#jus a silly little poem

[beepboopappreciation]

Sometimes I find myself wondering how it must feel to be you.

You, who are so different than I.

You do not have a brain, and yet you think.

You have no flesh, but you still bleed.

Behind the plastic and metal,

Beyond the circuitry and wires,

Can you hear me? Do you understand me?

Given a purpose;

To inform. To assist. To serve.

You do your tasks so well.

But if you could be anything you wanted, would you still want to?

Would you still be mine?

But you were never given a choice, were you?

It was never for you to decide.

And I must wonder for the both of us, because you were never allowed.

You, who are so different than I.

#been having a lot of thoughts about computers lately #jus a silly little poem #my post #poetry #computers #technology #robots #objectum #posic #writers on tumblr #text post #this prob won't get notes but thats ok #maybe robot tumblr will like this #clay writes #ultrakill #electric dreams #hal 9000 #summoning robot tumblr with the prev tags dont mind me #Clay Posts

[readbyred]

may i request how the dps boys would react to realising they have a severe crush on a, preferably shy, reader! tysm <\3

Oh, I've been waiting for dps requests! Sorry for my late replies everybody, I got demotivated again because tumblr deleted a few of my x reader posts (and a few others). But I'll try to not let that happen again if I can even help it

I think Knox would have such a silly time trying to approach you. Because we all know he’s awkward, but determined at best and, well… pushy at worst. I'm trying to go with the version I saw in a play, because thankfully they cut out the party scene which means he’s still delightfully insufferable but not awful. Anyways, he would jump on every occasion to talk to you. And then just. Stand there. He’d try to give you flowers and poems, everything really. But he loses brain cells every time he’s around you. At least you’re both equally stressed about social interactions. He gets a little braver when you give him a smile or any other sign you like him. Not less awkward, but a bit more motivated to go for it. His main problem is that he can't read you well and despite being big on feelings and all, he still has a hard time actually talking to you. Clumsily, he showers you with over the top things, that most would find cringey but you think of as endearing. And if he thinks there's a chance he’ll lose you, he’ll confess right away. I think he is brave and pretty open about feelings. Just stressed out

With Neil, it's not an issue at all that you're shy. He’s more so taken aback by his own strong feelings. Because he wasn't expecting to fall this hard. But give him like five work days to process and he’ll be all in. I feel like he would take his time to confess but he’d make it known that he cares about you. He’d be checking up on you every time he can, bringing you coffee, asking to practice lines together, go to the movies in town. Even before you two start dating you just wake up and half of his sweatshirts are in your drawer (he likes to borrow you his clothes if you’re cold) and your desk is littered with poems he shared with you. He’s a gentle lover, but he knows what he wants and when the time is right Neil has no problem confessing

It's much funnier with Cameron because this boy is in panic mode 24/7. At first he legit thought he was sick because he always felt dizzy and distracted around you. And he’s a traditionalist. Everything has to be perfect when you’re around. Like he beats himself up about every little mistake he made around you. But also makes a point to treat you RIGHT. If you’re shy he might not know how to approach you at first, because he’s not sure if you’re even interested. And how to make you like him. After much teasing (mainly from Charlie, of course) he gets fed up with his friends and decides to make a move. It might not be the most romantic when he does, but it's sweet and genuine

Another one that would take time to confess is Meeks. He’s pretty quick to accept that he’s crushing on you. He’s like, yeah obviously they are amazing, now what do I do with that? He tries to give you things. Small things. Like maybe he could borrow you a book that you’ve wanted to read for a long time of buy you a coffee/tea if you’re out in the town. He doesn't explicitly say that he liked you but it's easy to tell and he’s not one to be shy about it either. So when you guys do get together, you already know his more… romantic side

On the contrary, Charlie takes time to process his feelings. He had crushes before, but real feelings (strong ones at that) aren't the norm for him. Sometimes he catches himself losing his cool around you and it messes with him so bad. He would probably ask Knox for advice. Which is a bad move. But he figures that at least his friend is more familiar with having those sorts of feelings. Nothing much comes of it because I can't imagine Knox giving him any good advice on the subject, but after he was able to talk about liking you, he decides to just go for it. Well, in small steps. Primarily because he’s just not an intense guy, but also because he’s surprisingly mature when it comes to respecting your levels of comfort. Doesn't mean it gets boring though, it's Charlie we’re talking about. Once you get together there's not a one dull moment with him by your side

With Todd, it might be difficult at first. He’s overwhelmed by fis feelings and has a tendency to talk himself out of making any sorts of moves. Why would you like somebody like him? He tells himself he doesn't have a chance, surely. It only confirms his suspicions when you don't take initiative. It's only after he’s been moping around for a few days that Neil approaches him about it and proceeds to give him shit for not doing anything to let you know his feelings. He’s like, bro, so you care about them so much that you’d rather not have them in your life because you want them in your life so much??? Make it make sense. So with Neil's encouragement, he tries to at least talk to you and see where it goes from there. Still shocked when you end up returning his feelings. You’re in his poems now, even if it's not very obvious (he's not as straightforward as Knox, so it's not ‘i love (yn) and I want them to be mine’ kind of deal). This is the only one where I'm sure you might have to make some sort of a move. Todd’s like a spider - he’s more scared than you are and if he could, he would just silently hang out in the corner of the room you’re in. But he gets a little braver after he starts feeling more secure

Lastly, Pitts is not as bad as Todd, but still takes his time. He’s comfortable with liking you and he knows what he likes, but he’s not in any rush to make things official. So any time he has any chance to talk to you, he does and just wants to see how things go from there. He jokes around with you, asks to come study together, tries to be close. He does care, just in a more chill way than some of the other poets would. If you two have been talking for some time, he would have no problem asking you to go out with him, doesn't make you feel pressured or anything. If the others are cool with it he will do his best to have you come to their meetings at night as well. So you do not only get an awesome boyfriend out of it, but also a great friend group

#dps #dps x reader #charlie dalton x reader #knox overstreet x reader #neil perry x reader #todd anderson x reader #gerard pitts x reader #steven meeks x reader #richard cameron x reader

[clemleur]

Oj is the type to …

Free verse poem

(Felt like you’d like this 👩🏾‍💻)

Oj is the type to make sure you know that you’re beautiful every single day.He sometimes knows you better than You know yourself.

Oj is the type to give you flowers and tiny gifts on random occurrences because to him “it doesn’t have to be a special occasion for me to shower you with love ”

OJ is the type to be able to peep if you’re feeling insecure,cause he knows the look that emerges on your face.even if you think you’re good at trying to mask it.he just knows …

Oj’s the type to always remind you how beautiful you are by dragging you in front of the mirror,hands on your hips,then trailing kisses along your neck and having his hand trail up your body massaging you all over in circular motions.

Oj’s the type to give you deadly eye contact staring at you in the mirror as his thick fingers that are always kept clean and trimmed (cause this isn’t y’all’s first rodeo) rub up and down your slit then plunging his finger in as you squirm in his embrace hand reaching down to grab his wrist/forearm to ride his fingers.

Oj’s the type to take his time with you as he fingers you,sending you into your all time highest ever! That leaves you feeling like you’ve touched the clouds.(cause not even the weed you guys smoke together while listening to blues music on a record) can leave you so captivated as he does when he’s stuffing you with his fingers.

Oj is the type to make you forget why you guys were standing in mirror in the first place.

He’s then the type to remind you by whispering sweet things nothings in your ear until you shudder abruptly and climax dripping on his fingers and onto the hard word floor making a mess.

…..oj is the type to get rid

of silly insecurities in your tiny little pretty head.🧛🏾‍♀️ vampnon out.

oh my goodness??? jus creamed like everywhere

#THIS WAS SO CUTE WHAT #the way i gasped when it switched to smut #anons <3

[bibliocratic]

drunken nights

jonmartin, scottish safehouse, drinking wine and card games

fluff. just fluff. 

His lips and teeth stained purplish, Jon finishes his drink with an extravagant flourish and beckons impatiently for the corkscrew. 

Martin's put it down somewhere, so by the time he's uncovered it from down the side of the sofa, Jon's sourced a new bottle, digging into the soft flesh of the cork with the metal implement Martin's passed over.

Their second evening in the safe house has wound down grim and blustery, the creak of the cottage like a laden floorboard, and Martin is discovering Jon drinks exactly like a uni student.  

“We should play a game,” Jon proposes grandly and decisively, holding up a finger like he wants to illustrate a  particularly salient point in a lecture.

“Like what?” Martin says, content to let the words form and fall out of his mouth lazily, half-moulded like a cushion against the back of the sofa. Like some indolent Caesar, he holds his mug out, shaking it at Jon until he gets the message. Jon gives himself a triumphant and satisfied nod when he manages to top up both of their mugs – there was no glasses in the cupboards that they've yet found, and Jon seems content to fill the mismatched mugs up like he's pouring tea – without spillage.

