Fanfictions - Fanfictions Everywhere

A/N: I’m sorry this is so short lol

Request: I think I accidentally sent my last message before I was even finished writing anything. lol So let me try again. Can I request a Loki x reader using 1 & 19 please? 😁 Something like the reader is trying to get him to smile while simultaneously flirting with him. But she reserves this behavior for him only. She doesn’t flirt with anyone else. Fluffy or smutty. Whatever works best with your story.

Prompt: “Okay so it’s storming outside and I’m really scared of thunder…we should probably cuddle.” and “Could you hold this for me?” “Um, this is your hand.” “Yeah, I know, can you hold onto it for me? Thanks.”

Summary: How will Loki react to the hints you’ve been dropping regarding the way you feel?

Warnings: swearing, fluff

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You’ve been dropping hints for months. Maybe Loki is just oblivious and has no idea you’re into him, or maybe he is just as evil as everyone said and is playing with your heart. When he first joined the Avengers, everyone was skeptical of allowing him to stay in the tower and help fight the bad guys that used to include him. But, you saw something in him, something different that wasn’t dangerous or harmful, you saw something sweet. That’s why you’ve made attempt after attempt of trying to flirt or tell him how you feel. His responses never give you much of an answer on how he feels.

Loki has always treated you with respect and acted nicely, allowing you to get close to him. He sometimes worries of you getting too close to him because he knows his feelings are too strong already. Yet he refuses to push you away because having you next to him just feels so right. He had no idea you’ve been trying to flirt with him until recently. He wasn’t sure when the subtle hints started, but he picked up on them when you tried holding his hand.

The two of you were wandering the streets of the city at night, admiring the way the buildings light up so beautifully. Loki would have preferred to stay in and read with you in the library, like you had done so many times before, but you wanted to take him out for a change. As you waltzed down the sidewalk, making your way back to Avengers Tower, you glanced down at his hand. You wanted to hold it so desperately, but just simply taking it would scare him off. So you decided to settle for something obvious but conclusive.

“Hey, Loki?” you asked. His eyes met yours, raising his eyebrows in response as he wanted you to continue. “Could you hold this for me?”

He glanced down at what you were holding, but all he saw was your empty hand extended toward him. He coughed nervously. “Um, this is your hand,” he replied.

“Yeah, I know, can you hold onto it for me?” You nodded, pushing your hand even closer for him. He rolled his eyes, trying to fake his annoyance as a warm blush crept up to his cheeks. His fingers intertwined with yours as both of your hands fell to your sides, swinging back and forth as you walked. You were surprised, but definitely happy. “Thanks,” you mumbled anxiously. Loki just smiled in response, the two of you still a little flustered from the interaction.

Tonight, however, you choose to be even more bold. It had been a few days since you and Loki had held hands, neither of you bringing it up. Now it was out and up in the air that there were some kind of romantic feelings, so why wasn’t he acting upon them? So, while you’re tossing and turning in your bed, trying to block out the sounds of the storm outside, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

As you stumble down the hallway you shiver in fear, the thunder roaring and the lightning strikes momentarily illuminating the wooden path you’re walking along. The tower shakes with each boom of thunder, almost mocking the way your entire body is shaking. You approach Loki’s door and knock immediately, too afraid of the storm to hesitate any longer. His footsteps grow louder as he makes his way to the door, swinging it open with a yawn.

“Y/N?” he questions, his voice full of concern. “May I help you with something?”

“Oh shit, did I wake you?” You peer behind you, feeling guilty about coming to his room at such a late hour. “I shouldn’t have come, Loki, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s nonsense, Y/N,” he scoffs with a gentle laugh. “What is troubling you, my dear?”

Your heart flips at the sweet nickname. Loki is too exhausted to realize he just addressed you with a term of endearment. You take a deep breath before starting your next sentence. “Okay so it’s storming outside and I’m really scared of thunder…” you whisper, lingering your words for a moment. This is why you came here in the first place and there is no fucking way you are turning back now. “…we should probably cuddle.”

Loki’s eyes widen, his cheeks turning a bright red. “Cuddle? With me?”

You nod. “It’s too scary and loud to sleep alone,” you explain, jumping as it thunders outside. He notices your fear as the volume of the storm increases and he understands. Smiling sheepishly, he opens the door to widen the entrance.

“Well, you are welcome to stay in my bed.”

“To cuddle, right?”

“Of course,” he agrees, shutting the door as you enter. 

You stand at the foot of the bed and wait for him to make the first move. How are you supposed to know what side he sleeps on? What if he needs more pillows? What if there is a certain number of blankets he uses? You need him to set up the arrangement in the bed. But, instead, Loki stands at the edge right across from you. You turn yourself to face him, meeting his gaze that is already on you. He takes a step closer, taking your hands in his, and as the lightning strikes it seems to glisten in the green of his eyes. He grins sweetly, glancing down at your lips before placing his own on them gently. You return the kiss, removing your hands from his to wrap them around his neck and pull him closer to you. Loki’s hands fall to hips as he deepens the kiss.

You pull away, out of breath, and push your forehead against his. “Loki…”

“Y/N,” he states. “I am absolutely in love with you.”

You giggle, overtaken with happiness to not let laughter escape your bright smile. “I love you too, Loki, so much.” He kisses you again, passionately, making his way over to the bed. He pins you down on it, letting his hands trail down your curves before reaching up the hem of your shirt. When you let out a shaky moan, he stops himself and breaks the kiss. You frown, craving his lips on yours again. He notices your disappointment and shakes his head.

“My love, I desire to continue…this,” he mutters, his eyes raking over your body. “But I am too exhausted tonight. I am truly sorry.”

You run a hand through his hair and peck him quickly on the lips. “Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him. “I’m tired too and the storm is pretty distracting anyway.”

Loki furrows his brows before smirking and lowering his voice to a deep, husky tone. “I assure you, my love, the storm could not distract you if I continued.” You roll your eyes and kiss him again but he quickly stops it. “Shall we just cuddle then?”

“That sounds perfect.” Loki lays down into the soft mattress and pulls you into his chest. His strong arms envelop you and you feel warm, safe, and happy. Not even the storm could scare you in this moment. “Good night, Loki.”

The noises of the feast were far, muffled by the thick walls of the crypts. She had escaped the celebrations and fled down there, to sit alone, in the dark chaos left behind by the dead. She wasn’t sure why. She guessed she needed the time and the calm to process it all. Her first battle. It had not been glorious, it had not been the stuff of songs. It had been bloody, and scary, and confusing. “Women die in childbirth, and no one sings about them”. She had said that to Catelyn Stark, a lifetime ago. I was wrong, my Lady, she now wanted to tell her. No one sings about us, either. They sing of us, but not about us, they sing about the hope that gets you through the long night, because the hopelessness, the ugliness, don’t scare away the ghosts.

Jaime, Ser Jaime, had followed her to the crypts. Of course he had. He was always there, always had been, ever since he had reached Winterfell. She was so used to say goodbye to him, she didn’t know what to make of that. He had his fingers clasped around her heart and he didn’t even seem to be aware.

“Yes, Ser Brienne.”

He hovered over her. He had followed her but he had been silent, let her be. He knew her too well, and she didn’t know when that had come to be.

“What are you going to do now?”

She hadn’t believed him, at first. Nor when he had reached out for her in the training field, saying he would fight under her command, nor when he had said he would knight her. Who would do that for her, the freak, the beast. She wanted to believe, but it all came back to her every time part of her did, the taunts, the bets on her virginity, Ronnet Connington and his rose. But knight her he did, and he stood by her throughout the battle, never losing sight of her. Saving her, in more than one way, as it was of him that she thought as the dead overcame her.

“What do you mean?”

“You pledged to come North in order to fight the dead. And you did. But your fight is over now, and the army of the new Queen is moving South.”

He sat next to her. “She is not my Queen.” She shivered. Because of his warmth, because of his words, that hung in the air, like the bodies of traitors.

“You are loyal to Queen Cersei.”

“I used to be.” There was a coldness to his words, now, one she wasn’t used to anymore. She looked at him, and he looked back, his eyes resolute. Unexpectedly, he smiled at her, and his shoulders seemed to release the tension that had  accumulated there since the battle.

“I don’t think your Lady is so keen on the new Queen either. What are you going to do?”

There was mirth in his voice, and she didn’t expect it, she didn’t understand. It reminded her of another time when he taunted her about her indecision – that, too, was a lifetime ago. She was his captor then, they had to cross a river and she didn’t know whether to risk it or to take a bridge in open view. But he had been hostile, then, and frustrated, and now he was not. She didn’t know what he was. He radiated calm. That time was right before he stole my sword. Right before he challenged me to a fight. Their first and last fight against each other, the fight that had changed everything.

“I don’t know.” She admitted, turning her eyes away from him. That was not the answer that would be expected of her. She should have said that she intended to obey to her Lady’s decisions, even if they meant betraying the new Queen, even if they meant joining her, and a new war.

But that wouldn’t have been the truth, and she would not lie to him, not after what he had done for her.

Maybe by dawn she would do just that, she would honor her oath to Lady Catelyn and keep protecting the Stark women. But now the thought of Tarth was so vivid in her head, Tarth with its white sand and sapphire waters, Tarth that was everything that war wasn’t. A throne of thorns, why would people fight for that, instead of building and loving and protecting what was left. Instead of seeking peace, after staring in the face of death?

“I’d respect you far less if you did.”

His voice was soft. She glanced at him again, and something in the way he looked at her, something in the way his lips parted, just slightly, as if he was in awe of her, locked her stomach in a knot.

A/N: I received this request a really long time ago so I would like to emphasize that this is going to take place before Infinity War and NOT after Endgame. This fic will not be the same as the scene from Infinity War but it will be pretty similar. Also, I’m sorry if you’re a hardcore Thor stan, but the reader is going to pick my boy Peter Quill over Thor.

Request: i want an avengersimagine where Star-Lord and Thor are both fighting over the reader and they keep flirting with her and she’s torn between them, constantly going to rocket to talk to him about all of it ? Just tons of fluff!! Thanks girly!! ❤️❤️

(I lowkey changed this request up a bit because I made it more angsty than fluffy so I apologize for that but I hope you like it anyway)

Summary: Two men in your life seem to be fighting over you. One of them is Peter Quill, your best friend in the whole world and the other is Thor, a man who randomly crashed onto your spaceship. So, will you choose legendary outlaw Star-Lord or the God of Thunder?

Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst

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Thor landed on the Milano only mere moments ago and it is already like he is making himself at home. After crashing into the ship and making brief introductions, he gets right to work. The brawny man sifts through most of the belongings that the rest of the Guardians own and begins searching vigorously for something to eat. He mumbles to himself about his home or a hammer or something while the team just gives him dumbfounded looks. You aren’t used to random visitors like this.

“What do you think of this guy?” Peter leans over and asks you. His arms are crossed over his chest and he nods towards Thor with an eye roll.

You shrug. “He seems okay, I guess.”

“Okay? He seems okay?” Peter scoffs. “Y/N, he is going through our stuff and insulting us.”

“Do not doubt the beautiful, muscular man, Quill,” Drax states.

Rocket waltzes between the two of you and kicks Peter in the shin. He winces slightly at the pain. “Show him some respect!” 

“First of all, OW,” Peter says. “Second of all, he doesn’t deserve any respect if he thinks he can just come in here and steal our shit without listening to us. This dude is essentially saying ‘fuck you’ to my leadership over the team.”

