peri ✮

Will NOT write: any AI bots, heavy kink topics, large age gaps, anything between family members, step-mom/dad/sis/bro stuff. Just nothing gross. Be respectful.

Marvel:

Bob Reynolds:

- Yearning Differently 🩷

John F. Walker:

- Stadium Lights

Peter Maximoff [Fox]:

- Headcanons

- Fawning 🪾

- Affinity Points 🕹️

- The Doghouse 🛋️

- New Kicks? ✮

- Too Late For Love

Pietro Maximoff [MCU]:

- Good Morning, my Love

DC:

Adrian Chase:

- Evergreen State College 🌱

American Horror Story:

Jimmy Darling:

- Headcanons

Blue Lock:

Meguru Bachira:

- Puppies and Bumblebees

Miscellaneous:

Cooper Day:

- Finding You In Your Work

Russell Hayes:

- Boo-Boos

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Custer's Grove High didn't have the best budgeting in the world, to no one's surprise. Georgia was nothing but fields, peaches, and Coca-Cola - at least to you. Boring, basic, bland, and some other related synonyms. If the town was a color, it would be the slightly yellowish tone of a musty old doctor's office with medically incorrect diet magazines laying on the waiting room chairs. There wasn't much excitement, other than the occasional prom and minor drug scandal. It wasn't shocking to anyone to know that most of the schools extra funding went to none other than the football team. Go Bears!

Yeah, right. The Bears. You, like many others were not too fond of the football team. Any other sports team only got new equipment every few years, the drama club got just enough funding for waters and chips, the art club had to fundraise just for new paintbrushes. The school newspaper club still used a crappy old camera from 1980-something. And then there was the biology club. Your biology club. You received almost nothing in funding. The school had the same unstable greenhouse from when your parents were in high school. You were lucky enough to scrap together enough from plant sales and fundraising to afford decent equipment, but that was hard on your own. There were other members, yes, but they were the kind of people who just joined to have another experience to list on their college apps. You ran everything solo, and you didn't mind it. It meant you didn't have a treasurer to answer to when you spent a bit of the budget on a candy bar to reward your hard work.

What you did mind, though, was football season. The greenhouse was only a few feet away from the bleachers of the school's football field - stuck right in the middle of the parking lot where the football boys parked their exhaust-spewing trucks. You hated it, it was awkward. On top of that, the serene nature of your plants and small fish aquarium was shattered as you heard the loud banging of rock and country music, laughing, yelling, and tackling. It was awful. No amount of decent music could cover it up. How big were their speakers? How did the school even afford them??

But, they didn't mess with you too much. Maybe a weird look and a small scoff, but nothing too bad. They never went out of their way to bother you or destroy anything. It could be a lot worse.

And then it got worse.

Johnathan Walker was normally nothing but an annoyance. Blonde, blue eyes, football captain, decently smart, headed for the military - the all American dream. (More like a nightmare.) Girls crushed on him, guys wanted to be friends with him, coaches and teachers went easy on him, and he seemed to soak up the attention. The great, star-spangled boy. He wasn't much too bad, really. Every now and then he would make a comment that would make you scoff, but nothing too bad. You've heard, much, much worse from white guys in Georgia.

Tuesday.

Getting all hyped up with the other players was his problem, and John knew it. Bon Jovi blasted through the stadium speakers, and the cheers of his teammates had him feeling like the good Lord was shining down on him and him alone. The ending scoreboard read 43-17. The game MVP, as always, was Walker. A shock to no one, of course. Football was his life.

By now, the audience had left and all that was left was the team on cleanup duty. One of the worst parts of playing, or so you've overheard.

"Walker, my man! You killed it out there! You're superhuman, I swear!" Lemar laughed, slapping the blonde on the back. Walker laughed with him, the two cheering over the sound of Wanted Dead Or Alive. The blonde's head is buzzing. This is the life. Friends, a game where he wiped the damn floor with the other team, his face sticky from Gatorade, and the numbers of a few cute girls from the other school written on his arm - half blurred out from sweat and the aforementioned Gatorade. Him and Lemar are just there, leaning against the fence that separated the track and the field and it's getting dark, so the stadium's lights are the only illumination nearby.

One of the other boys in the team yelled from the other side of the stadium - the side closest to the parking lot where your greenhouse was. "Hey, man, toss me that ball! Some of us got people to get home to!"

Walker looked down, noticing the ball still in his hand. He laughed, taking position and tossing the thing far.

Too far.

Much too far.

Oh shit!

His teammate is tall, yeah, but the ball barely grazes his hands. It's too far up, too fast. And like all good things, it comes crashing down. It crashes down right into glass, right into your beloved project, and right into John's conscience. Oh shit. He just broke school property. And possibly hit a chick with a football.

Strike one. He's so fucked.

Wednesday.

And fucked, he was! He's sitting here in the principal's office at 7:50am sharp. The incident from the night before is being passionately explained by you to the principal who you just know isn't going to do much. It's Walker. No one does anything.

"Mr. Brown, you don't understand! The biology club can't afford these repairs. The spring plant sale isn't for two weeks, and we're practically bankrupt! We can't afford to fix the window or the aquaponics setup, and it's the structure of our sale. You need to make him pay us back!"

You explain, pointing enthusiastically at John as he rolls his eyes.

"Principal Brown, I don't think she understands that it's unfair to bill my family for what was simply a mistake! Maybe if someone would have alerted us not to be around there, the accident - and it WAS an accident - wouldn't have happened!"

You scoff, spinning around to face him. "Bull-crap! Even if it was an accident, you should have been smart enough to not hurl a ball at a glass building! Especially while someone is present! You could have hurt way more than just the fish!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, we hurt your fishies? Grow up! It's just some fish and a window! Put a tarp over it!" John groans.

"A tarp? Do you not understand how a greenhouse works?!"

Principal Brown sighs, standing up.

"Kids, kids, calm down. We know it was an accident, Walker, you're not in trouble."

You turn back. "But-"

"But. That was school property. It cost us money. I'm sorry to say this, Johnathan, but you're going to be on athletic probation for two weeks. And I'd like you to assist with the affairs in the greenhouse. You've taken a carpentry class, you should be able to help."

A mutual look of disgust is shared between you and Walker.

"Sir, we have a game in that period! That's not fair!"

"And knowing him, he'll screw up our sale on purpose! He couldn't tell a thanksgiving cactus from a boston fern!"

"It's set in stone. I'm sorry, Walker, but you and your team's roughhousing has to be punished in some way. Now get to class, you two. Your first block is about to start and we do not tolerate lateness."

Oh, for God's sake.

School had ended a solid two hours ago, and you still hadn't seen Walker. You weren't complaining, no, but you were told to log the amount of time he spent there with you. For disciplinary records, according to the principal. You had already watered everything, and you were on to feeding and checking on the Yellow Perch of your aquaponics system. You'd been lucky enough to be able to get and set up a tank in just 2 days, so the fish were only a tad shaken up from being bucket-bound during that time. You start to grab your pruners to start working on one of your prized ferns, but you turn around at the sound of the door opening. It's Walker. He's in a pair of athletic shorts and a gray tank top that's very, very sweaty. You scoff.

"I thought you were on athletic probation?"

The blonde laughs, taking in the greenhouse. "I am. Doesn't stop me from still working out. Gotta stay in shape."

You roll your eyes, scribbling down the time on the disciplinary sheet. "Just...don't touch anything. I don't care what you do, just sit there. Don't touch anything."

"So I'm supposed to sit here? Until you leave? When do you leave?"

"Seven."

"Seven?? How am I supposed to survive in this stuffy place for two more hours?!"

"You'll live, Johnathan."

You turn back to your fern, taking a seat on a stool and starting to snip carefully at the dead ends and stalks of the fern. You two sit in silence for a minute before you hear the sound of a finger tapping glass.

"What kind of fish are these?" Walker asks, glancing back at you before returning to the fish. "I haven't seen them in the lake when I fish."

With a gesture that screams 'leave them alone', you turn to the blonde. "They're Yellow Perch. They were gifted to the school from a wildlife refuge."

"So they're endangered?"

"No, dipshit! They're just hard to find. And they're a gift, so leave them alone. You already tried to kill them once."

Walker scoffed and crossed his arms, leaning against one of the plant tables in the same manner he leaned against the fence that night. "That was an accident, fish girl. And if I was trying to kill them, I would have cooked them. Are they edible?"

"I'm pretty sure most fish are edible." You scoff back, mimicking his movements.

"I'd grill them, then! I wouldn't just let them dry out in the ground. I'm assuming all these plants probably season them too."

What the fuck? You just stare at him, dumbfounded.

"How the fuck would that work? The plants are above them, idiot."

"Well then maybe the plants taste like fish!"

"I assure you they do not, Walker. I assure you."

"Whether, fish girl. Just give me something to do." He leans against a table.

"You can...not call me fish girl."

"That's not a real thing!" He groans, kicking an empty bucket.

"Oh my lord, just stack pots or something! Do you know how to organize?"

"God, thank you. Was it that hard?" He mocks.

You both roll your eyes, returning to your tasks. You slip on the headphones on your walkman, slipping a cassette in and getting back to your fern. You get through one, silent, blissful song before-

"You still use cassettes? Who still uses cassettes?"

Lord, can this guy shut up? He's always talking. Talking to himself during games, girls during class changes, his friends during classes. With how much he talks, you guess he has some type of condition physically keeping him from silence. That's a joke. Mostly.

"A ton of people still use cassettes."

Walker waltzes over, plucking the Sony Walkman from your waistband. "No they don't! Everyone uses CDs now. What are you even listening to? Something good? Bon Jovi?"

God, not Bon Jovi. The same band you heard every time there was practice. Lord, he was obsessed.

"Johnathan!" You gasp, pulling it out of his grasp. He immediately pulled it back, popping it open and looking at the cassette.

"A Day At The Races? Didn't take you for a sap." He laughs, flipping the cassette around and carelessly pushing it back into your walkman. You attempt to pull it out of his grasp again, inciting an odd game of tug of war that ended with your walkman crashing into the rocky ground beneath you two and cracking. You promptly tore into him, pushing him back until he stumbled out of the greenhouse.

Strike two. He's somehow even more fucked!

Thursday.

The next morning starts the same as last. You two in the principal's office, you yelling about the previous night's events at 7:50am sharp.

"He did nothing but cause problems! And he broke my Walkman! And showed up two hours late!"

"Ma'am, calm down-"

"No, I'm not calming down! I want him out of the greenhouse and I want him to replace my Walkman!"

Walker stands up. "Oh my God, you can find a walkman in like any thrift store. It's not a big deal! Tell her to stop being sensitive!"

"Mr. Walker! Calm down as well! You both are being extremely childish. You're both seniors, we expect you to act like it!"

