#ngl i cried @ puzzle piece

[wings-of-sapphire]

Autism rant

Tw: autism speaks

A rant about my story and how much I’ve learned about autism speaks

So I just had a meltdown bc my little sister was petty and poked me while saying “touch” (knowing I ABHOR touch” touch and that led to me repeatedly blasting “Juggling Iz Cool” from Helluva Boss’ recent episode in my AirPods in the bathroom with the door locked. That led me down a rabbit hole of Tumblr autism stories, bc while I’m in the process of being checked out for autism, I’m pretty much self-diagnosed bc I want to die whenever I accidentally use The Fork in my household. You know, the one with the single slightly bent prong that I LOATHE WITH EVERY INCH OF ME.

Anyhoo. I got onto the tag #fuck autism speaks and was reminded of a time in 9th grade when my school was doing a thing called SAL Faire. S.A.L., students against labels. Each seminar class was split into groups— mine being Special Needs Awareness— and each member had a subtopic to do an 8-paragraph essay on— mine being Tourette Syndrome. Then all members had to create a giant poster about the main topic.

We chose the puzzle theme.

It wasn’t me who suggested it, but another girl in the group who wrote her essay on Cerebral Palsy. There WAS a girl, however, who did her research on autism and said nothing about Autism Speaks or the negative attributes of the puzzle piece used to represent autism.

I only found out about Autism Speaks after we’d finished gluing the puzzle pieces as the background.

I was obviously distressed and went to talk to a girl in our year who was officially diagnosed with autism (I feel so bad now, like she might’ve thought I only think of her as an autistic person??? I feel so bad) and our health teacher who’d worked with special needs kids before, to ask their opinions on the topic. They said it would be okay if I hadn’t any malicious intent. Ngl, I cried later. I felt so bad for not knowing.

Now here I am, no longer at a terrible place with me mental health, currently going through therapy, confronted my gaslighting mother and traditional father, come out to my family about my bisexuality, and a lot healthier in my mind overall. I still have a fuckload of anxiety and am like 80% sure I’m autistic too, but… yeah.

Idk where I was going with this. Will update after the whole process is done, but I have a high chance of getting diagnosed for autism after doing a whole thing on Special Needs Understanding WHILE using the puzzle piece as a theme. I also added a disclaimer saying the puzzle piece has been used before autism speaks and shit, but no one else in my group really cared and idkkkkkkkk

Thanks for listening to my rant ig lol

#autism #fuck autism speaks #anti autism speaks #autistic things #autisic #rant post

[ne0cults]

#nct #nct dream #renjun #haechan #jeno #jaemin #jisung #chenle #lq renjun #lq haechan #lq jeno #lq jaemin #lq jisung #lq chenle #lq nct #nct headers #ngl i cried @ puzzle piece #i just want a friendship like them yknow

[mollysdarkthoughts]

Types of gamers I think class 1-A would be:

Genre: Sfw headcanon.  Generally this is all crack and a dash of fluff, so it’s not too bad.

Characters: Ururaka, Momo, Bakugou, Mina, Denki.

Trigger warning: mentions of sexism, homophobia, racism and general toxicity. Swearing. Mentions of rage and screaming. Generally this is all crack and a dash of fluff, so it’s not too bad.

note: this got a tad bit serious in the end, I don’t know why I divulged.

Ururaka:

She is probably one of the best gamers in the whole class. She didn't have many video games growing up because her family couldn't afford it (Considering the average game price on steam is 60$), so most of her what she plays came from an old school friend who would let her play on their PC and Xbox. This bitch got hooked. She got addicted from the beginning, and since then, she's been buying games and receiving them as gifts. She has a comprehensive taste in games, but generally, she'll fall back on games that give her adrenalin rushes. Horror games, PVP, FPS, high stakes strategy, you name it. Playing PVP with Ururaka is a Nightmare, though. Not an exaggeration; you will have nightmares. Not only is she good, but she's also terrifying. She gets slightly too into it. There will be screams, cries, roars, maniacal laughter. You will go to sleep at night with the image of her rage-filled face.  

Momo:

She doesn't get the appeal. At all. The only reason that she began playing was that the others in UA would invite her to join the server, and because she's such a people pleaser, she couldn't say no. Momo doesn't have the same drive as Ururaka, so when things get too loud or too complicated, she logs off. Losing the first time in a game really depletes her ego. She enjoys a few games, like simple puzzle games or just comfort games like Animal crossing. There really isn't any stress to have in games made to make you feel cosy, and she's been doing puzzle's most of her childhood. She loves buying games for the others, though. Seeing them happy when she gifts it to them is euphoric. Overall, not her thing, but it's not for everyone.

