sorry this was hard to cap

Get Out.

Originally posted by tess453

Peter Parker x Reader

Request: Yes

Summary: Deciding to stay in for a date, Peter and the Reader are faced with annoying and embarrassing comments from the whole team, who are unaware of their relationship.

Word Count: 2,428

Warnings: language, fluff, annoying avengers (??), embarrassed!Peter, embarrassed!Reader, cuteness, LOTR trilogy. (Let me know if I missed any)

A/N: Alright homies, I apologize it has taken me so long to upload something. I’ve been reaally stressed. So hopefully this is okay? For the anon that requested this, I hope you like it. I’d love some feedback, as always. Enjoy reading!

Dark, gray clouds blocked any source of light from shining through the big, thick glass windows surrounding every inch of the building.

The entire tower was filled with a solemn mood that spread into every corner and room.

Most of the team dreaded days like these, since it put a damper on their mood, (especially Steve).

You, however, cherished days like these the most.

It’s where you find your peace and inner self, no matter how depressing that may sound.

It helps you relax and release any stresses that corrupt your thoughts.

But the best reason of all is that you don’t have to leave the house, even if you had a date with Peter tonight.

However, thinking that idea through, you realized something.

The whole team would be here.

With Peter and you.

During your date.

Well, fuck.

Keep reading

Full Esquire Interview - CHRIS EVANS IS READY TO FIGHT



The Canadian commandos are the first to jump. Our plane reaches an altitude of about eight thousand feet; the back door opens. Although it’s a warm winter day below in rural southern California, up here, not so much. In whooshes freezing air and the cold reality that this is actually happening. Out drop the eight commandos, all in black-and-red camouflage, one after the other. For them it’s a training exercise, and Jesus, these crazy bastards are stoked. The last Canuck to exit into the nothingness is a freakishly tall stud with a crew cut and a handlebar mustache; just before he leaps, he flashes a smile our way. Yeah, yeah, we get it: You’re a badass.

Moments later, the plane’s at ten thousand feet, and the next to go are a Middle Eastern couple in their late thirties. These two can’t wait. They are ecstatic. Skydiving is clearly a thing for them. Why? I can’t help thinking. Is it like foreplay? Do they rush off to the car after landing and get it on in the parking lot? They give us the thumbs-up and they’re gone.

Just like that, we’re at 12,500 feet and it’s our turn. Me and Chris Evans, recognized throughout the universe as the star of the Marvel-comic-book-inspired Captain America and Avengers movies. The five films in the series, which began in 2011 with Captain America: The First Avenger, have grossed more than $4 billion.

The two of us, plus four crew members, are the only ones left in the back of the plane. Over the loud drone of the twin propellers, one of the crew members shouts, "Okay, who’s going first?”

Evans and I are seated on benches opposite each other. Neither of us answers. I look at him; he looks at me. I feel like I’ve swallowed a live rat. Evans is over there, all Captain America cool, smiling away.

While we were waiting to board the plane, Evans told me that as he lay in bed the night before, “I started exploring the sensation of ‘What if the chute doesn’t open?’. . .”

Oh, did you now?

“. . .Those last minutes where you know.” As in you know you’re going to fatally splat. “You’re not gonna pass out; you’re gonna be wide awake. So what? Do I close my eyes? Hopefully, it would be quick. Lights out. I fucking hope it would be quick. And then I was like, if you’re gonna do it, let’s just pretend there is no way this is going to go wrong. Just really embrace it and jump out of that plane with gusto.” Evans also shared that he’d looked up the rate of skydiving fatalities. “It’s, like, 0.006 fatalities per one thousand jumps. So I figure our odds are pretty good.”

Again the crew member shouts, “Who’s going first?”

Again I look at Evans; again he looks at me. The rat is running circles in my belly.

I look at Evans; he looks at me.

Another crew member asks, “So whose idea was this, anyway?”

That’s an excellent question.

I ask Evans the same thing when we first meet, the evening before our jump, at his house. He lives atop the Hollywood Hills, in a modern-contemporary ranch in the center of a Japanese-style garden. The place has the vibe of an L.A. meditation retreat—there’s even a little Buddha statue on the front step.

The dude who opens the front door is in jeans, a T-shirt, and Nikes; he has on a black ball cap with the NASA logo, and his beard is substantial enough that for a second it’s hard to be sure this is the same guy who plays the baby-faced superhero. Our handshake in the doorway is interrupted when his dog rockets toward my crotch. Evans is sorry about that.

We do the small-talk thing. Evans is from a suburb of Boston, one of four kids raised by Dad, a dentist, and Mom, who ran a community theater. The point is, he’s a Patriots fan, and with Super Bowl LI, between the Pats and the Falcons, just a few days away at the time, it’s about the only thing on his mind. You bet your Sam Adams–guzzling ass he’s going to the game in Houston. “Oh my God,” he says, doing a little dance. “I can’t believe it’s this weekend.”

Like any self-respecting Pats fan, Evans is super-wicked pissed at NFL commissioner Roger Goodell.

Evans won’t be rolling to SB LI with a posse of Beantown-to-Hollywood A-listers like Mark Wahlberg, Matt Damon, and Ben Affleck. For the record, he’s never met Damon, and his only interaction with Wahlberg was a couple years ago at a Patriots event. Evans has, however, humiliated himself in front of Affleck.

Around 2006, Evans met with Affleck to talk about Gone Baby Gone, which Affleck was directing. Evans was walking down a hallway, looking for the room where they were supposed to meet. Walking by an open office, he heard Affleck, in that thick Boston accent of his, shout, “There he is!” (Evans does a perfect Affleck impersonation.)

By then, Evans had hit the big time for his turn as the Human Torch, Johnny Storm, in 2005’s Fantastic Four, but he still got starstruck. As he tells it, “First thing I say to him: 'Am I going to be okay where I parked?’ He was like, 'Where did you park?’ I said, 'At a meter.’ And he was like, 'Did you put money in the meter?’ And I said, 'Yep.’ And he says, 'Well, I think you’ll be okay.’ I was like, this is off to a great fucking start.” Stating the obvious here: Evans did not get the part.

No, Evans will be heading to the Super Bowl with his brother and three of his closest buddies. Like any self-respecting Pats fan, Evans is super-wicked pissed at NFL commissioner Roger Goodell for imposing that suspension on Tom Brady for Deflategate. Grabbing two beers from a fridge that’s otherwise basically empty, Evans says, “I just want to see Goodell hand the trophy to Brady. Goodell. Piece of shit.”

