After Mrs Whitaker had patted Lip on the knee and left to take her nap, Lip sat for a while staring into the fireplace taking stock of the life he, his wife and his daughter had had over the past few months since his death.
Lip’s heart broke as he realised that living in this mortal realm waiting around for Ramona and Lydia and the unborn baby to join him was selfish. He was like the Grim Reaper himself, lurking in their shadow reminding them all of the inevitable: death was inescapable. He realised that now.
Lip let the tears welling in his eyes leak out, his family could never grieve properly if he was to stay, confusing matters. He took a deep breath, although breathing was pretty much non-essential now, and took one last look at the cactus filled living room, where he and Ramona had planned their lives together, where he had played his his eldest child.
And with one final glance, Lip ascended to the realm of the afterlife.
summary : as the adopted daughter of none other than tony stark, you have a myriad of responsibilities. babysitting peter parker probably wasn’t supposed to be one of them. not that you’re complaining.
word count : 4.7k (also known as the longest thing I’ve ever written)
author’s note : ur adopted b/c not everyone is white and i don’t want anyone to feel excluded from reading this due to the fact tony is white (and yes ik there are interracial couples i just want everyone to feel included i want to make sure whoever wants to read this can without feeling weird about it b/c i know it is something that bothers people in the fanfic community okay bye enjoy my loves.)
Tony Stark was a lot of things to a lot of people. He was the billionaire, he was the genius, the philanthropist, and the notorious playboy in his younger years. Most notably, however, was that he was Iron Man. He was marveled at by the entire world, him and the group of heroes that stood beside him; the Avengers, as they called themselves. To you, however, he was your father.
A terribly overprotective one, at that.
Of course, this was only to be expected of a father, even a foster one, but the lengths the man went to in order to keep his only daughter out of whatever he deemed trouble were rather extensive. You rarely ever left the Avengers tower, and if you did you were accompanied by a team of people you could only describe as rip off Secret Service men. Sometimes, Natasha would replace them, or Steve, but that was a rare occurrence. You were homeschooled by the best tutors his money could pay for- this particular move was less about refining your education and more about keeping you away from any boy in the five boroughs.
You chose to spend majority of your time reading in your room and training, always wary of anyone who approached you about being a friend. Your surname meant everything to people, especially the girls that wandered around Manhattan desperate to become the bestie of the daughter of the richest man in New York. You loved your dad with all your heart, but the stigma that ran with the Stark name would never stop irritating you.
That, and the impromptu plans he threw at you on a regular basis.
“Miss Stark, your father is requesting access to your room. He knows you hate it when he barges in.” Vision drifted into your room without warning, making you jump. You yanked your earbuds out of your ears, giving him a look.
“I hate when anyone barges in, Vision. That includes you, too.” You pushed your chair away from your desk, placing your pen on the desk and shutting your notebook. “Tell him he can come in if he lets me become an Avenger.” You raised your voice at this, knowing he would hear you.
“He says that he’ll consider it if you let him in.”
You raised your eyebrows. “Touché.” You motioned for the door to open, and your father walked into the room, immediately taking his pristinely polished shoes off and lying down on your bed. You stared at him.“Dad, it’s not cool to wear sunglasses inside. You look lame.”
Tony Stark rolled his eyes at you. “It’s called a look, sweetheart.” You laughed, pretending to nod in agreement. He placed his hands behind his head as you spun your chair back around to your desk. “What are you working on?”
“Something for Bruce,” you muttered, pen cap between your teeth as you continued to jot down important points from his numerous lab reports. You were going to have to hand in a full analysis of his findings for your end of term science paper, and he was more than willing to aid you. “Science report.”
“My daughter, beautiful and intelligent, my flesh and blood,” Tony declared proudly.
“Dad, I love you to the death, but I’m still not your biological kid,” you smiled all the same, though, and he knew behind the tough exterior you were happy to hear his expressions of admiration.
“Who needs a biological kid when I’ve got this great, wonderful adopted one right in front of me.”
Not looking up from your notebook, you said, “You’re really laying it on thick today. I’m all of those things, obviously, but I know you want something. So, what is it?” You paused, then said, “Thank you, by the way.”
“You sure we’re not related?” He sat back up, clasping his hands together. “What do you say about Germany?”
“Nice enough place I guess, interesting history, why?”
“I kind of need you to go there for two weeks with me.”
With a groan, you dropped your pen and held your face in your hands. “Another surprise trip? Dad, I have school. I have homework! Do you see this?” You held up the thick stack of reports from Banner’s lab, waving them around. “This is gonna be, like, my life’s work.”
Tony shook his head. “Kids these days and their homework. Seriously. When I was at school I would have taken any opportunity to shirk my responsibilities.”
“You did do that.”
He waved his hand. “Technicalities. Anyway, as you know the Avengers have been disassembled. Sokovia Accords and all that bullshit. I assume you’ve been keeping up?”
“Hard not to.” It was true. Anything in the news was about the great split of the infamous team, Captain America vs Iron Man. It was impossible to turn on the television without hearing about it. And, considering you lived underneath the same roof as half of them, it was quite literally not an option to be ignorant to what was going on.
“Good,” he grinned proudly again. If there was one emotion that the man felt whenever he was around, it was proud. Nearly everything you did made him beam with pride, and if you had been placed into an actual high school, there was no doubt in his mind that the person at the top of every single class would be you. You excelled no matter the circumstances. “So, to sum up, there’s gonna be a big showdown in Germany. Western style, naturally. Guns blazing and everything.”
Your eyes lit up and you nearly flew out of your chair, rushing over to him. “Oh my god, are you finally gonna let me fight? You’ve seen my training, right? I’m getting so good. I’m like, practically Natasha level good. She’s been showing me that move where I can snap people’s necks with my thighs and-”
“First of all, your thighs are not going around anyone’s neck, so jot that down,” he interrupted. Your enthusiasm visibly deflated. “I need you to kind of watch over this kid who’s coming with us. He’s from Queens. You love Queens.”
“You’re making me babysit?” You flopped down on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. “C’mon, dad, I’m sixteen. That’s practically an adult. I think I should be allowed to fight this time. I’m Avenger worthy.”
“Practically an adult is not the same as literally an adult, as in over eighteen.” You groaned again. “Don’t call it babysitting, anyway. He’s your age. Well, he’s a few months younger, but that doesn’t matter. Just call it… hanging out with a good kid that’s fighting for your dear old dad and making sure he doesn’t get into trouble in Germany or annoy Happy too much.” He patted your knee, standing up. “We leave in the morning, kiddo, so pack up.”
“How come he gets to fight if he’s younger than I am?”
“’Cause he’s not my daughter. Goodnight, light of my life.” He kissed your forehead before leaving, giving you another encouraging smile.
“Goodnight, pain my ass,” you grumbled as he left. He popped back in, a stern expression on his face. “If I watch your new protégée can I become an Avenger?” Tony rubbed a hand over his eyes. Teenage girls were exhausting.
“We’ll talk about it.”
You’re sitting at your breakfast table with suitcases piled next to you when Peter Parker strolls into your life with happiness in his every footstep because he is just so, so glad to be there. You’re spooning cereal into your mouth when he sits down directly across from you, a video camera cupped in his soft looking hands and the little red button clicked on, meaning that he is recording you. You place your spoon back into the bowl of milk that is dusted with cinnamon sugar from the Cinnamon Toast Crunch you’ve been eating for the past ten minutes.
“Do you mind?”
“Mind what?” He asked, peeking up from behind his camera. You gestured toward it, wiping your mouth with your sleeve.
“The camera. I’m kind of still in the middle of eating breakfast in my pajamas,” you leaned forward, switching it off. “You must be the Spider-Boy.” The chestnut haired boy feels a blush creeping up his neck and settling along his cheekbones when you say that.
“Oh, did Mr. Stark tell you that?” He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly. “Um, it’s Spider-Man, actually.” He mumbled the man part, knowing fully well that he didn’t look like much of a man in the eyes of anyone, his eyes casting down as he fidgeted with the strap on his camera.
