ₓₒ:⋆*° 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨⭑.ᐟ

𝘤𝘩𝘭𝘰𝘦, 26, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘯 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨: 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

[l4racr0ft]

·˚ ༘ 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢. ˎˊ˗

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶཐི༏ཋྀ 𝔠𝔥𝔩𝔬𝔢◞ 𝔳𝔦𝔯𝔤𝔬◞ '𝟗𝟗 ˖᯽ ݁˖ 𝔰𝔲𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔞𝔠𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 @stargazedwinchester

༉‧₊˚. 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔲𝔱𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔱 °˖

✧ 𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔳𝔢𝔩 ๑ 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞𝔫 ๑ 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔡 ๑ 𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔱 ๑ 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔯 ๑ 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔶𝔰

𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫. ⋆.˚ 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔦 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯? 𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔰𝔨 .ᐟ

𖦹 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢, 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯.

[freydream]

I need him like I need air

[raspberrybulbasaur]

din djarin w/ posts that remind me of him :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[l4racr0ft]

STOP IM SO DEAD

[dustysalmon]

The Mandalorian & Grogu - Shakari

[umedaokome]

This is the Way

[tatooinehaze]

he’s so comfort character shaped

[l4racr0ft]

𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔡𝔬𝔱𝔢 🕸 𝔭𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔢𝔯

𝔠𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔢﹕peter's become distant. different. there's a change that leaves you wondering if you were ever good enough for him. 𝔯𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢﹕ 1,033 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔩﹕break-up, distancing, emotional hurt, hurt no comfort, angst, est rlship, hiding the truth, no way home canon - before the spell 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭﹕ peter parker x reader (f) 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰﹕none that i can think of! 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰﹕ib: the cure - olivia rodrigo ⸝⸝ read punisher's version here

You know something is wrong long before Peter says a word.

It starts with little things.

He stops reaching for your hand first. Cancels dates with excuses that sound believable enough to anyone else. Leaves your messages unread for hours before replying with short, clipped responses that don't sound like him at all.

Busy. Sorry.

Rain check?

Need to help May.

You tell yourself he's overwhelmed. Between college applications, Spider-Man, and everything that's happened with Mysterio, anyone would be.

But then he starts looking at you like you're already gone.

Like he's trying to memorize you. Like every smile you give him hurts.

You don't understand it.

You only know that every time he pulls away, you instinctively step closer. You keep trying to become the cure for something he refuses to tell you about.

So when he cancels dinner because May needs help around the apartment, you don't question it. When he takes three hours to reply to your messages instead of three minutes, you ignore the little ache it leaves behind. Even when he starts kissing your forehead instead of your lips before rushing off with another apologetic smile, you convince yourself it's temporary.

Peter Parker has always carried the world on his back. You just never imagined he'd stop letting you help him carry it.

It isn't until you realise you're the only one making plans anymore that the doubt begins to settle in your chest.

You're always the one asking if he's free. Always the one reaching for his hand first. Always the one saying I love you before he quietly echoes it back.

Little by little, it feels like you're loving enough for the both of you.

Peter loves you. You know that.

Right?

When he agrees to meet you after school, you tell yourself today's the day you'll finally understand.

The rooftop is quiet, save for the distant chorus of traffic below and the crisp autumn breeze that ruffles Peter's curls as he leans against the railing. He's always loved this spot. It was where he'd first admitted he was Spider-Man, where he'd first kissed you, where the two of you had spent countless afternoons watching the sunset paint Manhattan gold.

Now, somehow, it feels unfamiliar.

Peter barely looks at you as you sit beside him.

His fingers remain stuffed inside the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders tense beneath the faded fabric as though he's bracing for something neither of you have said aloud yet.

"You've been avoiding me."

Your voice comes out quieter than you'd intended, almost disappearing into the wind.

He sighs without lifting his head. "I haven't."

"You have."

Peter watches the skyline instead, his jaw flexing as if he's arguing with himself, while you study the boy you've loved for so long and wonder when he became someone you no longer recognise.

