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mellowswriting · 2 years

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what we do in the dark pt. 1/2

pairing || Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!Reader

word count || 2.9k

summary || Simon helps you get rid of that post-mission adrenaline.

content || smut, p in v sex, fingering, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, manhandling, kinda dom/sub dynamics, a hint of degradation (Simon calls you a whore but like,,, lovingly), fluff, established relationship, Simon is a thorough and attentive lover

a/n || choo choo bitches, I hopped on the simp train

Main Masterlist

The first day back is always the hardest. Being home feels… wrong. Your body is so ready to relax, to simply exist somewhere safe and comfortable. Somewhere known. Every inch of your body longs for the soft cocoon of your bed, a bed that has barely been slept in since you got it all those years ago. Exhaustion pulls your skin so tight it feels unnatural. After six straight weeks of putting your body through hell, you deserve the few weeks of mandatory leave time and all of the pamperings it entails.

The only problem is that your mind won’t shut the hell up. Every neuron is still firing like you’re taking effective fire in the middle of enemy territory and desperately searching for a way out. The familiarity of the little apartment you share with your teammate turned best friend turned fuck buddy does little to ease the prickling at the back of your neck. It’s bare bones and devoid of any real personal touch, but it’s yours. You’re safe, you know that. You just can’t quite feel it yet.

That is what keeps you up until the godforsaken hour of two am. The eerie silence of the building makes your footsteps sound impossibly louder than they really are, but you just can’t sit still. Your socked feet drag along the carpet sluggishly as you make your way to the kitchen. A glass of water probably won’t do much, yet another vain attempt to calm your frazzled nerves, but you’re willing to try anything at this point. The next on the list is sitting on the shower floor until the boiling water fizzles out into a chilly stream.

You’re halfway through the glass when you hear footsteps coming down the hall. The sound makes you smile. You know he has the striking ability to move without a sound for such a broad man. You’ve seen it firsthand a million times. He always strives to make his presence known around the apartment, just to avoid startling you. It’s sweet in a ‘two hardened soldiers trying not to trigger each other’s fight response’ kind of way. Two big hands find their way to your waist and you can’t help yourself from leaning back into his firm chest.

“You alright?” The low rumble of his voice and the warmth from his palms soaking into your skin eases some of the irritation scathing your soul.

“Can’t sleep.” You grumble, not bothering to hide the frustration from your tone. If there’s anyone else in the universe who knows all too well what you’re going through, it’s him. There’s something freeing in laying bare the ugliest parts of yourself and not being afraid of any judgment. “Still too wired.”

“So am I,” He sighs. It never takes much talking to get the point across with the two of you. You turn in his arms and smile at the sight that greets you - Simon “Ghost” Riley, in the flesh. All he wears is his briefs and that signature skull balaclava covers everything but those pretty blue eyes of his. It used to be an amusing sight, one you couldn’t help but chuckle at, but you’ve grown so used to it that all you feel is comfort. Simon presses closer until the edge of the counter bites into your lower back and you blink up at him, a small smile growing on your face as you realize what he has on his mind. He leans close, his nose brushing yours. “You want my help?”

The moment you whisper ‘yes’, Simon’s hands tighten on your waist and yank you upward, hauling you over his shoulder as you gasp and struggle in surprise. Your indignant cry of his name melts into disbelieving laughter as he carries you down the haul and into his bedroom. The temptation of smacking his ass is too much to resist, even though it earns you a much sharper one on yours before he tosses you onto his bed.

“You’re gonna pay for that one, sweetheart.” Simon tries to make it sound like a threat, but you know him too well - you can spot the humor in his voice from a thousand miles away. You know his every weakness, every little thing you can do to wear down his will to endure the allure of your body. You flash him that playful grin he loves.

“Bring it on then, soldier boy.” You taunt.

Simon doesn’t waste a second. He drags you down the bed by your ankle, his touch lingering on the black thigh-high socks that hug your calves before he slides them off and discards them on the floor. You can’t blame him - the fabric is soft and pretty. It isn’t something either of you gets to indulge in often. He loves seeing you in anything delicate. That’s exactly why you wiggle your hips, encouraging him to tug your shorts down and expose the black lace underwear you put on just for him. A low groan leaves his parted lips, the sound broken and rough at the back of his throat.

“Fuckin’ hell,” He grumbles. You never fail to mesmerize him. No matter if you’re strapped down with almost 50 kilos of gear and covered in a week’s worth of dirt and grime or dressed in something lacey and fine. You’re so beautiful that it takes his breath away. Simon lets his hands wander, savoring the softness of your skin as his fingers inch closer and closer to the apex of your thighs. The moment his fingertips brush your covered pussy, something feral flashes in his eyes. He can feel your wetness soaked into the fabric. “So wet for me already, huh?”

“Just for you.” You whisper. “Only you.”

The breathy admission snaps him into action.

The darkness of his bedroom is the only place he truly feels safe. The windows are blacked out. The overhead fixture doesn’t even have a bulb in it. This is his domain, the only place he can bare himself completely, body and soul. The only light filters in from the hallway, barely illuminating his body as he shoves his boxers down his thighs. You barely have a chance to admire the sight of his thick cock springing free from the material before he growls out an order.

“Strip. Now.”

You know better than to refuse an order. Those pretty black panties disappear onto his bedroom floor and in the mere milliseconds it takes to rip your tank top over your head, Simon has slipped his balaclava off. It’s a rarity, the privilege of seeing his face. The last six weeks have left you with the tiniest flashes of his lips and chin in those small moments of intimacy you managed to sneak away. Short kisses, rushed trysts in bathrooms. Those are moments you cherish, of course, but they make you appreciate this even more. The sharp edge of his jaw, the distinct ridge of his nose, those dark eyebrows - he’s so handsome that it damn near drives you crazy.

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” Simon grits as he manhandles you, flipping you onto your belly with an ease that sends you reeling. The sharp smack of his hand against your ass makes you yelp but that doesn’t slow him down at all; he lands another smack on your other cheek before soothing them both with a slow squeeze from his big hands. All you do is arch your back for more, and Simon chuckles. “I’m gonna fuck you ‘til that pretty little head of yours is empty.”

“Fuck, Si,” You whine, your fingers twisting his sheets. “Please touch me. Don’t make me wait, I need you so fucking - oh!”

Two thick fingers push into your soaked pussy without a second’s hesitation. Simon has always been greedy in the realm of your pleasure; he would do anything just to feel you clenching around him, to feel your slick dripping down his wrist. The suddenness hurts so fucking good, you can’t help but lean into it. Your hips rock back and Simon hums, a dark, filthy sound that you know spells the best kind of trouble. He isn’t the only one who’s greedy.

“That’s right, pretty,” Simon grunts, curling his fingers until he makes you cry out into the mattress. “Fuck yourself on my fingers. Greedy little thing, aren’t ya?”

