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bagopucks · 5 months

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J. Drysdale - Orange, Orange, Orange

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Jamie Drysdale x Fem!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warning(s): cuss words, reader wanting to strangle Trevor✨

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Everybody has their own playoff traditions. For most teams, it’s the beards. And every stadium also has a different approach. For the Anaheim Ducks and Honda Center, it’s ‘Paint It Orange.’

Jamie and Trevor go all out. Their apartment gets decorated completely. Orange throw pillows, orange plates and cups, orange shower curtain. Anything that can be replaced for cheap during the playoffs. It’s atrocious. I love seeing my boyfriend and his clingy bestie, but god I hate seeing that orange. It’s too much.

Do I tell them that? Absolutely not.

The boys love it. They love getting into the playoff spirit, and I’d even venture to say it’s a ritual now. A superstition that they add to every year. This year I was anticipating orange drapes or maybe even an orange carpet.. but I couldn’t have been farther from the right idea.

Trevor and Jamie had been radio silent all day. Both in our group chat and in individual texts. It was unlike them. Especially Jamie, who always texted me in the morning. I was suspicious, but I didn’t think too much into it. We were coming up on the first playoff game. Two days away. It was likely that they were only anxious. Antsy.

I thought maybe a quick box of donuts might be nice. I swung by a local donut shop and picked up two dozen before making the drive to their place. Jamie always enjoyed the jelly filled and chocolate covered ones, but Trevor had so many things he enjoyed that it was hard to remember all the flavors. And knowing these boys and their appetites, it was safer to get two dozen.

When I got to their place, I gently kicked their door with my foot a few times, seeing as my hands were full. I heard a faint, ‘coming’ from Trevor. I eyed the orange wreath on their door while I waited. It was new. That must have been the addition for this year’s playoff run. They hadn’t had one in a while. I would have expected something more drastic to celebrate.

When the door opened, I was met with a shirtless Trevor. His long hair was pulled back in a ponytail -no doubt one I left behind at some point- and his shorts were covered in orange. His arms had a bit of the orange substance on them as well. My brow furrowed.

“Hey! You brought us donuts. That’s awesome.” Trevor smiled, “can you bring ‘em inside? Just toss them on the counter.” He stepped aside, letting me in before he shut the door and locked it.

“Trevor, what’s going on?” I asked as I walked through the house, greeted by the ugly oranges of their decorations. I set the boxes of donuts on the counter, opening one to pull out one of the jelly filled treats. I took a bite out of it as I turned to look at Trevor.

“Stuff.” He answered, nodding a little too dramatically for me to believe him.

“Where’s Jamie?”

“Out.” I didn’t like or believe that answer either.

“Doing what?” I pressed on.

“Hey! Who’s that?” I heard Jamie shout, his voice echoing from a room I could only assume was the bathroom. Trevor’s face fell the moment he knew he’d been caught in his own lie.

“It’s your girlfriend! She brought us donuts!” Trevor called, the volume of his voice irritating my ears. I winced.

“You’re such a liar, Trevor.” I scoffed out, shaking my head at him.

“Tell her to come here! She can help!” Even yelling, Jamie’s voice sounded soft.

Trevor looked at me with a cautious gaze, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Why don’t you want me here?” I immediately asked, accusation in my tone. Trevor refused to answer right out.

“Oh boy…” he mumbled. Clearly, he knew whatever I was about to see, I was not going to like. “Come on.”

I followed incredibly close behind Trevor, contemplating a few times, simply pushing him out of the way. But once we got to the bathroom, I was glad we’d taken our time getting there. It gave me time to brace myself.

The gasp I drew in was second to none, horrified and surprised in the worst ways.

I stood there in shock for maybe a total of ten seconds. A ticking time bomb.

“So… you like it?” The optimism in Trevor’s voice set me off.

“What the fuck?” I shouted, staring down at my shirtless boyfriend and his lathered orange hair. “Jamie! What the fuck?”

Trevor was standing behind me, and I could tell the boys were looking at each other when my boyfriend’s eyes drifted past me.

“This is why I told you not to invite her.” Trevor mumbled. I spun on my heels.

“Because I don’t want my boyfriend looking like..” I paused, looking back at Jamie. He flashed me a nervous smile. “Like the Lorax?” I wasn’t necessarily angry.. just.. caught off guard. Nobody informed me of this. Nobody told me I was going to have to look at Jamie like this for possibly months.

“So you don’t like it?” Jamie’s smooth voice piped up, causing my tense gaze to move from Trevor back to the once dark haired man. I pursed my lips, trying to calm myself as I noticed the concern in Jamie’s features.

“I’ll be honest with you J.. I don’t. No.” His face fell. I shook my head as I kicked my shoes off and stepped onto the dirty towels on the floor. I glanced at him in the mirror, then back down to his figure sitting on a foldable chair. I immediately reached for a silky lock of wet orange hair, still covered in fresh dye. “Oh my god…” I mumbled, feeling like a mother with her child.

“That bad, huh?” Jamie inquired, eyeing my reflection in the mirror.

“I love you.. just.. not your orange hair.” He was slow to nod. Jamie never liked knowing I didn’t like something. I always tried to tell him that it didn’t matter. Just because I didn’t like something, didn’t mean he needed to change it or throw it away. But he always wanted to make me happy. I could tell though, that this stressed him out. Because he couldn’t easily fix this.

“It’s not that bad.” Jamie tried to reason.

“No it’s pretty bad.” I wanted to card my hands through his hair, but I couldn’t. These idiots. God knows what this would turn out like. “Jame- your hair is so dark.. what if this turns out looking like shit? Like actual shit? Did you guys even bleach it enough?” Jamie, nor Trevor had a good response. So instead, my boyfriend opted to change the topic.

“Trevor‘s gonna do it too.” I looked back at Trevor while Jamie’s eyes were fixed on himself in the mirror.

Trevor shook his head with a snicker. My brow furrowed at his amusement, and the lines connected when I noticed Trevor was not worried about his own perfect hair.

I realized quickly that this was not a playoff ritual. This was Trevor tricking his best friend into something embarrassing. I would have considered it a prank if I didn’t know how humiliated Jamie would be once he found out.

I wanted to strangle him. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to grab Trevor by the hair and throw him off the roof. Instead, I came up with a much less hostile approach.

“Thats really sweet of you Trev. At least if it ends badly Jamie won’t look… orange all alone.” I cooed. Trevor looked confused, but I let him off the hook for a moment.

“I don’t like this look.. I really don’t, but if it’s for playoffs, I understand. How much longer does this have to sit, J?” I asked, watching him reach for his phone on the stained counter.

“Thirty more minutes.” I nodded gestured for him to move and sit on the edge of the bath tub. He did so with ease.

“You want this?” I presented the donut I took a bite of to him, and Jamie quickly reached for it. He mumbled a sheepish, ‘thanks,” in return.

“Trevor,” I immediately turned to him. “I’ll help you with your hair.”

It was Trevor’s turn to be concerned, shaking his head and laughing anxiously.

“No.. no.. J’s got it.” He took a step back to escape the bathroom.

“No, I insist. I’d rather it not get anywhere else on Jamie anyway. His arm hair doesn’t need to be orange too. Come on.” I grabbed his arm, pulling him a bit forcefully back into the bathroom.

“I think it’ll look so good on you, Trev.” I taunted as I pushed him down into the chair. “J, can you go get me a drink from the fridge?” Jamie looked up from his phone and nodded, slipping out of the bathroom.

“Fuck you Trevor,” I hissed quietly, “you know how embarrassed he would have been? He probably would’ve chopped all his hair off.” Trevor’s eyes quickly found the floor. I wondered if he even thought this idea through entirely.

“I wish you wouldn’t be so rough on him sometimes. He’s not you, Trev.” My tone softened -though the annoyance remained- as I glanced down at all of the items on the counter. I reached for the bleach and prepped it before grabbing a spare pair of gloves, slipping them on.

“This one was pretty bad, huh?” Trevor muttered, right before Jamie returned with the water. I flashed him a smile as he set it on top of the toilet.

“Getzlaf‘s gonna love this look on you guys.” I was quick to change the subject, beginning to lather the bleach in Trevor’s hair. He may not have even needed it, but I decided to go with it for safe measure. I peeked over at Jamie, who was watching with curious eyes. I realized he already had another donut in hand. I also realized, that the poor kid’s eyebrows were still as dark as can be.

“He’ll support us.” Trevor reasoned.

“I’m sure he will.” Sarcasm laced my tone.

“I think we’ll look pretty cool.” Jamie’s excitement made me feel bad for knowing what I did about Trevor’s plans. And it made me feel bad for disagreeing in my head.

“The coolest, J.” I responded, trying to sound genuine.

It took me around ten minutes to get Trevor’s hair covered well. At that point, it was a waiting game for Jamie. Another fifteen minutes went by where I sat by my boyfriend on the lip of the bath tub, leaning on him as he scrolled through his phone, occasionally moving an orange lock from his eyes that kept falling astray. His mother didn’t like it when his hair got too long, I could only imagine what she’d say when she saw it was a whole new color.

When Jamie’s hair timer had gone off, I made Trevor go and grab me a cup. I helped Jamie sit on the floor and lean his head back into the bath tub, sighing to myself as I turned the bath tub on and found a comfortable temperature for the water.

When Trevor returned with the cup, I took it from him and filled it, resting my hand over Jamie’s eyes as I poured the first round of water through his hair, pushing my fingers through after. This was gonna take a while.

“I’ve seen you blonde.. but this is something else..” I mumbled. I did find momentary joy in the way Jamie’s eyes were closed, enjoying the feeling of having someone wash his hair. His orange hair.

“If this comes out bad, I’m taking you both to the local salon.” I added, getting to a point where the orange didn’t completely stain the water as it went down the drain. I turned off the tub faucet and asked Trevor to get me a towel, which he came back with faster than the cup.

“It’s not Carla,” Trevor shook his head. I glared at him.

“I don’t really care who it is. You’ll go unless you want to look like an off brand red head.” Jamie’s eyes opened, worriedly looking between me and his best friend.

I grabbed the towel from Trevor and turned back to my boyfriend, wrapping the towel around his hair and squeezing it a few times before I helped him sit up, and draped the towel over his shoulders.

“Move.” Trevor didn’t look very pleased that I was kicking him out of his seat, but he did nonetheless. Jamie slipped back into the foldable chair, and I bent over to search the cabinet beneath the sink for my spare hair dryer. When I spotted it, I was quick to pull it out.

I eyed the cord for a moment. “I don’t wrap my hairdryer cords like this.” I glanced between both boys, curious as to who had used my dryer while I was away.

“Sometimes my hair doesn’t dry fast enough before I go out.” Jamie’s gentle confession made my gaze soften.

I plugged the cord into the outlet and opened the medicine cabinet to grab one of the combs inside.

“Wait that’s mine!” I glared over at Trevor before putting the comb back and grabbing the other. Part of me wanted to snap his in half. Torturing Jamie and he still thought he could sit there and make requests.

I turned the hair dryer on, pointing it down at my lover as I slowly ran his comb through his hair. He looked pleased with all the attention. I didn’t mind it.. I just wished I could have given it to him under other circumstances that didn’t involve orange hair.

As his hair dried, the orange took on a much lighter look. Still hideous, but it looked like it would match the jerseys. Jamie took a few pictures of it.

When I had his hair mostly dry, I turned the dryer off and set it on the counter with the comb. I ran my fingers through his hair a few times, ruffling and fixing the part, before I leaned forward to press a kiss to his head.

“Do you like it now?” Jamie spoke softly, his eyes searched my expression in the mirror.

“It’ll grow on my eventually.” I tapped his shoulder. “You wanna help me finish Trev?”

“Oh! Yeah!”

“Trevor sit on the floor and lean your head over the bath.”

I repeated the process of washing hair with Trevor, this time with the help of Jamie, who really just handed me shampoo when I needed it.

When I had his hair washed and towel dried, I had him and Jamie switch places again, and I began to dry Trevor’s hair- with his own comb. After I was sure every strand was no longer damp, I put my dryer away and set Trevor’s comb aside.

“I think when we’re done, you guys should send some photos to your mothers.” I advised, smiling to myself at the thought of either woman’s reaction.

Jamie’s head shot up from his phone. Had he not considered his mother as a factor before agreeing to this?

“She’s gonna flip…”

He hadn’t.

“Oh my god, Jamie-“ I hid my face in my hands to mask my frustration.

“Can you call her with me?” His request was met with a reluctant no from myself.

“You made your bed, lover. And this one you have to lay in alone.” I chuckled. “Good luck.”

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#nhl imagine #nhl x reader #jamie drysdale blurb #jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale #trevor zegras blurb #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras

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silverzoomies · 3 months

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Turkish Delight

peter maximoff x reader smut

chapter 1: sweet talkin'

warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot, phone sex, mutual masturbation, best friends, dirty talk

word count: 6,368

a/n: hiyaaa !! i'm back with more filth !! peter speaks russian in this one. i've seen people use russian in place of sokovian language before. and since i've been learning russian for a while, i thought i'd give it a shot !! if you're familiar with the language and anything seems off, please let know asap !! as usual, apologies if peter seems ooc, or if my writing isn't up to par !!

tag list (if i forgot you, please remind me !!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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Chillaxing on the sofa in his mom’s basement, Peter drew out a sigh. His hooded eyes gaped at the TV screen. As he channel surfed, his thumb tapped lazily on the remote. Peter stopped to check each channel in abrupt intervals. Afternoon cable was boring as hell today. It failed to grasp his short lived attention span.

Seinfeld reruns? He saw just about all of ‘em. Soap Operas? Those were more his mom’s thing. Huge pass. Nature documentaries? Could be cool. Guess it depended on which one, though.

Oh. It was the one about the polar bear’s great journey across the arctic! Nifty enough. Except, Peter saw that one three or four times already now. Скучный (boring). Так скучно (So boring).

‘Kay, soooo…TV was kind of a no-go. Instead, Peter popped on the PS1 and settled for a game of Metal Gear Solid. The game’s opening intro was a little too slow for his liking, but Peter forced himself to focus. It sucked he was so antsy today, so fidgety and impatient. He needed some kind of distraction. Any distraction. And he needed one fast.

Peter bounced a leg, half invested in the game’s dialogue. His fingers absentmindedly flicked the controller buttons. Not even five minutes into playing, he found himself frustrated and bored again. This time around, he figured some company might ease his ennui.

He darted across the arm of the couch to a side table. Over a stack of comic books and empty cans of soda, he snatched the receiver to a Garfield phone. Peter dialed a number in less than a second. Too fast, at first. The phone didn’t even register his request. Rolling his eyes, he dialed the number again. Slower this time.

Peter kept the vibrant hunk of orange plastic between his cheek and shoulder. Buzzy ringing echoed on the other end of the line, as he waited for the recipient to pick up. The time it took for a voice to finally respond felt like fifty billion years. Your voice. One of Peter’s closest comrades. The pal he shared most, if not all, of his free time with.

There were days when you visited, and you laid back on the sofa with him. With your legs stretched over his lap and a magazine in your hands, you relaxed. Peter would always do his usual, playing whatever game he ‘bought’ from the local K-Mart. Every time he cursed himself for making a misstep, you giggled. You knew how frustrating it was for him, if he wasn't a hundred leaps ahead of everything. And just to get back at you - but also to hear you laugh again - he’d reach over and dig his fingers into your belly.

He loved that it took such minimal effort to make you laugh. You always had an easygoing warmth about you. And maybe you were also pretty cute too. Sometimes, the crook of your smile made him blush. Oh, and you didn't mind duking it out in Mario Kart sometimes. That was also kinda cool. What more could a lonesome guy ask for? Просто друзья. Ничего больше (Just friends. Nothing more). Yeah. He could be content with that. No problem.

Ten minutes into conversation with you, Peter breathed a yawn into the receiver.

“You know, I’m surprised you have the patience for talking on the phone.” You joked.

The speakers roared with a soft buzz in his ear. Peter didn’t register your words at first. Blinking lazily, he tapped the PS1 controller buttons at rapid speed. In the game, Snake fought off an onslaught of bad guys. Peter faked his offense with a scoff.

“Seriously? Man, what’s up with that? It’s like everyone thinks I can’t do stuff at normal speed without goin’ berserk.” He said, cursing under his breath as Snake got gunned down again.

A small part of him wished you were there, with your legs over his lap, cracking jokes at his expense. Over the phone, you emitted a gentle laugh.

“Because you have? Multiple times, dude!” You said.

Surely you could hear Peter’s eyes roll in his skull.

“Oh, yeah? Name five.” he pressed.

