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oftenderweapons · 3 years

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Sooo, about the ask thing. First off all congratulations I love you and your writing 💜 you seem like such a nice, intelligent and funny person. But was thinking what if namjoon comes home drunk and guilty about something he did and vixen comforts him. Love u💋

Title: Drunk (&) In Love

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 2.6k

Genre: crack, fluff, (also, vaguely allusive)

Rating: 18+ cause THESE TWO ARE A MESS FOR EACH OTHER

Synopsis: apparently Namjoon's stag party went a bit too wild. Mostly since he was drinking guilt away. What could that possibly be about?

Trigger warnings: swearing, consumption of alcohol, horny!drunk Joon, he clumsily tries to seduce his fianceé in front of yoonjintae (second-hand embarrassment), stressing over vows, mentions of kinky letters, they discuss future and the fear of marrying young and pretty much out of the blue and they be mentioning the idea of having kids. Also, watch Vixen being the caregiver.

Author's note: Thanking the sweetheart @ironicarmy !!! I love exchanging WIPs and Beta reading! It was so fun and I AM LOVING YOUR WIP SO HARD IM GONNA EXPLODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! can't wait for it to be out so I can fangirl in public LOLOLOL; also thanking @dopesportsoperatorzonk for this request! (I got your feminism ask, I promise I'm almost done, I wanted to have a quite thorough view before replying and I'm still thinking about some stuff, but it'll be readdy super soon!!!)

Here's my masterlist, btw, and enjoy 💜✨

You weren't supposed to wait up for him, but it was like your sixth sense was telling you to do precisely that. And your premonition turned especially accurate once you were met with the sorry sight of Namjoon hanging off Taehyung's and Seokjin's body, grinning as he saw you appear at the door, head to toe smitten, only to turn to his friends with a sneer as he realised you were wearing his favourite silk robe. The deep crimson colour seemed to spark the colour of your hair on fire, and make the lineaments of your face sharper, older, with a kind of allure he still couldn't understand. “Little fox,” he said, going grabby hands while his arms were still around his friends' shoulders.

You tried to keep your expression stern as you looked at the two men literally holding him up. “What is this? Didn't I tell you to bring him home whole and safe?”

Taehyung lowered his gaze to the floor.

“Is this your idea of safe, Seokjin? I expected better.”

“You know him. He did this to himself.” Yoongi spoke neutrally from behind the three.

“Yoongi. Him being a fucking grizzly doesn't mean he can hold his liquor. Bring him in,” you said, freeing the entryway for the triplet coming in, Yoongi in tow.

“We should have brought him to the dorms,” he muttered.

“Dorms?!? Aneeyo…” Namjoon babbled, shaking his head, falling with his ass on the sofa. “No babylove in dorms,” he said with a hiccup. “Hello, little one,” he purred, grabbing your hips and trying to pull you towards him.

You blushed and slapped at his wrists. “I'll deal with you later—”

“Feisty brat,” he spoke sultrily, making Yoongi shake his head while Seokjin and Taehyung snickered before being chastised by your scolding stare.

“How come he's drunk off his ass and the three of you are perfectly okay?”

“He's the one getting married,” Taehyung replied, matter of factly. “And yes, he was the one who swallowed a bottle of hard liquor without even flinching.”

You glance at Namjoon with a scornful expression.

He did some very drunk, very clumsy attempt at a wink that made you inhale as you desperately looked for a crumb of patient left.

“You'd better go home, before I smack you all on the head,” you said, shooing them off.

“You'd have to reach it first,” Taehyung muttered, making Seokjin giggle, Yoongi rubbing his face at the verbal violence that was about to come.

“Kim Taehyung. I may not be tall enough for your royal head, but your girlfriend is my best friend. I won't say much more because I'm sure your friends aren't interested in your ass getting bruised.”

Yoongi smiled smugly at that one.

“Hell yeah…” Namjoon chuckled from the sofa, one hand reaching for the back of your thigh.

“No. Not now.”

“Later then?” He asked with puppy eyes before they turned into a very tipsy version of his intense dragon glance. “You’re so sexy when you’re mean,” he rumbled, a hand reaching for your thigh underneath the robe.

“Kim Namjoon, if you don’t stop I will unwife you in this instant.” Still, the other three men in the room were a mess of embarrassed coughing and teasing snorts. “You can all go home right now,” you said with a curt tone.

“You’re not gonna be able to take him to bed by yourself.” Yoongi cocked an eyebrow as he spoke calmly.

“Mh, Vixen, take me to bed, please,” Namjoon murmured as he tried to seduce you, just as you looked at him and replied, “No need to take him to bed. He’s sleeping on the sofa tonight.”

“See? I told you she found out! She has a sixth sense for this stuff! She can sense it! She can smell fear! I told you!!!” Namjoon babbled, grabbing your wrist. “Little fox...” he cooed, making a fool of himself.

“Go home. All of you. Now.”

Taehyung was the first to leave without even saying goodbye. He knew he would pay for it. Seokjin was the next, saying bye to Namjoon very briefly before bowing to you — just slightly. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, goodnight,” he apologised, making his way out.

“Yoongi?”

He rubbed his neck. “I’m sorry. Really. I— I didn’t do my job.”

You shook your head. “This is a mess I’ll have to deal with.”

“You know you’ll kind of have to deal with him for the rest of your life, right?” Yoongi looked at Namjoon, head in his hands, fingers tugging at it nervously.

You followed his gaze, meeting Namjoon in the poorest of states. “I know. He’s my business now. Go.”

Yoongi left without much resistance after that, the door of your apartment finally shutting for good.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon said, staring up at you as you stood before him. “I fucked up, I’m sorry.”