In Evans’s living room, there’s not a single hint of his Captain Americaness. Earth tones, tables that appear to be made of reclaimed wood. Open. Uncluttered. Glass doors open onto a backyard with a stunning view of the Hills. Evans stretches out on one of two couches. I take the other and ask, “Just whose idea was it to jump?” Since we both know whose idea it wasn’t, we both know that what I’m really asking is Why? Why, dude, do you want to jump (with me) from a goddamn airplane? “Yeah,” he says, popping open his beer, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Settling in on the couch, he groans. Evans explains that he’s hurting all over because he just started his workout routine the day before to get in shape for the next two Captain America films. The movies will be shot back to back beginning in April. After that, no more red- white-and-blue costume for the thirty-five-year-old. He will have fulfilled his contract.

“Yeah,” he says, popping open his beer, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Back in 2010, Marvel presented Evans with a nine-picture deal. He insisted he’d sign on for no more than six. Some family members thought he was nuts to dial back such a secure and lucrative gig. Evans saw it differently.

It takes five months to shoot a Marvel movie, and when you tack on the promotional obligations for each one, well, shit, man. Evans knew that for as long as he was bound to Captain America, he would have little time to take on other projects. He wanted to direct, he wanted to play other characters—roles that were more human—like the lead in Gifted, which will hit theaters this month. The script had brought him to tears. Evans managed to squeeze the movie in between Captain America and Avengers films.

FOX Searchlight

In Gifted, Evans stars as Frank Adler. You don’t get much more human than Adler, a grease-under-his-nails boat-engine mechanic living the bachelor life in Florida. After a series of tragic circumstances, Adler becomes a surrogate father to his niece, Mary, a first-grader with the IQ of Einstein. He recognizes that Mary is a little genius, and he does his best to prevent anyone else from noticing. Given the aforementioned circumstances, Adler has witnessed what can happen when a kid with a brilliant mind is pushed too hard too quickly. Then along comes Mary’s teacher. She discovers the child’s gift, and a Kramer vs. Kramer–esque drama ensues.

During a moment in the film when things aren’t going Adler’s way, he sarcastically refers to himself as a “fucking hero.” Evans says the line didn’t lead him to make comparisons between superhero Steve Rogers (aka Captain America) and Everyman hero Frank Adler. But now that you mention it . . . 

“With Steve Rogers,” Evans says, “even though you’re on a giant movie with a huge budget and strange costumes, you’re still on a hunt for the truth of the character.” That said, “with Adler, it’s nice to play someone relatable. I think Julianne Moore said, 'The audience doesn’t come to see you; they come to see themselves.’ Adler is someone you can hold up as a mirror for someone in the audience. They’ll be able to far more easily identify with Frank Adler than Steve Rogers.”

Dodger. That’s the name of Evans’s dog, the one who headbutted my nuts and has since done a marvelous job of making amends by nuzzling against me on the couch. Evans got him while he was filming Gifted; one of the last scenes was shot in an animal shelter in Georgia. Evans had wanted a dog ever since his last pooch died in 2012. Then he found himself walking the aisles of this pound, and there was this mixed-breed boxer, wagging his tail and looking like he belonged with Evans.

Dodger is not exactly a name you’d think a die-hard Boston sports fan would pick. His boys from back home have given him a ton of shit over it. But he has not abandoned his Red Sox for the L.A. team. As a kid, he loved the Disney animated movie Oliver & Company, and his favorite character was Dodger. Anticipating the grief he was going to get from his pals, Evans considered other names. “You could name your dog Doorknob,” he says, “and in a month he’s fucking Doorknob.” Evans’s mom convinced him to go with his gut.

Right around when Evans was wrapping Gifted and heading back to L.A. with Dodger, the 2016 presidential campaign was still in that phase when no one, including the actor—a Hillary Clinton supporter—thought Trump had a shot. He still can’t believe Trump won.

“I feel rage,” he says. “I feel fury. It’s unbelievable. People were just so desperate to hear someone say that someone is to blame. They were just so happy to hear that someone was angry. Hear someone say that Washington sucks. They just want something new without actually understanding. I mean, guys like Steve Bannon—Steve Bannon!—this man has no place in politics.”

Evans has made, and continues to make, his political views known on Twitter. He tweeted that Trump ought to “stop energizing lies,” and he recently ended up in a heated Twitter debate with former KKK leader David Duke over Trump’s pick of Jeff Sessions for attorney general. Duke baselessly accused Evans of being anti-Semitic; Evans encouraged Duke to try love: “It’s stronger than hate. It unites us. I promise it’s in you under the anger and fear.” Making political statements and engaging in such public exchanges is a rather risky thing for the star of Captain America to do. Yes, advisors have said as much to him. “Look, I’m in a business where you’ve got to sell tickets,” he says. “But, my God, I would not be able to look at myself in the mirror if I felt strongly about something and didn’t speak up. I think it’s about how you speak up. We’re allowed to disagree. If I state my case and people don’t want to go see my movies as a result, I’m okay with that.”

Trump. Bannon. Politics. Now Evans is animated. He gets off the couch, walks out onto his porch, and lights a cigarette. “Some people say, 'Don’t you see what’s happening? It’s time to yell,' ” Evans says. “Yeah, I see it, and it’s time for calm. Because not everyone who voted for Trump is going to be some horrible bigot. There are a lot of people in that middle; those are the people you can’t lose your credibility with. If you’re trying to change minds, by spewing too much rhetoric you can easily become white noise.”

Evans has a pretty remarkable “How I got to Hollywood” story.

During his junior year of high school, he knew he wanted to act. He was doing it a lot. In school. At his mom’s theater. He loved it. “When you’re doing a play at thirteen years old and have opening night? None of my friends had opening nights. 'I can’t have a sleepover, guys; I have an opening night tonight.' ”

That same year, he did a two-man play. For all of the twenty-plus plays Evans had done up to that point, preparation meant going home, memorizing lines, and doing a few run-throughs with the cast. However, for this play, Fallen Star, he and his costar would rehearse by running dialogue with each other. Hour upon hour, night after night.

Fallen Star is about two friends, one of whom has just died. As the play opens, one of the characters comes home after the funeral to find his dead friend’s ghost. Evans was the ghost. Waiting backstage on opening night, he knew he didn’t have every line memorized, but he had the essence and emotion of the play down. Onstage, he remembers, “I was saying the lines not because they were memorized but because the play was in me. I was believing what I was saying.”

He was hooked. He wanted to do more of this kind of acting—real acting. He wanted to do films, in which the camera was right on him and he could just be the character, rather than theater, in which an actor must perform to the back of the room.

