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angelteyam · 5 years

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There You Are (t.h.)

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader/Unnamed Female Character

Summary: It takes a bad breakup and just a little bit of alcohol for Tom to finally be able to admit to both her and himself that he’s wanted to be more than friends for a very long time.

Prompt: “Am I dreaming?” with Tom Holland

Word Count: 3,366

Warnings: Mentions of bullying, cheating, cuts and bruises, mentions of drinking/vomiting, some swearing

A/N: Finally, some good, honest FLUFF. This is my contribution to Kaylee @starksparker ’s Summer Writing Challenge! I basically wanted this unnamed female character to function as the reader, without having to use the second person or “y/n”. Clearly, this is based off the song “There You Are” by ZAYN – I hope you guys like it! Feel free to like and reblog, it means the world <3

They’d known each other since they were practically toddlers. Tom had almost face-planted jumping off a swing when she came zooming by, a Tonka truck clutched in her small, grubby hands. She had stopped at the sound of his cry, turning to him, and paused when she saw the little boy with a mop of curls clutching at a scrape on his knee. He was crying, large crocodile tears swimming their way down his cheeks. His mom was about to jump up from her spot on the bench nearby, but she stopped when the little girl bent down in front of him. Tom looked up at her, pouting his lips, when the girl extended her arms and offered him her Tonka truck.

He had smiled widely, wiping at his nose, suddenly cured, and had scampered off with her to the nearest sandbox, their tiny hands clutched together.

Need you when I’m broken, when I’m fixed

Need you when I’m well, when I’m sick

From that moment on, you couldn’t have separated them if you tried. They were always together. In primary school, she was the tomboy who would shove Tom’s bullies away by their shoulders despite her small stature, her eyes boring holes through their shirts. She wouldn’t even have to speak. She would get this look on her face that would send them running, before turning to Tom to make sure he was alright. She could go from sharp as a knife to concerned in seconds, and would pull him up off the ground, brushing the dirt off of his shoulders. They always shared their lunches, exchanging items they knew the other would like, and he would always bring her a carton of chocolate milk (her favorite) when he went to get his.

In secondary school, things got tougher. It became harder for her as the girls in her class got more and more ruthless, and Tom was suddenly the one who had to do the protecting. He couldn’t do much, as skinny and lanky as he was, but he was always there to stand up for her, and would present her with a compulsory carton of chocolate milk at the end of the day. He couldn’t care less that she was slightly different.

Can’t see when I’m falling

Losing myself but then I hear you calling

It got even harder when Tom started acting. Suddenly, they both were walking around with targets on their backs. Eventually their parents decided to have them switch schools, and after that, it got a little easier. It was at their new school that they met Harrison.

It was like he was meant to be in their group. They didn’t even have to try to include him; Harrison being around was just as natural as she and Tom being friends. But suddenly, when two became three, no one seemed to want to try to pick on them. Harrison was always a bit bigger than Tom was, and even though he was as thin as a toothpick, no one dared to try and pick on the boy with the icy-blue eyes. The kids in their class always knew that wherever the other two were, Harrison couldn’t be far behind.

Tom started acting more and more seriously, and the other two saw him less and less. Part of it was good; she and Harrison got to know each other more, and she found she got along with him just as much as she had with Tom. But on the other hand, they missed Tom. Him being gone all the time left them feeling like there was a massive hole where he’d been.

But no matter what, Tom always came back to them. And he always came back with amazing stories. She and Harrison loved it – they ate the stories up, and they always watched every little thing he acted in.

When Tom landed the role of Spider-Man, it was inevitable that the balance of their group shifted. Harrison felt left behind – he wanted to make a name for himself too. So he went off to pursue his own career, with her and Tom’s unyielding support, and eventually found his own success.

But each time Tom and Harrison returned to her, they seemed slightly off. Especially Tom. She felt helpless as she watched her two boys crumble under the weight of their successes, and Tom started to feel increasingly lost in the wide world of Hollywood. Sure, he had his family and his band of brothers to keep him grounded, but even then, he still felt like he was drowning.

So even though she couldn’t really understand what they were going through, as normal as her life was compared to theirs, she never hesitated to open her arms if they needed them. And boy, did she give good hugs. After weeks and months away from home, Tom and Harrison loved nothing more than knocking at her door to see her standing there smiling up at them, her arms already open to welcome them into a hug (or two).

There you are, there you are

You’re there with open arms

There you are, there you are

And I run

Harrison and Tom never really gave much thought as to how much they meant to her. It didn’t even cross their minds; they just already knew. But even they got caught up in their own worlds, swept away by the call of other commitments, and the times where they were able to reunite grew farther and father apart.

So they relished in the time they did have together. Eventually, when Tom’s name reached the farthest corners of the world, he got an apartment for him and Harrison and South London, and he never even hesitated to invite her to share it with them. All three of them living together was a dream come true, and it gave them the chance to have the quality time they missed when they were apart.

In the back of his mind, Harrison had always thought there was something special between her and Tom. As they got older, she would look at Tom wistfully when she thought he wasn’t looking, and most of the time he wasn’t. But occasionally, he had been looking, and their eyes would meet in a painful exchange for a half a second before they would flick their heads in the opposite direction. Harrison was growing increasingly frustrated as the years went on, always on the sidelines begging them in his head to just do something about it, for god’s sake, but nothing ever happened.

Until she suffered her first real heartbreak. Tom finally came home after months and months away from home to find her nowhere in sight, Harrison in the living room with a somber look on his face. Harrison hushed him as he came bounding into the apartment, welcoming Tessa into his arms.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“She’s been in there for days.” Harrison gestured towards her room. “I can’t get her to come out. She came home in tears the other day, saying something about Tristan, but that was all I could hear. She won’t even eat.”

Tom suddenly felt himself grow hot with anger. He had flashbacks to secondary school, to the girls teasing her for being like the boys, and how even then she could bounce herself back because she knew what those girls thought wasn’t important. But Tristan had been important. He’d been her first real boyfriend, and they’d been together for over a year. Tom was going to murder him.

But Tom had other things to worry about first. He dashed out of the apartment towards the nearest shop, got the supplies he needed, and returned mere minutes later with shopping bags hanging off his arms.

