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A C C U R A T E

Derek Venturi + Being Sassy

[THE MEMORY PROJECT] masterlist

Synopsis -

Imagine waking up in a hospital room with no recollection of the last eight years of your life, only to learn that you're married to your worst enemy.

Y/n and Peter find themselves forced into a marriage after an accident erases all their memories of being together, leaving them frustrated and confused. It simply isn't possible that they could have fallen in love with each other - and what was this Baby Project everyone kept telling them about?

What follows is absolute hell in the form of a domestic life as they struggle with the loss of their loved ones after The Blip, and find balance with the new family they've built over years.

An unexpected turn of events tear you apart and some crucial choices need to be made, some which can change your lives forever and not for the better. With a husband who hates your guts and a clueless daughter by your side, will you be able to face the biggest challenge of your life?

How much can amnesia steal from you after all - you will soon find out that it is a little more than everything.

Pairing - Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

Status - COMPLETED

🏅Winner of The Holland Fic Awards best dad! Peter category

A/N - this is a sequel to my fic The Baby Project, and a lot of things probably won't make sense to you if you haven't read it before starting this one, but it isn't completely necessary. You can read TBP for better understanding of this fic and to catch all sneaky references if you want to :)

the Sweetest Sin- Dean Winchester AU Imagine

Priest!Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language. 

Disclaimers: My characters don’t reflect my views on religion or Catholicism. I’m not an expert on religion or Catholicism by any means so please forgive any mistakes I make. 

Word Count: 4, 179 words

Summary: When the Reader, a girl who prefers to stay away from religion altogether feels lost in the world, she stumbles into a church by chance. In there she hopes to search for herself and her purpose, but what she ends up finding instead is father Dean Winchester, a man who is devout to his faith and God but can’t help his carnal desire for the mysterious girl who shows up at the church late at night. 

(Gif isn’t mine!)

This storm was ridiculous. The rain came down in big, fat droplets from the sky. Fast and aggressive, the dark clouds above you were rolling in and out, dropping more and more rain as they went, obscuring your vision of the road more and more as time went by. 

You clicked your tongue in annoyance, hands tightening on the steering wheel so much your knuckles turned white. 

“Fuck,” you couldn’t help but softly release the curse under your breath.

The word felt so familiar on your tongue, overused even..and yet you couldn’t help but hear your mother’s voice probing from one of the dark, dank corners of your brain. 

“Why you wretched-mouthed girl! How dare you spew such profanities in front of God?”

You grinned cruelly. God. God didn’t give a dead rat’s last shit about you much less about the number of fucks you damn well please to‘spew’. 

Shaking your head slightly to rid yourself of any thoughts on your family and God, you decide the rain was coming down too hard too fast and you needed need to pull over in the nearest building. It was too dangerous to drive like this. 

You’d been slowly driving through a few small towns this time around, looking for a new place to stay in for a while before doing what you always did and fleeing as fast as your 1970 Chevrolet El Camino would allow you.

Your search had come up fruitless though, and now you were more lost than you were when you began. Maybe even more on a mental and emotional sense that a physically literal one. 

A girl your age was supposed to have it all figured out by now. A nice college, a nice boyfriend, a nice life. Especially a girl with a family like yours. 

You had an entire future planned for you. One that was filled with comfort and endless possibilities but you gave that up and took to the road and your grandfather’s car for the comfort and support your own damn family refused to give to you. 

Off to the distance, you can see a blur of a building. A relieved smile curls your lips and you quickly speed closer to it. Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s a damn church. Because of course it is. You mentally roll your eyes.  

You try not to let the fact stop you from taking shelter from the storm as you park to a stop in front of the small building.  

Taking a deep breath, you grab your phone and duffel bag. Turning off the engine to your car, you decide that as soon as you get out you’ll make a run for it. 

Shutting the door behind you, you can immediately feel your clothes and face and hair dampen, the rain cold and hard against your face. You break into a sprint, pushing your legs as far as they’ll go until you’re standing under the church’s steps. 