A family friend who was a television actor advised Evans that if he wanted to go to Hollywood, he needed an agent. Toward the end of his junior year, he had a ballsy request for his parents: If he found an internship with a casting agent in New York City, would they allow him to live there and cover the rent? They agreed. Evans landed a gig with Bonnie Finnegan, who was then working on the television show Spin City.

“I just fucked off. I lost my virginity that year. 1999 was one of the best years of my life.” Until it wasn’t.

Evans chose to intern with a casting agent because he figured he had more of a chance to interact with other agents trying to get auditions for their clients.

The kid was sixteen years old.

Finnegan put Evans on the phone; his responsibilities included setting up appointments for auditions. By the end of the summer, he picked the three agents he had the best rapport with and asked each of them to give him a five-minute audition. All three said yes. After seeing his audition, all three were interested.

Evans went with the one Finnegan recommended, Bret Adams, who told Evans to return to New York for auditions in January, television pilot season. Back home, Evans doubled up on a few classes the first semester of his senior year, graduated early, and went back to New York in January. He got the same shithole apartment in Brooklyn and the same internship with Finnegan. He landed a part on the pilot Opposite Sex. Even better, the show got picked up and would start shooting in L.A. that fall.

“I know I’m going to L.A. in August,” Evans says, recalling that period. “So I go home and that spring I would wake up around noon, saunter into high school just to see my buddies, and we’d go get high in the parking lot. I just fucked off. I lost my virginity that year. 1999 was one of the best years of my life.” Until it wasn’t.

He wasn’t in L.A. for even a month when he got a call from home. His parents were divorcing. Evans never saw it coming.

Family and love and the struggles therein are part of what attracted Evans to Gifted.

“In my own life, I have a deep connection with my family and the value of those bonds,” he says. “I’ve always loved stories about people who put their families before themselves. It’s such a noble endeavor. You can’t choose your family, as opposed to friends. Especially in L.A. You really get to see how friendships are put to the test; it stirs everyone’s egos. But if something goes south with a friend, you have the option to say we’re not friends anymore. Your family—that’s your family. Trying to make that system work and trying to make it not just functional but actually enjoyable is a really challenging endeavor, and that’s certainly how it is with my family.”

the plane, a decision is made.

“I want to see you jump first,” Evans shouts my way.

Of course he does.

Like any respectable and legal skydiving center, Skydive Perris, which is providing us with this “experience,” doesn’t just strap a chute on your back. First, you go to a room for a period of instruction. Then you go to another room, where you sign away your rights.

You may be wondering how the star of a billion-dollar franchise with two pictures to shoot gets clearance to jump from an airplane—never mind the low rate of fatalities, as Evans has presented it. So am I.

“Well, they give you all these crazy insurance policies, but even if I die, what are they going to do? Sue my family? They’d probably cast some new guy at a cheaper price and save some money.”

Thinking the answer is almost certainly going to be no, I ask Evans if he’s ever gone skydiving before. Turns out he has, with an ex-girlfriend. Turns out that ex-girlfriend is now married to Justin Timberlake. Evans and Jessica Biel dated off and on from 2001 to 2006. They took the leap together when Biel hatched the idea for one Valentine’s Day. According to media accounts, Evans was recently dating his Gifted costar Jenny Slate, who plays the teacher. “Yeah,” he says, “but I’m steering clear of those questions.” You can almost feel his heart pinch.

“There’s a certain shared life experience that is tough for someone else who’s not in this industry to kind of wrap their head around.”

We end up broadly discussing the unique challenges an international star like Evans faces when it comes to dating, specifically the trust factor. Evans supposes that’s why so many actors date other actors: “There’s a certain shared life experience that is tough for someone else who’s not in this industry to kind of wrap their head around,” he says. “Letting someone go to work with someone for three months and they won’t see them. It really, it certainly puts the relationship to the test.”

In Gifted, there’s a moment when Slate’s character asks Adler what his greatest fear is. Frank Adler’s greatest fear is that he’ll ruin his niece’s life. Evans’s greatest fear is having regrets.

“Like always kind of wanting to be there as opposed to here. I think I’m worried all of a sudden I’ll get old and have regrets, realize that I’ve not cultivated enough of an appreciation for the now and surrendering to the present moment.”

Evans’s musings have something to do with the fact that he has been reading The Surrender Experiment. “It’s about the basic notion that we are only in a good mood when things are going our way,” he says. “The truth is, life is going to unfold as it’s going to unfold regardless of your input. If you are an active participant in that awareness, life kind of washes over you, good or bad. You kind of become Teflon a little bit to the struggles that we self-inflict.”

He continues: “Our conscious minds are very spread out. We worry about the past. We worry about the future. We label. And all of that stuff just makes us very separate. What I’m trying to do is just quiet it down. Put that brain down from time to time and hope those periods of quiet and stillness get longer. When you do that, what rises from the mist is a kind of surrendering. You’re more connected as opposed to being separate. A lot of the questions about destiny or fate or purpose or any of that stuff—it’s not like you get answers. You just realize you didn’t need the questions.”

This here—this stuff about surrendering, letting life unfold, taking the leap—this is why he wanted to go skydiving. It’s why that sixteen-year-old took the leap and did the summer in New York; it’s why he took the leap and turned down the nine-picture deal; it’s why he got Dodger. Surrender. Take the leap.

And so I go first.

Oh, one important detail: Novice jumpers like Evans and me, we don’t jump solo. Thank God. Each of us is doing a tandem jump. Each of us is strapped with our back to a professional jumper’s front. I’m strapped to a forty-four-year-old dude named Paul. Considering what’s about to happen, I figure I should know a little something about Paul. He tells me he used to own a bar in Chicago. Evans is strapped to a young woman named Sam, who looks to be twenty-something. She’s got a purplish-pink streak in her black hair and says things like “badass.” In fact, Sam introduced herself  by saying, “I’m Sam, but you can call me Badass.”

At the plane’s open door, my mind goes to my wife and two teenage sons, to those I love, and to the texts I just sent in case my chute fails. Then Paul and I—well, really mostly Paul—rock gently back and forth to build momentum to push away from the plane, to push away from all that seems sane.




Holy fuck.

HOLY FUCK. This is what I scream as we free-fall from 12,500 feet, at more than a hundred miles an hour, toward the earth. Which I cannot take my eyes off of. I think about nothing. Not living. Not dying. Nothing. I simply feel . . . I have let go.

Suddenly, it all stops. I’m jerked up. Paul has pulled the chute, and it does indeed open. This is fantastic, because it means we have a much better chance of not dying. But it’s also kind of a bummer. I had let go. Of everything. I had chosen to play those odds Evans had talked about. I had embraced jumping and letting life unfold.