After even more bickering, not in the slightest bit politely, you get one of your wishes. John has to replace your Walkman. But, he's still stuck as your apprentice until next Wednesday. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Walker's hands fiddle with the lock on his locker. "I don't understand, Lemar. She's such a bitch. Crying about a fucking Walkman. Who the hell cares? It's not even one of the good ones, it's one of the shitty cassette ones. Who the fuck uses cassettes?"

Lemar sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Not everyone has money, man. You better replace that thing or she's gonna hate you."

"I don't care if she hates me. She's screwing up the team by throwing fits and getting me on athletic probation!" Walker's books land unceremoniously in his locker.

"Dude, you broke her window."

"On accident!"

"Still! She probably already hates you. Now she like...triple hates you."

"Why does she matter to you? I never even knew who she was before this shit. I wish it stayed that way."

"You're the one thinking about her too much. Think about it, man." Lemar teases, closing his locker and leaving the blonde there to ponder.

He...was thinking about you a lot. Too much.

That afternoon, he came a lot earlier - AKA basically on time. Almost minutes after you get there, he's there. The blonde fixes his hair, pulling a new walkman out of his bag. "I know it's not the silver one you had, but this is my old one. It's in pretty good condition, I never really used it."

You grab it, pulling a cassette from your bag and slipping it in. The headphones work, and your cassette comes out fine. You slip all three into your bag.

"Thanks, I guess."

An awkward silence stretches out. Walker's hands are in his pockets and yours are on the straps of your bag.

"So, uh, anything I can do, I guess? Still staying til' seven?" He asks.

"You can organize those pots again. Or I can show you how to feed the fish." You mutter, grabbing the jar of fish feed. Walker nods.

"Right, yeah, fish. I'll..watch you do that."

Measured amounts of pellets find themselves floating in the tank waters. John's reflection behind you can be seen in the tank's glass. He watches, listening to the amounts you tell him should be used. He starts zoning out when you start explaining the nutritional information of the feed. Your voice is soothing when you're not yelling at him.

He's being oddly nice to you. Too nice, at least for Walker. He knows it's only because his father laid into him about treating and speaking to a woman in that way - but part of him thinks it might be what Lemar said. "You're the one thinking about her too much." During your time in the greenhouse today, Walker was oddly productive. He learned to feed the fish and use the sprinkler system. He organized the mountain of plastic pots you were too afraid of lurking spiders to touch and brought the trash to the dumpster to you. You two didn't talk much, just the occasional question about your taste in music and things around the greenhouse. You're not too open to speaking to Walker, you still don't trust him. But he's being compliant, which is nice. You actually end the night not arguing, just awkwardly waving bye as you went to walk home and he walked to his truck.

Friday.

It's nice to have a morning that doesn't start in the principal's office. You're actually able to go to your first block without being late. A first for this week. Despite this, the day is exhausting. Everything drags on, it's pouring rain, and even your favorite courses seem to be slow. You try to sleep during lunch, but nope. Guess what group of guys are being rowdy? Ding-ding, it's the football boys. Who could have guessed?

You're much too tired to stay after school, so you decide to only water the plants and feed the fish today. Plus, you had to meet with the newspaper club girls later to do a story on your greenhouse. The school has been getting onto them lately for basically just publishing pages and pages of gossip. Everything else can wait, your sleep can't. Your sleep schedule has been horrible. Your dreams are plagued by those damned blue eyes and that subtle stubble that makes you want to smother him in affection. Why him? Why Walker? He was the same guy who you'd kick in the teeth if given the pass to. What changed?

Walker finds himself standing outside of the greenhouse. You have the only key, so he's stuck in the pouring rain until you show up. You almost giggle at the sight, really. He looks so sad, soaking wet and cold. He looks like a golden retriever that snuck out during a downpour. April showers were no joke. You twirl the key around your finger before opening the door, stepping into the much dryer and warmer greenhouse. John follows suit. You immediately begin to fall back into your rhythm of work.

"Do you have anything for me to do?" John asks.

"Not really. I'm just going to water everything and feed the fish and then I'm going home."

"Oh."

You turn back to look at him. This six-foot-something guy who was very obviously a football player looked like a kicked puppy dog.

"Why are you being so nice? You're usually a prick, no offense."

He's silent for a moment, blue eyed just looking at you. They're slightly bewildered, the rest is something you aren't sure of.

"I didn't...know your family had money issues. I just thought you were mad at me about breaking your Walkman on the principle of it. I didn't know you couldn't afford one."

You pause, setting your watering can down.

"My family isn't poor, John." You defend weakly.

"I wasn't saying they were! I just know you aren't well off. Most kids our age who are usually have cars by now."

"Not everyone has your family's money, Walker! Most folks 'round here can't afford a nice new truck and expensive football equipment!"

John cringes. He's very, very aware he needs to check his privilege.

"I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't consider it was a hassle for you to replace it."

"200$ is a lot of money."

"Gosh, I know that, woman. Listen, my family is well off, I know that. I'm an asshole for not considering the money aspect of everything, but I have my own problems."

There's another pause. This one somehow more awkward than that last, mostly because of the way your shoulders tighten.

"Problems? What kind of problems do you have, John?" You raise your voice.

He raises his in return. "My life isn't perfect, woman! I have problems just like you!"

You scoff. "You're an athletic, rich, white, straight, Christian, blonde-haired and blue-eyed football player in fucking Georgia! What problems could you possibly have?!"

John doesn't back down at your yelling. He's been yelled at before, he can handle it. It's nowhere near as terrifying as when his father screams at him.

"Well thanks to you I'm on athletic probation!"

You take a minute to just stare. There were people in the world dying, and his biggest problem was athletic probation??

"You have got to be kidding me."

"What's so funny about that? Not all of us dedicate all our time to being a loser and studying. An athletic scholarship to a military college is the only thing I want, and thanks to you pitching a fit over a damn window, I might not get it!"

"Oh, cry me a river! You'll live! And it's not like your family won't pay for your entire future!"

"Bet you wouldn't know what that's like!"

He regrets the words as they come out.

You're stunned into silence.

Without thinking, you grab the closest thing you can hit him with. And with thinking, you realize that the object you grabbed is the water hose. You quickly flick it from mist to jet, pointing it right at his face and pressing down on the trigger.

"What the hell?!" He yelps, holding his hands out and trying to keep the blast away. You don't stop.

You come to regret that.

John comes at you, tackling you down to grab the thing. At times, he forgets he shouldn't football tackle a woman. You gasp, the hose falling from your hand as you look up at him. His right hand is holding both of your wrists, and his other hand goes for the hose. His fingers luckily - for you - flick it to a lower setting and he blasts it back into your face.

"See how you like it!"

You squirm, eventually being able to toss it across the greenhouse. You both pant, soaking wet and pissed off.

But, damn, he looks good this close. His eyebrows are furrowed, his hair is stuck to his face, and cologne can be softly smelt. He's thinking something similar. Your shirt is wet, clinging to your body, and you seem equally as mad. Your jaw is tight and your teeth are gritting.

And his hands slowly find their way to the sides of your face. You two stay in a standstill, just observing the annoyance and the contradiction on each other's faces.

And then he slams his lips on to yours, and you don't protest. You would deny it if anyone asks, but you do reciprocate. Your hands cover his and they lace together gently.

And you're both so lost in each other, to the point you don't hear a soft gasp and pattering footprints.

Or the sound of the school newspaper club's camera.

Click.

𓃓 ⭐•°🏈 𐚁 🇺🇸 ✮⋆˙

This was sooo long but soooo much fun and I very much need to make a part two 😭 yippee I lob John Walker anyways here's a song for this fic 👇👇

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Your father's unnerving voice rings out from one of the many, many giant screens in the Blue Lock building. "Soccer is in your blood, you rascal. I can assure you that you'll enjoy this if you're not a brat about it. Blue Lock is my life's work, aside from you, of course."

Much to your father's annoyance and the world's shock - you had no care for soccer. Ego did his best to push when you were young. Soccer camps, junior games, training regimes and endless viewings of professional games. But you fought him and he got bored enough - plus, he'd do better training boys anyways. He feels less morally questionable working them to death. And as much as he tries to hide it, he does love you to death. You're his one and only kid - and yeah, your mom is a random chick he hooked up with, but that doesn't matter.

When you mentioned needing experience in a working environment for college applicants at dinner one night, Ego jumped at the chance to have a new employee that he didn't have to pay. You fought that for a bit, too, but you found that no other volunteering position would take you. He totally had nothing to do with that.

"And what if I don't wanna do this? You know I don't care about soccer." You scoff, pulling Rivers - your golden doodle puppy - closer to you. "And I brought the dog, by the way."

"You will learn to-" Ego pauses, for once. "YOU BROUGHT THE MUTT?"

"He's not a mutt! He's a purebred golden doodle!"

"There's nothing pure about that demon! Your mother only bought it for you because she wanted to punish me!"

You gasp. "Take that back! Rivers is a blessing!"

Ego groans. "If he shits on my field, he's staying at your mother's house permanently. Now go assist Teieri, you're on the clock."

You groan in response, but listen anyways.

"You don't know how much of a blessing it is to have you here, I've been trying to get an assistant for a while now but we don't have much room in the budget. Have you ever worked in an assistant position before?" Teieri asks, handing you a clipboard and a comedically large packet.

"No, but it can't be too hard. What do you want me to do?"

Teieri seems slightly disheartened, but it's nothing too serious. Inexperienced help is better than no help.

"How about you go see if the training area is all set up and ready for the players. Section Z, specifically. That's the only one I haven't checked yet."

You nod.

"It may take you a while to find the place, but you'll figure things out soon enough!" She smiles. You nod again before heading off, Rivers following in tow. His curly tail wags from side to side.

The training area is ...very much not set up. Luckily there's not much to do, so you set the place up by following the instructions from the packet that Teieri printed off for you earlier.

All things seem to go to plan - and surprisingly, this place is peaceful. The artificial grass has its own unique, pleasant smell and the brutal rain from outside can be heard patterning against the walls of the enormous building. You're the only one on the field, as seemingly the players are still eating breakfast. You take a second to appreciate this place. Maybe it's like your father said, maybe you will come around to-

"Rivers?! Where are you going?!" You yelp, racing after the golden doodle who suddenly darted off the pseudo field and into one of the connecting corridors. The sound of paws and footsteps hitting the ground reverberate through the halls of section Z, and eventually you chase Rivers all the way to the cafeteria. Fitting.

You hear a voice. It's slightly unsettling, but not in the way your father's is. This new voice is sweet but unsettling, like misty fog in the morning. It's actually pleasing to listen to, in a way.

"Well hello there, buddy! I don't think you want my leek, it's not too yummy. You could steal some chicken from Raichi." The voice cooes. Another voice protests, you guessed it belongs to "Raichi".

As you turn the corner, a pair of bright yellow eyes look up at you through unfairly long lashes. The eyes belong to this boy who seems to be your age. He's wearing a blue Blue Lock jersey. He has dark brown hair with some yellow peaking under. You sigh in relief, and the boy's breath hitches.

