#𖦹 aerial!

[bruisedboys]

thinking of eddie munson in the morning. with his blue checkered boxers and white socks. ugh. raspy morning voice, tired droopy smile. he definitely smothers you in kisses as soon as he’s awake whether or not you are.

omg aerial. I am thinking many thoughts. here’s a little blurb to satisfy both our needs 🫶🏽

fem!reader

“Sweetheart?”

You hear Eddie before you see him, his raspy, sleep-ridden voice carrying from the hallway. You grin to yourself and a moment later he emerges, hair all a mess, completely shirtless with his tattoos on full display, clad in only his boxers and a pair of mismatching socks. He looks pretty like this, barely awake, his tired eyes searching for you.

“Hi, Eds,” you greet quietly, spatula in hand.

Eddie squints at said spatula. “You’re not making breakfast again, are you?” He lifts his narrowed eyes to you. “Thought I told you to stop doing that.”

You roll your eyes. “I want to make you breakfast, dummy.” You turn back to your eggs frying on the stove. Eddie has this idea that you should never have to so much as lift a finger for him, despite the fact you’ve been together for a while now. “That’s what girlfriends do.”

Eddie grumbles and strides across the kitchen to wrap you up confidently. His arms push under yours and his chin comes to rest on your shoulder, your faces side by side. His hands slot over your stomach.

“Get off me, Eds,” you say, with a lot less heat than you intended. “The eggs are gonna burn.”

Eddie ignores you and instead turns his head to plant a kiss on your cheek. What follows is a smothering of sleepy kisses all over the side of your face, your neck, your shoulder and your ear. He’s still half asleep, so his mouth is sloppy and hot as it works along your skin. By the time he’s done your face is burning and you’re giggling like a schoolgirl.

“Eddie!” You chide, breathless and laughing. You throw your spatula down and grab at his arms which are still locked tightly around your waist. You pry him off, turning on your heel to face him, holding his wrists firmly so he doesn’t try anything.

“What?” He asks mock innocently. His bare chest heaves and a charming grin graces his lips.

You scoff. “You know exactly what.”

Eddie shakes his head, wild hair flying, and lifts one toned shoulder. “Can’t say I do, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl. You almost die on the spot. Eddie must sense this because he moves closer and gives you a droopy smile. You try to keep your eyes off his chest, you really do, but he’s so gorgeous, and his inked up skin is like an art piece in a museum to you. You follow a black train of ink from his stomach, up one of his pecs and over his shoulder. Eddie, unbeknownst to you, is a burning furnace under your gaze.

“M’eyes are up here, sweetheart,” he quips.

Your eyes snap to his. Caught red handed. “Shut up,” you grumble.

Eddie just grins all Cheshire-cat like and leans in for a kiss. His mouth works at yours until you’re opening up and breathing him in and letting him kiss you dizzy. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are, all sloppy and sweet and love drunk. You think you could stay like this forever.

When you pull away, the eggs are burnt to a crisp in the frying pan. You can’t say you care all that much.

[squiddokiddo]

Hey there!

I know Gordon is your favourite but do you have any headcanons for the other brothers?

Yeah, I know I definitely have some but now I'm being asked about it I'm drawing a blank lol, here's a list of some.

𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹

Scott headcanons:

The only straight Tracy brother.

Likes cooking but doesn't get time to do it very often.

Scott's pancakes are the best.

Practically lives on black coffee and espresso shots.

As a kid, one of his dream jobs was a theme park ride tester. Others include aerial display pilot, airline pilot, falconer and a chocolate taster.

Virgil headcanons:

Demi-romantic Asexual.

One of only two people on the island who will eat marmite, the other is Grandma. (Parker also loves marmite, spread generously on toast)

Had a bit of an emo phase during his teens which later evolved into a grunge phase.

He can handle all sorts of gross things, being a medic and everything, but childbirth makes him a bit squeamish, a total of two people have unexpectedly fallen into labour during a rescue and delivering those babies was super challenging but very rewarding for him.

Virgil keeps all sorts of essential items for any rescuees he may have on board Thunderbird 2 including the obvious like, water, food and medical supplies but also: sanitary products, baby products, medicines for allergies, talcum powder and eczema cream, pet food and products, fidget and plush toys, ect.

Tried to eat pinecones as a toddler, Jeff and Lucy had to keep a close eye on him at Christmas because he'd try to shove their giant redwood pinecone decorations in his mouth. He grew out of his taste for pinecones when he was three.

Alan headcanons:

Bisexual

Gets god awful acne, as he's gotten older it's settled down a bit but he still gets pretty bad outbreaks from time to time.

Into 2000's and gen z culture, lucky for him his dad knows all about that. Unlucky for Grandma she remembers the trends Jeff was into when he was young.

Loves Vines and quotes them all the time with Gordon. His favourite Vines are probably the Freshavacadoo one and Hurricane Tortilla.

Dog person, has never really gotten along with cats despite still liking them. His favourite dog breed is a golden retriever.

Is an absolute legend at Mario Kart, John taught him how to play when they were kids.

John Headcanons:

Unlabeled/questioning - he isn't sure of his sexuality, it's not something he's too worried about right now though.

Has social anxiety, he copes very well with interacting with people at a distance like video calls and messaging but struggles a lot with face to face interactions.

Doesn't really play videogames that much but on the rare occasion that he does, he absolutely demolishes his competition whether that be on Mario Kart, Pokémon or Tetris.

Was into 80's and 90's video and arcade games as a kid, more for the fascination with programming and the machines' inner workings rather than the games themselves.

Hates ice skating, dealing with gravity is difficult enough without walking on a slippery surface with blades on his feet.

Can be the most sarcastic bitch if he's in a mood.

𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹

[bruisedboys]

also also!!!!!! peter x clumsy!reader might be the best pairing. because his spidey senses ugh he’s always catching you before you trip. like an arm around your back and then he dips you down to be dramatic and you get all flustered. and!!! if you’re not in arms reach he definitely shoots a web at you to pull you into his chest before you can do any damage. you both have several heart attacks a day because you’re such a klutz.

I am always on the peter x clumsy reader agenda!! they are so special to me!!! also the thing you said about him catching you and dipping you down omg I could die.

fem!reader 0.7k words

You’re still in the process of patching yourself up when Peter gets home, your knees scraped and a box of big Band-Aids waiting for you on the coffee table. You were hoping to be done by the time he got home, to save him the worry. No such luck. You hear the front door open and you don’t have time to hide your fresh wounds, your evidence of yet another accident.