Now I had been jerked back. I would land. Back on the earth I had been so high above and from which I had been so far removed. Back in all of it.

Once I’m on the ground, safe and in one piece, a staffer runs over and asks how I feel. I say, “I feel like Captain America.”

The staffer runs over and asks Evans the same question. He says he feels great. Then he’s asked another question: What was your favorite part?

“Jumping out,” he says. “Jumping out is always a real thrill.”

This article appears in the April '17 issue of Esquire.


MEMORY_GLITCH - A #Winter Cyborgs AU mini-comic

HYDRA hears rumors of a secret S.H.I.E.L.D. base and sends WS-01 and WS-02 on a quick scouting mission. WS-02 takes an unexpected trip down memory lane.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

So there's this post going around st*ny circles that basically says as a "burn", oh everyone's comparing Steve Trevor to Steve Rogers but "at least Trevor was a real captain" and lmfao what the fuck, do these morons not realize Cap is an actual fucking captain as well. It's not a fucking ~title~ or stage name, it's his goddamn rank, he's O-3 and he earned it because THAT IS HOW WARTIME PROMOTIONS WENT jfc. Ugh. Sorry for the impromptu rant in your inbox, I'm just fed up with this ignorant shit.

I’d be pissed along with you (normally I am whenever I encounter Steve hate) but I’m too amused at their ignorance. Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face! LOL! When you try so hard to be a hater, but end up looking like an idiot because you got your facts so incredibly wrong.

In other words, you are 100% correct, Anon, and the people who made and are reblogging that post are 100% wrong. Steve was a legit Captain.

Rank insignia for army officers, including the rank of Captain…

Steve Rogers in full army dress uniform circa Captain America: First Avenger

It’s called a field promotion or battlefield promotion. And when you skip a rank it’s called a jump-step promotion. Very common during WW1 and WW2, in fact, very common right up to the Vietnam War when such commissions were replaced by a centralized promotion system. 

According to the army website: “Battlefield promotions are predicated on extraordinary performance of duties while serving in combat or under combat conditions.”

Which is how Steve was awarded the promotion.

More on the practice of battlefield commissions: “A battlefield commission is awarded to enlisted soldiers who are promoted to the rank of commissioned officer for outstanding leadership on the field of battle. The granting of a battlefield commission has its historical predecessor in the medieval practice of the knighting or ennoblement of a plebeian combatant on the battleground for demonstration of heroic qualities in an exceptional degree.”

You know what the irony of this situation is? Years ago, circa 2009, a movie came out featuring a young soon-to-be Captain who was promoted in a very similar fashion to the way Steve Rogers was promoted by the end of the movie, i.e. skipping rank to be granted the commission of Captain after leading a courageous mission against a serious threat. That character was James T. Kirk, who, incidentally, was played by Chris Pine. And I once defended Kirk’s promotion in a similar way to the way I’m defending Steve’s rank now, as Kirk, like Rogers, is one of my all-time favorite characters.

I think I must be destined to a life of defending young Captains played by actors named Chris from imbeciles who don’t bother to check their facts before making ridiculous posts. :D

Tony Stark
• manufactured weapons and profited off people’s deaths
• decided to stop only when his own safety was disrupted
• made fun of Bruce turning into Hulk, knowing it was not the kind of a joke Bruce would enjoy
• made fun of Steve being frozen for 70 years, knowing it was not the kind of a joke Steve would enjoy
• made fun of the fact that Nick Fury had only one eye, knowing it was not the kind of a joke Nick would enjoy
• made a rape joke
• created Ultron
• kept the fact that he was creating Ultron in secret, although the Avengers deserved to know it
• laughed when it turned out that Ultron was about to destroy the world
• after his first attempt at creating Ultron had gone horribly wrong, he decided to create another, more powerful version of Ultron, having no idea whether it would be on their side
• and he did it in secret again
• after the creation of Ultron resulted in many deaths, it took a woman to confront him about it for him to start feeling guilty about it
• instead of owning up to his mistake and trying to make up for it properly, he guilt trips Avengers into “being responsible” and signing the Accords (as if it weren’t him and only him who continuously messed everything up and who needed supervision)
• called Wanda Maximoff a weapon of mass destruction
• locked Wanda Maximoff in the house with Vision, preferring not to ask for her consent or even warn her beforehand
• brought Peter Parker, a 14 year old child, into a fight with highly skilled adults who could have easily killed him
• didn’t even tell him what the fight was about and purposefully manipulated him into not listening to Steve or anyone else on his team by saying that they’re just wrong
• ignored Steve’s warning about Zemo’s plan and about many more Winter Soldiers out there
• started the fight with Team Cap, yet acted like he was betrayed
• blasted Sam Willson away after his team tried to kill him and accidentally hurt Rhodey, when Sam got down to say he was SORRY (for not dying?)
• yet wasn’t shown to be even remotely angry at Vision
• fought so hard for the accords (which even led to Avengers being imprisoned in the Raft under horrible conditions), broke the rules in about three days to go after Steve and Bucky
• knowing that Bucky was brainwashed and tortured and didn’t control himself when he killed Tony’s parents, still tried to kill him
• after he blasted Bucky’s arm off, and Steve picked him up to leave, he started screaming about how “his father made that shield” and how “Steve didn’t deserve it” (when from the very beginning it was Tony who was starting things, and Steve was defending himself and his friend)
• made sexual comments about Aunt May in front of Peter to make him uncomfortable
• after giving Peter hope that he’d become an Avenger one day, Tony ignored him and didn’t show any interest in what he was doing, letting Peter, a CHILD, think that he’d just have to be “good enough”, which was the reason Peter got into a lot of dangerous things
• installed an instant kill mode in Peter’s suit
• installed a bud into Peter’s suit without his permission or knowledge
• gave no indication that he actually listened to Peter when he told him about the villains, sent FBI to fight against Chitauri weapons (which would have been a suicide mission) and later, finding out that it didn’t work out, showed up, blaming Peter that he didn’t have faith in him
• took away Peter’s suit for no reason but the fact that Peter didn’t think Tony would have listened and decided to save hundreds of lives himself (what a hideous thing to do)
• later wanted Peter, a 15 year old, to join the Avengers and live with him, obviously hiding the whole thing from his legal guardian.

And people ask why we don’t like him?