The fast paced clicking of the buttons echoed like a trill in the basement. He overheard the sound of rustling as you shifted in place. If Peter had to guess, he’d bet his left foot you were still lazing around in bed. It was a Saturday, after all. With the hour tipping on the edge of late afternoon. You always moved at the slowest of speeds on your off days.

“I’m just saying! I totally get it. Even I don’t have the patience for chats on the phone sometimes.” You said, and a squeaky yawn followed.

More rustles scuffed from your end, as if you moved to stretch. Keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering, CRT screen; Peter followed flashes of light from each grunt’s gun. His reaction time proved effortless as always. His methods, not so much.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Peter mumbled after a beat, “Doesn’t bother me much if I’m talkin’ to you. You’re not boring, first of all. And on the off chance I do get bored, I can just say - hey, babe, I’m gonna hang up. And you won’t get-uhhh…” He lingered on his next thought, distracted with gunning down more masked baddies, “You won’t get, like, butt hurt over it."

“Why would I?” You laughed, “Did someone seriously get offended by that?”

“My aunt did once. She got mad pissed ‘cuz I told her I was ‘kinda bored’ on the phone. She made me pass it to my mom, so she could rat me out. Said I showed a ‘lack of consideration'; ‘er whatever.” Peter paused, brows furrowed. In Metal Gear, Snake perished yet again. Peter rolled his eyes once more, “She’s kinda mental, though. это возмутительно (it’s outrageous).”

Your only response was a quiet hum of acknowledgement. Peter broke the silence that followed.

“Hey, you’re not busy today, are you? Wanna do somethin’ later?” He asked, knowing full well you had jack shit to do.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling soooooo lazy today.” You playfully teased.

The soft pattern of your breathing sent electric tingles down Peter’s neck. Shuddering, he shook off those unexpected chills. Another beat, and Peter groaned, as Snake perished over a low poly landscape. You gotta take it slow and stealthy, man - Peter reminded himself.

“Хорошо (okay)? So? Come be lazy over here then.” He replied, “Tell you what. If you do, I’ll go ‘n snag some of those Turkish delights you like. The same ones my mom gotcha for your birthday. Remember? From Sokovia?”

Your voice perked up instantly, bringing a cheesy smile to his face. Homely fondness simmered in his chest, and Peter felt himself blush. He pulled his lip between his teeth, pausing his game to focus more on conversation. Leaving Snake stranded in the middle of the snow.

“Oh my gosh!! No way?? I haven’t had those in forever! Seriously, the ones from Sokovia?” You chimed.

“Hell yeah! But you gotta get outta bed first, dingus. C’monnnn.” Peter whined, “I’m so bored here, babe. Oh! I totally forgot. I finally got my hands on a Gameboy Color too. Swear on my life I paid for it this time. You could come over ‘n try it ouuuuuut.” He teased in a sing-song voice, wiggling his brows.

“Gameboys and Turkish delights? You’re spoiling me today, Peter! What’s the occasion?” You joked over the line.

He shrugged, forgetting you couldn’t see him, “Bored outta my friggin’ skull. That’s what.” After a beat, he awkwardly added, “And maybe I like hangin’ with you? Do I even need a reason?”

“Well, I gotta admit…you had me at Turkish delights.” You feigned a dreamy tone.

Peter chuckled again. Under his breath, he muttered softly, “ Это все, что тебе нужно, да (That’s all you need, huh)?”

“Huh?” You asked, oblivious to his comment, “What’d you say? I didn’t catch that last part.”

Peter ran a hand through his silver locks, leaving his hair loose and messy. Cradling the phone in his other hand, he knitted his lips to one side.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You want me to come get you? ‘Cuz I can.” He checked his digital watch, decked out in a Star Wars theme, “I can right now, if you-”

“It’s fine. I love going out with you, but I really don’t wanna deal with motion sickness today. I just had lunch too. No offense!” Another yawn rang over the phone, hitching into a squeal at the end. Peter didn’t realize he was smiling so big until his cheeks started to hurt, “I’ll just drive over. Sound good?”

Peter rolled his eyes, sarcastically groaning. He threw his head back into the sofa cushions, playing up his fake frustrations.

“Auuuuuuugh! But that’ll take years.” He dragged a hand down his face, pulling his cheeks under his fingertips, “Is this ‘cuz you blew chunks last time?? You know that doesn’t bother me, right? Everyone does it, babe.”

You made a noise of disgust. Something like an eugh , “Please, don’t remind me. That sucked so much. Yeah, no, I’d rather not. I really need a break from it.” You sighed again. Kind of a bummer, but he could deal.

“It’s whatever you want, I guess. So, when are you gonna head out?” Peter asked, sitting up on the sofa and putting the controller aside.

He bounced a leg at rapid speed, his knee moving in a flesh tone blur of motion. Less from agitation, more due to anticipation.

“I’ll leave soon. Just give me a few minutes. Think you can wait?” You chuckled in that sweet, quirky way again. The melody gave Peter butterflies. Ignoring the fluttering in his belly, he pushed himself off the couch. Grabbing the base of the Garfield phone, Peter cradled the lil guy in an arm. He figured he may as well get dressed, and freshen up before you arrived, “It’s so cold today. I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet! I’m still bundled up in my undies. Got your jacket on too. You left a Game n Watch in the pocket, by the way. I didn’t even know they still made those!”

“Yeah. I totally called that one. Get up already, ya slacker.” Peter joked trapping the phone between his cheek and shoulder again. He scratched his bare chest. His fingertips grazed the sparse covering of white hairs there. Yawning, he nodded, “Okay. Okay. Okay. Sure, just-”

Something about your last statement finally clicked in Peter’s brain. He rapidly blinked, shaking his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. Peter did a quadruple take.

“Подожди (wait)! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, waiiiiiit …hold on a sec.” He narrowed his eyes, “Say that again?”

“Say what again? The part about the Game n Watch?” You asked, and Peter’s brows furrowed.

“N-Nah. The…did you just…have you been lyin’ around in your underwear this whole time?”

“Uh, yeah? Why? Is this revolutionary information?” You chuckled.

“In my jacket? Like, I didn’t hear that wrong? What’d you like…sleep in it ‘er somethin’?” Peter arched a silver brow, pressing the phone handset closer to his cheek. As if doing so might somehow help him hear you more clearly.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal either way. You borrowed his jackets all the time. Peter never thought anything of it before this conversation. Aside from the fact that - when you did return them, he loved the sweet scent you left behind. The smell of your perfume, with the added bonus of your natural pheromones…

Ебать (Fuck)! Why was he even thinking about this? The two of you had such a casual thing goin’ on. But now, Peter thought of you in a different light. Something friskier. Not that he meant to. Maybe killer boredom + cute friend = horny speedster. Or perhaps the planets aligned in some totally off-the-wall way.

Whatever the case, Peter’s mind raced on autopilot. He pictured the way you might look right now. In your room, spread across your bed in nothing but your underwear and - Ебена мать (Holy shit) - his jacket. With your long legs bare, your knees bumping together as you squeezed your thighs shut. Tummy exposed. And your tits-

Woooooooah there! Slow down, casanova! Peter shouldn’t be…nah, he really shouldn’t be wondering what your breasts looked like. Ppfffbbbbt …’kay, so, maybe in the past he thought about it once or twice. But what dude wouldn't contemplate the hidden mystery of a pal's titties sometimes, ah?

“Well, so what if I did? That doesn’t weird you out, does it?” You asked, a careful waver in your voice.

“Uhhhh…nahhh, babe. Just…” Peter shifted in place, rerouting his thoughts, “Just…got one hell of an image in my head. Might’ve pictured you like that for no particular reason at all.”

Lucky for him, you didn’t seem to think anything of his confession.

“Not much to imagine…” You replied. Сомнительно (Doubtful).

“I mean…pffbbbttt…sure, yeah. Maybe not.” Peter awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his neck. His voice dropped, a little more hushed, “Unless…you’re wearin’ some really cute panties over there.” Again, he laughed, rushing out a quick, “I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m totally messin’. Just bustin’ your balls, babe.”

Except…he sorta wasn’t. Peter found himself oh-so curious. Twisting the phone's orange wire around his finger, he anticipated your reaction. Anxious you might think him weird for pushing things too far. Never had the two of you charted this kind of territory. It was a minefield, with a 95% chance neither one would make it out unscathed.

“I guess? I think they’re kind of cute.” You added, innocent as ever. Awesome. You weren’t peeved at him, at least. Peter brought the phone to his chest, exhaling an anxious breath to calm his racing heart. When he put the phone to his ear again, he figured you’d moved on. But your cadence shifted. To test the boundaries of your friendship, you teased, “They’re pretty small on me, though.”

Ah. Ah. Интересно. Очень интересно (Interesting. Very interesting). What an unexpected but totally wicked development. Peter lowered himself slowly onto the couch, setting the phone's base on the side table. He eased backwards into the cushions, and tightened his twisting of the phone wire. Swallowing hard, Peter found he had difficulty focusing. Especially with his imagination running so goddamn wild.

“Yeah? …How small is pretty small?” He dared to ask.

Long seconds of silence ticked by at the pace of a narcoleptic sloth. If Peter weren’t so eager to hear what you had to say, he may have torn his hair out. Over the line, you laughed.

“Small enough they barely cover my ass? Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” You cooed.

Peter fluttered his inky eyes, nibbling chapped skin on his lip. Fuzzy pink swarmed the rest of his face, as his mind conjured images of you so effortlessly. Clear as day. Heat stirred to life in his groin, and Peter pictured the way your plush cheeks might hold in tight painties. His breath hitched.

“I-uh…” Peter felt the heat in his cheeks creep down his neck, flustered at lightspeed, “Just thinkin’...maybe you should do somethin’ about that?” He gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. What a lame response, “Черт возьми (damn it)!” He huffed under his breath, too quiet for you to hear.

Toying with this newly discovered sexual tension, Peter humorously asked-

“Sooooooo…what color?”

You giggled into the receiver, airy and light. His body registered the noise somewhere , down south of his belly. He wondered if you were as flustered as him. And the visual of your bashful face and shy smile had his heartbeat ramping up to mach 10.

“What? A-Are you for real asking me…oh my god, dude!” Your giggles turned into goofy snorts. Which he found so endearing. Once you composed yourself, you spoke again. Though, your tone came off as more flirtatious, “If you really wanna know so bad…then fine. They’re black. Lacy. With a little bow on the front.”

Дерьмо (Shit)...

His silver brows soared high, disappearing under his bangs. Paying little attention to his instinctive actions, Peter guided his free hand between his thighs. Inwardly, he told himself he was only adjusting his uncomfortable hard-on. ‘Cuz it’d be totally weird if he did anything else…right? Best to ignore the movement of his thumb, as it absentmindedly circled his bulge.

“Huh…that’s so…” Peter blinked, clearing his throat and masking his nerves with a chuckle, “‘Kay, I’ll be up front with you, babe. That sounds cute as hell. Very nice.”

“Really? Oh, please, Peter. They’d be cute on anybody.” You scoffed.

“Uh huh…” He smirked, dropping his tone even lower, “‘Cept, now that I’m really thinkin’ about it? I’m bettin’ they look criminally cute on you.” Peter lazily smirked.

You laughed, breathless like you ran a thousand miles, “Wh-...what are we even doing right now? Seriously, why am I talking to you about my-” The uneasiness in your voice bled through the line.

Your concern was for good reason. Nevertheless, Peter interrupted you mid-sentence.

“Easy there, chuckles. We’re just chatting. Nothin’ too unusual, right? We’ve had some seriously raunchy conversations before. Remember? That time I got laid on a golf course? You told me about that time some dude shot a load in your eye. What’s the difference, anyway?” Peter grimaced, as he recalled your story from eons ago.

You giggled yet again, “Peter, you know damn well what the difference is!” You clarified with a sigh, still playful. The phone wire went slack around his finger, as Peter second guessed himself. He parted his lips, on the cusp of apologizing. Bringing one hand up to the phone, he held it loosely. Your sugary voice chimed again, “I’m kinda wondering, though…what would you think if I told you I’m topless right now?”

His grip compressed around the handset.

“Topless, huh?” Peter cast a quick glance at his hard-on, twitching painfully under his boxers. His mind jumped straight to sinful places again. Peter thought about what your tits probably look like, embraced in his jacket. Nipples hard, grazing the inner-lining. He swallowed, “What’re you tryna tell me? You gonna drive over here in nothin’ but that?” Peter quipped.

A more sultry laugh melted through the receiver. Peter trembled, as your smooth voice coaxed him like a tempting song. His free palm squeezed his bulge, putting pressure to his length over fabric. Peter’s brows turned inward, and he fluttered his eyes shut.

“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, if it wasn’t so cold outside. It’s freezing today. I don’t know how you can run as fast as you do when the weather’s like this.” Your tone disguised itself with lighthearted innocence again, “It’s not any warmer in my room either. My nipples could cut glass. They’re, like, soooo hard.”

Peter adjusted himself on the sofa, giving the swell of his bulge another teasing squeeze.

“ Ты маленькая соблазнительница (you little temptress)...” His hot breath fanned the phone.

“I love it when you talk like that…” You replied, “Even if I have no idea what you’re saying. It sounds really hot, to be totally honest.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter teased his lip with his teeth, speaking in a more flirtatious voice; buttery smooth, “ Я забыл вынести мусор (I forgot to take out the trash)...” For added effect - just to embarrass you more - he tacked on a husky moan.

Peter made himself blush, as the sound came out far more pornagraphic than he intended. The rasp of his voice scraped through the line in a hushed, “ Oh, yeah, baby. ”

The erotic tension you felt from his teasing was palpable, even over the phone. Peter could sense the shift in the way you gasped. So faint, so shy, so cute.

“Oh…oh, wow...uhm…” You tried concealing your bashfulness with more of those candy coated giggles. But Peter could practically hear the blood racing to your cheeks, “What’s that mean? Something good, I hope.”

Peter bit his tongue, lips turning in a cheeky grin.

“It means you’re really turnin’ me on…”

Another hesitant pause fell between the two of you, before you scoffed.

“Oh my god, no it doesn’t! I can hear you laughing!” You griped, snickering along with Peter. A few more tension heavy beats pulsed over the line. You spoke again, “Hey…I’m sorry. Can I put things on pause for a sec? I just wanted to ask…are you okay with this?”

“Are you?” Peter gently asked, giving you ample time to think about it.

“I don’t know…maybe…” You whispered, “Isn’t this, like, super weird for you?”

“I mean…suuuuuuure. It’s totally weird. If you kept goin', I wouldn't be into it...at all...” He bullied you with a playful edge, hoping you could read the flirtatious undertone in his voice.

“Ohhhhh…you wouldn't be?” Judging by the saucy lilt in your voice, you most definitely caught on, “You know what would be even weirder?”

Peter adjusted on the sofa again. Getting comfortable, he laid on his back. His taut legs stretched across the cushions, and Peter propped his head on the couch’s arm.

“Whazzat? Enlighten me, babe. I’m listenin’. You got my full attention.” He teased.

“Your full attention, huh? I must be doing something right.” You snickered, “So…you know how I said I love it when you talk…like that?” Your voice wavered, “What I really meant was-uhm…when you do that on the phone…it makes me kind of horny.”

His brown hues burst open, wider than ever. Peter’s pupils dilated, expanding as far as the universe itself. He swallowed again, his mouth falling open. Your filthy confession set his arousal ablaze, making his dick twitch. As heated desire took over, Peter couldn’t restrain himself. He snuck his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, fingertips gliding over silver hairs. A small piece of him almost felt guilty for doing so.

“It does, huh? Хорошо знать (Good to know).” Peter whispered, tenderly grasping his shaft.

You made a naughty squeak of a noise in response, “Y-Yeah, Peter, I’m serious. You really have to stop doing that.”

“Почему (Why)? Are you soakin’ yourself over it? Gettin’ a lil wet? It’s cool. You can tell me…” Peter heckled, expelling a breath as he gave his dick a single tug.

“Oh, I bet you wanna know all about that, huh? You’re so bad, Quickie...” You teased, clicking your tongue.

Peter’s ears burned, turning pink as he took in the coquettish nature of your voice. Scoffing, he feigned his indignance.

“What?! Hey, nah nah nah! You started this! Это несправедливо, черт возьми (it’s not fair. Dammit)!” Peter laughed, carefree with you as always, “You can’t seriously drop a bombshell like that and expect me not to-”

“Not to come running?” You hummed, sweet tempered, “I’m just messing with you, baby. But since we’re on the topic…I made such a mess of these little panties. Just from listening to your voice.”

Peter couldn’t even pretend he didn’t like the sound of ‘baby’ on your tongue.

