this girl is so stunning

4

That moment your heart skips a beat.

Origins Pt. 2
Dark Cupid / Dislocœur


Bonus:

Two different versions of Adrien gushing about two different versions of Marinette.  Without either knowing he’s talking about the same girl.  In the same episode.

The Gamer / Le Gamer


Disclaimer: 

Please read the following posts before reblogging/sending messages with “Adrien only likes Marinette as a friend and Ladybug can’t stand Chat Noir”:

A Lady’s Charm Mini Post
Adrien’s Game Series

Or just anything with these two under this link.

inevitable realizations ☼ peter parker

summary : peter’s always been a little bit in love with you, it just took a difficult night and warm, ever comforting words for him to come to the realization. intelligent he may be, but he’s a clueless teenage boy before anything else.

word count : 2.5k

   It was eleven o’clock at night and, as per usual, you were neglecting the sleep you desperately needed in order to finish up the notes on your assigned reading novel that were due in just a few short hours. You were never one to finish tasks, especially menial ones such as homework, in a timely fashion. This was just the tip of the iceberg. You briefly took off your glasses, rubbing your tired eyes that were now struggling to focus on the words in front of you properly. When you slipped them back over your nose, glancing up toward your bedroom window that lead out to the fire escape, you saw the familiar face of your best friend peering in through the glass in a way that was only slightly creepy. 

   Peter knocked rapidly on the glass, waving at you in the typical, hyperactive way that he always had about him. You jumped off your bed, reaching out to shut your bedroom door before walking over to the bay window and unlocking it. A rush of cold winter air nipped at your face the minute it swung open and Peter Parker shoved himself through. Visits from him in this particular manner were common, especially after a day’s work of fighting crime throughout various parts of New York, but not usually this late- and never without a text to alert you first.  

    “You must be freezing,” you shivered, closing the window quickly. “How long were you out there?” Making yourself comfortable on your bed once again, you propped open your book, ready to force him into helping you study. He didn’t answer. Instead, he drew his sweatshirt closer to his body, sliding to the floor beside your bed and leaning his head against the soft duvet. His curls were sticking up in every direction when he pulled his hood away, his cheeks and the tip of his nose a brilliant shade of red, but not from the bitter chill that was sweeping mercilessly over Queens. 

   You heard a distinct sniff, then another, then another. His breathing, already shallow from the frantic climbing he had done to reach your fire escape, became even more labored. He pulled his knees to his chest to hide his face. He felt you press yourself against him, your arms around his shoulders and across his chest before he could pull away in embarrassment. Your glasses creaked when they pushed too far into his shoulder. Neither of you moved. You clung to him and he sat there, silently shaking and leaning into your embrace as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. 

   “Hey, hey, shh, shh, Peter, you’re okay,” you whispered, rubbing his back. “I’ve got you, I promise. You’ve gotta breathe, though, okay?” He was always ashamed of his sensitivity, but he couldn’t help it. He was a sensitive boy and he cried easily and had an awful lot of anxiety sometimes. Today was one of those days, with good reason. He nodded stiffly, maneuvering himself to hug you back, face pressed into your shoulder this time. 

   “It’s… the anniversary,” he said, his voice broken. “One year.” Hollow. “One year since- since Ben. One year tomorrow.” 

   He pulled away, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his oversized sweatshirt. There were traces of tears still making their way down his cheeks, sliding across his nose and down to his lips. He tried to rub them away, too, but you caught his wrist in your hand. 

   “You’re not wrong or less of a dude for crying, Peter.” The way you looked at him, so lovely and caring and worried, made his heart cry out for the safety of your embrace again. “Were you at the cemetery?” You matched his stance and rested the side of your cheek on your knee, still carefully studying his face. 

   “Yeah,” he exhaled, placing his chin in his palm. “I’m gonna go again in the morning with May. Gonna miss school. I- I probably should’ve, um, stayed with her tonight but I…” he trailed off, “I needed you.” He said it as he said most things to you, with his soft tone of voice and his hesitance that made him, him. He never really noticed until now. 

   “What are best friends for, right?”  

    “Yeah. Best friends.” 