The types as hats
  • INTP: tin foil hat
  • ESTJ: hard hat
  • INTJ: graduation cap
  • ESFP: party hat
  • ESTP: flat peaked cap
  • ISFJ: normally sized sunhat
  • ESFJ: ridiculously huge and floppy sunhat
  • INFP: beret
  • ISFP: beanie
  • ENTP: fedora
  • ENFP: giant inflatable party hat
  • ISTP: balaclava
  • ENFJ: boater
  • INFJ: Witch's hat
  • ENTJ: sherif hat
  • ISTJ: one of those dorky sunhats with the chin strap and toggle
The One Where You’re Drunk

Pairing: Jace Wayland x Reader

Summary: Completely drunk during girl’s night with Isabelle and Clary, you’re dared to sneak into Jace’s room and tell him how you really feel about him.

A/N: it’s been a while but here’s one i’ve been saving!

MASTERLIST (mobile and desktop)
(you can like it and save it for later!)

“Okay, kiss, marry, kill,” you say. Isabelle and Clary nod.

“Jace, Simon, Alec.”

“Ew, Alec is my brother y/n!” Isabelle frowns in disgust.

“And Jace is mine,” Clary says distastefully.

You sigh.

“Okay, Simon, Meliorn and Aldertree.”

“Aldertree? Really?” Clary shoots you a pointed look.

“You guys suck at this game,” you sigh.

“Maybe that because we’re not little teenage girls,” Isabelle laughs, “Well, maybe you still are.”

You flip her off, rolling your eyes as you rest your head in her lap, “I think we need more booze.”

“I think you’ve had enough,” Isabelle says, scrunching up her nose when your burp.

You pout, trying to reach for a half full bottle without moving. She moves It away from you.

“Why don’t you answer since you’re not related to anyone in the Institute? Jace, Simon or Alec?”

You rub your chin thoughtfully – not that there was even anything to think about. It was Jace. It would always be Jace. But that was something that was hard to admit to yourself, let alone to Clary and Isabelle.

“Well, Simon is dating Clary last I checked and Alec is dating Magnus…”

“So Jace?” Isabelle giggles, “I think the two of you would be cute.”

“Same,” Clary beams, “You’d be good for him.”

You blow air through your lips, waving a hand, “Jace treats me like I’m Alec but the girl version.”

“Well, Jace loves Alec,” Isabelle shrugs, “I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”

“Because it’s not a sexual thing. He loves Alec but he’s not in love with him,” you say, “Jace may love me but not the way I want him to.”

The way you want him to?” Isabelle asks with raised brows, moving hair away from your face as she looks down at you. You turn away from her and look at Clary.

“The way he loved you,” you say, your speech a little slurred.

You’d been so jealous. Clary had walked in and made Jace fall for her without even trying. And you were happy for him, really. You’d watched him be closed off his whole life and she made him feel again. But a part of you wished it had been you.

After you found out they were siblings, he returned to his usual string of flings and self-destructive behaviour and you, as always, stayed by his side as his best friend.

Clary shifts uncomfortably, “Don’t remind me,” she groans, pinching the bridge of her nose, “It’s still weird.”

“It’s a bit weird,” you giggle.

“Wait,” Clary says, sitting up, “Do you – do you like Jace?”

“N-no,” you stammer, “This is just hypothetical.”

She and Isabelle share a look before Isabelle pulls you up and props you up against the wall, “How drunk are you?” she asks.

You turn the bottle in your hand upside down to show her it’s empty and then laugh.

They both laugh, their faces filled with shared mischief – they knew it wouldn’t take much convincing to get you to do something stupid.

“It’s for her own good. Hers and Jace’s,” Isabelle justifies to Clary. Clary nods firmly.

Isabelle hands you the half full bottle and let’s you finish it.

“Are you gonna throw up?” she asks.

You wait a second before shaking your head. Sure, the room was spinning, but surely you weren’t going to vomit.

“Good,” she says rubbing her hands together, “Let’s play a game of truth or dare.”

“Dare,” you nod hazily.

“Go into Jace’s room and tell him you’re in love with him,” she says.

Truthfully, you guys didn’t get to have much fun around the Institute since Valentine had made his return. It was rare to have a girls night. It was even rarer to mess around like this as a Shadowhunter since you’d been taught to be disciplined. You didn’t get to giggle like little girls and do dares growing up.

Your eyes widen slightly but you try not to look fazed – you wandered if you were making a funny face since you were so drunk. In your right mind, you would’ve said ‘no way’ but it seemed like a promising idea. Something you’d laugh about in the morning.

“Deal,” you nod. They both look surprised.

Isabelle pulls you up from the ground and leads you to through door and out into the hallway. You all pause outside Jace’s door – tyring to stifle your laughter.

“Go,” Clary hisses, nudging you.

You slowly twist the door knob. A line of light illuminates his room before you pull the door shut behind you, only to realize you can’t see.

You hold your hands out in front of you until they come into contact with something that clatters to the floor with a loud smashing sound.

A lamp turns out and you look toward it to find Jace staring at you in confusion. He climbs out of bed, wearing slim fit sweatpants and no shirt. You’d seen him shirtless millions of times – you’d even been pinned under him that way during training – but while you were drunk, it made your cheeks flush and your skin tingle.

“Y/N?” he mumbles, walking over and running his fingers through his hair.

You look down at the floor – broken glass and a photo frame with a picture of the two of you in it.

“I’m so sorry,” you sigh, kneeling down and beginning to pick up the shards. You don’t stop even when one of them cuts into your palm.

“Stop,” he says, pulling you up and walking you across his room into the bathroom, carefully dusting your palms into the sink.

“Are you drunk?” he asks, inhaling sharply. You smelled like a bar.

“Sorry,” you apologize, biting down on your lip.

He shakes his head with a grin, “Sit,” he says, pointing to the toilet, “Let’s get that cleaned up,” he points to the bloody cut in your palm.

You sit on top of the counter next to the sink, letting your legs dangle and watching as he reaches for the top of the cabinet and pulls out a first aid kit.

You knew you could’ve just used your healing rune but Jace had done this for you since you were kids – anytime you got a small cut or graze, he’d pull out a first aid kit and treat it himself. The way your mother did before she passed away. Jace was all you had growing up.

He pulls out an alcohol wipe and then a cotton swab, dabbing at it slowly.

“I take it girls night is what left you this way?” he asks, concentrating on your hand.

“Maybe,” you say, dragging the word out.

He laughs, shaking his head and looking you in the eye, “Did you leave because you missed me?” he asks, unscrewing the cap of the rubbing alcohol. He tilts it carefully, not wanting to get too much on you.

“I left because I wanted to tell you I’m in love with you,” you blurt out. He squeezes the bottle too hard, clamouring away from you when it spills all over your legs. He stares at you with wide eyes, frozen.

“S-sorry,” he mumbles, grabbing a towel and wiping your legs down. You place a hand over his, letting it rest on your lap, “It’s okay.”