“Oh, man…anything but the panties…” He joked, “You should-uh…you should save yourself some trouble. Y’know…take ‘em off, maybe? Might be more comfortable.” Peter hinted, playing nonchalant, “Just tryna be a good friend. Give you some advice. You should for sure take it.”

“But I’m already so cold…” You whimpered, “Your jacket’s so warm. Smells good too. Really good. But it’s not enough to keep me covered.” You spoke with flirtatious innocence, and Peter played along.

“No harm done, принцесса (princess). I’ll warm you up if you need me to.” He reassured, sweet talking you over the phone, “Ты думаешь, что я не позабочусь о тебе? (Do you think I won't take care of you)?" Peter mumbled again. He listened to your sickly sweet laughs, before asking, “So…do you get like this every time we talk on the phone?”

“Mmmm…maybe.” You hummed, “What if I said yes?” You shuffled around again, and Peter’s mind jumped elsewhere. He imagined you shed yourself of damp, black lace. Leaving you wanton and needy in nothing but his jacket, “You know…we’ve been talking about me a lot this whole time. You wanna tell me what you’re wearing? I don’t really have a visual.”

“Oh…me?” Your request caught Peter off guard.

“Yeah, you. Who else, blockhead?” You playfully quipped, smoothing your voice to say, “You don’t have to be shy. I just wanna know, so I can think about taking it off of you.”

Peter didn’t know he could blush this much. Puffing a bashful laugh, he looked down at his body. Mostly nude and toned enough. He had his x-gene to thank for his pecs and hard abs. A fluffy bouquet of silver hairs peeked out from his boxers. Underneath, his dick throbbed, pressing eagerly into fabric.

“Uhm…I’m not wearin’ a lot? Nothin’ special. Just some black, boxer briefs, I guess. Wait, no-” Peter lifted a foot, his lips curling in a goofy smile, “Got my Star Wars socks on too.”

A sensual moan graced his ears, “That’s so hot.” You softly whined, “Star Wars socks? Peter, just take me now.”

Despite the fact you were totally messing with him, that playful comment made his chest tight.

“Nothing else though?” You pressed.

“Nnnnnnnnnnope.” He drew out the word, popping the P, “Just the-uh…yeah. Boxers ‘n sexy socks. Not much to take off.”

“And you’re pretty fit, aren’t you? You always looked really jacked to me, so-” You said.

Peter cocked a brow, snickering to cover his embarrassment.

“Wooooahhh…you been checkin’ me out, babe?” He asked, darting his dark hues across his athletic bod. Peter flexed an arm, “Sure, I guess I’m in decent shape.” He found he couldn’t dismiss your compliments. Peter looked good, and he knew it. But he preferred hearing it from you, “Hey, you wanna know somethin’, like, way crazy?”

“This? What we’re doing right now is so crazy, right?” You laughed, sounding as bashful as him.

Peter snickered, “True. Truuuue. But, uh…” He shrank in his spot on the couch, pressing the vibrant handset closer into his cheek. Pre-cum seeped through his boxers, as Peter tugged his dick steady and slow. Careful not to stimulate himself too much yet. He dropped his voice to a hushed rasp, “I’m kinda in the same spot you are right now. If you-uh…if you catch my drift.”

The two of you knew each other for a long time. Several years, in fact. But never once did Peter think he’d hear his closest pal say-

“Ohhhh. Are you hard right now, baby?”

Oh. Yeah, this buddy-buddy friendship was in major trouble. Doomed to crash and burn. As soon as the words fell from your lips, spoken in your honeyed voice; Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. He sank his teeth so hard into his lip, he almost broke skin.

“Y-Yeah. Since you-uh…started talkin’ about your panties. I’m sorry, babe. Just been kinda bored and worked up all day.” He sheepishly chuckled.

“You poor baby…” You coddled him over the phone. And while he should’ve been embarrassed, Peter had no problem with you talking like that, “Can I ask how big you are?”

Peter stalled for a moment, before pulling the front of his boxers down. His hardness flopped against his belly, pulsating and ruddy from his teasing. Taking his aching length in his hand, he rubbed the underside with his thumb.

“You mean my dick? It’s-uhhhh…like six, maybe seven inches almost?” He squeezed his cock, milking beads of pre-cum, “But size doesn’t matter, yeah? It’s the motion of the ocean, babe.”

“Noooooo, baby. You’re so perfect. Wish I could see how good you look like that…” You cooed over the phone.

Your kindly words and airy tone made the veins in his dick throb with electric heat. Peter clutched his cock tight, pumping the velvet skin a touch faster. Giving himself just a simple taste of relief. His stomach clenched, hardening his abs.

“Не так идеально, как ты выглядишь (Not as perfect as you look)...” Peter muttered, drawing in a shallow breath, “Babe, I gotta tell ya, I’m really feelin’ this. I’m so into you right now. W-Want you to keep talkin’ like-uh...”

His imagination took his depravity to the next level. Now, Peter thought about joining you in your room. He wondered how soft and smooth your skin would feel. Supple and hot under his fingertips. What might you look like writhing under him, whimpering as he played with you? As he teased you? Man, you were both so screwed.

“Never thought dirty talking with me would turn you on so much…” You giggled.

Peter secured the handset between his cheek and shoulder. With both hands free, he raised his palm to his lips. He drew a long stripe with his tongue, bringing his damp hand to his cock. The slick lubrication pulled a gentle moan from his throat.

“M-Maybe a little bit. Ебать (Fuck), maybe a lot.” Peter groaned, labored in his breathing, “Can you - Ебать (fuck) - you wanna do somethin’ for me? Just a little favor between friends? S’all I’m askin’, baby.”

“Anything you want, Peter.” You mewled.

“Can you- mmmmohgod -” Peter choked up. He almost chickened out, but pushed himself to ask, “Can you touch yourself for me? Please? Пожалуйста, моя маленькая принцесса (Please, my little princess)...” His foreign whispers weaved pretty whimpers from your lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, if you want me to. But you have to do the same for me too. It’s only fair, right? Equal exchange?” You whispered, acting playful again.

Peter breathed a guilty chuckle, “Uhm…yeahhhhh…about that…”

You softly gasped, “Have you been-”

“Playin’ with my dick this whole time? Maybe.” Peter admitted. His thumb caught another pearl of pre, spreading the slickness over his sensitive head, “But I’m not, like, totally jerkin’ it yet…” He lied, pressing you to encourage him.

“Oh, you’re not, huh? What are you doing then?” You asked, “Are you being a bad boy, Pietro?” The abrupt drop of his given name shocked him into silence.

Peter felt his groin tighten, and an exhilarating rush electrified his nerves. For the thousandth time, you giggled. And for the thousandth time, Peter’s heart leapt. Dumbfounded, he gathered his composure and played along again.

“Y-Yeah. So bad. You gotta help me, babe. I’m just-...I’m so hard. Don’t think I can stop myself if you keep talkin’ like that.”

Through the receiver, Peter’s ears caught wind of a needy mewl. He gripped his cock hard, guiding his fist in firmer strokes. His legs quivered, and the heels of his Star Wars socks slid across the couch.

“Does it feel good when you touch your pretty cock like that, sweetheart?” You cooed.

Peter almost went straight into cardiac arrest. He jolted in place, feeling his cock stiffen in his grasp.

“Святой трах (Holy fuck)..." Peter suffocated on his own groans. For an instant, his words failed him, “Uhmmm…hah…wow-uh…Ебать (fuck). Feels good, yeah. Don’t think it’s enough. I need-...uhm…I want-uh…”

“Yeah? What do you want, baby. It’s okay.” You spoke so sugary sweet again.

“I-...Я просто хочу увидеть тебя (I just want to see you)...” Peter’s veins tingled under his touch, as he tugged his dick with more urgency, “Shit! I-...how come I never knew you could be like this-” And to Peter’s ultimate humiliation, he whimpered your name. Along with another whiny, “ Ебать (Fuck). ”

“Like what?” Your coy voice teased him over the line.

“I dunno…so-uh…so damn nasty.” He joked, and even through the phone; he knew he had you flustered again.

“I guess we all have our secrets, hmm? Tell me more, Pietro. When you touch yourself like that. With those big, strong hands…how’s it feel?” You asked, driving him to keep going.

Peter snorted a laugh, “Strong hands? What??” His endearing playfulness took a backseat, as he grunted into the receiver, “God…feels like my strong hand’s not enough. Мне реально тебе нужно прямо сейчас. Нужна так сильно (I really need you right now. I need you so much).” His voice fell to a whisper. Pumping his slick, crimson cock through his fist, he breathlessly pleaded, “Talk to me, baby. Please. Tell me-ohhh…tell me what you’re doin’ over there.”

You squealed a sultry giggle, further igniting Peter’s pleasured frenzy. He squirmed in his spot on the sofa, forcing himself to stay put. Battling the forces of the universe, it was all Peter could do not to race to your room. Just to spread your legs and hump you like a speedy bunny.

“Mmmm…I’m just doing what you asked me to…I’m being so good for you right now.” You whimpered.

“Oh. Okay…uhm…far out. Uh…wanna gimme the steamy details?” He heckled again, fumbling his words in his nervousness, “Please, don’t hold off on me, baby.”

“I’m…” Your precious voice wavered, teeming with awkwardness as your confidence dwindled, “I’m playing with my little pussy. Just for you. And I’m so wet. I can’t stop thinking about your hands…so big…”

“Боже мой (my god).” Peter muttered. Combating impatience brought upon by his genes, he willed himself to take things slow. His strokes became steady and teasing, as he edged his aching cock, “Holy shit, babe. Yeah? Keep goin’...”

You moaned soft squeals into the receiver, “I want you so bad, Quickie. Please, baby, don’t make me beg. Can you touch this little pussy for me? Please? Your fingers are so big. I don’t think they’d fit all at once. It’s been a while, and I’m so tight.” Your naughty voice pleaded.

“God, I wanna touch you so bad. Я хочу прикоснуться к этой сладкой киске (I want to touch that sweet pussy).” Peter’s impatience got the better of him, and he quickly gave in. He grasped his cock hard, wringing himself fast enough to make his balls bounce. Creasing his brows, he groaned, “Ohhh..What’re you tryna to do to me, babe? Talkin’ about how tight you are…Ебать…”

“But I ammmm.” You whined again, “I’m squeezing my tiny fingers so tight. It’s so soft and hot for you. Bet it’d feel really good if you stretched me. With your fingers, with your cock - fuck, Pietro. I just need you, baby.”

“Please, baby, oh, please? Wanna be inside you. Wanna feel you. I promise I won’t go too fast. Я обещаю (I promise).” Peter whimpered. But as you mewled again, another forceful wave of carnal heat crashed over Peter. In a quieter tone, he choked, “Нет, я могу. Я пойду так быстро (No, I can. I’ll go so fast).”

“Pietro, you can go as fast as you want, baby. I won’t stop you.” You pleaded, your broken voice so kittenish and wanton, “F-Fuck. I’m rubbing my clit. So sensitive. Thinking about you. Thinking about your mouth on me.”

“Ебать!!” Peter moaned through clenched teeth. His self control rapidly abandoned him. Speedily rutting his sore cock through the squeeze of his fist, his body refused to slow down, “Говоря о скорости (Speaking of speed)...” Peter craned his neck back, raising a hand to keep the handset to his ear, “You gotta stop makin’ all those cute noises, baby. Please…I can’t-”

As surges of horny pleasure circulated through his body, Peter thought of you again. He imagined you on your bed, caged under him between his arms. In his daydreams, he kissed you intimately, touching your pretty, naked body. Peter wanted to feel how wet you were for himself. And hell, the danger of pushing your friendship past its limits made you more tempting. Such a lewd, risky thought pushed him closer to the edge of something righteous.

“Baby, I wanna see you. Can I? Can I see you stroke that thick cock? Would you let me? Ohh, fuck, Pietro.” You whimpered. And your noises were so shamelessly lecherous, you could’ve made a pornstar blush, “Can I kiss it, please? Can I kiss your big cock?” You whimpered.

“О боже мой, пожалуйста (Oh my god, please)!” Peter choked, every word hitching in his throat, “Baby…babe, you can’t do this. Ya really can’t be-” He laughed lazily, his dark eyes falling half lidded. His cock throbbed, bright red and turning purple at the tip. He rutted in a speedy blur, “Stop. Stop. Stop. I’m gonna…babe, I’m gonna bust-” He slurred.

You squealed his name as loudly as your hushed voice would allow. And Peter swore he could hear the slick sound of your fingers. As they played with your pretty, little cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Please cum with me. Please? Pietro, OH~!”

“я кончаю, я кончаю (I’m cumming, I’m cumming)! ‘M Gonna-” Peter’s moans seeped through the receiver, his wet lips parting and mouth hanging open.

His swollen cock erupted in white-hot jets, coating his pecs and belly. With all his muscles tensed, Peter’s legs trembled. He rode out those lusty waves in tandem with you. The pleasure of orgasm sounded leagues more intense on your side. You took longer to cruise through it, whimpering and moaning Peter’s name. As you did, Peter basked in his momentary afterglow. Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, his head resting on the arm of the sofa; he listened to you with a smirk on his lips. At the end of your journey in ecstasy, your moans turned into flustered giggles.

Peter's thoughts reeled him in again. Imagining you, looking so sheepish and fine in his jacket. Now, he desperately wanted the real deal. To see you in all your post-nut glory. Mere seconds later, his sore cock pulsed to life again. As his hardness squirmed on his belly, Peter breathed another sigh.

On his end, you heard nothing but silence. You kept calling his name, your tired voice infused with anxiety.

“Uhm…Peter? Hey…are you there?” You asked.

And he didn't say a single word more.

#peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #txt #im terrified this is like...not as decent as my usual but whatever !!

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tainted-liquor · 8 months

Text

'Fuck Around and Find Out٠ ࣪⭑

e42!Miles Morales x BlackFem!Reader Ingredients: Sugar, kisses, n a lil bit of smiles! TWs: Miles being a dumbass, sassy men, N-word usage, probs incorrect spanish so pleaaase lmk! W/C: 695 A/N: BERLEEZY REFERENCE EUUUUGHHHH!!

It was a peaceful Saturday, and you and your boyfriend Miles were hanging around in the living room when you got a sudden idea. You were going to make Miles play phasmophobia. "Hey Miles? Can you c'mere for a sec?" You called to his crouched form that was 'miles' deep into the fridge as you powered on the TV. He made his way over to the couch, a mix of confusion and amusement as you slid the headset over his head. "Whatchu doin', ma? What's all this for?"

"Shhhh, just play the game. I wanna see what you think of it," You persuaded as you slid both controllers into his hands. "It's...a new game! Yeah! We're experimenting with genres today. Just follow the instructions aight?" You booted the game from your TV and patiently waited as Miles hoisted himself up from his slouched posture, standing in the middle of your living room as you watched the screen. He looks around the electronic space, muttering a confused "The fuck is...phasmophobia" as he begins toying with the various objects in the van.

You explained the game's goal as he nodded in what he thought was your direction, giggling silently as you grabbed both of his wrists, gently guiding his hands to the necessary items and showing him how to pick them up. "Mami, you know I don't fuck with them fuckass ghosts. Why do you have me playing this?" he chuckles as I show him how to move. "Whaaat? Who said anything about ghosts?" you teased, trying to hide the main enemy of the game to get his raw reaction. "I swore I saw a cross over there, so it's either ghosts or demons...n ion rock with either of 'em. The spirit of the lord is HEEEREEE" he exaggerated as he began to play the game. He spent 30 minutes stuck in the van, debating what he should bring to the farmhouse.

When he finally got into the flow of the game, he was scared as bitch. "Why's it so dark in here? This shit got me tight like why am I doing alla dis in the dark?" He spat as he descended the dark halls with his flashlight. He was already antsy as he took out the EMF reader, watching as it spiked to about four with an annoyed fearful groan. But you decided to take it a step further and taunt him just a little bit more. You snuck up to his side with an absolutely evil grin on your face and breathed cold air on the side of his neck.

He unleashed the most unhinged, barbaric, high-pitched, off-the-rails fearful scream as he swung at his side blindly. He would've knocked you clean out had you not already gotten yourself out of the way as soon as you saw his muscles tense. "CHILL, NIGGA DAMN!" You giggled as you watched your boyfriend fearfully run out of the house. He faded in and out between English and Spanish, losing his shit as he desperately tries to explain to you what he felt, not realizing that the ghost can actually...hear him.