“I don’t mind him being here,” Rocket declares. “And since when are you our leader?”

“Since always!” He shouts, his annoyance growing by the second. “This is my ship in case you forgot. You’re supposed to be listening to me.”

Rocket laughs an obviously fake laugh. “That’s a joke. If anyone is the leader of this ship it’s gotta be me.”

Gamora rolls her eyes at the two idiots and steps forward to get a closer look at Thor, who continues to rummage through cabinets and drawers. “Can both of you please stop? I’m more concerned over the fact that we have a stranger on our ship than who is the one giving orders on it.”

“She’s referring to me,” Peter mumbles under his breath angrily.

Rocket snickers. “I think you mean that she is referring to me.”

“Shut up!” You yell. Both of them remain silent. “Gamora is right. We need to deal with the man on our ship instead of having the same fucking argument over and over again.”

“You’re right, Y/N. I was thinking exactly that,” Peter agrees, approaching you. “We should-”

“This one shows promise,” Thor interrupts. You turn around to notice he is standing right behind you, his large figure towering over your body. “If there is anyone on this ship that demonstrates leadership, it is this fine, young lady here.”

You blush. “Well, thank you, Thor.”

“You do not need to show your gratitude, Lady Y/N, as I was only speaking the truth. Everyone else on this ship appears to be a moron, except for you and your green friend.” He smiles brightly at Gamora.

“Hey, let’s get one thing straight,” Peter scolds. “There ain’t nobody on this ship that’s a moron.”

“That’s right,” Rocket defends, smirking triumphantly.

Thor studies Rocket for a moment and then grins. “My apologies, morons, the rabbit also demonstrates intelligence.”

“Rabbit?” Peter questions.

Rocket hollers in celebration, ignoring the rabbit comment. “Now you’re starting to make sense.”

“What exactly are you doing here, Thor?” You inquire.

“I have just come from Earth where I was fighting off large armies of intruders in order to save that planet from destruction for what was most likely the hundredth time. My work colleagues down there often need my help because nothing they can do can compare to being the God of Thunder,” Thor brags.

“You’re the God of Thunder?” Rocket repeats it to the group more than asking it as a question.

“Yes and I need to return to Asgard, which is where I’m from, but my friend Heimdall did not open the Bifrost for me. I found that rather odd so I decided to fly up to space using this..” He holds out his hand and a large hammer attracts to it. Thor grips the hammer and spins it around in his grasp a few times with a cocky grin. “…and now I am wandering space hoping to catch a ride home.”

“Uh, does anybody have any idea what this guy just said?” Peter asks.

“Thor needs to get back to his home planet, Asgard, and he is wondering if we will give him a ride,” Gamora explains.

“No, absolutely not,” Peter insists. “He ain’t staying.”

Rocket rolls his eyes at Peter. “All of those in favor of giving Thor, the fucking God of Thunder, a ride to the ass planet he’s from, raise your hand.”

Your gaze falls upon the rest of the Guardians as you watch most of them raise a hand. Rocket, Drax, and Gamora all raise a hand. To your surprise, Mantis does not raise a hand, most likely because she doesn’t understand or she’s not paying attention. Obviously, Peter doesn’t even flinch as he stands completely still. All of their eyes land on you. You’re the tiebreaker.

“Lady Y/N, I must say that I have been to numerous worlds and you are by far the most gorgeous woman I have seen in all of the realms.” Thor flirts, causing a smile to rise to your lips. Peter looks to you and shakes his head, but you ignore him.

Slowly, you raise your hand. The team cheers and Rocket mentions he can fly the ship to Asgard if Thor gives him general direction. All of them run off to the flight deck to learn more about Thor as you hear him began to share extravagant stories about Asgard and fighting on Earth. He has to explain at first that Earth is what all of you know as Terra. Everyone admires Thor as he goes on and on about his life. The only people left in the hallway are you and Peter.

“You really want that dude to stay here? On our ship?”

Your gaze falls to the floor. “He doesn’t seem so bad. I like him.”

Peter furrows his eyebrows and stares you down. “What you like is his stupid, blonde hair and his unreasonably big muscles.”

“What are you, jealous?”

“So what if I am?” Peter shouts. “Thor just waltzes into the Milano one day and all of a sudden the whole fucking team is in love with him. All of you sided with him over me, who is your commander despite what Rocket says, and I’m not allowed to be upset about it?”

“No, Peter, I mean are you jealous that he was flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” he mutters. “I don’t get how that’s relevant to this conversation.”

“It’s fucking relevant because the only reason you don’t want to help out Thor is that you’re worried I’ll like him more than you,” you argue.

“You think I care if you fall for that guy instead of me?” Peter gestures to the flight deck angrily. “I don’t give a shit who you want to fuck, even if it’s a random stranger that’s been on the ship for two fucking seconds.”

“Listen to you! Now you’re putting words into my mouth!” You scream. “Why are we even fighting over this in the first place? Thor is going to be gone soon after we take him back to his home.”

“We’re fighting over this because you sided with Thor over me when I’m your best friend who has always been there for you. You sided with a stranger just because he’s hot and flirted with you!”

“I sided with Thor because you’re acting like a jealous idiot!” You spit. “Thor is being nice to me and he obviously means well. He deserves to get back to Asgard and it doesn’t matter that we’re helping him get there. So, sorry that I sided with Thor because-”

“Because why?” Peter pushes. “Because he complimented you? Because he flattered you into letting him stay?”

“No, that’s not-”

“Newsflash, Y/N, not everyone needs to be the fucking God of Thunder in order to know that you’re the greatest girl in the entire galaxy.” Peter snarls and then storms off to his sleeping quarters, slamming the door behind him. 

After he walks away, you feel a pang of guilt. He was right, Peter has been your loyal, best friend ever since the Guardians were formed. He’s always been there for you and sided with you no matter what. Over the past few years, you’ve developed feelings for him. The rest of the team knows and you’re almost certain Peter knows as well. He often flirts with you which leads you to believe that the two of you could be more than friends, but you also are aware of the fact that Peter Quill is a known flirt. Now that he practically just confessed to feeling the same way, all of it became much more confusing and you can’t help but regret not having his back this time.

Peter protected you during the prison break when the Guardians first met.

Peter saved your life when you fought Ronan.

Peter chose life with you over life being a God with his father.

Peter stood up for you in every argument the Guardians have had.

Peter helped you escape from unwanted men at bars numerous times.

Peter is your best friend and no one can compare to him. Especially not a random Asgardian crashing on the Milano.

You start to head towards Peter’s quarters when someone stops you. Unsurprisingly, it’s Thor. “Lady Y/N, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course,” you respond with a smile.

Thor pulls you aside and leads you to the table in the main area of the ship. It is almost as if he doesn’t know you live here, walking you to the spot and pulling your chair out for you. The two of you take a seat and Thor leans over the table with his elbows propped up on the surface. He is awfully close to you and you’re unsure how that makes you feel. You study his face. Thor has such gorgeous, chiseled features and bright, blue eyes that you could get lost in. He’s tall, muscular, and attractive. The man is a God, but does he compare to Peter in your eyes?

“I want you to know that what I said earlier was not just to sway you into allowing me to stay,” he says. “I truly find you to be wonderful.”

You smile weakly. “I appreciate that Thor, but I-”

“Forgive me, I know we only just met and I am being rather forward but I know I won’t be staying long on your ship.” You lean in closer to Thor and listen to what he has to say. “I felt connected to you the moment I first laid eyes on your beautiful face and I believe something brought me to this specific ship. I think that something is you.”

“Thor…”

“I want you to come back to Asgard with me,” he blurts. “It would only be for a short while in order for us to get to know one another better, but if you happen to fall for me, we could certainly make arrangements for you to stay in my kingdom indefinitely.”

“Kingdom?” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head at his statement.

“Oh, I must have forgotten to mention that I am also the King of Asgard.”

You laugh at his statement and Thor chuckles as well. He really does have it all and you admire his perseverance with you, but he’s not Peter. “I think you’re great, Thor, I really do. It’s just that I’m kind of with someone else, sort of.”

“I understand. You’re in love with the moron who believes he rules over this ship, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you state. “You’re absolutely right that he’s a total moron, but I can’t help how I feel, you know?”

Thor tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as his blue eyes bore into yours deeply. “Believe me, Lady Y/N, I know.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Peter interjects, his face red with frustration.

“There’s the moron now!” Thor chants.

“Peter, it’s not what it looks like.”

“She’s right, we were actually talking about you.”

Peter groans and puts a hand up to Thor. “Save it, God of nobody gives a shit.”

“Peter, be nice, Thor is just trying to help,” you defend. “I don’t give a fuck what Thor is doing especially now that I know it’s you that he’d like to be doing,” he says. “I actually came out here to apologize and to you tell you how fucking in love with you I am, but I see you that you wouldn’t want to hear it.”

Peter storms back off to his room as you sit at the table with your eyes filling with tears. You clearly hurt Peter and that is the last thing you would ever want to do. Thor places a comforting hand on your shoulder as he lets you cry it out for a couple of minutes. Some time passes before he eventually speaks up.

“I sincerely apologize, Y/N. I never meant to come between you and your love.”

You pat Thor’s arm. “It’s all right, Thor, it wasn’t you. Peter and I have never been very honest about how we feel and it was only a matter of time before one of us got so jealous that we got hurt.”

“I am almost certain that the two of you will work it out,” Thor reassures. “He seems to love you an awful lot. I am sure he will understand.”

“Thank you, Thor. I’m sorry about everything you had to put up with today. I bet there are plenty of women dying to be with the God of Thunder. You’ll meet someone new on Asgard way better than me.”

Thor brushes it off. “Of course, Lady Y/N. I should have known there was already a man madly in love with you. Now, go get him.”

Thanking Thor one last time, you head toward Peter’s quarters. You’re about to knock but you hesitate at the door. You decide to give him some more time to cool off, knowing Peter is so stubborn he won’t believe you or listen to you right away anyway. Retreating to your own room, you fall onto your bed and sleep the day off. Meeting Thor and arguing with Peter was extremely stressful and resting for a while is exactly what you need to recover from the annoyance of having too many men on the ship trying to get with you.

Sleeping is only a luxury for so long, however, as Rocket comes barging into your room only a few hours after you drift off. You groggily whine to him about how he’s an asshole for disturbing you from your sleep, but he ignores your remarks.

“What the hell is going on with you and Quill?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You know about that?”

“We all know about that, Y/N, you’re not exactly great at hiding your feelings for the jerk,” he laughs. “Besides, I saw the two of you being dramatic and I told him to get his fucking act together. I said if he wants the girl he’s gotta go after her. He listened to me, but he still seemed pissy. So, what happened today?”

“Well, Thor being here and flirting with me made Peter kind of jealous so we got into a big fight. Then Thor basically asked me to move to Asgard with him so-”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Rocket stops you. It feels like you’ve been interrupted every time you’ve tried to speak today. “Thor wanted you to go back to Asgard with him?”

“Yeah.” Rocket cackles at your statement. He can barely breathe he is laughing so hard. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes,” he answers. “You and Quill have been wanting to fuck each other since the beginning of time and then all of a sudden a random God wants to be with you? And you’re still in love with the idiot in the next room?”

You glare at the raccoon. “Can you take this seriously, please? I need your help with this.”

“Y/N, I’ve known you and Quill for a few years now. No matter how annoying he is and no matter how much better than him you are, the two of you belong together,” he says sincerely. “It’s just fucking science or fate or whatever it’s called.”