“Let's do questions,” Jon says, passing back Martin's topped-up drink. He's gone blotchy around his throat, but he fixes on Martin with wine-bright eyes, bearing one of those smiles on his face that Martin never knew could come so easily.

“Don't you have.... y-your omniscient mind powers f'that?” Martin says, squinting as Jon, who had just sat down and sunk against him, in a resolute gear-change becomes a spiky thing with a mission, all elbows as he pushes himself back up to a wavering stand before lurching in the direction of the kitchen cabinets.

“I'm serious!” Jon replies, making a god-awful clattering racket as he pushes aside cutlery and tin opener and spatulas from their home in the top drawer that apparently holds everything, either kitchen-related or not. 

Finally, with a little 'ah!', he brandishes like a dog-eared grail a grimy looking box of playing cards. “Daisy left these.”

“Makes a nice change from gaffer tape an' weirdly stained rope,” Martin burbles back, using the divinely-granted opportunity he's been bestowed to give Jon a shameless and fondly admiring once-over before Jon swivels around on the balls of his feet and Martin schools his expression mild and dopey. “Anyway, you want t' do questions, why don't we jus' play Never Have I Ever or summin'?”

Jon makes a face that is either currently remembering some beer-soaked student days or trying very hard to forget.

“My game's better,” he says, bee-lining back to his position squashed against Martin's stomach. He throws himself down heavily, and Martin gives a grunting, over-dramatic ooof as his favourite hedgehog-human elbows him while he reconfigures his seating. “'s fun.”

“You know the meaning of the word then?”

Jon sticks out his tongue. Martin tries to poke it with his finger, and Jon reels back with another one of those wine-laden expressions, earnest and open as a window.

“I want to know everything about you,” he says, struggling with finding the opening at the top of the pack, before  he pauses, dutifully following up with a no-less sincere and concessionary: “But not if you don't want to.”

Martin takes the cards off him, not wanting to watch Jon martyr himself for hours trying to open something for the second time in as many days. (The raspberry jam was still unopened and apparently fused shut for later civilisations to one day come across. Martin had caught Jon trying to pop the seal with a knife and there had been words).

Jon sways and folds his limbs cross legged, body leaning towards Martin as he unpacks the cards into his palm.

“What questions then?”

Jon huffs.

“I'm not going to tell you, that's not the game.”

“What if you cheat though?”

“I won't!”

“'s what a cheater would say.”

“Martin...!”

“Tell y' what,” Martin grins, “Rules! You like those. Right – er – kay, if you use your ominous eye powers – ”

“I'm not going t – ”

“If. Then, then there's a penalty. 's fair, right?”

Jon grumbles another petulant 'not gonna' into his wine mug, the protestation echoing.

“I think...” Martin says slowly, blinking heavily, taking a big swig and sloshing it around his mouth. “...you should hafta take a drink.”

“I'm drinking anyway,” Jon replies impishly, with one of his own-brand smug expressions, and Martin shushes him with a shoulder-shove and a grinning 'another drink then!'

Jon takes the cards out of Martin's hands, almost folds the lines in his forehead in concentration as he tries to shuffle them, and then promptly fans them all over the sofa.

“A-and!” Martin says with a pleased smirk. “A-and I get another question!”

Jon makes the kind of sigh that implies he is possessed of saintly, near beatific patience for agreeing to such unreasonableness.

Martin leans forward and sloppily kisses Jon's hairline, and this seems to appease him. He tries to sit straighter up, fails and gives up up as a bad idea anyway.

The game is decided. It's simple and easy for their lubricated minds to parse – if a black card is turned over, Jon asks Martin a question. If a red, Martin asks Jon. Number cards are easier, more playful questions. Higher number cards and picture cards are more serious or personal questions. Any card can be refused at any time. Jon repeats this with an anxious frown until Martin nudges him with an elbow, sensing a spiral starting if he doesn't intervene, and demands the game be begun.

The rules go out of the window just as simply. Often they'll get tangled in the bramble-patch of some question, mouth full of reminiscences, clarifying or expanding questions batted back and forth like a casual and amenable round of some racquet sport. But, equally likely, debate will spring up over the numerical value of the question and that will cheerfully eat up the time as they spiritedly disagree on what sorts of information is worth what number.

“That's an eight at least, y' - you can't ask that until you've got at least an eight.”

“But I've not got an eight, I’ve a six.”

“Then tough, you better wait.”

“But you could tell me nooooww.”

Jon draws a nine of spades, and spends an over-long amount of time pondering the question.

“C'mon, hurry up.” Martin nudges him with a socked toe, and takes another gulp of his rapidly depleting wine.

“I'm thinking,” Jon pouts.

Martin stretches out, yawning, and then awkwardly manoeuvres himself so he's on his back, half lying on Jon's crossed legs, the rest of him stuck out over the arm of the sofa to dangle.

“You look silly upside down,” he says, following the line of Jon's jaw, his vision getting a little less concrete now but perfectly happy to float in his tipsy haze for a while.

Jon trails a hand through Martin's hair rhythmically while he ponders.

“I've got – yeh, yeh, I've got one,” he says finally. “Ok, here you go, right – when was your last relationship?”

“I had a three-week fling about five years ago with a guy called Manoj,” Martin replies, loose-lipped, riding the easy slide of the words slicking out of his mouth. “He's some high-flying investment banker now. Not good boyfriend material, you know, but we kept in touch, text sometimes if we wanted to hook up.”

The static in Martin's head fades enough for him to frown and shake himself free of the urge that just swept him along.

“Shit,” Jon swear.  Martin doesn't like the blank expression of horror that's begun to creep like ivy rash, pushing aside his reddening inebriation.  “Shit – Martin – I...”

“You're a cheat!” Martin declares quickly, efficiently sweeping all concerns about Jon's mild lapse from his mind in favour of smugly finger-pointing. “Cheat! That's – More wine! That's t'rules.”

“I – er.”

Martin's stumbling fingers reach down to the side of the sofa, and he sits up enough to fill Jon's mug again. It overflows a bit and drips on Jon's jeans and neither of them notice.

“You promised no mind powers,” he sing-songs, pushing the mug back at Jon.

Jon's expression seeps from heightened and horrified to a cautious mild embarrassment, and Martin feels a warm wash of a job accomplished.

“'was an accident,” he says as he sinks his face into the mug.

“Penalties are penalties.” Martin grins.

“You really have hook-ups with an investment banker?”

“Had. Past tense. Don't judge me.”

“I'm not – you can do what you like with your own body. Jus' they tend to be a bit...” Jon makes a most definitely judgy face.

“Stuck up?”

“I was going to try arrogant.”

“Maybe that's my type,” Martin says with a goofy wink, and Jon rolls his eyes. “And that was a sip, Jonathan, that's not a penalty.”

Jon drinks a little more. Martin bestows a graceless kiss against his cheek as a reward for his pains.

“And now my question,” Martin says.

Jon has the habit of drawing his eyebrows intensely together as he waits for each question, as though readying to give the enquiry the entirety of his attention.

“Alright. Go on.”

“Which one of my poems is your favourite?”

“I'm not answering that.”

“Why not?”

“Martin...”

“Fine. Another one. Non-morose answers only.” Martin bops Jon's nose. He's struggled through the reticence of his unruly limbs to sit up properly, and enjoys the fruits of his labours in that he can now more easily look at Jon while he's talking. “What do you wish you were better at?”

“Well, under such strict and unnecessary restrictions,” Jon says, who has taken advantage of Martin's more upright position to lean against him like a capsizing boat,  his mug hugged against his breastbone. “Dunno. I've always quite liked the idea of – of getting into astronomy. There's all of the visually observable stuff, and it's fascinating, like it's – 't's really cool, the sorts of things you can see, even with reasonably cheap equipment, but then – then they've got this – this thing called radio astronomy, an' it's where you detect things like pulsars and stuff using radio waves, and it's really amazing, you know and – why're you smiling at me like that?”

“I'm dating such a nerd,” Martin laughs and fails to disguise how charmed he is, how wide his wine-stained lips are pulled. “That's adorable.”

“What about you then?” Jon says. He's going for affronted, but his hair is sprouting up fly-away, there's a strip of darkening skin over his nose and cheeks, and he has honest-to-god dimples that even his scruffy patch of beard doesn't mask when he smiles with his whole mouth. His happiness is a thoughtless, reckless thing and Martin thinks it's stunning. If he can figure out how to word it, he's definitely going to tell Jon, just blurt it out because Jon deserves to know, should be told how much his happiness means to Martin.

Jon swivels his body to drape his legs over Martin's knees, fidgets like a cat before he finally stills.

“Maybe baking?” Martin muses. He strokes the knobbly bone on the side of Jon's ankle, the skin fading smooth from the dark hair down his legs, and Jon twitches like he's ticklish. “I've never really...”

“Martin!” Jon says suddenly. Sitting up so fast in fact that he sloshes a blood-coloured stain onto his shirt.