It might be the lack of seeing girls for weeks now, but wow, he's shell-shocked. A pink twinge appears in the player's cheeks as he stands up, wiping his hands on his shorts.

"You must be this pup's mama, huh? What're you doing in Blue Lock?" He asks, tilting his head in a similar manner to Rivers. You awkwardly laugh.

"Yeah, he's my pup. Sorry, he must have smelled food."

Bachira giggles. "Can't say there's too much good food here, but I'm sure he'll scarf down anything. I'm the same way! Me and him could be twins."

You awkwardly pick the dog up, finding Bachira's eyes still on you. Does...does he know he's kinda unsettling?

He hums curiously. "You didn't answer my other question. Watcha doin' in Blue Lock?"

Your shoulders drop. "Ah. I'm Ego's daughter. I'm basically gonna be his assistant's assistant basically."

A silence spreads through the whole cafeteria. Some guy(?) with long red hair speaks up before the others can pick their jaws up off the floor.

"Ego has a daughter? I didn't think he was legally allowed to reproduce."

You smile.

"Yeah, big shocker, I know."

Bachira grins. "So you must be good at soccer! What position do you play?!"

You grimace. "I'm not really a soccer person. No offense, of course, it's just not my thing. My dad wants it to be."

Bachira sighs.

"Aww, I wanted to play with you. That's like the closest I could get to playing Ego himself."

Rivers barks.

"I'm not that much like him, I swear. Do...do I act like him?" You question, suddenly feeling self conscious. No offense to your father, but when someone points out any resemblance, it's not exactly a compliment.

"I wouldn't have even guessed you and Ego were related if you didn't tell me. You're much nicer than Ego."

You laugh - more out of requirement than interest. This guy is cute, but you didn't expect to meet any players today. And you're not dressed up or anything. "Seems like I'll see you guys around. I hope practice goes well."

You bolt because...awkward.

"Oh! Well come by and see me- us play-!" He blurts, watching you and the doodle disappear.

Time passes as Bachira just stands there, watching you go. Oh. Oh wow.

Isagi notices, looking up from his natto.

"You okay, Bachira?

"Uh...yuh-huh."

Internally, the monster is intrigued. Someone new to play with. Someone cute.

Externally, Bachira looks like a mess. His cheeks are as red as Chigiri's hair and his eyes are wide as can be. Is this what crushes are like? Girls never talked to him in school, so he's never had a crush on one. Why is his heart fluttering and his head spinning?! Is he allergic to you?!

Before Bachira can sputter out anything else embarrassing, Ego's face illuminates the large TV screen of the cafeteria.

"Team Z please make your way to the training area for warmups."

His tone darkens.

"And if I find out any of you are even double glancing at my precious daughter, you're locked off permanently."

Oh boy.

🐝˚💨༘⚽ೀ⋆⭐｡˚.

WAHHH IK THIS IS SHORT BUT I NEEDED TO WRITE SOME BACHIRA BC I WANT TO BRANCH OUT A LITTLE GAHHHH here's a song for this fic 👇 also I just started Haikyuu!! It's soo good!!!

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"You are a lucky, lucky man, Russell."

Russell grins, a bit dopey from the very minor concussion he just contracted. His hands toy with one of the plushies on your bed, tossing it lightly.

"M' always lucky with you, babes."

Russell Hayes was, in fact, a very, very lucky man. After the wild night at the end of 8th grade, he grew into those sweet features he used to have, and he grew out of the lisp he used to get made fun of for. He barely gets called SpongeBob now! He's still the same reckless, skirt-chasing dork as he's always been, but less...middle schooler. Part of that growth can be attributed to you.

You transferred to Hanover High School [I forgot the name of the school] in your freshman year and promptly fell straight into Russell. Literally. After tripping on his skateboard that he carelessly left on the ground. After a few months of friendship and calling, you took a chance on the dork and you two began dating. It was singlehandedly the best choice either of you have made. You keep him grounded, he keeps life fun. He's your lashing LED lights in a sea of college prep and HOSA competitions. Preparing to go to nursing school was no joke.

Dating Russell was like having a best friend, a golden retriever, a boyfriend, a fanboy, and a reckless hamster all in one. He loved fiercely, with compliments and gushing around every corner. He's got stickers on his skateboard of things you like and your Health Science note cards scattered across his bedroom - his bedroom that definitely improved when you started coming home with him after school. You're a driving force in each other's lives. He's always there to cheer you on when you place in State HOSA competitions, and he's always there to hold you while you cry over friend drama. He's a total scamp, and a complete dork - but he loves you with his whole existence, and he never plans on stopping. And you love him in return, motivating him to do more with his life than just skateboarding and listening to music on his Ipod. He actually snagged a job as a cashier at the mall's skate shop because you went over interview questions and helped him with his resume. He's a ball of energy, you're a steady helping hand. And even when he messes up, you know he loved you - and that always brings the two of you back to one-another.

At his sappy words, you scoff. "I'm serious, Rus! You could have split your head open! What were you thinking?!"

Russell giggles at first, but he stops when he sees you pull out a bottle of rubbing alcohol from under your vanity.

"Oh c'mon, sweet cheeks! That stuff stings!" He whines.

"Maybe you shouldn't try and do stupid tricks on the guardrails of the stairs! We have dinner with my family in like 10 minutes, I don't need you looking like you just lost a fight to a concrete slab." You gently wipe his knees with the rubbing alcohol before pulling out a roll of gauze. "You're lucky my parents like you."

He hisses through the pain, but grins in that classic Russell fashion.

"I'm lucky with a lot of things, babe. I'm lucky that a total hottie like you is here to patch me up like my own personal nurse." The brunette winks. He's always been one to butter you up, but you both know that he actually means it. He's obsessed with you. A man of his word.

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

He laces his fingers into the belt loops of your jeans, pulling you closer. He was a fan of all the love languages, but physical touch was his favorite.

"If it wasn't the flattery, then what made you so interested in me? My charming wits or my rad dance moves?" He teases. "Or maybe my 'totes adorbs' fashion style?"

You roll your eyes, pushing off of him lightly to focus back on his scraped knees.

"Are you ever gonna drop the...totes adorbs thing? I said that one time."

"Chillax, babe. I'm just teasin' ya a little. It was cute."

His knees get adequately patched, and you put away your supplies. They'll probably be brought out again in a matter of days. You toss him your hairbrush.

"Whatevs. Brush your hair out, my parents should be calling us down any minute now and I don't want you looking a mess."

He brings the brush up to his nose, sniffing.

"Smells like shampoo and...girl smells."

You roll your eyes. "You're so gross."

He grins, standing up. His hands chasing your hips. They give them a small squeeze.

"Only for you, Shakira."

"Honey! You and Russell better come down and get your dinner before it gets cold! We're having barbecue chicken and rolls!" Your mother calls, her voice ringing out throughout the house.

Russell sighs, rubbing his head against your shoulder. His curls tickle your throat.

"Cuddle time is busted, yet again. Ready to kick it?"

You sigh, placing a kiss on his cheek which you had patched up earlier. A pink band-aid now covered the mark.

"Yeah."

He notices your expression: worried. Not a rare sight. His grin slips.

"Hey, what's the problem? You okay?"

You sigh. "I just don't want you hurt. You're so reckless, and I love you so, so much."

He smiles, lips pressing to the crown of your head.

"I love you more. Thanks for always putting up with me. You're a saint. I'll pay you back somehow. You want me to pick you up some new CDs?"

"Mmm, yeah."

🛹๋࣭ ⭑꩜°📸.⚡︎✮🧽•`

Sadly a very short one, but there wasn't much to go on 😔 plus I'm mad unmotivated right now because I have my Spanish 102 final project due in a week GAHHH anyways I have SIXTEEN drafts rn SOMEONE MAKE ME WORK PLEASEEEEE GAH also Sleepover was sooo cute and here's a song I was thinking of for this little tiny fic 👇 GAH I LOVE WEEZER

-------------‧₊˚🍋‍🟩✩ ₊˚🌿⊹♡--------------

Fighting was never really your strong suit.

Neither was it Peter's.

Your mutant abilities harmed you, not to an extreme level but something similar to Logan's. The subtle pain was a reminder of your difference, or your strangeness. You didn't enjoy the fight, it stressed you. You were already on stress medication from just being a mutant, add on fighting world-level threats? Not your favorite, but you fought anyways. For mutant kind, you were told. For your people.

Peter's abilities ran within him like blood. His speed wrapped around his soul like a coil, something tethering him to himself. He wouldn't be Peter without his speed. The only side effect was his constant boredom and the need to buy better shoes. Peter didn't dislike the fight because it harmed him, Peter disliked the fight because it was the fight. It was something, something so complex and relentless that it weighed on his mind during bad hours of the night. But he fought, partly out of boredom and partly out of justice. He was a mutant, but he didn't just fight for mutants. He fought for everyone just because no one deserved to be harmed.

Loving was never your strong suit either.

Neither was it Peter's.

You'd never expected to fall for someone so...him. You were silent, still as a bug on a rock or a tree planted in the ground. You were the tree in comparison to Peter's light. He was energy incarnate, a mess of frizzy silver strands and rock vinyls. Your branches slowly and painfully reached out to merely bathe in as much of him as you could. His soul was agate, yours was granite. He was a window during golden hour, you were sandpaper in someone's desolate garage. Two things that weren't exactly opposites, but weren't alike. Just odd.

He'd share his headphones, proclaiming that you just had to listen to one of his favorite songs - one so faintly a confession that it dragged on your hopeless crush for another few months. He just liked the bass, you found yourself watching old interviews of the artist - hoping to understand what each syllable could tell you about Peter's feelings towards you.

You weren't too hard to love, but you were so different from him. You'd sink right into him and drown and he wouldn't even notice the ripple, too caught up in chasing the sun. Speedy and stagnant, a mix that wouldn't work on paper.

It was pathetic.

You were pathetic.

This parasocial yearning you felt for Peter was tainted with pure misery. It came in waves, bursts of emotional need so strong you doubled over in pain some nights. There were weeks, months at some periods where you could get over him. Consider his flaws, consider the downsides. But no matter how long you stayed with someone else or you fell for movie stars, you always reverted back into loving Peter. You were weak, like a dog always going back to a neglectful owner in the hope that something would change.

In the beginning, loving Peter is soft and sweet. But after a certain amount of months, it's a rollercoaster that jerks you around as if it's trying to get you to throw up. It manifests in the tighter outfits you would wear to functions he attended, the odd and sudden interest in the bands he liked, the way your breath shuddered when his hands brushed your skin, etc.

The jerky, relentless torment of loving Peter was one of your breaking points.

The X-men were a group that was supposed to stand together. But even within the tightest of groups, people have their people. And no matter how much you changed, how much you silenced yourself, and how much you tried to stay convenient for everyone - you never felt as important as the others. Never included, never admired, never wanted like the others. Scott had Jean, Raven had Hank, Kurt and Peter and Ororo were a group within themselves, and Logan was a loner by choice. And you were always there, always taking up too much space, taking up too much time.