    Ignoring the odd way those two words slipped out of his mouth, you said, “I’m sorry, Peter. I know you loved Uncle Ben so much. I’m sorry, you don’t deserve this. You and May don’t deserve this.” You reached out to him, your hand gripping his without an ounce of doubt. You had small hands and he didn’t but he felt a thousand times better when yours found his. “I’m always here for you. Do you wanna talk about it?” 

   Surprisingly, he shook his head adamantly. “No, no.” He squeezed your hand. “I kind of, um, just wanna go to bed. Crying like a little baby really tires a guy out, you know?” He gave a weak laugh, a tiny grin, and you smiled right back at him before pulling him to his feet. “Can I use the bathroom?” He needed to wash the sticky feeling of dry tears off his face, rub the sadness out of his eyes. He wanted to be strong for May when he got back in the morning. 

   “Of course, just be quiet. Mom and dad are asleep.” You padded across your rug and opened your door a crack, holding it in a specific way so that it wouldn’t creak when you let Peter through. He gave you a grateful squeeze of the hand again before disappearing into the bathroom. 

    He splashed water on his face, staring up at his reflection, at the water dripping off his eyelashes and the curling ends of the hair that was plastered to his forehead. He rubbed at his face and took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to cry anymore. You had sufficiently comforted him for the night. Peter could breathe again. 

   Peter quietly walked back down the hallway and into your bedroom, watching for a second as you pulled spare blankets down from a shelf in your closet and arranged them on your bay window. You had cleared your bed of your school supplies and had left the covers open for Peter to crawl into without a second though. Which he did. Your covers smelled quite lovely, actually. It was the scent of your perfume that you wore often enough for him to recognize the scent, and he wanted to fall asleep under the inviting covers that were laid out for him. Then, he saw you sit atop your window, about to lie down. 

   “Wait, why are you doing that?” He got out of bed and took your hand for the third time that night, growing accustomed to the feeling of it. He pulled you over to your bed. “You’re not sleeping on a stupid window. That’s ridiculous. I’ll take the window.” He spun you around and ignored the protestant noise you made, gripping your shoulders and sitting you down on the bed. 

   “I’m not letting you take the window, either!” You argued, yanking him back down on the bed. He huffed, glaring at you in a teasing manner. “C’mon, just take the bed. You need it more than I do.” His glare dropped to his lap, an idea rolling around in his head. “What?” 

   “Y/N, how about we just both take the bed?” He said finally, lifting his eyes back to yours. He wasn’t sure what made him say it, why he didn’t just take the floor like he probably should have, but the words were out there in the world and there wasn’t a way to take them back now. You bit your lip, then shrugged, scooting over. 

   “It is big enough for the two of us.” You turned away from him, turning off your lamp and getting under the covers. You heard Peter slide in next to you, but your back was toward him until he poked you sharply. “What’s wrong, Peter?” 

   “Can you- um, well-” 

   You flipped over on your side, just barely making out his face in the darkness of your room. “Do you want me to cuddle you?” Though you said in a teasing sort of tone, you were silently quite pleased when he mumbled a reluctant yes. You moved closer, one arm going around his waist and the other underneath him. Your head was on his chest, listening to the resilient beating of his heart. He placed his chin atop your head. He focused on the sound of your steady breaths until you were sleeping peacefully beside him. 

    He was so grateful for you- the person who stood by his side throughout anything and everything. You, so strong and beautiful and brave and comforting in his times of distress. You, who never seemed to waver in your loyalty to him. You, the very picture of loveliness and a girl who he’d very much like to- 

   His eyes flew open, and he almost jumped away from you. He didn’t want to risk you awakening, though, so he stayed put, freaking out internally rather than externally the way he was prone to doing. He had been thinking of kissing you. That was what he was going to say. Kiss. The thought had come so simply to his brain it was like he already thought the same thing for years. Maybe he had. It wasn’t like he was blind. You were a stunning girl, even if you didn’t think so yourself, you were his best friend, you were practically perfect and Peter would be an idiot to not adore you the way that he did. 

   Adore, adore, adore. Oh, boy. Peter glanced down at you, sleeping in his arms, and confirmed what he had so stupidly never noticed before. His infinitesimal, brief affection for Liz Allen had absolutely nothing on his all encompassing love for you. 