“Thanks, Rocket.” You mess with the fur on the top of his head. “I was really torn there for a while. I’m glad you helped me figure out what to do.”

“No problem, it’s what I do.” Rocket jumps off of your bed and heads out the door. He shakes his head and mumbles to himself on the way out. “Torn between Quill and a God.”

“Hey!” You hear a familiar voice bellow down the hall. “You’re forgetting that I’m part God too.”

“You wish you were still part God!” Rocket retaliates.

Peter enters your room and quietly shuts the door behind him. “Can you believe that raccoon? What a dick.” Both of you laugh as he takes a seat on your bed beside you. “Hey, I’m really sorry about earlier.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. He places one of his large, warm hands on top of yours.

“But, it’s not okay, Y/N,” Peter continues. “I was totally out of line and I let my jealousy get the best of me. If you want to be with Thor and go back to ass world with him then you should do that.”

“Asgard,” you correct with a chuckle.

“Whatever, I don’t care,” Peter snickers with you. “The only thing I care about is if you’re happy.”

You place a hand on the back of his neck, your fingers creeping up into his light brown locks. Pulling his face forward, you smash your lips onto his. He gives into the kiss immediately. The kiss is passionate and sweet, making up for the silly argument the two of you had earlier. Reluctantly pulling away, you press your forehead against his. “Peter, you make me happy.”

He smiles, his green eyes looking into yours with such kindness. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Peter Quill.”

“It’s about damn time!” Rocket yells. “I told you that you’d get her, Quill.”

The next morning you and the rest of the Guardians arrive on Asgard. Thor collects his belongings, along with some of the things he stole from the Milano and gets ready to depart. He comes up to you and grins widely. “It was lovely to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

“And you as well, Thor.” Peter places an arm around you, showing Thor his place. It’s nice knowing that after all these years of misunderstood feelings and bickering about jealousy, you are finally Peter Quill’s girl.

“Yeah, hopefully, we’ll see you around,” Peter states. Thor walks over to Rocket and Peter chuckles. “Not,” he whispers in your ear. You lightly hit him in the stomach for being rude. His response is to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek. 

“I get that the two of you are finally happy but I hate that you’re going to be together as a couple now,” Rocket says. “It’s disgusting.”

“I think it’s quite nice,” Thor beams, patting Rocket on the head. “Maybe we will meet again, rabbit.”

“Maybe,” he agrees happily.

“Farewell, morons.”

permanent taglist: @lolabean1998 @thisismysecrethappyplace  @crazystarlady @gloomybisexualemo @yougottalovefandoms

marvel taglist: @verkyun

send a number for a starter / drabble based off a specific soulmate au!  most are taken from this list.  feel free to add more if you want!  (can also be adapted to fit poly ships!)

the one where you only see color once you meet your soulmate.

the one where you have your soulmate’s name written on your body.

the one where you and your soulmate have matching marks on your bodies.

the one where you and your soulmate have matching marks and the marks glow when you’re near your soulmate.

the one where you don’t know your soulmate until you touch them.

the one where when you dream you’re seeing whatever your soulmate is currently experiencing.

the one where you and your soulmate share an emotional link.

the one where your soulmate’s first words to you are written on your body.

the one where your soulmate’s last words to you are written on your body.

the one where you have a timer on your wrist that counts down to when you meet your soulmate.

the one where soulmates share extreme physical sensation — if one gets hurt, the other gets hurt, and etc.

the one where soulmates can heal each other’s injuries.

the one where only your soulmate can kill you.

the one where color appears on your body wherever your soulmate first touches you.

the one where every lie your soulmate tells you appears on your skin.

the one where anything written on your skin appears on your soulmate’s skin as well.

the one where your soulmate’s name is on one wrist and your enemy’s name is on the other and you have no clue which is which.

the one where whenever you get a song stuck in your head, it’s because your soulmate is singing it.

the one where soulmates are reincarnated and keep finding each other throughout their different lives.

the one where you don’t know your soulmate until you hear them say your name.

the one where you can talk to your soulmate in dreams.

the one where it’s impossible to lie to your soulmate.

the one where once you meet your soulmate, it’s physically uncomfortable to be apart from them for too long.

the one where you have a compass on your body that leads you to your soulmate.

the one where you have the date you’ll meet your soulmate on your wrist.

the one where you have the date your soulmate will die on your wrist.

the one where you can transfer any injuries/pain your soulmate has onto yourself.

the one where some people can see the red string of fate and follow it to their soulmates.

summary: Draco invites you to Malfoy Manor over Easter break during your last year at Hogwarts. What you hoped would be a fine visit to Draco’s house with his family is anything but. (established relationship) warnings: cursing, hermione’s torture scene from deathly hallows replacements: y/n- your name y/l/n- your last name author’s note: hey, i hope you guys enjoy this retelling of the scene from deathly hallows. obviously it’s not the same as the book OR the movie, but i mostly based this off the movie scene. lots of soft draco in the beginning :D read also on ff.net

You woke on Wednesday morning to dark clouds in the sky, the light coming through the window uncharacteristically dim. Your fingertips slid across the soft silken sheets of the bed, and you turned over to cuddle close to your personal heater, not wanting to get up just yet. Your arms only discovered empty sheets. You opened your eyes again and looked across the room. He was out of bed already, getting dressed in front of the wardrobe.

Draco Malfoy was not your boyfriend. You had decided not to call each other that so that if anything bad was to happen, you wouldn’t have to lie and say that the two of you were together. You had been the one to recommend it after Draco had received his Mark. Yet, here you were on your Easter break, living in Malfoy Manor and sleeping in his bed not even in secret.

You brought your hand up to rest your head on it, and felt the press of cool metal against your cheek. That was another thing- Draco had given you his family ring to wear at the beginning of the year, at the Malfoy’s extravagant annual New Year’s party. It was even more comical now when your housemates would ask if you were official yet, and you always retorted back “He’s not my boyfriend”. Your seventh year at Hogwarts was difficult for both of you. The school itself was a mess with Snape at the helm, and the fact that you were knowingly spending your short reprieve from it all in the very house the Dark Lord held his meetings in would’ve given second-year you a conniption. For the past three years, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been nothing but tolerant of your relationship, and welcomed you into your home when Draco was brave enough to invite you.

Jack Kelly’s Sister Reader Angst

Word Count: 2142

Warnings: Arguments, Physical Fighting, Snyder & the Delanceys

Requested by Anon :  can you please write a newsies thing where jack has a lil sister and like kinda lowkey hates her but all the newsies love her and then she gets taken to the refuge with crutchie and jack flips his shit and goes and rescues her?

A/N: Part 2 in the works, but I wanted this to be out on Halloween because it’s angsty.

Masterlists

How to get on my Tag List

————

Jack Kelly was cocky, argumentative, and, now, he was the leader of The Newsboy Union that was striking against several newspaper companies. There was one more thing, however, that he tended to leave out of his story: his little sister, Y/N.

You liked to believe that you were nothing like your brother, but everyone could see the resemblance in the way you two looked and acted. However, despite the many similarities between you, the other Newsies had given up trying to convince you of it due to that trademark Kelly stubbornness.

Like any set of siblings, you and Jack would pick on each other constantly. To an outsider or a new kid, it seemed as if you hated each other.

No matter how much you hated each other, the Newsies loved both of you equally. You and Jack had different roles in the group, but it was clear that you both loved your fellow Newsies.

“Hey, Y/N,” Smalls yelled, crossing the Lodging house, “seen ma’ cap? Need it t’day ‘specially.”

“I’se got it kiddo,” you returned holding up the hat.

“I ain’t a kid,” Smalls grumbled, tired of all of the teasing that came with their size.

“Aww! Smalls,” you smiled sweetly, “we’s all kids. You’s just littler than the rest o’us.”

Smalls stuck their tongue out at that comment and jumped up to grab the cap. It was jerked out of Smalls’s reach before they could get a hold on it. They tackled you and eventually wrestled it out of your hands. You both got up quickly, the smaller of the two putting their cap on triumphantly.

“Y/N!!!” Albert ran towards you and crouched down behind you, “Hide me!!”

“What happened, Al? You steal Race’s cigar again?” you laughed as you said it, not trying to hide the boy at all.

“Yeah, but ‘e’s real mad ‘bout it t’day,” he replied.

Just then, Race lunged at them. You jumped out of the way quickly. Albert tried to follow suit, but ended up falling in the least graceful way possible.

“You’s gonna break somethin’ actin’ like that!” Jack said, coming down the stairs.

“Race ‘ttacked me!” Albert yelled.

“‘Ey! You took ma’ cigar!” Race yelled back.

“And you’s both actin’ like toddlers!” you commented, leaning against the table.

“Real helpful, Y/N,” Jack said to you, sarcastically.

“I know. I’se a gem ain’t I?” You replied as you slapped Albert jokingly on the shoulder.

“Yeah, sure,” Jack said, annoyed and unamused, “all a’you’se can go. Y/N, go up to the Penthouse.”

Both you and the Newsies followed Jack’s instructions, although you were more upset about it. There were quite a few murmurs throughout the crowd of teenagers on their way to their strike. Many of these were about the day ahead of them, and many were about your ongoing protests of the strike. Jack had somehow managed to keep you from undermining the entire ordeal, but you weren’t going to give up yet.

“Jack, this ain’t gonna go well,” you said the minute you saw your brother climbing the ladder.

“‘ow do you know that, Y/N? You’s gonna scare them Newsies, our friends, for what? A feelin’?” Jack asked you as he rubbed his forehead in frustration, “I’s scared as hell, Y/N, don’t think I ain’t, but I won’t—I can’t—stop the strike now. You ain’t wantin’ to go with us to stop the wagons? Fine. Stay here.”

“Jack, you know I ain’t abandonin’ the Newsies,” you replied as if your decision was obvious, “I mayn’t believe in the strike or stoppin’ the wagons, but I do got faith in our pals. I’m goin’ with ya.”

“Then why’s you fightin’ it so hard,” he asked in a mix of a frustrated yell and an exhausted question.

“I don’t wants my friends layed up with no money and broke bones,” you yelled out, “there ain’t one trolley strika’ that ain’t hurt!”

“We ain’t gonna get hurt!” Jack yelled. He was scared, so scared, but he didn’t want to show it. He couldn’t show it. He had to be the leader, the strong one.

“You don’t know that,” you grumbled, reluctantly adding an ending, “I’s still goin’, though.”

“Just… don’t stop the strike. You know’se I care ‘bout those kids more than myself. I ain’t gonna get ‘em hurt. Anythin’ else you’s wantin’ to say?” Jack asked just to be sure and change the topic.

“Yeah,” you said to your brother, “you know I’s with ya’ no matter what, right? I don’t care that you’s had to run your big mouth an’ get us in this mess. I don’t care how this s’endin’. I’s okay. I’s with ya’.”

“I gotcha, Y/N,” Jack replied, nodding his head to say that he understood, “and I’s with ya’, too. Don’t matta’ what happens t’day. I’s gonna be there for ya’. Are we done now? I’s might die with all this sappy stuff,” He sighed dramatically.

“Yeah. You’s gotta be two years old, Jack,” you grumbled.

“No. I’s just got somewhere t’be,” Jack said, “Shit! We gotta get to the strike!” He quickly pushed you to the ladder.

“Fine! I’s gonna be comin’ in a second,” you said, moving out from in front of Jack.

“Ugh, ‘kay, but I ain’t waitin’ for ya’,” Jack said as he climbed down the ladder.