“What’s all this?” Harrison chuffed as he ushered Tom into the apartment.

“Just a few things to cheer her up.”

“A few?” Harrison smirked.

“Piss off,” Tom replied, flashing Harrison a quick glare before slipping down the hallway towards her room. Harrison smiled to himself, and the cheeky part of him wanted to rub his hands together. Finally, things were shifting in the right direction. And as much as he didn’t want her to feel heartbreak or pain, he was glad that Tom was coming to her rescue.

There were some things about her that even Harrison didn’t know. But Tom knew pretty much everything there was to know about her, especially things that would cheer her up when she was feeling low. And today required all of those things.

Little did Tom know, all she wanted then was him.

Can’t see when I’m falling

Losing myself but then I hear you calling

Tom knocked softly at her door. He waited for a moment, for a sign that she was at least alive in there, before he gingerly wrapped his fingers around the door knob and turned.

It wasn’t locked, thank goodness. He slowly pushed the door open, peeking his head around the wooden frame. All he could see was a lump under a pile of blankets, tissues surrounding the lump and scattered all over the floor. Mugs upon mugs of half-drunken tea littered nearly every surface. Clearly, Harrison had been trying.

“It’s me,” Tom whispered hesitantly. “I’m back.”

The lump sniffled loudly, and Tom couldn’t tell if that had been a gasp or a cough. “Tom?” She squeaked, poking her head out from underneath the covers.

Taking her in then, Tom felt his heart snap in two. He’d never seen her like this, and it physically was aching him that she’d been like this for days, and he hadn’t been there.

“Aw, babe,” he cooed, striding over to her and kneeling next to her bed. He pulled her hand out from underneath the covers, wrapping it in his. Damn, she felt cold, even surrounding by blankets. Tom had to push down the sudden need he felt to make her warm.

“Tell me what happened.”

She sniffed, wiping her nose, before she croaked, “I caught him with another girl. And he acted like it wasn’t a big deal…like I- like I didn’t…mean anything. Like we didn’t mean anything.”

She couldn’t say anymore before she was dissolving back into tears, turning away from him to face the wall. Tom sighed heavily, removing his jacket and kicking off his shoes before crawling next to her underneath the covers, his “supplies” left forgotten next to her dresser by the door. She turned back to him, hiding her face, as Tom opened his arms and welcomed her into his chest.

Now Tom was really going to murder him.

She shook lightly as she cried, her tears streaming down her face and soaking Tom’s shirt. But he didn’t even notice; he just held her there in his arms, rocking her back and forth ever so softly. It took a moment, but her tears finally dried and she lay still, dozing off in his embrace. Tom chuckled silently to himself, but then he remembered that she probably hadn’t slept at all these last few days, and he was glad she was finally getting some rest.

It didn’t take much longer after that for the jetlag to hit, and Tom found himself nodding off, still cradling her. He tried to fight the sleep fighting to take him over, but then he looked down at the girl sleeping in his arms, and he slowly started to realize that he really didn’t care.

There you are, there you are

You’re there with open arms

There you are, there you are

And I run

Harrison found them like that a few moments later, fast asleep in each other’s arms. He collected Tom’s supplies from earlier off the floor and stored them away in the kitchen, making sure to tuck the ice cream safely away in the freezer. Later that night as Harrison himself was headed to bed, he poked his head in to check on them one more time, and found them huddled even closer together, Tom’s arms wrapped securely around her and her back pressed against his chest, his shirt and jeans in a pile on the floor. Harrison smiled to himself, chuckling softly, before closing the door to her room and leaving them in peace.

The next day, Harrison woke to the shower in her bathroom running. As he left his room, still only in his boxers, he found Tom in the kitchen, busying himself with making breakfast. Tom turned as he heard Harrison shuffling in, sending him a quick smile before turning back to the stove.

“She’s up now,” Tom said happily, “She said she was feeling a little better today.”

“That’s good,” Harrison mused. “I’m glad you came back when you did.”

Tom smiled widely to himself, hoping Harrison couldn’t see. (He could).

“Yeah, me too.”

“Did you sleep well?” Harrison joked, smirking.

Tom frowned for a moment at Harrison’s sarcasm. “Yes, actually. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

“Good, I’m glad you two are finally getting your shit together,” Harrison responded before turning away, heading back to his own bathroom to get himself a shower.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tom shouted in response, but Harrison waved him off.

“Don’t burn the eggs, mate, I’m bloody starving!”

Later that week, when they finally had some free time, Harrison and Tom decided to go out to the pub to celebrate Tom’s return. They’d invited her to come along, but she politely declined, saying that she didn’t much feel like alcohol. It would probably just make things worse. They obliged reluctantly, shrugging on their jackets, before leaving the apartment, closing the door silently behind them. As they left, she snuggled up closer to Tessa on the couch, popping a movie on Netflix, settling herself into another night of being alone.

Oh, I’m a little drunk now

That’s why I went to war

You are my sober when I’m on the floor

She shot up from her spot on the couch to the sound of drunken laughs flooding through the hallway outside the door, and she sighed heavily. Checking the clock, she hung her head – it was 3:00 AM. How long had she been asleep, and where the hell were they?

She didn’t even have time to get up and go to the kitchen for a cup of tea before Harrison and Tom came barreling through the door, stumbling over their feet, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. Wide, loopy smiles were on their faces, and they were clearly as zonked as one could be.

She got a little more concerned when she looked at Tom a little closer and realized a bruise was starting to appear underneath his eye.

“What on earth happened to you two?”

Harrison laughed. “He tried to start a fight with me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Harrison shrugged, gesturing to Tom. “Ask him.”

Tom only huffed, his face suddenly turning a very peculiar shade of green. Oh no. She didn’t waste a moment as she moved to where they were standing, placing Tom’s other arm over her shoulders and pressing her body up against his.

“Let’s get him to the toilet, he’s going to be sick.”

They barely made it to the bathroom in time before Tom collapsed next to the toilet, vomiting up the contents of his stomach.

“Fuck,” he groaned, resting his head on the cool surface of the toilet seat. She bent down next to him, removing his jacket, before she knelt down by his side and began rubbing soothing circles on his back.

She turned to Harrison, her face suddenly stern. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Don’t worry,” Harrison responded cheekily, “I’m way better off than he is.”