You slowly walk up to the large wooden door before you, shivering. Your hand is wrapped tightly around your duffel bag’s strap and your phone is safely tucked into your back jean pocket. 

You harshly knock on the door. No one answers so you do it again, this time harder and more pronounced. No answer. 

You sigh, slumping against the door and sitting on the last stone step with resignation. 

Looking out to the dark night, you watched as the rain hit the pavement of the street before you and sigh dejectedly once more. What had your life come to? I mean really. What the hell were you doing with it? What was your future? Would you ever have kids? Ever get married? Have an apple pie life?

How much longer would your almost completely mindless wandering last before there’d be nothing left of you? 

Lost in your existential crisis, you feel more lost than you ever have. The world around you is confusing and blurry with the rain and you’ve never felt more frustrated with your thoughts and emotions. The stupid door wasn’t opening and you were outside a fucking church! Isn’t God supposed to be there for you when you needed him most? 

“This is exactly why I refuse to-!”

And then suddenly, you’re falling backward the world around you spins upside down and you wonder if you’re floating for a split-second of insanity until it all comes crashing down on you. Or well- your body does anyways. You realize you’ve fallen backward when you land on your back and head, a sharp pain erupting throughout your backside. You yelp, eyes immediately squeezing shut in ache. 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry miss!” At the distinctly deep, raspy voice your eyes snap open in alertness and widen at the sight before you. 

The breath was knocked out of you momentarily when gravity worked its power and pulled you to the ground, but you’re almost certain it isn’t the reason your breath hitches the next time around. 

No. The reason behind your hitched breath this time is in the form of a man. Dressed from head to toe in clerical attire, he towered over you. With a black collar shirt, lined by a white tab collar and black jeans that hugged his slim hips. 

His handsome face was twisted into a frown, soft, pouty pink lips creasing with concern and the prettiest pair of apple green eyes you’ve ever seen glancing down at you all wide and glittery.

“Are you okay?” 

You can see his ridiculously soft mouth moving but you’re too dazed by the way a strand of otherwise spiky dirty blonde hair falls onto his forehead and your sudden urge to brush it away with your fingertips. Your hand twitches.

“Oh no. Are you hurt really bad, miss?” The very real guilt and distress in his voice are what snaps you from your momentary trance. 

…one now wondered was caused by the blow to your head or just the beautiful human being standing above you.

Shaking your head, you slowly sit up. A sharp pain explodes on the back of your head, shocking you momentarily as a small pained groan tumbles out from your damp lips. 

The priest is quick to lean down, wrapping his large hands around your shoulder and ribs to help you up. You ignore how good their warmth feels all pressed up against your cold, wet skin and steady yourself onto your two feet, all the while leaning into him for support. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, rubbing the sore spot on your head. 

The priest, who you can’t help but notice smells incredible, hums in acknowledgment. He patiently helps you to a pew, settling you down softly before kneeling before you. 

You hate to admit that you find yourself utterly disappointed when his hands are gone from your body.

You look down at him and smile softly. “Thanks.” 

And just when you thought he couldn’t get more fucking attractive, his lips curl into what you think is a grin, flashing two rows of pearly whites and practically melting you into a puddle right there and then. 

“You should really stop saying that,” his lips then dip into a sheepish smile. “I was the one who made you fall after all.” 

His green eyes glimmer with a sort of mischevious emotion that is gone almost as soon as it arrived and for some odd reason- leaves you utterly breathless. 

“You were, weren’t you?” You breathe out. searching his gaze for any trace of that look. 

He licks his lip, tongue flicking over the luscious pink muscle while his green gaze trails over your body slightly. You know it probably wasn’t with this intention (because how could it?), but something about the way he looked at you it…left a trail of goosebumps in its wake, a shiver traveling through your spine. Arousal in its rawest form. 

You were a bit startled by your body’s reaction to this complete stranger (who also just so happened to be a goddamn priest) and how instant it was. I mean, you just met the man.

“What were you doing out there in this storm, sweetheart?” his voice was soft and worried as he spoke to you, but didn’t fit the bearing he was giving off. 