You want to tell him that it isn’t your fault - it’s all his fault for being so goddamn good at working your body to unbelievable heights - but then he slides a third finger into your pussy and steals your voice altogether. All you can do is whimper a pathetic sound and bury your face in the sheets. You can practically feel the intensity of his gaze burning into your skin as he watches you fall apart beneath his touch. Simon’s hand twists and his fingertips press into that spot that makes you see stars.

“Fuck, Simon!” Your voice breaks around his name pathetically.

“That’s right. Say my fuckin’ name.” Simon’s tone drips with approval and it makes you tremble, your pussy clenching around his fingers, trying in vain to pull him even deeper. His touch never fails to turn you into a debauched mess. He ignites something bright and needy and submissive, something for him to covet and own - and he sure as hell knows it, too. He spreads the cleft of your ass and curses at the sight of his fingers disappearing into your pussy. “Look at that perfect fuckin’ cunt… so wet for me, aren’t ya, pretty? My good girl…”

The rough timbre of his praise drags you closer to diving headfirst off of that edge and he knows it. He can feel it in the quivering of your pussy, in the sharpness of your gasp, in the breathless way you say his name. Simon is an expert in reading body language - and yours is singing to him. Your body is building up to a crescendo of pleasure and satisfaction, backed by the chorus of your voice sculpting moans of his name into something melodious and resplendent. You’re so close, so ready to break for him -

And Simon stops.

A distressed cry falls from your lips but he doesn’t give you long to mourn the loss. Simon manhandles you further up the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he kneels behind you. It’s like instinct; your thighs spread, your back arches, and you purr his name with the temptation of a goddamn siren. Simon growls out some unintelligible curse and that’s the only warning you get before he’s sinking into you until his hips are flush against your ass. The stretch rips the air from your lungs - Simon is fucking big. His cock is thick and heavy and leaves you so full that your mind goes pleasantly blank. All that you can think of is him.

He grinds impossibly deeper and your hips jolt reflexively, trying in vain to escape the intensity. Simon anchors you against him, both of his hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. His hold is inescapable and you revel in it. The strength he possesses is exhilarating, leaves you pliable and all his - and Simon knows it.

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty? Begged for me like a little whore and now you’re tryin’ to run away?” Simon tuts at you in faux disappointment but his hand slips between your legs to reward you nonetheless. Every swirl of his fingers against your clit makes you relax more, your walls fluttering deliciously around him. A low growl rumbles from between his grit teeth and you tremble; he’s finally giving in, relenting to that vicious instinct to fuck and fight and take, take, take. “That’s right… You’re bloody perfect, sweetheart.”

Simon’s hips snap into a harsh pace so suddenly that you scream. The bedframe jerks and groans under his ruthless pace but you don’t fucking care. Nothing matters in the wake of him; in the smell of his skin, the bite of his blunt fingernails against your hip, the indecently slick sounds of his cock fucking you into oblivion. Everything else falls into the background, unimportant. The entire world could be burning down around you and you would never even know. Simon consumes your every thought.

It’s animalistic, filthy. The air is filled with your soft whimpers and Simon’s guttural grunts and the sound of his hips meeting the plump flesh of your ass. You can’t help but roll your hips back to meet his thrusts because fuck, you needed this. It’s been too long since he’s taken you apart like this. You feel starved, pathetically needy, and he loves it. Simon worships your body the best way he knows - with rough, molten pleasure that melts you down to your very core. Each rub of his fingers against your clit sparks the orgasm he denied you back to life, burning low and hot in your belly.

Your bodies move together in this familiar dance, the well-choreographed moves coming without thought, and your climax hovers so close you can almost taste it. There’s no room to be ashamed by the ease with which he makes you fall apart, not when you can tell he’s just as close as you are. The pleasure builds under his desperate touch, climbs and climbs until it has no choice but to finally crash down over your entire body. It pulses out from your belly and throughout your entire body, seizing your limbs and burning through your exhausted muscles. Simon fucks you through your orgasm, doesn’t stop rubbing your clit until your nails claw at his wrist and you beg him to stop.

The spasm of your sex rips a violent sound from his chest. Simon holds you up by your waist as he uses your fucked-out body, chasing his own orgasm as the warm afterglow settles into your skin. Every punch of his hips forces quiet, broken moans from your parted lips. It sends his ego soaring; his stubborn teammate, a vicious warrior that he’s seen cut down entire crews of enemies on her own - transformed into this soft, purring lover beneath his touch. A shudder wracks up his spine as Simon buries himself deep inside your body, his cock shoved against your cervix as he spills his seed inside you.

“Down. Lay down, pretty.” Simon mumbles after a moment’s pause, the low rumble of his voice barely intelligible. He follows you down, threatens to suffocate you under his weight with his chest pressed firmly against your back. You can’t find it in yourself to care. If the way you finally go out is underneath the sexiest man in the world, that’s perfectly fine by you. A respectable death by anyone’s standards.

You have no idea how long he keeps you beneath him. Long enough for him to suck lazy marks into your neck and recover from being the most pussy-drunk he’s been in months. His hips arch into your body, fucking his seed back into you with his softening cock, even as you both shiver from the tenderness of your fucked out bodies. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to - Simon effectively fucked every ounce of energy out of your body. No, you’ve resigned yourself to using your lover as your own personal weighted blanket for the rest of the night.

A discontented groan reverberates from your chest as he finally lifts himself off of your body. The mattress dips under his weight as collapses next to you, just as exhausted as you are. With a long-suffering sigh, you roll onto your back and undertake a full-bodied stretch that hurts so damn good, you can’t help the sinful groan it pulls from you.

“Careful there,” Simon murmurs. “Tryin’ to get me going again, sweetheart?”

“I think we’re both too tired for that Si’.” You finally look over at him with a sharply pointed finger. “Do not take that as a challenge.”

He just chuckles lightly as he props himself up on his elbow to take in the sight you make. The two of you unabashedly stare at each other, reveling in the rare sight of each other completely bare and comfortable. Fuck, he looks so good it should be illegal. He would be painfully intimidating to anyone else - 6’5, covered in tattoos and various scars, staring down at you with inexplicable heat burning in his eyes. Anyone else would see Ghost, the terrifying soldier that haunts the mind of his enemies. But to you? This is your Simon. The same biceps you’ve seen used to choke the life from enemies now draw you close to his side. His hands hold you with even more care and familiarity than he shows his weapons; his fingers slip beneath your jaw and tilt your face up into a soft, lingering kiss. Just one last indulgence before he lets you bury your face in his neck.

He shifts your thigh up over his lap and your arm drapes over his chest, effectively pressing your bodies against each other as close as physically possible. This is how Simon loves to sleep. Feeling every inch of your body against his, safe in his arms. He never knows a better rest than when he has you like this.