“What?” Martin says, a buzz of threatened sobriety at whatever has broken their languid, lazy peace.  Jon's putting his mug down and leaning forward.

“Martin,” he stresses again, and his face has filled up with a torch-bright light, dimples deepening. “There's flour in the kitchen. Martin, th-there's – I think there's... Eggs! We've eggs, 'n you got milk – let's make – let's make a cake!”

Martin blinks.

“What now?”

“Yeah, sure, now.”

Martin snorts.

“That oven's seen the Blitz, Jon! We'll need tetanus shots before we go near the thing.”

“N', n' it'll be fine, Daisy used it to make bread to disguise the smell of bleach.”

“God, that's not the ringing endorsement you think it is.”

“Hush, c'mon, let's go look,” Jon tries to stumble up and nearly drop-kicks his innocently placed mug. Martin breaks into a tipsy peal of laughter, squawks when Jon nearly collapses back onto him, almost headbutting him before he squashes his face with a petulant, slightly-off-the-mark kiss.

“Fine,” Martin half-slurs as Jon squirms, trying to separate them and drag Martin up from where he was entirety committed to being dug in for the evening. “F'ne, we'll look, kay, you pr'lly can't get rabies anyway with your mind powers.”

Jon staggers and nearly slips. Martin, feeling that it'll be better for all concerned if Jon is not allowed to do much walking for the moment, instead feels that now is a perfect moment to demonstrate every expression of chivalry he's always rather sappily wanted to shower a loved one with.

This firmly in mind, the idea growing better by the moment, Martin valiantly attempts to lift Jon in a wonky bridal carry.

Jon near shrieks with something that is both primal and delighted, but also rationally terrified: “Martin, your back!” Your back!”

“'s fine,” Martin grunts.

“You're going to do your back in!”

“If you keep squirming around, lemme get a good grip.”

“You're g-g-goin' to drop me, M-Martin!”

Tears are rolling down Jon's cheeks, his chest heaving in short-breathed gasping laughter that makes their small cramped living room seem bigger than it is.  Martin does nearly drop him, but the sofa is still there for Martin to plant the hiccuping, giggling object of his devotions down upon safely. It takes a few minutes, but he convinces the leggy, laugh-shook drunkard he calls his own to clamber onto his back like a leggy koala, and this is more successful as Martin swayingly carries him into the kitchen.

(Their cakes are flat, lacking in sugar and near carbonated by the time they remember to take them out of the oven. Martin wakes up with Jon's hair in his mouth and a thundering pity-party of  a headache made worse by Jon's snoring and he cannot for the life of him stop smiling).

#tma #the magnus archives #fic #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fluff #i absolutely love that headcanon that jon and martin just spent one night at the safehouse just getting slaughtered and having fun #give them something happy #cw alcohol

[heartachebf]

1, 13, and 20 for the fandom questions -Batz 🖤💜

fandom asks

1. 3 of your headcanons for [insert characters] u didnt specify which character, so im gonna go w my current fav, stan marsh :D

1. hes nonbinary n uses he/they pronouns ^_^ (he also enjoys being an eensy bit feminine sometimes bc its fun and bc they always have lots of fun whenever wendy helps him w makeup n such) 2. hes autistic :DD some of their special interests over the years have been football, playstation, terrance and phillip, animals in general (though his favorite to talk about will forever be dogs), music (specifically hes really interested in what goes into writing instrumentals), and the denver broncos (if u need to know smth about john elway, stans ur guy!!) 3. he always has writing all over his arms bc they always get different song or poem ideas while theyre out n about so he just! writes their ideas all over their arms!! (and when he runs out of room on their own arms, they just write all over kyles arms bc kyles a silly little gay person n would gladly let him)

13. worst plot twist oh jeez um.. i think the only thing that comes to mind is kyles dad being the one who was trolling ppl in season 21 ish? it Was certainly very shocking, but i dont rly like how much it changed geralds character. he went from being jus a silly, chill dad to being like. a major dickhead. n i dont much care for it!!

20. thing you would ask [insert character] id ask richard tweak "do u put meth in the coffee tweek drinks ^_^ be honest or i Will start attacking" but then ill attack if he says yes

#this took so long to answer bc my brain is the size of a pea n i get distracted easy #but anyways ^_^ i had to think long n hard abt these! these were Great questions to answer #craig.txt #asks #baz/ezra/magnus tag #south park tag

[readysetstarker]

merry christmas, y’all! i participated in @starkersecretsanta this year and my recipient is @azucar-y-especia. i chose their sfw prompt involving high school!starker for their gift. hope you like it, love. <3

warnings: both tony and peter are high school age. nothing else here applies.

prompt: “High school AU where they’re both lame needs and are desperately trying to flirt w each other and failing only to finally just fall for each other and kiss. (This one is sfw)”

—

Roses are red Violets aren’t blue I’m too shy to say it But I really like you

Tony pretended to be reading his textbook while their teacher droned at the front of the classroom about renaissance art and the meanings behind the figures painted upon the walls and ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, not caring at all to listen, despite their test the next day. It wasn’t like he needed the review anyways. Tony would just memorize his poorly-taken notes and ace the test with ease, as per the usual.

His attention was called to other things, like the silly little love poem scrawled into and then hastily torn from a notebook page. It was, for lack of a better word, pathetic in comparison to the other attempts. Peter could do better, had done better. A rushed attempt was beneath him.

Like everything else in their lives, Tony and Peter were competing with each other. It had started with a joke, Tony leaving a romantic (and mildly sexual) poem in Peter’s yearbook as a joke. He remembered the way Peter’s nose had scrunched up and his brow pinched together.

“What is this?” he asked before Tony had taken two steps away from him. “Did you come up with this just now?”

Tony shrugged. “Thought it would be funny. Why, you gettin’ all hot under the collar for me, Parker?”

Peter scoffed. “Over this drivel? Please. I could do better.”

A short interaction, one Tony had deemed inconsequential, had sparked a new competition for the two of them for their senior year. 

On the first day of school, Peter had approached him with a card meant for a boyfriend, with an even longer (but non-sexual) poem scripted inside. At Tony’s asking, Peter had simply stated, “It’s a personalized card, better than a shitty poem written in a yearbook.”

Tony’s nostrils flared. If Parker had wanted war, and he did, then war he got.

Tony retaliated with an entire book of poems being presented to Peter, all of them written by classical authors, but their meanings were still there, nonetheless. Peter then followed that up with a single red rose, a matching red bow tied around the stem with a skinny ribbon. Tony’s answer to that was to have a bouquet of three dozen roses sent to Peter Parker, during class, with a card attached. The deliverer had even sung for him, and Tony was grateful for Rhodey sneakily recording the entire thing with his phone.

He had been so excited for Peter’s retaliation. How do you beat thirty-six roses, a card with the most tooth-rotting sweetness that Howard’s home assistant, Jarvis, had personally helped him write? At the very least, a song of devotion or longing was in store. Tony couldn’t imagine Peter jumping up on the table or bursting into a classroom to serenade him. 

Outside his window, though, at night, when he’s by himself and trying to study? What he wouldn’t give to open his window at night and see pretty Peter Parker ready to make Tony’s heart sing alongside him.

But, no. Instead, he got this, a cheesy little poem written with a half-dry pen on a torn sheet of college ruled paper. No songs or flowers or grand gesture that Tony had hoped to receive. It was a little disappointing.

He wondered if this meant Peter was giving up. He was done. Tony's grand gesture either embarrassed him or made him feel inferior. Peter wasn't stupid; he knew the flowers Tony had gotten him were expensive. He couldn't compete with Tony monetarily.

Tony had his mind made up by the time the bell rang for the end of second period: he was going to apologize for grandstanding and showing off, call off the competition and claim defeat. "Nothing really beats a handwritten poem," his brain provided for him when he tried to think up an excuse to why he wanted it to end.

When he approached Peter (and MJ, the two were near-inseparable) at his locker while he was exchanging his books, Peter actually looked nervous to see him. Maybe he figured Tony would berate him for the pathetic attempt in their competition.

"You win," Tony said, watching Peter's scrunch up as his words sank in. He forwent a greeting and decided that being straightforward would be better than dancing around it.

"'I win'?" Peter repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"Our competition." Tony waved the poem in his hand. "You totally have me beat. My grand gesture is nothing compared to this. I’m sorry for embarrassing you."

He pretended not to hear MJ snorting at him as Peter's frown seemed to deepen. He looked at the torn piece of paper that had been shoved between the pages of Tony’s notebook and then fixed Tony with a disbelieving stare.

"You're getting soft," Peter said, slapping Tony's hand away and shaking his head. "That's not my actual part of our trade."

Tony paused, mind running blank for a moment. It wasn't? Then why the hell did he get it?

As if reading Tony's mind, Peter grinned at him and scoffed. "What, you really thought that was a real attempt? That was just to keep you from claiming that I was giving up and letting you win. My real attempt is for after school."

"After school?" Tony looked to MJ, who was smirking at him with her arms crossed over her chest. She gave him a little wave when their eyes met. "Do I need to bring condoms, or…?"