His natural tone was grave and deep and so masculine, made much more for yelling out orders and profanities than prayers. It didn’t really fit this mild-mannered priest thing he had going on. In fact, none of him did. 

He was young and quite honestly- hot. What was he doing being a priest? Your interest and curiosity to know more about him peaks. 

“I was driving but I had to pull over to the nearest stop. Too dangerous,” you briefly explain. 

He nods in understanding. “I’m Dean, by the way. I was just closing up the place when the storm hit.” He looks out to the street before glancing back at you with a small smile. “No way I can drive home with the weather acting up like this.” 

You smile apologetically. “I’m sorry for bursting in.” 

He shakes his head, placing a comforting hand on your knee. “Hey, no problem sweetheart. I’m actually glad for the company. Plus, we welcome all here.” 

You nod, clearing your throat, and trying really hard not to focus on his hand placed so softly and warm on your clothed skin. The touch was light and playful, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the intensity and slight tension of it too.

He smiles comfortingly, retracting his hand. A comfortable silence settles in between you and you look around the small church, taking in the architecture, the paintings depicting scenes you were far too familiar with from the bible until priest Dean speaks up.

“Hey,” he frowns funnily at you. “What is exactly that you refuse to do?” 

You furrow your brows, confused. “What?”

He laughs and your insides turn to jelly. 

How could one human being be so fucking gorgeous? It’s not fair.

“When I opened the door you were saying something like ‘this is exactly why I refuse to’…what? What is it that you refuse to do exactly?” He looks at you attentively. His gaze is heavy and lightening all at once and you’re so confused by what it makes you feel.

What you were going to say suddenly dawns on you and you can’t help but blush, pursing your lips. 

“So?…” he urges softly.

You grin sheepishly, tugging at the long sleeves of your white shirt down to your knuckles. Licking your lips, you sigh out loudly, facing the altar. The same sculpture of Jesus being crucified in every Christian church stared back at you. He’s bloody and sort of…resignated. 

You can’t help but cringe when your mother’s voice slithers back into your brain. Nudging. Judging. Constant. 

“Y/n, God doesn’t like naughty girls. And what you have been doing is sinful. Unholy on many levels. He’s watching. He’s always watching. He’s everywhere and he’s tallying this all up against you. You’ll burn in hell if you continue down this path of self-destruction young lady!”

“I was gonna say..” you sigh heavily again, your blush intensifying. You finally build enough courage to face him. “That this is why I refuse to believe in God.” By now your voice has dropped to a breathy whisper. 

I mean, you were afraid of somehow…offending him. He was a damn priest, for fuck’s sake! He’s sworn under oath to God. 

You await his reaction anxiously, expecting a frown or a reprimand like the ones your mom used to give you, but all he does is hum in acknowledgment, face unreadable. 

 “And why’s that?” He looks forward to the sculpture of Jesus as you stare at him, trying to decipher what he thought of you. 

Your eyes trail over the sharp edges of his handsome face. His long lashes and brilliant green eyes, his soft pouty pink lips- beckoning you closer to him. Begging to be caressed with your own lips.

“Well, my life hasn’t been going so good lately, I just- I thought God was supposed to help you if you asked him to, right?”

He turns to you with raised brows. “Well have you?” He doesn’t sound judgy, just curious.

You think ponder it for a while. “Well, no.” 

He chuckles lightly. “Well, that may be why, sweetheart.”

You slouch. “I just…if I’m honest I just- I don’t believe in him anymore. I used to, well- not believe in him. More like I believed he existed. But that stopped a while ago, I just didn’t want to keep doing that to myself I guess.” You shrug softly. 

“Doing what, sweetheart?” He asks softly, not pushing you in a harsh way. Merely just..deeply curious to know.

You hesitate, turning to look into his warm apple green eyes before biting your lip in thought. He has such a welcoming, comforting gaze….plus, you’d probably never see him again after this, so would it really hurt to share your life story to a stranger you’d never see ever again?