Simon gives your ass a playful pat. “Get some rest, darling.”

The last thing you feel is the warmth of his hand engulfing yours before a peaceful sleep finally takes you under.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader smut #simon ghost riley x reader smut

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hrhpk · 5 months

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I know I’ve written about this on different formats in the past, but today of all days bright and beautiful it’s essential. Today is christmas day and loads of people are still in their PJ’s with messy hair and comfy socks and shoes.

And here’s is the dilemma, is that they go out into the world looking like they just rolled out of the bed, now honestly you don’t have to be a super

model each and every time you leave your place, but Darling’s you can wear a nicer pair of jeans, a T-Shirt that has no stains and brush that

Hair! But the real issue is the wearing of those ‘UGGS’ in public places.

There is a reason why they are called UGGS and it’s because they are the ugliest things in fashion since the 80’s hammer Time pants.

Uggs are to be worn at home, lounging around and being cozy. Now Doesn’t hat sound lovely.

But if you live in NYC, and you’re running around like a bag lady, those UGGS start getting really gross and ugly. And you literally running around

with every disgusting thing known to man on your UGGS that I personally would not allow those things in my apt. I mean think about it.

What is actually in the streets in NYC, let’s ponder that notion. First of all, Dog poop and pee and that’s that’s because their owners don’t know

the meaning of ‘CURB’ your dog, Yes look it up people, CURB YOUR DOG. means simply to take your dog to the curb. Shocking premiss.

And of course as sad and uncomfortable as it is, there are the homeless that well do the same things on the streets, there are needles and honestly who knows what other diseases you can get out there.

In conclusion, not a fan of ‘UGGS’

HRH

#fashion #fashiondont"s

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ihatebnha · 2 years

Note

I went to bed after encouraging you but blue lock icks would be SO good 🎤

so did i, queen! took a nap on my mom's bed like it was an olympic spork and i was winning.

anyway. i only did Gagamaru (for you), Nagi (for that one anon) and Kunigami (for me) bc I wanted to test the waters, but... hope u enjoy regardless!!!

(warning: icks)

Gin Gagamaru

Picks his nose without a tissue

He’s not even doing it to be gross, like he really does want to clean out his nose… he just… won’t use a tissue and says there’s no need to bring him one

Wears basketball shorts from middle school. They barely go down to mid thigh, holes in the ass and everything

Also has severe knife butt and complains when he’s been sitting for too long

You try to brush his hair and it’s all split ends. And he really doesn’t give a single care about it, either. Like... it’s a non-concern for him

Does that dumbass man shit where he’ll walk faster than you when you’re on dates or walks together

Hiking is also a nightmare because he will leave you behind. It’s barely intentional but you’ll stop to have a sip of water and before you know it’s he’s 50 yards ahead of you and hasn’t even noticed you’re behind him

All his socks have holes, too. All of them. You can literally catch him going to bed with one whole big toe sticking out of them

And he literally does not appreciate when you get dressed up. Thinks you’re hot, sexy, attractive, yeah, whatever… but he thinks that all the time, so any effort to look even better is just going straight over his head

“You didn’t have to do that :)” energy. BUT GAGA, I DID

And lowkey you know the joke about the most beautiful girls who walk around with men in jorts and a t-shirt… That’s y’all

Omg and his heels are constantly sticking off the back of his slides and he does that weird thing where… all his sneakers that aren’t in nice condition for soccer… are being crushed inward because he’s too lazy to tie them up regularly and just shoves him foot in😭

And if it looks even remotely like you won’t be able to finish your meal (even if it’s barely been ten minutes), he’s offering to finish it for you

Couple's yoga is a nightmare because even if you’re good at it… he’s better :(

Rensuke Kunigami

Wears the ugliest fucking slides known to man. It’s so bad, no logo or brand or anything… just straight up foam and plastic that get so dirty and make his feet look freaking awful

Incapable of like… not being nice to you. It’s great most of the time, but then he refuses to pick a restaurant, or which shirt he thinks you should wear to dinner… or when you’re going too far in an argument

It does get better with time, but even when he’s grumpy he’s just sitting there pouting all :| because he doesn’t want to cause any problems

And is definitely one of those guys who tries to handle all his own problems himself. You really gotta fight him to make him think that it’s okay to rely on you

Which is ironic given that he’s always demanding that you let him help with all your problems

But that’s what I mean… he’s NICE!!!

And he may be loyal asf also but he definitely does not badmouth any of his exes. He talks about them like they’re his friends, which is fine because they were probably lovely… but it’s like… Ren… why can’t you just say they’re ugly or SOMETHING

Refuses to delete pictures of them off his phone, too… which is actually kinda funny because they’re all old and bad quality, but still. You Do Not Need Those

He’ll also like, LMFAO, try to snatch your phone or computer away from you if he thinks you’re ignoring him. Literally take the device from you no matter what you’re in the middle of, including assignments or work

And when he try to get it back, he refuses and is like, “computers are so bad for your eyes, you know? We should go for a walk instead”

There are other ways to ask!!!

Drinks green smoothies that taste TERRIBLE though he refuses to admit it. He’s constantly trying to convince you they’re so good even though you can tell he’s forcing himself through it for the health benefits rather than the tase

And his farts are also always disgusting, too. For such a perfect guy, it almost seems like all his flaws (and rage) get channeled straight to his guts because they’re absolutely rancid every single time even if he feels so bad about it

Seishiro Nagi

iPad baby (watches his phone at the dinner table sometimes)

Forgets to clip his toenails until you remind him. It’s not even intentional it’s just like… not on his mind at all so they get really long and weird

He always seems grateful for the reminder… but it’s like, Nagi… how and why did you even let it get this bad :(

He does that thing where you’ll say goodnight to each other and then fifteen minutes later you hear his Nintendo switch booting up

And he’ll do it after sexy time too, like ???

He also always forgets you have work/obligations. He’s constantly telling you to skip your shifts as though that’s not almost impossible

“What do you mean you can’t skip work? Just say you won’t go in???”

I don’t want to say he’s a picky eater… but his palette is very childish. He’ll eat grown up stuff but it’s so funny because he just does it in such a boyish way

You guys are talking about what’s for dinner and he’s like, “hm. Can we have rice?”

NAGI? YES???

Literally cannot conceptualize why you’d ever be insecure. You confess to him you don’t like some part of your body and it’s just, “oh, but I like that part” and he genuinely thinks that fixes it

So not helpful

He’s also a great listener… but can’t provide any advice when you’re in a fight with your friends. You can tell him about it all you want because he likes hearing it, but… he’s really not gonna say anything useful about the situation LOOOL

Doesn’t say excuse me when he farts. He’ll just… ignore it completely

And this is Reo’s fault but… he’s really bad when it comes to picking up hints

You try to pull a smooth… “oh, I’d love to go to the beach!”