It felt so good to be close to him. It felt so good to say those words knowing that tomorrow you wouldn’t remember them and that you could just say it was a dare of play it off as being drunk. It felt good to be honest and to admit it – to him and to yourself.

His face was so close to yours.

“It’s okay,” you say again, resting your forehead against his.

“You’re drunk,” he says, drawing a line that you so badly wanted to cross. He pulls away from you, resting his hands on your knees with a slight frown, his eyes studying you. He reaches into the first aid box and pulls out a band aid, placing it across the cut.

“You should get back to your room,” he says firmly.

You slide off the sink, feeling your chest tighten. This had all been a mistake.

You walk back into his room, hesitating at the door. He walks up behind you, “I’ll see you in the morning y/n,” he says softly, “Drink some water before you sleep.”

You didn’t want to go. You didn’t want to leave things this way.

You turn around, resting yours hands against his chest and moving them up to his shoulders. You stand on your tip toes and lean in closer to him, praying he wouldn’t pull away.

He doesn’t.

He rests his hands on your waist and pulls you closer to him, pressing his lips to yours, the sound of your breathing filling the room.

“Y/N,” he mutters, pulling away, “I – I shouldn’t have – you’re drunk… I’m-“

“I love you Jace,” you say. You had no other words. You didn’t know how to explain it to him or how to tell him how you were feeling. You knew it was an overwhelming thing to say. Maybe it was too much, but it was all you had.

He just stares at you in frustration.

You’d done a lot of stupid things while you’d been drunk and none of them had meant anything to you. Was he just one of those things?

Or did you really love him?

He thinks about how you’ll have no memory of this in the morning because of the state you were in.

“I-I’m gonna go get you something to eat so you can sober up and we can… talk about this,” he says. That was probably the best course of action. He didn’t want to blow you off and pretend this never happened.

You nod, watching him leave. It’s only then you get the urge to throw up.

When you wake up, your head is resting on Jace’s toilet seat. You groan in disgust – at least your hair was tied up.

“You wouldn’t let me move you.”

You turn your head slightly to find Jace slumped against the wall. You stand up and a blanket falls to the floor that had been over your shoulders.

“How are you feeling?”

“Probably not as bad as I should,” you say, rubbing your temples. You had hoped you wouldn’t remember last night but it was right there, front and centre, on your mind.

You could tell he was thinking about it too but the way his jaw was tensed.

You look over his shoulder at the broken glass still in the middle of his room.

“I’ll clean that up,” you say. You felt terrible.

You’d thrown up and passed out on the toilet and now you had to have ‘the talk’ completely sober -without any excuse for your actions or what you say.

“Can we talk about last night?” he asks, getting straight to the point.

You nod, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and then crossing your arms over your chest.

“You said you were in love with me and then we kissed,” he says with a pointed look, trying to gage whether you remembered or not. You nod with a guilty look on your face and in return, he looks mildly relieved.

“What was that about?” he asks, “Were you just drunk-“

“No,” you say quickly, “Look, Jace – I mean, yes I was drunk. It was a dare.”

“A dare?” he frowns, disappointed.

“Isabelle dared me to do it because I basically told her I liked you and you didn’t like me back,” you rest your head against the wall, “It was the first time I wasn’t scared to tell you how I felt.”

“Are you scared now?” he asks.

You nod, swallowing hard, “I’m scared, Jace, but I’m still in love with you. And I’m glad last night happened and that I can’t take it back.”

“Are you sober now?” he asks with an exhilarated look.

You nod. With one step, he’d standing inches away from you and pulling you into him. He was kissing you so hard you could barely breathe. You smile against his lips, pulling away for air.

“I love you so much, y/n. I barely slept last night thinking you’d sober up this morning and regret that kiss or worse, forget it. I was scared you’d tell me you have no feelings for me. Because I love you,” he sighs, taking your hands in his, “And I want this for us. I always have.”

“You’re a real keeper,” you laugh.

“Why’s that?” he asks with a smirk.

“Because you’re kissing someone who spent the whole night throwing up,” you laugh, causing him to scrunch his nose up when he realizes.

He shrugs, “I don’t care,” he shakes his head with a wide smile, “I love you y/n.”

The Tears Are Real (Avengers/Parker x reader)

Request:  Omg requests are open!!! Can you please do one where the avengers pretty much adopted you and have seen you grow up, and help you get ready for your prom? Lots of protectiveness and adult tears. Please throw in our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.


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It’s a work in progress but I did a thing…

Had to make my graduation cap Yuri on ice themed. Because I’m a music major, and nobody can stop me
No Light, No Light

Bucky Barnes X Reader oneshot

Words: 1427

Characters: Reader, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff (mentioned), Clint Barton (mentioned), Loki Laufeyson (mentioned)

Warnings: Winter Soldier being triggered, Hydra jerks, violence, kissing, bad writing, ends with fluff.

Author’s Note: Hi there! I am working on requests but thought I would go ahead and post this that I wrote a while ago. This imagine was inspired by the song No Light, No Light by Florence + The Machine, which I love. I hope you like it! (This is basically un-edited by the way, sorry.) Sorry for any spelling or grammatical errors. Enjoy!


Originally posted by evansmaximoff

(All gif credit to owners. Also, I do not own any of the characters in this one-shot, only the story itself.)

Bright blue eyes.

One of the things you loved most about James Buchanan Barnes, your teammate that you were slowly falling in love with.

But that is not what you were seeing now.

It started out as a seemingly mundane mission. Get into the HYDRA base, retrieve intel, get out. Simple, right? Wrong!

“(Y/N), have you gotten to the intel yet,” asked Steve through the comms system.

“Not yet, Cap. I’m still tring to crack the firewall.”

“Well you better hurry,” Bucky interrupted, “I’m almost out of ammunition and it looks like these HYDRA goons will just keep coming.”

“Trying my best,” you huffed out.

While you were hacking the mainframe, Bucky managed to be seperated from his best friend. Steve was able to fight off the agents nearest him and made his way to you. As you were putting away the thumb drive full of information, Steve found his way to the computer room.

“Glad you finally made it, Stevie. Ready to leave?” you asked the captain.

“We’ve gotta find Buck first (Y/N),” Steve snapped at you, “We can’t leave without him.”

“Let’s find him then. We’ll stick together, check the east wing first. Maybe Barnes just got… Lost…” you trailed off as a dark presence made itself known. Steve noticed this and turned around from where he was standing facing you.

Standing before you was the Winter Soldier, an obvious difference from Bucky Barnes. The light in his beautiful eyes was gone, replaced by a darkness you had only seen once before. This is not Bucky, this is Winter.

