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Stranger Things boys and when they fell for you.

AN: Did I make this just because I wanted to post a picture of Steve in his yellow shirt that I love so much? Yes, that's exactly what I did.

Steve Harrington

It had been another day working with you and Robin at the video store that was like every other: you would finish shelving the vhs tapes, Robin would work the cash register, and Steve would do anything else (and flirt with the lady customers)

You had just finished putting away the new movie "The Breakfast Club," when all of a sudden Steve had grabbed your wrist and turned you to face him.

Wild eyed with red cheeks, Harrington was truly a sight to be seen as he frantically searched around in his pants pocket, for what you didn't know.

"What's wrong, Steve?" You asked, noticing his manic state.

"Does my hair look okay?" He asks, patting down the sides of his head and then deciding to ruffle it back up again. His eyes kept darting to the back of the store towards the romance movies and that's when you saw her: Laura. Guys fawned over her all the time and were desperate for her attention, I guess it didn't surprise you that Steve felt the same.

Fixing his parting by running your fingers through his hair, Steve had a starting realization.

He was horribly infatuated with this.

Laura suddenly became a topic of the past as he watched you work his hair into the right shape, stepping back and eyeing your work.

"It looks good now, go get her!" You encouraged and went back to finishing your task.

Needless to say, Steve walked back to the front counter and confided in Robin about how this was the beginning of something between the two of you.

Billy Hargrove

Billy wasn't the most in tune with his emotions and how he felt about you, but he knew that there was something in him that wanted to be around you all the time and that searched desperately for your approval.

Sitting in his car on the way to school, he had offered to drive you just like everyday and Bon Jovi played on the speakers, also as usual.

You had been intently staring out the window watching the town of Hawkins pass as the two of you made your way to the school; fingers drumming against your notebook that you had brought from home.

"Are those the math notes from yesterday?" He asks you, voice gruff but still soothing. You were the only person he treated with such respect and there was something about that exclusivity that made you fall for him even harder. You just wish it was mutual.

"Uh yeah, they are." You said, shifting in your seat. They most definitely were not the math notes but rather your diary which included all about how you felt towards your friend. You were bringing it to school to photocopy some of the drawings you had doodled in the back of it.

"May I borrow them? I'm totally failing Mrs. Hampton's class." He threw out a smile and held out one of his hands to collect the book in question, the other hand on the steering wheel.

"You should be looking at the road silly. But yes, you can borrow them." You said, handing over the book. You were terrified to say the least, but this might be your only chance of properly communicating how you felt.

"Thanks." He said and put the book under his thigh as the ride continued. Once you approached the school, you got out of the car and smiled at Billy. "Love ya." You said, a normal phrase among the two of you.

"Love ya too." He says, immediately starting to go back to the gruff and tough Billy that the rest of Hawkins High was used to. It was cute.

Once you had gone, Billy remembered that he conveniently had a math test on this specific Tuesday morning, so he decides to open your notebook and study as he walked down the hall.

Let's just say, he was glad to know that you felt the same way as him; pining after you for so long, it was nice for him to find out that getting you to be his would be easier than he thought.

Eddie Munson

You had met him at an odd store of sorts, one that specialized in board games and such. You had collected a Ouija board for your own pleasure later and that's when you noticed a giant mass of fluffy hair stationed below the counter looking through the Dungeons and Dragons dice.

"Hey," you said, startling the man on the floor, "Is this where I'm supposed to pay?"

Jumping up from the counter with his shirt acting as a bowl full of ten and twelve sided dice of all different colors, the man was just slightly taller than you with a bagel in his mouth. Dropping the dice onto the counter, he took the bagel out and smiled. "Yes! That's what I work here for!"

Giggling, you set the board down on the counter and watch the mysterious guy ring you up. "You're buying a Ouija board to play with friends?" He asks, trying to start conversation. He might've thought he was being discreet about it, but the pink blush dusting his cheeks gave him away.

"Not really, I was gonna play by myself since everyone was busy." You said, smiling at him.

He would've gotten down on one knee and popped the question right there with that response.

"That's so badass." He said, rubbing the bagel seeds onto his white shirt labeled "The Hellfire Club."

"Why thank you. You know, if you're not busy you could join me sometime. I have a couple of beers at my place." You state with a matter-of-fact tone.

"Underage drinking? Totally in." He says, giving you the heart eyes and handing you your receipt.

"Great. When do you get off of work?"

"9:00" he sighs, looking at the clock which read 5:00pm. Looked like he wasn't getting to spend time with you soon.

"What if we just pop it open and play in here?" You offer, throwing your purse on the counter and hopping over it, taking a bite of his bagel.

Eddie Munson asked you out that very day.

What type of fics are your favorite to write?