“Oh good,” you nodded. You took another spoonful of cereal. “I like that better. Nicer ring to it.” You grabbed your box of sugary breakfast and pushed it toward him, an offering.
“Huh?” He was a bit dazed. He stared at the box in front of him and then realized he had been doing that for far too long of a time to be considered normal. “Oh, right, um, sure, thanks!” He opened the box and took a handful, shoving it in his mouth. You kept eating your cereal, silently staring at the bowl and willing yourself not to laugh at the boy in front of you. With all his nerves, he was still a bundle of energy and cheerfulness, and, well, let’s face it, he was sort of adorable. “So, you think my name’s cool?” He tried to sound suave, charming, as he said it, tried to smirk at you, but he stopped when he realized that he looked stupid.
You gave him a half smile. “It’s pretty good.” His face positively lit up with happiness to be taken seriously, and you knew the feeling too well. You stuck out your hand. “Oh, forgot to introduce myself-”
“Y/N Stark, adopted daughter of Mr. Stark, probably the smartest girl in all of New York and, uh, correct if I’m wrong but… Black Widow’s best student as well as Bruce Banner’s apprentice.”
You gaped at him. The blush he had been sporting crept up to his ears and made his nose turn the shade of a strawberry. “Well, uh, yeah,” you said, flustered. “Should I creeped out or flattered?”
“Flattered, please.” The genuine worry in his eyes as he leaned forward made you laugh. He had an endearing personality.
“Flattered it is.” You watched the slow sigh of relief leave his mouth, his hands flying up the mess of hair atop his head and fixing it distractedly. Your dad walked into the room, and Peter practically fell out of his chair trying to stand up and seem presentable. Your slouch was indicative that you didn’t care much. He was just your dad. “Morning, pops,” you slid the box over his way.
He frowned at it.” Y/N, that stuff is crap. I don’t know why you eat it.”
“Wanda and I like it,” you said defensively, a slip of the tongue. You knew your dad was going to get annoyed at the mention of the Scarlet Witch, who had evaded and ignored his attempts at keeping her powers under control. “It’s good. High quality. Right, Peter?” You whipped your head toward him.
He felt his heart give a little tug. He grabbed the box out of your hand and shoved more cereal in his mouth, the cinnamon sugar sticking to his lips. “Yeah, Mr. Stark. Best stuff ever,” he said through a mouthful of it. Tony gave them an amused glance, picking up your two heaviest suitcases and beckoning you both to the landing strip. Peter swallowed his food.
He didn’t even like Cinnamon Toast Crunch that much. He was just thrilled that you knew his real name.
Everything about this kid was infuriatingly dorky in the cutest way possible. You came to this conclusion as you boarded the jet with ease, sitting in your usual spot by the window and greeting Happy with your typical friendly smile and idle chitchat. Peter stumbled onto it with awe written across his features as he stared around the place, touching nearly everything much to Happy’s dismay.
“Haven’t you been on a plane before?” The man asked, growing irritated with the way the kid was filming everything. You saw Peter zoom in on Happy’s face and grinned out your window.
“Nope, never!” Peter exclaimed, his video camera still in front of him as he captured every detail of his trip.
“Well, sit down so we can take off,” Happy said gruffly, grabbing Peter’s shoulders and forcefully placing him into a seat.
Peter sat still for a moment, then hopped over to the seat next to you. He placed his camera in front of him on the tray table. “Y/N, smile for the camera. I’m recording.” You looked at him, then turned to the camera and gave it a deadpan stare. You even threw in a slow blink. “Good enough,” he shrugged. He kept it recording as he shifted in his seat so that his entire body was facing you, his chin resting in his hand and his elbow on your armrest. His gaze was sort of nice. “So, Miss Stark, I have a few questions.”
“Um, okay, shoot,” you closed your book that you had open on your lap. “I’m not that interesting, just so you know.”
“I think you’re interesting,” he assured you. You heard Happy let out a choked laugh at Peter’s flirting attempt, but it was just another thing you found sort of lovely. It was a genuine compliment. “What’s your favorite subject in school?”
You’d been expecting the typical what’s it like being Tony’s daughter spiel, and you were pleased to get an actual question about yourself for once. “I like everything, I guess. I kind of love school, but I don’t go to a conventional school, so. Training is cool, I like that a lot.”
“You train with Black Widow, I have to ask- can you show me some moves? I need to refine my technique before the fight,” he explained.
“Do you wanna learn how to crush people with your thighs?”
“Wow! Do you think I could? Could you teach me? That’s so cool,” he beamed, turning to the camera for a split second with an overexcited look.
You pursed your lips, staring out your window for a minute. You were up in the air by now, and there was long flight ahead of you. “Maybe. If my dad is okay with it. I have to check.” Peter looked confused,
“Why wouldn’t he be?”
“He’s, you know, really overprotective.” You put your first against the cheek, leaning the same way that Peter was. You sighed. “I don’t have a lot of friends. Which is fine, but I can’t even attempt to go make any because I have a whole freaking SWAT team on my ass the minute I step out of the tower because he’s so worried about my safety.” You let your head hit the window, your eyes rolling skyward. “And that makes no sense because-”
“You’re really strong and stuff. You can protect yourself,” Peter finished.
“I think you know me a little too well, Peter,” you said, poking him lightly in the arm. “But… yeah, exactly. I don’t really get to do anything fun. I don’t have adventures. Sure, reading is fun and studying is fun for me and training is great and I love hanging out with everyone in the tower but I’m still a teenager. No fun for me, though. My life is pretty boring, sorry if that makes your little video diary suck.” You stuck your tongue out at his camera.
“No worries,” he said, taking it off the tray table and turning it toward you. “Tell me every boring detail, Miss Stark.”
“As long as you stop calling me Miss Stark.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
It was a seven hour trip, and you both passed out by the three hour mark after Peter had pried every excruciating detail from your life out of you. You hated sleeping on airplanes, but your head was slumped against his shoulder and his arm was knocking against your own and his sweatshirt was as soft as pillow. You remembered the shy glance he had given you just before you knocked out on his shoulder for the remainder of the flight. He had a sweet smile.
Peter filmed absolutely everything. He filmed himself getting off the plane and then filmed you getting off the plane and nearly shoved the camera in Happy’s face until he threatened to break it and Peter backed off. He radiated enthusiasm. “Look at this, and this, and this, oh shit wow that’s so cool look at this! Oh man this is good stuff!”
“Peter this is literally just the airport how am I supposed to take you around the actual city?!”
“OH WOW Y/N have you seen this!”
He zoomed in on your face, your devoid of emotion look appearing again. “Are you ever gonna smile for the camera?” He gave you a pout, doe eyes and all. You turned away.
“No. I’m supposed to be babysitting you, please be behave.” You touched your fingers to the bridge of your nose, dragging Peter to a couch. “Please sit. We’re getting the hotel reservations checked.”
“Do they juice boxes? I’m really thirsty.” He was just trying to make you laugh at this point, and annoying you was kind of funny for him. You let out an involuntary chuckle when he pretended to claw at his throat, throwing himself on the ground.
“I’ll make sure they have juice boxes for you, Petey. You’re such a seven year old, geez.” You pretended to gag.
Looking offended, Peter replied, “I’m actually twelve.”
Jokingly, you said, “You’re a twelve year old that’s going to get a punch in the face if you don’t settle down right now.” He stood up, directly in front of you with his light eyes and little grin, another feverish looking heat burning at his face. Nevertheless, he still said, “It’d be an honor to get beaten up by you.”
His voice, the sincerity he carried within it despite the ludicrous statement, made you feel those famed butterflies fluttering inside you. Maybe it was the way he looked into your eyes as he said it. Maybe it wasn’t. But something within you was starting to like Peter Parker, and you’d barely known him for twenty four hours.
Then again, it was hard to not like Peter. The kid was just so damn likable.
He had known it from the moment he first set his eyes upon you that day in the tower that he was a goner. If he had known it then, just from sitting down across from you with nothing to him but his lanky figure and a suit that resembled a onesie more than it did a costume fit for a hero such as he, he was sure of it now, a week and a half later.