And he’s just, “Aw well, I hope you get to one day :)”

Really bad at watching films he didn’t pick. Either you’re bored and he’s instantly turning it off, or you’re enjoying it and he’s trying to turn it off anyway

Also… he lets you go through his phone anytime you want to, but… all his twitter likes are strange and his texts with friends are practically incomprehensible.

Has the weirdest taste in memes.

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shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

harmless (ii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, stealing cultural landmarks, frustrated bucky

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: made a header 4 this fic but i couldn’t take it seriously enough <3

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! it’s always fun to hear from y’all.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

It’s roughly a week before he sees you next.

Right on time too, according to the briefings he had received. Once a week you’d come up with your next batshit crazy idea and someone would be sent to make sure you didn’t execute it.

It was more of a babysitting gig than anything. Most people would do one, maybe two assignments before asking to not be sent again.

He was not most people. He volunteers to go again. His afternoon is relatively free and he’s bored.

Also, and more importantly, he needs to get out of the house before Sam finds out what he did.

“You’ll find her near the Statue of Liberty.”

“How do we know?”

“Oh, she tells us.”

“...she tells us where to find her?”

“Most times, yes. She says it’s time efficient.”

Absurd. He thinks you’re absurd.

Bucky finds you in line to board the ferry. You’re dressed to the nines like an obnoxious tourist, even though you were a local, topped with binoculars and a bucket hat.

On an unrelated note, he thinks that maybe the mission today is to kill you for daring to wear sandals with socks like a suburban dad. A shudder runs through his body when he sees it.

He’s wearing all black and a baseball cap. Somehow he’s standing out more than you are.

He boards the ferry behind you, keeping a close eye on all your movements. You take your place near the railing, a seat near the front of the boat.

His phone rings. He answers it, expecting Sam to screech at him for painting Redwing neon pink again. He should have known it was coming after he shoved Bucky off the quinjet before he had time to strap his parachute on properly.

“I thought I told you to bring a cape.”

He quickly looks up at you but you’re not facing him. You have your phone held up to your ear, however.

“How did you get this number?” he asks icily.

“I knew you’d show up again.” Your head tilts to look at the statue in the distance. “Also, thanks for the door money, but I’m not sure I appreciate how you think the least creepy way to give someone money is to drop it off anonymously at their doorstep.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He swiftly gets up, stalking over to where you’re sitting. He was advised not to do anything aggressive. Advised was a flexible word.

“Because I wasn’t going to answer it.” You look up at his figure looming over you. “Oh, hey.”

The phone is still pressed to the side of your face even though he’s right beside you. He cuts the call, shoving it back into his pocket.

“Allow me to introduce my pl-”

“What are you doing here?” He cuts to the chase.

You send him a glare. “I was going to say it before you told me to. And sit down before everyone thinks you’re going to kill me.”

“Why are you going there?” He doesn’t have time for this, he thinks. He has important things to do. Like watching the reruns of Masterchef Junior.

He sits in the seat beside you.

“Look at us.” You grin at him. “Me with the evilest outfit I could think of, you with your... Addams Family cosplay. We’re like, two peas in a po-”

“Start explaining,” he interjects.

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to shrink the Statue of Liberty and use it as a keychain.”

“What?” It’s probably the most benign plan he’s ever heard in his life.

“I’m kidding.” Oh, good. “I’m not using it as a keychain, I’m taking it to class.” Nevermind.

“What?” He finds himself repeating his previous question.

“I’m shrinking all the statues I can find. I want to use it in my classroom to teach the kids.”

“You’re... a teacher?” He blinks.

“You got a problem with that?” You look offended, to say the least.

“No.” It’s not what he would peg your occupation as. He didn’t think you had one at all. “How are you planning on shrinking it?”

You rummage through the ugliest fanny pack he has ever had the misfortune of seeing. You pull out a small ring box, complete with a bow tied neatly on top.

“I was saving this for our third anniversary, but-” you offer him a nervous laugh.

His stony expression doesn’t change, not even a blink.

“Fine, Jesus, you’re no fun,” you huff, dropping the emotional act when he doesn’t look amused.

You flip open the lid. Inside there are a few small disks. It looks familiar, he realises.

“Your friend Ant-Boy didn’t file a patent, so I just took his whole shtick.” He wants to defend Scott’s honour; it’s Ant-Man not boy. He doesn’t. He’s too transfixed on what you have in your hand.

“Pym particles.”

“The diet version.” You pick up one of them carefully. “A ripoff, but effective. Just gotta attach it to the thing I want to shrink and give it a few minutes.”

“You’re going to steal the Statue of Liberty,” he says, frankly a little taken aback that you were serious.

“Would you relax? I’ll put it back.”

“That’s not the point,” he damn near exclaims. “You can’t take away the Statue of Liberty just because you feel like it.”

“I literally can.” You point to the chips in your hand. “That’s the point of this, keep up.”

He feels exasperated. He didn’t sign up for this when he became an Avenger.

“Give me the box.” He makes a grab for it but you yank it away from his reach.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t have time for this.” His reruns would begin in an hour.

“That’s my problem, because...” you trail off.

He rolls his eyes, makes a grab at the box again. His tactic is different this time. He stealthily pins one of your arms down so that you’re basically incapacitated.

“Hey! Stop that.” You fumble against his reach, shoving him with your elbow.

“Just give me the thing and we can all go home for the day,” he huffs, unfazed by your squirming.

“No! Over my dead bod-”

He doesn’t immediately notice what goes wrong in the scuffle.

Until you look at the ground near your feet. A disk lay there, undisturbed.

“Is that-” All of a sudden, either he’s getting taller or the ceiling of the boat is getting lower.

“Oops,” you say, not remorseful in the slightest.

“Are we going to-”

“I’d give it five minutes max.”

Great. He was stuck on a boat that was beginning to shrink. The other passengers were either oblivious or ignorant to seats that were starting to become too small for them, but Bucky’s heightened senses and extreme reflexes made it hard to skip.

He nudges the piece of tech with his foot. Maybe he can kick it off the boat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you warn solemnly. He wants to disagree but doesn’t know enough about the device to dispute you.

“Fix this,” he hisses, panic slightly rising. His fingers find their way to his phone to send out an emergency text requesting backup and mass evacuation.

“I think it’s a rather lovely day for a swim, don’t you?” You stare dreamily at the waves that were inching closer up the boat.

Or you were inching closer to the water. Technicalities were frivolous.

“There are other people on this boat.”

“River’s big enough for all of us, I reckon.”

“Fix it.”

“Or what?” There’s a wicked gleam in your eye. “We both know I have the upper hand here.”