"I've just... got a lot going on."

"You always have."

"I know."

"So why does it feel different now?"

That finally makes him look at you.

The expression on his face steals the breath from your lungs. Heartbreak. It sits behind his eyes so heavily that, for one second, you almost reach for him on instinct.

What makes it worse is that Peter wants nothing more than to close the distance between you. But he forces himself to stay exactly where he is.

Doctor Strange's words have echoed through his mind every waking moment since leaving the Sanctum.

Everyone will forget you.

MJ.

Ned.

May.

You.

The thought alone is enough to hollow him out from the inside, but watching you smile at him while you still remember his name somehow hurts even more. Every laugh, every gentle touch, every conversation becomes another memory he'll have to carry alone.

"You deserve someone better than me," he says eventually, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You stare at him, almost waiting for the punchline. When it never comes, a hollow laugh escapes your lips. "Is that really what this is?"

"It would be easier."

"For who?"

Peter doesn't answer. Your chest tightens. "I've spent weeks trying to figure out what I did wrong."

"You didn't do anything."

"Then why do you look at me like you're saying goodbye?"

His heart splinters. That's exactly what he's doing. He's trying to teach himself how to live without you before magic forces him to.

Only you don't know that.

All you know is that the boy who used to look at you like you hung the stars now struggles to meet your eyes for more than a few seconds at a time.

"You used to tell me everything," you whisper, tears beginning to sting. "Now I don't even know what you're thinking."

Peter lowers his head. If he looks at you much longer, he'll tell you everything. He'll tell you about Strange. About the spell. About the fact that every future he can picture ends with you walking past him as though you've never met.

He wants to tell you. God, he wants to. Instead, he whispers, "I can't."

The words settle between you like shattered glass. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "So... I wasn't enough."

Peter's head snaps up so quickly it almost startles you. "No." The answer comes immediately, fierce enough to crack. "No, don't ever think that."

"Then help me understand." You step towards him, close enough that he can still smell your perfume, familiar and comforting enough to make his chest ache.

"Whatever it is," you murmur, reaching carefully for his hand, "you don't have to carry it on your own."

His fingers twitch. He almost lets you hold them.

Then he steps backwards. If he lets himself feel your hand in his one more time, he knows he won't be able to let go.

The hurt that flashes across your face is almost enough to break him.

"I understand," you say quietly, even though it's obvious you don't. "You've already made your decision."

Before he can stop you, you're walking towards the rooftop door.

Peter watches until it swings shut behind you. "I'm sorry," he whispers into the empty rooftop.

The apology comes far too late for you to hear.

Maybe that's for the best.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢!

[l4racr0ft]

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔢 🕸 𝔣𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔨 𝔠𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔩𝔢

𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔢𝔯﹕ everywhere you go, women throw themselves at frank. it leaves you feeling like there's no way forward. it only takes one argument to let frank know how you feel about him. 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔤𝔱𝔥﹕ 2,302 𝔬𝔟𝔧𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢﹕ one-sided love, confession, argument, stubbornness (ofc from franks side), angst, fluff, frank being soft 𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔤𝔢𝔱﹕ frank castle x reader (f) 𝔠𝔞𝔰𝔲𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔶 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤﹕ yelling. man raising voice. but this is frank so it's expected right? 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰﹕inspired by the cure - olivia rodrigo. guys i've had this idea since the first day of my holiday. so glad it's out now

Cigarette smoke clings stubbornly to the wooden beams inside of the bar despite the indoor smoking ban having been lifted years ago.

Country music hums softly from an old jukebox tucked into the corner while a baseball game flickers across the televisions mounted above the shelves of liquor.

It isn't the sort of place either of you would normally choose, but after three days of chasing a lead across three different states, neither of you has the energy to care.

Frank certainly doesn't.