You placed your hands on his cheeks. “What happened, Joonie bear?”

He shook his head, lip going wobbly. “I’m so sorry!” he babbled again, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

“Oh, no, baby…” you managed to whisper before he dove for your lap, burying his face there. “What happened, love?”

He shook his head.

“Nothing’s gonna change the fact that I love you, big bear.” You caressed his hair as his voice confessed, half-muffled against your tummy.

“I sneaked a look at the dress.” You could hear his words coming out from a pout.

“Joonie—”

“Please don’t unwife me!” He cried out, his voice way too high pitched. “I don’t want to sleep alone ever.” He hugged your legs and held you closer. “I want to sleep next to you until I die.” He got even more emotional as he went on. “I want you to always pet my hair and tell me you’re proud of me and cook for me and be my sweetheart and my babylove and my little fox forever, even when we’re old and I get bald.”

You smiled and invited him to let go of your legs before sitting down, your legs slightly parted laying across the sofa. “Come here, big bear,” you said, patting your stomach. He did as he was told, laying his head below your chest and stretching his long body all over the seat. He struggled a little, his sense of balance temporarily worse than usual. “Soon I’ll be lawfully your bride. Forever. We’re almost there, honey. Just a week.”

He nodded.

“And then I’ll be your little fox until I’m nothing but ashes. And then some,” you reassured him, petting his lovely head, digging your fingers into the knots in his upper back.

“Writing the vows was so difficult.”

“I know baby,” you kept rubbing at his trapezoi until he released a relieved grunt. “I know that must have been really stressful for you.”

“I had to rewrite them sixteen times. Sixteen!” His hand absentmindedly reached your thigh and started rubbing small circles there. “Everytime, they were too long, or too cliché, or something I just couldn’t read in public because you know our letters.”

“I know our letters,” you confirmed, thinking about his messy handwriting on cheap paper, and entire sheets of words that he sent you everytime something important happened, everytime he had to travel for his job, everytime he just needed to make love to you on a deeper level. And then, thinking of your replies, always heartfelt, emotional, with fine calligraphy on expensive ivory sheets often marred with rough spots where a tear fell — most of the time because of joy and gratitude and obliterating, overwhelming love. “Will you read to me the other sixteen versions too, once we’re alone?”

He nodded. “I’ll read them all. I’ll write new ones every day. Small, simple, absolutely mundane. Stuff like, ‘I’ll do the dishes tonight’, or ‘Let’s go out for dinner’, or ‘I wanna grow old with you’ or ‘I don’t wanna watch that porn tonight, let’s just stare into each other’s eyes while naked and have the best tantric sex ever performed’.”

You chuckled and placed your hand atop of his. “I like the last one.”

“But I couldn’t say it in front of your parents, therefore I couldn’t write it in our vows.” He scoffed and shook his head before planting it between your breasts, nosing at the lapels of the robe until he could kiss your naked skin.

“I might have written something along those lines in one of my drafts.” Having this conversation with Namjoon while he was halfway drunk off his ass was extremely entertaining; however, you felt sad at the possibility of him not remembering this moment.

“What else did you write in that draft?” He closed his eyes, waiting for your soft voice to calm him down.

You smiled and slightly teared up at the thought, his chin propped on your chest, one of his thumbs reaching out to dry up a tear. “I wrote that I hope I get to make you smile every day and see that insanely cute and sexy dimple of yours every morning after you wake up. And I want to be the only one listening to your deep bedroom voice waking me up. And I want to listen to you as you talk to our children. I wanna hear all the stories, and watch your smile shine on their faces.”

Namjoon hid his face against your chest, feeling tears roll down his cheeks.

“I want them to have your eyes. I want to see your complete wonder as they learn about the world, as you teach them about the world in that grand and beautiful way you see it.” You sniffled and he cupped your face, kissing your lips so slowly, the heavy tang of liquor barely tainting the moment.

“I want to walk by your side, until we’re too tired to walk and watch time pass by, without worries, without haste. I don’t care where we’re walking because you were the place I was destined to be.”

Namjoon couldn’t explain tenderness or love or devotion or faith as deep as the ones he felt for you. He probably wasn’t skilled or trained enough.

“I know we’re young. I know this is more of a bet than an actual marriage. I’ve seen people who have been together for years part ways so easily and I don’t even know why you said yes to me. Sometimes I doubt I’m deserving and I see in how many ways I’m lacking and I ask myself, 'why the hell did she say yes to me?' ” He snickered sarcastically. “I wouldn’t have said yes to myself.”

You shook your head and kissed his brow.

“But I’ve been with other people and you have too and… I don’t know, sometimes I feel like this will take a lot of effort but then I hear you laugh, I hear you calling my name and I know, I can feel that that’s what it is supposed to sound like.”

You smiled at him, fixing your position so he could lay on you without worrying about smashing your body.

“I’m so confused and so grateful for this. It’s like… Suddenly winning the lottery. One minute you’re just a person and next you realise you’re going to be a husband. And you don’t know what’s going to happen to you, how your life is going to change, but with you I’m not scared.” He chuckled. “Well, I am. But you make me braver than my fears. And I know I could lose you any day. I could fuck up, or we could just drift apart or something. But any moment spent with you is bigger. It’s better and brighter.”

By now you were a teary mess, face drenched in tears, his arms around your torso as he held onto you. “My soul has found a home in you and I will cherish it. I’ll take care of that home. I’ll make sure nothing damages it. I’ll help you work on it if you want to change it. I will make more room when our family gets bigger. I will fix it when I can. I’ll stay by your side when I’m not skilled enough to heal you. To fix you.” He sniffled, voice hollow and weak as he spoke through a lump in his throat. “And I’ll leave if you ever ask me to.”