“Or I call the entirety of the Avengers here and haul your ass to prison.”

“Will they bring snacks?”

You’re insufferable. You know it. But you also are the fastest way to get out of this situation and right now, he didn’t want to be responsible for a shipwreck simulation.

“Fine. Tell me what you want.”

“I like soy chips.”

“Soy chi-” He nearly throws his hands up in frustration. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I want one historical artifact so I can impress the kids. They think I’m the cool teacher and I want to keep that reputation alive.”

“What makes you think I can arrange for that?”

“You’ve been alive since goddamn dinosaurs roamed this earth, I’m sure you have some connections.” You pause to assess his face. “You know, you don’t look a day over 29. Dermatologists must hate yo-”

“I’ll get you an artifact, now fix the fuckin’ boat.”

“You promise?” You grin brightly.

He stares at you. You are unyielding.

The boat’s uncomfortably small and people are beginning to take notice. Worried murmurs fill the air behind him.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You shrug simply.

You kneel over, picking up the chip from the ground. You do nothing else for two minutes, instead turning away from him to look at the Statue of Liberty that was coming closer.

It takes him a while to realise that half his body isn’t hanging off his chair anymore. The ceiling is moving further and further away from the top of his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He wants to strangle you.

Why did he listen to you when all of this would have been over the minute he kicked it off the ship.

“You can drop it off at my lair on Monday and pick it up on Friday.” You gather your belongings, leaving him steaming behind you. “Nice talkin’ to ya, Sergeant.”

You step over him, flashing him a quick smile before walking off the boat with the rest of the tourists as if nothing had just taken place. When he looks down, the stupid ring box is on his lap.

He sits there, unmoving, eyes fixed on the container.

The ferry conductor asks if he’s going to get off the boat.

He simply shakes his head.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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dootdootwriting · 2 years

Text

hi howdy! here's my part for the holiday writing collab hosted by @xiaosmoon !! i hope you all enjoy :D

ugly sweater party with kaeya; gn reader; no warnings apply

Today would be your third time attending the Knights of Favonius Official Ugly Sweater Party. Or it would be, if your boyfriend hadn't been in charge of laundry over the weekend, and if he hadn't accidentally shrunk your sweater to about four sizes too small. But hey, at least now if he gave in and got a pet, you could put it on them.

"So, what's the plan now?" You asked, shuffling through your wardrobe. This would be the fifth time today you'd frantically pushed through everything in it, searching for something that could pass as an ugly sweater. All four previous times had been to no avail, and, looking at the pile of discarded clothes all over your bedroom floor, you assumed that the fifth time would be as well.

"Tape a drawing of Diluc's face to an otherwise perfectly normal sweater?" Kaeya suggested from his perch on your bed. He was wearing possibly the most eyeburning sweater known to man: the words "HO HO HO" embroidered in bright red against dark green, with candy canes scattered all over. The craftsmanship on the sweater itself was incredible, but it certainly qualified as ugly.

"You would do that. Unfortunately he's not going to be there to witness your mockery this time."

"A shame, really. We should invite him!"

You threw a sock at him and he laughed, flinging it off his face and back onto the floor.

"You know I'm looking for an actual answer, right? Amber would never let me hear the end of it if I showed up without an ugly sweater."

"True, and while I would love to see that, I can sympathize with you, and I love you, and so I will offer assistance."

"Oh, joy."

Kaeya leapt off the bed and dragged you off the floor onto your feet. "Today, my dear, we are going on an adventure to find the ugliest sweater possible."

"Will it take longer than three hours? Because we have to get to Favonius HQ in three hours."

"Well, hopefully not. We'll see."

It did not, in fact, take longer than three hours - at least, not to find the sweater. Displayed brightly in one of the abundant shops of mondstadt, the perfect sweater sat on a mannequin. It was black, knitted, with little embroidered animals and the words "HAPPY PAWLIDAYS" in alternating red and white letters on the front.

"Now this," said Kaeya, taking his time to admire the sweater, "is beautiful. Almost prettier than you, though I think you just barely take the cake here."

"You are insufferable," you said, teasing, "and in any case, the store is closed. We must have come too late."

"Well then why on earth would they keep the lights on?"

"To get people to buy it tomorrow? It seems like a horrible plan though."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to find some way around it then."

"How do you suggest we do that?"

It wasn't long after you asked that Kaeya grinned, winked, and promptly kicked the door in.

"WE'RE GOING TO STEAL IT?"

"We're going to borrow it. I'll give it back tomorrow and apologize for the lock breaking. Let's just hope nobody takes advantage of it."

And with that, Kaeya grabbed your hand, dragged you inside, and grabbed the sweater off its display.

"Here. Look, it's a perfect fit - go on, now, we don't have much time."

"Kaeya, this is insane."

"Yes, exactly, an insanely good plan. Come on, the party's in an hour. If we want to be early, now's the time to go."

If you said this whole ordeal hadn't made you fall just the tiniest bit more in love with him, you'd be lying. You ran through the streets with him, failing to suppress your laughter, still holding hands from when he dragged you into the shop. The Headquarters of the Knights of Favonius was right up ahead, and once you got there, Amber ran out to greet you, clad in her homemade baron bunny sweater.

"Hey, you wore a new one this year!"

"Yeah, Kaeya shrunk my old one," you said, pausing to catch your breath. "I'm definitely not letting him near the laundry again."

"Well, I like this one better if I'm being honest. Now come on! We have an ugly sweater party to get to!"

Kaeya pulled you in for a quick side hug and laughed, still breathing heavily from running. "She's right, you know. Now that your problem is fixed, let's go have fun."

#WOO ITS DONE #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #kaeya x reader #holiday writing collab!#genshin x reader #kaeya #gi kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeya genshin #reader insert #gn!reader #kaeya fluff #kaeya fic #kaeya written

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boydsfm · 4 years

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❛ ✶ ( ALEX WOLFF , CIS MALE , HE/HIM ) — did you see LUCAS BOYD walking around campus earlier ? i hear a lot of people talking about the NINETEEN year old SOPHOMORE . from what i know , they are studying COMPUTER SCIENCE and are a part of PHI KAPPA DELTA . they come across as + KIND-HEARTED but also - TIMID , which makes since because on their instagram ( LUCAS.V.BOYD ) it says they are a VIRGO . when i see them , i think of A DESK COVERED IN EMPTY COFFEE MUGS, DANDELIONS GROWING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK, THE UGLIEST GODDAMN SWEATERS YOU’VE EVER SEEN. the most interesting thing i’ve heard about them though , is the fact that REDACTED , but don’t tell anyone i told you that . ooc info . ally . 22 . est . she/her .

hello hello hellooooooooooooooo. i’m ally, i’m from canada, and i’m addicted to tik tok i’m so excited to be here!! this has been an opportunity to bring back an old and beloved muse of mine, one lucas victor boyd ! if you like this, i’ll hyu on discord, or you can hmu at known simp harry hook#3923.