He's settled comfortably beside you, broad shoulders relaxed for what feels like the first time in days, a half-finished glass of bourbon resting between rough hands that bear more scars than either of you could count. His boots are hooked beneath the stool, his attention fixed somewhere between the television overhead and the amber liquid swirling in his glass.

You wish yours could stay there too. Instead, it keeps wandering.

The woman who approaches him can't be much older than thirty. Blonde hair, a dark, burgundy lipstick, denim shorts that seem better suited for somewhere considerably warmer than this forgotten town in the middle of nowhere. She leans one elbow against the bar, smiling like she'd already won.

"You mind if I sit here?"

Frank glances towards the empty stool. "Go ahead."

She thanks him before climbing onto it, flagging down the bartender almost immediately. "You look like you could use another."

Frank gives a small shrug. "If you're offering."

She laughs.

The sound grates against every nerve you have.

You tell yourself not to read into it. Frank hasn't smiled. He hasn't flirted back. He's barely looked at her for more than a few seconds at a time. But he's letting it happen.

The bartender slides another bourbon across the counter, and she pays before Frank has the chance to reach for his wallet.

"There," she says proudly. "Least I could do."

Frank nods once. "'Preciate it."

His attention drifts back to the television before she's even finished speaking.

And you should feel reassured, but your stomach twists.

She keeps talking, leaning closer each time Frank answers with another short sentence, her fingers brushing against his forearm every now and then as though touching him is the most natural thing in the world.

She mistakes his politeness for interest as he's answering her questions as plainly as possible.

Each time, there's a woman looking in his direction. Pointing to their friends and pulling faces that indicate they're attracted to him.

The more you look, the more you notice it keeps happening. Woman after woman.

Your chest feels painfully tight as every burst of laughter from across the bar scrapes against something already raw inside you. You try to focus on the condensation sliding down the side of your glass, on the baseball game flickering overhead, on the low murmur of conversations weaving together beneath the music, but your eyes keep drifting back to Frank.

He hasn't noticed the effect he's having on you, not once all evening. He sits there exactly as he always does, broad shoulders relaxed beneath his worn jacket, answering questions with the same clipped honesty he offers everyone. He never flirts, never smiles more than politeness requires, yet he never gives them a reason to stop either.

Another woman leans against the counter beside the blonde woman—assuming her friend—her perfume carries across the space between you.

She laughs at something he says, resting her hand briefly on his arm as though the gesture belongs there, and your stomach twists so sharply that it steals the breath from your lungs. Frank merely glances at her before looking back towards his drink, seemingly unaware that she's hanging onto every word he says.

You know you're being unfair. Frank hasn't done anything wrong. He isn't encouraging them, nor is he seeking their attention, but logic does little to soothe the jealousy that's been quietly eating away at you all evening. Loving someone who doesn't know they've become your entire world is painful enough without having to watch everyone else realise exactly how remarkable they are.

The thought alone is enough to make your chest ache.

You set your empty glass onto the bar with a quiet clink and slide from your stool before you can talk yourself out of it.

"I'm gonna get some air."

Frank finally tears his attention away from the conversation beside him, his brow knitting together almost immediately as his eyes settle on your face. "You alright?"

You force a smile that feels brittle at best and nod once. "Yeah. Just need five minutes."

He studies you for a moment longer, concern flickering behind his eyes, but eventually inclines his head.

The evening air hits your face the moment you step outside, carrying with it the faint scent of approaching rain and the lingering warmth of the day that's only just beginning to fade.

You don't stop walking until you've rounded the side of the building, putting the noisy bar and its bright neon lights behind you, before resting both hands against the cool brick wall.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the sting behind them to disappear, but the harder you fight it, the more overwhelming it becomes. You hate yourself for feeling this way. Frank isn't yours. He never promised you anything, never hinted that there might be something more between you, and yet watching woman after woman throw themselves at him has left you feeling foolish enough to wonder why you ever let yourself hope in the first place.

The sound of the bar door opening behind you breaks through your thoughts.