You shook your head and hugged him, letting him sob in your arms. “I hope I never lose you.”

“Don’t be a silly bear,” you comforted him, lulling him, holding him close to your heart. “I’ll be your bride. Your spouse. Your wife.” You kissed his head. “And your home. Your relief. Your dirty, secret affair. Your devoted companion too. Your goddess and your toy. I’ll be your friend. And the mother of your children, when we want to.”

God, if he wanted to… But first, he needed to enjoy having you all to himself for a couple more years. Just to make sure you hadn’t been both bold and immature and absolutely stupid about getting married almost two years after meeting for the first time.

“So I’m not getting unwifed for sneaking a peek at the dress?”

You shook your head. “It looks completely different once worn.”

“Really?” His expression exploded with euphoria.

You smiled. “Really.”

His drunken grin was back. “So I’m gonna sleep on the bed right?”

You acted as if you were even thinking about it. “You’re really drunk.”

“I’m soberer now.”

“And you embarrassed me in front of your friends,” you reminded him with a cocked eyebrow.

“Not my fault my wifey’s so hot,” he said with a slightly more accomplished wink.

“Not your wifey yet,” you reminded him.

He tutted. “Just a matter of days.” He kissed your sweet spot, on the side of your neck. “It’s only a technicality.”

You looked at him suspiciously. “A technicality, you say?”

He nodded and held you tighter.

“This technicality could still leave you at the altar, waiting,” you teased.

“Come on, I want to sleep next to you.” He kissed your cheek. “On our bed.” He kissed you again. “Where we’ll be making so many babies.”

“Stop right there, mister.” You placed a finger against his plush lips before you shook your head no. “No babies for a few years. I want you all mine, hubby.”

He chuckled and pressed his forehead against your chest bone. “Okay, fine, but I just meant hypothetically. You know, for practice.”

“Yeah, I think I could use some practice. I want to be perfect at it.”

He smiled and kissed your nose. If only she knew how perfect she is, he thought, haphazardly sitting up and waiting for you to help him on his feet, the whole discourse sobering him up enough that he managed to sit on the bench in the bathroom as you washed his face and brushed his teeth, as you undressed him and helped him in the shower, undressing and joining him, his body too tired and unstable to initiate anything fancy.

And then you towelled him up, rubbing body lotion on his always-too-dry legs before helping him in his boxers.

And through the process, he understood how it was that you loved him so much anytime he got you ready for bed. He should let you do this more often. Especially when he wasn’t exhausted or drunk, so he could properly enjoy being cuddled and fondled and babied.

What he didn’t expect was for it to feel so comfortable when you slid up against his back on the bed, spooning his ridiculously large body with your smaller one. “Sleep tight, big bear,” you said before kissing his nape. “Eight more sleeps and we’ll be married.”

He smiled. “Goodnight, little fox.” And with that, he caught your hand in his and fell asleep.

#kim namjoon fluff #namjoon crack #bts fanfiction #bts fanfiction blog #namjoon drabble #houseofddaeng #52hertz #thebtswritersclub #thetruthuntoldnet #namjoon x reader #namjoon x yn #namjoon x vixen

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pastelpinkcheeks · 3 years

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Tolkien Secret Santa 2020!!!

Here’s my gift for the 2020 exchange! Happy holiday to y’all ( @officialtolkiensecretsanta ) and a fantastic New Year ! This was written for @stormwarnings uwu I hope you find it cute and funny and that there aren’t many typos on it... I am really bad with the typos. Anyways. Have fun!

Title: In which Thorin learns about Hobbit Christmas

Rating: G

Summary: Decorations up in mid-November, a pantry filled to the brim with food and declaring war on your cousin because of presents? It's the Christmas holiday at the Shire and Thorin wants to know all about it.

Read it under the cut or at AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28287660

The hobbits had this thing called Christmas and Thorin was just discovering how much of a big deal it was. Oh, he wasn’t an ignorant old dwarf, thank you very much, he had some idea of what this Christmas holiday was supposed to be. There were feasts, and celebration, and presents, very similar to the dwarven traditions of Yuletide.

All in all, probably not that much of a big deal. Just harmless winter time fun!

Oh, boy, was he wrong.

It was the middle of November. Thorin was happily bouncing young Frodo on his knee and reading him a children’s story. Only five months since he decided to move into the Shire with his dear Bilbo and Frodo already adored him. The young man was nothing but a toddler, but Thorin was terribly blessed at how quickly he managed to charm Bilbo’s nephew. Young hobbits weren’t always fond of his rugged looks, and his beard was always raising suspicion around the Shire. Fortunately to him, Thorin was amazing at making different voices for the characters.

“…and then they lived happily ever after.” Thorin finished the book, making the three-year-old clap his little hands in a mismatched rhythm.

That was when Bilbo dropped a heavy box by his feet, startling both dwarf and hobbit. “Good, you’re done! Frodo, darling, guess what we’ll be doing today?!”

The young toddler stared at him with wide eyes. “Dunno?”

Bilbo smiled and opened the cardboard box. “We will be putting on the Christmas decorations!”

Frodo shrieked and hopped of Thorin’s knee, falling to the ground on his chubby knees and palms. He quicky raised back to his feet and dove inside the cardboard box, pawing at all the colored tinsel. Thorin raised an eyebrow.

“I thought your Yuletide celebration only happened in the end of December.”

“Yes, Thorin, but we start decorating earlier.” Bilbo said as a matter of fact.

“You start decorating in November, then?” He hummed, wondering why bother decorating before Christmas itself was knocking on their door. Wouldn’t they be tired of the decorations by the end of December, when the holiday was due to happen? He did not mention that, though, because both Frodo and Bilbo were happily scavenging inside the wooden box.