You looked out over New York, your home. It looked incredibly warm and inviting at this time of day. The sun rising, just peeking through the buildings. It cast a golden glow over the New York. It felt so unbelievably wrong for the city to look like this, like a cruel trick to disguise the cold place, the city where children had to fight to get paid because they had no money. A place where your friends had to fight because most had no parents to fight for them.

A family was a different story. They all had a family. Race had no mother or father, sure, but he had friends close enough to be his siblings. Albert had brothers and a father but preferred the rowdy family he had found at the Lodge. Finch may have run from his blood family, but that didn’t mean he had nobody to support him.

All of them had a family, and, if they didn’t, they found one. Family meant support; it meant care. Family does everything they can to help each other. Family is unconditional love for the other members of it. That is why you were doing this, for your perfectly mismatched family.

Jack’s distant curses pulled you from your thoughts. You walked to the ladder, laughing uncontrollably at the sight you found there. Jack had slipped on a few steps and landed flat on his ass.

“You need some help, old man?” you joked as you gracefully climbed down the ladder and jumped down the few rungs Jack had missed.

“I ain’t needin’ help,” he grumbled, “you’s gonna need help before I kill ya.”

“You’s gonna have to catch me first,” you exclaimed, running out the door.

Jack ran after you. He almost caught up a few times, but you managed to escape.

You two arrived later than the rest of the boys, but there was still nobody else there. You quickly hid behind Albert, who betrayed you just as you had earlier. Jack, though, was too busy at that moment to notice.

Questions of whether or not the other boroughs were coming were immediately directed at Jack, who honestly had no clue. All he knew was that Brooklyn wasn’t coming. That alone could have answered the questions he was getting, all of the Newsies knew it, but he just couldn’t let his friends, his family, down. Jack tried to hide that fact, but Davey was a lot more honest than he was. He started telling the story of their trip to Brooklyn before Jack could stop him, so he reluctantly followed along. The other boroughs weren’t coming, not without Brooklyn.

You all walked through the gates after they’d been unlocked, and immediately, Davey’s little brother, Les, asked the question they’d all been silently asking themselves:

“Are we doing the right thing?”

“Sure we are,” Davey assured.

The other Newsies fought him a bit on that, but Davey quickly tried to turn it to someone they knew, someone they trusted, Jack.

Jack tried to tell them why it was so important that they stand there, that they strike, but he couldn’t. He knew that they wouldn’t listen to him. They knew him, and, yes, they trusted him, but this was different. This was important, and Jack didn’t know how to tell them that. He didn’t have the right words, so he turned it back to Davey.

Davey was hesitant at first, but he did well at encouraging the group. He talked about fear and courage, he talked about how courage wasn’t the absence of fear but the ability to overcome it, and he talked about the importance of the strike. Davey praised Crutchie’s sign and his efforts to fight as best he could, and he gave all of you the perfect reminder of your reasons for striking: to save their friends and family, to get respect for the working kids, and, the most powerful reason, anger.

Only three boys stepped up to buy papers, but you knew it was enough. Jack knew it, too. He walked in front of the crowd to face the small amount that stood against them. He glanced back, hiding the fear in him well, but not well enough to fool you. You gave him a small, reassuring smile before mouthing, “Don’t let ‘em scare ya.”

He nodded slightly and stepped up a little further. As soon as he started the words flooded out of his mouth. All of the anger and dissatisfaction with the situation, and not just for him. He knew he was luckier than some. He was angry about all of the kids in the city used for unfair labor. They had no other hope, no other way for their voices to be heard.

He finished up, and Les said a small, adorable “Please?” One of the kids walked up to Jack. You sized him up as best you could. He tried his best to look big and scary, but it didn’t take much. He was strong and could definitely beat Jack in a fight based on strength alone, but you knew Jack had ways of tricking the other guy whenever he fought. You didn’t think it’d come to that, though. The boy’s toughness seemed fake. It seemed as if he was trying too hard to seem as scary as he was. He looked in Jack’s eyes for any type of fear or cowardice. Jack stubbornly refused to back down, though, true to your family’s most known quality.

Soon, the boy spoke, “I’m with ya’!”

He joined your group and soon the others did, too. You all celebrated immediately. You cheered and hugged your friends, even accidentally lifting Crutchie a little bit off the ground in your excitement. You threw newspapers in the air and laughed with your fellow Newsies. You all posed for a picture that reporter Jack liked. It all seemed so perfect, you even forgot why you had opposed the strike.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sound forced you all to look up. You saw Wiesel there holding a bat, which you assumed caused the sounds. He had the Delanceys and some goons backing him up. The sight caused an intense fear to hit everyone. You could tell from the look on his face, even Davey knew this meant trouble.

“Newsies,” Jack yelled, “get ‘em!”

You all started throwing stacks of paper at them. They tried to get to you, but they couldn’t.

The shrill sound of a whistle interrupted the fighting momentarily. Romeo ran up to the officer before anyone could stop him. You watched in horror as Romeo was slapped to the ground.

“Cheese it, fellas! It’s the bulls!” Jack ran. He ran as fast as he could, everyone did.

You started to follow before you heard Crutchie yelling.

“Jack,” he screamed, reaching out for him, “wait for me!”

You saw Jack reach back for him. He tried to save Crutchie, but he couldn’t. Oscar and Morris grabbed him before Jack could get to him.

As the Delanceys fought with Crutchie, they punched him, knocking him to the ground. Snyder, who you’d just now noticed, held his Crutch above his head, getting ready to strike. As it came down, you ran up and grabbed it. You tried to remember what Jack taught you about fighting. It did no good. Snyder didn’t fight fair, the Delanceys were on you in a second. The last thing you saw was the cold face of Oscar Delancey as you were dragged off with Crutchie.

———

Tag List!

here’s a real wild ralbert spider-man au fic that takes place on Halloween

enjoy

__________________

another day on the job

warnings: cursing, al’s a cop, someone gets s m a c k e d, yeah that’s it how unusual for me,

words: 1700 ish oh jeez

yep

——

Race was late again.

This was the third time this week they’d set a date, just a small coffee date, and Race had been at least twenty minutes late to each of the last few. Not like Albert was punctual, but anyone who arrived after Albert? That was saying something.

Albert opened the case file in front of him, taking away the paper clip that held the pictures inside. He frowned, looking down at them for what seemed like the millionth time.

People like this really made him hate his job.

Spider-Man, the newest “hero” of New York, has recently caused a lot of property damage on a high end building in Midtown, and now the NYPD was starting to get more directly involved. Albert was one of the lead detectives on the case, and it had been extremely taxing lately. There was barely any information on the guy, except that he apparently talked a lot, a few cops recounting their strange encounters with the web-slinging creep.

He looked up from reading through the file for the fourth time as the door of the small café banged open, Race practically tumbling in.

Albert stared at him with furrowed brows until Race sat himself down across from him. “What happened this time?” Al sighed, sipping his espresso.

“Well, ok, so I was comin’ here, right,” Race starts off, and Albert could already feel the headache coming on, “right from work. And I notice this guy start followin’ me, which like, gotta get away from that right? So I take a longer route. Guy’s still there. So then I book it, okay, completely different direction, ‘n now I’m here. Sorry,” Race finally finished. His arms were crossed, Albert didn’t fail to notice, making Race come off as evasive and defensive.

He breathed in, eyes closed, and then out.

“Race, babe,” Al said, brows lowered with a frown. “You know I’m a detective, right?”

“Uh, yeah, Albie, of course I—“

“You know it’s part of my job to call bullshit?”

Race opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, slumping back against his seat. “I just…don’t wanna talk about it, alright?” Race said, voice quieter.

“Alright,” Albert relented. “We won’t.”

“Thanks, baby,” Race smiled, standing up to peck Albert’s cheek. “Lemme get my pumpkin spice latte. It’s Halloween after all!”

Albert rolled his eyes, watching Race go to order. He felt worry roll around in his stomach, tightening a bit into a ball of sharp anxiety. He looked down at the file with a defeated expression.

He hoped he was wrong.

He hoped Race wasn’t the reason he hated his job.

But there was only one way to find out.

•••

Albert supposed he was lucky it was Halloween. It fell right in line with his plan.

A stupid, ridiculous plan, but it was the most plausible he could think of.

The hardest part was going to be keeping Conlon in the dark, but that would come later.

First was the phone call.

Albert parked, walking an extra two blocks just in case. The moon hung bright in the sky, Albert having excused himself from Halloween night for a few hours, telling Race he had some extra work to finish up.

What a fucking lie.

And here came another one.

He glared at Race’s contact on his phone, stomach twisting in guilt before pressing call and raising the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Albie! Ya comin’ home early?” Race’s voice crackled over the other end. “I hope so, cause I got so much candy here—“

“R-Race,” Al interrupted, making his voice sound weak. He was afraid he’d break his act and falter if Race finished his sentence. “I-I got jumped. These guys, musta recognized me as a–“ Albert coughed away from the phone, then bit his lip before continuing with the lie. “–as a cop. They’re gonna come b-back, I can’t move–“

“Baby, oh my god,” Race breathed, and Albert almost sighed in relief that he had been cut short. Lying to Race practically caused him physical pain. “I-I’ll be there in a moment, where are you?”

“I think near the First Avenue subway, on…14th, Race, I don’t kn—“

“I’ll be there. Hold on, Albie, I swear—I’ll be right there. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The line went dead, and Albert lowered the phone shakily, leaning against a wall to breathe for a moment.

If Albert was right about Race, this was a perfect trap.

Albert had been on top of the Spider-Man’s activity since last year, and last Halloween it seemed like the guy had been more stressed out than usual—more activity and false alarms than normal, people in costumes doing stupid things.

Race would be more distracted, not thinking as clearly.

Albert had chosen a more discreet location, somewhere people weren’t often there. A small alley. The Spider-Man swung from above—Albert knew he’d be found.

And as much as it broke Albert’s heart to decit Race like that, it was a clear motivation. Race would come.

Albert raised his phone up again, having selected a different contact.

“Conlon. Track my phone, bring your stuff, don’t ask questions,” Al said when Spot picked up.

“Fuck you,” Albert heard Spot groan back.

“It’s about Spider-Man.”

“Fuck!” Albert almost laughed at the surprise in Spot’s yelp, taking the phone away from his ear as Spot hung up.

Everything was in place.

•••

Albert found himself pacing the alley, nerves starting to settle in. There was always a chance he could be wrong, and Race could get here after Spot, and see he was perfectly fine, and then Al would have to explain he thought Race was the fucking—

Al whipped around as a figure landed behind him.

It was him.

Oh, god was it him.

Albert could easily tell it was Race from this close up. The way the red and blue clad spider held himself, shifting from one foot to another, the slimness of his body, seemingly all angles.

Albert could also tell he was confused. Race, of course, expected Albert to be hurt in some way, which he wasn’t. Yet Race didn’t know that Albert knew his true identity, and therefore had to hide his hesitation.

The insect-like eyes on the mask went large for a small moment and then back to normal. “Hey, dude, didn’t mean to startle ya. Just patrolling the area, crazy night—“

“Cut it out,” Al sighed, the knot of guilt unraveling into a nauseous feeling as he watched the masked man falter. “The act, I mean. You can drop it.”

“Uh, I don’t think I follow? I..” the Spider-Man trailed off, the eyes larger again. Albert recognized the habit of Race’s voice going up when he was confused about something.

“Tony,” Albert managed. “I know. I know it’s you, Sunshine.”