“Believing in a God that will judge me for every little mistake I make. I don’t want to belive in a God that hates me for being human.”

At this, father Dean laughs. He laughs. 

You immediately regret opening up to him. “This was a mistake,” you start getting up hurriedly. 

His hand resting on your elbow stops you though, tugging you gently down next to him. “Oh lord, no sweetheart. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just- your perception of God is awfully skewed to me. I’m sorry,” he breathes earnestly.

You look at him for a second longer and sigh, settling down next to him again. 

He continues. “The God I believe in doesn’t hate. He loves endlessly. He loves all his creations. Us especially. He’s forgiving and perfect and holy.”

You scoff. “Not the God I was raised with clearly.” You smirk sadly. “Everything I did was always wrong and he’d always find a way to punish me for it.”

You quickly grow uncomfortable with how comfortable you are sharing some of your most intimate details with this complete stranger and nervously rub your hands over your damp jeans to wipe away the sweat from your palms.

Father Dean, looks at you with a quirk of his luscious lips but quickly averts his eyes, a blush steadily creeping up his neck and ears. 

You raise a brow. “What?”

He swallows, rubbing his scruff, but still facing toward the altar. Refusing to so much as glance at you. “You might uh-” he motions to you loosely with his hand. “Y-you might want to cover up, sweetheart.” He clears a crack from his voice with a small cough. 

You look down, alarmed, only to have a blush of your own spread throughout your body like wildfire. You’d completely forgotten that you threw on a thin white long sleeve shirt this morning. The rain had made it see-through and your black lacy bra was now on awfully vast display. 

“O-oh!” You quickly use your arms to cover up, your body flushing even more. “I’m so sorry, I-I don’t have anything to uh…”

“I-it’s fine. Here. Just…” He nods and begins taking his jacket off, still refusing to look at you. 

You take the jacket and throw it over your shoulders, inhaling the delicious scent that almost instantly engulfed you. It was subtle but also so strong and dizzying to your senses. A scent that was soft but masculine all at once. God he smelled good.

“Thank you,” you softly mumble in gratitude, smiling gently at him.

He finally faces you, returning your smile with a sincere one of his own.

The atmosphere was unlike any you’d ever been in. It was the same level of static and silent as anytime you were alone in a shitty motel room, but quiet. They were two different kinds of muteness. Quiet was comfortable, comforting even.

For you, being in silence usually meant having to listen to your brain ramble on and on about all your mistakes- big and small. 

But something about having father Dean next to you -his mere presence- calmed you and your stupid brain. (It was a smart brain, sure, but an overactive one too. )

Your heartbeat was strong and steady, your body felt awfully warm with his big jacket wrapped around you and you tightened it over your shoulders more, inhaling deeply through your nose once more.

“So…” you start. “What got you into this? Being a priest and all, I mean.” You quickly realize how nosey and pushy you sound, rushing to correct yourself. “I mean if you don’t mind me asking that is, of course!”

He laughs and it’s all manly and deep and husky and-ugh. This was so wrong to feel for a damn priest.

“Not at all, sweetheart. I guess I was kinda…born into it? Family business and all. My dad was a priest and so was my grandfather before him. I’m the oldest brother so I followed behind my father’s footsteps like a good son, I guess.” He shrugs, but there’s a light heaviness in his voice that throws you off.

“What about your other siblings?” You inquire.

“One, actually. Sammy. He’s younger than me.” His face immediately lights up at the mention of his younger brother. “He’s a lawyer. Didn’t wanna continue in the family business, I guess.” He shrugged. 

“Was your father angry?”

He laughs a bit sadly and your heart clenches. “He was pretty upset. They fought about that the last time they saw eachother, actually. Then dad died.” He looks down at his hands.

You place a tender hand on his broad shoulder, ignoring the very clear, defined muscles flexing under your touch. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to bring anything painful up.”

He grins at you, shaking his head. “Nah. Don’t worry sweetheart. Sammy is actually doing pretty good for himself.” His mesmerizing eyes light up with a damn endearing brotherly kind of pride. “Graduated from Stanford and all. Started his own firm a few towns over.”