Every day had been the same routine. He’d be up bright and early in the morning so you could help with him his training, teaching him how to utilize the suit your father had given him with ease rather than his usual tactic of jumping into everything blind. You’d been the one to help come up with nearly all of the web shooter combinations. He didn’t know all of them yet, or close to half of them, but he was progressing wonderfully.
After training, you’d give him the tour of your favorite places around Germany, close enough to where you’d both be able to get back to the hotel before dark. He filmed the both of you constantly, but you shied away from the cameras every time without fail. He couldn’t understand why, but he didn’t push. He just liked filming in general, and would accept you not smiling in any of his clips as long as you were still in there.
There was a beautiful sense of normalcy that came with hanging around Peter. You reveled in it. No one had ever made you laugh so hard with his ridiculous attempts at jokes or made you smile so much at his shy flirting skills that clearly needed to be revisited.
It was okay. You didn’t mind. And the fact that you didn’t tease him for it made him so, so happy.
Then, came the day of the fight. Peter had his camera out, he was dressed in his spidey suit, and you were standing there next to him dictating who he should and shouldn’t go after.
“Don’t go after Wanda ‘cause she could obliterate you in two seconds and Cap could crush you, too, but he won’t ‘cause he’s really nice like that. Bucky won’t care as much, though, so don’t do that- Ant-Man seems pretty cool and harmless but I don’t have as much intel on him and Peter if you get hurt you have to go hide somewhere-”
“I’m not gonna get hurt,” he said confidently.
You ignored him. “I’m gonna be in your earpiece, figuratively speaking, so I’ll hear everything you do and if you talk I’ll be able to hear you and you can hear me. So, just… keep me updated.” Peter took off his mask for a second, hair sticking up everywhere from the static. You leaned up, smoothing it back into place. Everything about him was soft. You wanted to curl up in it and stay there for as long as you could.
“I’ll be fine, Y/N, don’t worry,” Peter placed his hand on your shoulder. You felt your face heat up.
“I- I’m not worried.” You totally were. “I know you’ll be fine.” You didn’t want him getting hurt. “I just want you to be careful.” You didn’t want him to fight.
You could’ve sworn his face fell a bit when you said you weren’t worried, but he squeezed your shoulder anyway. Without a moment’s hesitation, you threw your arms around him, your nose pressing against his neck as you took a deep breath. He stood there for a second without doing anything until he realized that if he didn’t hug you back, he’d be the dumbest person on the face of the Earth. You felt his surprisingly defined arms hug you back.
You didn’t look at him when you pulled away. You stared at the spider emblazoned on his chest, gave him a quick good luck, then departed from the room. You sat on your own hotel bed with a rapidly beating heart.
The nerves were killing you. Ten more minutes. You opened your laptop and pulled up the system that would allow you to communicate across Team Stark. You were more focused on your dad and Peter. You tapped into your dad’s earpiece after placing the headset on. “Dad?” You spoke into the microphone.
“Hey, kiddo, everything okay?”
“Y-Yeah I just-” you took another breath. “Be safe. I love you.”
“I love you too, Y/N. Are you sure everything is okay over there?”
“Can you just make sure Peter gets out okay? If he gets hurt, bring him right back, please. That’s it.” Maybe it was a stupid request in someone else’s eyes, but you needed Peter to make it back in one piece. Tony Stark looked over at Peter Parker, crouching in his hiding spot and fumbling around with the gloves of his suit and gave the kid a knowing smile. Of course that was the one his daughter fell for in the end. Perfectly fitting.
“I’ll make sure.” You knew your father couldn’t see the grateful smile on your face, the sigh of relief that fell past your lips when he spoke these words.
Peter Parker, I swear if you make it out of this, I will smile like an idiot in every single one of your stupidly adorable video diary things. I swear. Just be safe.
“Your black eye is awful,” you told him, dabbing at it with more cream. “Totally ruins your face.”
“I think I look manly.”
“You think incorrectly.” You stepped back, your fingertips tilting his chin up so you could examine it further. “I think I got the worst of it. You did really well, Peter. Exceptionally well.” His face was glowing from your compliment.
“Can I get on that tape?” He asked excitedly, ducking under his hotel bed for his camera. You nodded, and he switched the camera on. He held out his arm so that you were both in frame. And you smiled. He forgot all about what you were supposed to say the moment that beautiful smile appeared there. “I- wow, Y/N.”
His stare was kind as it usually was. “You just-” he paused. “Your smile is really, really beautiful.” There was no way for you to turn away from the camera this time and you were left grinning like a lovestruck idiot at the boy in front of you, leaning up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.
You slept the entire plane ride the way you had the last time, curled up against Peter. This time, it was intentional. One of your arms was flung across his waist and his was wrapped around your shoulders, the sweatshirt he had came in now swaddling you cozily. There were two separate cars waiting for you. You stood in between them when the flight got off, the sleeves of his sweater hanging off your hands as you reached out to grab his. He felt you push a piece of paper into his hand. “You better call me, Peter Parker. I’ll be really upset if you don’t.”
He wrapped you suddenly in an embrace that lifted you off your feet just a little bit, his lips pressing against your temple. “I’ll call you every day.”
He kept true to his word. Every day without fail, your phone rang with a call from Peter, and you fell asleep on the phone with him more often than not. If you weren’t on the phone with him, you were texting him, and if you weren’t doing that, you wished that you were. The consistent communication was better than nothing, but regardless, you missed his presence. You missed the way you felt walking next to him as he explained why chocolate ice cream was so clearly better than vanilla. You just missed him.
“Peter?” You held the phone to your ear, nestled in your blankets already even though it was barely nine o'clock. His sleepy voice mumbled out a yes? “Would it be stupid if I said that I missed you?”
She could practically hear his wide smile through the phone. “Of course not. I miss you, too. So much. Probably more than you miss me.”
“That’s so not true!” She scoffed.
“Wanna bet?” His tone was mischievous, no longer the hoarse, pretty voice of a boy just waking up from his nap. “Open your bedroom door.”
“Are you joking?”
You hung up the phone, throwing back your covers and not caring one bit that your hair was a dripping mess from your shower or that you were wearing a terrible set of hello kitty pajamas that weren’t meant for anyone over the age of ten based on the size of the top. You nearly tackled him to the ground when you saw him standing in your doorway, a happy squeal escaping your lips. You were surprised he even got in, considering your dad wasn’t home, but you figured Vision had let him in. Vision always had a way of knowing.
“Have I ever told you that you have a really pretty smile?” Peter’s lips hovered over yours, almost hesitant. You took the initiative to kiss first, your hands delving into his silk-like hair. There was no point in waiting anymore. Your noses bumped together clumsily when he tilted his head back, admiring. You could feel your whole being light up when he gazed at you the way that he did, in that admiring, careful, Peter way of his.
“Careful, Spidey,” You warned, hands on his chest as you stared right back up at him.
“Careful of what?” He quirked an eyebrow.
“You’re going to make me fall in love with you one of these days if you keep looking at me like that.” It was only the truth, and you were a honest person.
“That’s sort of the plan,” he shrugged in a seemingly careless way, but he couldn’t hide it. He was an open book. An open book who loved you, and the way that you smiled at him when he pulled back his sleeve to reveal a web shooter, a strange glint in those brown eyes of his as he said, “You up for an adventure?”
Summary: You and Chanyeol go way back, and are best friends. It’s become routine for you to come over to the dorms whenever you have a fight with your boyfriend, but lately, he’s been pissed off at you, and you’re not quite sure why. Scenario: angst, fluff Word Count: 6,917
⚬ warnings⇁public indecency, cumplay, exhibitionism, rough sex, dom/sub undertones, dom!junghope, jealousy, mentions of infidelity, sex in front of a mirror, oh n light daddy kink
⚬ word count⇁15k
Triangles are my favorite shape Three points where two lines meet.” (tessellate)
Triangles are supposed to be the strongest and most stable of all geometric shapes. You wonder how true this statement is if applied to real life situations. The way you see it: triangles aren’t a reliable structure for relationships, especially if the parties you’re involved with find commitment to be a foreign concept.