A silence hung in the air for a few long seconds, and for a moment Albert thought he had been wrong about everything.

Then he watched as the Spider-Man shakily pulled off his mask after looking around warily. Messy blonde hair and watery blue eyes were revealed, Race wearing a defiant expression. “Albie, wait, don’t arrest me, I can explain, please, just—“

“You don’t have to,” Albert whispered, surprising himself.

Race looked up, angry tears threatening to spill. “And what’s that even mean? You fucking hate the Spider-Man, you always have,” he said bitterly. Albert couldn’t help but wince a little.

“Well,” Albert started, hesitant. Conflict burned inside him, his obligation to the law clashing with his morals, the sound of their battle blaring in his ears. “Well, I called you, like, two minutes ago, and you’re already here. I called Spot only thirty seconds after and he’s an officer and he ain’t even here yet.” Albert scuffed his shoe into the ground, not meeting Race’s eyes.

He was embarrassed. Embarrassed for not trusting Spider-Man—Race, really—to be the good guy, and embarrassed for throwing the NYPD under the bus like that.

Albert looked up as Race took his hands. “I know how hard this is for you,” Race said quietly. “But, Albie, this is what I do. It’s who I am—who I’ve been.”

There was a fire in Race’s eyes that Albert had never seen before. Race wanted this. He believed in this. And standing in this dark alley with the moonlight gleaming in Race’s set expression, distant sounds of children screaming as Halloween continued far away from them, Albert couldn’t find it in himself to refute him.

“Alright,” he said shakily, “okay.”

Albert saw Race beam before he was enveloped in a bone-crushing hug from the taller man.

“Thank you, Albie. I’m so sorry,” Race whispered, then kissed Albert’s temple lightly.

“No, I am. Shit,” Albert‘s eyes widened, pulling himself away from Race. “I called Spot as backup, in case I was wrong about you. Fuck.”

Race’s eyes widened too before he pulled his mask back on, pressing two fingers to his palm and shooting his famous webbing into the sky. “Albie, I gotta—“

“Aw, but wait, shit,” Albert smacked his forehead. “I told him I called him about you. About Spider-Man. God, I’m an idiot.”

“Baby, how are you a cop?” Race sighed, the eyes narrowing on the mask.

“Shut up and punch me,” Albert frowned.

“Yeah oka—wait, what?” Race sputtered, incredulous.

“I can say you got away from me, but I need evidence,” Albert explained. “Just do it.”

“Baby, no I couldn’t ever…”

“Race.” Albert deadpanned. “I lied to you about being hurt. On Halloween night. For the sole purpose of tricking you.”

“Oh yeah,” Race growled, and Albert watched nervously as the eyes on Race’s mask started narrowing. “Albert DaSilva, you fucking dick, ruining my favorite holiday.”

“Wait, wait Ra—“ Albert’s eyes widened as Race’s fist wound up, remembering in that moment about the Spider’s extra strength.

Too late. Race’s fist hit his head like a sharp brick, Albert’s eyes rolling back as he slipped into darkness.

•••

He waded back into consciousness a while later, cracking his eyes open and seeing a blurry Spot Conlon’s dark eyes on the road, finger’s drumming his steering wheel of his cop car. “You’re the second biggest idiot I know, DaSilva,” Spot grumbled.

“I feel like a fuckin’ building jus’, like, bitch-slapped me,” Albert slurred, not daring to move. Everything felt like it was ringing, banging in his head. The traffic lights looked blinding through his slow blinks.

“‘Cause one did. You’re definitely gonna have a concussion, pal, that damned Spider got ya bad. You musta pissed him off.” Spot scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Al smiled messily. “Yeah, I did piss ‘im off,” he giggled.

“I hate your stupid ass.”

“Happy Halloween, Conlon,” Al sighed happily, closing his eyes.

“Shut up.”

————

fun right? also albert’s the dumbest cop in the city. at least that’s what spot tells everyone he knows

Just love Davey, what can I say? I’ll try and branch out to new characters soon guys, but I hope you guys like this slightly self-indulgent fic for now ;)

Davey x reader pairing. No warnings.

——–

“Y/N! Come downstairs at once, Mr. Inglesworth is at the door!”

You sighed, regretful setting aside your book and accepting your gloves and hat from the maid. Your mother clucked over you, brushing at your dress and worrying that your hair was not tidy enough. You dutifully followed her downstairs where Mr. John Inglesworth was waiting. He had been attempting to court you for several months – attempting because you wanted nothing to do with him. Certainly he was rich, handsome, everything you were supposed to be looking for in a husband, but you just didn’t like him. He had been nothing but courteous to you, but it was just a feeling you had, the way he’d phrase his remarks that had you reluctant to spend time in his company. He was also rather arrogant which did not help.

Your parents, however, were absolutely enamored with him and insisted on pushing you together at every opportunity. Thus today’s outing for a stroll around Central Park.

“Miss Y/L/N, what a delight it is to see you. And if I may say, you are looking particularly radiant today.” You smiled wanly as he bowed over your hand and placed a kiss upon it. Your skin tingled with annoyance and you quickly pulled on your gloves to resist the childish urge to scrub the back of your hand.

With a last goodbye to your mother you took hold of Mr. Inglesworths’ outstretched arm and he swept you out the door. Your residence overlooked Central Park, the close proximity being the reason you had insisted the outing take place there. You figured you could stroll for a little while, and if Mr. Inglesworth persisted in being irritating you could plead a headache and be done with him quickly. He began with his usual chatter, talking about only topics that interested him and bored you to tears, until he briefly mentioned, “I heard tell of a female reporter writing for The Sun. And not just the social pages, but front page stories! It’s a disgrace it is.”

You gritted your teeth in annoyance – that headache might not end up being fake after all.

“I think it’s wonderful,” you said, trying to keep your composure.

“Oh you females would naturally want to stick by one another but surely a woman of your status cannot possibly condone that sort of behavior.” He didn’t seem to actually expect a response to this, which was good because you had been about to say something very rude. You decide the best way to survive this outing would be to say as little as possible – not difficult with the amount of blather coming from Mr. Inglesworth. Just when you thought if you had to hear him speak one more word you would scream, an interruption blissfully came your way.

“Care to buy a pape, sir? Ma’am?” The question came from a nearby newsboy – though boy probably wasn’t the right word as he was a least the same age as you, if not slightly older. He was also rather nicely dressed for a newsie, and cleaner than most of the poor boys you saw running around hawking the headlines. Mr. Inglesworth didn’t seem to notice any of this though and merely snarled, “Not from the likes of you, you street urchin.”

Mr. Inglesworth began pulling you rather roughly away, as though being in proximity to someone from the working class would prove dangerous. The newsboy’s face became carefully blank, but you could see the anger behind his eyes. You dug in your heels and stated loudly, “Actually, Mr. Inglesworth, I would care for a paper. Please be so kind as to wait a moment while I purchase one.”

Mr. Inglesworth frowned, but stiffly said, “Very well.”

You turned to the newsie who now had a mischievous glint in his eyes, and asked, “Any good stories today?”

“Yes ma’am, there was quite the fire down at the docks last night, and there’s also an editorial on Roosevelt’s recent bill proposal.” He was educated too, it seemed.

“What’s your opinion on Roosevelt?” You asked this just to annoy Mr. Inglesworth – he detested Roosevelt, and you suspected this newsie would be in favor of him due to the recent strike.

“Oh he’s a brilliant man. I actually met him when he put his support behind the newsboy strike.”

You raised your eyebrows, impressed – if he had met Roosevelt that meant he was one of the leaders of the strike. You started to ask him more about it when Mr. Inglesworth gave a loud, aggravated sigh and said, “Miss Y/L/N I believe we should continue on – don’t want to deny this chap time to sell his newspapers” and gave a very insincere smile.

Annoyance flared up in you again, however this time you were forced to acknowledge that in this one instance Mr. Inglesworth might be right. You didn’t want to hurt the young man’s chances of selling all his papers. So you bid the newsie farewell with a smile, tucked your newspaper under your arm, and continued on with Mr. Inglesworth.

Spirits buoyed by having you to himself again, Mr. Inglesworth continued with his relentless chatter, and you tuned him out by thinking about the handsome newsie with the strong cheekbones and soft hands. You tuned him out so effectively, however, that you were caught completely off-guard when Mr. Inglesworth began sprouting off nonsense about how beautiful you were, how wonderful life would be as his wife, and promptly got down on one knee and asked you to marry him – in a public place!

“Do stand up,” you hissed, cheeks turning red at the sight of people staring. He obliged you in this instance, but kept a firm grip on your hands.

“I know this is a bit unorthodox, but I have already asked your father for his blessing and he has granted it, so I thought it best to get on with things. I’m thinking a spring wedding, though I-“

“Mr. Inglesworth!” you burst out.

“John, please. I believe at this point we can dispense with formalities,” he chuckled in what you were sure he thought was an indulgent manner, but merely came across as condescending.

“Mr. Inglesworth,” you said in a firmer tone, “While I appreciate very much the offer of your hand I am afraid that I must decline. Please accept my sincerest regrets.”

He appeared stunned, “You…decline?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Given that it just happened, I assure you it is.”

“But it is not possible! I am a gentleman of as high a stature as you could hope to marry! Your father has already given his approval, you cannot-”

“I believe the lady said no,” a quiet voice interrupted. “And a gentleman would accept her word.”

You both turned to see the newsie from earlier standing there, looking determinedly at Mr. Inglesworth. He was clearly trying to keep the situation calm, but held his body stiffly as though he was preparing for a confrontation.

Mr. Inglesworth swelled, getting ready to shout and you quickly stepped in, “John, people are staring. If you make a scene this is likely to get into the gossip columns. Please just go.”

Your remark seemed to remind him where he was, and how poorly his image would suffer if the rest of New York’s high society got wind of this. Shouting at a woman would never be viewed positively, no matter what the circumstances. He shot you one more venomous look and strode quickly away.

“Are you all right miss?”

You sighed with relief, “Yes, now that he’s gone. Thank you for stepping in.”

“You had him pretty well handled; I just thought you could use a bit of moral support.” Now that you were alone he had become wonderfully relaxed and seemed almost an entirely different boy than the one moments before.

“Well thank you all the same, Mr…?”

“Jacobs. My name is David Jacobs, but you may call me Davey if you’re comfortable with the ‘informality’.” You grin broadened and you said,

“Very well, Davey. You may call me Y/N if you wish.”

“May I walk you home since your escort so unceremoniously abandoned you?” he bowed and offered his arm, making you laugh and gratefully accept it. You could not help but notice his arm was more well-muscled than Mr. Inglesworth’s had been. This walk in the park certainly had taken a turn for the better.

“So tell me, what was Roosevelt really like?”

“Oh he was just as brusque and loud as you read in the papes, really takes charge of a room. My friend Jack is normally so sure of himself but he nearly fell apart after shaking his hand, it was so funny…”

You continued on, listening in interest as he told you about the newsie strike and the rest of his newsie brothers, all too soon end up back at the doorstep to your family’s townhouse.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Davey. And thank you again.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Y/N” Davey said as he bowed over your hand, placing a soft kiss on it and looked up at you with a slightly goofy smile which you returned.

“Will you be back in the park selling papers tomorrow?” you asked hopefully.

“Absolutely.”

the first of the royalty au i’ve been wanting to write :) its a cliche prince falling for a servant but i dont care, i love the concept and this turned out really well.

also i wrote this right after rereading kite runner, so for those of you that have read it you’ll get the reference.