He ought to write that down. Get used to the Shire festivities!

And the Shire was boiling with celebration all over the place. Bilbo was consistently sending Thorin to the market to buy more and more food, and even though Thorin had no problem with eating a lot or stocking up food, their pantry was starting to cranky under the weight of all the stuffed hams, salted pork meat, gigantic pumpkins, pots and more pots of honey, a lot of bottles filled with red wine, dark ale and blonde beer. There were also huge blocks of hard cheese, and small blocks of blue cheese pilled on top of each other. Not to mention the vegetables, that, for all Thorin knew, would be stale by the second week of December.

“It’s just in case one of the in-laws drop by and we have to make a quick feast.” Bilbo ushered him off whenever Thorin complained.

“A feast is never quick, Bilbo.” Thorin frowned. In the paper Bilbo had just gave him, there was a small list of items to buy. “Why do we need an entire mutton?”

“Oh, I don’t know, why do we need it?” He placed his hands on his waist, tapping his overly large foot on the wooden floor. “Because it is Christmas!”

If the cranking pantry was worrying Thorin – Frodo can very much be standing under one of the wooden planks when they inevitably break down from the excessive weight! Have you considered that, Bilbo?! – he had not been prepared to deal with the market in the beginning of the third week of December. Not even the halls of Morgoth, during the first age, had been as crowded with mad creatures as that market. Thorin was blessed with height, otherwise he would have been swallowed by the crowd of fussy hobbits.

Patiently, Thorin stood by and waited. Everyone around him was yelling, leaning on the counters and trying to get their goodies first than the others. Fussy hobbits, Thorin thought with a frown. He could be the arsehole and use his louder, deeper voice that compared to theirs was like thunder, but he wanted so much to be a good lover to Bilbo, and he wanted to charm his family. He couldn’t be that guy who went to the market to yell at other people. He couldn’t be that guy.

So, he waited patiently in line and bought all the goodies Bilbo had beautifully written down on his note. Thorin always loved his calligraphy, how he added little dots on top of his letters that more looked like small crystals.

The other thing he learned was that entire feuds were held over not giving a gift to someone during the Christmas week. Not during Christmas day, no, not that. That was too late for hobbits standards. If you actually cared for friends and family, sending presents had to be done till the Christmas eve otherwise you were as good as declaring war on them.

And Bilbo was considering finally declaring war on his cousin, the dreadful Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

“Is it worth it?” Thorin asked, fixing the golden tinsel that Frodo had ripped from the top of the entrance door. “What is it about the Christmas spirit again?”

“Oh, don’t you even start.” Bilbo tapped his feet. “Every holiday I give her something good. Something made of silver, or perhaps a new embroidered apron. And guess what? The damned woman will still try to abscond with my silverware.”

“Maybe…” Thorin touched his beard. “Maybe you should give her something extremely valuable. You should humble the woman until she is too ashamed and won’t even try to steal anything.”

“Or perhaps I should give her absolute garbage since she will inadvertently pick something else from this very house!”

And Thorin sat back on the armchair, watching as his lover fussed around the house, trying to select whatever piece of trash he could find lying around the house. Frodo appeared a few minutes later, his child-like voice asking what his uncle was looking for. Thorin bent down and picked him up, setting the young hobbit on his knee. “Your uncle is going on a personal vendetta against his cousin Lobelia.”

“What’s vendetta?” Frodo asked.

“Well… it’s when someone does something bad and you decide to do something bed to them as well.” Thorin frowned. Perhaps he shouldn’t be teaching something like that to young Frodo, and shouldn’t be telling the young kid that his uncle was a mean little bastard when he wanted to. “Actually… why don’t we go wrap up the presents and leave your uncle to his own devices?”

Little Frodo happily nodded and followed Thorin to one of the many rooms inside Bag End. Thorin was sure Frodo had quickly forgotten all about ‘vendetta’ when later that week, during the Christmas, he quickly found out just how good the memory and understanding of a three-year-old could be. When Bilbo was, with an overtly sweet smile, delivering his neatly wrapped present to Lobelia, little Frodo asked:

“Is that the vendetta?” While pointing to the colorful present.

“The what?” Lobelia blanched, frowning at the kid.

Bilbo paled. “Now, where did you learn that word?! Little kids really have a fascinating way of learning, don’t they? Frodo, dear, come, let’s get you another cookie in reward for your excellent vocabulary.” Said Bilbo while hiding the present behind his back and taking Frodo by the hand.

“But what about my gift?!” Lobelia asked, still confused by Frodo’s words but greedily staring at where the package had disappeared.

She would, obviously, receive her package later. Not the collection of old toothpicks Bilbo had smugly wrapped up in a big box, but a bottle of old brandy he received from Lord Elrond himself. Next year, perhaps, he would fool Lobelia and give her what she deserved. But the important part about a vendetta was not letting the victim know about it!

Now… Bilbo asked himself while he quickly wrapped up the bottle, where did Frodo learn that word?! It didn’t take Bilbo two seconds to figure out where he learnt that, or, even better, whom he learned it from.

Despite Thorin going on and ruining Bilbo’s marvelous plan of fooling Lobelia without technically declaring Christmas war on her, he couldn’t stay mad at the big oaf of a dwarf he had brought into his home. Their first Christmas together, and Bilbo was immensely appreciative of how much Thorin was trying to learn Hobbit customs and blend in with Bilbo’s gigantic family and never-ending family drama. He already loved Frodo, which covered the essentials, but seeing Thorin learning some of the Shire Christmas carols really warmed up his heart.

And, boy, did he sing them in dwarven fashion, all low notes and rumbling voice?