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Don’t Turn Around (Steve Rogers x reader)


1. Can I have a one shot/fic where the reader is 18 and an avenger. She instantly became close to Steve and he’s like a protective older brother, and they’re really close. One day they all go on a mission and she tells Steve that she has a bad feeling. Sometime during the mission she goes missing. Steve is a wreck & about 6 months later they find her. When they do she’s completely broken. Shattered. She doesn’t say anything to any of them on the ride back and there’s an occasional whimper.  When they fix the physical damage she goes back to her room, and she doesn’t really leave it. They all try talking to her but she just doesn’t say much back. One night Steve wakes up in the middle of the night and just hears of crying. So he goes in to comfort her like any big bro would. Once she’s settled she tells Steve every single detail of what she went through and he finds it’s worse than what he imagined.  (It’s already angsty, so I didn’t go into these details)

2. Omg, requests are open. I was wondering if you could write a Steve x reader where they are dating and she gets captured by hydra, so Steve looks for her, finds her and helps her recover

As he sat in the back of the quinjet, relinquishing his control and allowing Sam to fly, Steve sat with an eerie stillness, with the exception of the bounce in his leg to demonstrate the withering of his last moment of patience.  His muscles were rigid and his fists clenched, with closed eyes that allowed the torturous images to continue in an endless loop like a bad movie stuck on repeat. You had told him that something felt wrong before that last mission together.  You told him that you thought they should retreat back, but as usual, he didn’t listen.  He didn’t listen, and now it had been six months since he had last seen you. Because of his own damn insistence on thinking he knew best, you were missing and this was the first lead that they had caught the trail of in that whole time. 

“Steve, I swear, you’re shaking the whole jet. Stop it.”

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Frat Parties

“oh shit he looks like one of those frat boys from college who actually cares about people’s feelings and his future sign me the fuck up“ - @tomskgard on twitter

Pairings: Frat Boy!Tom Holland x Reader

Warning(s)?: A lil PG-13, but nothing too crazy, and no smut (yet)


A/N: This story is actually based on this tweet (, and I could not stop thinking about how I wanted to write an imagine based on it. So here we go laid ease, grab your snacks cuz this is a long and fun one! Send in requests if have any btw :-)


You were greeted with the strong smell of liquor and your Vans sticking to the floor coated in some type of drink as you walked through the large doors of this frat house.

This was your first college frat party, needless to say you had never seen someone shotgun a beer as fast as the guy in front of you just did. And so many people were in each part of this house, it seemed like there was barely any more room for you and your friends.

“Hey ladies!” you hear and turn your head to the voice. It was a tall, slim boy wearing an Alpha Sigma Phi shirt, which was the frat house you were at today.

“Hey David, this party is lit!” your friend, Emma, says to him. She has to basically yell over the loud music blasting from the speakers. David simply laughs before motioning for you guys to walk into the party and wandering off.

Thankfully, you and your girls all pre-gamed so you weren’t walking into this party completely sober. Emma and Rayna decided to go to get some more drinks, while you and Jess went to the dance floor; you especially loved the song that was playing at the moment: Boogie Feet by Kesha.

You and Jess shimmy through the crowd holding hands so you don’t get lost. As you reach the center of the dance floor, you both waste no time before moving your bodies to the rhythm of the song, letting your limbs take control while your head is in the clouds.

By the time the song ended, you had made friends with the girls dancing next to you. You all would sing the lyrics with each other and laugh contagiously. Next song was Slippery by Migos ft Gucci Mane, and this one would get you hype; it was one of your favorites. And you were dancing to the song so carelessly, you bumped into a body quite hard unintentionally.

Turning around to face who it was, apologies start spilling out of your mouth, “Oh god, I am so so sorry-”

Looking up to the guy’s face, you realize he’s probably the most attractive guy you’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a blue and black flannel with the top two buttons unbuttoned and jeans, and his curly brown hair was covered with a cap.  Not to mention, his hands still rest on your waist to steady you from knocking into him.

Hey, don’t worry about it,” he says charmingly; his British accent and tone of voice could make you swoon. “I like this song, too.”

His comment makes you laugh, and he removes his hands from your waist. “I’m Y/N.”

“Tom,” he says with a smile, then takes a sip of whatever’s in the red cup he’s holding.

“So you’re part of Alpha Sig?” you bite your lip, trying to learn a little bit more about him before you fully pursue him. His looks are already a ten and from what you’ve seen, so is his personality.

“Yeah.. I love it. I’m a sophomore and these guys have treated me like nothing but their family since I’ve joined,” he tells you, seemingly really passionate about frat life. Most guys are only in it for the parties and the girls, but he seems like he really enjoys the brotherhood of it all.

“That’s really cool that you’re into it like that. Most guys only like it for.. other reasons,” you say, causing him to chuckle lightly. And that smile.. wow.

“That other stuff is just a plus,” he assures you.

Aye! My man, Tom!” you hear from behind Tom so you both turn around to see a group of guys making their way over to where you guys are. These guys all start hugging and high-fiving Tom and you realize he must be pretty popular. With a personality like that, you don’t see how he wouldn’t be.

As you watch Tom and his chums, you’re snapped out of your thoughts by one them asking Tom, “Ooh, who’s this?”

“Oh, guys, this is Y/N! Y/N, this is Kyle, Ronnie, Blake, Andrew, and Tyler.” He points and you smile at all of them, somewhat cowering behind Tom.

“Oh, cool! So you in a sorority?” Blake asks, and you shake your head.

“Nope,” you say simply.

“Really? You could totally pass as a Pi Beta Phi hottie!” Ronnie announces, causing all the boys to laugh in agreement.

Heat rises to your cheeks and you don’t really know what to say. Tom senses your silence as your hand fishes for Tom’s behind his back, and as if you guys were both thinking the same thing, your hand connects with his.

“Heyyy, now fellas,” Tom scolds playfully, “can’t some other girl receive the pleasure of your comments?”

Tom says this sarcastically, but it’s all it takes for the group of guys to scurry off to find some more poor girls.

“Damn, they really listen to you,” you note as he turns back around to face you.

He genuinely smiles at your comment before asking, “Hey love, do you wanna get some drinks?”

Tom leads you through the crowd to the drinks table, his hand still intertwined with yours.

“What would you like?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, not having all that much experience with alcoholic drinks to know the variation.

He smiles lightly before fetching two colorful drinks in a Solo cup. It had fruits lying at the top, and you were pretty excited to try it.

“What is it?” you ask curiously as he hands it to you.