He stumbled off down the hallway into his room and collapsed onto his bed, passing out cold, his shoes still on his feet.

She turned her attention back to Tom, who was now heaving up nothing but air. “Stay here,” she said softly, rushing off to the kitchen and filling up a glass with water. She snagged a bottle of Paracetemol on her way back to the bathroom as well as a clean rag, and bid Tessa to stay where she was on her bed.

Finally back in the bathroom, she set the water and the medicine on the counter before running the rag under some cool water. She squeezed out the excess and laid the rag gently onto the back of Tom’s neck, getting a few of the loose curls there wet.

Tom sighed contentedly, his breathing now returning back to normal, and she noticed that some of the color had returned back to his face. She resumed sitting down next to him, setting the water and medicine down next to Tom, before wrapping her arm around his back and resting her head against his shoulder.

A few moments later, Tom turned to her, his eyes drooping.

“I’m sorry,” he said, so softly she could barely hear him.

“No, don’t be sorry, love,” she responded soothingly, “I’ll always be here for you.”

When she was certain he’d finished emptying the contents of his stomach and she’d made sure he finished the glass of water and taken two pills, she helped him to her room where he collapsed onto her bed. She helped him remove his clothes, with the exception of his boxers, of course, before sliding into bed next to him and pulling up the covers.

He rested his head on her stomach, and she didn’t even pause before running her fingers through his hair, playing with the thick curls.

As they started to slowly doze off, Tom looked up at her, blinking slowly.

“Am I dreaming?”

She chuckled softly, “No, Tom. I’m here with you.”

“Thank God,” Tom sighed, tucking her into him and wrapping his arm around her, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He couldn’t see, but she was smiling.

“Me neither, love. Me neither.”

Only you know me the way you know me

Only you forgive me when I’m sorry

Even when I’ve messed it up, there you are

When they woke the next morning, finding themselves in each other’s arms, they couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I’m really sorry about last night,” Tom sighed, pulling her even closer to him.

“It’s fine, Tom, really,” she replied, snuggling deeper into his chest, breathing him in.

He really, really didn’t want to ever let her go.

“This has taken me way too long to say,” he stuttered, struggling a little to meet her eyes, “But I’ve loved you for a long time. Since before all of…this. And I’m really sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner. But I’d really love to be able to call you my girlfriend, if you’ll have me.”

She smiled up at him, resting her hand on his cheek. “I love you, too.”

Tom didn’t waste another second before he pressed his lips to hers, his hands coming up to stroke her cheeks. Somehow, they both knew deep down that they were always meant to be more than just the closest of friends. And yet the fact that they had been so close for so many years made it even easier for them to fall deeply, passionately in love with each other.

Just as she wound her hands around his neck to deepen the kiss, they heard victorious shouting from the hallway. They turned their heads to see the blur that was Harrison zip past the door, whooping loudly, his hands in the air.

“Fucking finally!”

She collapsed into Tom, them both shaking with laughter, as Tom wrapped his arms securely around her. They stayed there for the rest of the morning, pressing lips against lips and skin against skin, never going further than kissing. She couldn’t get close enough to him, and she relished in learning all the things about Tom that she hadn’t yet gotten to explore. And as much as he didn’t want to let her go, she really didn’t want him to either.

There you are, there you are

You’re there with open arms

There you are, there you are

And I run

Tags: @starksparker @upsidedownparker @madmadmilk @hollandroos @parkerpuffwrites @gottaletgopete @eeyore101247

#kayleesummerwc #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #starksparker #tom holland x reader #tom holland x oc #tom holland imagine #tom holland headcanon #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #my writings

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madmadmilk · 5 years

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Do you know what happened to Kaylee/starksparker?!?! Sorry, you, her and like 5 others are the main people I’ve followed religiously on here forever

..... ok first of all wow.... I typed this reply out like once already and when I tried to tag “staff” tumblr closed itself.

but her blog has been deleted/deactivated???????? For why???? We don’t know??

For now, find her at @starksparker-terminated

She does not deserve this after all the things she’s made for herself and the fandoms she’s in..... god, hope she gets it all back soon......

#starksparker #my heart kinda... breaks for this...#thats a lot of work and love in a blog

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cynicallystiles · 5 years

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When one of your fave blogs likes your selfies on IG and you didn’t even know she was following you😭😭😭

#cynicallystiles #mutuals #instagram #starksparker #i love herrrr

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peterpumpkinparker · 5 years

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I love @starksparker series Hamartia (If I didn’t spell that right I’m super sorry!!)

It’s only at Chapter 3 and I’m already in love with it, so I had to do a moodboard-feel Free to use, just give credit ❤️❤️❤️

#marvel #mcu #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #peter parker #spiderman #tom holland x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #marvel spiderman #starksparker #spiderman series #hamartia

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cas-backwards-tie · 6 years

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Fleeting Fate

Steve Rogers x Reader Soulmate AU

Summary: The Red String of Fate is said to be something only the two people intertwined can see. When born, a red string is wrapped around your finger. This red string leads to your soulmate. Upon meeting, only then will the red string unravel and disappear.

Prompt: Soulmate AU

Words: 1,065

Warnings: Anxiety, Worry, Being Rushed, Sadness, Loss.

Beta: @thinkwritexpress-official

Author’s Note: This is for @starksparker ‘s 10k Writing Challenge! Second time (though the first I’ll be posting due to deadlines) I’ve written for Steve Rogers so please, feedback is always encouraged! I love this soulmate AU and I love Steve Rogers so why not combine both? Haha, of course, I’d use a gif from Teen Wolf because why not? It’s perfect.

Steve never thought the day would come. Not when he had awoken from a coma, not when he had been fighting the aliens, not even when he first learned of what the Red String of Fate meant. “Yo, Cap, come on!” Steve shakes his head; he’d been zoning out while maneuvering his way through the crowd. Following his companions, Steve decides to keep a close eye on them as well as their surroundings; the citizens bustling about in the airport. Just pick up the intel and then we’re out of here, Sam’s voice rings in his head: repeat the mission, ingrain the mission into your mind and act towards your goal until it’s completed, Steve tells himself.