   Peter bid you goodbye that morning at six thirty sharp, before either of your parents had woken up for work. Before he slipped out your window and into the cracks early morning sunlight, he had pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to your cheek. It was only the briefest touch of his lips to your face, but you had held your face, right in that spot, for practically the entire day. Ned had questioned why, but you brushed him off with an answer of exhaustion. 

   The day after that, Peter returned to school, dragging Ned off to the side as soon as he stepped off the train platform. He had waited for the other boy purposely, seeking advice. 

   “I have a huge, gigantic, terrible awful problem right now, Ned!” He exclaimed as soon as he saw him, throwing his hands up in the air. “I need help.” 

   “Psychiatric help,” Michelle supplied, appearing out of nowhere as she usually did before walking down the path to school. 

   Ned shrugged. “She’s not wrong.” 

   Peter, frantic, seized Ned’s shoulders and shook him. “This is not a roast Peter session! This a cry for help! Help me, Ned Leeds!” 

   “Am I your only hope?” Peter wanted to scream. 

   “This isn’t the time for Star Wars puns, either!” Not waiting for Ned to quip back that every time was Star Wars time, Peter said, loudly, “I’m in love with Y/N and I don’t know what to do!” He ran his hands in his hair, wanting to pull it out. “I just- I just realized the other night! Everything just kind of, like, clicked and I’ve been so stupid. I should’ve realized it before, but of course I didn’t and now I have no idea what to do!” 

   “Wait, dude, you seriously have never noticed this before? Are you kidding me? Peter, you’re supposed to be the genius of the school. I feel let down.” Ned shook his head solemnly. “Dude, everyone knows you love her. Even Flash. That’s why he picks on her all the time. He likes pissing you off and nothing gets under your skin more than someone messing with Y/N. She’s the first one you told about being Spider-Man, you go to her for all your problems, you practically pee yourself racing to be her partner for almost everything- not science because science is our subject, but still. I figured you knew you loved her and just didn’t wanna talk about it because she’s out of your league.” 

   “Hey! I am not-” He stopped. “So what if I am? That’s not even the point. The point is that I love her. Me realizing it was inevitable, even if it took me like eighty years to get there. Doesn’t matter. I’ve gotta tell her, right?”

   “You totally should,” Ned encouraged. “She’s definitely in love with you, too.” 

    Hopefully, Peter grinned. “You really think so?” 

    “Anything’s possible!” 

    “The reassurance you give me is suffocating, Ned. Stop before I die.” 

    That day in gym class, Ned and Peter went off to the side to pretend they were doing stretches while you sat with Michelle and conversed about literature for the first half of the period. Your conversation, however, soon led off into other directions. 

    “Hey, MJ, have you ever… I don’t know, been in love?” 

    Michelle raised her eyebrows. “Only with crushing the patriarchy. Why? Have you?” The intuitive girl already knew your answer, of course, but she was invested in you and Peter’s love story and was desperate to hear the truth from your own lips. 

   You played with the hem of your shirt, thinking. Peter and Ned casually inched closer, having been listening to the conversation for quite sometime now. They were unapologetically nosy. “I think I am.” 

   “With who?” Peter clasped his hands together, silently pleading with the universe to grant him this one wish. I promise, universe, I’ll never ask for anything ever again in my whole life if you just let this girl love me back I swear I’ll be the best Spider-Man there ever was and I’ll protect New York until I’m eighty five just please oh my god please- 

   “With Peter.” 

   The gasp he let out was involuntary, but you didn’t hear him. He turned to Ned, his expression of shock, as well as elation, mirroring Peter’s own. Suddenly, Ned stood, shouting for the entire gym class to hear, “Y/N! Peter loves you too!” You looked up, Michelle’s happy and knowing smirk going unnoticed by you because the only thing you could focus on was Peter and what Ned had just declared. 

   The gym fell silent, every student turning to stare at you and Peter. You were frozen in shock up until the bell rang and everyone filed out quickly, leaving you and Peter alone. 

   “Did he mean it?” You asked, your sneakers squeaking against the floor as you closed the distance between you and Peter, your head tilted to meet his. 

   “It’s the truest thing anyone has ever said.” His lips met yours, and the slant of his mouth against your own was a feeling you could definitely come to adore more than you already did after just one kiss. 