Peter, in full Spider Man costume, dropped onto a roof and ducked behind an AC unit, holding his right arm tight to his chest.
It hurt, oh man it hurt and he could hardly draw a breath between the pain and his binder was too tight today and honestly he thought he might pass out if he couldn’t get laying down somewhere safe. But on this side of the city he was minimum twenty minutes of swinging, and close to an hour taxi ride from the safety of Aunt Mays apartment.
He dropped his head back against the AC unit and tried to suck in a deep breath, tried not to scream when everything seized up. His arm, his chest…this was a horrible day.
And he was late for his injection, which made everything worse. He was supposed to take it last night, and had passed out exhausted before he remembered and then had ran out the door late to school and now here he was several hours later.
“What’s up, Spidey?” A deep voice startled him, but not as much as the red and black masked face that poked around the corner. “I’m sensing a damsel in distress.”
“Go away, Deadpool.” Peter flinched behind his mask at the ‘damsel’ comment. “I’m fine.”
“Liar!” Deadpool crowed and moved to kneel in front of him. “Who knew our friendly neighborhood Spider Man lied like a fat kid stealing cake?”
“Please.” Peter bit out. “Please. Leave.”
“Hey.” Deadpool’s voice dropped, softened. “You’re not alright, alright? Plus you’re like twelve, and I just can’t leave a twelve year old superhero alone and hurting on the roof somewhere. Where’s your dad?”
“The Iron Giant.” Deadpool said impatiently. “I heard he looks out for you.”
“Don’t want him to know.” Peter was starting to feel a little lightheaded, lack of oxygen and the pain radiating up his arm making him dizzy. “And I’m not twelve.”
“Well you certainly aren’t eighteen.” Deadpool looked around, then seemed to come to a decision. “Well, I live close by, want to come to my place? We can get you patched up and–”
Thought; spontaneously dragging Steve of Bucky into random makeout sessions throughout the day and then just leaving him out of breath as you continue in with your business” And a very pleasant thought it is.
Warning: Language, making out, and utter ridiculousness
A/N: I had more free time than I anticipated, so you’re getting this early. You have the snow storm to thank for this nonsense.
Summary: sugar daddy, art collector King T’Challa, I think that about sums it up. Inspired by THIS post.
A/N: So yet again, I have not done any of the 12 requests in my inbox. Sorry guys, just feeling a little selfish/selif indulgent as of late. Also this fic is around 3.1K words so it’s pretty long, just a heads up.
You meandered around the room, admiring the art on the walls
as your heels clicked lightly across the floor. You were so proud of the work
you had done to get this art exhibit up and ready in such short time. It wasn’t
every day you got call from the King of Wakanda asking your museum to showcase
his personal art collection so your bosses were up your ass to ensure
everything was perfect, and it was.
Lars sat with his knees pulled close to his body, leaning
against the rough-hewn surface of the kindergarten wall. He trailed his finger
through the thin coating of dirt on the rockbed floor. He drew distracted
shapes and wrote out words and names in the dirt, all of which he wiped clean
and started anew, his brow furrowed.
Pad watched from behind. Unseeable, her eye flickered
between Lars and the drawings in the dirt. She picked up the hem of her dress
and moved to his side, sitting down with only a few inches of space between
them. Lars said nothing. Pad didn’t either, for a while.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Me? Nothing,” Lars muttered. He erased a smiling sun and
started anew. “Thinking.”
“…About?” Pad asked after a moment of hesitation.
“Stuff,” he answered. He picked his hand up from the dirt,
seemingly lost for what to do. “Like, about this. Here.” Lars motioned to the
rock walls stretching too high to measure, filtering through just enough light
to see the rock dust trailing through the air, large and enveloping. “Where I’m
stuck. Forever, maybe. And I’m thinking about if just…if I coulda avoided any
of this if I’d just stopped being a coward sooner. That ‘stuff’.”
“Oh,” Pad answered. She stuck her own finger in the dirt,
tracing squiggles. “No, you couldn’t have. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Lars blinked. “I didn’t even explain.”
“You’re concerned that your fate may have been avoided if you
had helped Steven escape from Topaz sooner.” Pad added her own smiley face
among the squiggles in the dirt. “Or perhaps if you had saved your blond friend
on the ship when Aquamarine and Topaz descended upon you.”
Lars straightened, back against the stone wall. Then he
pushed himself standing. “How do you know this stuff?”
Pad paused, her finger trailing midway through the dust. “Oh.
Oh of course. My future vision is broken. It can only see the past.”
“So you can see…what, everything that happened?”
“And everything that might have happened. Like an endless
tree.” She stood, and dusted herself off. “Most Sapphires can see all the
possible things that might happen. I can only see the things that might have
Lars swallowed, and he stammered, and slowly he found the
words. “The things that might have happened.”
“So you can tell me what would have happened to me if I’d done this differently.”
“What would have happened if uh…what if I had helped Sadie
when she needed help on the ship?”
Pad remained silent for a few seconds. A hollow wind blew
through the caverns. “Ah yes, I see that vision now. You would have plummeted
into the water with all the human others. And Steven would have vanished on
the ship. You would have returned solemnly to your home. The next morning, you
would have entered into a building with a large ring on the top.”
“The Big Donut.”
“Yes. That’s what the sign would have said.”
“What about Sadie?”
Another few seconds of silence. Pad clasped her hands
together. “She would be there too. But you would not speak much with her. The
disappearance of Steven would have left you both in turmoil.”
Lars wrung his hands together. “Okay… okay okay. That would
have happened a couple days ago, yeah? What would be happening right now? If I
was home? Where would I be?”
Pad shook her head. “Oh. I can’t see the possible presents.”
Lars licked his lips. Then he nodded. “Okay so…if I asked
you tomorrow, would you be able to
tell me what would have happened today? If I never left home?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I would be able to tell you that.”
“Okay. Okay then.” Lars leaned against the wall, sinking
slowly down it. He patted the dusty ground beside him. “If you’ve got some time
now. Then could you tell me what um—if I had gotten off that ship, and stayed
home—what would I have done yesterday?”
Pad picked up the hem of her dress and dropped into the
offered spot. She fell silent a few moments before her mouth opened. “You would
have returned to your place of work once more—the Big Donut. And you would have
spoken to Sadie. She would have been difficult to console, as would you, but
you would have triumphed eventually. She would have laughed at a humorous
remark you found from the internet. This would have made you proud.”
Ten years pass quickly for Gems, not so much for humans.
Lars wasn’t sure how these last ten years had passed for him, slow and fast at
the same time. His physical body has not changed much, though his hair has
grown much longer.
Lars leaned his back against the rough stone wall, free of
dust now, and he waited for Pad to appear by his side.
When she did, Lars sunk to the ground, knees against his
chest, and patted the same spot as always—as he did every day—for Pad to sit.
“So…tell me about yesterday. If I had stayed home, what
would have happened yesterday?” Lars asked with urgency. It was the same
question he had asked every day of the last ten years, but he was anxious now.
He knew what might occur.
Pad smiled. She clasped her hands together. “You would have
taken Sadie out to a food place along the beach. It would have been the one she
told you she loved as a small human. And you would have taken that polished and
cut stone out of your pocket, in the soft black box, and you would have
presented it to her. You would have lowered yourself onto one knee first, and unfurled
the box, and said, ‘Sadie, would you marry me?’”
Lars’s heart pounded in his ears. He swallowed dryly,
leaning in. “What would she have said?”
“She would have said ‘Of course Lars. Of course.’”
Lars let out a strained breath, a noise of relief, or
perhaps disbelief. He blinked harder, and leaned back against the wall, and
traced his hand through the dirt. “Oh my god… Oh my god she would have said
yes. She would have said yes.”
“Yes, she would have,” Pad answered.
The noise Lars made was soft, and wet, and it echoed out.
Bouncing against the vast and dark heights of the kindergarten walls, absorbed
and deflected in the cold hollow shells of Gems long extracted. And then it was
lost to the cavern, that isolated and dark sealed off place. Inescapable.
