically. And he is terrible, face-wise. And how… h-how do I know, frankly, that you’re not in love with him? Maybe you are. Maybe you’re trying to throw me off. Hmm! Check and mate. This is an outrage! Who do I call?

2

*sneezes* hey thanks for the requests i appreciate it <3 these were fun to do

under the cut is just me responding to some of them, don’t mind me -3-

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hey everyone !! im making this post to thank all of my wonderful mutuals who brighten up my dash everyday and making me smile a lot !! thank u all for following my blog and i love each of u a lot i really think that all of u are so kind and sweet 💕 i hope u all know i cherish all of u and i adore seeing all of u on my dash every single day 💘 im very sorry if this messes up ur notifications !! also let me know if i missed anyone !!

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crush // v.m.p.

you are seven the first time you hear the word crush. it sounds bad, wrong, not fun. a boy has just stolen your football, said to you “girls can’t play with this.” he tells you to go back to your skipping rope. you do. he’s what your mum would call a bully, he’s not worth your time, she’d say. she always says that when lauren mocks you for your lisp, always tells you not to get too involved. so you don’t. when you get home you tell her all about it, how an annoying boy stole what was rightfully yours – you’re angry, vengeful, upset – whilst your mum simply laughs. “he must have a crush on you,” she says, and you stare at her, shocked. you have never seen your mother not take you seriously. you have never heard this word either.

you are ten when a boy smiles at you across the field. he scurries back to his friends quickly after. your own friends are more excited about this than you are – “he probably likes you!” “you’re so lucky, it’s because you’re so loud!” you hear the word ‘lucky’ and feel important, special to someone. you want to be liked. you want to be loved. next time you spy what’s-his-face across the football pitch, you make sure to smile back. you can play these games, you can become the likeable girl. if it’s a competition you’re sure you can win, and that’s what this is. you look at your friends and suddenly you see competitors. it doesn’t feel fun, being in love.

you are eleven when you first kiss a boy. or he kisses you, you can’t quite recall. it is all action and reaction, the way your lips feel dry and it doesn’t feel as good as you expected it to. one kiss after another, no words pass between you and the mystery boy. there are no “I love you’s”, no passion, no meaning behind it. he leaves at the end of the day when all is said and done, after pulling you aside, whispering, “don’t tell anyone.” you wonder if he’s embarrassed of you. vaguely, you think you recall the same boy kissing another girl in the parking lot before summer camp. he has a girlfriend, you soon find out. romance is dead, you realise.

you are thirteen when you have your first boyfriend. he wants to be a rugby player, but this isn’t why you love him – he’s a musician, a pianist. he sends you videos of him playing songs dedicated to you, and you realise this may be the first time a boy has treated you kindly. you make things official – of course you had to be the one to ask – and you tell your friends. “I have a boyfriend,” you say triumphantly. your friends are happy for you, they really are – but they don’t like this boy and you know it. “he’s always putting you down,” your friend tells you, desperately trying to cheer you up after an argument. he’s been telling you your taste in music is shit, and quite frankly it was music that got you into this mess in the first place. you break up with him and focus on yourself. a boy is a bully is not boyfriend material.

you are fifteen when two unexpected things happen. you date a boy who may as well be perfect for you, and you start to notice a female friend in a new way. the tilt of her chin before she laughs, the way the sun catches her auburn eyes. it is a distraction, and not a welcome one. why can’t you be pretty? you feel threatened, you feel not enough. you never want to be alone again. your boyfriend is your sole consolation. “you’re beautiful,” he tells you, and sometimes you think you believe him. “way better than her,” he assures, and suddenly, you can’t. you can’t stop thinking about it, talking to him about it. you worry you’re talking him into loving her, so you split before he has the chance to leave you. your friends liked this one – they’re disappointed.

you are sixteen and you’ve had three boyfriends in the past five months. apparently, this makes you a slut. it is your friend who uses the word first, jokingly, and you remember laughing. other people start using it, though you can’t recall when it took on such a degrading tone. there is spite in it, but you play it right back – “at least I can get a boyfriend,” you snarl, breaking ties with the friend who first brought this ugly word upon you. it’s her fault, you decide. after all, she doesn’t understand. she doesn’t understand that none of them are interesting, that they’ve all been nice, charming, but it’s still not enough for you. you worry that you fall for every boy who’s nice to you. maybe they were right after all. when you ditch your friend, she calls you a “bitch.” and, well – maybe you are.