It’d become second nature, keeping his head down, scanning for watchful eyes or curious faces as this new team they’d formed had been operating in the dark. Steve was quick with his movements, always one step ahead; skate around people and never make eye contact. Nastaha was further ahead, almost to their target, ready to negotiate prices for the intel they currently needed. Natasha was good with negotiation; Sam and Steve were only there for backup if needed.

The clock is ticking, fifteen minutes at most is their goal, only twelve minutes remaining for their discussion and to quickly slip out of the airport. Tapping his foot nervously on the tiled floors, Steve glances around at the bar to his right, the flight directory to his left, above Natasha and their informant. No one seems to notice, no one seems to be paying them a second glance. Clock’s ticking, time’s running out, foot’s tapping. Eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds remain.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You’re anxious, your gate changed last minute to another wing of the airport. It's bustling, it’s crowded and the air smells of greasy food and bleach. Coughing, rolling wheels, and the rushed footfalls of hurried passengers drown out your thoughts. The only thing you can feel is your heart pumping faster than it had been before. Eyes shifting to the people around you; Giving them a once-over before your gaze flicks to the ticket in your hand, currently grasping the handlebar of your suitcase rather tightly. “I’m gonna be late!” You nervously murmur to yourself before the person in front of you gets off the walking conveyor belt. Deciding it worthwhile to start speed-walking to your gate, you search above for the upcoming signs that will lead you to your destination.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Sighing out of relief, Steve nods in the direction of his companions; yes, now is the best time for them to make their getaway. Following their lead, Steve quickly walks to spare any chances their informant has to snitch on them. Making their way back toward the main section of the airport, Steve makes sure to stay close, maneuvering around people. Four minutes and forty-three seconds until they’d be open to capture.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Breathing fast, you’re en route to your gate, suitcase trailing beside you; all is going according to plan. You’ll be fine. You still have time. It’s okay. You remind yourself there’s no need to stress out needlessly, a hard habit to break. Sneaking another glance down to memorize the gate number, a stone wall smacks into you. A gasp emits from your throat as you stumble, turning around to glare at the perpetrator. Attention brought away from the person, you watch as the red string attached to your finger begins to unravel. The path is clear as day: the Red String of Fate connects you to whomever you bumped into. Eyes flicking from your fingers to his face, his hand comes up to grasp your forearm, a worried look upon his face. “You’re...” the man cuts you off with his finger against his mouth in a ‘shush’ position, “my soulmate.” Your heart feels like it stops as you inspect his face, his eyes, the weird tingly feeling in your belly.

“I have to go- I really-” you decide it’s your turn to cut him off.

“I feel like I know you from somewhere,” Your hearts starts to clench at the realization of what he meant. ‘I have to go.’ Those are the first words he has ever said to you.

“I promise I’ll find you again.” His hand squeezes your forearm for a moment before he turns and rushes off, not sparing a second glance in your direction. Feeling somehow emptier in only the seconds after he leaves; your chest wracks with a dull pain. ‘I’ll find you again.’ You were stunned. Your whole life, everyone has built up the Red String of Fate to be some sort of miracle; a beautiful, uniting moment in everyone’s lives where they finally get the chance to meet their destined beloved. Everyone wants to meet their soulmate... right? Confusion and hurt fill your veins as random strangers bump into you. The tardiness of your presence on the plane now brought back to your attention, you take the first step towards the rest of your life. Taking each step towards the plane, you feel a part of you get further and further away. Thoughts flood your mind as you sit in the lounge waiting for your flight.

You don’t know what to make of what happened, but, you know that you no longer have a red string wrapped around your finger. There is no more anticipation of meeting your soulmate; rather, you’re waiting for them to find you again. The intercom chimes; a voice announces that the flight to Wakanda is boarding. Your decision is made: you will find your soulmate first. Whether you give them a piece of your mind or decide if they are worthy of embracing, your journey is set in front of you.

#kavys10kwc #swainlakefam #Steve Rogers x Reader #Steve Rogers x Reader AU #Steve Rogers AU #Marvel AU #Marvel Reader Insert #my writing #Steve Rogers x Reader Soulmate AU #starksparker #MCU Reader Insert #MCU AU #MCU Writing #marvel writing challenge #writing challenge #soulmate au #useramber

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grandmascottlang · 5 years

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Louiisseee do you happen to have that post about what do if your blogs are wrongfully terminated????? I wanna make sure I emailed them correctly before my head explodes

I took a screenshot of what to do when your blog has been marked as explicit!

And I'm trying to find the page on what to do if your account has been terminated, I'll DM you the link as soon as I find it.

I did find this though, it's brief and mostly not helpful. It briefly mentions that Tumblr should email you if your blog has been terminated.

#i swear I'll look for it and dm you asap #starksparker #answered #I'm so sorry this happened dude #i can't believe this #long post

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christinky · 6 years

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Your Favorite Customer (H.O)

Summary: you work at an ice cream shop and you have a crush on a regular customer who just so happens to be Harrison

Warnings: Just some fluff and stuff

A/N: I had a dream kinda like this so I decided to make a little thing about it for @starksparker blurb night.

Rushing into work, you quickly tie your hair up, throw you hat on, and tie your apron around your waist. You love where you work, you work at a small mom and pop ice cream shop. It’s never too busy and you are usually the only one working, especially when summer is almost over. It’s almost October so you expect the days to drag.

However, its Wednesday, your favorite day of the week. Every Wednesday this cute customer comes in. The past couple months the two of you became pretty good acquaintances. He is so easy to talk to, you look forward to seeing him all week. You could say you might have a little crush on him.

The day goes on, a couple kids come in and some teenagers stop in. As you clean the tables you hear the jingle of the door opening. Quickly, you walk behind the counter to take the order. Turning to see who it is, you smile. “Hey Harrison, how are you?”

He smiles as he walks up to the coolers, looking at the different options, “Pretty good, how about you (Y/N)?”

His smile makes your heart skip a beat. “Great, thank you,” You go to grab your ice cream scoop and a cone, “The usual? Or do you want to try something new?”

Harrison pauses for a moment to think, “Hmmm.. I guess I’ll have the usual, you can never go wrong with cookies and creme.”