statistics.

full name. lucas victor boyd nickname(s). just lucas. not luke or lou, just lucas. occupation. undergraduate student, beaumont campus tech support age. nineteen. date of birth. september 2nd, 2001. nationality. american. ethnicity. ashkenazi jewish, scottish. orientation. gay. gender & pronouns. cis male; he/him/his.

height. 6′0”. weight. 145 lbs. eye color. hazel. hair color + style. dark brown; usually messy and curly. he gets it cut short at the beginning of the semester and then by the end its a mop. really doesn’t style it. dominant hand. right-handed. distinguishing features. distinctive nose, lanky figure, messy curls, undereye bags, that cute li’l mole.

background. (tw alcoholism, death of a parent)

SO. lucas was born in portland, maine, to a pretty lower middle class family. his father left when he was two years old, and he was largely raised by his mother, florence weber.

florence was a hardworking and loving mother, but she was also quite depressed her entire life. she was a recovered alcoholic when she met judas, lucas’s father, but once he left, she slowly slid back into her old habits.

by the time lucas was eight, he was having to start to pick up some household responsibilities. cooking, cleaning, packing his own lunch. waking his mom up in time for her shifts at target.

by the time he was in middle school, he’d learned how to forge her signature on cheques, he’d applied for unemployment for her after she got fired, and he was taking any odd job to make money.

school was his favorite distraction; he was always a brilliant kid, and if it weren’t for the fact he was already a terribly shy and awkward kid, he could have skipped a couple grades. he threw himself into schoolwork to avoid everything; his mother’s worsening condition, his crippling loneliness, his fear that he might be as gay as every one of his bullies insisted.

this was, also, around when he picked up his most lucrative but troublesome odd job; hacking into the school board network to get test answers. he could get fifty dollars per person per test, and he was able to buy groceries besides beans and rice, was able to buy new clothes for himself and his mom. he felt awful about it every day, but... he still did it.

(death tw) at sixteen, when he found his mom motionless and cold on the floor of their apartment, he buried himself in his work, too. he couldn’t help but feel guilty, though; it was his work, his taking care of everything that had allowed his mom to keep her addiction up for this long.

so, yeah. there’s a very good reason why he doesn’t go back to portland anymore. he spent last summer in cambridge. well, that and his Secret.

since the beginning of his freshman year, lucas has had something of a glow-up. he signed up for the school’s counselling services before he even got to campus, and he’s been making great strides.

additionally, he pledged phi kappa delta, which... he never saw himself pledging a frat, ever in his life. but all the guys there were so... cool. and so supportive and nice and... and they’re like the brothers lucas never had. having that little family has helped him gain that much more confidence in himself.

personality.

if there was an onion headline for lucas’s life it would be Nervous Wreck Slowly Becomes a Functional Human Being.

very virgo, very type a. but also a pisces moon cancer rising. so he needs everything to be in alphabetical order or he’ll cry.

ever since he’s started college, he’s transitioned from being As Plain As Possible to being more outwardly soft as he’s gained confidence in himself. he wears the dorky sweaters and neat socks he likes, he has a small collection of plants on his desk, he knits scarves for his friends. big hufflepuff energy. again, this comfort largely comes from the acceptance he’s found at phi kappa delta.

slowly getting over his Big Anxiety. slowly learning how to talk to people. still awkward at parties. still has panic attacks every day during exam season. but he adores his therapist and takes his zoloft every day and he’s… he’s doing alright.

there are things he is sure of. his intelligence, his diligence, his ability to get shit done. he’s recently mastered asking fellow customers to please be kind to servicepeople.

still he’s that guy who doesn’t want to tell the waiter they got his order wrong.

he’s literally highkey fucking brilliant. he’s literally at the top of his class in one of the most difficult programs at one of the most difficult universities in the country.

a chronic people pleaser up until the point that it breaks his moral code. like if you want him to help you cheat or help you toy with someone he will put his foot down. he’ll do it very softly, but he won’t budge.

(though he is known to do mathematics and computer science homework for his friends when they’re overtired. he’s always the one to offer in that case, though.)

the rare gay who is extremely capable in math. legit he gets so excited about math it’s actually really cute.

theres a part of him that still believes in magic, to some capacity. he still wishes on shooting stars and pennies on the ground and dandelions.

his greatest strength and fatal flaw is that he sees the best in people. even if he knows you tried to hurt him, he will give chance after chance.

(but he works in tech support rn So. he’s slowly losing his belief in humanity.)

in conclusion, here are some tik toks that describe lucas

him in kindergarten

he can’t write i’m so sorry

just.... the Vibes

wanted connections.

skinny love. lucas is extremely shy, especially in romantic situations. he cannot flirt to save his goddamned life. he also probably thinks this person is out of his league. (honestly i want a romantic plot for him so bad gimME)

close friends. GIVE HIM FRIENDS FOR THE LOVE OF FUCKING GOD he’s such a good friend he just wants to love people.

lawyer for real life. based off this john mulaney bit. someone who reminds lucas that someone is mistreating him.

lab partner. idk man i just like that easy camaraderie. or maybe they make lucas do all the work in which case he will eventually snap.

tutoree. someone that lucas basically helps out of the good of his heart.

bad influence. someone get this boy TURNT

manipulator. lucas does have a bit of a backbone, but he is incredibly naive and very easily manipulated. basically he will do your stats assignments for you if you say he’s your friend.

academic rival. lucas is not typically an antagonistic person, but having someone be so obviously smarter than him grinds his gears a little bit. his mood when talking to this person is :))))))))))

literally anything pls i’m desperate and he’s baby

#bu.intro #alcoholism tw #death tw #just realized this edit clashes with my blog but #what !!!! ever yk

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gotatext · 5 years

Text

by this point im p sure u all know the drill.... i’m nora, 23, she/her, gmt and tonight matthew im going to be greta o’driscoll, a terrible person but a hot one which frankly makes it almost ok. here is her pinterest..... this intro is literally just copied n pasted frm the last time i played her so soz if u’ve read it like 10+ times....