Oooh this is a hard one! A lot of my fics are based on my personal experiences with certain events, and I just happen to write the characters into settings I've dealt with while also keeping it pertaining to their storylines. However, I would definitely say my favorite type would be fluff. Just the snuggly lovey stuff with a couple of dad jokes here and there.

As for characters, it depends on whatever I'm into! As of recent, I've been watching Bullet Train a lot so I've written for Tangerine and Ladybug, but I'm sure it'll change and I'll go on a spree for writing someone else soon.

Thank you for asking!! I hope you have the most wonderful day!

💛🦐

sexy mustache men who name themselves after a fruit >>

TAEMIN  ✦  SEXUALITY  ✦  The 1st Stage Nippon Budokan

Goddamn Namjoon 💍🦆

wow he’s so fine [cr. dwellingsouls]

This just made my day omg it's so cute 💛🦐

Dog Days (TASM!Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: You might have been ever so slightly perturbed about Peter seeing you in your underwear if he wasn’t sporting a large cut along his jawline; one that looked achingly fresh.

“Did you shave with a machete this morning?” You asked, stepping out of the doorway and making room for him to enter.

“A scythe, actually,” Peter deadpanned.

Words: 2.4k

A/N: Andrew Garfield!Spiderman; friends to lovers; heated make-out; cursing; minor injury; mutual pining; possible part 1 of 2? characters are in college & of age.

It was hot. That sticky kind of hot that clung to you and made you feel like tearing your skin off. That makes the sweat pool at the nape of your neck until it slides in a cold streak down the curve of your spine. The New York air was shimmering, alive with exhaust fumes and the output of overworked air conditioning units of every apartment on your block—except for yours. The dumbass thing had broken overnight and when you woke up at five a.m., damp and uncomfortable, you’d called your best friend knowing he’d make a quick fix of it.

But you’d gotten his voicemail, unsurprising given that he’d never been a morning person. Since you’d met him three years ago at freshman orientation, Peter Parker had perfectly offset you in every way. Where he could stay in bed until noon, you were decidedly not a night owl, often cosy in your pyjamas by ten p.m. Peter had a sharp wit and loved to tease, and though his wit brought out a sharp tongue you’d never known you had, you were infinitely shyer than he was. He was perpetually late to everything from the Christmas dinner you’d invited him to at your parents’ home to your final exam for Organic Chemistry—which he’d passed with flying colours—whereas you were punctual to a fault. And perhaps most significantly, you’d never known heartbreak in your life, never had the opportunity because you’d never given anyone your heart to begin with. Peter’s heart, you knew, had endured the worst kind of break. Though he only spoke of her sometimes, you knew his high school girlfriend had died tragically and each year you went with him to visit her resting place, holding his hand and running your thumb over his knuckles as gently as you could. The depths of that pain, written on his face and in his body language whenever he spoke of Gwen, made you steel yourself against love, afraid to give yourself to anyone in case you left them broken and alone.

There was a flaw in your plan to avoid love forever though, and that was Peter himself. As much as you’d tried to swallow them, shut them up in the deepest pits of your soul, bury them where they’d never see the light of day, your feelings for him had only grown in the last three years. At first it was a little thrill each time his eyes met yours, a tingle on your skin when his fingers grazed your own while you shared a carton of fries at a Yankees game. That had grown, exploded really, into a brilliant whirl of colours every time you heard his voice—a sort of love-induced synesthesia that turned Peter’s laughter yellow and his whispers soft purple and his calling your name the deepest, richest scarlet.

You’d fallen desperately in love with your best friend and you were resolutely not going to do anything about it, thank you very much.

“Y/N!” There was a knock at the door of your cramped apartment that drew you out of your crossword puzzle—stuck, as you were, on 18-Down. “It’s Peter!”

You’d barely heard the knock over the sound of Eminem in your headphones, but there was no mistaking Peter’s voice. You were at the door, earbuds abandoned on the coffee table, pulling it open before you remembered that you’d traded in your baggy David Bowie tee and jean shorts for a barely-there camisole and blue panties of the lightest cotton. You might have been ever so slightly perturbed about Peter seeing you in your underwear if he wasn’t sporting a large cut along his jawline; one that looked achingly fresh.

“Did you shave with a machete this morning?” You asked, stepping out of the doorway and making room for him to enter.

“A scythe, actually,” Peter deadpanned. If only you’d known he was being entirely serious—his neck having had a near miss with some villain’s techno-reproduction of a classic medieval weapon only hours ago. “It’s hot as hell in here, Y/N. Are you trying to get me naked?”