It was nearly morning when Bag End was finally clear of family members. Frodo was asleep, had been asleep for hours now, and Bilbo was putting the trash out. Thorin was smoking outside, and the Sun was making the sky shine in different colours. It was now light enough to see without the aid of a lamp.

Bilbo sat down next to Thorin. “How was your first Christmas experience?”

Thorin let out the smoke and tapped the pipe down, removing the burnt leaves. “You hobbits take it very seriously. It was enjoyable.”

“Even after all the times I sent you to the market?”

“Even after the multiple lines I had to stand by.” Thorin nodded and smirked. “Now, were you consciously sending me away? I thought you were too busy that you weren’t even noticing that.”

Bilbo snickered. “I wanted to make sure we had everything in case anyone would drop by earlier than the Eve, but, in honesty… I like it. Having this domesticity between us, being able to send the mighty King of Erebor whenever I wish to buy, I don’t know, carrots and salted pork.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Thorin… this, this thing… it works, doesn’t it? Do you feel like it works? God, am I rambling? Sometimes I get overexcited.”

“It works.” Thorin said, making Bilbo shut up all at once. He leaned down to kiss Bilbo’s curls, the little braids he himself had put there. “I wasn’t sure I could trade rock and stone for sunny meadows and green hills, but it works.”

Bilbo stared at him. From the greying hair at his temples to the sharp tip of his nose. Wow, Bilbo thought, enamored, what a dwarf! He looked around for a second; in the next weeks the Shire would be snowy and wintery, but so far, it was only December. None of them were too fond of snow.

“Next year, maybe, we should go to Erebor. So you can teach me about your holidays.”

“It involves less fussing about unexpected relatives dropping by and more drinking competitions.” Thorin warned.

Bilbo’s nose twitched. “Then you better have some sugar and grease to help me with all that speculative drinking.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

#tss2020 #tolkien secret santa 2020 #bagginshield #the hobbit fanfic #my fanfics #my art #my writing

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suit-lady · 7 years

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PS ~ A Peter Parker Story that Begins with Notes

Summary: This is a fluff piece college AU where reader and Peter are in the same English class. They start passing notes because Peter misses class one morning. And then,,,,,, a study date??? And nervous Peter???

Warnings: Swearing. The first word is a curse word. This is who I am.

Female Reader

Word Count: 2365

Part Two

Fuck.

Peter Parker woke up to the sound of his roommate’s alarm, which meant that Peter was late. He must have been too tired the night before to set his alarm. Sighing, Peter reached for his phone. He knew that Ned showered before class, so maybe he had enough time to—Nope. Class had started about ten minutes ago. There was no way, even if he could get ready in under ten minutes. Begrudgingly, he pulled his exhausted body out of bed and took his sweet time getting ready; he had almost four hours before he had to be anywhere.

Classes flew by as usual, but it seemed incredibly odd to Peter to begin his Thursday without his English literature course. In a passing thought, he hoped that he hadn’t missed anything terribly important. He really enjoyed the material in that class, so he more cared that he missed the quality discussion spurred on by the prof than actually missing any potential assignments. After all, Dr. Terrance always followed his syllabus to a T, so Peter had nothing to worry about.

Regardless, he was sure to set four (more than the usual three) alarms before going to sleep.

Peter hurried to get ready so that he could arrive in Dr. Terrance’s classroom early and personally apologize to him for being absent the day before, but the kind professor blew him off and offered a quick debrief if necessary. He declined but made the effort to pay twice the amount of attention in class that morning. Dr. Terrance was obviously appreciative; sometimes, talking about literature at eight o’clock in the morning just isn’t all that appealing to a bunch of eighteen-year-olds.

The bell rang before Peter even realized what time it was, but he was zapped from the classical world by a notebook plopping down on his desk. The spiral-bound book was opened to a page topped with the date and what Peter assumed to be the lecture title of the day before. In the middle of the page was a pale pink sticky note that read “Here, in case you want some half-decent notes to copy.” in your handwriting. He looked up to give a thank-you, but he had no idea who had given him the notebook in the first place.

Peter made sure to copy all the notes Sunday evening so that he could return the notebook to the owner before class. Making sure to get there a bit earlier than usual, he set the notebook, which was open to the same page, on the corner of his desk. He got out his sticky notes and scrawled “hey, thanks for the notes” on the pale yellow paper. Then, as an afterthought, he wrote, “your handwriting is beautiful btw” and just signed it with his initial: “-P.” Satisfied, he sat back and waited.

A girl sat in the chair to his right. Peter’s attention wasn’t drawn to you until you cautiously reached across his desk and took the notebook. After your eyes scanned over the note, you looked up at Peter with a kind smile. He smiled back at you, half being courteous, half because he couldn’t help but return a smile as pretty as that.

While you didn’t make eye contact with him for the rest of the period, you passed him another pink note right as the bell rang. You’d folded the note so that the sticky part kept the note closed. As he walked out of the classroom, he slipped the note into his pocket and didn’t read it until he was back in his dorm room. “nah, especially not my note script. Dr. Terrance talks so fast during lecture that my pencil basically flies across the page. –(Your First Initial)”

Peter spent most of the evening wondering what he should write back. He’d started the note, on a classier blue sticky note this time, but he only had “whatever. I like it” and a little emoticon face that had its tongue sticking out. Once he’d finished his homework for the evening, he gave up on coming up with anything half decent. He drew a stick figure shrugging and saying “I don’t know what else to say” in a little speech bubble. Mimicking the folds from the note he’d gotten from you, he folded the paper and placed it in his notebook for the next morning.