"MAMA BICHO! AAAH- MAMI, SENTÍ SU COLD ASS BREATH DE MI LADO!! NO ME DIJISTE IT COULD BREATH!" He practically yelled as he lifted the headset slightly. You laughed manically at his reaction, watching as he scowled and lowered the headset back to his eyes, only to be scared right back out of his headset by the entity. You watched as he jolted backward, hitting the back of his head rather aggressively on the wooden coffee table. You couldn't help but laugh twice as hard, face turning red as you rolled around on the floor, silently crying and clutching your stomach for dear life. "Shit...! Oh my god, Miles, baby are you okay?" You muttered in between harsh giggles, reaching your hand out towards your boyfriend's crouched form with both hands behind his head. "I will KNOCK. yo ass out." he enunciated as he subtly shook on the floor.

"I'm sorry my love!" you cackled as you scooped what was left of a man into your arms, tears coursing down your face from laughing too hard.

#atsv #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles #earth 42 miles x reader #miles morales #lmfaooo

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archangeldyke-all · 8 days

Note

Picking Sevika up from a wisdom teeth removal. I'm imagining her being all goofy and confused (because she's absolutely blasted), but every couple conversations or so, she reminds herself that she's a serious person.

Like :) then >:(

PLEASE THIS IS CUTE

men and minors dni

singed can do a lot. genetically mutate living creatures? sure. resurrect the dead with the power of shimmer? no problem. construct a fully functioning, shimmer fueled, sword wielding, prosthetic arm? you gotcha.

but a simple wisdom tooth removal?

apparently that's too much for singed. so you have to drag sevika up to piltover.

as if she wasn't already in enough pain from her teeth coming in-- the only place your wife could go to get some relief is her least favorite place in the world.

she's a grumpy, pissy mess on your way up.

"i'll just fuckin' pull 'em out myself." she whines as you buy tickets to the elevator out of the lanes.

"god, babe, just grab a brick and smash it against my head, okay?" she mumbles as she buries her head into your shoulder on the tram ride into town.

"next person who looks at us like that's gettin' my foot up their ass." she growls when several wealthy piltover citizens scatter as the two of you walk down the sidewalk. you chuckle.

you give her a kiss when her name is called, and she groans before she follows the nurse into the back office.

you spend the next two hours flipping through magazines and thinking about your wife. you hope this is the extent of her dental issues-- or that singed teaches himself dentistry. piltover makes you antsy. you know it's ten times worse for sev.

but then, two hours later, the nurse calls you back to be there as sevika wakes up. "she did really good." she says. "we were in and out in no time."

"oh, good." you sigh, relieved. "is she gonna be in much pain?"

"not when she wakes up." the nurse chuckles. "we got her on the good stuff right now. but, in a few hours it'll wear off and she'll start having pain. we're gonna give you some pills to take home, give her one every twelve hours for a week to help with the pain." she says. you nod.

"thank you so much." you say as she opens a small curtian. she nods, hands you the little bottle of pills, and then waves as she walks away. sevika's on a reclined dental chair, knocked out and snoring, drooling on the head rest. you burst into giggles as you approach her, gently reaching out and starting to stroke your fingers through her hair. "sevikaaa..." you sing.

her face scrunches up. "mmmbaby?" she mumbles around the wads of cotton in her cheeks. you chuckle, then duck down and kiss her forehead.

"goodmorning, sunshine." you whisper. she huffs.

"my teeth all gone?" she asks. you giggle.

"yep."

she finally blinks her eyes open to look at you. "hey, pretty." she says, smiling. you grin.

"hey, beautiful. ready to get home?" you ask. sevika nods, nuzzling against your palm as you stroke her face.

"'m so fuckin' high ri' now." she giggles as she struggles to get out of her chair. you laugh as you help her stand.

"you're so cute." you laugh, wrapping an arm around her waist as you start to guide her out of the room. her cheeks--stuffed with cotton-- bulge as she grins at you. you can't help yourself from darting forward and pressing a kiss to both.

she's pretty steady on her feet, but she keeps giggling as she walks, trying to press kisses against your head. with her entire jaw and mouth numb, though, she can't tell that she's kissing you-- and she keeps huffing in frustration as she smacks her lips all over your head.

"sev!" you laugh as the two of you stumble out of the dentists' office. the bright light of piltover hits you-- and you both scrunch your faces up in the light. sevika's goofy mood leaves in a flash when she remembers where she is.

"fuckin' topsiders." she grumbles as the two of you walk toward the tram. you giggle.

"what happened to my happy high sevy?" you ask, wiping up a bit of drool on her chin.

"pil'over. shitheads." she explains. you chuckle.

"we'll be home soon." you promise her. she studies you, a smile slowly growing on her lips as she does.

"we gonna fuck?" she asks, waggling her eyebrows. you burst into laughter, and sevika's smile only grows.

"absolutely not!" you laugh. she gasps.

"why not?" she whines. you giggle.

"you can't even feel your mouth right now!" you say. she furrows her brow, then reaches up to poke at her jaw, her eyes widening when she realizes you're right. you chuckle and continue. "and you just got outta surgery-- don't you want a nap?" you ask. sevika pouts.

"i want you." she whines, nuzzling her nose against your neck. you snort. a few strangers walk by, giving you judgmental looks as sevika's hands wander up and down your body and her nose rubs against your pulse. you're just happy she's not grumpy-- and she hasn't tried to strip you yet.

"you'll have me baby. i'll hold you all night, make you milkshakes for dinner, play with your hair..."

"but no sex?" she pouts. you laugh.

you're saved by the bell-- literally. the tram rings it's little bell, and you tug sevika into the cart, pushing her into a free seat and standing in front of her, holding the bar. the tram starts its way down the streets of piltover, and sevika's back to glaring at the people and buildings all around her.

she's hilarious, trying to act tough while she's simultaneously drooling down her chin, a wad of cotton slowly sliding out of her cheek. you snort, wiping up her chin again. "you're a mess." you say fondly.

an old woman sitting a few seats down smiles sweetly at you and sevika. you smile back. sevika takes your momentary distraction to her advantage, reaching out and tugging your wrist so you stumble and fall into her lap. you squeal. sevika hums happily as you squirm to get comfortable in her legs, hooking her chin over your shoulder.

the old woman's grinning now. she's the only one-- the rest of the passengers seem mortified. you just muffle your laugh into the side of sevika's head. "you're a mess." you whisper. she hums.

"tired."

the tram drops the two of you off a few minutes later, and as you ride back down to piltover, sevika gets progressively sleepier.

it starts with a hand around your waist, then it's both. then, it's her head resting against your shoulder, then it's her hanging off of you as you trudge through the streets.

you catch a few familiar eyes on your way home. a couple of regulars at the last drop gawk at the sight of a giggly, sleepy sevika clinging to you. some of them open their mouths to ask or say something-- you just glare at them to get them to shut up.

at one point, sevika must catch some of the looks. she doesn't stand up from her slumped over posture against you, but she does growl out a slurred "fuck're y' lookin' at?!"

you laugh as the man who had been staring quickly turns around and runs in the opposite direction.

"be nice, sev." you whisper. she huffs.

"they're starin'."

"maybe 'cause they're shocked to know you're a cuddlebug." you say. sevika huffs again.

"shuddup." she mumbles against your neck.

the second you get home she collapses against the bed. you try to get some work done around the house, you want to get some water and painkillers by the bed, get sevika in her jammies. but before you can walk away, she reaches out and grabs your wrist, then pulls you ontop of her on the bed. you giggle against her.

"sevika--"

"'y said you'd hold me." she whines. you just huff, kick your shoes off, and curl up on top of her. she hums, and tries her best to kiss you with her numb mouth. you giggle against her slobbery, bloody, cotton-filled mouth, and then fall asleep on top of her.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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twst-trash · 2 years

Text

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕳𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓

- NIGHT 2, STUCKAGE, FIRST YEARS

Event masterlist

Best friends are there to help you out when you’re stuck in trouble… right?

(in which you become a personal glory hole for your best friends)

wc: 1.8k

cw: first years x fem!reader - 18+ smut, dubcon, public sex, group sex, coercion, knotting, creampie, cumshots. ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP IN EVERYTHING I WRITE. Not proofread and posted characteristically late 🤙

It really wasn’t your fault that you ended up like this.

Like most things, it started with Grim. Crowley had just disbursed your monthly Thaumark budget, as meager as it was. Thaumarks gripped tightly in hand, you meandered the halls on the way back to your next class.

“We have to slow down on spending this month.” You warn Grim, who was sitting atop your shoulder leisurely. His expression remains unchanged, solely focused on the money in your hand, eyes nearly sparkling at the thought of your newly acquired ‘wealth.’

“I’m being serious!” You continue, shrugging your shoulder to get his attention. “Last month we really cut it close. You need to stop spending so much at the hot lunch line.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Grim snorts in protest, rolling his eyes. “I swear, we’re gettin’ less and less every time. Lemme count ‘em up, Crowley ain’t gonna get away with shortin’ us.”

“No fucking way-“ You growl as you snatch your arm away from Grim, holding the bills as far away from your body as humanly possible. You couldn’t trust Grim with the money- not with his track record, especially as of late. “I’ll count it if you’re so concerned!”

“Maybe you’re shortin’ me too, huh?” Grim fires back, crawling to your other shoulder, attempting to scale up your arm and pluck the Thaumarks out of your hands himself. The scuffle is short and fast- Grim pounces as you try to rip your arm away again, only for him to land on your forearm as you yelp in surprise at his sudden weight. Without thinking, your grip on the Thaumarks loosens, and the both of you watch helplessly as the wind carries it through a hole in the hallway’s walls.

You shoot the firey raccoon a glare with all of the vitriol you could muster, flinging him off of your arm with little regard. You peek into the hole in the wall- wide enough to fit your body in, but just barely. The money lies flat on the courtyard sidewalk just outside the other side of the hole. You could probably reach over and grab it- it would save you the trouble of having to exit the building, potentially leaving time for someone to grab the money and run before you could even get to it.

You reach your arm through, only for your hand to come a few inches short of the bills. You muscle both shoulders into the narrow opening, eventually wiggling your waist in as well, fully bisected by the wall. You grab the Thaumarks and exhale in relief. “You’re so lucky these didn’t fly away, Grim. I would’ve eaten you instead.”

Grim’s voice is muffled, but you can make out the ‘It wasn’t my fault you dropped it!’ from the other side of the wall just fine. You move to wriggle your way out of the wall the same way you came in, twisting yourself uncomfortably against the stone slabs, only to be met with resistance.

You’re stuck.

——

Of course you’re stuck.

After yelling at Grim to go get help from anyone- Ace, Deuce, Jack, whoever could pull you out from the wall- you lie defeated and stare at the empty courtyard ahead of you. Classes would start soon, meaning that no one would be around to help you. You try again, in vain, to get yourself out. Your sides were already becoming sore, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of the breeze underneath your skirt.

It’s completely quiet- until it suddenly isn’t. Voices, probably four or five of them, are barely audible from the other side of the wall.

“Hello? Can you guys help me out?” You call out, hoping that your pleas can be heard clearly from the other side.

A muffled argument breaks out from behind you. The voices speak to each other, hushed and antsy, but it isn’t long before an agreement seems to be made.

You feel your skirt being lifted, flipped up and out of the way of your ass.

“H-hey! Stop it!” You yell, but your protests fall on deaf ears.

“Can’t believe she was hiding this ass from us, hm?” A strangely familiar voice calls from the other side of the wall. You can match the voice to the face as easily as breathing: it’s the bratty voice that usually asks you to help him with homework- the voice that obnoxiously asks you to grab something from the Ramshackle Dorm’s fridge right after you had settled into your couch- but it’s darker somehow, filled with something you couldn’t place. You try to imagine him standing behind you, checking your ass out as if he weren’t one of your best friends- as if you were an object.

A pair of warm hands grab the meat of your ass, thumbs teasing underneath the edge of your panties. You shudder at the touch, hearing another voice growl in protest.

“You’re taking it too far, Trappola. Let’s just get her out.”

“You’re hard, Jack. Don’t try to act holier-than-thou now.”

“Young Master wouldn’t approve of this.”

“Young Master wants to hit it just as bad as the rest of us, and you know it.”

“I dunno, what if someone comes and sees?”

“Then maybe we’ll let them have a round.”

As it dawns on you that all of your friends are in on this- touching you, using you without regard to how you felt about the situation- you realize that you’re shamefully wet between your thighs.

You can see it, Ace encouraging them all. He’s always the little ringmaster in the dangerous stunts your group gets into. It’s Deuce, you know it, somehow, who pushes your panties to the side and pulls your pussy apart for the rest of the group to admire. You can hear movement: the shuffling of feet, the undoing of belts. You can only imagine how they must look, all hard and throbbing and waiting for their turn with you.

A set of fingers sinks deep into your pussy. They’re slender- too slender to belong to Ace or Deuce, much less Jack and Sebek. Epel, you decide, curls his fingers into you with an unexpected fevor. You moan despite yourself, hips unconsciously bucking backwards onto his fingers. Epel groans, scissoring his digits within you, before someone grunts, asking for their turn.

A mouth is hot on your cunt, tongue experimentally swirling around your clit. Your body jolts and more pain floods to your sides, pinched together by the stone slabs as you subconsciously lean into the touch. Sebek is sloppy and inexperienced- you can feel his nerves even from the other side of the wall. Still, what he lacks in expertise, he makes up for in enthusiasm. He’s quick to learn, picking up on your body’s reactions to what you like and dislike. Your thighs are trembling already, helpless to do anything but wait for whoever wants to take their turn next.

“Take your pants off, Jack. C’mon, they like it.”

“No.” The beastman grunts back. His principles are rigid and unmoving- at least that’s what he’d like to tell himself. It doesn’t stop his eyes from being fixated on your lower half. His senses are heightened- he can smell the arousal dripping from you, can hear you moan through the wall better than anyone else. He imagines how your face looks, morphed by the pleasure you feel from your friends using you like their toy and is shamefully hard.

The burning want between your thighs is insane as Sebek pulls back, denying you of your orgasm right before you hit your peak.

There’s more scuffling, more whispers amongst the boys that you can’t hear.

You can’t help yourself- the desire you feel stirring inside your stomach is too much. Your voice is small, a meek ‘please’ slipping from your lips. For a moment you wonder if they even heard you through the wall.

Then, a pair of large, calloused hands is on your hips, lining you up against the throbbing head of Jack’s cock.

That’s all it took for him: you said yes, and now he can take to his heart’s content.

The stretch is sinful- you knew Jack was big in all other aspects, but this was on another level. You can hear him growl as his hips come flush with your ass, buried as far as he can go.

He paces himself at first, slowly slapping his hips into yours with every thrust. Some of the boys are cheering- Ace and Epel, you assume- accompanied by the telltale sound of stroking themselves off, four hands simpatico as they watch you and Jack.

“She looks good takin’ your cock like that, Jack.” Epel says, voice slipping into that concealed country accent of his. He rears back his hand and slaps your ass, causing you to yelp in surprise.

“Wanna use her mouth-“ Deuce whispers, like he’ll get in trouble if he speaks any louder.

“Could go around, take her from the front in the courtyard.” Ace says. You can imagine the mischievous grin that spreads across his face and the flush that adorns Deuce’s. “Class’ll be over soon though. Gonna be a risky move.”

You can imagine opening your mouth up for Deuce, letting him take your mouth however he’d like, letting him cum down your throat. Imagining how he’d look as you stare through your lashes, probably covering his mouth in embarrassment. You’d do it, too. All he’d have to do is walk around the building to the still empty courtyard…

“I-if Young Master saw this…” Sebek starts, but his protest dies with a pathetic little noise in his throat, stroking his cock harder as he chases his fast approaching orgasm.

They’re all close. Jack’s pace, once steadied and controlled, is fast and unrelenting. His fingers find your clit, rubbing in frantic circles, bringing you close to your edge as well. Your body is electrified, feeling too good to care about your bruising sides. You’re tipped over the edge, cumming hard around Jack’s cock. He can feel every pulse of your pussy around him, driving his hips into you ferally, like you had unlocked something he had been trying to hold back. With a grunt, Jack pushes himself deep inside of you. You’re slightly mortified at the prospect of him cumming inside of you, especially as you feel something at the base of his cock inflate, holding you in place.

The boys take turns cumming on your ass and back. You can feel the hot liquid landing on your skin as each takes a turn marking you as their own.

“Fuck.” Jack curses. “I-I really didn’t mean to-“

“Knotting her, without her permission?” Ace tuts at the beastman with a laugh. “Told you- just as bad as the rest of us.”

Jack tries to pull his knot out to no avail. The tugging sensation on your already oversensitized cunt makes you whimper. The bell tolls, signaling the end of class. This hallway wasn’t a particularly busy hallway, but the danger of someone coming out and seeing you was still very real.

“Guess we’re stuck here together, huh?“ Jack says gruffly, his face flushing.