Your cheeks flushed and you made quick work of rolling your eyes as dramatically as possible, trying to distract Peter from the change of colour in your face. He was an expert at changing the subject, so much so that you’d long since given up trying to get him to talk about anything he didn’t want to, such as why he was chronically late or where he’d disappeared to that night you had tickets for the Rangers playoff game, or how he managed to find time to workout with his ridiculous school schedule and familial duties because god damn, his arms—you stopped yourself from letting that thought full form, knowing it would send you down a rabbit hole.

“Don’t think I’m not keeping a tally of every time you dodge my questions,” you muttered, moving to the refrigerator and opening it briefly to let some cool air out on your heated chest. The emptiness of the shelves reminded you that you really needed to get groceries because ramen noodles, eggs, and the rapidly decaying bananas on the counter would not keep you alive forever. “And didn’t you get my voicemail?”

“No,” Peter shrugged, “I saw you left me one but thought I’d just swing by.” A small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, though you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what the joke was.

“Well, the AC is broken,” you informed him, straightened up and facing him where he stood in your living room, his tall and lean frame a familiar sight there alongside the stacks of textbooks and novels, the record player, and the pile of throw pillows you couldn’t stop collecting. For a long moment, Peter stared at you, his head tilted slightly to the side as if he was just now seeing you since coming in. You felt much more naked than you actually were under his stare and shifted your weight from one leg to the other, your hand coming to tug down at the hem of your camisole. Peter had seen you nearly nude before, but this felt—different. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the unfamiliar expression that flashed across his eyes. Either way, it had you squeezing your legs together as subtly as possible. If Peter noticed, he didn’t let on.

“That explains the outfit,” he grinned, tone light, though you noticed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed hard.

“It was hardly my first choice,” you shot back, “But anyways, now that you’re here do you think you could fix it?”

“This feels like the start of a por—”

“Don’t say it, Parker,” you cut him off with a warning glare, eyes wide. Peter only laughed, though stopped almost immediately, favouring his jaw. Already it looked like the gash was healing and you wondered where he’d gotten it from—it reminded you, oddly, of the ankle he’d “sprained” while showing you a skateboarding trick last summer. You would swear up and down, on every holy text that existed, that you’d seen his bone popping out of his skin. But the next day he’d been absolutely fine and you were certain that the limp he’d had for a week was half-faked.

“Y/N? Are you alive in there?” Peter’s amused voice drew you from your reverie and you nodded, running your fingers through your hair to get it out of your face.

“Alive and well,” you reported, “So you think you can fix it?”

***

As it turned out, Peter could fix the AC unit, but he’d need to pick up a part at the hardware store down the street. While he examined the ancient device mounted on your bedroom wall, you sat perched on your bed, silky pink blankets long since tossed to the floor, watching him with interest, noticing everything about the way his hands moved carefully over the shabby metal, the way his brow furrowed when he peeked inside the unit, and the way his eyes crinkled when he announced that it wouldn’t be an issue to repair.

For his part, Peter knew your eyes were on him—he wouldn’t go so far as to call it Spidey-sense, he just knew you and he’d had an inkling of the feelings you harboured for him for quite some time, though that part probably was Spidey-sense. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way, because god knows he did, but he was terrified to let himself fall in love again; beyond hesitant to ever let anyone get hurt again because of him. But then there was the way you looked at him, your eyes sparkling with delight when he made a stupid joke. And the way you said his name, like it was a magic spell wrapping itself up inside him and making him forget everything other than your voice. Yes, he loved you—more deeply than he’d thought he’d ever love again—but he was afraid to be in love with you.

When he delivered the happy news that he’d be able to get cool air back into your apartment, he felt his heart swell at the look of relief on your face.

“You’re my hero, Pete,” you said earnestly, “Really and truly.”

You had no idea.

“Yeah,” he said lightly, “I’m the best.” He saw the pillow coming at him even before it fully left your hands and dodged it in a swift, graceful motion.

“That’s not very nice,” Peter grinned wolfishly at you and your heart fluttered, “Here I am helping you out like a dear old gentleman and you throw things at me.” With another two quick, almost instantaneous steps, he was at your bedside, his hands coming down to your ribcage, fingers curling in as he began to tickle you mercilessly. You couldn’t do much more than squeal, kicking gently to get him off of you, whining his name as you begged him to stop.

“Peter!” you cried out, “It’s too hot for this!” There were tears in your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks and your bottom lip was swollen from where you were biting it to try to keep control of your laughter. Looking down at you, Peter knew he was finished, absolutely doomed, to fall into the warm and beautiful void that was loving you.

His fingers paused their attack and you both seemed to take stock of the position you found yourself in; you, flat on your back in bed, hair a dishevelled mess haloed out over your head; him, legs spread so that they were straddling your hips, his arms on either side of your body, lean muscles holding him up.