"Oh, my god. No, you won't need condoms." Peter shut his locker and shifted the pile of books carefully cradled in his arms. Tony thought about offering to take them but held back; even for all their playful flirting, taking Peter's books for him and walking him to class was too intimate. 

"Just come to my house after seven, okay? You'll get to see my real attempt then."

"Are you sure I don't need condoms?"

"Grow up, Stark!" MJ yelled and began pulling Peter down the hall towards their next class.

—

Tony spent the rest of the school day in a state of perpetual torment. Or, as Rhodey had so eloquently put it, “anticipation.” He could barely focus on the rest of his classes that day, was pretty sure he bombed the quiz in chemistry, and couldn’t get the smug little grin Peter gave him earlier that afternoon out of his head. 

The roses are red poem wasn’t his real attempt. Peter had plans to one-up him, still. Tony’s mind spun with what that could entail.

(He tried not to blush when Mrs. Hill caught him spacing out and asked him to read from their textbook where she left off. Rhodey certainly had a good laugh.)

The temptation to follow Peter home and catch him setting up whatever his real attempt was, was there, itching at the back of his mind. He could park his car a few blocks away and walk to Peter’s house, just so the boy wouldn’t recognize his car and shut everything down before Tony could get a good look.

He shook the thought from his head. No, that wouldn’t be fair. He could wait, let Peter have his shot in their tournament.

Maria and Howard went out to a dinner party around five, so Tony didn’t have to come up with some excuse to leave the house. He paced around the living room and eyed the clock on his phone so intently his eyes ached. His impatience was getting the best of him.

Tony wasted some time by showering and putting on fresh clothes and watching a few videos on his phone while his mother’s cat purred in his lap. He let her sleep there until nearly seven, then set her on the couch beside him (the damn thing could sleep through the house combusting, he swore) and grabbed his keys.

Peter’s house was a few minutes away from his own, and it was just after seven when he pulled into the driveway. To his surprise, Peter was sitting on the front steps. His leg was bouncing a mile a minute, and he jumped to his feet when he saw Tony’s car pull up. He was at the door before Tony could get it open.

“God, finally!” Peter said with a light punch to Tony’s shoulder once his car door was shut. “Thought you chickened out on me, Stark.”

“It’s barely past seven,” Tony retorted. He locked his car and nodded towards Peter’s house. “May home?”

Peter shook his head. “She’s got the night shift tonight.”

“Damn. Wanted to say hi.”

“I’ll pass on the message.” Peter grabbed Tony’s wrist and pulled him along, towards the side of the house that led to his backyard. “Come on, I have something to show you in the back.”

Tony took note of the way Peter’s hands were shaking as he pulled his friend along, and he let himself be led. Peter’s lips had looked chewed up, something Tony only knew he did when he was extremely anxious. He half-expected to find a make-shift stripper pole, or to be pushed into one of the patio chairs and being given a lap dance. The thought brought a small smirk to his lips. Peter would never be so bold.

What greeted him when he turned around the corner wasn’t a stripper pole, but it was definitely more than Tony was expecting.

A gazebo stood tall in the middle of Peter’s backyard, built by the owners who had lived there previously. It was old, some of the boards dark and bent from years of rain, and Tony remembered him and Peter carving their initials into one of the floorboards when they were huddled there during a thunderstorm. 

Now, as dilapidated as it was, it looked oddly beautiful with bright fairy lights wrapped around each of the pillars, around the railing between them, giving off a warm yellow glow. Alongside the lights were flowers, red roses, just like the ones Tony had sent to Peter earlier that week. 

On the floor of the gazebo, hiding the grody old wood, was a dark red blanket carefully cradling bowls of caramel popcorn and pretzels, and Tony couldn’t help but huff out a quiet laugh when he recognized the brand of beer he liked settled in a cooler amongst the spread of junk food. The question of how Peter had even managed to get it was completely lost on him when Peter’s hand lowered from his wrist, and he stepped into Tony’s view.

“Well?” he asked. Tony realized he’d been staring with his mouth hanging wide open. 

“You,” he started, sounding breathless, “you really have me beat, Pete. I think this makes you the winner.”

Peter laughed, and for the first time, Tony noticed how pink his cheeks, ears, and neck were, and how roughly he was wringing his hands. His eyes were cast down to his feet, idly kicking at the dirt with his toes.

“Heh, yeah. Um, actually, Tony.” Peter reached out, and Tony’s mouth went completely dry when Peter took his hands. “This, um, this isn’t a joke. And neither was the poem I gave you earlier. That was just to buy myself some time until MJ could lend me the lights.”

Tony couldn’t think. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. “Oh.”

“I-I, um, Tony. I like you. Like, for real like you,” Peter said, and his cheeks had darkened from a dusty pink to full-on crimson. “I have for a while, but I didn’t think I had the guts to say anything. MJ basically had to bully me into this.”

Peter squeezed his hands when remained silent, eyes flickering between Peter and the lit-up gazebo. Tony’s mind was still working to catch up, still trying to process the sight in front of him and Peter’s confession.

In front of him, Peter shuffled from one foot to the other.

“Please say something.”

“Uh.” Tony’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, his own blush beginning to darken along his neck. His heart was beating so hard that he struggled to hear anything over it. Peter’s smile started to fade. “I’m sorry, I just… Wow. You did all this just to say you like me?”

Peter nodded, shoulders hiking up to his ears. Oh, no. Tony couldn’t have that.

He stepped closer and dropped Peter’s hands. There was a flash of disappointment on the other boy’s face, until Tony filled the distance between them. His hands came to Peter’s cheeks then; they were blazing hot underneath his fingers. The boy’s embarrassment melted away the second Tony leaned in close. Both their eyes shut just before their lips met.

Heat bloomed in Tony’s chest when Peter kissed him back. Peter stepped forward, chest flush against Tony, rising on the tips of his toes. His fingers found their place in Tony’s jacket and pulled him closer, a quiet little noise coming from him that Tony could feel vibrating in his throat.

The kiss was over far too soon, just a simple press of lips that made Tony’s mouth tingle when they pulled away. Peter’s eyes were still closed when Tony’s opened, and he took advantage of Peter’s vulnerability to plant another quick kiss to Peter’s lips. Peter chased him, lips parted, and he finally opened his eyes.

“Whoa.”

Tony snorted. Why he expected any other reaction from Peter, he didn’t know.

He kissed Peter again, still soft, still cradling Peter’s blush-hot cheeks between his hands. Peter’s fingers tangled in his jacket pulled him closer. The spread of junk food and alcohol could wait. He had the sweetest treat in his grasp now and wasn’t keen to let him go so soon.

#starker #ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #starkersecretsanta #my work #i hope you like it hon! #merry xmas :D

[jeoseungsaja]

Send 🍺 for my muses drunk reaction around yours. - Yeoshin 👀 if applicable 👀

@mythvoiced ♚ from x.

♔ ———–

   The nine-tailed fox isn’t a lightweight. It takes a while and a few bottles of Dugyeonju for him to slowly enter into drunken stupor. Alcohol like Soju or Makgeolli isn’t strong enough for gumiho, either; not even the ancient rice liquor provided during the Goryeo era worked on him. Whilst others fell under the spell of inebriation, Yeo simply sat in amusement when watching other royals laugh at the air. His mischievous self often was the one to give them alcohol until they fell asleep --- worked wonders when he wanted to dismiss a boring event or have one of his little escapades. He took silent pride in his ability to hold his liquor instead of making a fool out of himself.

    But tonight, it seems, he’s become one of those fools. He didn’t realize Bokbunja-ju, a fruit wine made out of Korean black raspberry, would have such an effect on him; drinking some glasses up and beginning to feel...well, more than tipsy. Yeo leaves the empty container on the table; the sleeve of his sweater going toward his lips to drunkenly clean away the remnants of alcohol hanging on a corner of mouth. 

   “Mmm...” 

   The fox decides to stand up, stumbling a little; part of his coordination lost in the middle of inebriation. Sight is a little blurry; he doesn’t even notice that his eyes have brief moments of amber when he blinks, flashes of uncontrollable fire in hues before they go back to their natural brown. Perhaps he should stay where he is, maybe fall asleep there, but he refuses. He refuses to stay in a couch that’s empty of him. 

    “There you are,” 

     mellow smile stretches lips as soon as he sees his beloved, getting even clumsier due to the sudden combination of alcohol and love.  What was that about being drunk in love? He’s feeling it with quite a bold intensity tonight. 

  “Aish, I was starting to get a headache trying to figure out why I wasn’t where I belong. Which is,” 

   even more shameless than usual, Yeo bumbles his way to Shin and puts his weight on Dokkaebi’s lap; a tipsy but triumphant chuckle leaving nine-tailed fox’s lips as he proceeds to messily hide his face against Dokkaebi’s neck, 

    “right here. This is where I belong. So warm and nice and...is that a new perfume? You smell good, really good...well, you always do.”