Around the time you accepted defeat in your infatuation with Peter was also the same time that you accepted defeat with everybody else. You had been falling at Peter's feet for almost 3 years by then. If they didn't want you, if he didn't want you, then they didn't need you - they couldn't have you. More power to you, if they wanted to waste time with pointless mingling, then you could continue to work on your powers instead.

Your hands used to crack and bleed from dryness from all the torn up dirt your hands would grace, your powers reaching down and dancing within long forgotten roots to form towering trees and barbed vines. Your brain would rattle with spilting headaches from the amount of stress on your body, and you'd passed out over and over again. It was a large stretch from the flowers and bushes you were making when you first joined Xavier's. Beauty is pain, but so is power.

And slowly, as it always will, isolation turned to resentment. A snide comment would commonly slip from your lips when around the others, conveniently never towards Peter unless it was a particularly grueling day. Jobs were cut down to just jobs, hang out were unheard of, and on the occasion one of the members would text you, you wouldn't eagerly respond like before. It was always you texting first before, you who would initiate, but never again. Hatred began to fill in your body and seep out like a new layer of skin, a defense mechanism but also a clouding factor when it came to feeling.

William Stryker had entered your life on one of those aforementioned grueling days. Everyone else was laughing, excited for a hangout that you had told them you were too busy to attend - a lie, but they didn't push, they never did. There was a minor villain attack, nothing too big. But the notion in general, leaving your life to accompany a team that didn't care much for you. You were barely scraped up.

A training session followed as usual. You had chosen a small area in the woods, working on copying a poisonous plant from some book that Xavier gave you. It was then you were scouted by William, after a brief duel between you two. Xavier had once told you that you thought with your fists when you were angry - and he wasn't wrong.

Stryker offered you things that the others didn't. A community of others, others who would include you. You began to find a place - a place you could take your anger out. Your powers were so well suited for his mission, and you and Pyro worked in tangent. A terrible two, poisons and flames.

Your absence was immediately panicked over by the X-Men. Your assessment of their dislike for you was greatly exaggerated. You had always been insecure about your position, which led to your distance - and they didn't push you much. It had gotten to the point that they weren't shocked to not hear from you for a few days at the beginning, but after you wouldn't answer even Peter's calls, they knew something was wrong.

It took 14 months for them to actually find you. You always had this strong sense of justice, this belief that all people deserve a life without harm. Working alongside Stryker was a laughably hypocritical act. They didn't want to believe it was you in the news footage.

But it was, and they knew it. No one else had those powers, that fury and those eyes.

At first, it was rationalized. You had to have been kidnapped or brainwashed or something - you wouldn't go willingly. But something in Hank told him you went by choice. He saw the way you behaved weeks before you went "missing". And that notion slowly spread to all the others like a plague in winter - ending with Peter finally accepting it too.

The X-Men planned an attack on one of Stryker's bases, one they believed he would be at. And they were, as expected, correct. Pyro, Lady Deathstrike, Jason Stryker, and some of the other group members were able to handle the majority of the group.

And that left you and Peter. Oh, your sweet, sweet Peter.

You'd lie and say you haven't thought of him, but that would be exactly that - a lie. Those sweet brown eyes and blonde tufts of hair weren't something you could forget easily.

There had been this brief, accidental moment of hesitation from you both when you saw each other again. A quiet whisper had fallen from his mouth.

"Oh, Sprout, what happened to you...?"

Sprout. You hated the name now. It wasn't your hero name, it was a nickname Peter had reserved for himself and himself only. It had occasionally been accompanied with sweet decorum - "my favorite spout", or simply "my spout" - both of which used to send your heart flying.

Hands against hands, legs kicking and bashing and running. From both parties, unsurprisingly. Your hands had grasped his hair, his shoe had sent you flying, your plants grappled his frame and his speed kept your head turning so hard it might have snapped if not for the adrenaline. Your teeth dug into his hand during an attempt to restrain you. All he needed was you to calm down, fuck, just calm down and come home with him and the others. He could bring you back to normal, he knew he could. You had stayed alongside him for so long. A part of you still stayed seated next to Peter like a loyal dog - as much as you'd like to disagree. He could absentmindedly push you down a cliff and you'd wear your hands down to stumps from climbing up to join him once again. The memento of his hand pushing you off would be enough contact to look forward to again. Anything for a morsel of attention. You were no better than a mouse in a kitchen, feasting on the fallen crumbs of a sandwich.

"I don't understand why you're doing this, sprout! This isn't like you, what did Stryker do to you?!"

You twist around, tossing the blonde off you. As his back hits the ground, he coughs up a small bit of blood. You stand, best you can. You knew why you came to fight him. You're here to kill him. So why is every faint skin-to-skin contact still making your heart and brain flutter? You two were fighting. It's nothing like the soft brushes of his hand in the hallways of Xavier's. So why does it make lovesick nostalgia flood your veins like a tsunami on a beach?

"Stryker didn't do anything to me! You all did! Don't think I didn't fucking worship you, Peter, I did! Everyone fucking knew it! Every guy I tried dating saw it, their friends saw it, your friends saw it, my friends saw it, Xavier fucking saw it! Every goddamn part of my body and brain and soul and whatever else was left was taken with you for no good reason! You're lazy and selfish and sloppy and careless! You never actually saw me, you just saw someone you could hang out with! I was never anything more to you!" You curse, teeth slamming against each other as your jaw springs open and clamps shut with each syllable. Spit and blood and sweat were slinging, similarly to the manner of a rabid dog.

He's not too far from you, but you're screaming like he's still miles away.

"Maybe you're still that lovesick little schoolgirl you once were." Stryker's voice rings in your head. "Pathetic. What a shame. I've trained you to be better."

The speedster wipes his mouth, jerking up and tackling you once again. "I promise I never meant to ignore you! I-i- can't help that! I couldn't just magically realize you had feelings! I'm not Xavier or Jean, I can't read your mind! I had no way of knowing! You were one of my best friends, you knew that, at least!"

You thrash around again, slamming your elbows into the ground and your legs anywhere they can reach. Smart move for him to secure your arms. "There were so many signs! Every goddamn day I spent at your heels, chasing you! Chasing any chance I had of impressing you." You scream, spit landing all in his eyes. Normally that's a problem, but there's no real disgust on a battlefield. "I would have taken anything! Just a quick glance, a compliment on my clothes, maybe some sign you thought I was anything more to you! Anything more than Kurt or Scott or whoever else was in your life! I puked my guts out the first time I saw you talk to Dazzler because she was so, so much prettier than me and I knew I didn't stand a chance if she wanted you! I would have ripped my own kidney out and eaten if it meant you'd have glanced at me, Peter!"

The blonde doesn't get a chance to retort as your vines rip him off of you. You're running on fumes here, the last of your powers at your fingertips. You two have been going for almost half an hour now, no breaks.

"You ripped my goddamn heart out of my for no reason but to do it! I don't care if you say it wasn't on purpose, I know it was! I know you knew! You're a man, you lie like you breathe! You're lucky you're breathing now! I could kill you, I should kill you, it's in my orders to kill you." Your hands tense further, matching the rest of your body. Your muscles are moving before your brain or exhaustion can catch up. There was once a time you would have fought with your life alongside the boy, the boy you were now set on killing. Nothing will stop you from killing Peter Maximoff, nothing will keep you from ripping open his chest with your bare hands. Your mission will end. The remaining sparks in your brain will die alongside the speedster, so young and so naive, the two of them.

"I will kill you. I'm going to kill you, Pietro Maximoff. I'm going to fucking end you like I should have years ago!"

Vines are sent out and promptly ripped.

There's a stab in a neck.

A small, minute bit of blood trickles from the attack point.

Peter is on the ground, knees buried into the pulled-up dirt.

But it's your blood on his hands and your body that collapses into his arms.

It's your neck that's got the diazepam in it.

It's your eyes that are shutting.

"No you won't."

You always had wanted to fall asleep in his arms. Held by his sweet hands, resting on his chest and coddled into his lap. His face so close to yours, his hair mingling with your locks. Two cats in a box, two birds in a nest, two mutants on a bloody battlefield, one still pumped on adrenaline and one nearing loss of consciousness. Your silence is much appreciated at the moment. Nothing can be heard, aside from the faint whistles of wind through leaves and possibly a squirrel racing around in an attempt to find a new home.

"Damn", he thinks to himself, brushing his thumb across the spot where he dosed you, "I really should learn how to correctly shoot a syringe. I don't think you're supposed to bleed this much. Or at all. Better get you home fast, sprout."

🏁⋆💨𐙚₊˚⊹🏃♡.👟⌛

OH THIS ONE WAS ROUGH 😭 also I have a LENGTHY Julian Dillinger fic in the works eheh...also here's the song that kinda inspired this 👇

-------------‧₊˚🍋‍🟩✩ ₊˚🌿⊹♡--------------

It was obvious to anyone that could see that it hadn't really started with the sound of Weezer blasting through the art room. Rivers Cuomo's voice blasted past cups of unwashed brushes and tables with artistic remnants left on them. You'd set up a CD player on the teacher's now empty desk and put in your Pinkerton CD in, letting the sound bounce off the white brick walls of your high school's visual art classroom. If you're going to be alone in this classroom for the next few hours, then you'll need some music to keep you company.

For that very specific day, it actually started with Cooper Day, doing what Cooper Day does when he isn't writing a new short story or listening to music. He got into trouble. He fought a random jock.

It was some blonde guy with frosted tips - yuck. He had made some joke about his sister, one comment that took the previously running jokes too far. Cooper had reacted without thinking, a common occurrence. Maybe it was the new Linkin Park CD he had bought rutting through his veins, but he wasn't going to let that joke go unpunished. Did he end up with a massive black eye? Yes. Did he also give the guy a decent amount of bruises in return? Also yes. He recently got a punching bag for his 17th birthday, a regrettable decision on his parents' part.

He was struck with two hours of detention that night. Staying in school until 5pm, scribbling down math equations rather than enjoying the night writing, as usual. But his ruthless suffering came to an immediate end when the clock hit 5:00pm. He swiftly grabbed his bag from his desk and snatched his iPod and headphones from the teacher's desk, scoffing at the loss of battery. Cooper really should charge it more often. He stuffed the iPod in his pocket and slipped the headphones around his neck to rest.

You had stayed the night at school by choice. Nothing was out of the ordinary at home, but the school art show was in three months and you had bitten off more than you could chew. You planned to do 4 good projects to put in the show, but to your dismay, your art professor had told encouraged you to do the largest piece you ever have. Having being pestered for multiple days, you naturally caved in. After which, you were presented with a canvas possibly bigger than you.

Well, fuck.

This was the second day this week you had stayed late to work further. Your father got off of work at 5:30, so he'd be here anytime to get you. For now, the artistic stage is yours to take up. Your music can blast, your creative flow can, well, flow, and your space can be yours.