Bakugou:

He is shit at games. He will never admit he is shit at games. And because of that, he will talk big and make his opinion known. If someone likes a game, he will find a way to downplay it. If you like animal crossing, It's "Not a real game", if you like dating sims, you're a "lonely perv", and the list continues. This is all to compensate for the fact that he has no idea what he is talking about. The dude thinks hanging out in toxic gamer sub redits make's him a natural (It doesn't). He'll drink his own sweat before he admits it, but he unironically likes dating sims; Not the super pervy ones, but the cute, romantic ones with a side of corny jokes. The dude's a lonely piece of shit who wants to hold the hand of attractive men and women and go on dates with them, and share milkshakes, and go on corny adventures. Don't judge him; he's self-conscious!

Mina:

Has the entire gaming set up! Her computer room is full of glowing pink lights, bright aesthetically pleasing speakers, the cat headphones, the whole shebang! And she rocks it like a champ. She ain't an amateur either, she'll play anything, and I mean anything. Also, definite twitch streamer and is kinda famous ngl. Especially after UA when her viewers just skyrocketed in number overnight. She's been around almost every gaming community, and she isn't a stranger to sexism, racism, homophobia etc. Did this stop her? No. In fact, she takes her joy from seeping it out of teenage boys who think they're tough shit. She isn't going to be nice about it. The kid will regret his entire life choices, and with her big following, he's probably never going to see them hear the end of it. A true connoisseur of being a bad bitch.

Denki:

He's average at games. He wins ten times out of seventeen on a good day with a game he's played before. Honestly, he loves video games. However, he's starting to pull himself back from it. Denki was definitely one of the kids who went down a very toxic pipeline at a young age, and he lived to see the results of it bite him in the ass. It kinda hit him like a train that 'yeah, maybe all the sexist jokes I made weren't justified at all. He's gotten way better since then. Still rockin' the low aesthetic set up, though. All he got is a computer in the corner of his bedroom that has grown grime over the years. (Just an add on, Denki saw that Mineta was starting to fall down the same pipeline as he had and is trying his best to curve that behaviour gently because he knows if he's too rough with him, he'll just get defensive.)

#bakugo x reader #denki x reader #momo #mina #bakugo #denki #uraraka #uraraka x reader #momo x reader #mina x reader #bnha #bnha headcanon #mha #mha headcanons #bakugo headcanons #denki headcanons #momo headcanons #mina headcanons #uraraka headcanons

[fishoutofcamelot]

Yves Montand's les feuilles mortes is Merwen as Gwen ages and becomes old, memories flitting in and out of her consciousness as Merlin tends to her last moments on her death bed, her hand caressing his cheek as she says the final goodbye. Merlin clutches into her hand tight, his shoulders tremored as he sobs, losing his last friend and lover.

Dude it’s MY job to make people sad about Merwen! If you keep this up, I’ll be out of a job!!! And I can’t afford that in this tragic fandom economy.

Ngl tho, you’re absolutely right about the vibes. Although if I might add, I also kinda get a reincarnation vibe from it too.

The scene: France, 1947. WWII is finally over. Merlin, or Michon Epinette as he goes by now, is walking down a wet cobblestone street. His face is sullen. As he walks, hands stuffed into his pockets and head bowed, flashbacks are interjected into his mind. Brief snippets of his time in Camelot - meeting Arthur, hanging out with the knights, saving the kingdom. But above all, his time with Gwen. All the memories and laughs and tears they shared together. 

The flashbacks increase in frequency the further along he comes, only now they’re all focusing on Arthur’s death, Leon and Gaius and Percival’s deaths, until only Merlin and Gwen remain. Until Gwen ages and dies too, until Merlin is left weeping over her dead body. But in none of the memories do any of their faces appear. The faces and appearances of his loved ones are just some of the many things he’s forgotten after all these years, much to his distress.

Merlin shakes his head to force the memories away, and enters a bar. It’s pretty empty. Everyone is fairly quiet aside from the clanking of glasses and occasional murmurs here and there - and on the stage, a slow, morose jazz performance.