You’re sure you look quite pathetic when Peter emerges in the doorway.

“Hi, dove! I missed— are you bleeding?” His smile drops and so does his bag. He doesn’t bother taking his jacket off. He strides across the room and gets to his knees in front of you. His hands find your thighs, thumbs just shy of your fresh scrapes.

“Oh, honey,” he coos. He’s not shocked, at least. You think maybe it’s happened so many times it doesn’t phase him anyway more.

His eyebrows pinch together as he scowls at your poor knees, his hands squeezing your thighs. He gives your injuries a once over before lifting his head to look at you sadly. “What happened?”

You frown. “Tripped in the driveway,” you admit moodily. “I’m fine, really. Looks worse than it feels.”

Peter huffs morosely, “I wish I was there when it happened. Could’ve caught you, baby.”

You melt. You’re endeared by his care for you. You smile at him and reach out to push his hair from his forehead, his curls soft under your fingers. You drag your hand down the side of his head, fingers heavy, and let your palm rest over his cheek. Peter’s eyelids flutter under your touch.

“It’s okay, Pete,” you tell him brightly. “You can’t win ‘em all.”

Peter laughs, his smile blinding. “Thanks, babe.” He twists his head so he can kiss your palm, a warm press of his soft, wind-bitten lips. “Let’s get you patched up now, hm?”

Peter patches up your knees, hands gentle as he cleans your wounds and presses Band-Aids over them. He’s a practiced hand, having done this plenty of times, on your legs, elbows, fingers, you name it. Though you must admit, you’re far less prone to accidents with Peter around. He catches you more times than he doesn’t. Today was just bad timing.

When Peter’s done fixing you up he lays a kiss on each of your knees, over your fresh white Band-Aids.

“All fixed,” he says happily, sliding his hand up your thigh to give your hip a squeeze.

You beam and cover his hands with yours. “Thanks, Peter.”

Peter stands and pulls you up with him. Your knees sting, but only a little, and it’s nothing you’re not used to.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, head ducked so he can meet your eyes, his hair tumbling into the space between your heads. “I can get you some ice, if you like?”

You shake your head. You’d much rather have him stay this close forever. “I’m okay, Pete.”

Peter still looks unconvinced, a frown tugging at his lips. He thinks for a second, then, “Do you want a hug? ‘Cos I know I do.”

You giggle. You’d kill for a hug right now. “Sure.”

You push your arms under his and he circles you in his strong hold, pulling you as close as he can to his chest. He’s careful to avoid your knees bumping his, legs moving so yours are between his. You push your face into his firm chest and breathe him in, his smells, his cologne and the wind on his clothes and that lovely scent he carries around with him everywhere, like old books and coffee shops.

Peter’s face falls into your neck and he sighs, practically melting into you, latching onto you like glue. He’s warm and he’s soft and he’s Peter. The pain in your knees is completely unnoticeable when he’s holding you like this.

“My poor, clumsy girl,” he says eventually, mostly fond, but there’s a whisper of cheek that you don’t miss.

You scowl into his chest. “M’not clumsy,” you whine, though you definitely are and you both know it. “The pavement is uneven.”

Peter pulls back, his big hands on your upper arms. He’s smiling like an idiot. “It is?”

You nod fervently. “Yeah. S’why I tripped.”

Peter nods slowly like you’re telling the truth, like the pavement in the driveway isn’t perfectly even.

“Stupid pavement,” he says.

You giggle and hide your face in his chest again.

-

[bruisedboys]

peter parker who always lets you hang off his arm. you’re always holding it to your chest when walking or just standing. letting him do the guiding because you just want to stick to his side. you wrap both your arms around his and just fiddle with his fingers and maybe tug on them when you need his attention. you rest your chin on his shoulder when he’s stopped to talk to someone or when you’ve both sat down. you just have to be near him tbh <3333 and he doesn’t care one bit, he actually hates it when you’re not as close.

aerial why would you do this to me!!! I want to be his clingy gf so bad. also this is really short sorry </3

Peter sometimes finds it hard to breathe when you cling to him like this. You’re so close and your warmth is seeping into him and your perfume smells like honey and flowers and hell, he’s so in love with you he could die.

One of your hands is slotted in his, your fingers having searched for his and found them the moment you’d stepped outside. Your other hand is curled around his elbow, clutching his arm to your chest. Peter thinks it’s cute, how close you want to be to him. How you don’t seem to want to let him go.

“Y/N, honey,” he says with a poorly contained grin. “You okay?”

You look up at him, pretty as ever. Peter’s chest burns at the sight of you.

“Fine,” you say, and you look it. Your smile is bruising.

The breeze has blown a strand of hair across your face. Peter lifts his free arm and pushes the stray lock behind your ear, his hand lingering on your jaw.

“Did you decide what you feel like eating?” He asks slowly. It’s hard to get the words out when his fondness and adoration for you is making his chest tight.

You don’t notice, and besides, you look like you’re feeling an equal amount of fondness for him. “I was thinking Thai,” you say thoughtfully. “But only if you want that too?”

Peter grins. He doesn’t care what he eats, as long as it’s with you. He presses his thumb to the corner of your mouth, then leans down to press a chaste kiss to your wind-bitten lips. “Thai it is.”

Peter and you walk the short distance to the Thai restaurant. You cling to Peter the entire way. He can’t stop smiling. He wants you this close forever, even if it means you’re so close he has to be extra careful not to step on your feet.

The Thai place is busy tonight. Neither of you mind. You stand in line, so close your shoes press up against each other. You fiddle with Peter’s fingers, trace the lines on his palm, the veins on the inside of his wrist. Peter is putty in your hands. His chest feels like it’s on fire, worse when you press into his side and let your head fall against his shoulder, your weight familiar and soft and warm all at once.

By the time the food comes out, hot and fresh and smelling delicious, Peter’s chest is already so full with fondness for you he’s not sure he can fit anything else in there. He tries his best.

[bruisedboys]

also!!!!ugh eddie taking a shy!you to one of your first ever concerts. just let’s you cling to him the entire time because it’s just a little overwhelming. he buys you drinks all night and definitely!!!! gets angry when he catches some other guy flirting with you.

sweet — eddie munson x reader

summary: protective bf eddie takes his shy girl to her first concert. fluff, established relationship, shy!reader (ty aerial for this superb ask I love you sooo so much)

fem!reader 1.2k words

You’re clinging to Eddie like a koala to a tree. You don’t seem like you’re going to let go any time soon. Eddie doesn’t really mind, though it worries him a little.