And then the CD that was being played stops, right in the middle of Pink Triangle. No good track goes uninterrupted, huh? You whip your head around, only to be stunned by the sight of the CD being taken out, put back in its case, and replaced with Around The Fur by Deftones - all by a very familiar writer's hands. The opening track starts to play, and a voice shouts above it. Fuck, that's loud. The voice belongs to the body with the hands that replaced your beloved CD.

"Weezer is for kids who still get their mom to monogram their boxers and 30 year olds who are still virgins."

No need to keep looking - you know who it is. Smug ass Cooper Day. The school's prodigy writer and resident weirdo.

That's where it had actually started. With his smug face.

You - and by extension, Cooper, had both entered your junior year a few months ago. He still had the reputation as the genius, edgy student writer who just kept winning awards. He applied for about every competition he could, cashing out with prize money or new writing tools almost every time. At this particular time of year, he had just sent a thick stack of pages containing a horror story for a competition - a state competition.

And then it had happened. Cooper's aforementioned competition entry had been judged, and the winners were to be announced that day.

"and we are proud to shine a light on one of our aspiring creative juniors for their placement in a state competition!" !The announcements blared out, a grim stretching on Cooper's face. "Congrats to [Y/N] [L/N] for her first place finish in the Students of Philadelphia Oil Painting Contest! Give a round of applause for her!"

And that had started it all. Since the day you had the audacity to show Cooper up in the extremely broad spectrum that is being creative. You were the reason he got his hopes up so high! That competition money could have gotten him a shitload of CDs and shirts! He knows he shouldn't be too mad, you're not even a writer! It's not like you won over him. But apparently, showing him up was enough reason for you two to be at war.

Snap out of it, back to the present.

"Hey, dickwad, put my CD back! And turn that shit off!" You shout, pointing a paintbrush in his direction. His grimy hands are treating your beloved 1996 album with no love!

He sticks his hands up, as if being arrested. "No can do! Some people have this thing called music taste - I'm sure you can't relate.. And you're hurting those people, mainly me."

You scoff. Cooper takes a stride towards you, looking over your shoulder at your painting. It's an oil paint that you've been regrettably stalling on. The underpainting is done and the figures are beginning to truly take shape - but the background remains generally untouched.

"Eww, why are they naked?" Cooper sticks out his tongue. If he wasn't taller than you, you could assume he was a child.

"It's called art, idiot! And they're naked because it's a metaphor! A ton of classic artists do that!"

"A metaphor for what, not having clothes?!"

You groan, putting your brush down and turning to him. "For capitalism! That's why their privates are covered with receipts! It's a metaphor for how consumerism and capitalism strips us of our decency! Aren't you supposed to be a writer, why can't you figure that out?!"

"Maybe I can't figure it out cause it's a stupid metaphor!" He retorts.

"Just go home, Cooper!" You both roll your eyes at each other. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Whatever, better than staying here with you and your stupid capitalism metaphors and virgin music!" He tuts, turning around. "And you've got paint in your hair, by the way."

You aren't sure what it was, but something about his comment really struck a nerve. It's probably more about the continuous annoyance he's been in your life, like a mosquito that won't die. Every time you try and make a move to do anything, he's there. He's held your sketchbook hostage more times than you can count. Without a thought, you grab your cup of paint water and toss it at the brunette, aiming to mess up those naturally gorgeous curls of his.

Why did someone so goddamn cute have to be so infuriating?!

Splash!

Cooper gasps, tossing his headphones off and shaking them - making sure they don't get wet. He takes a breath of relief when he realizes they were untouched. He doesn't even care to check his curls.

"You jerk! What was that for?!" He growls, turning around to face you. You did, in fact, wet his curls, but it wasn't enough to flatten them. He does have a patch that's faintly purple now - like a child that got too messy when finger painting.

"For everything, Cooper! All you do all day is annoy me and make comments about how my art is shit! I've never done anything to you I can think of, you asshole! What did I do to you for you to act like this?!"

"What did you do?" He scoffs, tightening his fists. "You know what you did! People used to consider me the artsy one in our class, and then you swoop in out of nowhere and take that from me! I've been writing since I was 7, I've been trying so hard and it's so easy for you!"

Before that faithful day with the announcement, he hadn't even known you liked art. He had noticed you in the hallway - it was a small school, how couldn't he notice another alt-dressed student?

But you had stolen the spotlight that his work gave him. He wasn't popular, he wasn't cool, and he wasn't a real big hit with girls - so the writing prodigy thing was all he really had.

"Easy for me?! I'm just like you, Day! I've been drawing and painting and learning and sketching as long as I can remember! I've been working my ass off for years!" You shout, still trying to make your voice carry over the music. "I don't know what made you think that my art is somehow challenging your writing, but it's not! I've read your works, they're incredible!"

"You like my writing...?"

His eyes are soft, regretful. His eyes have always drawn you to him, they're sweet and deep and so full of passion for the world. If he wasn't such an ass, you would have painted them by now.

"Of course I do! You're a prodigy for a reason, damnit!" You scoff, throwing your hands up.

He likes your hands. They're not excessively manicured like the girls his sister hangs out with, but they're more honest. Your nails are bitten and the cuticles are a total mess. And there's paint on your fingertips and graphite on your palms. He adores it, maybe those hands would have graced his computer if you weren't such an ass.

"Whatever. You still stole my reputation from me."

"Just get out, Cooper!"

He kicks his shoes off at the entrance of the house, dirty converse flopping down pathetically on the wooden floor. Natalie stifles a laugh from the table.*

"Did you get into a fight with a soccer player or a bunch of finger painting toddlers?" She grins. Cooper just stares at the floor.

"I need...girl help."

Natalie's eyebrows raise.

"You need help from a girl or with a girl?" She asks.

"Both."

The boy runs his hand through his hair, pulling out a chair and sitting in it.

With a glance up from her homework, Natalie speaks. "What's the problem? Cheerleader reject you?"

"No. I, uh, I realized I was like a total ass to a chick who's like...super hot. And like...totally my type. How do I get her to not hate me?" Cooper mumbles, his head slumping against the table.

"Jesus, Cooper, what'd you do this time?"

"I was just an ass to her. And I kept shitting on her art - metaphorically, if that wasn't obvious."

Natalie immediately jerks her head up to look at him. She's been watching this weird one-sided beef he's been having with that one weird art chick.

"Oh my God, is this about [Y/N]? I hate to tell you, but she's not gonna forgive you."

Cooper groans, thudding his head against the wooden table. Great.

"Just give me ideas! What do girls like?! Flowers?!"

"Not all girls are the same, numbskull! Think of something she'll like."

That next morning, your locker immediately feels wrong the moment you touch it. There are two explanations for the door being slightly ajar - you didn't fully close the locker last night, or someone else opened it. As you open it, your question is answered. A mixtape and a bag of dove chocolates [that totally weren't stolen from his sister] sit in the middle, attached to a note that simply says:

"Your metaphor was actually really good. And I'm sorry for saying Weezer was virgin music even though it is.-CD"

And if you were to turn your head to state down the hallway, you'd see a familiar pair of deep, soft eyes staring at you - gaging your reaction.

"Please like me-" he pleads silently "for the love of God, please like me."

And yes, the CD has both Weezer and Deftones.

˚.🦴♬⋆.˚🦇⛧°.📰 ᵎᵎ🕸️๋࣭

GAHHH I started on The Days and I LOVE ITTT. I'm only 3 episodes in 😔 so this fic might be a little inaccurate. Cooper is such a sweetie I love him sm. Also this fic is very loosely based on this song 👇 (can you tell I like Weezer?)

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who is a complete and total tease. Not just in the "flex his arm while you're trying not to stare" way, but also in the" tickling you until you admit you're his" way. He lives to see you blush and stumble on your words.

"C'mon, say it!" "I'm not gonna say it!" "I won't stop until ya' do~! Cmon, who's my Mrs Darling?" "I am, I am, gosh, just quit!"

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who is a SUCKER for women who can cook. Freakshow and diner food is usually greasy and quick, so don't be surprised if he gulps down half of the stew you've spent all morning on. He doesn't expect you to cook, but it's an added bonus if you can.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who would need to date someone who's at minimum odd. He can have flings with city girls and waitresses all he wants, but a long term commitment needs a good base. You both need to be able to relate in some way. It doesn't have to be big, you don't have to be a "freak" as well. Weird obsession with bugs? You know what, fuck yeah. Contortionist, tightrope walker, corde lisse specialist, impressionist? Hell yeah! Even just some girl obsessed with odd things who sells snacks at the show will work. His person also needs to be touring with the show. Again, they don't have to be a "freak", but it's hard for him to get long term with someone he can only send letters and calls to.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who drags you into his trailer after each show. It's a lucky day for you if you don't end up with all his weight piled on top of you, cuddling you to death. It gets to a point that you two just share the trailer.

"Jimmy! You're crushing me!" "I don't weigh that much! You'll live. I'm exhausted." "Jimmy!"

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who can and will brag about you at any point. To guests, to his mom, to the other acts, to anyone. He's a lover boy.

"And if you'd like some refreshments, folks, go see my favorite charming girl who's running our drink stand tonight!"

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who will find you when he wants you. You could be talking with one of the other acts and - poof, you're being picked up by a pair of familiar sun-kissed hands. You might even get spun a few times.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who still very much gets stage fright, and very much practices on you. It gets to the point that it's annoying. Usually, Jimmy can't annoy you, but hearing the same short routine makes you huff out a: "yes, Jimmy, that was great. Like the last four times."

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who, inversely, helps you with your stage fright. If you're an act or maybe just some type of announcer, he's still there to help. He'll even hype you up if you're shy and doing something like selling popcorn.

"You'll do great, toots, customers are gonna love you just as much as I do! You'll charm them to no end, I might have to tussle with a few of 'em."

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who isn't much into the idea of traditional proposing, just because it never really comes up. Once you two have been together for long enough, he just starts referring to you as his wife. No need for papers or a big wedding - much to Elsa's dissatisfaction.

"Oh, her? Oh, yeah, she's a catch, but she's off the market. Yep, that's my girl right there - Mrs. Darling."