“Pete—” you whispered, eyes fluttering down to where your bodies met, lashes wet with unshed tears.

He blinked once, twice, three times, a pregnant pause in the hot air before his brain supplied the two words he’d been wanting to hear, giving him permission to plunge forward. Fuck it.

“Y/N,” he licked his lips, “You—” his fingers moved from your ribs to the edge of your camisole, thumbing across its stitching, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and your eyes shot up to his, pupils dilated. Your lips twitched, uncertain. “Don’t do this,” you sighed, all the while your own hands moved as if of their own accord, coming to rub up and down his arms, caressing lightly over the rippling muscle.

“Do what?” he asked, hand pausing in its movement to slip under your shirt. He withdrew it immediately, hoping he’d not grossly misread the situation.

“Don’t start something with me that you won’t finish,” your voice was barely there, “I—” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, couldn’t utter those little words out loud, but you knew Peter understood. You could tell from the way he settled down closer to you, his lips running feather-light kisses along your collarbone, the way he brushed the lightly calloused pad of his thumb over your eyes.

“Y/N, I feel like I was finished the moment I met you,” he said, “And now I’d really like to give you a proper kiss, if you don’t mind.”

“Hopefully you’re as good at kissing as you are at running that mouth, Par—”

The words couldn’t finish leaving your lips because Peter’s shut them right back into your mouth. He kissed you gently at first, then ran his tongue along your lips, asking entrance which you granted easily enough. Your kiss went on for what felt like years, each of you learning the other with care and attention. His hands explored your body freely, eliciting small moans of approval that led him along a path he was memorizing and then his lips were navigating that same path, kissing and nipping at your shoulders, your clavicle, your navel, between your breasts at the edge of your shirt.

You were on fire as your hands tangled into his soft brown hair, nails gently massaging into his scalp. You knew, from the vibrations on his lips, that he liked the sensation and filed that information away for a later date.

Once he’d kissed all the way down to your ankles, Peter flopped onto the mattress beside you, watching as your chest heaved with pleasure.

“It feels even hotter in here than before,” he smirked, “I should go grab that part, yeah?”

You swatted at him, laughter on your lips. “You’re the worst, Peter Parker.”

He caught your hand in mid-air, wrapping his fingers around yours and gently squeezing your palm—once, twice, three times. Three squeezes for three little words that neither of you were ready to say yet, but that you would willingly show each other.

“I’m serious,” Peter said, “I’ll grab the part and a pizza and we can hang out, even though I’m the worst.”

You rolled your eyes again, still trying to steady your heart rate. “Like I said, my hero. How can I ever repay you?” For good measure, you placed the back of your hand against your forehead, faking a swoon.

Peter only looked at you with fire in his eyes. “I can think of a few ways.”

He was out of the room before you could throw another pillow at him. Shame.

This is so cute, omg 😭 💛💛

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

summary: when peter finds himself in another universe like his, he never expects a pretty girl on the other side to completely throw him off.

CONTAINS ‘NO WAY HOME’ SPOILERS!!

masterlist.

STOP BECAUSE HIS SMILE MAKES ME WANT TO CRY </3

andrew!peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, flustered peter, cute lil moments and that’s kind of it? let me know if i missed any :)

don’t steal any of my work, thanks!

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𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 in a dark alleyway, breathing laboured as he had been swinging for the past thirty minutes out of boredom. The thump of his feet hitting the ground from a high level echoed down the empty area, not another presence apart from rats scurrying around, savaging for leftover foods.

He stood there for a moment, catching his breath with his hands on his knees bent over. Peter swallowed hardly, pushing himself up as he realised he owed Aunt May a new box of eggs after smashing the last.

His feet began to carry him away before a glowing light appeared in the corner of his eye. His spidey sense was going wild, increasing Peter’s curiosity as the more he turned his head to the glow; the more his spidey sense tingled.

“Peter! Peter” He heard his name called. He tilted his head to the side as the ominous glow spiralled into a circle, a clear new setting growing in the middle. Peter furrowed his brows behind the mask and looked around, wondering if this was meant for someone else. When no one seemed to respond to the people waving to him in the glow, Peter took it upon himself to retreat towards the mystery.

The closer he moved to the other side of the spiral, the more these people encouraged him. Peter had never met these people in his life so how on earth did they know his identity?

As Peter edged nearer to the entrance, he noticed the lookalike teenagers panic and take multiple hurried steps back. His curiosity got the better of him as he leaped into the separate setting and earning screams from everyone in the room at his presence.

Peter’s hands waved around trying to tell the people that he was harmless and only their friendly neighbourhood Spiderman. He tried waving at the four in the room, claiming everything is okay while a pillow was thrown at his stomach by a screaming older lady.