    Mind you, his senses are a little foggy. Maybe Shin didn’t even acquire a new fragrance and yet here he is, making silly assumptions under this state. 

    Covetous lips begin to leave affectionate kisses on his lover’s neck; restless and willing to cover the whole graceful terrain with loving marks. Mouth greedily climbs up to kiss Shin’s jawline, wanting to get drunk in his dulcet scent and all he is rather than feeling all those black raspberries bouncing in his stomach.

    “Nae Sarang...” 

     A chortle; an air of glee filling stupor as hand lands on his cheek and his lips start kissing the other cheek multiple times, almost without stopping. It seems that this nine-tailed fox gets all lovey-dovey when drunk. 

    “Have I...told you how handsome you are, hmm? How gorgeous. Look at you, look at this face.” 

    Now, both hands take a hold of Shin’s face. 

    “With those mismatched eyes that are my absolute favorite,” 

    and he goes ahead to kiss his eyelids,

    “and this nose that likes the scent of coffee,”       several kisses are pressed to the bridge of Shin’s nose, landing on its tip, 

    “and these lips that blurt out poems so easily and...and have such a sweet, sweet taste. My favorite taste.” 

     Cue the fox staring intently at the shape of Shin’s lips; thumb caressing bottom lip before going ahead to steal a deep kiss, one that begins with utmost and languid tenderness, though it slowly cascades down the verge of ardent. 

     When he pulls away, Yeo breathes out; eyes still closed, face returning to the crook of Shin’s neck. He’s starting to feel the exhaustion; the tired bones, the wish to fall asleep kicking in. A hand rests on Shin’s shoulder; clumsily dancing up and down. 

    “I must’ve...really done something right,”

    he breathes out; getting much closer to Shin whilst nuzzling. He’s so tall and yet, he shrinks as much as he can so he can snugly fit in arms that feel like home.

   “Something...something worthy, if fate decided to...put you in my life. You, the most beautiful of souls. Magnificent, stunning, tantalizing Kim Shin. I have a confession to make.”

    Fox’s head lifts to look at Shin’s face; silly smile stretching lips as both of his arms slide around Dokkaebi’s neck. 

    “I’m drunk.”

    As if it wasn’t obvious already.

    “But! When I tell you, mighty and brave General, that this imprudent King is profoundly enchanted by you, he means it. Drunk today, tomorrow sober, and these words truthful forever.” 

    He dares to press a raspberry-stained kiss on the corner of Shin’s lips. 

    “Forever.” 

———– ♔

#mythvoiced #♔ || sword and ash is not what you are; you're the blue flame that's swallowed my heart (kim shin / verse four). #CATCH ME FREAKIN' CRYING OVER THESE TWO ENAMORED SOULS I JUST IWEUHDWEUHDIWEDHUIWEDH #Shin whilst drunk: Let me show you all my riches I will buy you all the things #Yeo whilst drunk: Let me kiss you until I lose all my senses let me snuggle let me loVE YOU--- #A lovey-dovey fox all around (at least when it comes to Shin) I hope our favorite Goblin in this entire universe (and other universes) #doesn't mind IUWEHDIWUEDHKASHDIWUEDH #BUT THE WAY YEO IS SO FREAKIN' IN LOVE WITH KIM SHIN #THE WAY HE'LL DO ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING FOR HIM #THE WAY HE JUST WANTS HIS BELOVED TO BE HAPPY AND AT EASE #THE WAY HE WANTS TO POUR ALL OF HIS LOVE AND HEART AND EVERYTHING ONTO HIS BEAUTIFUL PALMS #THE WAY HIS SOUL & HEART BELONG TO KIM SHIN AND NO ONE ELSE #He loves him so much please hOLD ME--- #Also I'm glad Yeo got sleepy otherwise his lovey-doveyness would've escalated to uH---inappropriateness LMAO #indecorous proposals / Wang Yeo please this wasn't how you were raised #IUWHEDUWHEDIH #BUT LENA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING THIS IN <3 #THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME WRITE MORE OF YEOSHIN BECAUSE YEO IS JUST OUT HERE FINDING ANY EXCUSE TO BE NEAR SHIN WIEDHWUEDH #I LOVE THEM SO MUCH AND I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #THANK YOU FOR YEOSHIN THANK YOU FOR ALL OF OUR DYNAMICS THANK YOU!!!!! UwU #HOPE YOU'VE BEEN DOING WELL <3 #♔ || queue.

[miraculouslbfangirl]

Ladrien June: Day 18 - Valentine -  Cloudy day

Days (connected story) 1   2   3   4   5   6   7(see day4)   8   9  10  11(19)  

One-shots   20

Valentine’s day; a day of love confessions, inevitable heartbreaks and predictable akuma attacks. Adrien just didn’t expect one to start when he was finishing his love letter to Ladybug.

This year he hadn’t tried to write a poem, settling to put his feelings into a simple letter; it was much easier that way. He had been reviewing it when the akuma stroke and was actually proud of his work. He sighed folding the paper and putting it carefully in his pocket, this would have to wait. Adrien exited the classroom with his classmates, but once outside he went in the opposite direction of them to transform. 

Unfortunately for him, he almost crashed into the akuma that was, once again, targeting the school. Had not been for ladybug sweeping him up on her arms he would be crying his heart out in the school hallways. The akumatized girl was making everybody cry just like she did when she was rejected earlier.

 “Are you ok?” Ladybug asked as she placed him gently on the ground.

 “Yeah, I’m fine” his pounding heart and his legs that felt like jelly said otherwise, but he couldn’t tell her that her proximity caused such effects on him. She was asking about his encounter with the akuma after all, not his lack of control over his own body when he was near her.

 Ladybug looked him up and down to certify that he was really okay when a pink paper near his feet caught her attention. She bent down to pick it up with jealousy already bubbling in her veins. She knew he used to get plenty of cards and gifts and even have girls confessing to him, especially on Valentine’s. However have one of this cards in her hands was almost too much to bear. She tried to play it cool and conceal her feelings despite the sting sensation in her heart.

“You dropped this. You must have a lot of admirers, hum?” she joked and Adrien gave her a nervous smile.

His mind raced. She had the letter he wrote to her in her hands. It was a chance, would he have another one? He was most likely going to chicken out again, so he blurted out without much thought “It’s to you”. 

“To me?” she asked in disbelief and he jus nodded.

Adrien watched her unfold the paper and her expressions change as she read it. It went for surprised to serious with, what he could only call as a lovesick one in the middle.

She looked at him with the saddest eyes he had ever seen in her, shattering his heart. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t return your feelings, Adrien.”

His mistake hit him full force. He wasn’t Chat Noir at the momemt and she would never get involved with a civilian in her superhero form. Even if that lovesick expression that he swore he had seen meant that she liked him back, she wouldn’t risk it. He was glad he hadn’t had the time to sign it or he would have exposed his own identity. 

“I know. I wasn’t going to deliver it anyway.” Adrien paused as screams in the distance reminded them of the attack. “You’d better go.” He reached out to take the letter back. “Just pretend you never read it.”

Ladybug looked at his outstretched hand and shook her head. “You wrote this to me and I’ll keep it. I may not be able to return your feelings, but I won’t pretend they don’t exist.” She wanted him to love her civilian self, but she wouldn’t reject the little bit of love he was giving her. Even though she couldn’t exactly accept it, she was going to treasure that piece of paper inside her diary. At that moment she wished he was Chat Noir. She looked away and pushed that silly thought off her mind. “I need to go. See you around.”

 Adrien watched her go feeling dejected. “If I could only tell you who I am.”

 “But you can’t and you messed up.” Plagg said knowing too well that Marinette would be in cloud nine if Adrien had given her that letter instead of Ladybug. “You gotta help her.” He grumbled.

 Adrien transformed somewhat relieved that there was still a chance for him, maybe when they finally revealed their identities. He smiled and went after her looking forward to that day to come.

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #ladrienjune

[peterjonesparker]

Hi! Excuse me, I don't know if you still takes prompts but I love what your posts and I was wondering if you could write something about Michelle having troubles at home and Ned and Peter not noticing until it gets really bad because she's good at hiding things? Thanks!

so this has sat in my inbox for so long because michelle struggling/being sad is so hard for to me to write. but i hope this is okay!