—

The knock at the door comes late at night, right after she had finished with her duties for the day.

She opens the door, the boy slipping in quickly and quietly and closing it behind him.

His lips are on hers before she can greet him, hands tangling themselves in his hair and knocking the gold crown onto the bed.

“You brought that down here?” She mumbles agains his mouth, trying to suppress a smile.

“Came straight from the diplomatic meeting,” he responds, “wanted to see you, needed to see you,” he presses kisses down her neck.

“Al,” she breathes, the boys grip tightening around her waist.

“Missed you so much,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to hers, “hate not being able to see you whenever I want.”

“You could always call me into your chambers,” she says, “say it needs some extra cleaning. Might buy us a couple of minutes at least.”

“Every day?” Albert smiles, planting another kiss to her lips. “Might get a bit suspicious.”

“I just…” she shakes her head, “I hate having to pretend I don’t know you other than ‘yes your highness’, 'no your highness’, and 'can I take your laundry’.”

“I know, I know,” Albert sighs, “believe me, it kills me on the inside every time I watch you walk down the halls with clothes or plates or…” he trails off, shaking his head, “you deserve so much better, Y/N.”

“It’s not that that bothers me, Al,” she shrugs, “that’s my job, and it lets me see you everyday. What bothers me is I, I know how this is going to end, I know what has to happen…”

“What are you talking about?”

The girl lets out a scoff-like laugh, pulling away. She picks up the crown from the bed, twisting it around in her fingers, and then places it on his head, the gold glittering against his red hair.

“I’m talking about the fact that you’re a prince, Albert,” she says, “like next in line for the kingdom. I work in the palace…not exactly a suitable match.”

“You know I don’t care about all of that stuff,” Albert sighs, pulling the crown off of his head, “I don’t feel like a prince when I’m with you, I just feel like…me.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“The best thing,” he says, kissing her forehead.

The boy sits on the bed, pulling her down so she straddles his lap. He puts the crown on her, a soft smile taking over his face as it slips over her forehead.

“You look good in a crown,” he mumbles, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, “especially when it’s mine. You should wear one more often.”

“Can’t exactly wear your crown around the palace,” she says, “don’t have one of my own either.”

“You will,” he says without thinking, “one day.”

“Al…”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says the words, but they don’t sound genuine, “just…wanna forget I’m prince Albert for a while. Just wanna be me, just wanna be Al.”

“Kiss me,” she whispers.

“A thousand times over.”

—

Albert stops the girl in the hall, eyes darting around the empty space. He speaks quickly, quietly, not wanting to get caught.

“I need to see you,” he mutters, “tonight. There’s something we…something I need to talk to you about.”

She swallows, adjusting the laundry basket in her grip.

“Okay,” she says, “something wrong?”

“I,” he stops, “kinda, just…prince stuff. We can talk later,” he glances around the hall once more, and then presses a quick, loving kiss to her forehead, “around ten?”

“Yeah, I should be done by then,” she says, “meet at our spot?”

Albert smiles softly at the words, and nods.

Ten o'clock takes it’s time rolling around, Y/N leaving her room as soon as the bell rings out the time. She makes her way swiftly to the gardens, waiting by a rose hedge and twisting her fingers together in anxiety.

A pair of arms wrap around her waist, and he presses his lips to the top of her head.

“Hi love,” he says, turning her around to face him, “kinda scared you weren’t gonna show.”

“The world would have to come crashing down for me to not show,” she says, ruffling his hair, “you said you needed to talk? Sounded important.”

Albert drops his arms, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“They’re trying to get me to marry,” he whispers, “forcing me, really. Bringing in girls from all over to 'compete for my hand’, as my father put it.”

Y/N takes a step backwards, nodding.

“Okay, I understand,” she says softly, gaze fixed on the dirt, “you don’t have to explain anything to me. In all honesty, I knew how this would end. It’s not your fault.”

“What?” He furrows his eyebrows, placing his hands on her shoulders. “No, that’s not -”

“Albert, I get it,” she shakes her head, “you’re a prince, you’re expected to get married to someone for the kingdom’s sake, I knew that when we started this whole thing a year ago. It’s okay, really.”

“Y/N, stop, just,” he takes her face into his hands, causing her to lock eyes with him, “just listen to me, let me explain what’s going on.”

She stands silent, and Albert presses his lips to hers.

“They want me to marry, I can’t change their minds on that,” he mutters, “what I can do is make my own choice in who I marry.”

“Al,” she breathes, “what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Albert pauses, titling his head up to look at the stars. He lets out a scoff and runs a hand through his hair as he looks back down at her. “I’m saying I don’t get to make many of my own decisions in my life, and if they want me to get married I won’t fight that. I will fight for who I get to marry, for who I spend the rest of my life with. I won’t let them sell me off to which ever kingdom bids the highest.”

“I believe the princesses are the ones that get 'sold off’,” Y/N says, joking to try and cut the tension, “after all, you’ll still get to rule your own land.”

“You know what I mean,” he rolls his eyes, “and you know what I’m trying to say.”

She swallows, the nerves coming back.

“I think I do,” she whispers, “and I hope you’re not serious.”

Albert’s face falls.

“You…you don’t want to marry me?”

“What? No,” she shakes her hand, taking Albert’s hands in her own, “no I…god, Albert, I would give anything to marry you. But it’s not that simple, I don’t want you to ruin your life by fighting to marry me. You deserve someone to help you rule, someone who understand what’s going on in court, someone of nobility and of status.”

“You can be that person. You can help me rule, bring new point of views and new ideas to the kingdom,” Albert says, “we can learn court together, hell, I don’t know what’s going on half the time. And nobility, status…you know that means nothing to me. And you know I don’t judge people based on the families they happen to be born into.”

“I know you don’t care,” she says, “but Al, you’re an anomaly in this place. It wouldn’t go over that easy in court, your parents, the citizens…no one else would be okay with it, I can almost guarantee that.”

“I’m in love with you,” he breathes, eyes glistening under the moonlight, “can’t you see that?”

The girl freezes, this being the first time the boy had used the words. She swallows, and shakes her head.

“I love you, more than words can even express.” She places a hand on his cheek, heart heavy. “And that’s why I can’t let you spend you every day of the rest of your life fighting against everyone you know because of this decision.”

Albert takes a step back, and the girl’s hand drops to her side.

“I’ll abdicate, then,” he says, “they got Peter, he’s two years younger but he’ll do just as well as I would. We can go somewhere else, somewhere where we can just be us.”

“You…” her eyes widen, “you’d give up the throne, you’d give up your life…for me?”

“I’d give up the world for you.”

She almost doesn’t believe him at first, but looking at him with the beginnings of tears in his eyes under the starlight, something about the situation makes her chest ache.

“I love you, Y/N,” he says, “any girl they bring in won’t even hold a candle to you. I won’t be happy with any of them, and you don’t really want to condemn me to a life of unhappiness, do you?”

“You’ll make a good diplomat,” she whispers after a pause, shaking her head.

“Sorry?”

“You’re good at arguing, at talking people into things,” she sighs, and takes his hand in her own, “if this is what you want, if you’re sure this is the choice you want to make…you’re stubborn, I know I can’t stop you.”

“Is that a yes?” Albert questions, biting back a smile.

“Ask me again, properly,” she giggles.

Albert drops to one knee, holding her hands in his own.

“Y/N L/N,” he starts, a smile on his face, “you have been the one constant good thing in my life, and I never want that to change. This past year with you has been the best year of my life. Growing up, I always thought that I would get paired up with some princess from some other land and live a loveless life and then,” he pauses, shaking his head slightly, “god, then you walked into my room and treated me like me, not like some prince you were trying to impress. I could go on for hours but…long story short, I’m ridiculously in love with you, and I want nothing more in my life than to spend the rest of it with you, if you’ll have me. Y/N, my darling, my love…will you marry me?”

“A thousand times over,” she replies, pulling the boy up and pressing their lips together, “I love you so much, Albie.”

Albert groans, but it doesn’t sound sincere.

“I hate it when you call me that,” he says.

“You don’t,” she smiles, tangling her fingers in his hair as he kisses her forehead, “if you really did, you’d stop me, order me to not call you that or something.”

“You know I would never order you to do anything,” Albert says, caressing her cheek with a soft hand, “besides maybe help me pick out clothes in the morning, you know I’m terrible at matching things.”

The girl laughs, and leans her head onto his chest. He wraps his arms around her, holding her under the moonlight as they look out over the gardens.

“What are you gonna tell your parents?” She asks in a whisper.

“That I need someone by my side that I can trust to help me rule,” he starts, “someone that knows this place, knows what it’s like to grow up here. And regardless of what they think, it’s what’s best for me and for the kingdom, and that I’ll fight for you, a thousand times over.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow,” Albert says, “they’re planning on bringing the princesses here next week, we need to get ahead of that so they don’t waste money buying tickets and such.”

“Hmm, I can work with that,” she smiles, “we should get back, before someone notices you’re missing.”

Albert presses his lips to her knuckles.

“We’re gonna get through this,” he mumbles against her skin, “you and me, baby, together.”

“A thousand times over.”

—

part two maybe?

Imagine Peter having a Crush on You but he doesn’t know what to do other than lots and lots of cheesy pick up lines. (Requested by anon)

(I’m tumblr trash shhhh)

“Hey. (Y/n).” There was a whizz and suddenly Peter was sitting - or rather lying- on the desk which you’d been doing your homework on.

“Hello.” You said with a slight laugh, “What are you doing, Peter?”

“No, but you could be.” He winked cheesily, sliding off your desk. 

“What-” Oh, doing Peter. 

He laughed, “Sorry, I’m not very good at this.”

“At doing yourself?” You teased.

He rolled his eyes, “You’re just as bad, Missy.”

“Oh, and you would know I suppose?” You leaned forward, on your elbow on your desk.

Peter glanced around and then with a whoosh, he was gone. 

Walking down the hallway of the mansion the next morning you were suddenly stopped by Peter standing in front of you.

“Hello.” You said hesitantly.

“We have Chemistry right?” He suddenly blurted.

“As our next class?”

“Um yeah sure. See you when we have chemistry!” And he was gone, his hands leaving your shoulders as fast as they’d appeared there.

When you arrived in your next class with Peter he came to apologise to you.

“Hey (Y/n). Sorry about earlier. I’m feeling a bit off today.” He paused and then a grin spread over his features, “But you definitely turn me-” He broke off laughing. “I’m sorry I can’t do this.”

He vanished again, leaving you standing in the corridor again, as confused as ever. 

It was when you were sitting out on the grass with some friends, doing your homework and just talking when Peter next appeared.

You saw him out of the corner of your eye. He seemed to be slowly making his way over to you and his friends but he kept stopping to pick something up. Or somethings.

As he got closer you realised they were limes. He saw you and waved, dropping all the limes.

“Oh my god.” You muttered, getting up and running over to him to help.

“I’m sorry.” He said, being very clumsy with the limes. 

“It’s ok-”

Peter suddenly looked up at you, locking eyes. “Sorry. I’m bad at pick up limes.”

You stared at him, the smile spreading across your lips, before you grabbed him by the collar, pressing his lips to yours. You felt him smile before he kissed you back, dropping all the limes around you. 

When you pulled away, unable to keep the grin off your face, Peter smirked at you. “So uh.. hey, will you go out with me then?”

“Yes you dork.”