“I’m not surprised,” You reach into the freezer to start scooping. You always give him bigger scoops, you cant help it, hoping he doesn’t notice his special treatment. “Anything new with you this week?”

Harrison leans against the glass, “Just work, as always.” He rolls his eyes as you stand back up with his ice cream.

You hand him his double scoop of cookies and creme, a bit of excitement is in his eyes. “Ah, my favorite part of the week,” As he grabs the cone from your hand your eyes meet, his eyes are stunning. Before he can notice you gawking at him you look away and start heading to the register, “I look forward to coming here every week.”

You laugh at his comment, “Sorry to here about that,” you reply, a confused look appears on his face, “We close at the end of the month until next spring.”

Before you can give him a total he hands you the exact amount in cash. “Wait, what?” He asks, a slight panic in his voice.

“Yeah, we close for the summer months.” You complete the transaction and hand him his receipt.

“Way to break my heart (Y/N)” He has his lower lip in a pout as he sits at a table. His eyes meet yours, he genuinely looks a little sad about this.

Leaning against the counter, you hold back showing your disappointment about not seeing him every week. “I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules,” You spin around to start cleaning your scoop.

The bell on the door starts to jingle again, this time followed by the sound of kids. Having your back to them, you close your eyes and take a deep breath knowing you will be too busy with them to talk more with Harrison. There goes one of your favorite parts of work.

This family has a toddler, a 5ish year old and a baby. Of course. Being a good employee you treat them like everyone else, not rushing and being as kind as possible, even though you really want to get them done as fast as you can to talk with Harrison. It takes the children a while to choose an ice cream, even with limited choices.

You finally take their order and scoop the ice cream. As you are taking payment, the baby smashes the mom’s ice cream, then takes their hand and shakes it around to get the cold off. The ice cream on it’s hand splatters on your face. Thankfully it’s only a little bit. “Oh my god!” The mom screams, embarrassed she tries to hand you a napkin while trying to clean her child, “I am so sorry miss.”

Brushing it off, you help her and grab the destroyed ice cream from her hands, “Here let me make you a new one.”

You walk over to scoop her another ice cream, “No, no, please. It’s fine” She pleads for you not to, “It’s my fault”

Clearly she feels bad that her baby made a mess, then got it all over you. It doesn’t matter to you, you insist on giving her another ice cream, free of charge, and helping her clean it up. It is technically your job anyway. You appreciate that she is trying her best to help and not making you feel like it is your job.

You finish cleaning everything, this family is not exactly the quietest ones that you have seen but they are not rude about it. You glance over at Harrison, he chuckles as he watches you struggle. Then he starts wiping his face with his hand. Horror comes over you as you realize there is melted, probably dried up ice cream still on your face. You turn your head, you can feel your face burning up. You grab a napkin and clean yourself up.

Suddenly, you here a child crying. Focusing over to the source of the noise you see that the toddler has dropped his ice cream. Clearly he is very upset over this, jumping into action you scoop a half scoop of cookie dough to replace what he dropped and grabbed a lot of napkins.

The toddler instantly stops crying once you hand him the new ice cream, you get as much off the floor as you can with napkins and wipe up the table.

After getting the mop, you see Harrison stand up to leave. He gives you a little wave, raises his eyebrows and mouths “good luck” as he exits. Your heart sinks into your stomach seeing him walk out. Oh well, there is always next week.

Everything is clean and the family is now finished their ice cream and are walking out the door. They stop by the counter and leave you a $5 bill in the tip jar. “Thank you for putting up with our children” They say as they walk out.

Its not Friday, almost closing time. After the week you had you can’t wait for the weekend. Luckily you only have to work Monday-Friday, they hired some younger girls to cover weekends. Fridays are usually busier, its better though because it makes time go by faster. Tonight is exceptionally busy, you have a decent sized line at the moment. Finishing up one group you go back to the beginning of the line to take the next one. “Harrison?” you look at him in shock, not expecting to see him here on any other day rather than a Wednesday. “Today is Friday right?” You ask him with a hint of playfulness in your voice.

He holds his hands in front of him as he smiles, looking down at his feet, “Yeah...” he seems to be shy, “I was just thinking, if you weren’t busy, you might want to go out to dinner when you got off work.” He looks up, his eyes meeting yours.

You freeze, did you really just hear what you think you heard? Harrison is asking you out. Your palms start getting sweating, heart beating harder than usual. Realizing that you are taking a little longer than expected you answer you speak up, “I don’t get off for another hour,” hearing what you said you know it sounds stupid, “I mean, I’d love to.” You recover pretty well.

“Great! I’ll be waiting.” He shoots you a charming smile as he walks out the door.

You are shocked, happy, and nervous all at the same time. This helped the last hour of your shift fly by. Once you finish cleaning up, you turn off the lights and lock up.

When you finish locking the door, you turn around to see Harrison sitting on the hood of his car with a bouquet of flowers. You blush at his gesture, feeling a warmth flow through your veins and butterflies fill your stomach, “Ready to go love?”

Forever Tags: @saturn-aka-six

#harrison osterfield #Harrison Osterfield imagine #Harrison Osterfield fic #Harrison Osterfield Fanfic #starksparker

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peterstarkss · 5 years

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1, 20, 24? -starksparker

Top five favorite moments in the MCU?

“I am Ironman.”

The big circle shot of the original 6 in the avengers with the perfect swell of the theme

In Homecoming- the whole ride to the dance when Liz’s dad realizes Peter is Spiderman.

Steve/Tony’s fight at the end of Civil War. It hurts so bad but it’s also an amazing scene. “He’s my friend.”/”So was I.”

The party in Age of Ultron. Just my fave superheroes hanging out, having fun, smiling, telling jokes. 10/10 content.

Favorite lines?

I already said the “I am Ironman.” Basically all of the Guardians script and Cap’s “I had a date.”

Favorite non-marvel movie/show that features at least one of the marvel actors?

Probably Parks and Rec (Chris Pratt). But I also just recently watched Gifted with Chris Evans and that movie blew me away. And The Impossible with Tom Holland.

It’s really unbelievable how much talent is in the MCU

#thank you!!#peteparkrrs #ask #starksparker

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rae-gar-targaryen · 5 years

Text

of retro-tech and rhapsody [p.p.]