You move your hand away a bit reluctantly, clasping it with your other hand and ignoring the small tingles coursing all the way to your arm.

“Do you like being a priest?” You ask a bit hesitantly. It was a bit of a risky question, but you assumed that you’d shared enough about your lives to be able to ask this comfortably. 

He freezes, startled at the question you presumed. 

“It’s been in my family for three generations, so I was raised with a huge faith in God and this lifestyle allows me to help others do the same.”

You smirk softly, raising your brows. “That’s not what I asked.”

He sighs, shoulders slumping. He looks upward- toward the sky, as if the bland beige ceiling of the hutch would give him answers.

“Do I like being a priest?” he repeats it to himself under his breath. He looks at you with a tiny smirk. “Ya’ know sweetheart, I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that question. I think…” he trails off, rubbing his sexy scruff. “I do,” he finally says, looking at you once more. “I get to work with a lot of underprivileged people and people who are better off as well, but I love helping people of all backgrounds find their path to God. I also like being able to give food and clothes and a place to sleep to people who really need it in the name of God because he is the one that makes this,” he motions to everything around him. “All of this, possible. I love giving back, I guess is the shortest way to describe it?”

You can tell he’s genuine, the way he speaks of his work. Passionate about it, driven. And yet- you’re left wondering about why he even had to think about the question in the first place. He liked it, clearly. Was enthusiastic about it, but did he love it?… And if not, why?

A smile spreads over your face inevitably. What an incredible man. It wasn’t fair that you couldn’t have him, your heart deflates.

“That’s amazing,” you admit earnestly.

He smiles modestly, face slightly reddening. “I guess it is. I don’t really…” he gulps. “I don’t know…sometimes I think that because of how I am- messed up, what I’m doing really means nothing.”

Your eyes widen incredulously, unable to believe someone like him could think so little of himself. “Are you kidding me?! Of course, it is! You’re dedicating yourself to helping people, selflessly. I mean-” your voice lowers slightly as you watch him closely. “You’re giving up a lot of things for your faith. That’s pretty incredible.” 

He frowns at you. “What kind of things?” 

You chuckle softly, shrugging. “I don’t know…things I know most people wouldn’t be willing to give up. And I mean, it’s not my intention to presume anything about you, Father, but you’re pretty young and I’m assuming unmarried since you don’t have a ring.” And attractive to a point that should be illegal, you added mentally. 

You gulp, looking up at him nervously through your lashes. “I think you’ve had to give more than a few things up.”

He sighs, contemplating this. Finally, he asks, “and do you think that it was hard for me to give these things up? A ‘normal’ life for my faith?” he uses his fingers to create quotations around the word. 

You observe the way he’s looking at you. He doesn’t seem angry or offended…more like he himself is observing closely for your own reaction to his question. Testing you, in a way.

So you swallow your sudden anxiety and embarrassment down, looking him in the eye. 

“I would assume so,” you mumble honestly. 

The moment slows down for some reason. Maybe because it was quiet- too quiet. Maybe because everything was in sync at that moment. Maybe it was because his warmth was so inviting and he smelled so good. Or maybe it was because you’d found a safe haven amidst a storm- not in a place but in a person.

And suddenly you’re both looking into each other’s eyes, gazing intently. You wanted to figure him out- you wanted to know everything that there was to know about that warm yet mysterious gaze of his. It was penetrating in a way you’d never expected. You felt so vulnerable under it- like he could easily see through you. 

It startled you, but also made you feel so alive. No one had looked at you in that way for a while. No one had much cared for anything that had to do with you at all in a while, actually. 

He chuckles, low and airy, his gaze trailing over your face in languid, gradual strokes. 

It was so intense you swore you could feel his eyes caressing your skin- only lightly, though. 

“There are some things…” his eyes land on your lips. “That I miss….things that I wish I could have again. Things I lay awake at night thinking about.” 