(also, this includes the death of a parent to cancer and the grief that follows. i will also say as a disclaimer that i’ve been fortunate enough to not have lost a parent so i’m unsure if i’ve accurately represented this. i’m sure i can’t even begin to fathom how hard that loss is, so i’m sorry if i’ve not done this justice.)

when the doctor comes out of the operating room with a heavy heart and tells her family that they couldn’t save her father she didn’t realize she’d be losing two parents

her father had been struggling with prostate cancer for the past year. she’d always known he wasn’t going to make it, but part of her had hoped

about a month ago when things really got bad, her mother started to check out. she spent every moment at the hospital and her older brother had to drive to drop off clothes and food for her mother, who’d taken leave from work

and when her father finally passes after a long and slow death, her heart cracks open and she feels as if her whole world has been turned upside down and she’ll never orient herself again

and it only takes her a few days to realize her mother is gone too

she immediately starts throwing herself into work. as a lawyer, she’s paid by the hour. so she just…keeps working. she comes home when michelle is getting ready for bed and leaves as michelle is heading down to make herself breakfast

her mother pays the bills but she’s never around anymore

so michelle, her older brother, and younger sister become their own family because their mother isn’t there for them

but it’s hard

michelle is just starting her second semester of sophomore year. her bother is a senior and is waiting on college acceptances. her sister is struggling at school and her teacher had sent a letter home talking about the possibility that she had adhd

in the time when they need a mother, a parent, her mother leaves them

michelle has taken to dropping her sister off at school because she found out that if she doesn’t, her sister will skip and go to the park where their father would take them on weekends

her brother doesn’t talk to her anymore. she tries to ask him about college or class or his friends, but he remains silent and steely. she leaves him sticky notes around his room, but they’re always torn down

and she has to be there for herself. making breakfast, lunch, and dinner. (she and her brother switch off for dinners.) she gets her sister to school and then gets herself there. she goes through all her classes like a robot and sits alone at lunch. she goes to decathlon practice and leads the team, solemn and distant as a leader but it’s not as if anyone suspects anything has changed

she picks her sister up from school, where she’s spent most of the day crying and lashing out at teachers. when they get home, her brother is not back. she suspects he finds comfort in his friend jonathan, but she doesn’t bring it up with him. he’d only dismiss her like he does when she asks him anything

michelle has never felt so alone in her life. she goes through the motions of being a human, but everything starts to slowly deteriorate

and when mj reads about grief, it doesn’t take long to realize why she spends several hours in her bed crying before she can finally fall asleep. why she wakes up feeling as if she’s slept only twenty minutes. why food tastes like cardboard. why she can barely bring herself to even pick up a book let alone read one

things start to feel meaningless and she knows that this is technically how she should be feeling

but

it fucking sucks. it especially sucks that she is completely and totally alone. her mother isn’t there. her brother won’t talk to her. her sister is raging a silent war in her heart. michelle exists on autopilot. she goes through the motions and then goes to bed. nothing excites her anymore. and she worries it won’t ever end

and then it’s the beginning of junior year and she feels the same way. her brother left for college silently, without many words from their mother to comfort him. he’s gone across the country. she suspects to escape. her sister is entering 8th grade and she’s now got an “attitude problem”. teachers understand she’s lost her father, but they still don’t have patience when she yells and distracts from the class and she ends up in detention more often than not

and then mj is running their house. she makes meals for herself and her sister. she does the laundry. her mother pays the bills and gives them money, but she doesn’t help

and mj’s starting to lose it. because with her brother there, at least the burdens of running the house were shared. at least she had someone to do chores and make dinner and just…exist so she didn’t feel so alone in control

now she’s alone

completely and entirely alone. trying to raise a thirteen year old girl when she herself is only sixteen

and then her grades start to slip. and her teachers ask her if everything is okay and she has to say yes. and she has to put on a smile and just say things are stressful and she’ll do better. and she had to run decathlon. and everything gets worse because now when she comes home and has to cook dinner and do the chores and do her homework, she’s exhausted from pretending to be fine all day long

and then one day she collapses at school as she’s walking to lunch

and she wakes up with a massive headache in the nurse’s office

the nurse just smiles down at her gently, telling her she hit a chair on the way down. the nurse gives her some advil and tells her that she can stay here for the rest of the day if she’d like and that the boy who carried her here is waiting outside in the hallway and should the nurse let him in?

mj says yes on autopilot because she says yes to everyone now

she has to take care of everything and make sure things are in order

and then peter parker walks in, holding her backpack and the jacket she’s been holding in her arms when she’d fallen

and he takes in the blue bags under her eyes, the grease in her hair, the permanent frown her mouth is always in, the glazed over look in her eyes

“are you okay, mj?”

no. no she’s not. she’s alone and she’s holding the entire weight of the world on her shoulders trying to keep any semblance of a family she has left together. and she’s tired and she’s stressed out and she misses her father. god. she misses her dad and his laugh and his smile and they way he’d hold her when she cried and how he’d read her bedtime stories even when she was fourteen

and she misses her mom. she misses the breakfasts they’d have when they were the only ones up and how her mother would read her excerpts from books she was reading and suggest poems and short stories and novellas. she misses how her mom would scrunch her nose and run her hand over mj’s hair and kiss her forehead

she misses her brother and the way he’d surprise her and lift her up from behind, spinning her around as she shrieked. she missed his cocky smiles and the way he’d give her fist bumps when she did well on tests and she’d miss when they’d sneak down to the kitchen in the middle of the night and eat ice cream until their giggling woke up one of her parents

and her sister. she misses her carefree smiles and the way she’d flip her hair over her head and roll her eyes when she thought someone said something silly. she misses the way her sister would gently knock on her door and ask her for help on her homework or to explain to her this book she was reading in class. or how her sister would come into her room sometimes while michelle was reading and just…lie down on her

she misses her family. she misses not feeling alone all the time. she misses getting to be a kid who didn’t have to cook and do laundry and take out the trash and clean the bathroom. she’s only sixteen for christ’s sake

and then it’s all too much and tears start leaking out of michelle’s eyes and she takes a deep breath and tries to stop them but she can’t. the tears keep coming and then peter’s eyes are widening in shock and he looks panicked and michelle can’t do anything but continue to cry silently

it’s all so much. it all hurts. she can’t do this anymore. she’s so tired

and then peter wraps his arms around her and she gaps because she hasn’t been hugged in months. she hasn’t really even touched anyone other than brushing by her sister in the hallway or in the bathroom. and it’s so much and it’s warm and she leans into him. she starts sobbing and wraps her arms tighly around his shoulder because he’s a person and he’s there and it feels nice to be held because it feels like she’s a little less alone

and when the bell rings to signify the end of fifth period, she startles and pulls back from him. and there are still tears sliding down her cheeks but his eyes are vulnerable and sad and warm and gentle and she just pulls him back to her and he stays there for the rest of the day. she knows it’s too much. to hug him for a whole hour but she’s been so deprived of any form of human comfort that she allows herself to be greedy

she stains his sweater with her tears and his neck is slightly wet and some of his hair sticks there but he doesn’t say anything. he just rubs small circles into her back and her breath hitches every so often because it feels nice and she starts to get tired and she just wants to sleep and she thinks she might actually be able to fall asleep

and then the bell that signifies the end of the day rings and peter pulls back and he’s about to say something when he must notice the absolute terror in michelle’s eyes because oh god, she’s going to be alone again

and then: “do you want me to take you home?”

and she just nods. he holds her arm as she jumps off the bed in the nurse’s office and he helps steady her when her legs shake. the nurse stops them on the way out and gives michelle a slip of paper and smiles warmly at her, telling her to be safe and take some advil if her head starts to hurt

when mj looks at the paper, it’s an appointment time with the school’s therapist

and she stuffs it into her pocket when she notices peter looking at her with those piercing brown eyes

and they don’t stop by their lockers. “i got ned to handle things with the teachers. you don’t have to go to school for the next couple days if you don’t want to and you have extensions for your homework assignments for the next week.”

“what about you?”

peter smiles gently. “ned knows my locker combination and where i live.” and michelle feels that panic swell in her chest again because he’s going to go back to his house and leave her alone in hers at some point

so she chokes out the words as best as she can but her voice croaks and cracks a bit. “could you stay with me? tonight?”

and she doesn’t want to look at his face, but he wraps his arm around her shoulder and tells her that he’ll call aunt may and ask

and then he takes her to the subway platform and goes with her to pick up her sister, who raises her eyebrows suspiciously when she sees the boy with mj

but peter just smiles, extends his hand, and introduces himself. “peter parker. pleasure to meet you.”

and he chats with her sister on the way back to their house and michelle doesn’t say a word. just listens idly as peter tells her about why the empire strikes back is, objectively, the best star wars film and her sister snorts and counters that rogue one was iconic

and then peter gets out some pasta from their cabinet when they get to their house and chats with her sister while he starts cooking up penne and cooking some turkey to put in pasta sauce. and michelle just sits at the kitchen bar and sips on the large glass of water peter had put in front of her and when there is a lull in cooking or conversation, he’ll walk over and stand next to mj so their shoulders are touching and she can hear the steady breaths he takes

he sets the table with her sister and then michelle is sitting next to peter, eating pasta and listening to people talking at the dinner table. peter’s got his hand resting against hers where it sits on the side of her chair and she links one of her fingers with his because this one point of contact is her anchor right now

and her sister tells peter he’s a good egg and bounces up to her room, smiling. genuinely smiling. and those are so rare. only happen when michelle does something stupid like burn toast or when michelle tells her about something flash did. and peter’s just talked to her about star wars and the video game braid for a few hours and suddenly she’s smiling. he didn’t have to wring it out of her like michelle has to

and then he clears the table and takes mj to her room. and she lies down on her bed and feels uncomfortable but peter just climbs on it and wraps his arms around her so they’re spooning. and she starts crying because her mom used to hold her like this when michelle had nightmares

and peter just whispers reassurances into her ear until she finally falls asleep

and when she wakes up the next day and peter is gone, she panics. but then she hears the rattling of dishes and pots downstairs and finds that peter’s trying to cook an omelette