He sits down at the bar and gets a drink, watching the performance and trying not to cry over how deeply the mournful lyrics speak to him. It’s the 1400-year anniversary of Gwen’s death, and it stings just as intensely now as it did back then.

The woman singing wears a yellow dress that is elegant yet simple, back exposed and black gloves deftly holding the microphone. Her own eyes are tearful, she herself affected by her own lyrics - Les Feuilles Mortes, now that he thinks about it - and if not for some impressive self-control then her elaborate makeup might have been running.

But looking at her face, her dark, gentle face and deep brown eyes, a most profound sense of deja vu settles into his gut. As if he should know her somehow. 

But Merlin has lived for many, many years, and has met many, many people. If he’s met her before, he doesn’t remember, and likely never will. And besides, it was probably nothing important.

Still, the clenching of his heart pulls him to her. As if something terrible will happen, as if he’ll suffer a loss worse than he can ever imagine, if he doesn’t hold her in his arms this very moment.

Instead of sweeping her up and never letting go, Merlin waits for the song to end, politely applauds, and then greets her as she sits down at the bar stool next to him. Another performer walks onto the stage in her place.

They speak in French as she asks if she’s seen him before, a puzzled look creasing her features. He says that he’s just got one of those faces, and reaches out his hand to shake hers. He introduces himself using his current alias, Michon Epinette, but his ribcage screams at him to tell the truth. To tell her that his name is Merlin. He ignores the impulse.

She calls herself Guinevere Laurent, and oh how his heart aches at the familiarity of it. Another Guinevere, just as kind and soft as his own had once been. He commends her performance, admits that it had made him cry, and she tells him it has that effect on people - especially those who have recently suffered a loss. 

Ms. Laurent asks him who he’s lost, then gets flustered as she apologizes for being so forward. He instead tells her that he lost a great deal of friends. Everyone he’s ever known and loved is dead now.

“The war?” she surmises.

“Yes,” he says, because while they’re not thinking about the same war it’s still true.

She sips from her cocktail glass. “I lost a great deal of friends to the war as well. My brother Elouan, my best friend Lazare, and my father Thomas. Normandy, all of them.”

He shrugs. “If they had to die at war, at least it was Normandy.” Then, flustering - “Oh no, I’m so sorry! That was so insensitive of me. I didn’t mean -”

Ms. Laurent - Guinevere - shakes her head. “It’s fine. You’re right, though. Normandy is...heroic. As good a place to die as any. I just...I just wish they hadn’t had to die in the first place.”

Merlin has nothing to say to that, so he doesn’t. And the two of them sit there at the bar counter, nursing their cocktails - which are, coincidentally, the exact same - and ruminate over their respective losses. Guinevere Laurent is likely thinking about the second world war, and Merlin is thinking about Camlann. And both of them are thinking about after. What happens next. Where they go from here, when everyone they care about is six feet under.

While the similarity in names is likely a coincidence, Merlin can’t help but feel drawn to this Guinevere too. She speaks and acts and feels so much like the one he lost that his chest burns with sorrow. But also, perhaps, with something else too. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

Merlin ventures out his broken heart and cracks a joke, trying to lighten her spirits. For the life of him, he will never be able to remember what the joke is, but it does its job in making a tentative smile splash onto her face. 

Warily, with an uneven and rough voice, she murmurs out a joke of her own. He won’t ever be able to remember that one, either, but he laughs just as quietly and genuinely as she did.

After an hour their laughter has transformed into something loud and unending, and it fills up the entire bar with an orange, jovial mood. Other people are talking amongst themselves with more liveliness than they had before, and now Merlin and Guinevere are not the only people smiling in here. Even the scrunched-faced bartender is cracking a grin.

It feels familiar. It feels like he’s been in this situation before - laughing with someone as loudly as possible to chase away their mutual pains, until their desperation turns into sincerity and sincerity into passion. 

For one glorious evening, Merlin allows himself to exist in a fantasy world where Gwen isn’t dead, but sitting right next to him. It’s weird and wrong, for sure, but he can’t help pretending that Guinevere Laurent and Guinevere Pendragon are the same person.

The crowd raucously, drunkenly cries out to Guinevere for an encore, begging her to give them another song. She shakes her head and says she’s done for the night, and all her songs are too sad anyway, but the crowd remains insistent. 

Merlin nudges her shoulder with his own. “You can do this, Gwen.”

And for some reason, just locking eyes with him is enough for her to acquiesce.