A hollow wind replaced it.
Lars’s hand traced the shape of a heart in the dust, and the
small strained noises from his throat dried up until only tears leaked down his
cheeks. His hand stopped once it trembled too hard to trace anything more.
REQUEST: Hey I was wondering if you could do a a Jughead fluff where the readers almost always cold & wears his black hoody & well it fits his 6'1 frame well it basically a blanket on her 5'6 self, basically she wears his hoody that fits him fine but it’s really big on her and it’s just fluffy & funny & Veronica & Kevin totally ship it😂
Sorry for taking so long :3 Hope you like it! I thought it started off okay but then i kind of ruined it, i apologise, i’m not very good at writing ehueuheueh
Warnings: fluffy fluff fluff / dead inside reader (one swear word :3)
“So I told her, that what she did was crossing the line,” Veronica’s story was reaching its climax, and Kevin was enjoying every second of it.
“Fair enough,” He interrupted, expression eager, waiting to hear what happened next.
However, before Veronica could continue, you entered the student lounge, nonchalantly slurping a takeaway Pop’s strawberry milkshake. Your bag was slung carelessly over your shoulder and your unkempt hair was lazily tied up in a messy bun, which flopped around on top of your head. You’d skipped makeup, and your eyes were surrounded by dark circles. You wore your usual converse and ripped jeans, along with a white crop top. This had been a bad choice, as it was nearly the middle of December, so you were absolutely freezing. You’d been so tired from revising for exams, that you hadn’t even bothered to check what you were wearing that morning.
You stood around the back of the couch Kevin sat on, before flopping face down and flipping your body over so you were lying on the loveseat, legs on Kevin’s lap and face buried in an assortment of cushions.
When Stiles invites Derek over for dinner on their second date, it seems that Stiles’ pet parrot is determined to ruin his life. Then again, maybe birds actually make the best wingmen…
aka: 3-in-the-morning-me read an unrelated text post on parrots and happened to be making sterek icons, and went hey, sterek plus parrots!
“Dude,” Scott sighs. “If it makes you this nervous, just don’t
“Excuse you?” Stiles scoffs. “Don’t go on my date with Derek? Is that what you just said? You’re
not going to make me give you the speech on his eyes again, are you? Because I
have it memorized, man, and-”
“No, no, no!” Scott says, waving his PS4 controller wildly.
When his Titan gets shot, he mutters, “Worth it. I just meant that if you don’t
want to have him over here, then don’t. Go out somewhere instead.”
“I can’t,” Stiles groans. “You know I can’t. He cooked me
dinner for our first date, so I have to cook him dinner for our second.”
It’s only fair, really. The only problem is his and Scott’s
apartment is a mess, his cooking skills are mostly limited to super healthy and not-date-worthy stuff for his dad, and—though Stiles doesn’t view
it as much of a problem, considering the number of nights Allison has spent
here—Scott’s being sexiled for the night. Technically Stiles told him he could stay in his room, if he wanted, considering the worst thing they’ll probably do tonight is kiss, but thankfully Scott was much more into the idea of making out with Allison than listening to Stiles potentially make out with Derek.
“Look, it’s pretty clean in here for two college guys,” Scott
reasons, for the tenth time today. Stiles is pretty sure it’s just because he
doesn’t want to stop playing Destiny in favor of vacuuming. “I seriously doubt he’ll
care if you order takeout, anyway. You just gotta chill. Right, Iago?”
Scott had taught Stiles’ parrot to respond ‘right, Scott’
anytime he hears ‘right, Iago?’ two years ago, and still takes far too much
pleasure in having a bird agree with
Stiles feels very little sympathy when Scott gets gunned
down again as he beams over at the cage.
“Scott’s an overly-optimistic knucklehead who doesn’t understand the woes of us normal people who aren’t dating our first love five years later, right,
Iago?” Stiles asks.
“Nice place,” Derek says, hanging his jacket on one
of the hooks by the door. “And dinner smells great.”
“Ah, it’s nothing,” Stiles says, despite having slaved over
the stove for three hours. “Lasagna. Here, c’mon, let’s sit down.”
Derek follows him to the living room, but when he sits down
on the couch, Derek doesn’t join him. Instead, he walks over to Iago’s cage,
“You have a parrot?”
“Oh, yeah,” Stiles says, adjusting himself so he’s facing them.
“His name’s Iago.”
“Does he talk?”
“Yeah, actually. It’s kinda awesome. He only understands
about as much as a dog, probably, but if you say something enough times he’ll start to repeat it, and he understands a few basic things. Like, um- Iago, hello!”
“Hello!” Iago squawks.
Derek smiles–the amazing, warm one that makes his eyes
crinkle—and Stiles never wants it to go away. And if that means playing with
his bird instead of making small talk? Well, he’s not going to complain.
“Iago, this is Derek,” Stiles says, even though he won’t really
get that one.
Unfortunately, he does seem to remember the word ‘Derek’.
“Derek is the best!”
Stiles’ eyes practically bug out of his head, because that’s
actually something he says all the time, and the last thing he needs is for
Iago to start parroting everything he’s ever heard about Derek, because… no.
Derek glances over at Stiles, eyebrow raised.
“Just a trick we taught him,” Stiles explains, with a nervous
laugh. “If you say ‘this is someone’, he’ll say they’re the best.”
He stands and rushes over, grabbing the towel they use to
cover Iago’s cage before Derek can get a chance to test that lie.
“Say bye, Iago,” Stiles says, draping the cloth over his
“He’s cute,” Derek says, as Stiles ushers him over to the
couch. “He’s named after the bird in Aladdin, right?”
“Yeah, he’s great,” Stiles agrees. “And yep. How’d you know?”
Derek’s awesome, but something about his leather jacket and
black Camaro doesn’t give off much of an I-watch-Disney-movies-in-my-spare-time vibe.
“I’ve got a lot of nieces and nephews,” Derek says. He
smiles again at the thought, which is far too adorable. “I’ve seen every kids’
movie more times than I can count. Or would even want to count.”
“Aw, that’s cool. I’m an only child, but I wouldn’t be
surprised if Scott and his girlfriend start planning-”
The ding of the oven cuts him off.
“Um, gimme one sec,” he says, patting Derek’s knee–don’t ask
why, dear God, he has no idea why—and
getting up to check on dinner. “Be right back.”
Stiles takes the pan out of the oven, setting it down on the
“Derek?” he calls.
“It’s ready?” Derek calls back, at the same time Iago repeats,
“Iago, stop it!” Stiles orders, poking his head into the
“Stop it!” he echoes. It’s another of his favorite things to say, unfortunately. “Derek! Stop it!
“Sorry, Derek,” Stiles sighs. “He’s a jerk sometimes.”
“It’s fine,” Derek says, standing from the couch. “Not a problem.”
Before he reaches the kitchen, though, Iago interrupts again.
“Derek! Derek! Derek is so hot!”
Derek freezes. Stiles freezes. Iago, unfortunately, does not
“Derek is so hot!” he repeats, from underneath his towel. “Derek is so hot! Derek is so hot!”
Stiles’ cheeks are probably as red
as Iago’s feathers.
“That another trick?” Derek asks,
raising an eyebrow as the bird continues his ode to Derek’s hotness in the
“Or just one of the things he picked up
Stiles is going to die. He is
actually, literally going to fall on the floor and have his heart stop beating
from sheer embarrassment.
Or he would do that, except then Derek winks.
He fucking winks, then smirks, then
walks back over to the birdcage, pulling the cover off.
“Derek is so hot!” Iago repeats
vehemently upon its removal. “Derek is the best! Derek is so hot!”
“Stiles is so hot,” Derek tells him
Stiles gapes at him, but Derek
doesn’t even look over.
“Stiles is so hot,” he says again. “Stiles.”
“Stiles is so hot!” Iago agrees. “Derek
is so hot! Stiles is so hot!”
“Smart bird,” Derek says, finally glancing over at Stiles.
He’s smiling again, and Stiles decides he very well may
die, but perhaps not for the reason he thought.