His hand raised to the top of his mask and ripped it off on one movement before his eyes scanned the room. The lady who had thrown the pillow had sprinted to the bottom of the stairs, the only boy (excluding Peter) was standing behind the table with his hands out like he was casting a spell. Peter’s eyes drifted to a young, possibly teenage girl stood behind a defensive arm, holding the most confused expression ever. There was a person standing infront of her, like the teenager needed protecting. His eyes travelled up the arm as then landed on you- Oh my God, you.

You were so beautiful. Your hair was falling from the clip secured loosely at the back of you head, locks of hair poking out the top. Your face looked concerned. Your eyebrows were scrunched slightly and your lips were twitched up and apart, showing your teeth which Peter knew you had a gorgeous smile. Peter admired the way your cheeks were flushed a light pink colour when he tore off his mask. His instant favourite part of you were your eyes. He noticed how they softened when you noticed the lack of danger in the room, your lashes adding another layer of beauty to your already perfect face.

“Who are you?” MJ pointed an excusing finger from behind your dominating form at the stranger who jumped through Dr Strange’s portal-magic thing? Peter’s gaze was still on your, “My name’s Peter Parker.” He said slowly, making sure everyone (mainly you but…) hung onto his words and processed them.

MJ looked up to your face, yours still looking at him. “That’s not possible!” She whispered harshly into your ear, making you snap out of your glare from the man.

Peter held his mask in his sweaty palms and lifted both to indicate his face, “I am the Spiderman from my world but yesterday,” His eyes widened and began tripping up on his words at attempts to explain infront of you. “I was just here!” He spoke with uncertainty and began to walk from his stationary spot in the room.

The three of you looked at each other as ‘Peter’ admired the room, gasps leaving his mouth as the house seemed to surprise him more than anything. “Multiverse theory?” He questioned, looking at you mainly. You muttered out a small yes and nodded your head rapidly as he fist pumped the air, letting out a small “I knew it!”

Ned tapped your shoulder and the three of you leaned in, “This has to be because of the spell!” He voice wandered. A hand on your back startled you before you felt Peter lean himself over you, his head hovering above your shoulder. “The spell?” He spoke with glee right next to your face. A beaming smile spread across his face, “A magic spell?” He smiled, feeling a softening glare from you.

Ned and MJ were quick to shake their heads as their voices overlapped one and other, “What spell? There was no spell!”. His excited demure tapped his fingers on your back, “There’s magic here too?” You felt his breath tingle on your cheek as small giggles fell from his lips.

MJ tugged your body back with a pull of your wrist, feeling Peter’s warm touch slip from your back and seeing his smile drop. “Prove it.” She spoke strongly, keeping your wrist in a tight hold. “Prove to us that you’re Spiderman, Peter Parker.”

The man tapped the sides of his suit, “I don’t carry an ID with me, kind of defeats the whole anonymous superhero thing?” His nose scrunched in confusion.

MJ used the hand not holding you to pick up the piece of bread you had raised to your mouth, about to happily eat, to throw at the man in front of you. The bread tapped his chest and did zero harm physically or mentally to the man. His lips upturned and his shoulders shrugged, “Why did you do that?”

Her hand was held up in front of her in a pathetic defence. “She’s trying to see if you have the tingle thing.” You said for the furious girl beside you, thinking some man is trying to imitate her boyfriend.

Peter’s eyes snapped to yours as he heard your angelic voice for the first time, the sigh in your tone made Peter want to grab your face and kiss you so passionately (even though he’s just met you, he knows true love when he sees it.)

He swallowed down his inner voice and said “Yes, I have the tingle thing; just not for bread.” MJ wasn’t convinced.

MJ’s hand snatched to grab another piece and lifted it high in the air. “Can- can you not throw the bread again?” Peter said with confusion laced in his voice. “You’re a deeply mistrusting person,” He raised his hands and he backed away. “And I respect that.” He confessed before he jumped up and stuck his hand on the ceiling.

His legs and one arm holding his mask dangled, his eyes meeting yours and sending a subtle wink your way. Why were you blushing? MJ’s fingers pointed around the ceiling as a odd looking scowl was imprinted on her face. “Crawl around.”

“Crawl around?” He sounded almost offended. His eyes broke from yours as he shook his head with a certain, “No.”

“Yes. Crawl around.” MJ stood her ground.

“Why do I need to crawl around?”

“Because it’s not enough!”

“This is plenty.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is.”

“Nuh uh!”

“It is.”

Peter groaned, “How do I stick to the ceiling?” He squinted his eyes before another piece of bread was thrown at his chest, earning a small laugh from your beside the bickering teenager.