She dusts off her dress and reluctantly shuffles onto the stage once more, and the current performer steps aside to let her have the microphone.

Guinevere discusses something with the people manning the instruments, and after a moment they appear to reach an agreement of some kind. 

As the music swells to life, she casts one final glance at Merlin. He nods encouragingly, and she nods back, then closes her eyes and begins.

“Je suis seul ce soir,” she sings in a soulful cadence.

He loses himself in the music, lets the medieval nostalgia consume him like a snake devouring a field mouse - and just as the snake’s venom strikes the mouse, so too does a heartbreaking realization strike Merlin.

He called her Gwen. He referred to Guinevere Laurent as Gwen, his Gwen.

But she’s not. She’s not his Gwen.

His Gwen is dead, and she’s not coming back.

Suddenly, the whole world flares harshly at him. The lights are too modern and bright, the music is too loud and lively, the crowd is too busy and young. And Guinevere Laurent stands on the stage, eyes closed as she sings from the heart. 

And it’s not Gwen. It’s not Gwen, it’s not Gwen, it’s not Gwen, and the reminder of this truth is a slap to the face. Gwen didn’t dress like that, didn’t speak that language, didn’t sing in French bars or drink cheap cocktails. 

Gwen died. She died in pain, and she died gasping for air, and she died pushing him away in fear because her senile mind could not recall who he was. She died afraid, surrounded by faces and places she didn’t recognize, tearfully asking for a brother who had been dead for decades.

But even despite with all the differences, Guinevere Laurent looks so horribly similar to Gwen, back when she was young and innocent. The similarities, the memories, are enough to shatter whatever shaky pieces of his heart he had managed to cobble together.

Merlin presses a trembling fist to his mouth as tears pierce their way through his eyes, clouding his vision and sapping his body of any resolve it might have had. 

He fumbles out of the bar to get away from it all, lest the agony bubble out of him like blood. The cold air stings his cheeks, but the bitterness of it provides a momentary distraction from the memories left behind in the bar.

Determined to find some other hole-in-the-wall at which to drink and forget forget forget, Merlin stumbles away, not even bothering to wipe away the curtain of tears shuttering his face.

But back in the bar, Guinevere Laurent begins to remember things. As the melody holds up her heart, as the fondness that ‘Michon’ had born within her chest lifts her ever higher, flashes of a distant life spark in her mind. 

A boy with an impish grin, stuck in the stocks but still shaking her hand. A young man with a colourful scarf, sitting on a hill and braiding flowers into her hair. A friend, back pressed to hers as they both hold swords and fight to defend their kingdom. A companion, holding her wrinkled hands and helping her get up the stairs.

The name whispers into her mind. Merlin.

But as the final notes of Seule Ce Soir  rumble to an end, as Guinevere opens her eyes in the hopes of soaking in the rays of her old friend’s presence, she finds no sign of Michon - Merlin - and instead a vacancy in his place. 

Thanks for the ask! <3

#long post #i shouldve added a read more line huh #well im too lazy to do it now so we'll just have to suffer through it #merwen #mergwen #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin #bbcm #ask #fish post

[katahnisharma]

Sorry but No (T.H)

Word Count: 2k

Summary: You were traveling to London to surprise Tom while he was shooting Spiderman Far From Home. But things don’t exactly go as planned. 

Warnings: Um it’s kind of angsty ngl, people’s feelings are hurt and Tom is sad?? But it does get happier in the end I promise :)

A/N: Requested by the lovely @evngelinelilly for the prompt “Do you want me to leave?”

(NOT MY GIF AND YES I USED THE SAME ONE AS LAST TIME BECAUSE IT’S THE ONLY ONE THAT WORKS)

You couldn’t help but smile as you drove down the road, headed in the direction of the airport. With your boyfriend Tom so far away in London shooting the next Spider-Man movie, you’d been missing your favorite curly haired boy. It had been two weeks since you’d last seen each other, and while it wasn’t a very long interval, you had decided to take matters into your own hands and visit him in London yourself. As a surprise of course, since you didn’t want him to worry or distract him from shooting with your travel plans. Almost giddily, you picked up your phone and searched for his name in your recent calls. Hitting the call button, you waited for the dial tone. After a couple of seconds, you heard Tom’s voice on the line.

“Y/N? What’s going on, why’d you call?” Tom mumbled. Unconsciously, you let out a sigh, relief at hearing his voice again flooding through you.