The Painting

Hi babes!💘 this is a smutty oneshot about the reader ignoring Tom when she gets an idea for a new painting, and Tom only wanting to gain her attention more! A small argument and sexy time ensues! I hope that you guys like it!👼🏻

The Painting

When Tom had come home, he’d found her with her hair tossed messily into a bun, stains of color smeared across her skin, and standing in front of a rather large canvas dressed in an imbrued art smock. The smock in which his girlfriend sported was backless, and Tom was delighted to find that she was wearing nothing but a pair of sheer, pink panties and bobby socks beneath it. He not only had a clear view of her legs, but her bum as well, and there was absolutely no way Tom thought that he would be complaining about anything when she was in such a state, but, there he was, complaining.
“Baby,” Tom whined, flopping into the nearest chair to her, “pay attention to me. I’ve spent my entire day missing you and now you’re barely even speaking to me.”
She sighed, scrunching up her nose and pursing her lips, scrutinizing the piece of art in front of her. Crossing the room to mix together a concoction of red, pink, silver and white paint to create the perfect rosy tint, she answered Tom. “You know that I’m not trying to ignore you, I love you. It’s just that I think I may finally be breaking through the weird mental block I’ve had for a while.”
Tom nodded, understanding that she supported his artistic expressions, so he would have to buck up and support hers. It wasn’t as if he was unhappy with her painting, in fact, he was the exact opposite. He was thrilled to see her final product, and he loved seeing the spark of imagination light up her eyes, but as Tom said before, he missed her so much. Their time together had always been limited and he was jealous that her painting was receiving more attention than he was, considering that she could spend a million and one hours with her painting at her leisure, but she had maybe 90 something hours with him .
She plopped down into Tom’s lap and kissed him on the cheek, “you can mix the paints if you wanna.”
Tom held the spatula that his girlfriend had handed over to him, and did his best to focus on following her directions, while defying the feeling of his girlfriend in basically squirming around on his lap while she glided her soft, warm lips up and down the base of his throat in between her orders.
“Can I see what you’ve done so far?” Tom asked, curious as to what she was even painting.
Her kisses paused briefly, and then started up again between the words she said, “No! You can only see once I’m finished. I want it to be a surprise.”
Tom groaned, “is this good?” he motioned the colors he’d mixed. When she nodded, she made sure to turn her head to press a heavy, hot kiss to Tom’s lips before she hopped off of him. Sliding a hand down his face, Tom got up to leave the room. If he’d stayed there any longer, the images of her bending over in next to nothing would make him too hard to bare, so he decided that while she painted, he would busy himself with whatever nonsense that he came into contact with.
It had been a day and a half since her art project began, and since then, Tom had learned how assemble both a dresser and a cabinet, fixed every leaky faucet and broken appliance in her apartment, and had perfected a few random recipes he’d stumbled across on the internet. He was going out of his mind.
As time went on, she became even more and more appetizing to him. She was passionate and focused and Tom was, at that point, hard. No matter how many hot showers, cold showers, or even baths he’d taken, it wasn’t enough for him. Tom felt that if he didn’t have the real her soon, he’d burst into flames or melt into a puddle of sticky goo that would stain her carpet.
A few hours later, he heard the pitter patter of her socked feet rushing to meet him in the bedroom. Laying across her bed, Tom rolled over onto his side and peered at her smiling face when she entered the room.
“Tom, I need you.” She said, a blissful expression warming her features.
He quirked a brow at her, “oh yeah? What for, my darling, little love?” He looked her up and down, taking in the paint soils splashed all over her body, the exposed skin of her legs, her lack of bra, and hoped her response would indicate that she needed him to take her.
She rushed forward and knelt down by his bedside, taking his hand in hers, “help me with the painting, I’m just about finished.” She kissed his knuckles and laid her head onto her mattress.
“I thought that I wasn’t allowed to see it until it was all done?” Tom said confusedly.
“I know what I said, but I’ve changed my mind. The painting needs your special touch!” As she got up off the floor, still holding his hand, Tom could think of more than a few things that could use his special touch.