You say something but you’re too quiet and the music’s too loud and Eddie doesn’t understand. The only reason he knows you’re trying to tell him something is because he sees your lips moving. He’s maybe been watching your expressions like a hawk for the past half hour. Maybe.

Eddie thinks, defensively, that he has a right to be worried. It’s your first concert, and you’ve always been on the shyer side, to the point where even small gatherings with Eddie’s friends overwhelm you. Not that he cares. He likes you just the way you are. He’s just worried this — the people, the music, the crowds — could be too much for you.

Eddie bends down slightly so his mouth is next to your ear. “What was that, pretty girl?”

As expected, you flush from head to foot. Your fingers toy with the hem of your denim jacket as you shake your head, staring at the dirty floor.

“It’s nothing,” you say, loud enough for him to hear but still quiet. Timid. Your voice is scratchy. “Doesn’t matter.”

Eddie’s brow pinches. He reaches around his torso to grab your wrist, pulls your hand away from where it’s abusing your jacket, his fingers working into the spaces between yours. His movements make you look up, your big sweet doe eyes meeting his.

“What did you say?” He asks, voice low and careful. Kind, but concerned. “Are you feeling okay?”

You swallow and it looks awfully hard for you to do so. Eddie remembers your scratchy voice. Something clicks in his brain.

“You’re thirsty,” he says suddenly. “Gotcha.”

You look embarrassed that he’s figured you out but happy that you don’t have to ask again. You nod, all flushed in the cheeks. It’s adorable.

Eddie steps around so he’s facing you better, chest to chest, your joint hands squished between you. You’re still clinging to his other arm, your fingers digging into the crook of his elbow. You’re standing so close now that it’s hard to tell whose limbs are whose.

“Do you want to wait here while I go get drinks or do you want to come with me?” Eddie asks. Usually he’d take you with him, but he doesn’t want you to miss any songs.

You give his elbow a squeeze. “I’ll wait here.”

There’s a hint of braveness in your tone that makes Eddie proud. It shows in his smile. “Yeah? You’ll be okay by yourself?”

You nod just as the stage lights wash over the both of you. The fluorescent lights paint your face all sorts of colours, your skin glowing under their heat. You look like an angel, Eddie thinks. He can’t help reaching out to touch your face, the line of your jaw blazing bright under the stage lights, the shadowy hollow of your neck.

Eddie’s totally mesmerised. “You’re so pretty,” he says, ultimately forgetting the conversation at hand.

Your skin burns under his touch. You look to the side, forcing him to drop his hand from your face. “Eddie,” you chide quietly. You look like you want to floor to swallow you up.

Eddie’s heart swells. You’re so shy. It’s endearing. “Just telling the truth, bub,” he says, hooking a knuckle under your chin.

He tilts you up until you’re looking at him again, flushed and nervous but pretty as ever. Your skin is burning. He figures he better dial down the flirting, otherwise you might burst into flames on the spot.

“What drink did you want?” He asks gently, casually, like you’re not seconds from passing out.

“Um,” You stutter for a moment, words lost in the heat of the moment. Eddie waits patiently for your mouth to catch up with your brain. “Just, um … whatever you’re having. Get your favourite.”

Eddie almost melts on the spot. You’re the sweetest girl he’s ever met. “Okay.”

“Thanks, Eddie.”

Eddie’s pleasantly surprised when you push up onto your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. Your mouth is warm and soft on his skin. It’s a quick peck and you pull away after only a moment, but Eddie still feels frazzled by it. He’s sure if he doesn’t pull away soon, he’ll never be able to. He gently frees himself from your grasp and gives both your arms a good rub.

“I’ll be back soon, angel.”

When Eddie gets back, a drink in each hand, you’re not alone. Some guy is talking to you animatedly, his hands moving as he speaks. Eddie’s surprised and then not. You’re very pretty, of course you’ve caught someone’s eye. Though, you look less than enthusiastic about it, silent and tight-lipped. Your hands are gripping the ends of your jacket again.

Eddie gets closer and he can tell you’re trying to be polite, a small smile plastered on your face as you nod every once in a while. But he can see by your body language that really, you just want the dude to leave you alone. Eddie gives him a once over. He’s admittedly quite a bit taller than Eddie. He could probably steamroll him if he wanted to. Eddie doesn’t let that stop him. He strides forward.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He addresses you directly, his tone loud and cheerful, acting as if the dude isn’t there. His interruption cuts off the stranger in the middle of what sounds like a very self-absorbed speech. Eddie steps in so he’s half blocking you from the guy’s view. “I got your drink.”

You look immensely relieved and grateful as you take the drink from him, your fingers brushing his for a beat too long. You meet Eddie’s eyes and he gives you a look, raising one eyebrow as if to say who does this guy think he is? You’re giggling softly as he turns to face said guy.

“You alright, dude?” Eddie asks loudly, almost shouting in his face. In any other setting Eddie would get a mouthful of knuckles for that, but here, where the crowd is loud and the music louder, he gets away with it.

The guy scowls and grumbles something unintelligible.

Eddie uses this to his advantage and acts like he can’t hear him, bouncing along to the pounding music and pointing to his ear. “Sorry, man! Can’t hear you!”

To top it all off, Eddie throws an arm around your shoulders, jostling you to the music and planting a smacking kiss to your cheek. The dude rolls his eyes and walks off, disappearing into the crowd. Eddie and you watch him leave with twin grins.

You feel a tad stiff under Eddie’s arm. He releases you though he doesn’t want to, worried he’s overdone it. Your shy smile as you step back into Eddie’s personal space and take his hand in yours reassures him.

“Thanks, Eddie,” you say quietly, squeezing his hand in a way that has him melting like a popsicle.

Eddie feels dazed and can barely get his words out around his massive grin.

“That’s okay,” he says. He’s not sure why he’s grinning so much. He thinks it’s because you’re just so fucking sweet. “S’what boyfriends are for, right? Scaring away the creepy dudes?”

You wrinkle your nose. “That guy was annoying,” you complain, pushing into Eddie’s side like you want to be glued to him forever. “Wouldn’t stop talking about himself.“

You giggle at your own words, a pretty lilting sound that makes Eddie feel like he’s floating. Really, he should be enjoying the music, but instead he’s just enjoying the sweet sounds of you, drinking up your laugh and your voice like it’s liquid gold. The concert thrives around him but he can barely hear it.