“Oh nothing really! Just wanted to see how you were doing. We haven’t spoken in a couple of days, that’s all” you replied, turning into the airport parking lot and finding a spot. Tom was silent on the other end. You frowned slightly, and checked to make sure you hadn’t lost him.

“Tommy? You still there?” You asked, now walking with your luggage into the check-in. You heard some background noise, and then Tom’s voice once more.

“Yeah, yeah I’m here. Look, I can’t really talk right now Y/N, can you call back later?” he replied, a slight sharpness to his voice. That caught you off guard, Tom was usually never short with you. 

“Oh, okay sure. No problem, I’ll talk to you later then.” you stammered, hurry by his tone. Was he alright?

“Right, bye Y/N” Tom said, before quickly hanging up, leaving you to stare hopelessly at your phone. You were starting to second guess your little surprise visit, but there was no backing out now. You’d already checked in. Now all you had to do was wait for boarding. All you could think about was would Tom even be happy to see you?

After a grueling 8 hour flight and some terrible airline food (seriously though what did they put in that stuff?), you landed at the London Heathrow Airport. Gazing outside the plane window, you could see the tarmac and the skyscrapers just beyond the fencing. You hadn’t been to London in a while, so you smiled to yourself as you took it all in. At least the city seemed happy to see you. Everyone departed the plane and headed for the baggage claim, and as you made your way there, you hazarded a glance at your phone. No calls. Not even a message. You felt your confidence in your surprise plan falter, but you tried to reason with yourself. 

He’s just busy, he told you that. He hasn’t found the time to call yet, that’s all. And he did tell you to be the one to call him.

Alone with your swirling thoughts, you waited for a cab to take you to Tom’s hotel. You knew he had been staying at one for the privacy, or so he had mentioned over the phone a week back. You had planned to camp out there in his room until he returned from set, since you didn’t really have anywhere else in mind. Finally hailing a cab, you asked the driver to take you to Tom’s hotel while you sat in the back. You pulled out your phone and texted Tom. 

Y: Hey, just wondering when you get done with shooting?

You waited a couple seconds to see if he’d respond, but nothing. Sighing, you pocketed your phone and stared out the window at the blurry people on the sidewalks. Suddenly the cab jerked to a halt, and you found yourself in front of the hotel building. Hurriedly, you thanked the driver, paid him, and walked into the lobby. 

The concierge looked up from her desk and smiled as you passed by. You managed a slight smile and made your way to the elevator. Pressing the 6th floor, you rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet as you waited for the elevator to stop. Luckily, Tom had told you what room he was staying in. As soon as the elevator stopped, you disembarked and headed for Tom’s room. He said it was room 614, so you wandered down the hallway until you finally stopped in front of the right door.  Suddenly you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. You checked the notification.

T: I’m already at the hotel Y/N I told you my timings.

There it was again, that sharpness. He never responded so curtly. What was going on with him? Though slightly puzzled, you were still excited to see his face when he saw you, so you quickly knocked on the door. You could hear footsteps from behind the door as you brushed back your hair nervously, a smile creeping onto your face. Finally the door opened and there was Tom standing in the doorway. 

“Surprise!” You cried, running over to envelop him in a hug. With your arms wrapped around Tom, you relaxed, finally feeling happy again. But Tom tensed under your touch and his arms stayed locked at his side. 

“Y/N? What-what are you doing here?” Tom sputtered, his voice laced with annoyance. It pricked at your heart and your arms dropped as you stepped away.

“I-I came to see you Tommy. To surprise you since I missed you.” You countered, suddenly filled with dread. He didn’t want you here. Tom sighed and walked away from you to the window. Shocked, you took a step inside the room.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me. Aren’t you?” You asked, your voice cracked. Tom was still standing by the window, looking outside at the street below. He acted as though he didn’t hear you.

“What? You won’t even look at me? Or talk to me? I came all this way to see you and I’m starting to think you would have rather I didn’t!” You were angry now. Not upset or sad. Purely angry. Why was he shutting you out? 

“Y/N it’s not a good time for you to be here.” Tom said, turning around to finally look you in the eyes. They looked wounded and almost battered. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. You took a step in his direction.

“Tommy, what’s wrong? Why isn’t it a good time, are you okay?” You asked, slowly taking another step toward him. Tom stood his ground.

“I just don’t want you here right now, I’m not feeling all that happy or in the mood for company. I just don’t want to talk to anyone.” He said, dropping his eyes got he floor. That stopped you in your tracks.