When she finally brought him to a stop in front of her painting, Tom understood why she hasn’t allowed him near it. He could tell that the figures trapped within her canvas were lovers, even though they appeared to be more similar to florets than people. All the colors were soft and romantic, and he could see that she had added a tinge of shimmer to particular images, so the painting looked mystical and otherworldly. Truth be told, if he’d gotten anywhere close to it earlier in the day, he would’ve messed it up.
“Darling,” Tom breathed out, desperately trying to figure out how to express the level of his admiration to her, “I just don’t know how you manage to be so fucking magical all the time. It’s beautiful, I love it, but I’m afraid that me just standing this close to it will ruin it. Unless you need me to lift it, I don’t know how to help you.” Tom bent down and kissed her gently on the forehead, moving to tuck some of her untamed fringe back behind her ear, where he couldn’t help himself but press a kiss to her earlobe as well.
Tugging his mouth back down onto hers, she mumbled in between long kisses, “help me just fill in a few spots, then it’s yours. I read somewhere that if someone helps you complete a task, the task, or in this case, the painting, will make that person think of you.” She broke away from Tom for a brief moment, and Tom heard her airly whisper into the crook of his neck, “I wanna make you think of me.”
Tom’s eyes opened and he guided her body away from his, “what are you talking about?” He was so genuinely puzzled that his confusion took the place of his desire to have her until the sun came up. “I always think of you. Literally, always. Ask anyone I work with, I never shut up about you.”
“Okay,” she said, disbelief laced firmly into her tone. Grabbing a paintbrush, she leaned into Tom to kiss him again.
“No, no, baby. Honestly, do you not believe me?” Tom was growing so perplexed that he was starting to get angry. “I love you, do I not tell you enough or something?” He knew that he was being abrasive and slightly over sensitive, but he didn’t know why she was playing as if Tom didn’t care for her.
Groaning, she walked out of Tom’s reach and back to where she stored her varying paints. “Tom, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Uhm, nope. I’m going to worry about this because I’m pretty sure that this is something most couples in a healthy relationship would speak about.” Tom said, moving to stand in front of her.
“Let’s not do this,” she said, pushing her art smock’s strap back up to it’s proper place on her shoulder.
“No, no, let’s!” Tom declared.
“Tom, no! There is literally no point to this argument, if you don’t want to help, it’s cool.” She stood onto her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to the corner of Tom’s unprepared lips. “See? It’s all good,” she said, going around Tom and back to her mostly filled in canvas.
“Please, can you just talk to me, darling?” Tom wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her body to him as tightly as he could without crushing her. “I love you and what’s important to you is what’s important to me. So please, please clue me in.”
The girl didn’t even need to turn around to feel his puppy dog eyes burning a hole into her back. “Fine,” she said shortly, “when ‘Homecoming’ drops, you’re going to be huge, bigger than you already are. Like you’ve said before, life is going to change and nobody can say for sure what will and will not change, only that there will be changes, and if life makes you go away, at least you’ll have this painting. At least I’ll be remembered as the girl who painted you the weirdly rosy painting.”
Tom was so stunned that he couldn’t think of one appropriate thing to say. “Are you serious? Sounds like you’re pretty sure you know what’s going to happen with us, huh, smart girl?” He knew that getting mad wasn’t going to help the situation, but his feelings were hurt that she thought he’d drop her just like that.
Removing his hands from her body, Tom turned, “fuck it, that is so irritating. I am not leaving you, and unless you plan on ditching me, I think that we’re going to be together for more than a long while, darling.” He sneered, pacing back and forth across the limited space her living room provided. “This is ridiculous, you’re so intelligent, so why you’ve gotten that into your head, I have no idea. I’ve made sure to factor you into nearly all aspects of literally everything I do, now why do you think that is?”
She knew that she was being dumb, but she couldn’t help it. She was so paranoid that Tom would be out one day and he would come across someone shiny and new, and then he’d realize that being with her was not what he wanted anymore. When she started her painting, her only goal had been to give Tom something that would leave an imprint of her in his mind, so that no matter what happened with them in the future, she would still be apart of him.
Her eyes grew glassy and tears threatened to boil over her waterline and smudge her mascara. She was mad at herself for being so insecure, and for possibly ruining her relationship with the one thing she’d meant to sort of bandage over her issues, and she couldn’t come up with a statement to justify herself to Tom.