You had arrived before Peter, so he took out the note and passed it to you as nonchalantly as possible before the bell rang to begin class. He stole a glance at you as you stifled a giggle at his poor drawing skills. After class, you passed him a tightly-folded piece of notebook paper. He unfolded it, filled with curiosity, to find that you’d doodled a little caricature of him during lecture. Underneath, in faux calligraphy, read “Peter Parker”. He was surprised to see his name; this girl that he’d barely looked at before knew who he was. Taking out his notebook, he began to pen a note much longer than any you two had shared thus far.

He had to wait until Thursday before he could give you the note (no class on Wednesday), and received a long letter in return at the end of class on Friday. In the letter, you told him all about yourself. You started with your name, your favorite color, and a few other random things. You told him what your major was and what you dreamed about doing after college. Then, you wrote about how to spent time outside of the classroom. Lastly, you said you knew who he was because, according to you, “everyone knows Peter Parker, super smart kid with great humor.” He took it as a compliment.

He wrote a letter over the weekend telling you that he was Peter Parker, even though you already knew that. His favorite color was tied between red and blue, but he might like blue just a tiny bit more on cloudless summer afternoons. While at college, he was studying physics, but he hadn’t really decided what he wanted to do after graduation yet. He spent a lot of time doing nerdy things with his best friend and roommate Ned, like having sci-fi movie marathons or building the newest LEGO sets. He ended the letter with a short apology for not knowing who you were.

There was a new spring in Peter’s step as he walked to class on Monday. Over the weekend, he’d learned all about the girl who sat next to him in his English class, and he took some time on Saturday to go to the city and fight a little bit of extra crime. Being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man in a college town wasn’t all that exciting; he ended up mostly protecting defenseless young women from creepy assholes at frat parties. While it was rewarding, Peter was always itching for something more. He and Ned would hang out in Chicago on available weekends, taking down all sorts of baddies that weren’t expecting any sort of superhero to be there to stop them.

He handed you the note as soon as he sat down in class and watched you from the corner of his eye as you carefully put the note in your bookbag. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth: he was more than happy to see that you wanted to keep the note both safe and away from your prying eyes. After that, English was thoroughly uneventful, but confusing for Peter. For some reason, he just kept stealing glances at this girl. You’d captivated him; Peter refused to admit it, but he was done for.

That evening, Ned finally couldn’t take it anymore. Peter had been super jittery for straight up a week and a half, and had kept it from Ned. “What’s going on with you?” Ned asked the first time he saw Peter smiling at the ceiling.

“I met a girl,” Peter said definitively, like that was that.

“Okay… Details? What’s she like?”

“Well, actually, she can tell you about herself,” Peter said ambiguously as he pulled your most recent note out of his bag.

Ned read over the letter and encouraged his friend to go for you. “She seems really nice. You ask her out yet?”

Peter coughed awkwardly. “We’ve actually never spoken before. She let me borrow her English notes that day I missed class, and we’ve been writing notes to each other since then.” He pulled out the few other notes he had from you as proof.

“Dude,” Ned said as he shook his head, “you’ve gotta use your words, buddy. She sounds great, and you obviously like her. Are you really just gonna let her slip through your fingers? You realize it’s the end of the semester and you might never have a class with her ever again, right? This university is pretty damn big, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes widened. He hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll ask her the next chance I get.”

The next day in class, however, he was too nervous to actually talk to you. His voice got all caught up in his throat, and he felt like he’d been chewing on cotton balls all morning. Sighing as he sat, he decided he’d ask you for dinner the next time it was his turn to give you a note… Thursday. He was so busy contemplating how he wanted to ask that the bell made him jump. When he heard a giggle coming from his right, and saw you covering your mouth, your shoulders shaking. Dr. Terrance had already begun speaking, so you mouthed a quick “sorry for laughing” before paying attention to the prof for the rest of the period. Peter was so embarrassed that he didn’t notice your return letter until almost halfway through the lecture.

The letter said that you were glad to know more about Peter Parker other than that he was a nice and funny guy in your English class. You made a comment about how pretty the skies had been now that the rainy April weather was clearing up and the temperature was getting warmer. You said that you loved studying outside and invited Peter to study with you the next day. You ended the letter typically with your initial, but, underneath, you had written a PS: “text me with a yes or no so that I can tell you where I study x” with your number underneath.

Peter crashed through the door of his dorm room shouting, “NED!”

“What? Did you do it?” excitedly came Ned’s reply from his position at his desk.

“Well, sort of.” A quick pause. “No, not really.”

“What the fuck, Peter.”

“No, no! It’s still great! She asked me to study with her tomorrow!”

“She did?” Ned jumped up and hurried over to where Peter was still standing…in the open doorway.

Peter enthusiastically gestured to the letter and handed it over for Ned to read. As he read, Peter shut the door and began pacing around the room. What was he gonna say? Which subject should he take to study? Differential Equations, to show that he was ahead in math? Or should he take his Spanish homework, to show that he was working on becoming bilingual? Should he even worry this much about impressing you? What if you—

Peter’s thoughts were interrupted when Ned asked, “So did you text her?”

“Oh my God.”

“You idiot. Text her right now,” Ned scorned, returning the letter to Peter.

He texted you, “hey, it’s Peter! I’d love to study together tomorrow!”

You replied within minutes, “Great! I usually sit on the hill by the lake. I bring a picnic blanket, so don’t worry about having something to sit on.”

He texted back something about that sounding lovely, and the smile didn’t leave his face for the rest of the afternoon.

The next morning, he picked out a tee shirt that he figured would make you laugh. The shirt had a picture of iron’s chemical symbol and the word “MAN” underneath it. When he was going to be spending time with Mr. Stark, he was always sure to pack that one. He picked out dark jeans and grey sneakers and was out the door.