When Scott gets home the next day and asks how the date
with Derek went, only for Iago to squawk ‘Derek is so hot! Stiles is so hot!’, he flops down on the couch, muttering, “I take it back. I don’t even want to guess what that’s about.”
summary → he’s never been one for the stolen kisses between two people that weren’t in love, and so peter parker’s never been kissed.
word count → 1.5k
author’s note → yeah uh sorry this is all lowercase i didn’t even notice until i was finished aaaaand i’m lazy enjoy tell me what ya think :)
maybe it’s embarrassing. he’s not sure, he’s never found it to be that way. peter has always been perfectly content with the minuscule fact that he’s never been kissed, not on the lips, not in that way, by anyone. it’s never been something to really bother him, but he knows that for some reason it bothers plenty of other people his age; he’s heard the jokes in the hallways and silent classrooms where they talk about him and his loveless love life. apparently by the age of fifteen you were meant to have had plenty of flings and go-arounds with every willing person in queens. peter can’t help but disagree with such a statement- if he hasn’t kissed anyone yet, it’s for a reason, the reason being that he hasn’t wanted to. maybe he wanted to kiss liz allan, for that split second at homecoming right before he had slipped out of the dance to fight her father, but that second had passed. now, he had different feelings.
feelings that involved you, you, and, yes, you. oh, how in love he was with you. how smitten, how ridiculously enthralled. it wasn’t to be helped, controlled, stopped, it was just how it was. his utter adoration for you had been returned tenfold; you had wasted no time in telling him how fondly you regarded him, how long you had thought of him in a way that crossed the border of just friends and left you in crush territory. yet, despite the three month period of the two of you being exclusively together, so in love with each other it made others sick with jealousy and longing, not one kiss had been exchanged other than the ones you insisted upon pressing to his smooth cheek each day after you left him when school ended, or after a date.
you knew, understood, the nerves that shook peter whenever you seemed like you were going to kiss him that way. so you didn’t. you would never pressure him into anything, never in a million years. it was no secret that you had a bit more experience than he did, seeing as you had been in a relationship with someone else that peter was inclined to despise since you were in the eighth grade- only having broken up with the other boy after seeing him agree with flash’s crude depiction of peter early in sophomore year. that was where it had started.
“y/n, is it okay if- if i haven’t kissed anyone yet?” such an innocent statement from him after a month of dating, whispered quietly and hesitantly as if he hadn’t wanted to reveal it in the first place and felt like an idiot for doing so. “i know you have. with that ass- i mean, um, with him. i don’t wanna disappoint you. i’m very inexperienced.” he had let out an awkward laugh, ruffling his hair a bit. nervous. nothing new, not really. you had just slipped your hand inside his, squeezed, smiled.
“of course it’s okay, peter. stop acting like i’m ages older than you when your birthday is before mine and we’re in the same grade.” you nudged his shoulder playfully as he blushed just a little, just enough. “anyways, seriously, pete, it’s fine. whenever you’re ready, i’ll be, too. there’s no rush. i like being with you without the kissing.”
“great,” he had breathed, gathering up enough courage to kiss your cheek, pulling away after his lips had just barely brushed the skin on the side of your face. “had to make sure, ‘cause i’m definitely falling in love with you, and i don’t want you hating me if i can’t kiss right.” you had shoved peter again, practically overing your faec with your hands to hide the embarrassed grin that had so much happiness laced in it that you had to downplay it. “what? what’d i say?”
“you can tell me you love me but you can’t kiss me?” you teased. he didn’t saying anything, blushing again, a deeper color than before, as he swat your hands away from messing up his hair.
it was weird. he had no problem with words around you, surprisingly enough. it was actions that he was hesitant with. he had to ask to hold your hand- “i wanna hold your hand is that cool?” “yeah, of course, pete!” “oh man that’s great okay so here i’ll hold it.”- to give you a hug- “hey later after our date i can hug you goodbye, right?” “i mean were you gonna give me a handshake or something, babe?” “oh, right, shut up! don’t laugh!”- to do anything, really. he was always seeking permission, not wanting to overstep any boundaries that you hadn’t spoken but still had in your mind. you insisted, however, that if there was something you were never going to be comfortable doing, you would’ve mentioned it already.
“hey, y/n?” peter rolls toward you on his bed, propping his head up by his elbow. he nearly knocks you off the bed by doing so, but tugs you back into place by locking his hand around your wrist and pulling. “sorry,” he grins sheepishly, still gazing up at you, your back against his headboard as you scroll through instagram on your phone, he ran his fingers over the back of your hand, subtly capturing your attention without pestering too much. he always afraid of being too much. “i had a question,” he says when you lock your phone and place it on his bedside table.
“what’s up, baby?” you give him a playful smile or smirk because you know how much he secretly loves it when you call him baby; it makes him blush and grow quiet and flustered within seconds, but he doesn’t want it to deter him this time.
“shut up,” he pushes your knee to the side as you laugh. “seriously, though. i need to ask you something.” you nod in wait, folding your hands in your lap. peter takes a deep breath, sitting up and crossing his legs and patting them against his knees. he’s jittery when he’s nervous. “i- i just maybe wanted to know if it was- if I could, maybe, like, kiss you? today? now? maybe? if you want. up to you, obviously, i just want to ‘cause i’m ready but if you’re not-” he rushes to add the last bit, unsure of whether you want this in first place, but you roll your eyes at him in that fake exasperated way as you turn your body to face him, legs crossed in the same position as him now.
he looks anywhere but at you, so you cup his face with both hands and direct him back. “you know i’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment you said you were in love with me, right?”
peter melts underneath your touch, placing his hand over yours as he smiles brightly, casts his eyes down then back up again, passes his gaze over the nicely shaped curve of your mouth. he’s yearning to feel those lips on his, because he knows his first kiss is going to be everything if it’s with you, and he’s waited long enough. “i- i know. i just wanna make sure. you know how i am.”
“i do.” you finger trails across his bottom lip for a second. soft. you see him breathe in sharply, his eyes watching your every movement with his bottom lip still jutting out from where you touched him. “slowly, yeah? slow and steady. it’s just me and you, peter. if you hate kissing me we can stop.” you crack a grin as he shakes his head adamantly.
“that’s not possible,” he murmurs. he knows you have no problem with dragging this lighthearted, flirtatious banter out for hours, and he’s been dying to kiss you for so long now that he just does it. but he still goes slowly, steadily, the way you told him to. he places a hand behind your neck to pull you closer against him, barely moving his lips because he’s afraid to bite the pout of your lips that he loves so much. he’s had so many ridiculous fears pertaining to kissing you, but now that he’s doing it, it’s not as scary as he should have found it. when he pulls away, he leans his forehead against yours, breathing heavily through his nose and feeling like his heart was going to burst from its prison behind his ribcage. “how’d i do?” he asks, now shy as you open your eyes.
“perfectly, peter,” you kiss his lips again gently, a chaste kiss that ends as soon as it begins. “are you sure you haven’t been practicing on someone else? you’re an expert already, just gotta move that cute mouth a little more.”
peter laughs, shakes his head. “no. only you. i’ve only ever wanted to kiss you. and it was a great first kiss, by the way. and second.” so sweet it practically suffocates you in sugar, peter dips his head to capture your lips for a third time that night, thrilled with the knowledge that he’s not a failure when it comes to being your boyfriend, thrilled with the fact that he can kiss you without worrying about a thousand little things that you probably weren’t thinking twice on. there was only three things in life that mattered in this moment: a soft boy, steady heartbeats that forged into one, and the saccharine kisses he continued to bestow upon you in his quiet, peter way.
rational thing that Marinette could figure was that she was dreaming. Or maybe
even in the midst of a nightmare. Yes, a nightmare. That was the only
conclusion that made sense.
Yet, it was the little things that
contradicted what she would like to think was certainty. The cool feeling of
the porcelain toilet lid seeping through her shorts and searing her skin like a
burn. The familiar grain of the hardwood floor beneath her feet. The soft
murmur of voices in the other room. But what was most jarring was the too-close
sound of scissors shearing through hair. It wasn’t consistent like everything
else. It stabbed through her ears like a dull, choppy blade—like being sick
with the flu only to be shaken every few seconds.