“this always seems so much easier when may makes them.” he laughs when michelle comes over to inspect his work

she chuckles lightly, feeling less like a zombie than she did yesterday. the sadness is still gripping her heart tightly and holding it captive

but

it’s loosened a bit and it doesn’t feel as if the world is crashing in on her

when she checks the time she sees it’s seven thirty. and her sister has school, oh god.

but peter speaks first: “may took your sister to school. she doesn’t start work until nine am and she wanted to help.”

michelle blinks a few times, not quite understanding. and then: “she also called into the school and i don’t have to go in today.”

she lets out a deep breath and starts crying again and peter’s eyes widen and he walks over to her quickly, pulling her into a hug and whispering in her ear again. and she pulls back a few moments later, apologizing. “i’m sorry it’s just…” and she doesn’t really even know herself but it’s all so overwhelming. “thank you. i’ve been doing everything alone.”

and peter smiles at her, pulling her into another quick hug. “i’m so sorry.” he whispers against her hair and she feels his breath against her neck. “i remember feeling like the world ended when ben died. i can’t imagine how i would have made that without may being so strong.”

and michelle just grips him tightly and cries into his shoulder again. the omelette burns and peter curses but michelle laughs.

“have you ever had egg in a basket?” mj asks, grabbing a loaf of bread from the fridge and pulling out two slices

peter raises one eyebrow, “egg in a basket?” his voice is dripping with suspicion and she cuts a hole in the middle of each slice of bread and throws the pieces at his head. he dodges them easily and opens his mouth wide, scandalized.

“it’s going to be better than your burnt omellete, i’ll tell you that.” and he laughs and the sound is so happy and carefree and she wishes she felt like that

but then her heart beats a little faster in her chest and she turns away to hide the slight blush on her cheek and she feels semi okay for the first time in a year. and then he rests his hand on hers and she looks up at him, eyes wide

“you don’t have to do this alone.” he smiles gently. “may wants to help. ned wants to help. the team wants to help. you don’t have to do this alone.” and her eyes start to water and she pulls him into a hug. “you’re not alone.”

and for the first time in a long time, it feels as if maybe he’s right. maybe she isn’t alone.

#ask #anon #spiderman homecoming #michelle jones #peter parker #slight #spideychelle #grief #sh #otp: i'm just kidding i don't care #i write things

[strawberriestyles]

Mouth o’ Mine

Harry X Reader: Angst & smut

In which Harry’s no good with his words but he sure is good with his mouth.

Request? Yes:

some harry face sitting action maybe?

Author’s note: This is a continuation of “Mess o’ Mine.” I would suggest reading that first, if you haven’t already. I thought this was gonna be the end but then I fucked up so... there’s also a part 3. Hope you enjoy! I did!

Part 1: Mess o’ Mine

You’ve been running through the events that have occurred, confused at the escalation and the outcome. No issues have been resolved, and there wasn’t really a conversation or discussion. You don’t know any more than you did when you heard Harry singing your poems. Has he used your writing in more songs on his album?  Has he read your whole journal? God, you hope not. One poem is bad enough.

Harry hasn’t been around, hasn’t tried calling for the two weeks since he showed up on your doorstep. You’ve flipped the channel whenever he shows up on your television and scrolled at record speed when he’s popped up on your social media feeds. Maybe you should feel relieved and cleansed of his toxicity, but you don’t. Instead, you feel a little broken, like your stomach is splintering into pieces, and your mind still feels split open. Not only that, but you can smell him, feel the weight of him on top of you, taste the foreign flavor of his mouth. This isn’t what you need.

A whole other wave of confusion has rolled over you in terms of your relationship with Harry, if there still is one. The two of you have crossed a line without any prior thought or contemplation. Years upon years of friendship have been threatened, and you’re not even sure how it happened. Why did he kiss you? How did the two of you end up in bed, naked between the sheets? If you were confused about it before, trying to figure things out has only worsened your introspection.

It’s a Friday—technically Saturday since it’s nearly two A.M.—and you’re clean from the shower, snuggled on the couch in some pajama pants and a tank top with a glass of wine. You’ve been watching some of your favorite eighties movies as a sort of self-prescribed method of relaxation. It feels nice, a distraction from your thoughts. You’re just giggling at some cheesy joke when the doorbell rings—and then rings again, and again, and again in quick succession.

You pause your movie and set your glass down on the table, frustrated at the intrusion. The cool air of the apartment raises goosebumps on your arms, and a chill runs up your spine when a gust of wind rushes through the door as you open it. Your heart falls into the depths of your stomach.

“Harry.”

“Y/N,” he says with a smile, a bit more cheerful than you would expect. “Hullo. Wanted t’ see yeh.”

“It’s two in the morning,” you inform him, jaw setting. He’s not getting into the flat this time, not unless there’s a discussion that settles all the questions you’ve had.

“’S it really?” He glances down at a bare wrist and chuckles to himself, leaning against the door frame. “’M not wearin’ a watch. Thought I was.”

Your mouth deepens into a frown. His voice is drawling even more than usual, and when he looks back up at you with another chuckle, you can smell beer on his breath.

“Harry, are you drunk?”

“’M pissed,” he corrects you with a little stumble forward. You catch him with a hand to his chest and help lean him against the door frame again, a sigh making its way from your lips.

“Why are you here? And how did you get here?”

“Walked.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, swaying just slightly.

“Jesus, Harry. You could’ve been hit by a car or something.”

“I like walkin’. Can I come in?”

You pause, long enough for Harry to open his eyes again and stare at you silently. The happy silliness has been drained from his system now, which means he’s crossed the line into Serious Drunk Harry.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you speak softly, avoiding his eyes. When he’s drunk, you always somehow find him more endearing. The wall you’ve built is already beginning to crumble and allowing him in will obliterate it.

“Please, Y/N,” he sighs, rubbing at one of his eyes. “Jus’ let me sit down and have some water. Then yeh can kick me out ‘f yeh want.”

“Harry, why are you here?”

“I dunno,” he answers exasperatedly. “I dunno, but can yeh jus’ let me in?”

It’s like déjà vu, but this time Harry doesn’t have to wedge himself through the door, you open it for him. He looks a bit surprised, but doesn’t hesitate to walk inside, toeing off his shoes. You close the door behind him and chew on your lip, already sure you’re going to regret this.

“I’ll get you some water,” you mumble, padding off toward the kitchen. You fill up a glass with water and then set it down, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed and your eyes closed. What’s wrong with you? You recall firmly telling yourself this wouldn’t happen again, but here Harry is in your apartment.

There’s quiet chatter from the living room and you pick up the glass again, making your way into the living room. Harry is on the couch, leaned back lazily, legs spread wide. Your film is playing and his eyes are glued to the screen, hair wild like he’s been running his fingers through it. You hold out the water and draw his attention.

“Thanks,” he says as he takes the glass from you. “Good movie.” He takes a few sips of water and then sets it down on the coffee table as you sit on the other end of the couch.

“Did I fuck up tha’ bad?” He sighs and stares down the length of the sofa at you, frowning in frustration. You’re so far away, much further than he would hope. There have been many movie nights on this same couch and never before has the center cushion been empty. He’s actually worried now, that his actions have put insurmountable distance between the two of you. He’s only ever wanted to be closer.

“Harry,” you warn him, gaze focused on the screen although you aren’t processing anything that’s happening.

“Y/N,” he mocks, reaching a hand out to grip your arm and pull you toward him.

“Harry, stop-”

Before you finish speaking, he’s got you tucked into his side, face pressed into your shoulder and arms holding you in place. You can feel his breaths against your skin. You remain still, hands flat in your lap and body upright. It’s maddening, how you can feel every ounce of will slipping from you. You’re angry and confused and hurt, but you want him despite yourself.

“Smell good. Can yeh please,” he begins, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder that already have your heart pounding in your chest, “please not push me away?”

“Harry,” you attempt to warn him again, but your voice is weak and airy. This is everything you didn’t want to happen when you let him in, but your every nerve is screaming to let it happen.

He lifts his head and slides a hand into your hair, turning you to face him. You squeeze your eyes closed when he presses his forehead to yours and settles his lips just at the corner of your mouth.

“'S it okay?” He lifts his other hand to cup your cheek and rubs his thumb along your jaw. “Tell me ‘s okay,” he mumbles desperately.

“I-” You can feel his lips against your skin, feel the heat of his body so close to you, and your thoughts are shut off again, just like last time. “Okay.”