His words are so provocative and teasing and so fucking sensual, your stomach clenches in pure and unadulterated need. 

Your breath catches, lips parting as you take in the adorable freckles peppered all over his nose and cheeks. You were close enough to count them and clearly see the brown specks in his striking irises. 

You hold your caught breath, waiting for him to continue speaking. You could almost see the words he was suppressing pushing at the tip of his tongue. 

He finally breaks after a few moments of deep pondering. 

“You’re really beautiful, sweetheart,” he mutters so low, you have to strain to hear. 

You gulp the lump in your throat, heart racing. “Th-thank you. You are too.” 

He licks his bottom lip, slow and torturous and my God, did you want to sin right now. “Thanks,” he rasps. 

God likes good girls who don’t betray his trust, Y/n. You must always remain focused on pleasing him. And only him. He is all that matters. 

His hand is reluctant and all too light when it softly brushes your cheekbone. Father Dean watches you closely, clearly nervous that you’ll flinch away. 

But you only shudder under his touch, leaning into it. 

“Father-”

“Call me Dean, please” he husks soft and your insides quite literally quiver.

“Dean,” you correct yourself meaningfully. “I just- fuck.” You gradually lean away from his touch. “You’re under oath and I don’t wanna be the one to-”

He finally snaps out of it, practically jumping away from you. You find yourself immediately feeling empty at the absence of touch almost immediately. 

“God, of course, sweetheart. I am so sorry. I swear thay I’m not usually like this- I just…” he pauses, gazing at you softly. “I don’t know what it is about you,” he breathes.

You shake your head quickly getting up. “It’s fine, I know it was a heat-of-the-moment kind of thing. This storm is really stressful and tensions are high ‘round these parts and…yeah. Don’t worry ‘bout it.” What you’re saying makes absolutely no fucking sense, but you’re desperate for an out. 

You run your fingers through your hair, looking out the window. “And look, it’s already over so I’ll just uh, be going now. Again, thank you for everything father. I really, really appreciate it.” You speak quickly, flustered, and don’t let him get a word in before you spin on your heels and walk away as fast as you can. 

“Hey!” he calls from behind you. 

You pause walking and look at him over your shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I never got your name, sweetheart.” 

You smile. “It doesn’t matter what my name is. You’ll never see me again, Dean.” 

And then you walked out. 

So here’s a short-ish imagine because I’m a complete hoe for forbidden tropes, I’m sorry…

Lol, If y’all want a second part, lemme know, please!

Feedback is ALWAYS welcomed. Messages, replies, reblogs…I see them all!

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It’s nearly 2019 and I still do not understand the massive amount of hate thrown at Logan Huntzberger.

if jared cuts all his hair off after supernatural ends i just don’t think i can handle that

Niall-- The Plague

This isn’t really fluff and it’s definitely not smut.  It’s more of a really long version of “Life with Niall.”

Our home was always full of noise.  Niall’s football game going on TV, his shouts of indignation at the calls made by the ref, his loud laugh echoing off the walls, the soft tones of his guitar strings being plucked absently, as easy as breathing, while he watched TV or chatted to friends.  Everything about Niall was loud and full of life and our house almost always reflected that.

But the second I sneezed in the office, silence filled the air.  It was like everything stopped, except for the sound of the football announcers on the television.  I found myself wishing that I was a quiet sneezer, but I had been cursed to be a noisemaker, myself.  I tried to discretely sniff as I searched for a tissue but it was too late.

I heard Niall yell out my name cautiously.  I heard him get up and walk down the hall.  When he came to the office he stood at the door, eyeing me suspiciously.  He looked like sex, standing there in a long sleeve shirt with a few buttons at the top that were mostly undone, jeans that sat perfectly on him so they could define his ass and thighs, and a silver watch on his wrist.  I could tell by the way he was standing, though; arms crossed over his chest and his deliberately shallow breathing, like he could defend himself from my germs, that he wasn’t in here to seduce me.

Keep reading

I’m screaming someone DMed me asking for me to help them with their homework

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