She wanted it to end, but was afraid
that if she said anything, she’d be forced to recognize what was real. So,
instead, she stared at the floor as chunks of black hair fell softly down
around her feet, the weight gradually lifting from her head with each sharp, grating
slice of the scissors.
Her mother’s hands were gentle as
they sifted through her hair, evening the strands and snipping at flyaways.
Until, finally, the shearing stopped.
Finally, Marinette could close her
eyes and convince herself that none of it was real.
That everything was fine.
“How does it look?” Her mother’s
voice, though even and calm, was nearly as jarring as the scissors had been. Marinette snapped her eyes open to see that a hand mirror was being held out in
front of her.
Out of expected habit—because her
body knew motions well enough to substitute for her lagging brain—she reached
up and took the mirror, before holding it up so she could see the reflection of
the back of her head in the large bathroom vanity.
“It looks fine,” she replied, voice
rough from misuse. No more pigtails. Though her heavy bangs remained, the back
and sides of her hair had been trimmed within millimeters of her head, so as to
even out where Queen Bee as cut away the strands during their battle.
Queen Bee… The battle…
Marinette didn’t want to think about
She wasn’t too torn up over the loss
of her hair—she’d had short hair before. Not this short, but it’d grow back.
There were worse things, after all.
“Marinette,” her mother said softly,
touching her shoulder. She sat down on the edge of the tub a moment later, so
they were facing one another. “Are you alright?”
She didn’t want to talk about it.
She didn’t want to think about it.
Changing the subject to anything
else was better.
“You were Ladybug before I was,
right?” she asked, despite already knowing the answer
Sabine’s hold tensed on her
shoulder, before her hand fell away. Much like her gaze did, becoming distant
as she peered to the side.
“I was. But that… was a long time
“You’ve known I was Ladybug this
whole time,” she determined.
“I realized it shortly after your
first encounter with Hawkmoth, yes. I’d know those earrings anywhere. And the
ring too.” She took a deep breath. “I knew Adrien was Chat Noir the first time
I met him.”
Which was before Marinette had known.
“The miraculouses extend their users
lifespans,” Marinette went on. “How old are you?”
“Much older than I look,” Sabine
replied, finally looking back at her daughter and able to wear a small smile. Yet,
Marinette said nothing, and so Sabine gave in. “I turned 97 this year, one year
younger than Gabriel. I was Ladybug for most of my life.”
“Is that how you and Mr. Agreste
know one another?”
“Yes. Gabriel is… a very old friend.
We fought together during World War II, myself, him, and… And we stayed
together for many years after, the three of us. Then the four of us.” Reaching
up, she touched her forehead, looking wearied. “Thinking so far back really
makes me feel my age.”
“Don’t be.” Reaching out, Sabine
patted her knee. “I’m not nearly as old as some.”
So do you remember the
guy in yesterday’s General Conference session (April 2017) who shared the
ultimate “Flirt to Convert” story? The guy who was surprised the girl
told him “No” because he thought he was a good catch? His name is
Elder Costa. Last year he came to my stake. I’ve shared that story before, but
would like to do so again in greater detail since many of you now know who he
When a Seventy comes to stake conference there are some extra
meetings. There’s one on Saturday that’s like the kick-off mtg. It’s just the Seventy, the
stake presidency, the stake clerk and me, the stake executive secretary.
He had us sit in a circle by order of our rank. I thought Elder Costa would sit
at the desk and we’d be in a semi-circle in front of it, but he had the stake
president sit at his own desk. In front of the desk, to the stake president’s
right was his first counselor, then the second counselor and the stake clerk.
Everyone outranks me, so I’m last among our group, which means I was seated
next to Elder Costa, who was in the first chair to the left of the stake
He asked if everyone was married, and of course, I’m the only single person out
of the six of us in the room.
I was dreading this moment because so many times
when someone higher up finds out I’m single I get a lecture about it being my
priesthood duty and I need to be married in order to be exalted and it’s my
responsibility and there are sisters who cry themselves to sleep at night.
Elder Costa does none of that.
I’m certain that at most of these meetings everyone in the room is married, so
this was unusual. He had brought a message for the married men, and he
proceeded to give it, but as I was sitting next to him, he kept patting my leg,
my knee, my arm, like he was letting me know it’s alright. It’s sort of like by
his actions he was conveying one message to me, even as he was speaking a
different message to the rest of the room.
Afterwards I was in the clerk’s office
following up on some things. From where I’m sitting, I am hearing Elder Costa &
the stake president speaking (everyone else has already left the stake offices)
and then I heard a door close and a voice
in my ear said, “You have 15 seconds. Go talk to him.” This was odd as I thought they’d both just walked out of the stake offices. I turn around in my chair and
there is Elder Costa standing framed by the office door.
I walk over and thank him for how gently he treated me in the
earlier meeting, and said the reason I’m not married is because I’m gay. He
reacted so quickly I didn’t have a chance to say anything further. He threw his
arms around me and pulled me in as he said, “Dear brother, the Church has much
to offer you. And you have much to contribute to the church.” He squeezed me
and then let go of the hug, and just as he took a step back, I heard the door
open, it was the stake president. He’d gone to the restroom (there’s one in the
stake offices) and out the door they went.
After the Priesthood Leadership Mtg, he held a
mtg w/the stake presidency, high council and bishops. As they were about to begin, Elder Costa sent
one of them to fetch me. He hadn’t been specific that he wanted me and the
clerk to be at that discussion, but he was looking for me, and when he recognized I wasn’t at the table and
sent for me.
That night in the adult session, he made the point that same-gender attraction
isn’t a sin, and members who speak otherwise are incorrect and unkind. It wasn’t
his main point, but he included it in his presentation.
On Sunday morning, I was already in the stake
offices when Elder Costa arrived with the stake president. He asked what I was
working on and told the stake president he was lucky to have me, that I keep things
running smoothly. During the Sunday session of stake conference, he spoke about 3 sentences of how he’s spent time with the stake president and he’s a
good man and the same is true of his
counselors. And to my great surprise, he followed that up by exclaiming with a big smile, “and
they have the GREATEST secretary!” 😊 My phone immediately blew up with people
writing to say they’ve never heard a secretary recognized like that, and people
all around reaching over to pat me on the back.
At the conclusion of the Sunday session, we had
a wrap up meeting. Once again we sat in order of seniority of our positions,
which meant I was next to Elder Costa. He turned to me and asked where were my
assistants? I said that the stake clerk has assistant clerks, that there aren’t
assistant secretaries. He said that’s funny, seemed I did the work of 3 people.
At the meeting’s conclusion, we knelt and he prayed. After the prayer he sprung
up, and as I was standing he put his hands on my arms and pulled me towards him. He wrapped me into a tight
hug, chest on chest, his cheek against mine, and says “I love you” three times
in my ear. 😇 I have tears in
my eyes, it’s as if Jesus spoke those simple words to me, into my heart.
He held that hug for a little bit, then he
went to shake the other’s hands. The stake clerk who’d been sitting next to me,
thought we were all getting hugs, so he put his arms out for a hug as Elder
Costa put forth his hand for a handshake. There was an awkward moment, and we
laughed at that, so he gave them one-armed side hugs while saying it was good
to meet them. 😂😂😂 They’re all looking at me, like why
did he get such an embrace, but they don’t say anything because they can tell something just transpired because
I was wiping aside tears.
In those small and simple ways, Elder Costa ministered to me. I didn’t even
know I needed to be ministered to, but it really was good for my soul. Normally
the mention of homosexuality in church is accompanied with a list of
restrictions. Instead, he reacted with love and kindness. I believe most LGBT
Mormons know the Church’s positions in these matters and what would most
benefit them are messages of hope and love. It’s unusual for us to feel
accepted and wanted.
I have a great deal of respect and love for Elder Costa and smiled broadly at
seeing him speak in General Conference.