Ned’s grandmother tapped you on the shoulder and explained in the easiest way possible for you, “Ned’s grandma asked if you could get that cobweb in the corner there?” You asked on behalf of her with a scrunched nose, looking at the attractive man holding a face of ‘I’m done’ hanging from the ceiling.

Peter obliged to your words almost instantly as he stuffed his mask to hold in his teeth, as he lifted his body to be on all fours on the ceiling. Ned and MJ glanced at each other as he followed your rules easily and not theirs, both confused on his beg for attention from you.

He cleared the cobweb after a heartless ‘Thank you’ from Ned’s mum. Peter detached himself from the ceiling and landed on the floor directly in front of you.

His chest was close to yours and so were your faces. Your noses nudged slightly as his tall figure leaned over yours, the smile hidden behind his grip on the mask reflected your own. Tension swarmed the two of you as his hand brushed your own ever so slightly.

The unknown moment between the two of you was interrupted at both of your heads snapped towards the new voice in the room. “Wait a minute, he’s not your friend…” The new Peter looked questionably at your Peter.

A newfound silence flooded the room as the two practically had a stare off before they both webbed at each other and swiftly landed on the kitchen island.

Your Peter hopped off the counter and stood by your side, coming shoulder to shoulder with you as the two of you unintentionally blocked out most of new Peter’s words.

Your Peter’s hand grazed your fingers and lightly touched them in an invitation to hold. You opened your hand and felt his warm palm slip into yours. A smile tugged on your face at the heat rising to your prominent cheeks. Sending a teasing smile MJ’s way as she winked at Peter’s height against yours, holding your hand.

A goofy smile spread across Peter’s lips as he held hands with the pretty girl he would soon become more with.

actually love this :(

taglist (let me know if wished to be removed,, you will be tagged in later andrew!peter posts! let me know if you don’t want this haha!)

@tsukishimawhore

@weasleytwinscumslut

@flymeaway-karasuno

@morgane-stark

@panicatwakanda

@krishavania

@lavendersfairy

@jessica2008

@ancailinaerach

@softmullet

@jemimah-b99

@elarasstardust

@anecdoteissues

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THIS IS THE CUTEST THING I HAVE EVER READ IN MY LIFE.

Thank you for making this, you're such a beautiful writer and I love your work.

💛🦐

Scars

Cliff Booth x reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: talks of knives and injures that lead to the scars

Author’s Note: Hi love! Thank you for being so kind and I hope that you enjoy this one! I thought it was pretty cute but that might be just me considering I did in fact write this lol. Enjoy!

Requested: by anon, hello! i really love all of your cliff booth x reader imagines! can i request one where cliff and the reader are cuddling or something and the reader gets curious about how he got his scars and/or what injuries he has gotten over the years (and it is just really fluffy)? Tysm

Summary: the request

Genre: flufff

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

Keep reading

Atonement

SEO MOON-JO X READER

When the world falls apart, you have him by your side, loving and caring for you every step of the way. Accidentally stumbling upon his most sinful line of work, you wonder how much you really know about the dentist you fell in love with.

The cold and dreary night sky looked overhead and the moon cast a shimmery glow onto the pavement in front of Eden Residence. The flowerbeds that seemed to be teeming with life at one point in time were now filled with weeds and miscellaneous cans and bottles. The sidewalk was perfect on the way up to the residence, however as soon as you stepped foot in the vicinity of your new boyfriend's place, you noticed how broken and jagged the cement was. Overall, you had expected a bit more from the dentist, but you weren't going to be the one to judge. Moon-jo wasn't close to anyone really, so when he'd offered to take you on a date the first couple of times, you were excited and surprised to say the least. You knew he had secrets (everyone does), but little did you know the secret he kept from the world.

Smiling, you see the familiar figure standing outside the entryway, smoking a cigarette. Moon-jo was wearing a black turtleneck and grey dress pants with a black leather jacket on top. His hair had been gelled down previously to his arrival but was now strewn about his face and ears; it was disheveled in the "I may have just got out of bed but I'm still sexy" type look. He had a piercing in one ear that was just barely visible from his curly black locks of hair and upon seeing your face, his expression changed from daunting to pleasant. Even his demeanor changed as he stood up just a bit straighter and positioned his hands behind his back, a stance that you were familiar with when he welcomed you to the clinic.

"Why hello there." You said with a knowing glance, making it obvious that you were checking him out. He didn't seem to mind though, in fact, he looked expectant of it. His eyes shifted downwards from yours to your lips and then to your outfit, never staying in one place for too long. How he was so good at undressing you with his eyes, you didn't know. All you knew was that you wanted him to do it again and again.

"Hello." He said in his soft deep voice. He smelled of Dolce and Gabbana or something similar in exquisiteness, with a faint familiar touch of... bleach?