Grinning so wide his cheeks ache, Eddie nudges your drink with his, your glasses clinking. “Drink up, sweetheart. I got my favourite, like you said.”

Actually, he got your favourite instead of his. He doesn’t tell you this. You’ll figure it out soon enough.

thank you for reading! reblogs are appreciated 🤍

[bruisedboys]

eddie only lets you touch his hair. and if someone else does he gets upset I feel.

fr!! hes very particular about who gets to touch his hair. he’s such a dork I love him

fem!reader

eddie finds a knot in his hair at hellfire, and it’s driving him crazy but he can’t get it out himself for the life of him. dustin notices his aggravation and is like dude here. let me and eddie yells at him and slaps his hands away. but then when you come to pick him up from club, he’s pushing himself into your chest, arms around your waist, all whiny. babe :( I got a knot again :(( will you get it out for me?

unfortunately dustin and co are also leaving club and see the whole thing. you getting eddie to sit on a bench as you stand over him. you running your fingers through eddie’s hair gentle as ever, working at the stubborn knot until it’s gone. eddie practically melting under your touch. the sticky, sappy thank you kiss he gives you.

poor eddie doesn’t hear the end of it. complaints of that’s disgusting, dude and why’d you let her touch your hair and not me? it’s childish, eddie thinks. they’re just jealous they don’t have a pretty girl to get knots out of their hair like he does.

[bruisedboys]

remus lupin who is a little bossy when you’re sick because he wants you to get better🤭🤭

bossy remus will be the death of me actually. I desperately need him to boss me around I’m so serious

summary: remus cancels plans and looks after you when you’re sick cw! throwing up / being sick (not very descriptive)

fem!reader 1.1k words

You’ve been feeling poorly all day. Nauseous and feverish and a little woozy. You think you ate something bad out with your friends last night. You’ve refused to let it affect you, though, because you and Remus have plans for dinner tonight, and you really really don’t want to cancel them.

It’s only when you’re bent over the toilet bowl, your eyes watering and your throat burning, that you accept that maybe you might be a little bit sick.

You hear Remus’ footsteps in the hallway and you know he’s heard you throwing up. He bangs on the door none too softly.

“Y/N?” He’s practically shouting. Panicked and about twice as loud as he usually talks. “Dove, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, though you really aren’t. Your breakfast came back up to haunt you and now it’s sitting in the toilet bowl. You refuse to look at it. You flush the toilet and heave yourself off the floor, legs shaky.

“Don’t lie,” Remus says bluntly. Then, softer, “I just heard you throw up, darling. Open the door, will you?”

You groan. Partly because he’s such a bossy boots. Mostly because you feel gross. “Give me a minute, Remus.”

You force yourself to the vanity to wash your hands and rinse out your mouth. You take your time doing so. Remus is antsy as ever by the time you finally open the door. You must look worse than you thought because his face goes from impatient to worried in about a millisecond.

“You’re sick,” he says, and he takes your face in his hands. His fingers feel icy cold on your hot skin. You suppose that’s a bad sign.

“I’m okay, Remus, really.” You’re far from okay. You’re dizzy and his touching isn’t helping. “I think it was just something I ate last night. I’m fine.”

Remus gives you this look that could probably set you on fire. “Stop being silly. You’re pale as death, baby. Come, lie down.”

He manhandles you to the bedroom and plants you on the bed. Pushes your shoulders down until your back hits the mattress and he’s hovering over you.

“Remus,” you whine, but it does feel pretty amazing to be lying down. You stop feeling so dizzy, at least. And your stomach stops churning. You want badly to surrender to the pull of the soft pillows. You also want badly to go out with Remus tonight.

Remus ignores your whining and sits down next to your hip. He leans over you, pushes your hair out of your face with a gentle hand and then takes one of your hands in both of his.

“You can’t go out tonight,” he says, and he at least sounds sympathetic. Like he’s delivering a death blow. It might as well be, to you.

You frown. “But we had plans,” you say uselessly. “I was excited.”

Remus softens. “Aw, honey, I know you were.” He steals one hand away to stroke down the side of your face with his knuckles. He’s gentler than he usually is. All soft and tender, his voice even softer. “But you’re too sick, sweetheart.”

You suddenly feel like crying. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re upset about the cancelled plans. Or because you feel gross. Or just because Remus is such a sweetheart. You suppose it’s a combination of all three.

“I hate being sick,” you say, and it comes out more pathetic than you’d meant. To your horror, a tear squeezes out of the corner of your eye, rolls down the side of your face onto Remus’ pillow.

Remus makes a pitying noise and twists around so he can face you properly. He bends at the waist to scoop you into his arms, lifting you off the bed a couple of inches to pull you into his chest, one arm bent at your upper back so he can hold your head up against his shoulder and the other circled around your waist.

“I know, honey,” he murmurs, stroking the back of your head gently. “It sucks, hm? But we can go as soon as you’re better, I promise.”

Tears spill out of your eyes against your will and soak into Remus’ soft t-shirt. “I wanted to go tonight,” you say pathetically.

Remus sighs. All sympathetic and soft. You know you’re being a baby. At this point you want to be babied by him.

“Honey,” he says into your hair. “I don’t think you could hold down your dinner even if you wanted to.”

You know he’s right. You hate that he’s right. You grumble into his shoulder and try not to cry some more.

Eventually Remus calms you down enough to get you into your pyjamas. He sits you up and hands you your sleep shorts and one of his shirts but you’re weak and dizzy even when you’re only sitting down, so he resigns himself to dressing you. He tugs your uncomfortable work trousers down to your ankles and pulls them off. Helps you get your feet into your shorts and then shimmies them up your legs and over your hips. When he gets to unbuttoning your blouse you try to do it yourself but he swats your hands away.

“Don’t, angel,” he says, stern but soft. “I’ll do it.”

You can’t really say no to that. He unbuttons your blouse and folds it neatly on top of your pants. Pushes his arms around your back to undo the clasp on your bra, peeling it away from your chest. Any other time you’d be a little shy and a lot excited that he’s undressing you like this. That you’re bare-chested in his bed. But right now you just want to sleep. He helps you into his t-shirt and then grasps your shoulders to get you to lay back down.

“M’gonna get you some water,” he says, standing up and taking your work clothes with him. “Do you think you need a bucket?” He doesn’t give you any time to answer. “I’ll get one just in case.”

He disappears for a few minutes. You’re still upset about not being able to make it out tonight — but you’ll admit you’re feeling better now, especially with Remus looking after you so diligently. He returns with an empty container and a big bottle of cold water.