A/N: This is my entry for @starksparker Summer Writing Challenge! Thank you for letting me do this, Kaylee!

Takes place while Peter and the gang are still at school. I’m ignoring “Endgame” and “Far From Home,” so it’s spoiler-free! Includes references to Peter’s Civil War-era scrounging.

Prompt: “For someone so smart, you’re an idiot.”

Pairing: Peter Parker x fem!Reader (I kept her vague enough, sans references to a few hobbies and musical taste).

Warnings: Language. Jumpy plot? So much awkward cotton-candy fluff you may just rot your teeth. Sorry.

Word Count: 3.4k of baked good simile, teenage awkwardness, and musical snobbery.

Summary: Dumpster diving wasn’t a good look for most boys. Most of them. But then again, most boys didn’t make you a good, old-fashioned loverboy mixtape.

**NOT MY GIF!**

–

Okay, so. Here’s the deal: You most certainly were not the type to gossip. You really weren’t. The clique-ish chatter of your classmates and passersby floating through your ears like the twittering of so many small birds, muffled like cotton balls in your ears.

It’s not that you were a bad listener. Nah. You actually considered yourself a good listener. You just weren’t that interested in the conversational equivalent of small-dick-energy. Small minds discuss people, so they say…

Besides, rumors were pernicious. Especially those perpetrated by bored teenagers, the girls’ perfectly-filed nails so much like demon’s talons, the boys’ whispering and snickering like the hissing of snakes. All attempting to perforate your uninterested sensibilities.

Whatever. Whatever the topic was today, you just weren’t interested. Until–

“I heard Flash threw him in. What other reason would he smell like a dumpster?”

“Maybe he just doesn’t, ya know, shower?”

“No way. Flash can’t toss him in alone. He’d need help. Besides, I think he went in there, like, voluntarily.”

“He doesn’t smell. You just saw him coming out of the alley.”

“Ew. You mean to tell me that Peter Parker is a– a dumpster-diver?”

The mention of Peter’s name caught your interest. Peter was a tech-type with a seemingly contradictory creative streak. You had often wondered where he had picked up the old school gadgets he sometimes had tucked under his arm as he hurried to and from the science lab or the A.V. room, Ned Leeds in tow, talking a mile a minute about – some thing or another.

You were almost certain the term “motor mouth” was coined with Peter in mind.

You turned your head to hear who was talking, only to be met with a table full of Flash Thompson’s hangers-on.

Of course. Flash Thomson’s weird hate-boner for Peter Parker was well known among your class. And probably the teachers, too.

You didn’t understand. What was to dislike about Peter Parker? He was perfectly sweet, sweetly smart, smartly perfect.

Okay, maybe you had a little thing for Peter Parker. But only just a little. You had, what? Two classes together?

Besides, you were too busy for boys. It’s 2k19, for God’s sake. You had soccer, studying for the SATs, you helped out your parents. You liked to read. It’s not that you weren’t interested in the pursuit of a certain sweet, stuttering boy with coffee curls and eyes flecked with gold.

Dear god. When did you become a poet? Scratch that. When did you become a terrible poet?? Be still your heart, Keats.

Rolling your eyes, you smacked your empty lunch tray for good measure as you got up, catching the attention of some of Flash’s “Mob.”

“Maybe you should chill on being trash who trash-talks? You sure you don’t belong in the dumpster?” You replied primly. Not chancing a glance back, or waiting for a snarky response, you turned, dropping your tray in the designated area and walked out.

Mic drop, assholes.

—

Peter stared after you from his corner table, basking in the glory of your grand exit. He didn’t hear what you had said. But judging by the disbelieving stares that followed you, it must’ve been good. Flash’s hangers-on looked after you, a few then turning their attention to Peter’s table before going back to their lunch, mouths agape.

Um, what?

Peter had no clue what that could have been about. Whatever it was, he was almost certain he didn’t want to know. Unless– unless it had to do with you. Then he almost certainly did want to know.

He would crawl over glass if it meant learning more about you.

Okay, maybe not glass. He did get beat up on the regular, and even super-fast healing and super strength didn’t mean that the sensations that came from small-time ass kickings was enjoyable.

Mr. Stark told him that finding the girl he liked would hit him like, what was it? Oh, yeah …

“A punch to the gut, Pete. You’ll never see it coming. Not even with that little, uhhhh, tingly little super-sense you’ve got goin’ on.”

Punch to the gut indeed. Just the sight of you was enough to make Peter stammer, even moreso than usual. Sweat a bit more than usual. Especially today, what with his latest acquisition burning a proverbial hole in his backpack.

His morning excursion had yielded a perfectly good Walkman. Who would toss that in the dumpster? A little fine-tuning and it should be good to go. He’d been acquiring retro stereo equipment for some time. A little trip to the junk store for a blank cassette, and he was home free.

His heart sang at the cleverness of his plan. Burning you an old-school mixtape seemed like the perfect way to tell you how he felt. How he’d been feeling since ninth grade bio, making a gradual mental catalogue of your band shirts. Of the books you thumbed through while waiting for class to start.

Yeah, he knew exactly what was going on that tape.

“Hey, loser.” Peter whipped his head at the dead-pan to the left, meeting MJ’s shrewd eyes and perpetually downturned mouth from her corner of the table. “What’s up with your stupid moon-face?”

“Uh, what?”

“If you stared any harder at her, you may burn a hole.”

“I don’t — who? Stared at who?” Peter panicked. Surely MJ couldn’t know. If MJ knew, did that mean he was being obvious? Oh, crap.

“For someone so smart, you’re an idiot. Lucky for you, I’m not. Just say something. She’s super nice, you know. She’d talk to you.”

“Thanks, MJ. I think?” Peter’s brow furrowed at the minor insult, which stung less considering it was wrapped in the warm velvet of MJ’s hyper-observant encouragement.

Just talk to her. Like it was so easy.

If he played his cards right, he’d let the tape do the talking. Peter loved it when a plan came together. Take down the bad guys, take down his homework, take down this special project, get the girl.

—

“Decisions, decisions, all of them wrong,” you hummed to yourself, perusing the sweet offerings through the bakery’s glass dessert case.

You stood under the ambient lighting in your favorite bakery. Post-practice you didn’t smell the best, but you’d put in work. You deserved a treat. RIP to the people behind you in line.