Well. Friends make everything better, right?

#twisted wonderland smut #ace trappola x reader smut #jack howl x reader smut #deuce spade x reader smut #sebek zigvolt x reader smut #epel femier x reader smut #twst smut #tw: dubcon #odie.13noh

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luvvyouforever · 2 months

Note

Hello!! I saw that your requests were open. Could you possibly do another Modern AU! Rhysand x College Student! reader fic? I loved the first one you posted and definitely gave me some comfort with how stressful college is 😭

I always liked imagining the ACOTAR universe in a modern au. Especially Velaris in a modern setting.

Hope you are doing well and taking care of yourself💜💜

hi! absolutely dear <3 i tried to include more velaris in this!

comfort on the bridge - modern au!rhysand x college student!reader

↳ a night out in velaris ought to clear your worries about upcoming exams. does it actually, though?

↳ modern portrayal of velaris, mentions of self doubt and stress, reader is studying to be a teacher but it could be replaced with any major/focus. this isn't my best work, i'll admit, and it did take me like two weeks to completely finish but here you go!

↳ divider art from @firefly-graphics

usually, there was nothing better than a night out on the town in velaris, surrounded by the inner circle and your loving partner, rhysand. very little made you more excited than getting dressed up with mor, pregaming with cassian, and flooding the dance floor of rita's. tonight, however, it was the last thing you wanted to do.

rhysand could sense your hesitance about going out, feeling the bond between you two grow shaky and antsy but there was no way you could bring yourself to say no to them. you were just more stressed out than you imagined possible and so much more was in your mind than getting drunk and dancing to fae pop music.

mortal college was more than you had anticipated. it was always your goal, far before your ears grew pointy and you became a part of the night court's defenders, to go to college and make something of yourself. rhysand encouraged you wholeheartedly, telling you over and over that it was a good idea, that velaris needed more teachers, that you could accomplish it.

and now, your college career was coming to a close which only meant certifications, exams, and papers that all required more of you than you could give. you could only remind yourself of the shining new generation of fae being born in velaris that needed teaching so many times.

all of those worries and deadlines could not be suppressed by the strong liquor going down your throat, leaving a harsh burn in its wake. nevertheless, you took every shot cassian offered and with everyone one of them, rhysand grew more worried.

"you're putting 'em down tonight, y/n!" cassian cheered as the clink of the shot glass hitting the bar rang through the room. "you want another one?"

"yeah, i'd lo-"

"darling, i really don't think you should have another drink. you'll feel terrible later," rhysand's deep voice sent shivers down your spine as his large chest came up behind you. instinctively, you leaned back into his warmth.

"no! we gotta have fun tonight! i can't let anyone down!" you rebutted. your hand reached for the drink on the bar but your hand was trapped by rhysand's before you could. "hey!"

without a response or argument, rhysand began to tug and you didn't put up much of a fight (you were positive that one wrong move and your lack of coordination would land you on your butt on the floor). cassian looked at the two of you, making brief eye contact with rhysand and he nodded in understanding. something was wrong.

"where are we going?" you asked your partner after you stepped into the fresh air of velaris. despite it being so late, the city was quite alive with people, bikes, lights, music, and sounds. it was a beautiful sight, one that usually caught your breath, but there were more pressing matters. like why did rhysand take you away from your fun? the worries were just now being forgotten!

rhysand didn't answer your pestering but instead led you down some streets, up one incline, and landed at an old steel bridge that was at a high enough point to overlook the streets below. it was a spot you frequented when stressed but you didn't know that anyone knew. of course rhysand knew.

without having to say anything, you both perched on the edge of the bridge, wrapping your legs around the posts. your arms brushed against each other and with a few deep breaths, you felt the alcohol begin to leave your system as quickly as it came in.

"what's going on? you're drinking a lot, you seem stressed. i feel it. i don't even have to look in your mind to tell," rhysand said softly. his violet eyes shined in the night and though his gaze was strong, you couldn't help but fall into it.

you sighed and leaned your forehead against the cool metal of the bridge. the sounds of your city flooded your ears and it washed you with some calm that you were searching for. "i'm just stressed. there's so much on my plate, so much coming up, and i don't feel smart enough or good enough for any of it." just speaking the words out loud felt like a weight being taken off of your body. surgically removed and thrown hundreds of miles away.

"tell me about it," your partner said. he wouldn't get it, necessarily, but sharing the weight would help.

"there's three certification tests i have to take, all of which are unnecessarily hard. and that's just so i can get my license to teach. i still have four exams, all worth well over a hundred points, and i feel grossly underprepared for each and everyone one of them. then there's this theory class that's all about best practices in education and research and i feel like i'm picking up none of it," you expressed. "i don't feel like i am going to be the best i can be for velaris. i want to teach them but i'm struggling to pass my class. how am i supposed to impart all of this amazing knowledge on them when i don't even know it?"

your head fell forward onto the bar again and you relished in the soothing feeling of it. down below, music and laughter erupted from a rooftop bar. you wished you could know what rhysand was thinking.

"you know...i think you're the most intelligent person i ever met-"

"that's not-"

"ah! ah! no arguing," rhysand cut you off. "as i was saying...you are the most intelligent person i ever met. the capabilities you have far exceed anyone in the spring court and hewn city combined. the passion you have for our city and its education is so admirable, y/n. everyone will be so lucky to have you as their teacher. the fact that you committed to going to mortal college just to provide the small number of velaris children with a proper education proves to me that the cauldron picked the most perfect person to be my mate."

looking at onto your city, rhysand's words sunk in. somewhere in a back yard, high fae children laughed cheerfully, clearly excited to be up later than what would usually be allowed. it was hard work but work that you were more than excited to be doing.

with a sigh, you leaned into rhysand's side, grateful for him being your rock. "will you help me study for the praxis?" you asked quietly.

rhysand's head dipped down and planted a soft kiss on your forehead. "me and all of velaris will help you through whatever you need, darling. and we will be there at your graduation, glamoured and cheering."

#acotar series #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #rhysand acotar #rhysand x reader #rhys acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #fanfic #fluff

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munsster · 1 year

Text

hitched?

A/N: i love love love proposal/marriage trope 💞 she is near and dear to my little heart

Pairings: Steve Harrington x GN!Reader

Summary: Steve gives you a cold proposal, maybe you just need to warm up to the idea? 1.5k words.

Warnings: fluff, proposal, marriage and divorce discussion, pet names (sweetheart), insecurity, marriage propoganda, little bit o angst, lovesickness 🥺

“C'monnn," he whines with a big grin stretched across his face, "why won't you marry me, sweetheart? Don't like me enough?"

"I like you plenty, Harrington, but I won't marry you."

"Why not? I've got solid genes. Great hair, perfect smile—"

"Marriage is stupid; name one good thing that comes outta marriage."

He takes a second. Really, he pores over it all while sidling up close enough to catch your breath. And he's looking at you like getting married is more than an age-old phrase used by people looking for wealth or status or power or whatever. He's looking at you like getting married is more than tradition. Like getting married to you would be for love. Not for the hell of it.

"One good thing, huh?"

"One thing, that's all."

"Gosh"—he tilts his head back and guides his cold fingertips into the opening of your coat and around your sides, dipping them beneath your blouse with a smirk—"Besides the whole you're mine and I'm yours deal, it'll be kinda hard to think of something."

"But I am yours. And you are mine."

"Forever?"

You drop your forehead to his chest with a heavy sigh. And he feels your pulse down your spine, carefully calculating how much room is left between each vertebrae and trying to ignore the way your heart rate spikes at the question. Then comes your soft grumble:

"Fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce, and the rest of 'em end in death. The odds are pretty much stacked against us, Stevie."

He takes a deep breath and tilts your chin up, looking concerned as ever with his brow furrowed sweetly. It tempts you. His face is so touchable—holdable—it's awful the way he uses it against you. On you. He gets what he wants with it.

"Hold on, now, sweetheart, you think we're gonna get divorced? Where's this coming from?

"Well... what if you don't want me forever?"

It gets him antsy. He's bugging out at the thought. You think he won't want you forever. You're worried he'll change his mind. How could he ever change his mind when you're all that's on it.

"What if I—" he scoffs a little and pulls away to look at you, "'what if I don't want you forever?'"

You shrug. "Yeah."

"Where'd you get that idea?"

"Dunno. It could happen."

"Not for me. Not to us."

"It could! I don't wanna trap you into a marriage you'll regret for the rest of your life."

"Trap me? Sweetheart, you think I'd ask you to marry me if I didn't mean it."

"Dunno."

"I mean, I know that I can be a little ambitious at times and that I come off a little ignorant, but I mean well. It's not like I have this idealized vision of marriage in my head. You've seen my parents, my mom's parents, my dad's parents, hell even Dustin's parents. I know all about the fifty percent, alright? And I wanna marry you."

Oh, despite, despite, despite he wants to marry you. Despite the odds and despite what he knows and what he can't know. Despite himself he wants to marry you. To have and to hold, that's the promise. His promise. It makes his blood curdle, he's so excited at the thought of it. His ring, your finger. God, the choice of despite and all its exhilaration.

But you give him that droopy look. You hold his hands and pull your mouth into a flat little line. And it makes him want to kiss it away. Bring back the fullness and color.

"Why can't we just... go through the motions? I don't want you to feel stuck if you change your mind down the road."

You moan and drop your head back, embarrassed now that you're hearing it out loud. Not because you've suddenly changed your mind and not because you don't want to marry him, but because why should he marry you? With all the choices in the world, all the fish in the sea and the stars in the sky, why you? And if you had only asked, you'd know why. He has reasons enough to fill the sea and the sky over and over. Oh, if only you'd ask.

He sees it in your waterline. How your lip quivers and you bring your hands to your cheeks and your lashes grow damp and solemnly temperamental. It makes every bone in his poor body want to fuse with yours. If he had some sort of industrial strength, non-toxic glue, he'd probably use it on the two of you. He wants forever more than he knows. Forever with you. Two rings and as many decades as forever allows.

But maybe it's not that forever is impossible for you and Steve. It's not that he can't afford any of it or he's not romantic enough or forever might only be a month or you don't want to or you both wouldn't love it. No, it's something vaguely familiar and much more nuanced. Something he's known very well once before.

"Sweetheart... You're tellin' me you won't marry me 'cause you think you're disposable or something? 'S that it? You don't want forever 'cause you think I'll... I'll just change my mind?"

"No."

"Hey, look at me, how could I—"

"No—Steve—"

"C'mon, you're killin' me, I love—"

"Steve, please—"

"You, sweetheart, all you. And you love me, don't you?"

You sigh and cast your wet eyes down like you're intimidated, and it makes him feel too big. Too much, too heavy, too loud, too loving. Until you grab his hand. And look up at him. And he's just right, though he feels bad he's the reason you're tearing up.

"Yes, I love you, I love you so much, but—"

"But, what?"

"But... what if that changes? What if I can't promise you the life you want, and what if you can't promise you'll love me forever? What am I supposed to do when you're done loving me, and... and you don't want my love anymore? What then? We'll just be married and unhappy and fighting until we hate each other?"

"No, that's not—"

"It happens, Steve," you huff. He pushes the tears from your cheeks before you even catch yourself sobbing and holding his wrists. "It happens everyday, and I want... I want you to have an out because I would rather you leave loving me than spend the rest of your life despising me for what you could've had without me."

He's never heard this kind of woe before. Not from you. You the spitfire, the stubborn, the meanest, sweetest, most beautiful and affectionate. You, filled with woe enough to burst. And you do.

He tugs you close, arms slung around you and one hand on the back of your neck because it's warm. Because you told him one time that it feels safe when he does that. He liked the way you said it muffled into his shoulder. But now you're shaken, and you have to know he loves you.

"You know what I love most about you?"

He feels your lungs expand into the dip of his tummy and peter out into a soft whine. You shake your head, 'no'.

"There's lots'a things, but top of the list? Gotta be the way you cover your face when you get grossed out or embarrassed or annoyed—”

You chuckle and groan at the snot that bubbles from your nostril. His face screws in and he wipes his thumb under your nose, wiping it on the thigh of his jeans with a disgruntled sound.

"We're so gross," you grumble, sniffling and wrapping your arms sweetly around his waist.

He sighs with a grin.

"I guess it's meant to be," he coos. You rest your chin on his chest, pecking his jaw just as he beams at you and dips close for a kiss. He's warm like a heater. Perpetual and renewable and reliable. And you get to thinking: he's got the prettiest brown eyes in the whole world and ninety-percent of the time, he's got them laser focused on you. He squeezes your hip and whispers: "There's no way in Hell I'll ever change my mind about loving you."

You play up a big frown, fat tears welling in the corners of your eyes until he smooches your face content. It's hard to believe in the kind of love that stays and promises and thrives despite. Despite any statistic or preconceived notion. Despite the past and despite the future. The kind of love that exists to better and grow. The kind of love shared between romantics and poets and lunatics alike. It's hard to believe until you've got it in your steady palms.

"I promise I'll do it properly with the ring and the knee and the view and the speech," he hums.

"I'd say yes even if you forgot all of that."

"You mean it?" he chirps, excitement tense in his muscles when you play with a longer strand of his hair.

"I do."

masterlist

#stranger things #x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #fluff #steve harrington #x fem!reader #x gn!reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fic #angst

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sailing-through-hawkins · 1 year

Text

had this in my head and then saw this post by @babyboyargyle so i took it as a sign to write it out! it's not perfect but it was fun (*^▽^*)

Say what you want to about monsters and killers and the apocalypse but at least this time they've got all-day access to pizza. Steve doesn't really know where this guy came from but damn, he makes a great margherita.

"Guys, this is Argyle," Jonathan introduces, waving towards a man with very, very long hair, holy shit.

Steve takes a second from hammering nails into the fifth bat that he's been tossed to give the guy a nod. He nods back, eyes flitting between the bat in Steve's hands to the bandages wrapped around his waist. But Steve's used to everyone keeping an eye on his wounds, from his stomach to his back to his arms to his head. He's a magnet for damage, that's just how it is.

"Hey man," Steve greets with a wave and gets back to hammering. "Welcome to the shitshow."

"Y-yeah," Argyle swallows with another nod. "Glad to be here."

At first, he seemed like a great addition. Argyle's funny, chill in a way that Steve hasn't experienced since '83, maybe even before that. Despite all the monsters lurking and the crackling in the air, dude kept his cool and got to work on food supplies and even teaching everyone how to do tracking shit like something out of a nature show.

But then, on their way back to the base (also known as Steve's fucking house), Jonathan's team is almost swarmed by demodogs and Steve and Robin have to run out to give 'em hell.

Ha, giving hell to the hellbeasts. Is that irony? Dustin would call it irony, Steve thinks.

After a little carnage and some (very therapeutic, according to Robin) violence, they manage to annihilate the 'dogs and get Will to throw their tracks off so they have their safe zone for a bit longer at least, but Argyle is quiet and frantic-eyed the entire walk home. It unsettles Steve, all that antsy energy building up under the surface.

Once safely inside, Jonathan and Nancy start on organizing the new supplies. It's when Jonathan manages to drop a water bottle that all that tension finally bursts.

"Shit, oh man, shit, shit, oh my god!" Argyle's pacing back and forth, hands scrunching up into his scalp which, yikes, not a good look for that mane. "This is so messed up, this is crazy, this is so messed up!"

Jonathan steps forward with a, "Argyle, Argyle, listen -"

"No, no, no, last time I listened to you, there was an open grave in front of me and now there's like fifty thousand demons out there! The world is fucking crazy right now, man, I am freaking out! I am -"

Okay, damage control time.

"Hey, hey, hey -" Steve shifts himself into Argyle's line of sight, holding his hands up and letting out a low whistle. "Dude, take a breath, alright?"

Which is apparently all the guy needs to latch his hands onto Steve's shoulders very, very tightly, holy shit, this guy's grip. "How am I supposed to breathe when -"

"Look at me, in-and-out, alright?" Steve exaggerates his own breathing, letting Argyle take his time in copying the motions. "In, out, in, out, you're doing good. It's pretty scary out here, huh?"

Argyle's grip on his shoulders tenses but Steve quickly grabs onto his wrists, gives them a short squeeze, and suddenly all that tension deflates. Which means physical contact is a go for reassurance, nice. "Yeah."

"I get it, man, I do. First time I got into this shit? I was ready to hightail it outta there and never look back, y'know?" He looks up from under his lashes, giving the guy what he hopes is a comforting smile. Judging by the hitch in his breath, it's not as comforting as Steve hopes. "But I get the feeling you're a ride-or-die type, right?"

Argyle shrugs, eyes fixated on Steve like he's the last hope he's got. No pressure.