“Jungle Juice,” he raises his cup and you raise yours as well, meeting in the middle as you both say “Cheers!” and race to see who can finish it the fastest. Tom, obviously has you beat by a few seconds, this new drink feeling all too mysterious as it travels down your throat, stinging a bit. Tom wipes the corners of his mouth lazily, which you can’t help but admit is a little sexy to watch.

Your attention is quickly averted from Tom to clamor coming from the front of the house, the music coming to a pause.

“12!!!” they all shout before running off in opposite directions, as does everyone else in the crowd. It takes a minute for your brain to register that 12 is slang for the police, and by the time you figure it out, Tom’s grabbing your hand and taking you to the back of the house.

The sirens got louder as Tom and you practically ran throughout the house. Suddenly, he opened a door and closed it as soon as you two got inside. It was small like a closet, but there were no clothes in it. There were just some empty boxes.

“I can feel the alcohol in my stomach,” you tell him, trying to catch your breath as he laughs.

“Me too,” he agrees, as you realize his hand is still in yours, but neither of you make a move to change that. “Our neighbors probably filed a noise complaint again; our last party was the last strike.”

“And then what?”

“They threatened that the first people they saw would be arrested on sight.”

“So your parties are always this crazy?” you ask. “And you always meet girls like me?”

“Yeah, the parties are usually like this.. but, no, I’ve never met a girl like you.”

You try to ignore the rapid beating in your heart as you both just stare at each other.

Opening your mouth to reply, it’s closed shut when you hear the front doors get forcefully opened. Tom holds a finger to his lips as you hear loud boots stomp around the house’s wooden floors. And as they travel further down, you hear more students start swearing and the clamps of handcuffs.

You were saying a quick prayer in your head. If you got arrested, you’d lose your scholarship, not to mention, your parents would kill you. You even tried to quiet your breathing, saying a silent prayer when you hear boots stomp past where you and Tom were hiding.

30 minutes had passed now in the closet, and Tom and you were getting so restless, the alcohol settling in, you began to goofily whisper to each other as you sat on the floor.

“And then I have this bruise,” you moved the sleeve of your top down to show him a purple bruise on the tip of your shoulder. You’d gotten it at the gym bench pressing and long story short, the weight grazed your shoulder, but it hurt like shit.

Tom took this as the perfect moment to reach over and push down on the bruise, causing you to flinch. “Owww!” you whisper-yelled, quite like a baby as you pushed your bottom lip out. “That hurt.”

“You want me to kiss it?” he asks gently, inching closer to you.

Your heart rate speeds up, “That would make it better..”

And with no further coaxing needed, he reached up and left a kiss right on the site of the bruise. But he didn’t stop there, his lips began to travel up your shoulder, leaving open mouthed kisses along your neck. It was taking everything in you to not let out a moan, your breaths were already too heavy. He was evidently not as innocent as he seemed to be.

Your hands found their way to the back of his curly hair, threading your fingers through his locks when he reached your jawline, leaving one last kiss there before stopping. “Better?” he asked, looking up at you with swollen lips.

You were swooning at this point, his brown eyes looking up at you with admiration and a hint of lust would make any girl weak. You made the first move this time, putting your fingers on his chin to align his face with yours.

“Hey bro, we’re good, the cops just left.” Someone said opening the door, making both your head and Tom’s turn. It turned out being Kyle, and you expected him to apologize for interrupting, but he didn’t even realize what he’d barged in on as he left as fast as he’d come.

Tom flashes you a longing smirk before standing up, holding his hand out for you to grab onto. You do, standing up next to him and walking out of the closet with his hand resting on the small of your back.

The music started back on as normal, but at this point most people were deciding to call it a night.

Rayna, Emma, and Jess all immediately approached you.

“Hey, we’re gonna uber back to our dorms. You coming or what?”

“Yeah, just wait for me outside,” you tell them, turning to face Tom. “Let’s exchange numbers, I definitely want to see you again,” you say, not even beating around the bush like you normally would. He laughs, nodding before handing you his iPhone and you hand him yours.

After putting your numbers in each other’s phones, you hand them back, standing and just looking at each other with goofy grins on your face for a few seconds. Neither of you wanted to say goodbye just yet. So just deciding to go for it, you reach up and connect your lips to his. It takes no time for him to return the kiss, gripping your hips tightly with his hands as one of your hands is placed on the side of his jaw. His lips felt so nice on yours as his tongue grazed your bottom lip, seemingly asking you for entrance which you accept, opening your mouth just enough for him to slip his tongue inside. He was way too good of a kisser to be even a little bit inexperienced.

One of your friends cleared their throat loudly, causing you to detach your lips from Tom’s and turn your head to them, all of them waiting on you impatiently.

“Sorry to interrupt, but our Uber’s here.” Rayna interjects, trying not to giggle.

You and Tom give each other one final peck before you remove your arms from each other. You  catch up with your friends, and turn around to give Tom one last look before you walk out of the house. He’s already busy talking with his mates, and they seem to be excitedly hyping him up, probably over you. You knew it wouldn’t be long before you saw him again.

Part 2? Lmk


The dude who opens the front door is in jeans, a T-shirt, and Nikes; he has on a black ball cap with the NASA logo, and his beard is substantial enough that for a second it’s hard to be sure this is the same guy who plays the baby-faced superhero. Our handshake in the doorway is interrupted when his dog rockets toward my crotch. Evans is sorry about that.

- Maximillion Porter about Chris Evans for Esquire

Request/Prompt(s): Could i request a high tension sam x reader with 39 and 66? just like enemies to lovers kind of thing where one of them gets injured or a little too risky with the mission and the other gets pissed and the argument just escalates.

39.   “No, you’re tall and bossy, and you keep doing that thing with your eyebrows.”
66.   “Put the gun down.”

Warnings: swearing, typical mission violence, nothing too intense

Word Count: 2181

A/N: Okay I dunno if this is exactly what you were after, but hopefully? It’s tough to fit enemies to lovers into a one shot, man! Hopefully I captured it okay for you.

Originally posted by gweonteam

Standing behind the desk, you leaned over to reach the keyboard when you heard your name over the wire in your ear. Steve sounded out of breath. That’s never a good sign.

“You about done in there?” he huffed over the muffled grunt of what you assumed to be a guard he’d taken out trying to keep your exit clear. “We’re coming under some fire out here. We need to move out soon.”

“Yup,” you answered quietly, eyes darting to the door. “All downloaded. Just need to activate the virus now… Tony where’s the virus? I don’t see it on the drive.”

“Yeah, that’s because it’s on the second drive,” he snapped, “Were you even listening during the briefing? Or was it really more important for you to get those peanuts into Wilson’s coffee?”

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