Heavy footsteps cross the pavement at an unhurried pace before stopping a few feet away.

"There you are."

Frank's voice is softer than you'd expected, carrying the familiar concern that's always reserved for you.

"You okay?"

A humourless laugh slips from your lips unintentionally. You keep your eyes fixed on the cracked asphalt beneath your feet, afraid that if you look at him now, every feeling you've spent months burying will spill out before you're ready.

"You seriously have to ask?"

A brief silence follows. "I do," he admits honestly. "You walked out."

"I wanted some air."

"You've barely said two words in the last hour."

"I'm tired."

"You don't look tired."

His boots scrape quietly against the pavement as he steps closer, though he leaves enough space between you that you don't feel cornered. "Talk to me."

You shake your head. "There's nothing to talk about."

"No." His voice remains calm, but there's an unmistakable firmness beneath it. "Something's wrong."

Frustration bubbles painfully beneath your ribs. "Why can't you just leave it alone?"

"Because you're upset."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

You let out a sharp breath, your composure beginning to splinter around the edges. "You really don't know why?"

He studies you for a moment, genuine confusion settling across his features before he slowly shakes his head. "No."

The answer is enough to make something inside you finally snap. "Of course you don't."

His brow furrows. "Don't what?"

"You don't see it."

"See what?"

"You just... sit there."

Frank blinks, clearly thrown by the accusation. "Sit where?"

"In there." You gesture angrily towards the glowing bar sign behind him. "You sit there while woman after woman throws herself at you, and you act like none of it's happening."

His expression shifts from confusion to disbelief. "They were just talking."

"They were flirting."

"I wasn't flirting back."

"But you let them."

"I wasn't gonna be rude."

"They were buying your drinks, Frank."

"I didn't ask them to."

"They kept touching you."

"I moved away when I noticed."

"You noticed?" The disbelieving laugh that escapes you is edged with hurt. "You barely even looked at them."

"I wasn't interested in them."

"Then why didn't you tell them that?"

He stares at you for a beat before answering with complete sincerity. "...Because I didn't think I had to."

That simple admission steals the anger from beneath your feet, replacing it with something infinitely more painful. "You really don't get it," you whisper.

"I don't," he says quietly. "Help me understand."

"It's watching them smile at you like they already know they're going to get your attention. It's seeing them touch you whenever they feel like it, hearing them ask if you're seeing anyone, hoping you'll tell them no." You swallow hard, your gaze dropping to the cracked pavement beneath your feet.

"And every single time it happens, I have to stand there pretending it doesn't make me feel sick."

Frank's expression softens, concern replacing the confusion, but he still doesn't interrupt.

"It shouldn't bother me," you continue quietly. "You've never given me a reason to think I have any right to be upset. You don't owe me anything, Frank. You can talk to whoever you want." Another humourless laugh slips free as you shake your head. "I know that."

"Then why?"

You close your eyes for a brief moment before finally looking back at him, the tears you'd fought so hard to keep at bay slipping silently down your cheeks.

"Because I'm in love with you."

The words settle between you in the silence.

"I have been for a long time," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper now. "Long enough that watching other women flirt with you feels like someone's reaching into my chest and pulling pieces out one by one."

You force yourself to hold his gaze, even as your heart threatens to beat its way out of your chest.

"I know you don't feel the same, and I hate myself for even telling you because I know I've probably just ruined the best friendship I've ever had..." You laugh weakly, shaking your head. "...but I couldn't keep pretending anymore."

The sound of his boots follows as he closes the distance, and before you can move again, his hand curls carefully around your wrist. His grip is loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, but you don't.

"...You kiddin' me?"

You blink over your shoulder. "What?"

He lets out a short breath, shaking his head to himself before looking back at you. "You really think I wanted any of that?"

"I watched it all night, Frank."

"So did I."

"You let them—"

"I tolerated 'em."

"They were all over you."

"'Cause I was tryin' to be polite."

"Polite?"

"Yeah." He nods with purity.

"They were practically sat in your lap."

"They weren't."

"They—"

"I wasn't lookin' at them." His words cut clean through your argument.

You frown. "What?"

"I wasn't lookin' at them." His thumb shifts absentmindedly against your wrist before he exhales slowly. "I was lookin' at you."

The world seems to fall silent. "I kept wonderin' why you were so damn quiet." His gaze searches yours, as though he's only just beginning to piece the evening together.

"You stopped laughin'. Stopped joinin' in. Every time one of 'em came over, you'd get this look on your face." He shakes his head, a small, almost frustrated smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Thought maybe I'd done somethin'. Didn't know what."

You stare at him.

"I didn't entertain any of 'em because they weren't the one I wanted talkin' to me."

Your breath catches.

"They could've been anybody."

His voice is steady now, certain in a way that leaves no room for doubt. "Didn't matter. They weren't you."

Your eyes sting all over again. "But..." You shake your head slowly, struggling to keep up. "You never said anything."

He laughs quietly. "Neither did you."

"I thought you didn't—"

"I thought you deserved better. I figured if you wanted me..." He gives another small shake of his head. "You would've said somethin'. So I kept my mouth shut."

He looks at you then with an expression so open, so vulnerable, that it steals every remaining word from your lips.

"Truth is..." His voice softens. "You're the only woman I've been lookin' at for a long damn time."

He studies your face with an expression you've never seen before. The guarded edges he carries so effortlessly have softened, replaced by something quieter, something almost uncertain.

His thumb brushes absentmindedly across the back of your hand before he lets out a slow breath.

"So..." A faint smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. "Guess we're both a couple'a idiots."

"I think that's a fair assessment."

"Yeah."

Silence settles between you again, but this time it feels different. Lighter. Easier. As though years of unspoken feelings have finally made room for something neither of you quite knows how to navigate yet.

Frank's eyes drift from yours to your lips for only a second before returning to meet your gaze.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again.

"...Can I kiss you?"

Your heart stumbles.

Out of everything he'd said tonight, somehow those four words undo you the most.

You nod before your voice has the chance to catch up with your emotions, another smile breaking through the tears you'd almost forgotten were there.

"You don't have to ask."

"I know."

His expression softens as he takes one careful step closer, lifting a scarred hand to gently cup your cheek. His touch is impossibly warm against your skin, his thumb brushing away the last lingering tear before he offers you the smallest, almost shy smile.

"But I wanted to."

He closes the distance slowly, giving you every chance to change your mind before his lips finally meet yours. The kiss is impossibly gentle, lingering just long enough to tell you everything the two of you had spent years too afraid to say aloud.

And when he finally pulls back, his forehead comes to rest against yours as a quiet smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Worth the wait," he murmurs.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢!

[l4racr0ft]

right. has anyone seen the new spiderman movie. 10/10 no changing my mind

[yellow-cat]

hey sorry for being so snappish earlier i was in a bad mood. and im still in a bad mood so can you fuck off

[the-winchester-fangirl]

they should've had sam making more jokes about his and dean's negligible age gap "are your knees okay" after digging up a grave. "ask if they give out senior citizen discounts" at random motels/diners. "the first vic died in 1843. any chance you knew her?" during research. come on man younger sibling 101

[l4racr0ft]

the urge to start a mandalorian fic is so strong rn. is there much demand ???

EDIT: i’m halfway through planning the chapters. 20 chapters long and im about to plan chapter 9. ive been doing this since 4pm today and its now just past midnight 😝😝

[headtraumasam]

Sam Winchester In Red Sky At Morning | Supernatural 3.06

[consrl]

mutuals come and frolick with me . in the field

[louisegluckpdf]

i was born in the absolute RIGHT generation if i had to have children i would KILL MY SELF!!!!

[segamascott]

[freakoutgirl]

how it feels to accept you're fucked forever