"Look, I can't like - I can't guarantee much, wouldn't wanna jinx anything, but we're going to handle this, alright?" Damn, his hands are really warm. Is it because he's stressed? Even Steve doesn't run this warm when he's stressed, dude must be keeping a lot of anxiety under all that...weed? California weed? Whatever, focus, Steve. "It's not our first or second, not even third rodeo with this shit, we can absolutely handle it."

"You can handle it," Argyle says in what Steve thinks might be...petulant? Oh, that's fun, this guy is totally going to be fun to have around for the long haul. "Man, I don't even know what the hell is going on anywhere anymore."

Steve laughs, rubbing circles into Argyle's skin with his thumb. He's definitely wired up but that tight spark of panic in his eye is getting dimmer, so the contact might actually be working here. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think any of us know what's happening."

"How -"

"That's the thing, we don't need all the answers right now," Steve pats his wrist and tries a different kind of smile this time which, judging by the way Argyle's gulping and kind of just staring at him, might be working? Okay, fifty-fifty on that. "Just need to figure it out one step at a time."

"I don't - I'm kinda freaking out here, dude," Argyle confesses, like it wasn't kinda obvious for everyone in the room, as he lets go of Steve's shoulders (fuck, his grip is killer, there's definitely gonna be marks tomorrow) and lets his hands hang by his waist in a really sad way. Steve nods, patting his shoulder and gently leading him to the closest chair he can find (of course it's the sofa Mike left his socks on, god damn it Wheeler). "I'm not cut out for this freaky stuff, man, what if - what if we don't make it -"

"Hey," Steve says sharply, immediately regretting it when Argyle flinches at his tone. Take a breath, relax, the guy's worried, that's all. Steve softens his voice, and rubs a hand down his back when he buries his face in his hands. Huh, that's a quality shirt. "Hey, I get it. Believe me, I know how overwhelming this all is when you've got like, zero clue how it all happened. But I got your back here, dude, I'll watch your six."

And woah. Argyle snaps his face back to Steve, eyes wide and mouth just slightly agape. "You what?"

"'S kinda my job," Steve shrugs, continuing to rub his back so he can figure out why this material feels so familiar, what the hell. "I'm the babysitter," - ignore Mike's affronted scoff, stay focused - "I keep track with the whole newbie thing most of the time. I mean like, we all got your back but y'know - like - I'll personally make sure nothing happens to you, if that helps?"

Argyle stares at him for a few seconds, making it really hard not to squirm in the silence. Steve settles for scratching at his nose, finally taking his hand off that damned shirt, the fuck kind of brand is it?! Not important, focus, focus.

"Uh, sorry if that - I didn't mean to come on too strong or anything -"

"Holy shit, dude," Argyle breathes out, one of his (very warm) hands coming down to grip Steve's knee. "You're like, a godsend."

"Oh, uh, thank you?" Steve blinks when Argyle beams at him and pats his knee. Huh, maybe he's getting better at this comforting stuff. "Are - you good now?"

"Hell yes, my friend, I have a killer beast 'watching my six', don't I?" Argyle winks and shit, Steve's wounds must be inflaming again, his skin feels hot. "Now who's ready for some pie!"

Steve watches as he swoops up, practically glowing with such a positive energy it's kind of giving him whiplash. He stares as Argyle makes his way to the kitchen, snatching another glance back at Steve and giving him a wide grin, another wink and a salute before he disappears.

"What just happened?" Steve blinks again.

Jonathan pats his shoulder in sympathy which, uh, why? "You've just been Argyle'd."

"What does that even mean?" Steve splutters because what the hell is even happening. "And what did he mean by an open grave?"

"It's a long story," Jonathan sighs and gives him another pat. "Tell you once you help me sort out the water supply."

"The supply that you were supposed to figure out before you left, that water supply?"

"Fuck you," Jonathan grins and Steve shakes off the buzzing heat under his skin.

Everything's fine, all is cool. Just gotta keep an extra eye on Argyle.

Easy-peasy. Fuck, please be easy-peasy.

#stargyle #writing #ficlet #au content #steve harrington #argyle stranger things #stranger things #i just think it'd be funny if argyle thought steve meant he'd watch his ass instead of his back #also that argyle's panicking immediately side-steps for argyle's flirting #sailor✧writes

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hollandsangel · 2 years

Text

red brick wall | peter parker

mei and i were day dreaming about this in the dms for too long so i wrote it!!

summary: peter is much less coordinated than he likes to believe

warnings: the cutest spider boy you ever did see

wc: 857

gif by @lilsatinstark !

it’s just past dinner time, getting near to late evening as you lay atop your bed with a book held between your hands. peter had texted you about twenty minutes ago that he was on his way, just in time to make you scheduled weekly date night. you’d left the window open for him, hoping to forgo any small talk between him and your roommates so you could selfishly get your boyfriend all to yourself.

another few minutes pass, and you check your’s and peter’s text thread again,

petey♡

be there in twenty !

you

okay, window’s open :)

petey♡

love youuu

it had been over half an hour now, and you find yourself growing antsy as you indulge in the banter between elizabeth and mr.darcy as you wait for your friendly neighborhood doof.

thud.

the sound is solid when it hits the wall by your open window, and you promptly sit up, book falling closed in your lap.

“what the–” you start, quickly hopping off your bed to inspect what hit the side of your building. you assume it was one of the kids from the first floor trying to toss something at you and missing, but as you clamber from your bed your suspicions are put to rest.

“shit,” a familiar voice curses, “babe?” the voice twists into a groan.

“peter!?” you gape, voice wrapped in astonishment.

all you can hear outside is a few muffled grunts as he tries to shift over to the window you so graciously left as a point of entry for him. he looks ridiculous, wearing scuffed new balances and his signature tan cargo pants. his top half is accentuated by a tight white tee and his arms remain wrapped in a blue plaid button up, rolled to his elbows. it’s a typical outfit for the mundane superhero, but he has his mask pulled down over his face, and he’s dangling in front of you a web no doubt slung to the fire escape above you.

standing in the middle of your bedroom with your arms hanging limply by your sides, you stare at your boyfriend curiously. he’s wriggling relentlessly before you, trying to gain enough momentum to shift just a bit the right and step along your windowsill. he’s only using one hand, the other occupied by a small bunch of carnations with now broken stems, and his weight is offset by the undoubtedly heavy backpack slung over his opposite shoulder.

“petey?” you call amidst his struggling, stepping closer slightly, “baby, do you need some help?”

he promptly shakes his head, a gruff, “no,” coming out in another grunt, followed by an exasperated sigh when he finally gets a hold on something solid. “oh my god,” he pants, “that was embarrassing.” peter jumps down into your bedroom and peels his mask off. his face is flushed a deep red that flowers from his cheeks to his neck and ears, a product of exertion and disconcertment.

as he regains himself, he straightens his shirt and– wait, is that your shirt? you find yourself wondering– it doesn’t matter, and you shake yourself of the thought. “are you okay?” you step forward, arms extending to him as he drops his bag to your floor with a what seems to be a sigh mingled with a groan, his fingers still wrapped tightly around the pretty flowers.

“yeah, yeah i’m good,” he nods, “i got you these, sorry they're…kinda broken now.” his tone is so sheepish and endearing as he thrusts the small bundle forward.

sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you grin, “they’re beautiful petey, thank you.” you gingerly take the flowers from him and lay them on your desk. “i’ll grab a vase for them in a second, c’mere.” you outstretch your arms to him and walk forward. he sags against your body when you’re close enough, sighing heavily into your neck.

“m’ glad you like ‘em.” he mumbles, wrapping you up tightly in his firm arms, “nd’ i’m sorry i’m late, i stopped to grab them and then was in a rush…i can’t believe i missed the window.” he giggles, the sound falling perfectly into your neck, “my head hurts.”

this evokes a hearty laugh from you, “i’ll grab you some painkillers,” but when you try to pull away, peter pouts out a no and holds you a little tighter.

“stay here.”

you can’t move from his strong hold, but you don’t want to, so you wrap your arms just as tightly around his waist and lean up to kiss the scuff on his cheekbone, “is your mask torn?”

he turns his head so his cheek is resting on your shoulder, looking at his mask he’d dropped on the floor, “a little,” he observes.

“you looked a little silly with just it on,” you giggle, another pass of your lips to his cheek. “makes me wanna kiss you all over your face,” you gush.

“yes.” he says sternly, “yes, please do that.”

so you do, until the pained scowl on his thin lips is replaced with a blinding grin and he’s giggling at how ticklish your lips feel on his skin.

tags! @randomlimelightxxx @baby-bearie @averysbestyears @would-you-tell-me-who-you-are @my-fangirling-outlet @hiya-its-amber @theduckgoesquack @hllandvibbes @21burritoseavey @starksview @kayasholland @bxmaaa @ddejavvu @belovedholland @lolalee24 @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah

#tsh #peter parker #tom!peter x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker concepts #peter parker imagine #peter parker blurb #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader

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julemmaes · 4 months

Note

prompt for nessian: nesta and gwyn come to pick up emerie from a frat party (idk why) but the only way for them to leave is for nesta and gwyn to beat eris and balthazar at beer pong. cassian wants to tell eris to fuck off but nesta has it handled

The way I've been playing with this prompt in my head since you sent it it's embarrassing. The amount of ideas I got for this, stop me rn

Also I posted another Nessian lil thingie yesterday night in case you missed it

Word count: ~2.3k

The loud music coming from inside the frat house was making the windows shake and the faint rumble of the glass had Nesta grimace in disgust.

She didn't hate drunk people, she certainly loved music and she'd have kissed someone's feet if there was even the slight chance they could free her from the awful torment that finals week was just so she could freely attend a well-organized party. But frats, on the other hand.

There had been a time during her first year where Greek row had been her home, she'd lived and breathed their parties, made pacts with the devils—only to be brutally rejected by everyone she'd called a friend after she broke up with her ex.

Nesta hated frats, despised them. And it was personal.

Reaching behind her and taking Gwyn's hand in hers in a silent agreement not to let go, she walked right into the beast's den, welcoming the stench of testosterone, alcohol and smoke.

The air was stifling and the heat was already making her sweat. The floors were sticky and Nesta remembered all the mornings she'd been put on cleaning duty.

Entering the wide living room, she went up on her toes, searching the faces for a familiar one that didn't give her shivers.

Emerie had texted them that her dd had bailed on her and left her behind and she was lucky both Nesta and Gwyn had been studying in the library and not already asleep.

But she wasn't picking up her calls and Nesta was getting antsy, so here they were.

"Let's check the backyard!" Gwyn shouted over the music after looking for Emerie in all the rooms.

A few people in passing said hi to them, even seeming surprised to see her in the house. Nesta didn't stop for a single one of them, she just wanted to get her friend and leave.

The moment they walked out back, fresh air hit her face and she took a deep breath. The music was somewhat muffled here and only a few small groups where outside, chilling as the party was coming to an end.

"C'mon, Ems, you told me you'd play with me tonight. You can't leave."

The sentence snapped her attention to the pool, where Eris Vanserra was standing next to Emerie, blocking her way.

From their standing point, Nesta could perfectly see her friend's face when it crumbled into utter revulsion.

"Oh boy, did you just call me Ems?" She asked, scoffing. "Do I look like an ambulance to you?"

Gwyn snorted next to Nesta as they started walking towards the pair.

Eris' laugh made Nesta irrationally furious, but nothing compared to what his next words roused.

"Listen, you made a promise. You're not leaving until you beat me."

Oh, fuck no.

Nesta was almost to them, ready to push the fucker into the water and be done with whatever the fuck this was, but someone else piped in.

A low, gravelly voice, belonging to the man of the hour. It was hard not to recognize his timbre when he personally invited the entire university to attend his team's games every other hour through the speakers scattered across their campus.

"Leave the girl alone, Van Boy. You sound a word closer to a restraining order."

Nesta's eyebrows shot up. Cassian Navarro helping her friend out against his teammate wasn't in her 2023 bingo card.

He was sitting on the benches around the stone brazier, some other recognizable faces with him. He had an arm on the back of his seat, his head turned back to look at their small circle.

"Thanks, cap, but I've got this." Eris sounded annoyed by Cassian pitching in and Nesta relished in it.

Emerie laughed, shaking her head. "You so don't, and I will throat punch you if you don't move out of my way. I wanna leave."

Eris grinned, "Your friend left you here, isn't that right?"

Nesta was one second away from stepping in, but, if she had to be completely honest, this little theater play was unfurling quite amusingly. Plus, she knew Emerie could hold her own.

"Cut the bs, Vanserra," Morrigan Nevin, honorable the cheer squad, stood up, crossing her arms on her chest. She nodded towards Nesta and Gwyn and said, "And Little Miss Archeron over there looks ready to fight, so I'd recommend you let her friend leave and call it a night."

All eyes turned on her in a beat. She wasn't surprised Morrigan knew her name. After all, her younger sister had just started college and from what little they'd shared, Feyre seemed to be fitting right into this crowd.

Nesta's eyes though—treacherous fuckers they were—landed perfectly on Cassian. He, too, was staring at her and, with a cheeky smile, he lifted his hand in greeting. She pressed her lips together.

Eris faced her then, his mouth curling even more at her dead serious expression.

"Look what the cat dragged in," he mused. "Hadn't seen you in a hot minute, thought you'd stopped whoring down Greek Row a while ago."

Gwyn stepped forward, her face red with immediate anger. "Fuck you, you don't know what you're talking about."

Nesta loved her friends, she truly did, but this piece-of-shit-no-one didn't deserve their time or attention.

"Em, let's go."

Emerie stepped around Eris and he didn't say anything as she neared the pair. Didn't even glance at her, only kept staring at Nesta.

They were about to turn around and leave when Eris spoke again.

"You used to party with us all the time. Guess Tomas really did fuck you up, at least that's how the rumor has it."

Nesta stopped walking and glared daggers into him and she was seething when she spit at him, "I never partied with you. Even when I hang out with the scum that Tomas' close group is, I wasn't stooping as low as you."

Eris' face dropped. And Nesta wasn't done talking.

"They might all be assholes who don't give a shit about anyone but themselves, but they would have never held someone from leaving a party cause they can't find a better pastime."

"Your friend made a promise," his stupid reply was.

Nesta glanced at Emerie, who shrugged and rolled her eyes at the sky, "I told him I'd play beer pong with him at the end of the party if he left me the fuck alone."

She turned back on Eris, her face mockingly pitiful. "Can't find any friends unless you coerce people into spending time with you?"

"Aw, poor thing," Gwyn deadpanned.

"A promise is a promise."

"Fucking hell, Eris." Cassian called, "why do you always have to be so difficult?"

"They're just afraid they're gonna lose. It's a simple request to play a game. Don't understand why it got all of you so worked up."

Afraid? To lose at beer pong?

Nesta knew she was playing right into his mind game, but she was stressed out because of finals, fed up with the way he'd treated her friend and she could've used the satisfaction that came with knocking him down a few pegs.

"Okay," Nesta said, "let's play."

Eris smiled, content that he was getting what he wanted.

She jerked her head toward the house. "Go set the table."

Cassian Navarro had stood up in the meantime, he'd walked closer to them and was now nearing her, his eyes fixated on her face. Nesta was—for whatever reason—excited about the prospect of him talking to her. She was waiting for it like one waited to get to the plot twist of a book.

She hadn't even noticed Eris walking inside, nor Morrigan joining Cassian, not until Emerie pulled on her elbow.

"Great move, now let's get out of here."

Nesta jerked towards her friends, confused. "What? No, I wanna play."

Gwyn frowned, "Why?"

"He said we were afraid to lose."

Emerie snickered, eyes wide.

"You're nuts, Nes. Let's just leave."

"You know," his voice rumbled through her head. Nesta tensed marginally. He sounded so close. "You can go, you don't really have to play against him. He's just a harmless dickhead."

She spun on her heels slowly, tilting her head back to be able to look into his eyes, assessing his neck and the tattoos peeking from his shirt.

The silence stretched for seconds, minutes, hours before she found the words. She could only muster a sure whisper, his vicinity affecting her way more than she liked to admit.

"I have this under control, don't worry. And I honestly wanna play."

Cassian's mouth opened in a sweet smile and his eyes didn't move from hers as he gestured for them to lead the way. His entire group had gotten up and now the ten of them walked inside the house.

Nesta heard Morrigan talk to Emerie, ask if she was okay and found herself smiling lightly at the flirty response her friend gave the blonde. Give it to Emerie to look for a hookup at this moment.

A significant amount of people had left the party and now only the fraternity boys and whoever they were gonna fuck tonight were sitting on the sofas and the floor. The music had died down and someone was ushering the remaining partygoers outside, someone else screaming about cheating boyfriends and fucking alcohol.