you are eighteen and you are a slut. you’ve had a long string of guys and you’re worried they’ll start to think you aren’t trying. your mum loves your current boyfriend. truthfully, he’s everything you’ve ever appreciated in a person. sharp, well-spoken, patient. he’s smart and he’s shooting for the moon. he wants to go to oxford university to study law, he wants to travel the world with you, he wants to marry you, and you aren’t sure why. you’ve been with him for seven months. you’ve reconciled with your friend. everyone likes him. everything is as it should be except it’s not. you don’t want to sleep with him. he’s mused about it before but is too nice to ask upfront. you can’t see yourself with him, travelling with him, marrying him – you are not his wife. you tell him this and he argues with you, says, “but I love you.” you cry in each other’s arms, but you know it’s over. maybe you killed romance.

you are nineteen and you’re out clubbing. at least that’s what you’ve been told, but you’re mostly babysitting your drunk friend. clearly you’ll be the one driving tonight. it seems like everyone is wasted, and you’re standing by the bar when you notice yourself noticing. there’s a girl across the room with dark skin and curly hair. she’s wearing a short, tight-fitted skirt and you know this because you’ve been glancing over at her all night. she’s doing the same. she gives you an obvious once-over and you shiver, turning away. less than a minute later and she’s by your side, ordering you a drink. you feel knots in your stomach and you politely refuse – suddenly you feel woozy, and she gently touches your arm, asks if you want to dance. pin-pricks race up from where her skin brushed yours. you want to accept, you step towards her, but then you think twice, hear the word slut echo through your mind. you leave soon after. you never see the girl again, but you can imagine her vividly when you close your eyes.

you are twenty when you tell your friends you might like girls. two of them are shocked, immediately placing a label into the equation that you never gave yourself – “oh, so you’re bi. when did this happen?” you say you don’t know, but you know that’s not true. you think back to when you were fifteen, to your disbelief your friend even exists, your disbelief your boyfriend couldn’t be interested. you think about this for a long time. you remember not wanting to sleep with boys. you remember you are not his wife when by now, you could’ve been. it is your other friend, your best friend, who isn’t shocked. she walks you back to your accommodation, asks you, “are you gay?” you say you think so, and she hugs you. it’s a lovely moment and you’ll always remember it. you don’t worry you might be in love with her. you know what love feels like now.

you are twenty-two and you have a crush. it seems like such a lovely word now. it doesn’t make you feel bitter, or angry. it makes you feel absolutely everything just that little more vividly, like you’re coming into being for the first and last time. she has copper hair and freckles and you imagine stringing them together into constellations. you imagine her taking you out. you imagine things like kissing, touching, breathing in the scent of each other and it feels weird but then it feels normal. you imagine things late at night when you’re cold and lonely that shock and embarrass you. you hear your peers sneering slut at you across the classroom in your mind. your best friend laughs when you call her at midnight. “it’s normal,” she tells you, “you’re just in love.”

you are twenty-three when you ask her out. she tells you she was waiting for you to ask, that she’d been dropping hints for months but couldn’t quite tell whether you felt the same. like all things, you think about it. how you’d stay up late at night texting her, drive down into the city to see her whenever you had the opportunity. how you called her a “good friend” when your mother asked. how you were afraid to be caught falling, scared of what it could mean, crying at night that you have an inability to love anyone properly. you ask her if she thinks you’re a slut. “how many guys have you been with?” she asks. you’re too unsure to be offended – something like fifteen, you say. she laughs. “you could tell me you’d dated every single guy you’ve ever laid eyes on and I wouldn’t think you’re a slut.” you tell her you’ve never dated a girl. you ask if that still makes you a lesbian. she looks at you seriously. “you just like girls?” you nod. “that sounds pretty gay to me.”

you are twenty-four when everything comes full circle. you are with your best friend and your girlfriend. you’re going home to visit your mum, and this time there will be no mincing your words. there will be no “good friend”. there is no slut, there is no shame, there is no doubt anymore. there will also be no boy, which is undoubtedly what your mother is expecting. when you arrive she is happy to see you, but you can tell she’s surprised. she invites you all inside before you can explain. your best friend offers to go and make some tea, gives you a look that says you’ve got this. you settle down on the sofa, thinking about copper curls and hips and curves and freckles and eyelashes and the quiet intimacy of catching eyes with a girl across a dance floor, how you can iterate that to someone who doesn’t understand. “mum,” you start, your voice shaking. “mum, one time, a couple of years ago, I had a crush.”

you are twenty-four and it’s taken you this long, but rest-assured no one can take this from you now.