“I hear the chocolate chip cookies here are the best.”

You whipped around, only to be met with the cocoa-honey eyes of none other than Peter Parker. A true confectionary masterpiece. Suddenly, the items behind the case seemed less sweet by comparison. And–wait, was Peter Parker actually talking to you about something that wasn’t last night’s reading?

“Um, thanks for the tip!” You cursed yourself for your filler-word of choice. Um, um, um. You cursed yourself again for wearing your sweaty practice gear and grass-stained socks. Of all the times to run into him. “Yeah– I’m more of a lemon bar kinda girl.”

Shit. Why did you say that?

Peter just looked at you.

“Oh.”

Did he look— crestfallen? Did you offend Peter Parker? Shit, shit.

“What I mean is, I’ll go with your recommendation, but the cookies here are huge. Split it with me?” You offered.

Peter’s head whipped back up, his eyes cola swirls of excitement. His mouth split into a toothy grin.

Dear God. What you wouldn’t given to be the cause of that smile forever.

Was Peter always literal sunshine?

You paid for the cookie, breaking off a half and offering him the half in the bag. As you sank your teeth into a mouth full of cookie, the melted chocolate flooding your tongue, you asked, albeit not too politely, given that your mouth was full–

“So, what are you doing over on this side of town? Don’t you usually go the other way?”

Peter blinked.

Nice one. Now he’s gonna think you’re a creep that, like, watches him leave? God fucking–

“Oh, just running an errand for Mr. Stark. I saw you through the window and thought I’d come say hey!” Peter chirped.

Ah. The Stark Internship. Of course. Peter probably thought you were the biggest idiot for forgetting. Everyone knew he had the Internship after school. Mercifully, Peter either didn’t notice your slight, or he didn’t care.

“What are you listening to?” Peter gestured at the earbuds poking out of the collar of your practice jersey.

“Bohemian Rhapsody,” you shrugged. “Wanna listen?”

Peter nodded, vehemently. You slipped the buds from the bottom of your shirt, handing one to Peter, the opening piano keys trilling into your ears. Your eyes met Peter’s, and you felt your mouth form a little tip-lipped grin.

The two of you stayed that way for the duration of the song, munching on your respective cookie halves. You wondered if there had ever been a more perfect moment in all of history? Sure, this was a little rom-com for anyone’s taste, but, hey.

You would crawl over glass if it meant you got to listen to Queen while basking in the literal warmth of Peter Parker for eternity.

The song ended, breaking your Freddie Mercury and chocolate-induced haze. Shit. The Stark errand.

You decided to cut the string and let Peter escape this little interaction. You tugged the earbuds, effectively popping the one out of Peter’s ear.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. I’ll let you get back to it! Don’t want to keep Iron Man waiting,” you said. “Thanks for the tip, by the way. This cookie is, like, magic.”

Peter nodded, shuffling his feet a bit. He gave you a wave and bit out a truncated goodbye, shoving his mouth full of the remainder of the cookie as he exited the shop.

What in the literal fuck. No, not literal. Don’t go there. Did you just share baked goods and an actual conversation with Peter? Did you share headphones with Peter? What is happening today?

If your heart beat any faster, it’d be doing the Roger Taylor drum solo to “Keep Yourself Alive.” If your blood could sing, it would be thrumming a trilled little thrill of your sweet, sugary little interlude.

—

Peter blew back into his apartment like a hurricane, buzzing with whatever that was.

What had compelled him to speak up? He saw you standing there, looking a literal glowing angel in school colors and pulled-back hair, complete with beautiful post-exercise flush. And he just— he had to say something, MJ’s words ringing in his head. “She’d talk to you.”

Peter pulled the refurbished Walkman out of his bag, along with a packet of cassette tapes colored neon pink.

If he was giving you a little retro tech present, he was going full-stop, the neon piece of plastic screaming 1980s, screaming you.

Fitting the blank cassette into the stereo, he hit “Record.”

The following day, Peter hustled into school at a time that was, in his humble opinion, way, way too early, meeting Ned in the hallway.

“Okay, guy in the chair. Did you figure out which locker is hers?” Peter asked.”

“You know I did.” Ned pressed a slip of paper into Peter’s palm.

Glancing quickly at the little shred, Peter stuffed it into his back pocket and jogged down the hallway, jimmying the lock on the locker in question until it gave way under his super-strength. As if it would catch fire at any second, Peter tossed the Walkman and tape into the locker, slamming the door shut and taking off down the hallway as quickly as he could, Ned at his heels.

“Smooth, Spider-boy. Smooth,” Ned laughed.

—

Peter was going to die.

Days went by. Literal days. Those pressed on into a week, and then two. Peter had heard nothing since dropping the tape in your locker. God, this was a mistake. He’s made a huge mistake. A huge, tiny mistake.

His self-doubt crept in like so many webs, suffocating his better sensibilities. Not that he’d tangled himself in his own webs before. Come on!

—Okay, it was ONE TIME. And he’d had time to think about his carelessness while waiting for the webs to dissolve.

But this was different. He was drowning in his uncertainty. Maybe he’d misread that day at the bakery. Maybe you were just being nice. Peter knew he wasn’t entitled to your attention after once interaction. He wasn’t that much of a hyper-masculine dick.

Oh, shit.

—

“Yo!”

You turned, eyes landing on your teammate, Jessica Porter.

“Jess. What’s up?”

“Hey, I found this in my locker a while ago. I meant to give it to you sooner, but, well–” Jess reached into her bag, pulling out a rectangular hunk of plastic affixed to 1980s-esque headphones. “Your name’s on the sticky note, and on the tape inside. I don’t know how it got to me, but it’s clearly meant for you.”

You took the Walkman from her hands, turning it over. No “From” on the sticky note to indicate who had gifted you this little vintage gem. Affixed to the back with some Scotch tape was the plastic holder for the cassette, the jacket within scrawled with writing that you just couldn’t place.

“Uh, thanks, Jess. See you at practice?” You walked away, your brow furrowed, your mind moving at a mile a minute.

After school, you slumped onto your bed. You popped the tape off the back of the Walkman, freeing the case.