“Here, dove.” He holds out the bottle to you and makes you take a sip, sliding a hand under your head to help you lift it off the pillows. “I found some anti-nausea in the cabinet, did you want to take some?”

“Yeah, please.”

Remus pops the pills out of their packet and makes you take them right out of his hand. You swallow them with some more water and Remus smiles at you.

“Good girl,” he praises softly, his thumb dragging over the corner of your mouth where a drop of water is escaping.

Your stomach turns for reasons that have nothing to do with your being ill.

-

[bruisedboys]

…..tasm!peter x shy!r. yes. but……i imagine peter gets really excited for you when you do things for yourself like a dork. like ordering for yourself or asking for help at the stores finding something. it’s so basic but peter knows you struggle so he just gets really excited 4 u.

screams and cries!!!! he’s so lovely I’ve died. why would u do this to me aerial

shy!fem!reader 0.7k words

Peter’s nowhere to be seen. He said he’d only be a minute getting strawberries from the fruit aisle. He’s been more than a minute. And now you’re stuck in the freezer section wondering where on earth they keep the ice cream cones, and why on earth they’re not next to the ice cream.

A worker is stacking tubs of ice cream not far from you. Normally you’d get Peter to ask for help, or he’d just do it for you without you having to ask. Either way, Peter’s not here. And your ticket to finding the cones for ice cream night with Peter is standing halfway down the aisle from you.

You take a deep breath and bite the bullet, striding up to the worker before you can psych yourself out.

“Um.” You clear your throat. Your heart is pounding. “Excuse me?”

The worker turns to look at you. She makes eye contact with you and you forget to speak for half a second before remembering what you’re doing.

“Um, sorry to bother you.” You offer an awkward smile. “But could you tell me where the ice cream cones are?”

“Of course,” she nods and smiles. “They’re just in aisle three, with the toppings.”

You smile at her, relieved that you haven’t muddled your words or embarrassed yourself too much. “Thank you so much.”

You turn on your heel, hot faced, and walk about two steps before you bump into something tall, firm and Peter shaped.

You gasp and almost stumble backwards, but Peter gets his hand around your elbow before you go falling to your demise.

You look up. Peter’s grinning wide, his fingers curled around your elbow.

“Hi, pretty,” he says. His hair is falling into his eyes. He’s got a punnet of bright red strawberries in his other hand. He’s so lovely it makes your chest ache.

“Hi,” you beam. “I found out where the cones are.”

“I saw that,” he says knowingly, nodding behind you towards the worker you’d spoken to. His hand pushes down to your forearm and squeezes. “I’m proud of you, baby.”

You give him a look like you’re not totally adored by him right now. Like your heart hasn’t just swelled twice as big. You pretend to be offended.

“Were you standing here the whole time?” You ask him, eyebrows raised.

He has the decency to at least pretend to look guilty.

“Well …” He rubs the back of his neck. “Not the whole time. I came right when you were asking her and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

You huff. “Right.”

Peter lets go of you and steps back. It only lasts about a second. He takes one look at you and changes his mind. He throws his arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his side. He’s smiling so big you’re worried he’ll get stuck like that.

“What?” You ask, giggling and flustered from his attention.

Peter makes a happy noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, and wraps his other arm around you until you’re circled in his hold. His punnet of strawberries squashed between his hand and your back. He hugs you so tight you can barely breathe, his arms like bars around your shoulders. You can’t say you care.

You’re breathless as you giggle into his chest. “Pete, what—?”

“I’m so proud of you,” he says before you can finish. You can hear his smile clear as day. He’s so earnest, so happy for you, it makes you dizzy. He dips his head down so his lips ghost over the skin behind your ear. It’s far too intimate for a grocery store. You’re too busy trying not to breathe too fast to care.

“Really, baby.” He’s murmuring into your skin and you can feel every word, goosebumps erupting underneath his lips. “You’re spectacular.”

“Pete,” you manage, hardly breathing. You push at his chest, your hands squashed between him and you, until he gives in and pulls away.

“Yeah?” He asks, head tilted like a puppy. His eyes are so bright is blinding.

“Let’s, um.” You take a big breath and try to slow your pounding heart. It doesn’t work. Peter notices too, you can see it in his smile that he knows how much he affects you. “Let’s go get the cones, yeah?”

“Okay.” Pete grins so wide his eyelashes kiss. “But can I have one more hug first?”

You indulge him. For his gain only, of course.

-

[bruisedboys]

james potter who is patient with you when you get flustered and shy around him. he encourages you to take ur time but then that’s just worse because he’s too sweet for you.

dies. he definitely does this

summary: james is patient with shy!you

shy!fem!reader 0.8k words

James is being particularly touchy today. His hand on the small of your back as you roam the stores, an arm around your shoulders as you wait in line.

You think he’s trying to make you feel safe. You do feel safe. You always do, with him. Only, his incessant touching is more flustering than he knows. You’re burning up by the time you get to the last store. It’s worse when you realise the only thing left on your shopping list is new bras, underlined twice because you’ve been needing them for two weeks now. It’s not something to be embarrassed about, but you get embarrassed anyway.

James is blabbering on about how long the two of you had to wait in line for doughnuts when you stop walking and turn to him.

“James,” you interrupt.

He stops walking, too. Almost walks right into you but saves himself by grabbing your elbow before he steps on your feet. “Yeah?”

“Um. You don’t have to come into this store with me, if you don’t want to.”

James looks puzzled. He squints at the store and what it sells. Then he zeroes in on the list held limply in your hand. Something like realisation washes over his pretty features.

“Oh,” he says. He looks back up at you. He doesn’t look awkward, not even a smidge. You envy him for it. “You don’t want me to?”

He doesn’t mean to guilt trip you but you get guilt tripped, anyway. You don’t want to make him leave just because you’re embarrassed. It wouldn’t be fair.

“Well, no. I mean, yes, I want you to come,” you say, your words all muddled and breathless. “But I’m just …” Embarrassed, says your face. Shy.

James smiles like he understands. All soft and gooey. Enough to make you melt like a popsicle in the sun. “I get it, angel. You’re embarrassed, yeah?”

You nod. Even admitting you’re embarrassed is embarrassing. It’s awful. James makes it less so.

“Well,” he says measuredly. His hand slides down to your forearm and squeezes. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed … you know? But if you want me to wait out here, I will.”

You shake your head. “No,” you say quickly. He’s got this way of unraveling you with words. The touching helps, too. “It’s okay. You can come.”