The late spring sun was hotter than Peter expected, and his black shirt absorbed a lot of heat. His pace quickened, as he worried about sweating too much before greeting the girl from his English class for the first time. He saw you sitting alone on the hill, reading a thick novel of some kind, your face mostly hidden by a large straw sunhat. He took the opportunity to sneak up on you (maybe cheating a bit using his super stealthy spider skills).

“Hi there!”

You jumped a little, earning an accomplished chuckle from Peter. “Oh, hello. I didn’t hear you walk up. Make yourself comfortable anywhere.”

Peter did so, and the two of you sat in a lovely silence as you read and Peter worked on his DE homework. On the way out the door, he’d decided to go with impressive advanced math. You, however, were too invested in what you were reading to really notice what he was doing at all. He listened to music as he worked, but left one earbud out in case you wanted to talk to him ever. After about half an hour of holding his breath every time you turned the page, of waiting for you to say something, he couldn’t help himself anymore.

“Do you maybe want to go out for dinner Friday night?” he blurted, a little too loudly and a little too high-pitched. Fuck. He hadn’t realized just how nervous he was.

You laughed, a beautiful sound, and looked over at him, saying, “That was a bit sudden.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, much quieter, beginning to backtrack, “you just seem so sweet and funny and lovely and I’d really be—”

“Peter,” you said, cutting him off, “I’d love to.”

You both turned your blushing faces away from each other, both afraid the other would see, and worked in happy silence for the rest of the afternoon.

#peter parker #spider man: homecoming #peter parker imagines #peter parker x reader #my hands are shaking so bad fucking kill me #my shit

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jftie · 4 years

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What she was doing was something strange, she didn't believe at all in wishing on the stars or in miracles, yet there she was, looking at the moon and thinking about how its glow seemed to be her own, even though it wasn't.

“ I wish I had a love that was reciprocated” she laughed softly “I hope one day I will do that and not feel this emptiness.”

She laughed again, but at herself, what kind of person without common sense goes around talking to the sky as if he were her friend? If her mother saw her, she'd probably tell her she was suffering from dementia.

She took a breath, put her pyjamas on and went to her desk, sat down in the chair, and after opening a locked drawer she put all the letters she had been writing secretly for several months on top of the desk and started to read them.

¨Hi, Madison.

I don't know how to start this and you may not know who I am. And, even if you don't know, this is the first of many letters that I plan to write to you, but never to show you. If you were to ask me for a reason, I would say that I need to tell you somehow everything that I can't. I have accumulated too much, and keeping my feelings for you would only make my situation worse.

You know the basics about me (my name) and even though we've talked a few times, I've never had the chance to become your friend. We have some people in common, however there are some differences between us that are bigger than a chasm.

While you are warm and open to others, always trying to help others; I can barely relate to anyone without being afraid that they will think I am unpleasant, and I usually do, I have the gift of being hated for no reason.

We are poles apart even academically, who would say, while you excel in math, I can't understand even the simplest equation and despite looking for answers, I still don't understand what a first degree polynomial would do for me in everyday life.

Then there is art, where two planets, a galaxy and an entire universe separate us. I risk saying that I'm short because you don't even manage to draw a circle correctly or when it's our turn to write a poem and you get extremely nervous about it.

And... while you like boys, I like you.

Shall I tell you a secret? There is something inside me that wants to keep a little flame of hope alive that you can like girls, however, deep down I know that they don't and never will, and that if they did, you wouldn't notice me or that your life depended on it.

Let's get on with it.

To admire from afar your eyes, which despite being brown like the rest, have a unique glow that I adore, is something magical. Seeing your beautiful black hair moving gently in the wind during the break, and drawing it in one of my many notebooks, is an activity I would never tire of.

And in spite of all that and that I prefer to remain silent, I would like you to notice at least a small part of my presence.

Love, Adda¨

After a few hours of reading, she decided to carefully put all the cards back where they came from, however, she stopped and noticed a red envelope deep in the drawer, which looked nothing like the ones she was using.

She took it out of the drawer and after looking at it for a while she noticed that it was very carefully decorated, with gold-patterned borders and sealed with a light grey rhombus. Not caring too much, she threw the letter on top of his chest of drawers and after she had finished caging his feelings in a locked drawer, she took the envelope and put it on the desk.

What she had ingested hours ago was having an effect, and although she still had time to regret it, she felt that it was not the right thing to do, that perhaps she would be better off without his interruptions or discomfort, or so she thought. .

A few streets away a young black-haired woman was going through her philosophy notes until she saw a light blue envelope with gold edges.

Cautiously she opened the envelope and when she saw the calligraphy she immediately recognized who had put it there.

¨Sometimes I think of certain things, of actions we both do, and I wonder what we are, or rather what you want us to be. I swear I try like a madwoman not to throw myself on you and kiss your lips, or tell you how much I love you. Not telling you how much I love your smile, your eyes, which despite being brown like the rest, have an incomparable shine.

You don't know my heart at all, my tears are increasing every time I see you, and I think I'll never manage to pass the gigantic barrier of friendship that separates us. I feel pangs in my heart, and how I find it difficult to breathe when for some reason you ignore me, and this love in solitude is making me sick.

I have thought about the possibility that you know everything and your actions are based on that, but despite having seen you in some of your worst moments, I put my hands on the fire for you, since it is impossible for you to act with any malice.

Maybe I'm confusing everything, and you act this way with everyone, but why have I never seen you do it with anyone else? Even with your closest friends, you're not like that, but no matter how much that happens I know that the chances of being with you don't exist, and if I am, like the coward I am, I'll never know.

I feel sad, but I should not, with you I feel that love is extremely close, but also so far away. I'm sick of this but still continue to do what I always do, and I wait patiently to notice that I am a step back and you turn around.