“Okay, but Tom please just let me stay and help you. I won’t speak. I’ll just sit on this couch and you’ll hardly know I’m here!” You begged, now almost certain he was in some sort of depressive state. This was why he was closing himself off. Tom groaned and shook his head vigorously.

“No, Y/N please just leave I can’t deal with this. I told you I don’t want anyone here, AT ALL!” he growled, moving past you and opening the door. You spun around and watched him gesture for you to leave. Tears began to drop slowly down your cheeks.

“Do you want me to leave? Are you serious?” You cried out, furiously wiping your face. Tom looked at you, almost pitifully, but quickly steeled his gaze again.

“Yes, I think you should just go. Now!” He commanded, his eyes seeming to brim with stagnant tears. Your own eyes began to burn as well. Silently, you crossed the room, picked up your bags and walked to the door. 

“So this is it? I just go and you stay here, alone and clearly hurt? Is that what you want?” You asked, searching Tom’s face for any signs of change. But he was cold, and he ran his hand through the curls you so desperately wanted to touch again.

“Yeah, it is. Just go Y/N, okay?” He said, still refusing to meet your eyes as he stared at some spot on the wall behind you. The tears wouldn’t stop flowing from your eyes and you batted them away shamefully. You stood up straighter and cleared your throat, attempting to look composed. You took one last indignant look at Tom before grabbing your bags and marching solemnly out the door. Turning around, you saw Tom had closed the door and the sound of the lock clicking filled your ears. That did it. You collapsed against the wall, the tears flowing freely and abundantly. 

What had you done wrong? All you had wanted was to surprise your boyfriend but instead he had treated you like an unwanted piece of lint . You brought your knees to your chest as you sat there on the floor of the hotel hallway, quietly sobbing while you looked hopelessly up at the ceiling. Well, you thought, better go get a flight home. 

Slowly and shakily, you stood up, your knees wobbling from all the nervous energy coursing through you. Your quivering hands found the handles of your bags, and your dragged your feet to the elevator. The blue down button on the control pad had just lit up when you stopped. 

What were you doing? Tom was in some serious pain and you were about to leave him there? You never ran from difficulties, so what made now any different? Get it together, Y/N!

The elevator opened finally and you looked ahead into the empty chamber. What were you going to do? In or out? 

You shook your head and sighed loudly. Nope. You weren’t leaving him alone. Not today anyway. The elevator door closed as you ran back down the hallway to Tom’s door, your hair bouncing behind you. Tentatively, you rapped your knuckles on the door.

“Tom?” you called out, “It’s me Tom. Open the door” You heard some shuffling around on the other side and a faint response.

“Y/N I told you to leave, I’m not in a good place right now!” 

“Sorry, but no Tommy. I don’t care if you don’t think I should be here, because I am. So please just open the door!” you cried. The door lock clicked quietly, and you suddenly found yourself face-to-face with a red-eyed, broken Tom.

“Why did you come back?” he whispered, wiping a stray tear from his eye. You repressed a small sob as you took in his appearance. 

“Because we are two people in a relationship. And people in a relationship don’t give up on each other. Or leave when the other needs them.” you said. Tom smiled slightly through his teary eyes. You felt your eyes begin to tear as well.

“Oh, and I love you too, so there’s that I guess” you , stepping forward to wipe the tears from Tom’s face. Tom looked down at you with an overwhelming tenderness and love in his expression. His arms came around your waist as he pulled you into him. As your foreheads rested together, Tom let out a relieved breath. 

“I cannot even begin to tell you how much I love you, darling. You are my everything.” he whispered, as he brought your lips to his own. You stood on your tip toes and ran your hands slowly through his hair, causing Tom to emit a quiet moan. When you pulled away, you looked into his puffy eyes. Tom met your eye contact sweetly, but nervously. You were sure he knew what was coming, and he couldn’t have looked more relieved or happy.

“Okay, so you’re going to have to tell me everything from the beginning, you dork. I want to know exactly what happened and what I can do to make it better.” you announced, linking your arm in Tom’s as both of you stepped into the hotel room, closing the door behind you. It may have been a tough night, but at least the two of you were figuring it out together.

TAG LIST (add yourself here): @evngelinelilly @thedailybvgle @bookishpeter @starkravingparker @gamorasbabe @thwiparkers @cutiehollands sorry if I tagged you and you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll take you off :)

#tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland