请你告诉我 如果这样就是爱

One of the many humans waiting to be whisked away from this time and place by a mad man/alien in a blue police box, or, possibly, by twelve boys from EXO planet.


theappleppielifestyle:

ironfries:

hackedmotionsensors:

Marr wanted a sleepover UuU

screeches omgomg

The kiss is anything but pre-meditated. It is the polar opposite of pre-meditated, which Tony can’t even think of a word for, and fuck if that isn’t a kick in the pants: the fourteen year old genius with multiple doctorates in his future can’t even think up the synonym for ‘pre-meditated.’
It’s- it’s totally out of the blue. Out of the left field. Out of absolutely fucking NOWHERE, and one second Tony is struck dumb by how the lamp light hits Steve across his eyelashes, how the moonlight filters through the curtains and curves across his face, how Steve’s mouth is kind of flushed and pink-looking, and then bam, they’re macking face.
At which point Tony’s brain short circuits, processing the data that shouldn’t be there: Steve’s lips, soft and unmoving under his, their noses only just brushing, their chins bumping, before it all hits Tony in one big rush and he’s bolting backwards, which is next to impossible in a sleeping bag so he ends up doing this pathetic, frenzied shuffle in which he nearly knocks over a chair.
Steve looks like he did that one time Thor caught him on the head with a golf ball, before he had to spend the next eight hours in the hospital nursing a concussion. “Um,” he squeaks, his voice cracking like it’s been doing a lot lately, this time with a more confused edge to it.
“Um,” Tony agrees. His voice, if possible, is even higher, and their cheeks are an identical fire engine red, and he’s squirming away from Steve as fast as he possibly can without falling onto the floor and turning into a sleeping-bag caterpillar. “Sorry, shit, uh-”
“It’s fine,” Steve says, still squeaking it, “It’s- I liked it.” Then his blush deepens in a way that would probably be hot to the touch, like he didn’t mean for that to come out.
It takes a second for that to sink in, but when it does, Tony’s awkward butt-shuffling stops. “Um. What?”
“I liked it,” Steve mumbles, barely loud enough to hear him.
Tony stares. Steve, the stubborn bastard, is meeting his gaze, even though Tony suspects he wants to do what Tony was trying to do and wriggle the fuck away as fast as his sleeping bag allows him to.
“Me… too,” Tony says after a moment, trying desperately to ignore that he can still taste Steve on his lips, which are buzzing. “Was-” he coughs, tries to be suave, fails entirely. “Was that your first? Your first kiss, I mean?”
Steve says, “Maybe,” in a way that means it totally was, and Tony has a second of insanity where he shuffles closer, just a bit, so the chair leg isn’t pressing so hard into his leg. “Was it yours?”
“No,” Tony says, on default, and backtracks rapidly when Steve shrinks a little in his sleeping bag, like he’s trying to retreat down into it. “I, I mean, uh, it wasn’t my first kiss but it was still nice, really nice, wecankeepdoingthatifyouwant?”
The last part comes out in a garbled rush, and his voice breaks at least twice during it, and he’s in the middle of silently damning puberty and everything that comes with it when Steve says, sort of hesitantly, “Okay,” and Tony’s brain does that short-circuiting thing again.
He thinks he stammers for a second before blurting, “Okay,” back at him, and then Steve is butt-shuffling closer and Tony makes his limbs work enough for him to wriggle in his direction and then they’re kissing again, and Tony forgets everything his previous kisses and kissers have taught him, and he’s still partially convinced this is a dream and wow, wow, wow.
-
When Tony wakes up the next morning, he and Steve are curled into each other through two layers of sleeping bags, and there are suspicious snapping sounds going off around them, like-
Tony opens his eyes, swears loudly, and struggles out of his sleeping bag enough that he can reach over and start lobbing cushions at all the cellphones that are currently pointed at him. “Not cool, guys!”
He goes kind of melty when Steve sleep-mumbles something into Tony’s pyjama-d shoulder, wrapping a still-sort-of-skinny arm tighter around Tony’s torso.
Clint starts sing-songing, Steve and Tooony, sittin’ in a treeee, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, and gets almost everyone else to join in before he gets a pillow to the gut and goes down. 

theappleppielifestyle:

ironfries:

hackedmotionsensors:

Marr wanted a sleepover UuU

screeches omgomg

The kiss is anything but pre-meditated. It is the polar opposite of pre-meditated, which Tony can’t even think of a word for, and fuck if that isn’t a kick in the pants: the fourteen year old genius with multiple doctorates in his future can’t even think up the synonym for ‘pre-meditated.’

It’s- it’s totally out of the blue. Out of the left field. Out of absolutely fucking NOWHERE, and one second Tony is struck dumb by how the lamp light hits Steve across his eyelashes, how the moonlight filters through the curtains and curves across his face, how Steve’s mouth is kind of flushed and pink-looking, and then bam, they’re macking face.

At which point Tony’s brain short circuits, processing the data that shouldn’t be there: Steve’s lips, soft and unmoving under his, their noses only just brushing, their chins bumping, before it all hits Tony in one big rush and he’s bolting backwards, which is next to impossible in a sleeping bag so he ends up doing this pathetic, frenzied shuffle in which he nearly knocks over a chair.

Steve looks like he did that one time Thor caught him on the head with a golf ball, before he had to spend the next eight hours in the hospital nursing a concussion. “Um,” he squeaks, his voice cracking like it’s been doing a lot lately, this time with a more confused edge to it.

“Um,” Tony agrees. His voice, if possible, is even higher, and their cheeks are an identical fire engine red, and he’s squirming away from Steve as fast as he possibly can without falling onto the floor and turning into a sleeping-bag caterpillar. “Sorry, shit, uh-”

“It’s fine,” Steve says, still squeaking it, “It’s- I liked it.” Then his blush deepens in a way that would probably be hot to the touch, like he didn’t mean for that to come out.

It takes a second for that to sink in, but when it does, Tony’s awkward butt-shuffling stops. “Um. What?”

“I liked it,” Steve mumbles, barely loud enough to hear him.

Tony stares. Steve, the stubborn bastard, is meeting his gaze, even though Tony suspects he wants to do what Tony was trying to do and wriggle the fuck away as fast as his sleeping bag allows him to.

“Me… too,” Tony says after a moment, trying desperately to ignore that he can still taste Steve on his lips, which are buzzing. “Was-” he coughs, tries to be suave, fails entirely. “Was that your first? Your first kiss, I mean?”

Steve says, “Maybe,” in a way that means it totally was, and Tony has a second of insanity where he shuffles closer, just a bit, so the chair leg isn’t pressing so hard into his leg. “Was it yours?”

“No,” Tony says, on default, and backtracks rapidly when Steve shrinks a little in his sleeping bag, like he’s trying to retreat down into it. “I, I mean, uh, it wasn’t my first kiss but it was still nice, really nice, wecankeepdoingthatifyouwant?”

The last part comes out in a garbled rush, and his voice breaks at least twice during it, and he’s in the middle of silently damning puberty and everything that comes with it when Steve says, sort of hesitantly, “Okay,” and Tony’s brain does that short-circuiting thing again.

He thinks he stammers for a second before blurting, “Okay,” back at him, and then Steve is butt-shuffling closer and Tony makes his limbs work enough for him to wriggle in his direction and then they’re kissing again, and Tony forgets everything his previous kisses and kissers have taught him, and he’s still partially convinced this is a dream and wow, wow, wow.

-

When Tony wakes up the next morning, he and Steve are curled into each other through two layers of sleeping bags, and there are suspicious snapping sounds going off around them, like-

Tony opens his eyes, swears loudly, and struggles out of his sleeping bag enough that he can reach over and start lobbing cushions at all the cellphones that are currently pointed at him. “Not cool, guys!”

He goes kind of melty when Steve sleep-mumbles something into Tony’s pyjama-d shoulder, wrapping a still-sort-of-skinny arm tighter around Tony’s torso.

Clint starts sing-songing, Steve and Tooony, sittin’ in a treeee, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, and gets almost everyone else to join in before he gets a pillow to the gut and goes down. 

(via jinxess)




(Source: chrsevanss, via merlinsbearditsthedoctor)




putting the avengers to bed  

abandonedstudio:

mybelovedcheshire:

domestic-avengers-archive:

maggie-maymcpherson:



image
Phil Coulson’s method
image
Nick Fury’s method

Thor. Thor what are you doing. Thor.

CUTEST FUCKING THING EVER HOLY SHIT

AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO SEES THAT PHIL IS READING THEM GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP????????

(Source: m4ggii3miick3y)




hiddlessiren:

Can we appreciate the fact that Tony needed like ten minutes to declare Loki as “his stuff”?

image

(Source: pinkmansbitch-yo, via anamywithnoducks)




holmesiswheretheheartis:

crystalinegodoflies:

idontseehowthatsapartystark:

bispoxadrez:

The Avengers

((Always a reblog))

((Forever reblog Domestic Avengers))

give me this i need this

(via oniisamaa)




darkly-stark:

I NEED IT

(via tasteofhiddles)




philliptunalunatique:

begitalarcos:

AU: Loki gets detention for lipping off a teacher,

When he gets there he finds some familiar faces who have also gotten detention

avengers breakfast club!au?? yes pLEASE

(via cranberrybug)




spikeghost:

dickspeightjr:

NOPE I JUST SAW A PICTURE OF STEVETONY WHERE STEVE WAS PUTTING HIS DICK WHERE TONY’S ARC REACTOR SHOULD BE AND I’M SO FUCKING DONE THAT CAN’T HAPPEN TONY WILL DIE YOU NEED TO STOP

image

(Source: caleb-denecour, via cranberrybug)


POSTED 1 year ago WITH 81 notes · reblog


juvjuvychan:

aubreyli:

juvjuvychan:

beksters:

battleangel25:

#People may have been having sex in the 1940s but those people were not Steve Rogers

SNORT

*ded*

Oh Steve.

 #The best part is that he’s a tactical genius #And also the biggest virgin to ever virgin #in fact I’m pretty sure that the only reason Tony hasn’t made 97 year-old virgin jokes #is because he has so many that he doesn’t know which one to use.

reblogging again because OMG THESE TAGS

(Source: iwasbickle, via anamywithnoducks)




dirtyavengerssecrets:

Ohhh Loki

(via howtopickupafangirl)