James beams. “Okay, baby. You sure?”

You match his smile as best you can. “I’m sure, Jamie.”

You lead the way into the shop, afraid if you don’t do it now you’ll back out. You weave through racks of dresses and tops and pants until you reach the bra section. It’s a lot more intimidating than you’d initially thought. Worse with James here, holding your hand and standing so close you can smell his cologne. You stand at the end of the aisle and swallow.

“I’m glad I came,” says James jovially. You look up at him, puzzled. He’s already grinning down at you. “Now I can help you choose, pretty girl.”

Heat rises to your cheeks so fast it’s alarming. As if you weren’t already flushed enough.

“James,” you groan.

James raises his eyebrows as if he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. “What? You don’t want my help? I think I have pretty good taste.”

He tugs you further into the aisle until you’re surrounded by lacy bras and picks one from its rack before you can stop him. He turns on you and holds it up shamelessly.

“What d’you think?” He asks seriously. It’s pale pink with a tiny bow in between the cups. It’s pretty. Maybe James does have good taste.

You’re about to say so when he holds it up to your chest as if imagining you wearing it. “It suits you,” he says, looking at you from under his lashes.

“James,” you bemoan. You push his hands away and flush furiously, your face and neck hotter than a furnace.

James laughs boyishly. You’re so glad he finds your shyness amusing. He must see the anguished look on your face because he quits laughing and steps back into your space, cupping your face with one hand.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he whispers. It’s hard to obey him when he’s looking at you so earnestly. Big brown eyes and long, thick lashes. His inky curls tumbling over his forehead. You nod because he’s too pretty to say no to.

He grins and kisses your forehead before pulling away. You miss him being so close but then you don’t. You think you might pass out if he ever gets that close to you in public again.

“Do you like this one?” He’s asking, holding up the pink bra still in hand. “I’ll find your size and you can try it on, yeah?”

“Okay,” you say quietly. You get the feeling the heat in your cheeks won’t go away for a long while.

-

[bruisedboys]

what IF james potter let me wash and oil his hair and then we did face masks. like what then.

aerial!! I’ve had this in my inbox for ageesss and I finally got something done, it doesn’t really live up to your ask but that’s ok ig. ilysm <333

0.7k words

You knock on the bathroom door, one arm full of hair products. “James?”

You hear him shift in the bath, water lapping at the sides of the tub. “Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure, darling. Door’s unlocked.”

You push the door open with your foot and step in. James is stretched out in the tub, and surrounded, thankfully, by mounds of bubbles. He looks about as relaxed as you’ve ever seen him, only his shoulders and head visible above the water.

He beams when he sees you and his cheeks apple. “Hi,” he says through his pretty smile.

Your face warms. “Hi, baby. How’re you doing?”

James has recently pulled his calf at rugby training. You do feel sorry for him, though he’s prone to pretending it’s super sore even though it’s not, just to get a kiss from you. He seems to ditch that method tonight.

“I’m fine. Perfect now you’re here.” He grins flirtatiously and sticks his arm out over the side of the bath, fingers outstretched. “Wanna get in?”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at his flirting. Somehow this is worse than the whole ‘pretending to be in pain’ thing.

“Can’t, Jamie,” you say, as if you’d ever actually turn down a chance to be ravished by him. You have something else in mind for tonight, though. “I already took a shower.”

James pouts. “Please?” He tilts his head back and throws his arm over his forehead, all drama. “I’m a wounded soldier, baby.”

You sigh. He’s awful. And adorable. “How about I wash your hair instead?”

That perks him up. He sits up fast, the hot water sloshing as he looks to you. “Would you?”

“Of course.” You cross to the tub and set the hair products on the rim. “And I bought some of that hair oil you like today, ‘cos I saw you ran out. I could put that in after?”

James moans. Actually moans. “You’re an angel,” he murmurs. His head rolls against the tub’s edge as he twists to look up at you, his dark eyes so fond you could melt. “Seriously. What did I do to deserve you?”

You flush under his gaze. “It’s just hair oil,” you say quietly, poking his cheek. “Not a big deal.”

“Is too,” Jame argues, and pretends to chomp your finger. You pull away before he can. “That stuff is expensive.”

You figure it’s best not to argue with him. You just shrug and settle on the edge of the tub. James gaze stays on you as you roll up your sleeves and pull back your hair.

“Stop staring and dunk your head,” you tell him, trying your best to sound irritated. It doesn’t work, but James dunks his head anyway.

He emerges with his curls soaking wet and you get to work. Squeezing a good amount of shampoo onto your palm, you scrub your hands together til they’re covered in bubbles. Then you bury your hands in his hair, working shampoo into his lovely curls, over the back of his neck and behind his ears. James practically melts into you, leaning back and tilting his chin up, his head pressing into your hands as he lets out a long sigh.

“Feel nice?” You ask, only half smug.

“Mmm,” is all you get in reply.

You giggle and continue working the soapy bubbles into his hair, massaging his scalp as you go.

When his head is more bubbles than hair, you let your soapy hand slide down his shoulder and give him a squeeze. “Okay. You can rinse now.”

James does as you ask and emerges yet again with his hair wet, shiny and free of bubbles. He shakes his head like a dog and gets you all wet, too. You’re only mildly annoyed.

You condition his hair next, spending probably far too long on it, but his hair’s so lovely and he makes such nice sounds that you can’t help it. You’re sure he doesn’t mind.

When you’re done and James’s curls look all soft and shiny and clean, ready to be oiled if you can ever actually get him to leave the bath, he tilts his head up and gives you a staggering grin.

“Kiss?” He asks, sweet as honey.

You indulge him, not for your own gain, of course. You bend at the waist and press your lips to his, gripping the bathtub with one hand and his shoulder with the other. He kisses you with enough sticky fondness to make your heart race. He smells of soaps and shampoo, sweet and flowery and intoxicating.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says when he pulls away, looking pretty as ever, his eyelashes sparkling with water and his lips kiss bitten.

He’s so lovely you give him another kiss.

[bruisedboys]

mal wants to talk about sirius!!!!!!!

sirius black!!!!! who loves to tease shy!you. loves to see you get flustered and watch you stammer because he’s the biggest flirt known to man. but!!!! if anyone else is making you uncomfortable or thinks ur strange for being so shy. he’s defending you to the ends of the earth because he loves you for how shy you are. you’re perfect to him tbh.

omg I love this sm aerial im not kidding. I got too excited and wrote this wholeass 1k word thing in one day .. oopsies

fem!reader 1k words

“Angel!”