"You look sexy as hell." You said, just itching to voice what was on your mind. It wasn't fair for him to be so taunting with his angled features and impeccable style.

"Wow. I thought I would've had to put in a bit more effort before you offered to sleep with me." He laughed and snaked an arm around your waist, leading you up the stairs. You smiled up at him and wondered how you found such a godlike person. From the way he walked to the way he acted, everything seemed so meticulous and beautiful, almost as if he was never truly from this realm. You were in awe of Moon-jo in every way, and you scared yourself with the thoughts of what you would let him do to you...

Up at the landing, he removed his arm from your body and pushed open the door to reveal the apartments on the floor which he resided. It was dark and dreary and had the faintest smell of mold and cleaning chemicals; you wondered if that's where you picked up the bleach smell from. The walls were a dark green which made it even darker and the walls were so close together that it felt suffocating trying to navigate your way around the building. There was not a decoration in sight, not a plant, not any of the other tenets. The silence was so deafening that your ears started to ring.

Opening up the door to his room, Moon-jo looked on the shelf above him for the car keys he needed to take the two of you on a proper date. He had offered to give you a ride to the new restaurant that had just opened, and you agreed even when he said you two would need to stop at his place for the keys.

"Where are they.....?" He asked himself as he shuffled about the shelves, looking for the familiar shape of the keys. You started to feel somewhat sick the longer you stayed in the building, the walls and the lighting started to take a toll on you. It was disorienting and uncomfortable and for a moment you thought back to the possibility of parallel universe liminal spaces, since the place reminded you of it so much. Clutching your purse closer to your body, you hold the cool chain around your neck to get some feeling back into your nerves.

"Hey, baby are you okay?" You hear him ask on the opposite end of the room.

"Yeah, yeah. I just need some air." You lied, trying to look at the floor to appease your stomach. Your shoes even felt tight.

"You can go wait for me in the kitchen, if you'd like. It's a bit more open in there. Down the hall to the left." He said, shrugging his shoulders and continuing to look through the cabinets. How he lost something in such a small place, you had no idea. But, you took him up on the offer of leaving the room and you made your way to the brightest but dreariest kitchen you've ever seen in your life. The wallpaper was ripping off the walls and dishes were piled into the sink as if their intended use were to sit and collect dust. Sitting down on one of the dining chairs, you place your head in your hands and take deep breaths as you try to steady yourself. What was wrong with you? Why did you feel so sick all of a sudden?

"I think I might've left them on the fourth floor." You heard the familiar voice resounding from behind you. Moon-jo knelt down beside you, placing his hands onto yours and removing them from your face. His expression was one of genuine worry and you felt bad for him for having to deal with you when you were like this. He offered you a slight smile as he tried to read your expression; his fingers brushing away at the hair that had fallen into your face. "Are you alright?"

"I guess I'm just claustrophobic or something. I'm sorry, I'm not usually like this it's just that this place-"

"-Feels like a cage." He said, completing your sentence. His gaze turned into a dark one but you had no idea why he was so bothered by the thought. It was reassuring to hear that he felt the same way about Eden Residence that you did.

"Yeah," you said, "something like that."

...

Walking up towards the fourth floor, you were relieved to catch your breath and to breathe in the night sky. The ascent to the floor above meant climbing one flight of stairs and trying not to step on any broken glass. This place that Moon-jo lived in made you nervous for him as it didn't seem all that safe. You wondered if the rest of the tenets were a bit strange.

The big heavy door to the women's area of the building looked even older than everything else. There were charred marks on the door (you didn't know what from) and the way it was tucked neatly into the corner all by itself shrouded it in an eerie darkness. The sign was chipping away and soon enough any evidence of there ever being any humanity living behind the door would be gone forever, like dust in the wind.

"Why were you on the women's floor?" You asked, slightly accusatory. You and Moon-jo had only been together for two weeks, but you still felt hurt to know that he could be around other people that sparked his interest.

"I was working." He said, revealing a hallway even darker than the one from downstairs. "I have a side hustle of..... sorts."

Walking into the room, the sensation of being trapped filled your senses once again. The walls had the same charred marks as the doorway and the floor was scuffed and dirty. "What happened in here?" You asked, noticing how it looked as though someone had set the place aflame.

"It burned down shortly after Eden Residence was built," Moon-jo held your hand, walking towards the end of the hallway slowly, "Everyone died except for the old lady's cat. Sometimes you can still hear it up here, moving about and scratching the walls."

The hallway ended and the two of you were in a room so isolated from the rest of the building that you felt a knot in your stomach. This was the type of nerve-wracking that people on Criminal Minds talk about before they're brutally murdered, and you finally understood now why Moon-jo had insisted that you stop at the Residence to grab his car keys. He was trying to get you alone and vulnerable and you didn't think it was for sexual related reasons.