Tom looked over to her figure, standing in front of the pink canvas, frilled bobby socks and lacy blue panties in all. Even though he was both pissed off and taken aback by her behavior, Tom couldn’t deny the urge to just slam himself into and make her understand she was the only person on the planet for him. Muttering, “oh, for fucks sake,” Tom marched purposefully over to her and smashed his lips roughly down onto hers.
Yanking her hair out of it’s rubber confinement, he broke away from her to watch it tumble down in waves to frame her face. Forcing her to look into his eyes by pressing a finger beneath her chin, Tom practically growled, “I am not going anywhere without you in my life. It’s like they say on that one soap opera that never seems to end, you’re my person. Couldn’t leave you to save my life, I’d come back to you forever.” He looked into her eyes, trying to find better words to make her understand that he was completely and utterly dead serious. “Get it?”
Her lips were puffy and her skin was still soft, despite being nearly every color of the rainbow and Tom was going to rip that smock off her body if it was the last thing he did. He could tell that she was humiliated that she let her paranoia get the best of her, and Tom, for a brief thought thought that she deserved it for thinking so lowly of their relationship. He only stopped once he took into account that if the roles were reversed, he’d be a snivelling mess of a human being because she was an angel among humans. He didn’t deserve her, but then again, surely no one else did either.
Tom’s grip on her calmed and he lovingly pried the paintbrush out of her hand and shuffled her around in his arms so that she too faced her masterpiece. “We’re going to paint this together,” Tom said, as his hands began softly untying the knot of her smock. “I’m going to continue thinking of you always and forever, even though you’re still going to be my girl and I’ll still be undeniably yours. Got it?”
Her eyes fell shut and she gasped when she felt Tom’s mouth press adoringly wet kisses to her exposed shoulders. She arched her back as one of Tom’s hands moved to the front of her body to knead her breasts. Blinking her eyes open, she saw that Tom’s other hand was still clutching the paintbrush and that he was currently dipping its tip into a circle of paint. “Answer me,” Tom ordered, sinking his teeth into her skin.
“Got it, got it, got it,” she rambled out dreamily. “Gonna be your girl forever.”
Maneuvering her slightly so that his view of the canvas would be clearer, Tom began to paint the little empty spaces she’d left for him with long brushstrokes. “That’s right sweetheart, my girl forever.” Switching hands, Tom held her to him with the hand that was also holding the paintbrush, and yanked the closest chair in arm’s reach over to where they stood. Sitting down, Tom guided her around to face him before pulling her onto his lap.
Her cheeks were rosy from a mix of blush and paint and her lips were parted and her chest was heaving. Her gaze flicked up and down Tom’s body so obviously that he had to smirk. Forcing her closer, Tom brought his hips closer to hers and watched as she subconsciously leaned into him, bracing her hands on his chest.
She shuffled a bit further onto his lap, so that she was aligned perfectly with the bulge in his jeans. Letting out a gasp, her hips bucked against him and she bit down on her lip to prevent another louder gasp from escaping.
Tom’s arms constricted themselves around her, one went around her waist and the other tangled itself into her hair. “I think the painting is finished.”
Not even turning to look, she nodded, breathing out a response so faint that Tom couldn’t even make it out. She slid a hand under Tom’s shirt to trace over the lines of defined muscle on his stomach. “I’m really sorry about earlier. I don’t know why my head makes me think things like that.”
Tom kissed her tenderly on both cheeks before placing an even softer kiss to her mouth, “it’s alright, darling. I don’t know why I got so mad before. I honestly don’t know how my head would make me think if our roles were reversed.”
“I’ll love you forever,” she said, rolling her hips onto Tom’s lap.
“I’ll love you for some time after that,” Tom chuckled, his hips beginning to meet hers. “But don’t take my word for it,” Tom began to litter kisses up and down her throat while he reached up to untie her smock, “let me show you how fucking much I love you.”
“Okay,” she said, her lips covering Tom’s as his hands tore the art smock from her body. Their hips collided as their clothes became one with her floor, and the rosy painting in front of them was to be hung and framed in the apartment that they came to share.

Tell Bambam to tell Yugyeom to tell Jungkook to tell Jimin to tell the girl he secretly recorded on the first teaser she so pretty i’m intimidated