You know it’s Sirius before he even steps into your line of vision. He’s got a voice that’s recognisable anywhere. Silky, rough around the edges, so undeniably attractive that you melt just hearing it.

You look up from your drink to find your boyfriend swaggering over to you, looking pretty as ever in his silk black button up and ripped jeans that make him look like a rockstar. He’s been gone for all but ten minutes and you almost die at the sight of him.

“Hi,” you say quietly. Your lips mindlessly pull up at the sight of him, a sweet smile reserved only for him.

“Hi, darling.” Sirius throws his arm over your shoulder, smelling of all things him. Expensive cologne, cigarettes and ash, fruity shampoo. His jewellery jingles and sways as his side presses into yours, his hip pushing into the dip of your waist. “How’re you doing?”

Upon his arrival, you’re doing terribly. Hot in the face, tingly skin, a heat in your chest that only ever goes away when Sirius does. Which is almost never.

“I’m okay,” you lie quietly, knowing full well he’ll call your bluff.

Sirius turns his head to look at you and his face is so close to the side of yours that he’s almost kissing you. He seems to notice this, too. He ducks his head to press his mouth to your skin, right in the juncture between your neck and shoulder. His lips are warm and soft as melted butter.

“Yeah?” He asks, a murmured sound pressed into your skin. Goosebumps erupt and spread and suddenly you’re ten times hotter. Sirius tends to have that effect on you.

“Y-yeah,” you breathe, barely remembering what you were talking about in the first place.

Sirius laughs but it’s far from condescending. It’s boyish, nearing on shy, but shy and Sirius never go together in the same sentence.

“You’re burning up, my love,” he says, almost pitying. You want to hit him for it but he’s too pretty and too lovely. He straightens up and shifts so he’s facing you, his arm dropping to your waist.

You grow impossibly shyer. He’s too close. You’re face to face with his chest, and of course the top two buttons of his shirt are undone, exposing silver chains sitting atop his toned chest. You stare and stare and pretend it’s because you’re avoiding his eyes.

“It’s your fault,” you say, trying for irritated but it’s hard when you can barely get your tongue around the words.

Sirius really laughs at that, loud and startled as he throws his head back, curls bouncing and tumbling, his Adam’s apple bared to you. Suddenly you’re extremely dizzy. You grab Sirius’s bicep for support.

When he’s finished laughing he drops his head to meet your eyes, his free hand moving to cup your cheek. With his other arm still curled around your waist, he pulls you closer, chest to chest. Your drink gets crushed between your bodies but you hardly care.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he says, and he actually sounds sincere. Well, more sincere than usual. His eyes bore into yours unabashedly. “Really, I am.”

You find yourself shrugging, brushing off his apology because really, you don’t care all that much. Actually, you kind of love being teased by him. Not that you’d ever admit it.

“It’s okay,” you say, and you meant it. You slide your hand down his bicep and to his forearm. You give him a squeeze there for good measure.

Sirius grins lopsidedly, looking at you like you’re made of gold. “You’re cute,” he says, all smiles as he pats your cheek twice. “Do you want to—?”

“Oi! Sirius!”

Somebody, James you suspect, is yelling at Sirius from the table, where he’d been playing cards up until now. Sirius groans, long-suffering, and twists in your hold. You peek around his shoulder to see what the problem is.

“What?” Sirius yells back, though yelling is totally unnecessary when the table is only just across the room.

“Stop feeling up your girlfriend and get back over here,” James says with a smug grin. “You’re turning her into a human furnace.”

You know he means it jokingly but it still makes you want to curl in on yourself. You love James, you do, but you’re yet to get used to his teasing.

“Fuck off, Prongs,” Sirius says, sounding awfully bored. But when he turns back to you he’s got this look in his eyes, kind and sweet, and his mouth is turned down in what you think is a frown.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, kindly, a stark contrast to how he spoke to his best friend two seconds ago. “He’s …” Sirius sighs. “Well, he’s drunk. I think.”

You know what he means. James is so perky and boisterous you wouldn’t be surprised if he was completely sober right now, despite his obnoxious comments and his roaring laugh from behind Sirius.

“It’s fine,” you say, because it is, and Sirius shouldn’t have to apologise for his friend not understanding you like he does. “It’s James.”

Sirius looks relieved at your lack of upset. “I know,” he moans, throwing his head back yet again. “I hate him so much.”

You giggle and try not to stare too hard at his pretty neck. You think he catches you staring but thankfully doesn’t comment on it. Instead he releases his arm from around your waist, hand moving to push a lock of hair from your face. His fingers curl around the back of your neck and stay there.

“Do you want to get outta here?” He asks. “Get some food or something?”

“Sirius,” you chide, though you find yourself hopeful at his offer. “We can’t just leave. Aren’t you having fun?”

Sirius pulls a face. “No.” No sooner has he finished speaking do his lips curl into a sly smirk, and you just know he’s about to make some suggestive comment that’ll have you weak in the knees. “Besides, I can think of other ways we can have fun at home. Just us two.”

You flush something awful. Hot cheeks, goosebumps all over, the whole package. It gets worse when he dips his head so his mouth is a hair’s width from your ear, his hand gripping your shoulder. His scent is intoxicating.

“It doesn’t involve clothes,” he whispers.

You just about pass out.

[bruisedboys]

james makes it his mission to learn about everything you hate. hate spiders? he’ll get rid of all them for you. if you hate big crowds, he knows exactly what to do when you get in the wrong situation. how to calm you down, or when to take you away without you even asking him. he knows all the foods you hate and all the music you don’t. he’s determined to make you happy always.

james knows everything you hate. like, everything. he sees a spider in the shower, it’s small but he knows you’ll freak when you see it. so he gets rid of it, without even thinking twice. if you hate bugs he’ll get rid of them but he always puts them in the garden or somewhere safe because he’s a sweetheart.

hate big crowds? he does his best to avoid taking you to anywhere that could possibly have loads of people. if you do end up getting overwhelmed, he guides you as quickly as he can out of the situation, one hand on your back and his mouth next to your ear, telling you gently to take deep breaths, sweetheart. he’ll sit you down if you’re anxious, usually somewhere totally random but it doesn’t really matter, as long as it’s just you and him. he’ll kneel in front of you and hold your hands. presses one of your hands to his chest, saying feel my breathing, darling. try to copy it. it’s sappy, but it works. you’d rather not ask him to do it and you don’t have to — he just knows.

also!!! he knows exactly how you like your tea. he always says he knows it to the T … haha … get it, angel? ‘cos it’s tea?? :D you never laugh even though you kind of want to. and if you’re at someone’s house and they offer you tea, he’ll get up and make yours because he knows you don’t like it any other way. he knows all your favourite foods, probably has a list of them somewhere just in case he forgets, but really he’ll never forget. and if you hate a certain food he’s immediately taking it out of his diet because if you hate something, he hates it too.