I hope that when I leave you can be very happy. Love, Adda¨

The girl, with tears in her eyes, got up from where she was and after putting on her shoes, ran to the ground floor of her house and explained the situation to her parents.

A few minutes later, she and her parents were on their way to the redhead's house. The youngest of the three was extremely nervous, and she couldn't understand anything. He said goodbye to her, yes, but why?

Perhaps the decision to go to her house was a hasty one, and even more so to knock on the door and enter as soon as it was opened.

The girl ran to Adda's room, with the letter in her hand and her hair becoming a tangle in the process, as soon as she arrived she tried to open her door, but it was locked.

“Damn it," she said, and knocked on the door, "Adda! Open the door," shouted as she knocked hard, "Adda!”

Maddison, with tears in her eyes and banging on the door, couldn't help but scream in frustration. The others heard her and went upstairs right away.

They tried to knock on the door for a few more minutes, and when there was no answer, Adda's brother decided to knock on the door and kicked it open. Maddison got ahead of him and could only increase her crying even more when she saw her passed out on her bed.

The blonde approached the bed and saw her letter on the desk, took it for a few seconds and noticed that it was still closed, but before asking herself anything, she took Adda's head and placed it on her legs, kissed it all over her face and gave her little punches on her cheeks while asking her to wake up.

When Maddison's parents saw their daughter in that state, they decided to take her out, and although she resisted at first, claiming that she was still alive, after a few seconds she gave in and was taken into the living room.

...

¨Hey Adda! I have no idea how to start this, and I'm blank as soon as I finish writing two words, and I don't know if you would like to, but I would like to meet you more.

These months I've had a lot of doubts, I've questioned absolutely everything and I've opened my mind to other possibilities. I don't know if I explain myself at all, but I've noticed the way you see me, I've noticed the silly way I act when I'm with you.

I've noticed that I like you.

At first I didn't think it was possible, I never thought that I would ever like a girl, but they say that things are only impossible if you think so.

I remember when you bumped into me in the hallway and apologized the second time; I wanted to tell you that there was no problem but when I turned to you I only managed to see your silhouette go quickly.

A few minutes later I met my friends and when I asked them about you, they all said the same thing "she's a strange girl, don't even try to get close"

As I kept digging, I knew that we shared some classes, that you were good at history and arts, while I sucked in every sense of the word. From that day on I didn't stop thinking about you, I was trying to get your attention but, as always, you were running scared somewhere.

We got closer the day Tiffany introduced us, it took only two words from you to realize that you are someone who wouldn't hurt a fly.

Time went by and the closer I got to you, the more my friends warned me, saying you were a freak, a bookworm. However, I always turned a deaf ear, and I tried to get to know you even better.

I discovered that behind so many shy girl's facade, there was a great person, funny and with great ideals, I found someone who understood me.

I don't remember exactly the day I realized that I liked you, I just know that I was surprised and went into a state of immense denial, and ignored you all the next week.

I didn't talk to you, I avoided you, and I even reluctantly replied when you tried to engage me in conversation.

I also remember the day when I told you that we would never become friends and you ran away from where we were, I regretted it after a few seconds and a huge sense of guilt came over me when I decided to follow you and heard you crying in the toilets.

I wanted to come closer, I wanted to tell you that I was sorry and that you were one of the best people I ever knew, however, I didn't.

I thought it would be for the best and that we would forget each other faster.

I hate myself for doing it.

Maybe if I had done the right thing now everything would be a little better, maybe if I hadn't been afraid, I could have accepted myself sooner.

Love, Maddison.¨

...

An ambulance drove with incredible speed through the city streets, sirens made cars and motorcycles to make way for them, which made it easier to get to the hospital.

The girl who was in it was immediately put on a stretcher and taken to a special room. It did not take many doctors, but many hours.

Already in the waiting room, seven people were waiting for the doctor to tell them something about the redhead. They waited and after a few minutes, the doctor left the room and went to them, after asking about the girl's relatives, and proceeded to explain her condition.

“Although it was not complicated to eliminate the liquid from her body, it only required a stomach wash," he rasped, "what is going to be complicated is to know if she will wake up, she ingested a lot of that substance and we fear that she will fall into a state of coma.”

Those present only nodded, that situation made them sad, however, it gave them a little hope that Adda would come out of it.

...

A few months had passed, and everyone without exception visited Adda at least once. When her classmates heard the news, several went to visit her and left her gifts often, but the one who did not leave Adda for a single moment was Maddison. There were nights when she did not sleep, for fear that she would wake up and Adda would be gone, so she never let go of her hand.

For Maddison, those months were an ordeal, she cried every day and blamed herself for not getting there sooner. She even wondered what would have happened if she hadn't read his letter, and hadn't gone to Adda. She felt that the lights had changed since that day, she saw them as opaque and when she looked at them, even if it was only for a few seconds, she ended up crying inconsolably.

That day in particular was a strange day, Maddison felt energetic and happy, almost as if she had regained her old energy.

“You know, I feel happy today," she said to the girl who was lying peacefully on the stretcher. "It's as if something good were going to happen to me. Weird, don't you think?” A few seconds later, she noticed that Adda's pillow was out of place.

She got up from his chair and after taking Adda's hand, with his free hand she began to arrange the pillows trying to make them well distributed. After that, she carefully arranged his friend's red hair and kissed her forehead, sat down again and analyzed her food for a few seconds.

Nothing too appetizing.

In that instant, she felt a pressure in her hand, looked up from the food on the table at her and began to cry, but for the first time in months, with happiness.

Those heavenly irises welcomed her happiness, and Adda's confused face, a touch of joy.

“Maddie?”

#text post #text #story #original writing #writing #written

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