As you slipped the jacket out of the case, you hit “Play” on the Walkman, the keyed-up opening to Jukebox the Ghost’s “Everybody’s Lonely” meeting your ears.

You perused the scrawled writing on the jacket– it was a track list. Next to each track was a little handwritten note jammed into each line.

1. “Everybody’s Lonely”– Jukebox the Ghost. Because every song is about love. And because you like Queen.

2. “Radio Gaga”– Queen. Ditto.

Your heart stopped. No, seriously, should you call 911? This couldn’t be – could it? Did Peter Parker make you an actual mixtape?? Had you hit your head today at practice, or something? The stars in your eyes and little bursts like so many Pop Rocks in your belly were so like happy little interpretations of your veritable disbelief.

You had shared a Queen song and a sweet moment with Peter two weeks ago. Since then? Radio silence. But now? Radio Ga Ga. This had to be from him, right? Your eyes continued down the list.

6. “Hong Kong Garden”– Siouxsie and the Banshees. I’d reap the field of rice and reeds if it meant an afternoon with you.

7. “Humbug Mountain Song” – Fruit Bats. My heart thrums like a shitty hipster banjo solo.

8. “Left Hand Free” – Alt J. You looked so cute in your tour shirt Sophomore year.

9. “Cover Your Tracks” – A Boy and His Kite. Heart, cover your tracks, the blood that you spill will wash what you lack.

The last song on the list, replete with a mix of everything from Bowie to Fleet Foxes, was—

14. “Given the Chance”– The Kite String Tangle. The note?

“Given the chance, I’d go for it. One step at a time. Will you give me a chance?”

It was then you knew. Peter Parker was pure happiness. A zipping burst of citrus on your tongue with a zing that shot straight to your heart. A powdered sugar kiss-and-touch. Syrupy warmth enveloping your spirits. This gesture was beyond— well, anything. Your heart felt like so many folded paper birds, fluttering and faint, but solidified with purpose.

You had words for Peter Parker.

—

The next day you strode into school with purpose, only to be met with coffee curls awaiting you. Pacing at your locker was none other than Peter Parker. And he looked — panicked??

Before you could even say a word, Peter opened his mouth, a jumble of words flying out faster than his lips could form the words.

“I am so, so sorry. I messed up…”

I messed up.

Your heart plummeted. Was the tape for someone else? Before you could press, Peter continued, “I– I made you a mixtape. Y-you know, like, an actual mixtape. On a cassette and everything. The only problem is–” He hung his head. “I put it in your locker. Well, not your locker, obviously– I thought it was your locker. 1127? I put it in 1172.” He let out a huff of air at his rushed confession, refusing to meet your eyes, cheeks burning. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked.

“You’re sorry?!”

Peter looked up at you, quickly, flinching, expecting a tongue-lashing after your outburst. To his surprise, you just laughed. He blinked. Had he misread this so badly?

“Jessica Porter has locker 1172,” you explained. Peter continued staring at you, blankly. What did Jessica Porter have to do with anything?

“Jessica Porter and I have chem together. We’re on the soccer team. She’s super cool,” You explained. Peter remained unmoving, desperate to hear the point and why his apparent faux-paus was so funny to you.

“Don’t leave me in suspense, here. Because, I’m like.. really, REALLY sorry,” Peter pressed.

“The point is,” you slung your bag forward and over your shoulder, ripping the zipper open and withdrawing the Walkman. Neon pink cassette tape visible like a flash through the little plastic window. “I got your mix. Jess gave it to me. She thought it was cute, by the way. Sure you didn’t really mean to give it to her?” you teased.

“O-oh. Cool, uh, but did you think it was cute?”

“Peter,” you sighed. “For someone so smart, you’re an idiot–”

“MJ said the same thing…”

“– It wasn’t cute, Peter.”

His eyes got even wider if possible, the sting of rejection starting to set in– could he possibly have misread the situation so badly? What about your little date? Was it a date? Listening to Queen and eating cookies that day at the bakery? How had MJ steered him so wrong?

He had done so well on the reading comprehension portion of his PSAT. But reading paragraphs about the migratory pattern of geese was very, very different from reading between the lines when it came to girls his own age. Any girls, really– he had to stop himself. Maybe they were right, maybe he was an idiot–

“Peter, this is MORE than cute. This is the sweetest, nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I love it. Your taste in music, you… you get me,” you explained, pressing your hand into Peter’s, pressing the point. He could feel the touch, tingly sensations running through his palm, up his arm, and he swore, straight into his heart.

Peter changed a glance at you through his lashes, lips splitting into a toothy, Peter Parker grin.

You hoped he’d only smile at you like that forever. He truly was like the sun, bright and warming the coldest parts of you with the greatest of ease. Filling any hollowness with golden light. His bright eyes sparkled, permanently etched within the golden hour and you swore you forgot how to breathe.

“Really?”

“I’d give you a chance, Pete. As many as you wanted.”

Before he could respond, you leaned forward, quickly pressing your lips to Peter’s. It lasted a brief second – a dusting of sugar atop something crisp, sweet and citrusy– before pulling back. Sweet, but all too short, panic splicing through your moment of confectionery bliss that was kissing Peter Parker.

“Sorry, sorry, Peter. I’m sorry. Was that too forward?? I–”

You were cut off by Peter, lips firmly meeting yours. Peter’s hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs tracing over the peaks of your cheekbones. Any trace of awkwardness gone, Peter slid his hands from your cheeks — back, back, back— to run his fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck, resting there. The tilt of his lips followed yours, sweet cinnamon heat – persistently welcome and welcomingly persistent. The golden hour indeed.

Breathless– you were breathless. Could Peter Parker kiss like this always? You wished he would. Look at you, smile at you, kiss you – always. But, um, not with anyone else. Decidedly not. Just you, you hoped. The ebbs and flows of your personhood, the sweet contrast of your personalities, like a discord of so many notes coming together into one cohesive piece. This….

This? This was what rhapsody was. You were just sure of it.

—

So that’s it. I do have a complete playlist made for this story, if anyone is interested, I can send you the link.

Tagging: @starksparker @nappingtopknot @ayeayecaptaingally @andallthatmishigas @ymeradonnadx @hey-its-grey

Special s/o to @tigerlilynoh!

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