You slowly stepped back from the middle of the room as Moon-jo grabbed something off one of the wooden planks on the floor. "Here they are. Would you look at that?" He said, turning to you with a wicked malicious grin. In his hands were the keys, pristine and clean as he liked the rest of his belongings. That's what drew him into you, the fact that you seemed so pure and innocent. Something he could make an absolute mess of. Dirty hands on a white towel. Satan holding a sacred dove. You were his most precious belonging.

"Moon-jo? I think I'm going to call it a night. I'm still not feeling all that well." You let out a slight whimper, trying to feel around for the door you just came through. Instead, your back hit the wall and you were met with Moon-jo's face just inches from your own. He wrapped his arms around you and forced you into his embrace, not caring whether or not you wanted to be touched at the moment. The truth was going to come out tonight and he knew you would take it well. You would have to take it well. And if you didn't, he would make sure you felt too threatened to leave him either way.

"You're not going anywhere, love." He pushed his nose into the crook of your neck and allowed for his face to rest there, listening to the rapid pace of your heartbeat and taking in the scent of your perfume. It was intoxicating to him knowing that your life belonged to him and he could end it at any moment. He could, but he wouldn't. He wouldn't ever lay a finger on you in the way he killed so many others. You were different. You spoke to his soul and made him feel something after years of searching for something to fill the empty space within his chest.

Your entire body froze as Moon-jo held you there, calmly breathing into your skin. You wanted to run away but you had no idea how you would be able to leave without him following you. He knew where you lived and you worked within the same office. Rejecting Moon-jo would be impossible.

Finally, he turned to look at you as he continued to hold you close to his chest. "I'm a killer, (Y/N). You were going to be my next target but I think I accidentally fell in love with you."

Your heart plummeted to your stomach. There's no way he was telling you the truth. This had to have been a lie, the antisocial doctor whom you had gotten to know was quiet and poised. A killer wasn't even an option in your mind as to what he could've occupied himself with outside of his work. And that's when it hit you: the dead bodies that had been found all over Gyeonggi-do with missing teeth.

To confirm your suspicion, you noticed a dentist's chair in the corner of the room, the white upholstery now stained with colors you did not want to familiarize yourself with. Next to it laid a table with various tools, all clean and polished.

"I kill them. And then I eat them after I take their teeth."

That's when you fainted.

...

Waking up in Moon-jo's room, you look up at the ceiling overhead. It was cracked and crumbling and visibly painted over layers and layers of ruin. The window closest to the top of the room let in just enough light that you were able to barely make out your surroundings...and the person who shared the bed with you.

Moon-jo looked so innocent while he slept. His head was resting on the bed (he had given you his pillow) and his hair was a mess as he nuzzled deeper into the sheets. His arms were around you still and you noticed how hard it was for you to move in his intense grasp. His face was completely calm and his skin glowed in the soft light above. You didn't know when you had passed out or how you had gotten into his bed, but you assumed he had taken you here after your vision went blurry. In other circumstances, you would have found him to be cute in the position he was in, but instead your stomach was filled with worry. What did he mean by killing? Why was he sparing you? What did he mean by loving you?

Even with the nervousness bubbling up inside of you, you still found yourself glued to your spot, not even because Moon-jo was holding onto you so tightly. You knew that you wouldn't have left even if he allowed it, so instead you nuzzled up closer to his chest which awoke him softly.

"You're awake?" He asked in a deep soft voice, holding you even tighter in case you decided to make a run for it. He seemed confused as to why you were still okay with being near him and why you hadn't tried to escape while he was vulnerable.

"Yeah." You said after a moment of silence.

Moon-jo noticed your slight distress and watched you conflict in your head the possibilities of loving him and leaving him. He watched your eyes and saw behind them that you were trying to keep your morals, noticing it became harder and harder as you leaned into his touch, giving into him completely.

"(Y/N), because I love you, I'm letting you leave if you decide not to be here anymore." He felt his chest tighten as the words left his mouth, knowing that he was being entirely honest with you and dishonest with himself. He didn't want you to leave his arms.

"Moon-jo, I'm not going to leave you." You said, looking up at him from the pillow. He looked beautiful in the soft light.

"Why not?" He asked, certain that you were going to make a run for it.

"Because I think I love you too much to do that."

I love that idea that if you know someone’s story, it’s impossible not to love them. This is potentially hokey but incredibly true, as far as I’m concerned. 

HAPPY 39TH BIRTHDAY ANDREW GARFIELD! ⌘ b. AUGUST 20, 1983 Los Angeles, California