They reached the ping pong table in the hall, only a couple making out in the corner of the room.

Nesta and Emerie stood at one end of the table.

Balthazar Saraiva sauntered to the opposite side of the table, winking at both the girls like they'd been friends forever.

Nesta breathed out a laugh. She was going to destroy them.

"What rules are we playing with? Bounce, no bounce? Who dunks can continue playing or we taking turns?" Emerie asked.

"No bouncing, only direct shots. And we're taking turns." Eris replied.

Nesta nodded, humming.

An imposing figure stood next to her, like a giant statue. His arms crossed over his chest made his muscles look bigger and Nesta would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that it was distracting.

"Ladies first," Eris drawled, "I'm giving you the starting advantage."

"No need," Nesta smirked and took the shot, dunking the ball on the first try. Eris stopped smiling.

Cheering broke around them, but Nesta only heard the satisfied comment from Cassian, his glimmering eyes on her.

"Atta girl."

She couldn't have stopped the shy smile from spreading even if she'd tried.

The game went on shortly. Eris was missing every shot he could, getting purposely distracted by Azriel Behar and Rhysand Almeda. The two guys were really putting so much effort into making it difficult for him, walking behind him every time he had to shoot or calling out to him at the least appropriate moment.

Nesta would have asked them to stop in any other circumstances, wanting an honest and clean win, but seeing the way it was working Eris up, she couldn't bring herself to.

They won the game in less than five minutes, Emerie only missing one shot, and when Gwyn came behind them and lifted both of them up in an improvised victory dance, Nesta felt lighter.

Emerie smacked a kiss on her cheek and then started screaming profanities at Eris.

"Looks like you need the ems now, uh? Cause you definitely got burned!"

Nesta cringed as everyone around them started laughing.

She'd already been somewhat tipsy and chugging the four cups of beer Balthazar had managed to dunk had pushed her into drunk territory. Always the lightweight, their dark skinned friend.

Gwyn dropped her to the floor again and as she laughed carefree at the ceiling, someone touched her arm.

She turned quickly to her left, lifting her gaze up, up and up, until warm brown eyes met hers.

"I get it you're driving?"

The question took her by surprise. She frowned, nodding skeptically.

Cassian cleared his throat, scratching his cheek. He almost looked… nervous. "Then I guess my plan to offer you a drink is bound to fail."

Her face relaxed, she forced her lips to stay put, her eyes to not widen. He was looking at her expectantly, waiting for a reply.

"I—" her voice came out scratchy. "Yes, sorry. Driving."

She couldn't utter a fully formed sentence, apparently, but he seemed amused by it.

"Raincheck, then? Maybe Friday night?"

Nesta was on cloud 9. What the fuck was happening right now?

"Like a date?"

Cassian smiled, "We can call it whatever you like, sweetheart."

Nesta sobered up at that. She shook her head. "Don't call me that, that's for sure."

His interest only grew with those words and Nesta saw the challenge flash behind his eyes.

"So, what do you say? Drink with me on Friday night?"

Nesta studied his face a beat longer, trying to gauge his real intention. Was he playing with her? She was literally wearing sweatpants and a stained sweatshirt. And yes, she knew she was still beautiful in library attire with no makeup whatsoever, but he'd only spoken to her twice in the four years they'd attended college.

And Nesta, well, she remembered that first time pretty vividly. She simply didn't want to dwell on it, because she knew it wasn't the same on his side. It had to be that way.

Cassian's smile faltered. He took a step back, drawing a tight breath in.

"Forget I asked." He whispered, still loud enough to be heard over the noise of their friends shitting on Eris in the background. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable–"

"Yes." Nesta interrupted him, closing the distance again. "Yes, I'll come out with you on Friday. For drinks."

Cassian reeled back, surprised. His smile came back full force and he nodded once.

She nodded back, offering a weak smile in turn. She could do this. She just needed to hold back the excitement until she was in the car with her friends.

He looked at her, running a hand through his long hair, and sighed.

"I'll come pick you up then. At 9."

"Sounds good, I live–"

He grinned, "Oh, don't worry, I remember."

Nesta's lips parted.

His smile widened.

He remembered.

acotar taglist (if you wanna be removed or added just dm me or send an ask)

@my-fan-side @superspiritfestival @simpingfornestaarcheron @the-regal-warrior @live-the-fangirl-life @sayosdreams @rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @bookstantrash @lordof-bloodshed @nahthanks @sannelovesreading @courtofjurdan @imagine-me @moodymelanist @dread3r @sv0430 @mariamuses @leiawritesstories @thewayshedreamed @duskandstarlight @letstakethedawn @perseusannabeth

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #prompt #acotar #acosf

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shubblelive · 9 months

Note

hi em! congrats on the followers can i get 🌊 “mamma mia, here i go again. my, my!” where reader paints wilbur maybe she’s an artist or something but just admiring him

of course you can my lovely!! this is such a cute idea

come celebrate 500 followers with me!!

“sit still!”

you’d been there for nearly forty minutes and wilbur was getting antsy. “sorry lovely.” he straightened himself out. “we almost done?”

“yeah, yeah,” you replied absent mindedly, voice light and airy as you hid behind your canvas. "give me a second."

he laughed gently at your huffing, trying to crane his neck to see what you were doing. it was a fairly uncommon occurence that you asked wilbur to pose for a painting. if you wanted to draw him, lord knows there's enough reference images available, both in your camera roll and on the internet. this time, though, he'd wanted to come sit with you and watch you in your element, more than happy to pose for a painting.

"lovely," his voice went up at the end, bemusement evident. "are you gonan actually paint?"

you'd finished nearly 10 minutes ago, but he didn't need to know that. your art style was more styalised and less photorealistic so it wasn't torturous for wilbur to sit still the entire time, but this time it wasn't long enough.

the sun was streaming through and hitting the side of his face, sunkissed skin and tousled hair, glasses perched on the tip of his nose. he looked so effortlessly pretty that you simply couldn't help yourself.

"i am!" you defended yourself, giggling nervously. "i have no idea what you're talking about?"

before you could stop him, he was lunging forward to look over the top of the canvas. "you're just sitting there!" mock betrayal graced his features as he leaned over to pinch your side. "for shame."

"you're pretty!" you laughed, pushing his hand away. "you should see yourself, babe. who could blame me?"

#em’s 500 follower celebration!!!#wilbuh #wilbur soot x fem!reader #wilbur soot x reader fluff #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x reader

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anothersimlishtragedy · 9 months

Text

Part 1 - The Ghost and the Stranger

With a bar of soap in one hand and a pair of trousers in the other, Magnolia sank her hands into the hot water and begin to scrub and lather the material against the textured tin of the wash board.

She plunged and scrubbed the thin cotton chemise she'd been given on her wedding day by her mother. Next was a pair of Hollis' wool socks that had so much sweat and dirt on them they could nearly stand on their own. She grimaced and chucked it into the tub.

The whinny of a horse caught her attention from the front of the house. She stood and quickly wiped her hands on the skirts of her dress, then grabbed her pistol and started around the house.

"State your name!" she shouted to the stranger from behind the mesquite tree, her pistol in hand and finger on the trigger.

"Howdy, Ms. Brannon." the stranger called out from on top of his horse. She had to squint against the afternoon sun to make out the face of a man.

She cocked the pistol and a familiar metallic click sounded as the bullet entered the chamber.

"I said state your name or I'll blow your head clean off your shoulders, mister!"

"Woh, I don't mean no harm....I- I was just looking for the man of the house."

Through the leaves of the tree, she saw him shift in the saddle and grimace, like there was something about him that was hurt. She wasn't risking moving closer to him but something made her step aside from the leaves to get a good look at his face.

"He aint' here." Magnolia said through grit teeth.

The stranger shifted again and his horse whinnied, antsy and frustrated that they were standing still.

"I apologize, ma'am. This is the Brannon homestead, ain't it?"

"You sure got a lot of questions for someone who's got a gun pointed at 'em" she snarled. " I'm going to give you to the count of 3..."

"Name's Brannon. Hollis Brannon, ma'am." the stranger sputtered.

It made sense at that moment. The jawline, the vacant hazel eyes.

"You- you're, Jake's brother?" she manage to breathe out, chest tight and squeezing with every second that passed. She felt violently ill in that moment.

"Yep, his kid brother. Ya see, I was coming to ta-." he reached down towards the revolver on his hip and she fired a shot into the bramble to his left in defense.

"Shit!"

The horse bucked at the sound of gunfire and knocked the man onto the dirt with a thud, then took off like lightning down the road that trailed down to the river nearby.

She closed the distance between them fast. And then there he was, hat in the dirt, looking just like her late husband did 10 years ago. He clutched his right side where his shirt was plastered to his skin, wet and shiny with blood.

"I didn't aim for you." Her brow furrowed.

"Got shot on the road to Brindleton Bay." he winced, trying to sit up, then flopped back onto the dust with a thud.

"Aren't you a popular feller?"

She studied him for a moment, a ghost of her past come back to haunt her in the form of her late husband's brother. After a quick assessment, she knew he'd be too weak to try anything stupid, and she looped his arm around her neck to help him stand.

"My horse." he croaked, lips dry from days riding under the sun.

"He'll be aight. There's a river just down there. I'll go find him in a second. We need to get you on the porch."

"I don't want to impose..." he groaned between heavy steps and arms sagging against her shoulders and neck.

"It's a little late for that, now, isn't it?"

#trigger warning: violence/gun #trigger warning: death #brannon legacy #the brannon homestead #part 1-ghost and the stranger #ts4 gameply #ts4 story #ts4 simblr #ts4 historical simblrs4 screenies #thebrannonlegacy

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averagesadperson · 2 years

Text

Comic Shop Meetings

Lloyd Garmadon x Reader

Synopsis~ You’ve just moved to Ninjago City and stumble upon a comic book shop close to home. Hoping to find some StarFarer, you also find a handsome boy in green that’s eager to share his recommendations with you.

Notes~ hello! this is my first xReader fic so this kind of style is new to me, so please be nice lol. I pray I’ll get better, but we’ve all gotta start somewhere, right? Also, its midnight so there might be some grammar and or spelling errors!

A blast of cool air hit you in the face as you pushed open the front door to the comic shop. The slight ringing of the bell alerted the man at the front desk, who looked up at you and greeted you with a friendly smile.

“Hey, there. Haven’t seen you before.”

“Ah, yeah.” You paused to look around the store. There were only a few people browsing the shelves, a group of kids in one corner pouring over one shared comic, two teen girls in the magazine section, and a boy in green completely absorbed in an issue in his hands. You looked back at the cashier, “I just moved into the city recently. I was super stoked to see a comic store so close to home.”

“Well, welcome to Ninjago City, hope you enjoy your stay.” He bowed dramatically and you raised a hand to hide your giggle. “Is there anything, in particular, you're looking for today?”

“Would you happen to have any StarFarer here?”

“Ah, looking for the newest issue, are ‘ya? Well, you're in luck, Missy, we just got ‘em in yesterday. They’re right over there,” he points a finger off to right, “‘Ya see Greenie over there? Knock yourself out”

You nod your head and walk over to the aisle you saw the boy in previously, when you get there he’s in the middle of an issue with several others tucked under his arm. He doesn't seem to notice you as you slowly approach the wall of comics. You scan the shelves, searching for the first few issues of StarFarer. Unfortunately, when you do spot your desired comic, the boy in green is blocking your reach.

You let out a small sigh and gently reach a hand up to tap him on the shoulder.

“Ah!” He startles and looks at you, shutting the book. You feel a little guilty for startling him, plus, from what you saw briefly, he seemed to be in the middle of an intense battle scene. “Uhm, can I help you?”

“I'm trying to get to StarFarer, soo..” you gesture vaguely with your head, he seems to get it as his eyes widen and he quickly hops back with a quiet ‘sorry!’. Now that you’re up close, you notice his eyes are a vivid green, they mesh well with his messy blonde locks; the darker green of his hoodie really brings out the colour. It's a good look for him, you think absentmindedly. You nod your thanks and run a finger along the thin spines of the books.

“Oh, are you just starting?” He asks when he sees you pluck the first issue from the self. You glance back at him and make a so-so motion with your hand.

“Kinda, where I used to live, comics were hard to come by so I only have a few out of order copies. Wanna start the series properly.” You skip over issue two and grab for three and four.

“Really? How many did you have?” He tucks the book he was reading earlier under his arm, raising his now free hand to swipe his bangs out of his eyes.

“Only three. But they were number two, six, and twenty-four. So, didn't really have a story” you laughed at his horrified expression. “Honestly, it wasn't that bad! But I didn't get antsy preeetty quickly.”

“‘Not that bad’!? I wouldn't be able to stay sane! You totally missed the best arcs!” He sets down his own comics and rushes up to shelves in a panic, scouring for, what you presume, a specific issue. You stand back with an amused smile, holding your measly three books, watching the handsome stranger fumble around.

You startle back when he practically rips one from the shelf, shoving it haphazardly into your hands, immediately going back to searching. “That one is issue fourteen, that one introduces one of the best characters in the whole series! Her name is Jenna, total badass!” Two more slap against your growing pile “And those two are back-to-back storylines, so cool and such a cliffhanger! They’ve never done that before or since!” Another book flutters into your arms. “And that one they go to space! Space! Oh, and they introduce the coolest thi-”

He pauses and looks back at the sound of your giggle. You hold a palm over your mouth to calm your laughter but the doe-eyed look he throws at you causes you to burst into laughter.

“Wow, your passionate!” He flushes red and now you can see a few freckles dotting his nose. “No, I love it! It's cute.” He flushes harder, fiddling with the drawstring of the hoodie. “But, unfortunately, I’m not really looking to spend hundreds on comic books today.”

He glances down at the pile you’re carrying and perks up. “Oh! Uh, right.” He bashfully rubs the back of his neck as he reaches to grab the extra issues and put them back into place. “Uhm, sorry. About the rambling.”

“I said it's fine, I appreciate it, actually. I’ll be waiting anxiously until I save up” you grab his books and hand them over to him, he smiles as he takes them, softly brushing your fingers with his own.

“Uh, you said you were new to the area, right?” he pauses for your response, and at your nod of confirmation, he continues, stuffing a hand into the baggy hoodie pocket. “Well, there's a cafe a few blocks away from here, I go there pretty often with my brothers, food’s pretty good. I could bring some of my copies down if you wanted to hang out sometime? I could show you around, too..? Doesn't have to be tomorrow or anything!” he cringes back by the end of his rushed sentence, a wobbly smile scrunches up his cheeks, and he internally waits for you to say no.

“I’d love to! But,” his smile drops immediately, rushing to wave his hands in front of you to say ‘that's okay! Totally fine!’ but your “I don't even know your name, yet.” makes him stop.

“Oh, uh, L-Lloyd! I’m- I’m Lloyd. Garmadon.” he shoves an open palm out between you two, cringing and pulling back after a few moments.

You grab his hand before it can retreat back into his pocket, giving him a firm shake, introducing yourself with a dramatized flourish. “And I’m Y/N, my fine sir. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir Luh-Lloyd Garmadon.” you flash him a cheeky smile and a wink. His heart flutters and he can feel his heat prickle his cheeks again, he hides it behind a relaxed smile. To you, he seemed to melt before you, relaxing into the chill atmosphere you managed to set.

“So, does that mean you’re up for it?”

“Sure, I'm free this weekend?” you start to walk over to the front counter and Lloyd follows close beside. He nods enthusiastically, watching as you set your three books down and dig around for your wallet.

“Yeah, Saturday works for me, maybe around one?” you nod and smile, continuing to rummage around your wallet for the appropriate bills. Lloyd thinks for a second before setting a hand on your shoulder and speaking when you look up at him curiously.

“Y’know what? How about I pay for you?” he cuts you off with a raised hand when he sees you begin to decline. “No, it's okay, I have an account here, anyway. If anything you're giving me points.” before you can argue, Lloyd gently sets his down on the counter and turns to the cashier, who talks to him with familiarity. He really must come here a lot, you think. You put your wallet back in your purse and reluctantly wait for the transaction to be done.

A minute or so later Lloyd walks up to you and hands you a dark blue bag with the store's logo on it. “Thanks, Lloyd, you didn't have to do that.” you both walk out the doors, the sun making you both raise a hand in front of your eyes to block the light.

“Seriously, it's fine!” he says, turning to you.

You ‘hmph’, crossing your arms over your chest. “Well then, I'm going to be paying for lunch on Saturday.” he opens his mouth but you cut him off. “No complaints.” he lets out a breathy laugh and shakes his head at you.