「 diana silvers. cis-female. 」have you seen greta o’driscoll around yet? i hear she decided to be in POTENTAS for their SOPHOMORE year as a CRIMINAL PSYCHOLOGY major. the 20 year old SHEPHERD is known to be tenacious, magnetic, capricious and evasive. ➨ the muse is written by nora, she/her, gmt.

was adopted as an infant. had two foster moms and two older sisters so always surrounded by women. lived in a boarding house, very much like the one in 20th century women, with lodgers coming in and out all the time, mostly artsy young women because her gay moms were both high school teachers trying to set up their own arts collective. one of her moms left when she was 4, n she doesn’t really remember her.

while living with entirely women made her super into catlin moran and the guilty feminist, as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention jst bcos she’d never really experienced it. saw it as something aspirational, like sitting in the back of chad’s second-hand truck while he drove you to macdonalds and offered you and his five friends with identical haircuts weed was the height of being cool to greta, she wanted to be their dream girl, even if it meant compromising her beliefs

was always a really sporty bitch. it started with a junior athletics squad, which turned into athletics and cheer, which then became athletics, cheer and hockey until she basically was doing a different activity every night. she came to see her body as a tool that she could make work for her if she trained it up and this attitude’s always kind of stayed with her that as long as her body is strong she is capable of anything. runs every day.

bubbly bitch but also massive snake. metaphorically and literally, always shedding her skin. loyal to few, ruled by none, out for herself, babey!! every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result som ppl think she’s called rita, some ppl know her as margot, she just flicks through identities like nobodies business.

left school at 18 n went backpacking around the states making money in the casinos by being a shot girl (yeehaw) and trying to make it as a mysterious 1920s widow with a smoky voice, a dark secret n a heart of gold, looking for love in the big city. all she found was producers and acting agents who’d promise her stardom n actually just fuck her in a motel n then ignore her calls.

TW domestic violence, TW gun, her watershed moment came when she met luke in sioux falls while she was working at a strip club. he was a few years older and had a car, and they kind of went from seeing each other to being that super intense couple who are just necking all the time.

they got engaged like 3 months after they met n rented a flat together, much to her family’s annoyance but she was 19 so there wasn’t much they could do. their relationship was super super intense though, often really heightened and when they fought it could become quite violent, but she’d pass it off as just him being really passionate.

one of their fights got really heated and greta threatened him with the gun he kept in the glove box of his vauxhall corsa, but the safety was off and she accidentally shot him. she pleaded self defence in the trial n cos of the amount of times she’d been hospitalised for various concussions n things like ‘fallling down the stairs’ the police were like yea… pretty watertight evidence that he was a bastard who [chicago voice] had it coming…..

she’s now under witness protection, rehoused in livingstone as a sports-scholarship student, due to the amount of police involvement in the area, it would mean should one of luke’s family members try to track her down, she’d be relatively safe

massive sports fanatic. plays tennis. on the cheer team. was a track superstar in her high school. honestly just that sporty bitch, you’ll see her doing lines at a party at half four and then on your way to your 9am lecture you see her running across the park like a fresh fucking daisy who is this bitch. maybe it’s maybelline, maybe its coke.

massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune bc she misses her childhood in a south dakota boarding house and has endless support for women. honestly annoyed that she is attracted to men, would so be 100% gay if it was a choice. cuffs her jeans and can’t drive. is That bisexual. skateboards. wears backwards caps. i hate her

isn’t a foward-planner, however. greta prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manners so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

not afraid to go after what she wants !! ambitious academically and romantically thirsty !! she loves the adrenaline of the chase. when someone’s easy to get, she becomes bored. very bisexual and very proud of it. feminist as fuck nd part of a queer representation in the arts group which holds fortnightly meetings to discuss lgbt representation in film, literature, art etc.

old soul in a young person’s body. all the shit that has gone on has kind of aged her. she’s quite cynical about everything now. always smoking smoking smoking. very edie sedgwick in that way. little girls skirts bought for next-to-nothing at the market because she’s skinny enough to get away with it, barely long enough to cover your bum, and then the ugliest baggy sweater you’ve ever seen thrown over it.

likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramphone because “The Sound quality is Better” kfdsjj.

super into pop art and andy warhol. puts female friendships above everything but at the same time, would fuck her best friends man

her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk.

aesthetics:

a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, denim jackets, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, peeling sticky plasters, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, hot coffee, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, kissing girls, cigarette smoke shrouding you like a veil, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, leonine arch of your back and that stellar smile that says ‘you have no idea who you’re dealing with’, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your mom wouldn’t take you, kate moss posters lining the walls of a teenage bedroom, his name scrawled in rage across the pages of a diary, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

wanted plots

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sports rivalries ! sporting friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

since greta literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships

girls from the cheer team who she’s like, weirdly intimate with like the shower together but its not a Thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

and I want like, fellow criminology students who are like?? how is this bitch still passing?? i swear she goes out every night??

she works part time at a fast food restaurant, i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

ppl she did a few modules with ie. art history, bio-med, film studies, before changing course and somehow sort of remaining in touch with

ppl who she runs track with.

someone she’s trying to make a zine with.

here’s a list of plots on her old blog if u want any of them w her.

would love plots of any type, throw them all at me please, i cnt wait to interact w all of u. like this if u want me to message you about connections / plots! xo

full biography if u can be bothered

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your busom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out.

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and dare devils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month, before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wild fire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you making your name as a downtown singer while he footed the bill with pills. they had a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you lived like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to livingstone where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

#this is soooOoOOO fuckin long cos every time i play greta i add more shit to it..... her seventh form will just be an entire fuckin novel.#anyway call me beep me if u wanna reach me #aka pls msg me either here or on discord. my discord is linday lohan's meth8664 #wshedintro

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buffyshirley-blog · 5 years

Text

The Very Ugly Hat

a Tyrus Holiday one-shot

(Part 4)

Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here

Cyrus debated with himself all morning on whether to give TJ the hat or not. Every time he decided he would, a little voice popped into his head saying but what if he doesn't like it? What if he laughs at it? But then Cyrus remembered that TJ wouldn't do that. He'd never done anything intentionally bad to Cyrus. Cyrus trusted TJ. And if he trusted TJ, then he shouldn't be afraid to give him a well intended gift. And it was this thought that lead to Cyrus's final decision.

TJ was at lunch when Cyrus mustered up the courage to deliver his gift. Cyrus was much braver than most gave him credit for.

"I have something for you," said Cyrus, placing the package in front of TJ. TJ immediately put down his lunch. "I was going to make you another batch of those weird muffins you like, but, it just didn't seem like enough."

"Cyrus, you didn't have to give me anything," said TJ earnestly.

"But I wanted to," insisted Cyrus.

"Well, thank you," said TJ, smiling at Cyrus warmly, and still not touching the gift. He found the gift giver far more interest than the actual thing itself.

"Don't thank me yet," said Cyrus grimly. "Open it first. And do it quick, I need to get this over with."