ＥＸＯ ＲＥＡＣＴＩＯＮ: their best friend says they should date
I really liked your BTS reaction to their bff being single. Could I request a BTS and/or Exo (whichever you have the most inspiration for, or both if you have tons of it) reaction to their bff having been complaining about that and then randomly saying (jokingly or otherwise) that the two of them should date? Up to you if the member likes their bff or not. Sorry if it sucks!!
a/n: these were all done as them all having interest in you bc i can’t bring myself to write rejection ;v;
Minseok sipped at his coffee while you complained about your relationship status. “Enjoy it. When you settle down with somebody you won’t be able to walk around in your underwear,“ he chuckled, settling his mug down. “You don’t care when you come over and I’m in my underwear,” you mumbled, folding your arms over your chest. “I don’t,” he smiled. “Maybe I should date you,” you winked, making him nod. “Maybe you should.”
“What’re you doing?” Junmyeon asked when he saw you laid upside down on the sofa. “Trying to figure out what makes me so undateable,” you grumbled, making him laugh. “Don’t laugh at my misery,” you screwed up your face. He sat next to you and floded his arms over his chest.
“You’re not undateable…”
“Date me, then,”
“How’s the filming coming along?” you asked as you handed the mug over to Yixing. “Tomorrow should be the last day,” he informed happily, setting the cup down. “From what you’ve sent me, it looks good,” you praised, making him smile.
“The pictures you uploaded looked just as good. I hope it went well,” he raised a brow. “It was another fail,” you shrugged, sitting next to him. “I’m coming to the conclusion that I was born to be single forever,” you took a sip of your tea.
“The right one is out there,”
“He’s sat next to me,”
“What was that?”
“I’d really like to take you on a date… After you’re done filming.”
“I would love that.”
Another spoonful of soup was held up to your mouth, which you happily took. “You look like Rudolf,” Baekhyun laughed before blowing over the soup to cool it. “Stop,” you pouted, leaning your head forward. “The world’s cutest Reindeer,” he held up the spoon again.
“I bet this is what it’s like to have a partner,” you finished the soup and gave him a thankful smile. “I’m better than anybody you’ve ever been with,” he set the bowl on the floor and flopped next to you. “I should make you my boyfriend,” you giggled as he cupped your cheeks.
“Can I kiss you?”
“You’ll get sick…”
“I don’t care.”
“I’m going to be single forever,” you whined as you leaned back onto the bench. “Was it really that bad?” he asked, glancing to you. “They were impossible to talk to…” your head lolled back. “It’s okay,” he patted your knee. “I’ll be here to keep things exciting in your life,” he promised, making you giggle. “We should date. We’d make a good match,” you hummed, making him gasp. “You can read my mind?”
The sound of the guitar filled Chanyeol’s cozy studio. He’d invited you over to try and cheer up your mood after your rant on being single. When his fingers stopped against the strings of the guitar and you continued to stare at him, he waved his hand in front of your face. “You alright?” he asked.
“Sorry, I was just thinking what you’d be like as a boyfriend.”
“I’d be okay?” “Can I test that out? I really want to take you on a date.”
His cheeks tinted red, so he lowered his head “Of course you can.”
Kyungsoo agreed to act as your partner at a family dinner, saving you from another ‘you should be settling down’ lecture. His hand rested on your back as he conversed with your family, speaking of his job, and praising the food. They seemed to believe it, as they all fussed over you.
As the evening winded down, your family moves to sit around the house to make small talk with eachother. He lead you outside, the cold air felt amazing against your warm skin. “They’re fun. Not bad at cooking either,” he spoke softly. “Be my partner for real, then. Come with me to every dinner,” you chuckled. “I’d be honoured,” he whispered, arm wrapping around your waist.
Jongin has spammed you with texts, informing you that the members were going out, so the two of you could have a movie night. He picked you up and took you to the store, filling up the cart with as many snacks and goodies as possible. “You’re forgetting these. No movie night is complete without these,” he grinned, dropping your favourite sweets into the cart. “Why can’t everyone I go on dates with be like yoou. Why can’t you be my boyfriend?” you groaned, piling the snacks into his arms for him to approve of. “Because you haven’t asked me yet.”
The room spun as you and Sehun finished the last of your drinks. “We have so much fun together,” he slurred with a grin. “I know…” you laid next to him, trying to cool your blushing cheeks. “We should start dating.”
“You want to date me?” he asked, eyes widening. “Is that a bad thing?” you frowned, only to be cut off by his laughing. “I thought the day would never come!” he exclaimed, pulling you into him.
“you are the worst case of touch starvation i’ve ever seen.”
“you made a mistake hugging me because i’m so touch starved i’m not letting go of you now.”
“i’m sorry but can you give a hug i need to remember what human contact feels like.”
“man you know you’re really starved for affection when someone gives you a friendly pat on the back and your knees get all wobbly.”
“so i looked it up and it’s called skin hunger, also known as touch starvation. so i’m going to hug you now and you aren’t going to complain because this has actually been affecting your mental health.”
“no one’s hugged me in years. do you mind if we stay like this a little longer?”
“keep scratching my head. it feels nice and i don’t know the last time someone did that for me.”
“the reason i am acting like a cat right now and why i’m sprawled across your lap is because i can’t remember the last time someone held me like this.”
“my video game spouse called me dear and i started crying please send help.”
Summary: Senior Rowan Whitethorn is new to town. It doesn’t take him long to get use to a new school, make new friends, even join the local hockey team. But it also doesn’t take him long to meet sophomore and figure skater Aelin Galathynius. And it doesn’t take him long to realize one thing; he can’t stand her.
“Now on the ice, representing Rifthold Royals Figure Skating Club, Aelin Galathynius!”
“It’s been quite a ride for seventeen-year-old Aelin Galathynius these past few years, and not all of it good. As most of you remember, she was slated to skate at Sectionals two years back, when she dropped out due to the sudden loss of fellow skater, Sam Cortland.”
“But it’s amazing to finally see her competing here today, Embrys. All that good and bad, it makes you what you are in the big moments. And we’ll see if it ends up being positive here in Perranth.”
“Niece of Worlds Champion Olron Galathynius, skating her short to The Assassin’s Tango - Aelin Galathynius.”
A scene that 2x07 didn’t give us of Jace and Alec talking about Magnus
“I need you to leave tonight.”
Jace raised his eyebrows as he looked at where Alec was standing in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, his expression firm and determined.
“It’s just for the night. You can come back tomorrow,” Alec continued before Jace even got a chance to say something back. “I know you can’t be at the Institute, but I heard that Luke has contacts all over the city who can help you find a place to stay. You could also stay with Luke, if you wanted to. I know that there’s a hotel by the Jade Wolf. Or maybe ask Izzy-”
“What for?” Jace tilted his head to the side, holding a copy of Pride and Prejudice that he was reading before Alec walked into his room in his hands. “Are you planning a surprise party for me?” He teased lightly. “I know you’re happy that I’ve been rescued from Valentine and all, but Alec, it’s okay, really.”
Alec rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips. “You are so conceited.”
“Okay, so that’s a ‘no’ on the surprise party,“ Jace pouted and threw a pillow in Alec’s direction, which meekly hit his leg. “This is why you’re the archer, you have the best aim,” He mumbled and returned to the page that he left off on. “So, what’s the reason?”
Alec hesitated, trying to frame his sentence the way he wanted. He looked up at the ceiling as if he could see the words floating above his head and he was rubbing his fingers together. “I want tonight to be special.” He decided, smiling a little, as if he was proud of his phrasing, and pursed his lips, nodding his head a little as he waited for Jace to respond
Jace clutched at his heart dramatically. “You say that tonight is going to be special, but you don’t want your wonderful parabatai to be there? Alec, I am offended.” Alec sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Not for you. For me and Magnus.” He replied sincerely after a moment of silence and Jace looked up from his book with a start.
“For you and-?” Realization washed over Jace like waves crashing against rocks and his face formed into an almost insane grin. He practically threw his book down and it bounced off the bed and onto the floor with a loud and startling thump.