Eyes Closed 10

Pairing: Eggsy Unwin x Reader

Warning: Swearing, pettiness, sass, heartbreak, angst, drama, and plot twists.

A/N: In some parts you will see from Eggsy’s POV but not every piece.

You never loved anyone the way you loved Eggsy Unwin. When he ends things with you after confessing his secret to you. Wishing to only keep you safe from the scary things in his life. When you end up in a whirl wind romance with a man who turns out to be a prince, you’re suddenly struggling to figure out who you are. When you’re saying yes to a royal engagement, Eggsy has a lot to say about it. What happens when things take a nasty turn? Whose the one that will be by your side? And who the hell are you going to choose the prince and fairytale or the street hustler turned Spy???

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thatonewhofan  asked:

Susie, How does it feel like working with Joey n Henry?:o N sammy

Joey:

I don’t know who’s the idiot here, Joey for being bad to his workers or them for complaining about everything and everyone

Henry:

She got a big crush on Henry but, He dosen’t love her, he dosen’t love anyone. by this sammy got jealous and he ,forbade? Henry to enter to the music department

Sammy:

Aaaaaaaaand sussy don’t care about that man

it’s 2am it’s been a year since my first ds show and one of the best nights of my whole life and i’m thinking about how much i love frank :(((( anyone else really love frank :((

I’m coming to terms with the fact that they’ll probably never bring back Mickey again, but when the show ends if they don’t full on Shawshank I’m gonna riot.

I want Ian to realize he’ll never love anyone the way he loves Mickey. The way he will ALWAYS love Mickey. I want him to go to Mexico and find Mickey.

He’s on a beach somewhere, working on a boat, cut off shorts and nothing else but tan skin and strong shoulders, grease smeared over his arms and a look of complete concentration on his face.

I want Ian to watch him silently for a few minutes, letting his mind adjust, accept the reality in front of him. That after years of failed, empty relationships there he is. He’s just THERE.

I want Mickey to look up, rub the sweat from his brow, and catch sight of Ian a few dozen yards away. I want him to freeze, disbelieving, because he’s seen this so many times, tricked himself SO MANY TIMES into thinking Ian was there, that he’d come back for him.

I want them to build a life together because Mexico doesn’t have to mean a life of crime and chaos. All Mexico means is freedom. All it means is them, together, needing no one else because it was always just the two of them against the world anyway.

That’s what I want.

Today is August 18th in Japan, which means it’s the birthday of the Rice Ambassador, Yui Yumekawa!

Yui is the main protagonist of Idol Time Pripara and the creator of the Fantasy Time brand! She often daydreams and gets distracted, but she loves idols more than anyone else! She was the first to debut in Paparajuku’s Pripara and is the younger sister of WITH’s Shougo. Like Laala, she has her catchphrase, yumekawa! Everyone should spend some time daydreamimg (maybe about douglas)! Happy birthday Yui!

There will be a special PPR available today for her that you can get with 20 paid gems!

NAZIS ARE BAD ANYONE WHO IS OPPOSED TO NAZIS IS AUTOMATICALLY ON THE GOOD SIDE ANYONE WHO SUPPORTS NAZIS IN ANYWAY IS A DISGUSTING EXCUSE OF A HUMAN THIS ISNT A MATTER OF RIGHT WINGED VERSES LEFT WINGED ITS NAZIS AND NOT NAZIS DO NOT PULL THAT "WELL ANY FORM OF EXTREMISM IS BAD" CRAP INTO A DISCUSSION OF NAZIS AND NOT NAZIS BECAUSE IF YOU THINK THE BLM PROTESTS WERE EXTREME AND WRONG THEN NAZIS ARE A MILLION TIMES WORSE BECAUSE ITS NAZIS. THANK YOU AND GOODNIGHT
The Great Catsby

Pairing: Reader x Tom Holland

Rating: Pg-13

A/N: Kay, so you know that interview of Tom Holland where he says he hates cats? I’ll link it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Cz2QliC3w0

I think I put waaaayyyy too much of myself in this one lol but here you go anyway, lovelies! xoxo

EDIT: Does anyone know how to get the ‘Keep Reading’ thing on the mobile app?

Keep reading