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who, once while you two explored a mall near where they had a show, bought you a lobster plush. It was really cheap and kinda ugly, but it started this trend of him trying to find something lobster themed in every new town you guys visit. Your trailer is overrun with lobster things, especially plushies.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who spends as much time as possible exploring new towns with you. He loves taking you to shops and diners and movies, with his gloves on, of course. Without fail he'll plan some type of date, even if it's just walking about the show grounds.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who's not a ladies man in the traditional sense. He messes around a lot, but it's not just for sex. He falls fast and he falls hard and he falls easily. He's more of a hopeless romantic than anything. He doesn't like saying goodbyes and having short relationships, he wants something strong that lasts.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who is very, very easy to distract. A single kiss on the cheek, a small wave when you walk by, a blown kiss from across the stage, and a little note you slip into his pocket can all lead to him wandering to you - ready to spoil you to no end.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who loves seeing you in his clothes. His T-shirts are his favorite to give you, especially when you pair them with a pair of his boxers or a pair of your underwear. He also loves to put you in his leather jacket, just because it's so his.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who'd never yell at you. Part because he respects you, part because he saw the way you bit your finger when he yelled at Elsa and he'd prefer to finish an argument rather than get into...that.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who has, and will continue, to sing for you. He knows you like his voice, and he'll use that to get some brownie points. Even when he runs out of songs, he'll start making up stuff.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who's a stubborn bastard. You need a saint's patience to deal with this boy, but it's worth it. Jimmy needs someone who won't pull the "I told you so" card on him.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who doesn't let his dad near you.

"Dell, don't you even fucking look at her. That girl is my goddamn world and if you even look in her direction for more than a second I'll haul your ass three states away and leave you in a river, you fucking hear me?"

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who you've come to learn is a cryer. He cries when he's scared, he cries when he's angry, he cries when he's really happy, he cries a ton when he's drunk, he cries when he thinks about the future - both good and bad, and he cries when he thinks about you [happy tears, I swear.]

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who lets you patch up his clothes and gloves if needed. Even if your patchwork isn't the greatest, he loves it. It's a reminder of you everywhere he goes.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling whose nicknames for you are the usual ones: doll, dollface, toots, sugar, sweetness, pretty girl, honey, darlin'. Occasionally he'll call you his minx or his Mrs. Darling, but he also sticks to your name pretty often. He tends to get more nickname-y when you guys are being sappy or flirty. Also he's definitely called you sugar tits before and you hated it.

"Can you hand me that wrench, sugar tits?" "Yeah, I- wait, ew, what the hell did you just call me??" "Sugar tits, I heard it in a bar." "Eww! Never do that again! How would you like it if I called you sweet nuts or something? It's weird!" "Yeah I can't argue with that."

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who teaches you how to hunt. He's not great at much, but he's good at hunting and he'd like to share that with you.

"Hey, sweetness, no, no, don't cry, it's just a rabbit. It's just a rabbit!" "I killed a bunny!" "No- well, yeah, you did, but that's just the circle of life, sweetness."

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who babbles when he's drunk. Jimmy is a lover though and through, and it comes out more when he's drunk. He's also insecure when he's drunk.

"Mmm, I love you. You're so pretty and fun and I love you..." "I love you too, Jimmy, but how much did you drink?" "I don't know, I didn't count. I missed you...why weren't you there?" "I was there, sweetie, I was just talking to a friend." "..." "Jimmy?" "Are you gonna leave me cause I'm a freak? I'm a freak and people hate freaks and you're gonna leave me..." "Jimmy! Where's this coming from?" "I love you..."

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who sees you all dolled-up for the first time and lets his jaw go slack. There was some event Elsa had sent you two on where you had to dress classier. Jimmy wore some old plain suit, but Elsa had made you get your hair and makeup done. Your makeup is nice, not gaudy like stage makeup, and your hair is all nice and styled. And that dress is going to kill him.

"My God, toots, you're gonna knock me dead." "Shucks, Jimmy, you look amazing." "I look stupid." "Well I feel stupid, to be fair." "You're making me stupid, toots, how about after this we get real stupid and-" "Will you two shut up!?"

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who makes sure to turn up the radio on your favorite songs. He's a lover through and through. This man makes sure to memorize you like a book - all in the name of love. When breakfast is going and you're cooking or eating, he's always beside you, playing with the radio until he finds the station that makes you smile the most. Some nights he stays up next to a radio, hurriedly writing down the lyrics to your favorite songs so he can perform them later.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who hates seeing you cry. There's a lot of things to be down about in this world, but he'll try and help you see the best. If the usual rubbing your back and reassuring you doesn't work, then he'll grab some of his props and do an impromptu comedy act for you. Most of the time you both end up laughing until you can't remember why you were crying in the first place.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who's sickeningly sweet, and the whole troop knows it. You two are always touching or talking or just existing next to each other. You run to each other first if you're separated. As the murders ramp up, he makes sure to have you at his side at all times. His mom was extremely familiar with you - and yes, she liked you. You're good for Jimmy. Elsa likes you too, not just because you're an employee but also because Jimmy is a bit less argumentative when you're around. Jimmy Darling is a man shaped by emotion - and by extension, love. He loves with his whole body, and everyone can see that. He's got his faults and he knows it, but he'll do his best - that's all he can do.

-------------------- NSFW: MDNI! --------------------

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who treats you so much differently than the ladies at the Tupperware parties. He still goes, just to have the money, but he doesn't enjoy it much anymore - not when he has you. With them, everything he does is flavored with a sense of transactionalism. With you, it's more soft. More intimate. He's actually hesitant to use his hands during sex with you.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who, again, is nothing if not a tease. He loves dumb-talking you, making you melt into his sheets and whine all night. He's ruthless, but he'd never hurt you.

"That's my girl, all stupid when I'm in you. Are you liking that? Your face is all red. You're enjoying this, huh, stupid girl?"

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who's a perfect mix of praise and degradation. He loves calling you pretty, he loves calling you his, but he'll also sneak in a small remark here and there.

"There she is, that's my pretty girl. That's it, look in that mirror and see how good of a slut you are."

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who's a dom most of the time, usually on the softer side. But he won't mind letting you take the reigns, especially if he's tired or drunk.

"Someone's feisty tonight. Think you can handle being on top? I'll let you try, dollface, but don't tire yourself out."

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who is never not dirty talking or chuckling or something along that line. The only time he's quiet is if you two are having a quickie and you need to be quiet.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who's all praise if you're having a bad day. He knows when something is crossing a line, and again, he'd never do anything to hurt you.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who has, many a time, found himself setting up for apology sex. Maybe he let a customer flirt with him for too long or he made a comment a little too old fashioned, but you had gotten upset at him. So he does what he knows best. Apology sex may include anything cheesy, such as: rose petals, dumb music, him singing, candles, chocolate, some sad looking plush, and a very, very pouty Jimmy.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who is an avid panty thief. When you two are getting down and dirty, it's not a shock to have him stuff your underwear in his back pocket for later.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who is a total cuddler after. The moment you both hit your release, he's crumpling on top of you and taking a nap.

"Jimmy, Jimmy, I gotta go piss. Wake up!" "Mm, fine but hurry."

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who can and will use his size and strength to his advantage. Circus work keeps him in great shape, and he'll make sure you get the perks too.

"You like that? Oh, I know you do. Gets ya' sopping when I hold you against the wall like this."

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who's not risking any pregnancies. If he doesn't have condoms, then he's pulling out as fast as possible. He's not risking having a baby in the freak show.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who has an extremely rampant sex drive. Man's got nothing to do but perform and do chores, so he'll take his free time to please his girl.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who gives and takes equally. If you blow him, he'll eat it until you're begging him to stop. And he would like the same vise-versa.

☆ BF! Jimmy Darling who is a sucker for lap dances. And pole dancing. Anything showy will get him on you like a dog.

"Woah, girl, someone's excited. Yeah, keep moving for me, just like that. Show me exactly how much you want me."

🧤°•𖤐🎡⊹₊🚲🎪⋆.

GAHHH I CANT BELIEVE THIS IS MY FIRST JIMMY DARLING POST 😭 I have only 4 episodes left of Freakshow I'm gonna cry it's such a fun ride. It's my first AHS season so idk which one I'll do next, either hotel or asylum. Also I have another jimmy post planned 😈 Anyway ☝️☝️ here's a song I thought fit Jimmy in the romantic 😈 sense 👇

☆ BF! Peter who loves playing pranks. He was a rage-baiter way before it was popular. There's so many photos on your phone that he took with your camera. Him making funny faces, him taking candids of you while he's speeding through seconds, etc. If you're shorter than him, he likes hiding your things on higher shelves. If you're taller, he likes tackling you onto beds and couches by going for your legs. Best believe he uses his super-speed to prank you like no other.

☆ BF! Peter who tries his best to mature when your relationship gets serious. He puts more effort into his work at Xavier's, starts saving for his own place, begins to limit his shoplifting, and tries to be "more serious" on dates. The last one doesn't last long, but you don't mind.

☆ BF! Peter whose favorite chores are dishes and dusting. They're easy, quick, and simple. He HATES doing laundry because it takes so long. The apartment/house you two share is always pretty tidy, surprisingly, because he gets bored on the weekends if you aren't home.

☆ BF! Peter who started wanting kids when he saw how gentle you were with the other mutants. Cooing and chatting with one of the littles who didn't have many friends led to him wondering if you'd agree on "Kurt" as a boy's name - both for his blue best friend and Cobain. Daughter wise, he'd name her Wanda if that was okay with his twin. [ A/N: yes I know they aren't twins in the Fox movies but they are EVERYWHERE else so yuh.] He wouldn't care about the gender, but I imagine him more as a boy dad than a girl dad. Not that he'd neglect his daughter, no, he'd love her more than anything, but he's had sisters and he wants something new. Twins run in the family, so he would be over the moon if you ended up with two twin boys like Wanda's.

☆ BF! Peter whose idea of a good date is something fun. He's not big on picnics or beach walks or fancy dinners - but he'll try everything once. He likes taking you shopping, going skateboarding, exploring, tree-climbing, going to arcades, and anything else fun that he can do. The boy will do anything that allows him to get his energy out - from following you as you spend much too long in an F.Y.E to taking you into an indoor rock-climbing.

☆ BF! Peter who eats a LOT. He burns insane amounts of calories, and as a part of his mutation- his digestion is sped-up. If you like to cook or bake, he'll love you even more. He's shown to love sugar in the films, but I don't doubt him changing to a more protein-rich diet later in life. Your first "date" was a group celebratory meal paid for by Hank - who immediately regretted it when Peter ordered a huge steak, a bunch of shrimp Alfredo, and a chicken salad without any hesitation. And yes, he ate on the appetizers and your meal without a second thought - the boy's gotta eat! Your shared grocery bill is pretty hefty, but it's worth it for the muscle he's putting on.

☆ BF! Peter who's type is anyone he can have fun with, and is "fun' in style. He isn't into the real soft, coquette types or the real serious/academic types. I can see him more into the 1980/1990s grudge/skater type, but he's not too picky. Any type of fun hair or makeup? He's in love. Paint or dirt on your skirt or pants? Count him in. Similar tastes in preferred dates and music? Hell yeah. He doesn't really care about physical appearance, so personality and style are more important. Why date someone if you can't play Laser tag and share clothes with them?

☆ BF! Peter who burns CDs with songs you both like and lets you borrow his band shirts and CDs. One of his number one requirements is that you share music taste or you're open to listening to his music.