TJ frowned at Cyrus in confusion but did as he was told and began to carefully open the gift. At the first rip of tape, internal panic set in. Cyrus began to ramble he was so nervous. "If you don't like it, I completely understand. It isn't great. Like it really isn't great. I don't know what I was thinking. I know you —"

While Cyrus ran his mouth, TJ continued to unwrap the gift. Cyrus fell silent when the last of the wrapping paper fell away to reveal a very ugly hat. Cyrus had been so sleepy when he'd wrapped the finished product he'd forgotten how truly awful it was, but now it all came rushing back to him. The bottom part was lumpy and full of mistakes. Toward the middle Cyrus had ran out of blue yarn and had to change to yellow. At the top Cyrus had finally gotten into the rhythm of knitting. So into it that he'd continued until the hat was much much to long and resembled a sock more than a hat. Cyrus was mortified. How could he have given his crush the ugliest hat on the planet?

For a second TJ stared at the hat in his hand, then he chuckled quietly. Cyrus completely misread the chuckle and had yet another internal crisis. TJ hated it. Cyrus knew it. He'd laughed at it just like Cyrus had feared he might.

"I knew you wouldn't like it, here I'll get rid of it." Cyrus grabbed at the hat, fully intending to throw it in the garbage can, but TJ quickly pulled it out of his grasp. He furrowed his eyebrows at Cyrus.

"Hey, why are you trying to take away my hat?" he demanded.

"You don't have to pretend to like it," said Cyrus, trying to reach around TJ and grab the hat. "Give it too me!"

"No," said TJ. "I like it."

"No, you don't."

TJ stood up, holding on tightly to the hat. Actually I do and I'm not going to let you take it from me. Besides, who gives someone a gift and then tries to take it back?"

Cyrus scrambled to his feet and attempted to jump up and snatch the hat, but TJ only held the hat up high out of his reach. By now, the two boys, one holding a hat aloft in the air and the other jumping up and down wildly trying to get it, were attracting quite a lot of stares from the surrounding students in the cafeteria.

"TJ, give me that hat right now," said Cyrus, becoming frustrated and slightly whiney.

"Underdog —" started TJ, still holding the hat aloft. Cyrus cut him off as he continued to blabber between jumps. "Please TJ, I just didn't know what else to give you, but I should've known better —"

"Underdog —"

" — my Dad got me started on therapeutic knitting a few years ago and I thought I might still be able to knit but clearly —"

"Cyrus!" At the usage of his given name, Cyrus stopped jumping up and down like a wild man, and looked up at TJ. "What?"

"Listen to what I'm saying," said TJ. "I like the hat." Cyrus was taken aback. TJ seemed earnest, but who could actually like a hat like that? "Y-you do?"

TJ nodded enthusiastically. "You bet I do! No one's ever made me a hat before . . . "

"But you laughed at it," said Cyrus in a small voice. He quickly added. "And I don't blame you! It's ridiculous!"

TJ shook his head at Cyrus in affectionate exasperation. "I was laughing because I liked it, not because I thought it was funny."

"Really?" said Cyrus. TJ nodded earnestly and after a seconds thought, Cyrus realized TJ would never lie to him.

"Well . . . You still don't have to wear it," said Cyrus. "In fact, please don't, they might ask where you got it!"

"Not wear this hat?" said TJ incredulously. "It's freakin' amazing! Of course I'm going to wear it!" TJ promptly pulled the hat over his blond hair and grinned at Cyrus. When it was on TJ, the hat suddenly didn't look so bad, at least to Cyrus. Cyrus stared a little too long and TJ prompted, "Well, how does it look?"

"You look great," said Cyrus thoughtlessly. He blushed and quickly amended his words. "It looks great."

The two boys grinned at each other goofily. The bell rang signaling the end of lunch, breaking into their staring contest.

"Walk with me to my next class?" asked TJ hopefully.

Cyrus gave an eager nod. As the two boys set off down the hall together, hands accidentally bumping at their sides, Cyrus felt a warmth spread through his chest and he couldn't help but cast a secret smile at TJ. Then he saw the hat and, since he could see less of TJ's face from a side angle, he was reminded of how truly ugly the hat was.

"TJ," started Cyrus. "Are you sure you want to wear it around school? Because I seriously don't mind if you don't."

TJ shook his head at Cyrus. "I'm sure," he laughed.

"Okay," said Cyrus. "I just wanted to make sure you're sure."

As they continued down the hallway, they were accosted by a couple of kids from TJ's basketball team, Jonathan and Kade.

Instinctively, Cyrus drew closer to TJ as the other two boys approached. There hands bumped into each other yet again and lingered beside each other.

"Hey, TJ," said Jonathan. "Me and Kade has a question about tryouts this year."

Kade grinned at TJ. "Nice hat." There was no denying the mocking tone in his voice. "Who made it for you, your grandma?"

Cyrus turned red but TJ didn't flinch. "Actually, Cyrus made it for me." TJ gestured at Cyrus. "And I think it's awesome." His tone clearly stated that Kade better not say another bad thing about the hat.

"Wait, Cyrus?" said Jonathan, his eyes flew to rest on Cyrus curiously.

"Cyrus?" Kade caught on and also stared at Cyrus. "You mean your b—" Jonathan elbowed Kade hard. "I, mean, uh, your friend, Cyrus?" asked Kade.

"Yep. My friend Cyrus," said TJ. "And nice seeing you guys, but we gotta go."

Jonathan and Kade weren't the brightest or most tactful of teenage boys and TJ was scared they might let something slip. He took Cyrus by the elbow and steered him away from his team mates. There was a certain thing TJ was planning on telling Cyrus someday, and while TJ didn't mind dropping hints himself, he didn't want Cyrus to find out from someone else, like Kade. It was something Cyrus should only hear from him.

"But I never got to ask you about tryouts!" Jonathan called after them.

"I'll talk to you about it later," said TJ, over his shoulder.

"Don't mind them," said TJ, once they were out of sight of the other boys. "Sorry if they made you uncomfortable."

"They were staring at me pretty oddly," admitted Cyrus.

"Yeah." For a second the idea of telling Cyrus crossed TJ's mind, but the idea, quite honestly, terrified him. Instead he said "Well, I guess I should probably get to class."

"Yeah, me too," said Cyrus. Both boys waited expectantly for the other boy to walk away, fully intended to watch them go. When Cyrus didn't, TJ took it upon himself to pull away and walk to class.

He hadn't gone two steps before Cyrus burst out, "TJ!" There were many things Cyrus could've said. It could've been a confession, or merely telling TJ to have a good class, or anything really, but TJ knew Cyrus well enough to know exactly what he was going to say. TJ stopped in his tracks and turned around to face Cyrus in exasperation. "Cyrus Goodman, if you tell me one more time that I don't have to wear the hat, I'm never bringing you a chocolate chocolate chip muffin ever again."

Thanks for reading! If you reblog, I appreciate I it so much!

Part 5 here

#tyrus #andi mack #cyrusgoodman #tyrusandimack #tjkippen #tj kippen #muffy #andimackseason3 #buffydriscoll #andimackfanfic #andimackships #tyrusfanfic #tyrusone-shot

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