A/N: I know I said I would be posting a lot this weekend but I was unexpectedly very busy so at least there is a little content from me :)

Request: Hello there! I was wondering if you could do a Tony Stark x Reader fanfic? One where the reader got stood up by someone else and he is there to comfort them? I’m bad at this, sorry. -.-

Prompt: You’re excited for the first date you’re going on in a long time. But when your date doesn’t show up, you’re surprised to see the person you wanted to go on a date with all along.

Warnings: swearing, fluff

-

You sit at the beautifully set dinner table shaking your leg anxiously. Your date was supposed to arrive a half an hour ago. The man you’re expecting has been working at SHIELD for years. Being one of the top agents, you ran into him quite often. He’s cute, friendly, and knows how to make you laugh. When he asked you out to dinner a few days ago you happily agreed, even if this flirtatious coworker isn’t necessarily the man you have your eyes on.

No, the man you long to be with is none other than Tony Stark.

You and Tony have been the best of friends for a very long time. Ever since you started working at SHIELD you’ve have the biggest crush on him. You started out merely as an intern, and Tony was the one who talked you up Nick Fury in order for you to be promoted. Now you have the job of your dreams all thanks to your crush. However, you know he would never feel the same way. Tony is Iron Man for fuck’s sake, he could have any girl he wants. If only the girl he wanted were you.

More time passes as you sit in the fancy restaurant dreaming about Tony. Your date has still not arrived and your anxiety levels are increasing by the second. The wine glass in front of you is slowly draining as you sip it every once in a while to ease the tension between you and the empty chair seated across from you. The waiters steal glances at you as you eye the door in anticipation. Soon an entire hour has passed with you sitting all alone.

The waiter approaches your table and gives you the most sincere smile he can muster in a time where you clearly need comfort. “Ma’am, are you ready to order?”

“Not yet,” you reply, shaking your head. “I’m still waiting on someone.”

“Are you sure they’re coming?” he asks, trying to remain as polite as possible.

You grit your teeth in anger at his presumptuous question. “He’ll be here.”

“Right, okay, just let me know when you’re ready,” he says before walking away in a hurry.

You burry your face in your hands in embarrassment. How could you get stood up? It’s not even like you’re really into your date, you only agreed to go out with him because you wanted to give him a chance. You let a few more minutes go by before officially deciding your date is never going to show up. Your eyes wander around the tables as you spot happy couples devouring their delicious meals or clinking their glasses together with a laugh. Those interactions are something you desperately want. They’re moments you desire to share with Tony.

The waiter makes his way over to your table once more. His hands are clasped together and you notice he has his fake smile on again. “Ma’am…”

You roll your eyes before checking the door one last time. “Yeah, I know,” you mutter. The waiter nods and steps back so you can stand from your chair.

“I’m here! I’m here! Don’t worry!”

You and the waiter turn toward the front door that was just thrown open. Tony stands there yelling and making a scene as he jogs over to your table. “Tony?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at your friend.

“I apologize for how late I am, darling, but I’m here now,” he replies, taking a seat in the chair across from you.

“Mr. Stark, is there anything I can get for you, sir?”

“We’re going to have your finest bottle of champagne, please,” he retorts with a grin.

“Certainly, sir,” the waiter acknowledges before dashing to the kitchen.

“You look rather fine this evening, Y/N,” Tony flirts as his eyes wander up and down your frame. He smiles at you from across the table and you meet his mischievous gaze.

 “Tony…” You lean forward and keep your voice low. “What are you doing here?”

“Obviously I’m here for our date.”

“Well…I…I just wasn’t…” you stutter, unable to compose a complete sentence.

“You weren’t expecting your date to be me?”

You shake your head with a laugh. “I guess not.”

“Listen,” he starts, his tone more serious now. “I saw the agent that asked you out back at Avengers Tower. He had no intentions of coming tonight, Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“What was he doing there?” you mumble.

“Well,” Tony scoffs, his brown eyes falling on the door. “He was busy flirting with one of the new interns.”

“Oh…”

“I had both of their asses fired.”

Your eyes widen. “You did? Why?”

Tony smiles, his eyes locking with yours. “Because I don’t want anyone who hurts you to be working for me,” he asserts.

“Thanks, Tony,” you reply, a slight blush creeping up to your cheeks. “That means a lot to me.”

“Anytime, kid,” he conveys. “Plus, I like to think I’m much better company.”

“Definitely,” you agree. “You’re much better than that asshole.”

Tony distractedly glances around the open space of the restaurant. “He certainly can’t pick a place for a proper date.”

“Tony this is the nicest restaurant in this part of the city,” you defend.

“I don’t like it here. I’m going to take you somewhere that we’d actually enjoy,” he declares, standing from his seat. You stand up as well and Tony extends his hand to you. As you head for the door you run into the waiter who is carrying the bottle of champagne Tony ordered. “We’re going to be taking that to go.”

The waiter hands him the bottle. “Of course, sir. Shall I put it on your tab?”

“That would be great, thanks,” Tony calls as he escorts you outside.

You stop walking as Tony pops open the bottle. “So you don’t like that restaurant yet somehow you have a tab there?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“Well, I get dinner there sometimes but I don’t think it’s for us, you know?”

“Us?”

“Yes…us.” Tony nods, taking a swig from the bottle and handing it to you. “I know a place you’ll like a whole lot better.”

You and Tony walk along the empty, city streets hand in hand, passing each other champagne every once in a while for a quick sip. He intends on taking you to a different place to eat and he comes to a halt right outside a burger joint. He holds his hands up high, displaying the front of the restaurant to you with a goofy grin on his face.

“This is the place?” you chuckle. Tony nods eagerly. “I love it.”

Tony leads you through the doors and drops you off in a brightly colored booth. You drink from the champagne bottle as you watch Tony order two burgers and fries at the front register. You admire the way he communicates with people so nicely and confidently. Those are the qualities you love about Tony and they play a huge part in why you fell for him in the first place. It’s unbelievable to you that Tony is so kind to the point where he is willing to help out a friend that just got stood up. Not only that, but he took you to a place where you and him can have fun. You shake your head and gulp down another sip from the drink, knowing Tony Stark has you in so much trouble.

He returns a few minutes later with your meal. The two of you eat the greasy food, enjoying every second of it. You down almost the entire bottle of alcohol and it’s evident you’re both getting increasingly tipsy after every gulp. Tony tells you hilarious stories and cracks jokes that make you laugh so hard it hurts. He listens to you share anecdotes about your life and loves hearing the way you talk about your friends and family. You lose track of time and soon you’re being kicked out of the restaurant as it closes.

Tony stumbles beside you on the sidewalk as the two of you giggle from the drunkenness. He notices you shivering in the cold air of the night and removes his suit jacket, wrapping it around your bare shoulders. You offer him an adoring smile. “Thanks, Tony.”

He brushes it off. “No problem.”

“No, really,” you say. “Thank you so much for everything tonight.”

“You don’t need to thank me, “ he clarifies. “I…I wanted…to come tonight and I ended up having an even better time than expected.”

You grin at his words, your cheeks heating up at the thought of knowing Tony enjoyed a date with you. You know it isn’t because of the alcohol or the fact that you and Tony are great friends, this is truly genuine. He takes your hand again as you walk, nearing your apartment building. You come to a stop and turn to look at Tony when you reach your home.

“Well…this is me.”

“I really did have a wonderful time with you tonight, Y/N,” he reassures.

“So did I,” you respond, looking deep into his brown eyes.

“I’d definitely like to take you out again sometime…” he adds, glancing down at your lips. “…on another date.”

Your eyes fall on his lips as well and the two of you lean forward slowly. His soft lips fall onto yours gently for a sweet, loving kiss. The kiss quickly grows deeper and more passionate as he brings a hand up to the side of your face to pull you closer into him. When he pulls away you can tell he is reluctant. Your eyes remain closed and you can hear him catching his breath.

“Goodnight, Tony,” you whisper with a grin. You slowly back away from him towards your building.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He returns your smile and walks off excitedly with confident steps. You’re so thankful that you got stood up tonight.

permanent tag list:

@lolabean1998 @thisismysecrethappyplace @crazystarlady

marvel tag list:

commission for the AMAZING @itsallavengers ! thank you so much, I hope you enjoy this!

on AO3

“Is something wrong?” Steve asks the third day in a row that Tony refuses to sit in his usual spot at the breakfast table.

Tony stiffens slightly at Steve’s words, shuffling in his new chair, as far away from Steve as he can manage.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Tony tells him unconvincingly, propping up his pad in front of him. He won’t look at Steve, won’t meet his eye. “I just have work to do, you know.”

Steve really doesn’t know - what could be so important it couldn’t wait ten minutes for Tony to eat his goddamn toast? - but he just nods, looking down at his own soggy cereal. There’s something tight in his throat, but he swallows another spoonful down anyway, tasting it like foam in his mouth.

Steve really has to figure out why Tony is so opposed to him reading his mind.

~

peter takes note of his tone when tony says it, and shoves the envelope in his briefcase quickly, willing the thoughts of tony dying away to the darkest parts of his mind, never to be remembered again.

he calls him tony cause he’s gray now and peter has two of his own kids, it would be a reach to pretend to still be a naive teen under his protection.

~

he has no time for crying, not until he informs everyone of tony’s-

he promised to do this.

peter finds the old envelope at the back of his closet and when he opens it with shaky fingers, he finds a few short instructions on who to invite to tony starks funeral scribbled on a worn, tear-stained piece of paper, and well, he’s confused.

theres the old avengers, of course, and peters breath hitches a little when he sees that steve’s name is underlined. old captain died not long after they put thanos away, from a stray bullet that some pedestrian didnt see coming, couldnt have. the new captain, sam, was also on the list, as well as james barnes, now a farmer in clints neighborhood.

the weird part are the couple of unfamiliar names and he racks his brain for faces that could be connected to them, but he doesnt recollect any, no matter how hard he tries.

he kisses michelle on the cheek and muses his younger kids hair before putting on the suit and heading out to track the remaining people down and invite them in person.

one of them turns out to be a hot dog stand worker, and he zones out when peter informs him of tony’s death. he says how he offered a sad looking tony a free hot dog to make him laugh, which he did, and in turn tony paid for his sons tuition, and left wads of money every morning to pay forward for anyone that stops by the cart. he upgraded the wheels not so long ago, when it became a bit hard to push the cart around. now they seemed to move on their own, he said, still staring at some point behind peter, and he was sure that the last thing on this mans mind were the wheels of his hot dog cart.

the next name belongs to a guy around peter’s age, but taller and a bit more pale. he has grease stains on his shirt and a welding mask on his head when he opens the door for peter and invites him inside for a glass of powerade.

peter thinks that this must be how tony was like back when peter wasnt born yet.

he tells the guy - harley, nice to meet you, now what did that old man do this time? - the news, and watches him sag against the chair, watches him cry as he stares at the wall, watches his shoulders shake and the tears mix with the black smudge of oil on his cheek.

he whispers “fucking hell, dad” as he wipes his face and peter finally gets it, but he doesnt realize he’s crying as well until hes outside again.

theres an old lady in the guest room waiting on him, her eyes a hazy blue of someone who sees a world different to ours. she’s sweet and shoves two hard candies in his front pocket in a fast motion, as if they were something forbidden around here. peter informs her of tony’s death and she smiles at the name, tony, tony, i knew a tony, he visited me every third day and brought lillies each time! she also remembers her fiancé, he was a top secret spy, she tells him in a hushed voice, and realization hits peter like a train as his mind takes him back to when tony told him about the avengers beginnings and agent coulson who never got to see his- before he-

shes a sweet lady, and surprised that he didnt try to explain her that she made the whole spy thing up like her friends from the senior home always do. this nice boy believes her story, so she gives him one more candy and forgets why he’s even there.