☆ BF! Peter who is a total "wife guy". If he wants to get out of plans, it's a "sorry, gotta get home to the wife." Favorite person? "My wife, obviously." His wallpaper, emergency contact, best friend, roommate, lover, and #1 clothes thief? "Well, that'd have to be my kick-ass wife, obviously." Even before marriage, he called you his all the time. If you kick ass in a fight, he's swooning to Kurt about how cool his girlfriend is. If one of the kids asks why he's so happy one morning, he'll talk about how great his girlfriend is. The moment he proposed, he went straight to giving you the wife title. And he doesn't ever stop.

☆ BF! Peter acts like a man-child at times, but he's a well-behaved one. Yes, he gets sent to the doghouse at times, and yes, he's had to retreat to Wanda and Vision's house once or twice when he's really, really fucked up, but he means well. He's a guy raised in the 70s, do you expect him to be completely house-trained? He does try, though. He loves you more than anything, he just fucks up at times. And maybe, yeah, he leaves towels on the floor and soda stains on the couch and he accidentally mixes the laundry at times - but he'll try and be better.

☆ BF! Peter who HATES girl's night. Not that he minds your clubbing clothes, he loves them, but he's so bored without you. He doesn't understand why he can't come bowling with you guys, or out to dinner, or out drinking, or shopping. He likes those things! He trusts you and the others, they're his friends too, but he's admittedly a tad jealous. In an attempt to squash this, you nudged him into starting a boy's night. Gaming, laser tag, arcades, cards, whatever he could find fun with Hank, Scott, and Kurt. But Hank eventually went back to the lab and Scott didn't have the same idea of fun, so most of the time it was just Kurt and Peter. And that devolved into Peter whining about your absence over a game of Monopoly. Wife guy.

☆ BF! Peter who adores you. The moment he saw you at Xavier's or your job or wherever met you, his heart started ramping up like it did when he was a teen and saw Princess Leia for the first time. He loses all sense of cool around you. In the beginning, he's just a meek, stuttering mess.

☆ BF! Peter who slowly, but surely gets more used to the fuzzy feeling you give him as you guys start dating. He still adores you and gets all red-faced when you do just about anything cute, but he's more confident now.

☆ BF! Peter who actually buys your birthday presents. No stealing, he wants you to know he cares. He's the type to buy you what you've told him you wanted, because to him, that's the standard. "Your ex bought you a camera? But you told me you had a Polaroid one since you were a teen. He bought you one when you already had one? Are you kidding me? And you didn't even ask for it? Prick."

☆ BF! Peter who's your ex's number one hater. "So he spent all day texting one girl, started working with her and started taking classes with her...but got mad you talked comics with one of your guy friends? Fucking insane." "She left you for THAT guy? With the fucking hair? Good lord."

☆ BF! Peter who's bisexual with a fem preference. He's the type of guy who can ogle both the female and male leads of a movie.

☆ BF! Peter who burns you CDs whenever he feels like it. He's not an artist, but he can find a way to make you things if he puts his mind to it.

☆ BF! Peter who has, at least once, done the cliche "standing outside your window with a boom box" thing to apologize. Definitely more than once.

☆ BF! Peter who despite being 20-30, acts like a teenager in love. 100% left you love notes from "your secret admirer" before you two started dating. It was so, so cheesy, but so cute.

☆ BF! Peter who most of his love knowledge comes from movies. Wanda and Vision started dating after Wanda moved out, so Peter didn't see them interact much. Peter's dad was out of the picture, and he didn't have too many friends growing up, and most of them were nerds like him who didn't get girlfriends. So, his perception of flirting and love is mostly from the movies he grew up with.

☆ BF! Peter who, when asked about how you dress, says "my girl can wear what she wants because I get to go home to that every night and you don't."

☆ BF! Peter who only dates someone if he loves them with his whole being. And with him, that's you and only you.

-------------------- NSFW: MDNI! --------------------

☆ BF! Peter who is a switch. He doesn't really care about a preference for being dominant or submissive, he just goes with the flow. He'd sub easily, but could also be a gentle dom. It really depends on you and his mood.

☆ BF! Peter who does love costumes though. Any of those slutty 2000s-esk Halloween costumes? Oh lord, he's done for. Suddenly he's a helpless patient if he can get you in a nurse outfit. He's a little criminal when you're in a sexy cop outfit, and he's awe-struck if you're anything nerdy related. The slave Leia costume? His nose is bleeding on sight. OG poison ivy bodysuit? Call that boy vegetarian the way he's in that foliage. [A/N: THAT WAS AWFUL, IM SO SORRY BAHAHEHA]

☆ BF! Peter who, once he learns you're completely fine with it, is a total perv with you. He loves that form of teasing. Wearing a skirt? Panty shots. You're being difficult? He's zipping around and suddenly you're back into one of those aforementioned costumes. That's one of his favorite things, changing your clothes in private. You gasp and blush, scolding him but he just smirks. He's definitely stolen your panties at least once, definitely jacked off when you're not looking, and definitely smacked your ass more times than you can count. He loves you, he does, and he doesn't do anything to objectify you. The guy just really fucking loves his girlfriend. And fucking his girlfriend. But mainly the first part. He also gets a lot of nosebleeds. It doesn't take him much to get worked up, just seeing your thighs, cleavage, face, arms, calves, hands, shoulder, stomach, and basically anything else. He's a dog, but only for his girl when she's okay with it.

☆ BF! Peter who doesn't enjoy blowjobs that much. He'd rather just have a quickie if you guys are in a rush. If he's desperate, he won't mind it, but he'd rather have you and him together, rather than you do the work.

☆ BF! Peter who's super-speed means super-drive. He's not supersonic in bed, but he pops a lot more boners than any of your exes. And he. Is. Whiny. The man loves his girl, and naturally he thinks that he should be able to worship her as much as possible! What's so wrong with that?

☆ BF! Peter who goes nuclear when you guys start trying for kids. He's a man on a mission. "Gonna...fuckin' put my baby batter in you. Fill you up so good, babe." "Peter, what the fuck?" He wants his babies. He wants his perfect little twins. He wants to be a dad, he can't help that!

☆ BF! Peter who, if you convince him to sub, could absolutely be put in a skirt. Put him in a little blue miniskirt and he's a begging mess. "Mommy, please, no, I'll be a boy, I'll be your best boy, don't make me wear it in front of our friends, please mommy-" [you'd never make him. You never even brought it up, he did. He's subtly hinting.]

☆ BF! Peter who accidentally let out a little moan when you put your boot on his chest during sparring. "Do you wanna explore that when we get home?" "Yes please.."

🏁⋆💨𐙚₊˚⊹🏃♡.👟⌛

A/N: YAYYY okay it's done ehehe. I might make a male version of this or a second one, but idk ☝️☝️ IM SORRY THAG IVE DONE LIKE NO NEW CONTENT, COLLEGE IS KICKING MY AHHH

Here's the song that kinda sums up how Peter loves IMO 👇

-------------‧₊˚🍋‍🟩✩ ₊˚🌿⊹♡--------------

Your bad experiences with love had come as a child. You, a mutant child with also mutant parents who were in many ways overprotective. It wasn't their fault, really. You were lucky enough to be able to hide your powers as a teen, and they seemed normal to everyone they knew. But being paranoid meant being safe. Being overprotective meant staying normal.

And normal you stayed. As normal as possible, of course. You never had any boyfriends or girlfriends during school, but you maintained decent grades and stayed quiet enough to not get bullied all too much. College was going the same way. Ordinary, simple, plain. You were headed for a bachelor's degree, something so common in the world. Something so ordinary.

But somehow, as trouble always did, it found someone who didn't need it. Ultron's attack on your hometown had been a quick one, but a terrifying one. Your apartment building collapsed, and without thinking you had used your powers to get people out.

When it hit you, it was a terrifying realization. You're a mutant, people know that now. People don't like mutants, they're treated like subhuman trash. But despite this fear, people cheered. Mothers thanked you, news reporters asked for you, couples praised you for saving their lovers, and you were stunned. People loving a mutant? Cheering them? Thanking the Lord for their protection?

For once, you weren't normal or ordinary. You were extraordinary. And it may be selfish, but you enjoyed it. You enjoyed the attention from others, the flowery comments and the feeling of finally sticking out. Eventually, you were scouted by Tony to work alongside the Avengers

But only a year later, the war broke out and Tony passed. And the Avengers' was - obviously - disbanded. You were left to wander, falling back into your past of just blending in. Until Bucky contacted you with the offer. Join "The New Avengers".

And join you did! You were itching to get back out there, put back on that suit of yours and enjoy the feeling of free-falling and living on nothing but a prayer. (a/n: BON JOVI REFERENCE EHE)

You met the team, a much...rougher group then your beloved Avengers, but a team nonetheless. You were a real, bonafide, experienced Avenger ready to get back on the scene! You were ready to enjoy praise and save a few lives. You were enthusiastic, putting your all into the missions.

But Lord, these people SUCKED!

That was a bit of a stretch, but still. Walker was a major asshole who you didn't think even neared Steve's legacy, Yelena and Ava were much too "stabby" for you, and Alexei was a tad bit too obsessed with the marketing side of things. You didn't hate any of them, of course, they were fine people - but they were nothing like your Avengers'. Your team. All except for Bucky, he was the same as always. You loved sharing that same banter with him, the same kind you had with the other Avengers when you were an early-20-something with absolutely nothing to prove for once. But the rest of the team was so...abnormal. Not exactly in the uniquely perfect way.

And then there was Robert. Bob, as you became accustomed to calling him. He was a sweet thing, he really was. He was quiet as a mouse around you, and only raised his presence - merely to that of a house cat's - if certain others were around. He didn't join you guys on most missions, didn't seem to have any control of his powers other than 0% and 100% on that rare occasion a few months ago. He was invincible, but he wasn't the best fighter. You mostly brought him along for smaller things. Gang busts and attempted robberies, that kind of stuff. And slowly, you found yourself admiring him. He was 2 years older than you, so you shared some similar experiences. He enjoyed watching you as you baked - and you learned to enjoy that too. He liked doing the simple things, really. You washed dishes, tidied the living room, folded the heaps of laundry, and did any other mundane chore you were tasked with - all together. He really was a house cat. Soft, quiet, and always finding a way to silently exist in your space. And you adored him.

You found yourself thinking of him when you listened to love songs; songs that you previously had assigned to no one in particular. You started giggling when he did anything slightly silly, started kicking your feet whenever your mind wandered to a possible future. Something so soft, so domestic, and so out-of-reach. You never got to experience a real childhood and with that came a lack of any teenage love story. You never let yourself get close enough to have crushes, and you were 99% sure no one ever yearned for the high school version of you. So Bob, this dork you worked with, was the first person you got to experience love with. It was a nice feeling, really. It was soft, motivating, comforting, and so gentle. You didn't feel the pressure to make him yours, you just enjoyed his presence. Your love was soft.