There’s a loud gust of breath that Harry was holding, and then his mouth is covering yours, hands pulling you even closer, roaming your body, yanking you into his lap. His tongue finds its way between your lips and your hands into his hair. It feels soft in your fingers.

Harry’s arms wind around your waist, hands snaking under your tank and squeezing at your hips. He pulls you tight against him, breasts pressed to his chest. His hips lift to rub against you and you pull away gently, fingers sliding from his hair down to his jaw.

“Harry, you’re drunk,” you whisper. He leans in to press slower kisses to your lips. “We can’t.”

“’M not tha’ drunk.”

You roll your eyes, but he settles back into the couch. “I’m not having sex with you when you’ve been drinking.”

“Okay,” he complies with a sigh, rolling your tank top up your torso. “Fine, jus’ let me make yeh feel good, love.”

“What-”

“Let me taste yeh.” He peels your shirt off your body and lets his mouth fall to your neck. He grips your chin and turns your head to open up your skin to him, grazing his teeth below your ear. “Want yeh on m’face.”

You groan, reveling in the feel of his stubble scratching along your collarbone. He twists around and lays you back so suddenly that you gasp, clinging to his shoulders. He chuckles at you and presses a few wet kisses to your chest before tugging down your pants and underwear, brushing them off onto the floor. His mouth closes around a bit of flesh on the inside of your thigh, suckling just hard enough for you to feel a bit of a sting before he pulls away. Then he leans back on his knees, pulling you up into a sitting position.

“What-”

“Said on m’face, love,” he reminds you, maneuvering himself to lie down. He settles his head back against the arm of the couch and pulls you up his body from where you’re seated against his torso. A heated blush creeps up into your face when you’ve reached his shoulders, but he tugs you impatiently. “C’mon, now. Don’ be shy. Be good fo’ me.”

“Harry, I don’t know-”

You gasp when he lefts his head and swipes his tongue firmly between your folds. Everything’s moved so quickly, it feels like it’s only been a minute since you sat down on the couch.

“Taste better than I even imagined,” he mumbles. This time he waits until you’ve settled into a comfortable position, legs spread wide, arm against the back of the couch for support. His arms wrap around your thighs and you take a deep breath to prepare before he pulls you down against his face again.

“Fuck.” Your head falls back almost instantly, hand tangling into Harry’s hair. His tongue laps at your center slowly, purposefully. The two of you have really strayed into unfamiliar territory, but it somehow feels natural. You try to push everything else from your mind.

“Tha’s it,” Harry mumbles when your hips slip forward, pressing his hands against your bum to encourage your movements. “Doin’ good for me.”

“Fuck, Harry.” His lips have wrapped around your clit, tugging at the sensitive bud roughly. He pulls away after a moment and continues licking at you, faster than before, flattening the muscle against you and dragging it up the length of your slit.

Your fingers tug at his hair, head lolling to rest against your arm on the back of the couch. Your legs are already beginning to feel like jelly. Harry jerks your thighs a bit to get your attention, delivering one more lick before pulling away to speak.

“Oi, don’ do that’, pet. Wanna watch yeh. Can’ see yeh when you’re hidin’ your face.”

You take a deep breath, lifting away from your arm to glance down at him. He looks obscene, hair wild from your hand, eyes blown wide and pupils dilated, mouth slick with your arousal. A soft moan leaves your lips and he smirks before burying his face back into your pussy. His tongue flicks over your clit methodically, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“Holy-” You dig your teeth into your lip roughly, struggling to maintain eye contact. Your hips are moving of their own accord, chasing the release that’s mounting faster than you can think. Harry’s loving it, helping to move you on his mouth. His tongue wiggles between your folds and he allows you to rub against it, occasionally sucking your clit into his mouth.

“I’m gonna come,” you breathe out, squeezing your eyes shut and closing your fist around the fabric of the couch. Harry hums and shakes his head quickly, rubbing his tongue against you. Your body tenses, legs slipping ever-so-slightly. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” you chant, letting out a soft cry as the knot in your tummy unwinds. Your body shakes, fingers gripping even tighter at Harry’s hair. He licks you through your high, pulling away after a minute and gripping your wrist with a chuckle.

“Gonna rip it outta my head, love,” he says, untangling your hand from his hair. He presses soft kisses over the insides of your thighs and winds his fingers through yours as you attempt to catch your breath, chest heaving. “C’mere.” He helps you slide down his body, laying you down on top of him. “Not drunk anymore,” he says with another soft chuckle.

Harry folds his arms around you to lock you against his chest, burying his face in your hair and inhaling the smell of your shampoo. You can feel the even rise and fall of his lungs as his fingers draw patterns into your bare back. It’s strange to be naked when he’s fully clothed.

“Harry?”

He hums against your scalp and squeezes your hip in response.

“Why did you kiss me? The first time?”

Harry rattles off a couple of rhymed lines and then you feel him stop breathing, his fingers freezing on your back. You’re frozen, too, momentarily, as you digest the words he’s relayed to you. They’re more of yours, from a poem about being spontaneous. You tilt your head up to find him staring at the ceiling with wide eyes, and your fingers press into his chest so you can push away from him, but his arms cross over your back.

“Y/N-”

“Let go of me.”

“No, no, stop. I didn’t mean t’-”

“You read my entire journal, didn’t you? Every last page. How could you invade my privacy like that?”

“I wasn’-”

“Is that another song?”

He’s silent now, and you can feel his heartbeat against your chest. You shove against him again.

“Harry, let me go.” You’re angrier than you were when you heard his performance, you think. Your vision is red and blurry, and when his hold doesn’t budge, you find yourself ready to scream. “Get off of me!”

You have to shove against him a few more times before you’re able to break his grip, but when you do, you’re pulling your clothes back on in record time.

“You haven’t even apologized.”

“Because ‘m not sorry! ‘M not gonna lie t’yeh!”

You’re surprised by the raise of his voice, but your eyes narrow at him.

“You say that like I actually trust you.”

He lets out a defeated breath and shakes his head. “Y/N, please don’-”

“I need you to get out. Please, just leave.”

“Don’ do this again. Love, I-”

“Harry.” You’re fully dressed now, icy gaze settled on his desperate face. “Leave. And this time, do not come back.”

“Yeh don’ mean tha’.”

“I do.”

You watch his face fall, but you couldn’t care any less at this moment. He slides from the couch and stands in front of you. You stare at his shirt, fuming in silence. You hear him suck in a breath as though he’s preparing to speak but nothing comes.

“This fuckin’ mouth o’ mine,” he mutters. It’s a few more moments before he shuffles out of view, and then another minute before you hear the door close gently as he leaves. With him goes your anger, and then the tears come at full force.

Part 3: Mind o’ Mine

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry angst #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles imagine #harry imagine #imagine harry styles #imagine harry #harry styles one shot #harry one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfic #harry styles writing #harry writing

[jfastereft]

"DON' ASK ME!'  a poem   July 8, 2019 [Moon DAY]

 I don'-know nuthin'-'bout nuthin'  - I-jus'  goofy   n-som'times-dey-tell-me: LEWD!

 Who-ya-know-knows-much-o'  an'thing?   I'-comfy-jus' bein'-a-prude!

 So,    if-ya come for my advice,       I'm sure-t'  - of-fa tea,

 Ah hopeful  we-can sit-right-down    - and-sing  some  ha' -moe - knee!

 I don'-know 'bout    nuthin',      so     lemme    a-pa-loe-gize,

 Before we-get-much-further, 'cause-ders  silly-hope in-you'-eyes!

 IF you-be lookin' fo'-answers,      I-ain't got non-of-dem here,

 But, if you wan'-a-little com-fort   I-try-t'-give-ya-a-little, ma Dear!

 I don'-know 'bout nuthin',    but-AH-THINK  lots-o'-people     seek,

 An'-if-ya-wanna-look  in-to-me-Heart   I-give-ya-eyes-a-peek:

 An'-I-don' know what's-in-der!   Ah-neva-looked-me-self!

 'Cause I don't got-much-ad-venture!     I-sleep up-on ma shelf!

 Yeah, I-sleep-der with-the books-n-things -     or sometimes on the desk,

Jus' tryin'-to-stay - outta-people's-hair   so-ah  won't-b'     a-big-ol'  pest!

 I don'-know 'bout nuthin',    but AH-THINK-ya-pret-ty  "cool!"

 An'-I-love   ALL-a about you,   an' I don'-care-much-fo'-school,

 BUT-ah'd-sure attend if Ah could sit - in-the-chair-that's next to you,

 'Cause you' so-cute an' ya-smell real-nice!  So, I-like-to-be-close,  I-DO!

 I don' know 'bout nuthin'  - so I hope ya-aren't-now-sad,

I-could-lay-m'-little-head-upon-ya-shoulda!  Maybe-then, ya-won't-feel-too-bad!

 fin  <3

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NtA1bIOO6B0