name by name, he meets people whose lives tony has changed personally, just like he did his all those years ago, and peter thinks back to all those times that tony refused to dispute articles about his arrogance or comments on his heartless antics. theres a retired teacher on that list, one that says he worked in one of the schools tony opened where everything is free for students from foster care and the kids whose parents could use the financial relief. there is also a woman in her fifties crying into peters shoulder when he gives her the news, but she collects herself before the kids swarm her and their new visitor in the foster home she works in, called maria. the woman grew up in a bad foster home, and gave an interview about her experiences once. years later tony contacted her about his idea, and funded every wish she had for the place, giving her the freedom to make it into what she wished she had back when she was like all these kids that now looked sad, because iron man won’t visit anymore with cool new toys and fast food for everyone.

when he’s done with the list two days later, they’re all sitting in tony’s mom’s favorite church, with purple and teal stained glass windows shining down colors on a simple black casket. peter hears colonel rhodes’ voice waver at the end of each sentence of a eulogy that closed with: “you never believed me tony, when i told you you were a hero. and that, thats what made you the hero we all needed. ill miss you, dont do anything stupid now that im still not over there to yell at you,” and they all laughed through tears.

fake dating

SECRET dating

being locked in a room or trapped in a small space

huDDLING FOR WARMTH

BEING ON THE BRINK OF ADMITTING THEIR FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER BUT THEN GETTING INTERRUPTED

finishing each other’s sentences, KNOWING WHAT THE OTHER IS ABOUT TO SAY

tou chi NG!!!! FOr eheA DS!!!!!!11!!

wearing each other’s clothes

doing that thing where they accidentally get real close and, like, stare meaningfully at each other for a few seconds too long

channeling the inner romcom and having an epiphany about how much they care about each other and RACING TO CONFESS THEIR LOVE

fucking. Now or Never Kiss

HEIGHT DIFFERENCES

defending each other to scathing tertiary or otherwise minor characters but ONLY WHEN THE OTHER ISN’T AROUND

reincarnation or time loop or OOOOH TIME TRAVEL SCENARIOS

dramatically saving each other from certain death or barely surviving something that almost makes the other break down and just smirking wearily and mumbling flippant smartass remarks to HIDE THE DEPTH OF THEIR FEELINGS

undercover as lovers, the classic

ALMOST KISSING. like getting so close that they start to close their eyes and hold their breath and then SOMETHING HAPPENS and they jump apart, that is MORE VALUABLE THAN ANY ACTUAL KISSING

casually sitting on each other’s laps during ensemble cast conversations or scenes

anon: Ooo could I request the #1 prompt “You’re really soft” with Spot Conlon? I feel like that could be fun - love your writing btw!

this kinda went off the rails but it features oblivious, protective, and sweet spot conlon so it’s cute.

1: “You’re really soft.”

—

“You’re really soft.”

Spots’s eyes shoot open at her words, looking down at the girl laying on his chest.

“Whaddya means?”

“I just mean…” she trails off, giving half a shrug, “you’s comfortable, I like layin’ like this.”

Spot hums a bit, and she can’t tell whether it’s a noise of content or contemplation.

“I like layin’ like this too,” he finally says, “I like bein’ with you’s.”

It’s her that hums this time, choosing not to speak the words that want to come out.

I wish we could be together in public.

“Go to sleep doll,” Spot whispers, “we’s got sellin’ to do tomorrow.”

Spot pulls her closer, and she presses a soft kiss to his chest, willing her thoughts away as she falls to a fitful sleep.

“Any particular reason I saw Y/N goin’ into your room last night?” Checks asks from the door frame, half a smirk on her face.

“Nothin’ that concerns you,” Spot responds, one eyebrow raising as an invitation to argue.

She doesn’t take it, instead she lifts her hands in surrender and takes a step back.

“Jus’ askin’,” she replies, eyes twinkling, “thought ya was goin’ soft.”

The meant-be-teasing words hit Spot hard, and his fists tighten on his suspenders as Checks walks away, letting a frustrated stream of air leave through his nose.

“We have to be more careful,” he says as Y/N comes out from behind the door, “Checks is one thing, but if any'a the boys see us ‘n word gets ou-”

“Yeah, Spot, I know,” she cuts him off, lacing up her boots, “check the hall, would you? I gotta get my hat from my bunk.”

Spot swallows back his retort, nodding instead. He sticks his head out of the door, and singles that it’s clear. She presses a gentle kiss to his cheek, pulling away sooner than he’d like and slipping out of his room into the empty hall.

—

“Hey!” Spot calls to her that afternoon, pulling her gently but forcefully into a back alley. “You’s been avoidin’ me all day, what’s goin’ on?”

“Nothin’,” she shrugs, pulling her hat down over her eyes, “didn’t sleep good s'all, wanted t’ get done sellin’ so I ’s could try to go back 'n sleep some more.”

Spot lifts a hand to her cheek, trying to comfort her.

“Is you sure it’s jus’ bein’ tired? I don’t need t’ soak anyone do I?”

Not unless you can soak yourself.

“I wouldn’t wanna give anyone the impression that you’s soft on me,” she spits, swiping his arm away as she leans against the brick, “I’ll be fine. I jus’ need to finish.”

Spot keeps his arms by his side, regardless of how much he wants to hold her. They’re too exposed, too public, and she’s right; people can’t know Spot Conlon has a weakness.

“How many papes ya got left?” He asks.

She shifts slightly, uncomfortably, and shrugs.

“Five or six,” she says, “I should get rid'a them soon.”

“Give 'em 'ere,” Spot says, holding up a hand to stop her argument, “I would do it for any'a the fellas, so Imma do it for you’s. Go back 'n get some rest.”

She grumbles something inaudible under her breath, but takes the bag off her shoulder all the same, practically shoving it into Spot’s chest.

“Y/N,” he says, grabbing her wrist before she can walk away, “if somethin’s botherin’ you’s, you can tell me,” he talks quietly, trying to catch her gaze, “I want you’s t’ tell me.”

She shakes her head, letting out a soft sigh as she notices the worry in his eyes. The girl reaches up and kisses him softly, quickly, pulling away before someone can walk by.

“I’ll see you later, then,” she whispers, “thanks, for takin’ my papes.”

“Course doll,” Spot nods, giving her as soft as a smile as he’s able to muster, “see you later.”

Checks walks in on her laying in her bunk, arm thrown over her eyes to block out the light.

“What’s wrong with you?” She asks, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“Nothin’” Y/N mumbles, “just a headache. Needed some rest.”

“Hmm,” she nods slowly, “'n what’s goin’ on with you 'n Conlon?”

Y/N moves her arm, glaring at Checks while simultaneously squinting at the bright light.

“What the hell is you on 'bout?” She asks. “Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on 'tween me 'n Spot.”

“C'mon now, Y/N,” Checks chastises, raising an eyebrow, “I ain’t an idiot. I’s seen you slip in 'n outta Spot’s room four times this week alone. You’s can trust me.”

Y/N puts her arm back over her face, groaning. Checks speaks again.

“Spot’s gone soft on you’s, hasn’t he,” she teases, unable to stop the smile that spreads across her face.

“No idea what you’s talkin’ 'bout,” Y/N says unconvincingly, and Checks claps in excitement.

“Oh my god I knew it!” She says, and Y/N groans again. “Everythin’ makes so much more sense now! He’s been actin’ all weird lately, I knew it had somethin’ t’ do with you.”

Y/N sits up quickly, looking the girl directly in the eyes.

“You can’t say nothin’,” she says, “if Spot finds out you knows he’ll flip. Please, Checks. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Course I won’t,” Checks shakes her head, “no one will know til you 'n Spot say somethin’, I can promise you that.”

Y/N nods, heartbeat slowing back to normal. She brings her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees.

“So he doesn’t want anyone to know?” Checks asks gently.

“Doesn’t want word gettin’ out that he’s gone soft,” Y/N mutters, “can’t have the other boroughs hearin’ that the great King of Brooklyn has human emotions.”

“You care 'bout 'im though?” Checks asks. “'N he’s good t’ you’s?”

“I do,” she admits, “'n he is, for the most part. He doesn’t…he doesn’t mean to be the way he is, at least I don’t think so. I know he’s tryin'a protect me, tryin'a keep the peace and whatnot, but, honestly Checks, it hurts. Having to hide this, it’s driving me crazy. Sometimes…sometimes I think he’s hiding it because he doesn’t want to be with me in the long run. That I’m just what’s available right now.”

“Do you really think that little of yourself?”

Both girls attention snaps to the boys voice from the door, Y/N’s eyes widening in fear.

“Shit, Spot, I di-”

“I figured it out,” Checks cuts the girl off, “I guessed it, it’s not her fault.”

“I don’t care that you know, Checks,” Spot shakes his head, stepping closer, “hell, at this point I don’t care if the entire country knows. Do you really think that I’m only with you because you’re what’s around? That’s so messed up, Y/N, I’m so fuckin’ in love with you’s it makes my head spin. And if me askin’ you’s to keep this 'tween us caused you to think that you’s anythin’ less than the best thing that has ever happened to me’s than hell, I’ll tell everyone in New York myself, 'cause the last thing I want is you thinkin’ that I don’t care.”

They sit in silence as she processes his words, jaw hanging open slightly.

“Spot I…” she shakes her head, “you love me?”

Spot shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I do,” he says, “I messed up by tellin’ you to keep this a secret, I’m sorry.”

“God I don’t care about that,” she stands, walking over to him, “I love you too, you idiot. Quit rambling and just kiss me.”

The boy does as she suggests, pressing his lips to hers as his hands cup her cheeks. She steadies herself, one hand messing the hair on his neck and the other resting on his chest.

“I thought I was protecting you,” he mumbles, forehead pressed against hers, “I thought that if the others found out they’d try t’ get t’ me through you’s. 'N I didn’t want that t’ happen, I didn’t want you’s to get hurt because of me.”

“You soft on me or somethin’ Conlon?” She teases, and this time Spot smiles.

“Soft on you, sweet on you,” he lets out a bit of a laugh, “whatever you wanna call it, that’s what I am. 'N I ain’t gonna hide it anymore.”

She kisses him again, and Checks has to cough to break them apart.

“Sorry Checks,” Spot smiles a bit, “forgot you was in 'ere for a minute.”

“S'alright,” Checks shrugs, standing, “I’ll jus’ leave you’s to it, 'n I’ll keep the boys outta 'ere.”

“'Preciate it,” Spot calls after her as she leaves, “so, you weren’t really tired earlier, huh.”

“I was annoyed,” she admits, and the two sit down on the bunk, “tired of hidin’ it, tired of havin’ t’ sneak 'round my own borough. Sorry I was short with you.”

“I’m the King of Brooklyn,” Spot says, “if I can’t handle a little bit of push back I shouldn’t be in charge.”

“You really are a softie, you know that,” she laughs lovingly, climbing into his lap after he opened his arms and leaning her head on the space between his shoulder and his neck, “I love you, Sean.”

The boy places a kiss on the top of her head.

“I love you too,” he mumbles, unable to keep the smile off of his face, “lets get some food,” he suggests, “together. Checks can stay with the fellas, make sure they get on okay. I wanna take you out.”

“I’m all yours.”

—