Bob's love was sick. (a/n: madds buckley reference????) His love was fearful, nausea-inducing, unlucky, and impossible to ignore. While you giggled and kicked your feet, Bob screamed into his pillows and paced his bedroom. You were nice, too damn nice. A kickass actual superhero who was somehow the nicest person he'd ever met. Someone who never complained about his presence or his inability to balance his powers, someone who was gentle and affectionate. You kissed his head as a kind gesture, gave him the first warm bite of all the baked goods you made, and made him feel as if he was on cloud nine.

Until he would fall down again. Crashing face-first into grasslands metaphorically named "reality". You'd achieved so damn much in a lifetime two years shorter than his own. You spent your twenties saving lives and making speeches. He spent his shuffling for drugs and picking up odd obs - just to buy more drugs. Robert Reynolds loved in a fearful manor, one that had him asking "WHY ME?" on some nights. Nights where he would have similar dreams to yours, ones where he was your husband and you were his wife, maybe with some kiddos in the bunch. He'd curse his luck, really. Why him? Why did cupid have to stab his eyes out with arrows and leave him with retinas that only seemed to gravitate to you?

He swatted away at the tugs in his heart at first, he really did. But the universe had its way of magnetically pulling him to you in it's own way. He's mostly accepted it. An odd, shameful sort of acceptance. "My name's Bob Reynolds and I'm in love with a woman that has the full right to treat me like nothing like a slug in her path!" It's sad, really. You're not out of his league - definitely not as much as he thinks you are. You're an angel and he's a puddle left from a mediocre, disappointing rainstorm that didn't accumulate anywhere but the dips in the pavement that never got filled. He's desperately evaporating to you. In slow, unwilling bits.

You loved in old Sinatra songs, he loved like dirt on pavement. His love was a reckless tidal wave, yours was a river bubbling with a soft, flowery aroma. Your giggles on the phone with your mom matched his anxious rambles to his therapist. You were a mirror of Bob's feelings - one of those mirrors in a fun house that makes everything look odd. You were the sheriff with the statue in the middle of town - Robert Reynolds was a wanted man, and love was his accidental crime. Lock him up, throw away the key.

His hesitation is trashed without any hesitation. He's a weak, weak man. He doesn't resist your charms anymore, he's given in. "You wanna go out on a run with me?" You coo, zipping up your athletic jacket and fixing your shorts. It's 6:00am, Bob's only up because the sound of Blondie coming loudly from your speaker had kept him from staying in his already fragile slumber. He didn't mind too much. The sound of "Call Me" playing every morning, mixed with your footsteps, reminded him that he'd be able to see you before you truly got ready for the day. Hair undone, super suit off, and eyes still slightly drowsy from the dim lighting.

"I'll have to pass that up, I'm still tired." Bob mutters, hands fighting the urge to pull you to him. Instead, he grabs a random apple from the kitchen counter. Best to sink his teeth into the sinner's fruit then let his misery slip from his mouth. Love me, tell me you want me too, tell me you're not too good for me.

"Aww, really? I made an extra smoothie! And John is out because today's his custody day. I'd love to have you joi-"

"Actually yeah I think that's a great idea-" He blurts.

You giggle, passing him a bottle with a smoothie just like yours. Strawberries, blueberries, bananas, all that good stuff. He swears he saw you out kale in there too, but the color is soft pink so maybe he imagined that in his efforts to distract himself from you.

He's imagined a lot of things when it comes to you, and maybe this run will be another stepping stone to get him closer to pushing that long denied dream into reality. For once in Robert Reynolds' life, he likes being sick. To suffer, sink, and drown in your presence is a demise he'll take every grueling minute of, as long as his heaven is granted to him in the form of your soft arms and even softer words. Hands up, he's surrendered to his untimely demise at your hands.

‎‧₊⚡˚ 💛⚡︎ ꪆৎ⸝💙✶˚‧.

A/N: My first non Pietro/Peter Marvel fic! 😭 I've LOVED Bob's character since I saw thunderbolts, and I started this while watching my 4th rewatch of Thunderbolts and finished it after my 6th rewatch 🧍. I HAVE A PART TWO PLANNED FOR THIS, I SWEAR, but I'm really caught up with college and work gahh 😭 I also have SO MANY drafts. Lots of Peter I haven't finished and a few John Walker fics. Also a huge headcannon post for Peter 😈😈 HERES THE SONG THAT INSPIRED THIS FIC EHEHE👇

-------------‧₊˚🍋‍🟩✩ ₊˚🌿⊹♡--------------

The team had almost - key word, almost - lost Jean today. They've never been on a space mission, at least Peter hasn't, but somehow they all made it out alive. Peter, of course, bragged to you (and everyone else who would listen) that he did just SOOO much work, but deep down he knows the mission wouldn't have been a success if even one of the crew members weren't there. It was a team effort, one of their best. And a classic Xavier's institute celebration was in order!

It's not the party that's the good part, not at all. Xavier is fun, yeah, but he's older than the rest and he still thinks they're young enough to be content with punch and age appropriate dancing - despite the fact that the youngest of them is past 21. So after the party, naturally, comes the after-party. There's drinking, more drinking, good music, Dazzler's powers illuminating the forest sky, and did anyone mention drinking?

You're with Alison, stretching out the limbs and leaves of the trees above so her lights glow brighter and dancing to whatever party music she considers good enough. You've had one drink, so you're a tad giggly but nowhere near as wasted as some of the crew over at the bonfires. Logan, Peter, Hank, Kurt, and Raven had all started a drinking competition as the night began a few hours ago. Kurt was the first to tap out after only two, and Hank was just one drink after him. Then shortly after, Raven tapped out. It was down to Logan and Peter - an experienced alcoholic and some loser (said affectionately) who didn't even like the taste, he just had an immune system 3 times faster than all the others. But somehow, despite Peter's extreme advantage and unwavering determination, Logan won. Now all the others were sitting there, eating random snacks leftover from Xavier's party and just all around being shitfaced. Kurt, Hank, and Raven had all relatively gained normal function by now, but Peter was on a different planet. Eventually Jean and Scott joined the group.

"You okay there, kid? You're drooling." Logan scoffs, putting his beer down besides the log be was sitting on.

"Don't....don't tell my wife but uhm.." Peter starts, lifting a hand to point over at you "-but that girl is really hot..."

Raven snickers. "You don't have a wife, Pete. You have a girlfriend. That's your girlfriend, buddy."

Peter's eyes bug out, as if learning he won the lottery.

"She is...? But she's...hot. And I uh...yeah..." The speedster's words are drawn out, his mumbling only stopping as he takes a sip of the soda that Storm made him to drink. "Her hair looks soft. I wanna smell it..."

"Lord, how much did you let him drink?" Scott scoffs. None of them have ever seen Peter slow his roll this much.

He'd always been a blur, especially when you met him. He was pure adrenaline and speed, not slowing down for anything but maybe a good episode of Scooby-Doo. You were the exact opposite. Your power was softer, slower, more patient. You'd learned to spring almost any type of flora from the ground, anything you could find in a book. It wasn't too strong by itself, not really, but Xavier taught you to mix things. Use nature for its herbalist perks. Your first mission with Peter began with him racing in, as normal, and ended with him landing on a bed of freshly grown cotton after miscalculating a jump. What he thought would be another broken limb was actually the moment he met the person that made him understand why men like Jim Croce wrote songs like Time In A Bottle. Total. Babe. (A/N: I cringed writing that but it's something he would say so I kept it in.)

"Waitaminutewaitaminute. I do know her. Girlfriend! Girl...friend! I don't like that word. Wife. Wifeeeee!"

Peter's whines somehow catch your ears, and you turn to see him stumbling up, waving his hands excitedly. You rush over, catching him before he's able to trip and fall over someone or the bonfire.

"Peter, oh my lord, how much did you drink? Your eyes are bloodshot and you're running a fever!"

He just giggles, again. "It's cause you're a hotttttttttt chick."

"Can we get a counter on how many times he says hot?"

"Logan, no." Jean sighs.

"why were you over there and not with me..?" He whined, not so casually burying his nose in your hair.

You try and gently push his weight back into his chair, but he's completely limp in your arms. "I trusted you to be responsible on your own!"

"mm, do you like Nirvana? I like Nirvana. Foreverrrrr in deptttt to youurrrrrr priceless adviceeeeeeeeeee!" Peter's voice comes out more as a screech than a melodic tune, promptly forcing you to quickly spiral a sprout of jasmine to your palm and practically suffocate him in it.

"Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep-!" As the jasmine slips from your hand, you quickly grab him. Somehow his weight is even more dead when he's both asleep and drunk. With Logan's help, you're able to get him into your car.

You drive home, glancing over at Peter every time he makes a small murmur in his sleep. You drive to the closest house, his, and do your best to make him comfy. You situate him on his side, praying he doesn't wake you up with vomit. He's barely awake, but in his sleepy haze he finds himself cuddling into you and mumbling your name like a lost child. You giggle, taking his goggles and shoes off. He can take the rest off in the morning, you think.

And the morning comes. That speedy metabolism of his negated most of the hangover, but he's still got a pretty bad migraine. The sun shining through the window wakes you up around 9:00am, and you're greeted with the sight of Peter pulling a new shirt on. He's just in his boxers and some socks, his clothes from the night before sitting in his hamper.

"Hi, Speedy. You feeling alright?" You coo, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

"For a guy who chugged a 12 pack, apparently, yeah. My head hurts like hell."

A short silence follows. You watch the sun shining on his body and he stares down at his clothes in an attempt to avoid eye contact.

"Hey, uh, babe?"

"Yeah, blondie?"

"Real cute, I'm trying to be serious. I didn't...say anything weird last night, right? Do anything stupid?"

You laugh. "More than usual or-?" His shirt from last night was tossed in your face and you laugh again, louder.

"I'm being serious! I didn't like...call you mommy or throw up on the steps, right?"

"Jesus, Pete-" you toss the shirt back into the hamper "-no, you didn't do anything weird. You called me your wife a lot and started singing the worst Heart-Shaped Box cover in history, but nothing too out of the ordinary."

He pauses.

"I called you my wife?"

"Yep-a-doo."

He stifles a laugh, sliding back into bed with you.

"Maybe one day, sprout, but not today. Today I'd like a few pain pills and some water. And a peanut butter sandwich would be nice."

You both giggle, and you push yourself up to go to the kitchen.

"You're such a princess. Remind me to never let you get drunk again."

"I might have to have a few sips at our metaphorical wedding!"

You gasp, a playful one, as normal with you two. "Will marrying me be that bad, Mr. Maximoff?"

"No, no, not at all. I just think I'll need a beer to not start crying. Mrs. Maximoff."

"Touché."

🏁⋆💨𐙚₊˚⊹🏃♡.👟⌛

GAH IK THIS WAS SHORT BUT I'M WORKING ON ELONGATING IT (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) ALSO I GOT MY FIRST MOOT?? OMG?? YIPPEEE (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) anyways I'm watching the first Avengers' movie rn and eating steak and rice. Life is good (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠) anywho here's what I listened to while writing this fic 👇