[bruisedboys]

no but thoughts on james x clumsy!reader. i feel like he’d be constantly worrying over you and ur bruises and ur just like james :))) im fine :)))))

this omg!!! ur so right aerial i love you

james potter who sees a new bruise on your knee that definitely wasn’t there before and his eyebrows shoot up and he’s all babe??? what happened here???? and honestly you hadn’t even noticed that one but it’s probably the result of one of your many ‘tripping over air’ moments. you’re like don’t worry, jamie. it doesn’t even hurt but he kisses it anyway. speaking of, he claims his kisses will ‘heal all wounds’. once you cut your finger while peeling potatoes, james freaked the fuck out and was fully about to call the ambulance even though it was just a small nick. anyway, once you’d calmed him down, he’d kisses your wounded finger, blood and all, saying it’ll heal faster now, swears.

also!!! he definitely carries around band-aids in his pocket just in case. and doesn’t let you put them on yourself, he has to put them on because he’s your boyfriend, duh. and once you’ve been together a long time he develops a sort of sixth sense for you, so he can almost always catch you before any bad falls. or he’ll just like … constantly hold your hand or have his arm around your waist to stop you from falling / walking into things <3 omg I need him

[bruisedboys]

all i want to do is spend a rainy day at home with jonathan byers like is that so hard. just cuddling and making out all tired and soft. like srs.

ohmygosh aerial. you don’t understand I need him

gn!reader 0.7k words

You’re feeling quite dizzy.

You don’t know if it’s because you’re tired, or because you’ve been giggling so much, or because Jonathan’s kissing you stupid. Probably all of the above.

You’re straddling him on the Byers’ couch and he’s got you all pushed up against his chest like he wants you to melt into him. You wouldn’t mind, honestly.

Jonathan pulls away from your mouth only to duck his head to your neck, lips attaching to your skin. He presses hot, wet kisses from your neck all the way down your shoulder and then back up again.

You giggle, lips swollen and your heart twice as much. “Jon.”

He makes a sound like a grunt slash moan and it vibrates on your neck. You laugh some more.

“That tickles,” you say breathlessly, face hot.

Jonathan makes another noise like a hum and mumbles, “Sorry,” but he doesn’t sound very sorry at all.

He pulls away, presses his forehead to yours. His eyelids are heavy and his lips kiss-bitten, his chest heaving against yours. He looks so pretty like this.

A rumble of thunder echoes overhead. You gasp, only a little shocked as the storm has been on and off all day. But the loudness of it is enough to get you shivering.

“You cold?” Jonathan asks, frowning.

“No,” you say. Actually, you’re burning up. All Jonathan’s doing.

He rubs your arms with both hands anyway, then pushes his arms under yours, hands locking on your lower back.

“How’d I get so lucky, hm?” he mumbles, all sweet and raspy, like he‘s not convinced you’re real.

His hand slips beneath your t-shirt and up the bare skin of your back, a burning trail of stars left in his wake. Your t-shirt bunches up around his wrist, cool air washing over your back.

You melt. He tends to have that effect on you.

“Don’t, Jonathan,” you say shyly, your fingers toying with the fabric of his sky blue t-shirt. Your cheeks are burning.

Jonathan frowns. “Don’t what? Tell the truth?” He hooks his free hand under your chin, thumb pushing upwards so you’re forced to look him in the eye. “You’re perfect.”

You’re a blushing mess. You smile so wide your cheeks ache with it. Then you’re giggling, because a smile isn’t enough, not with someone as lovely as him. Jonathan looks alarmed.

“What’s funny?” He asks, quirking a brow.

You shrug and make an ‘I don’t know’ sound. Nothing’s funny, you’re just sick as a dog in love with him.

Rain buckets down overhead as you lift your hand to Jonathan’s hair. You push it away from where it’s falling over his forehead, finding it silky smooth under your fingers. You wonder if he’s been using the conditioner you’d left in his shower.

Your hand slides around to the back of his head and comes to rest at the nape of his neck, fingers buried in the soft, short hair. Jonathan’s melting under your touch, eyelids heavy and head heavier.

He sighs with content and you can’t help it — you lean in to kiss him. You get in one short kiss before you’re giggling again, smiling all wide and dopey and Jonathan’s trying to kiss you but your staggering smile makes it tough.

He chuckles, a sweet, raspy sound, his mouth a millimeter from yours. “You’re laughing again,” he accuses softly, totally deadpan.

“Sorry,” you say guiltily, giggles rolling out of you and showing no signs of stopping.

“Stop smiling,” he groans, long-suffering. His own cheesy grin gives him away. Hypocrite. “It’s really hard to kiss you when you’re like this.”

“You’re smiling too,” you whine.

“No I’m not,” he says quickly. “See, look.” He drops the smile abruptly and forces his lips into a straight line. You can’t help but laugh he looks so soulless. The act doesn’t hold up for long. He’s soon laughing almost as much as you are.

“This is all your fault,” he grumbles. Without warning he grips your waist and manhandles you off his lap. Before you have time to protest he’s pushing you gently so you fall back against the couch cushions.

All the breath is stolen from your lungs as Jonathan moves to hover over you. His knee slots between your thighs and you stop laughing abruptly. The room goes quiet, but for the rain on the roof.

“All—” He leans down to kiss you, “your—” a second kiss, “fault.” One more kiss, messy and clumsy but sweet as sugar.

If this is consequence, you don’t mind admitting it’s your fault at all. Not one bit.

[bruisedboys]

INTERSTELLAR — cyma ur fav movies pls x

yes!!!!! a chance to list my fav movies hehe

you as howl’s moving castle. it’s so you omg

@theemunsons as scott pilgrim vs. the world

@wolvisms as spiderman: into the spiderverse

@oncasette as knives out

@sw34terw34ther as fantastic mr. fox

@fleurfairie as little women

@vampieteeth as the dark knight

[bruisedboys]

mean remus 🫶🏼

I agree!!!!!! like pls. pls boss me around and be mean to me. I’m begging