“Yeah, okay, if you insist. How many volumes do you want me to bring?”

“Oh, as many as you can carry.” you giggle happily. “If you have any other recommendations too, I certainly wouldn't complain.” he nods determinedly. You raise a finger to point down the street to the right. “Well, I'm down there, but I’ll see you Saturday, yeah?”

“Yeah! I’ll see ya then, Y/N. Uhm, it was nice to meet you!” he waves and calls to you as you start down the sidewalk. Your turn and look over your shoulder, sending him a smile and a wave as you turn the corner.

Lloyd’s hand slowly drops to his side, his smile melting into a permanent thing. Did.. did he just get a date? His face explodes into red and he quickly whips around, speed walking down the street to get to the Bounty. He needed to hound Kai and Jay for his missing issues ASAP.

#lloyd garmadon #lloyd garmadon x reader #ninjago x reader #ninjago #lloyd garmadon x you #lloyd garmadon x y/n

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maccreadysbaby · 11 months

Note

OH EM GEE YOUR CROW CONTENTTTT

can you do one that’s, like, the anniversary of Cayde’s death and Crow is getting absolutely hated by everyone at the tower except for our guardian? And like, the superiors, of course.

oooffff course! I really miss Cayde🫡

hyper-focused on crow, guardian is there at the end being supportive (because who doesn’t support him honestly)

added extra levels of angst because it’s my birthday and I love that crap

Also this can be interpreted as platonic or romantic

Memories™︎

It was no secret Crow got… unwanted attention simply for the face he dawned. That was why he spent most of his free time in the H.E.L.M. Walking around the Tower had always been a hassle without a mask; he could hardly take a step without getting a pointed glare or rude remark spat at him. Especially when it came to Hunters. They were furious about Cayde, and even though the Vanguard’s blood wasn’t technically on Crow’s hands, no one else seemed to understand that. No one but the Guardian. His Guardian.

He couldn’t exactly stay out of the Tower forever, though, and he did want to offer his support to the other Vanguards and Guardians on the anniversary. Give them a chance to take the day lightly. He couldn’t deny that the guilt from Cayde’s murder — a murder he didn’t even commit — weighed on him way heavier than he wanted to admit. He knew he didn’t do it, but… at the same time… by extension, he kind of did. Nevertheless, supporting his superiors and doing anything they needed mattered more than whatever was eating at him from the inside. It had to. He couldn’t undo what happened to Cayde, but he could do everything to make up for it.

The sun had already set by the time he and Glint transmatted into the Tower. Crow had taken on almost every single bounty and mission he could weasel out of Zavala, Ikora, and Banshee, even taking a handsome number of quests and bounties from Guardians that were having a rough day with Cayde’s memory. To say he was exhausted would be an understatement. He felt like crap, having been resurrected nearly a dozen, maybe two dozen times. He’d heard the Guardians talk about what they called the “Res Flu”, a kind of sickness that came upon Guardians when their body stopped and got restarted again too many times in a day. He didn’t really get it at the time, because, could Guardians even get sick?

He knew now, though, that they weren’t kidding. He felt like crap. Like he could sleep for four years straight and still be tired when he woke up. His entire body seemed to be aching from being put together again and again, reworked over and over. Between him overworking himself, Uldren’s memories of Cayde floating around in the back of his mind, and the constant windows reboot of getting resurrected again and again, his mind was nothing more than a blurry haze. He just wanted to go to bed, and that want grew exponentially as he walked slowly across the courtyard of the Tower. He was so close to his bed he could almost smell it.

But he needed to check in with Zavala and Ikora first — let them know he’d done what they asked. Unfortunately, between him and the Titan Vanguard were many other Guardians. Crow wouldn’t dare admit that the possibility of their crude words made him a little anxious, but then again, the slight buzz that surfaced in his chest and tiny bit of dread that made its debut in the back of his mind pretty much admitted it for him.

He ducked his head as he walked, tugging at his hood in an attempt to hide his face as he drifted by. The normal buzz of the tower had quieted, both due to the time and the anniversary looming overhead. Crow wished it hadn’t. If the buzz and energy had been normal, it’d be easier for him to remain unseen. He heard Glint humming along behind him, trying to provide little support. It was no secret that Crow got antsy in the Tower.

Fortunately for both his will to live and the countdown until he fell asleep standing up, no one payed him much mind as he made his way to Zavala. The Titan was leaning on the railing, per usual, gazing out at the Last City beyond. Crow drifted quietly up to his side, refraining from leaning on the railing in fear he might not be able to will himself back up.

“I finished the missions and bounties you gave me,” He muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. He was cold. Was it cold outside?

He saw Zavala shift in the corner of his eye, turning to look at him. “You finished them all? That was nearly four days work.”

“Mhm,” The Hunter replied. He didn’t dare glance over at him — mostly of the silent fear he’d be glowering at him like everyone else did. That and the fact he knew he looked like he hadn’t slept in a month.

Crow flinched when the Titan’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Good work, Crow. Go get some rest. You look drained.”

He felt drained. More than drained. Like he needed to get to his room soon or he might fall out in the middle of the Tower. Guardians were supposed to be immortal — you know, not sick. No one told him being a Guardian came with feeling like you’d been hit by a semi-truck after exercising your immortality one too many times.

He supposed there had to be a pitfall, though. There always was. If there wasn’t a pitfall, what would they appreciate? You can’t have good days without bad ones to measure them beside.

He pushed himself away from the balcony, floating mindlessly through the Tower, toward Ikora. His body was absolutely screaming with every step he took. So much so that he had to take a moment to regroup in the tunnels, pretending to fiddle with his gun or something so passersby didn’t realize how faint he looked. He only remembered Uldren getting sick few times, but it never felt like this. It was like, well, the flu — everything hurt, his brain was hazy, and he needed to sleep. He didn’t really mind absence of the other symptoms, though. He wasn’t a fan of nausea and all that.

After only hearing about a third of his own conversation with Ikora, and dropping by to tell Banshee he did what he’d asked, he made a bee-line towards the elevator. Getting down to his room on the residential floor was becoming more of a need than a want at this point. Because, all joking aside, it was starting to get hard to keep moving.

He was making alright progress… until he got to the elevator. There was a trio of Hunters standing in front of it and, if he didn’t collapse on the spot, they��d probably bully him until he did. His hood could only hide so much of his face, but at this point, taking the stairs seemed more risky than it should’ve.

He turned in a sudden, desperate attempt to get out of their line of sight, at least for a moment, but it was too late. A hand latched onto his shoulder and whirled him around. It was too easy for them to move him — he was weak.

“I don’t think you’d want to speak about what happened a year ago today, would you, Uldren Sov?”

Crow jerked his shoulder out of the Hunter’s grip, nearly wincing at the exertion the simple movement took. “That’s not my name,” He murmured flatly.

The Hunter snorted, backing up to be in line with his buddies. Three of them, all humans, all cocky-as-ever and ready to dispatch a kill-shot through Crow’s brain at any given moment.

“My apologies. I meant Little Bird,”

Crow couldn’t work up a proper response, so instead, he just walked toward the elevator. The Hunter sidestepped right into his path. He expected no less.

Crow didn’t have the time nor the energy for this.

“Get out of the way,” He ordered. The Hunter snorted again.

“No, I don’t think I will. After all, you have a murder to answer for. And everyone else here is too brainwashed by second chances to make you,” The Hunter spat, pain haphazardly hidden by venom in his tone. Crow tried to ignore the twisting in his gut that only started when he listened to the Hunter’s words. You’re the reason he’s hurting.

Crow tried to brush the thought off, attempting to blink away the vertigo that was trying to take hold of him. “I… I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry about Cayde. Now, please, get out of my way.”

Apologizing and saying please wasn’t exactly a power move, but he was practically running on empty as it was.

“Got somewhere to be, Little Bird?”

Crow closed his eyes momentarily, wrapping his arms around his middle to provide himself at least a little comfort. He looked absolutely pathetic in the face of these Hunters and he knew it. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Maybe he felt too bad to care.

“Please get out of my way,” He repeated.

“Dude, he isn’t looking so hot. Maybe you should just let him go,” One of the other Hunters piped up. The main one, a dude with blond hair, glared back at him.

“Yeah, well, Cayde isn’t looking too hot right now either, is he?”

The guilt rose back up inside of him like bile, and Crow looked away. He remembered pulling the trigger. He remembered killing Cayde. The back of his eyes began to burn and as much as he wanted to stop it, he couldn’t. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s gonna take more than a few empty words to make up for the hole you left in the Vanguard. In us,”

“I’m sorry,” Crow half-whimpered, still not opening his eyes. He could nearly feel his body getting weaker by the second. And it didn’t feel good.

He really was sorry — he really, really, really was. No one ever stopped for a second to consider that the anniversary hurt him, too. In fact, it didn’t just hurt on the anniversary. It hurt every day, living with the memories of murdering a man that would’ve been his leader. That would’ve supported him, been his friend. It hurt.

His Guardian would understand.

His eyes shot open a moment later, when the Hunter latched onto his cloak and jerked him forward. “You don’t get to be all emotional today, Sov, you did this.”

“Let him go!” Crow heard Glint’s panicked voice from behind, and he floated up to his Guardian’s side to try and offer support. There’s only so much a tiny floating robot can do, though. Crow reached up, grabbing the Hunter’s wrists where they sat close to his neck.

“Let go of me,”

“Do you understand the amount of pain and hurt you caused? In the Vanguard, in us, in everyone. There are people that have barely been able to get out of bed today because of you. People that spent weeks crying themselves to sleep because of you. People that still can’t look at Exos because of you!” The Hunter shoved Crow backwards, but it didn’t take very much force to make him hit the floor.

“Come on, dude. Leave him alone. You said what you needed to say,” One of the other Hunters stated from above where Crow was. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, coughing shakily. He suddenly felt a lot worse than he had. If that was even possible.

He was jerked off of the floor again and this time, shoved against the wall behind him. The blond Hunter was right in his face.

“Watch your back, Sov. There are more than a few of us willing to put a knife in it the first chance we get,”

Crow didn’t respond, only stayed eerily still as he and the Hunter stared at one another. He was released after a few dreaded moments of silence.

The Hunters all glared at him as they left, muttering amongst themselves.

Crow reached up to his cloak, grabbing where the other Hunter just had. He could sense the underlying pain in that guy’s voice. That Hunter wasn’t just talking about other people barely able to get out of bed, crying themselves to sleep, unable to look at Exos. He was talking about himself. And Crow — er, Uldren — had done that to him.

“Crow?” Glint floated up in front of his face, momentarily breaking his Guardian out of the trance. “We should go now.”

Crow nodded, heading into the elevator with Glint as a watchful eye. He could hardly focus on anything on the way to his room. Not the elevator, not the passersby, not Glint. All he could think about was how terrible he felt. Physically, yes, but mostly about Cayde.

How far was he from Uldren, anyway? Close enough for everyone to blame him for Cayde’s death. Maybe they weren’t as different as he pretended they were. Maybe he and Uldren were one and the same.

The gunshot that rang out from Cayde’s gun that night played in his mind on repeat, and he didn’t mind to let his eyes sting as he made his way further down the residential halls. Less likely someone would see him, anyway. With his arms still wrapped around his own torso, both to try and comfort himself and stop him from having some fever-induced breakdown, he walked into his room and shut the door with his foot. He leaned against the cool material with a deep sigh. Finally, he was alone.

Glint clicked robotically. “Uhm… Crow?”

Before he could reply, another voice came: “Oh my God, Crow! You look terrible.”

He whirled around at the voice, nearly yelling out from surprise. He blinked, and it took him a second to realize the studio apartment he was standing in… it wasn’t his. It was the Guardian’s. His Guardian’s.

He’d autopiloted his way into the wrong apartment. Same door, one floor too high.

The Guardian was staring at him with a mixture of pity and compassion, already making their way to him from across the room. Their Ghost was bobbing worriedly next to them. Crow averted his gaze. He didn’t want to have a conversation with them, he didn’t want to explain. All he felt like doing at the moment was curling in on himself and crying until the anniversary was over — for Cayde. For the man he murdered.

“How many times did you res today?” They asked, grimacing slightly as they got close enough to see how bad he looked.

“I don’t know,” He muttered. He wanted to shrink, to disappear. The closest he could get was recoiling slightly when they got close. “Ten. Twenty. Thirty. I don’t know.”

“Crow,” They weren’t scolding him, their voice didn’t contain even a hint of annoyance. They just… felt bad for him. “Didn’t I tell you about the res flu, or was that a dream?”

“No, you told me,” He replied blankly, staring at the floor under his feet. The Guardian stepped forward and watched to see if he’d recoil again. He didn’t this time, but he did turn away from their gaze.

“What kind of mission did they put you on where you had to res that many times?”

He shrugged, suddenly becoming very aware of the pounding at the back of his head. When had that started? “All of them,” He deadpanned.

The Guardian blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I took all of them. From everyone. Bounties, too. I… didn’t want them to… to do the work today,” He muttered, not sounding convincing even to himself despite telling the truth.

The Guardian’s wheels turned for a moment, before it clicked. “You’re trying to make up for Cayde?”

Crow looked away, wrapping his arms around his middle again like some sort of defense mechanism. “I remember… shooting him. I remember talking to him. I remember pulling the trigger, I… this was all my fault. I need to make up for it. I need to… answer for it. I need to be… to be…”

“Punished?” They whispered, more of a statement than an actual question. Crow couldn’t do much more than nod.

“I hurt so many people…” He hardly noticed he was swaying on his feet until the Guardian appeared right in front of him, steadying him by placing their hands on his shoulders.

“You didn’t, Uldren did. You don’t have anything to answer for,” They stated, eyes flicking across his face with worry. “Come sit down, you look like you’re about to keel over.”

“No, I… I’m gonna go to my room. I didn’t even mean to walk in here, I…” His sentence trailed off as his head throbbed so hard it made his eyeballs hurt. Screw this stupid res flu.

“If you think I’m gonna let you walk anywhere like this, you are sorely mistaken,” They stated. Instead of making him sit down, though, they decided to pull him into them.

He hated when they did that. It made him feel like a child.

He hated when they did that because it felt so… good. He didn’t deserve to feel good. Not today.

But he couldn’t force himself to wriggle out of their grip. Instead, as much as he hated himself for it, he sank into them, not moving his arms but supplying his horribly angry body with much more comfort than he’d had all day. They were warm, and comfortable, and… everything he didn’t deserve. Still, his head dropped down onto their shoulder. He let out a sigh of relief, a sigh he thought he didn’t… no, knew he didn’t deserve. Relief he didn’t deserve.

“You don’t need to be punished for something you didn’t do. You’re not Uldren,” They stated quietly, one of their hands trailing up and down his back as the other rested on his head. It felt so good and he hated it.

“I…” He sucked in a breath as the back of his eyes started to sting again. “I’m sorry about Cayde. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

“Crow…”

“I’m so, so sorry,” He bit back the sob that threatened to force its way up his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,”

“I’m sorry,”

“Crow!”

As much as he despised himself for it, the stupid sob he’d been trying to keep inside shoved its way out of him. A quiet, broken sound he didn’t mean for anybody but Glint and his pillow to hear.

You don’t get to be all emotional today, Sov, you did this.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispered, more into their shoulder than actually to them. He felt their arms shift around him.

“Stop saying sorry, Crow. None of this is your fault,” They murmured. He stirred, the guilt inside of him boiling up like a raging fire to devour every hint of comfort he received.

“It’s all my fault!” He spat, but his words held no actual venom. If they did, it was all toward himself.

“No it’s not. None of this is your fault. I know for a fact that if it really was you behind the trigger, you wouldn’t have aimed it at him in the first place,” The Guardian spoke quietly, one of their hands moving through his hair. “It isn’t fair that you have to bear his burdens. Hurt for what he did. The way these other Guardians treat you… none of it is fair. But… all I can do about it now is be here for you.”

He merely grunted in response, the momentary crying making his head hurt ten times worse. Right now, he just wanted to go to bed.

“You still with me, Crow?”

“Mhm,”

He heard them snicker lightly. “The first res flu is always the worst. It’ll pass soon enough.”

He was too tired and too comfortable to respond. So comfortable he was in jeopardy of falling asleep right there.

“You’re not Uldren. You didn’t kill Cayde. Do you understand that?”

He opened his mouth to no avail.

“Crow?”

“I… understand,” He whispered, adjusting his head slightly on their shoulder. He felt them move their arms.

They snickered lightly. “You gonna go to bed right there?”

It took him a moment to process their words, but he finally worked up a quiet: “Maybe.”

He was hardly conscious when he heard them snicker again. “Then let’s get you on the couch, yeah?”

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