Everyone's So Leng--- I MEAN LONG

Silver Wit: IV - Let Barricades Be Bygones 

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'“Cool, cool. Great, even,” Peter hums his approval. Leaning in impossibly closer, somehow taking care not to touch me, he whispers into my ear.

“So– we’ll just have to get to know each other better, then.”"

Silver Wit Masterlist Silver Wit on ao3 taglist: @silverzoomies, @quickandsilvers, @icannot3

tw: more adhd coded trauma and vulnerability, not sure it warrants a tw

a/n: i cannot believe it and i apologise deeply for doing this, but i wrote another entire fucking chapter of this first conversation between speaker and peter. i promise this is the last one - their conversation ends at the end of this chapter i am baffled that i ever intended on having their first interaction be a couple of minutes. even a few seconds. wtf also idk how i keep churning out these chapters so im not sure if the quality of the writing is being maintained - i'm still very impulsive, though, so i'm publishing them as i go anyway. i have no beta so please forgive me

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The two of us bathe in silence for a moment that to me – feels simultaneously both like eternity and nary a trice. Calling this ‘perplexing’ would be a gross understatement. 

I wonder how long this moment is for Peter.

My god, how easily the flutters in my chest from only moments ago had turned into aches, so much like thunderstorms buried deep within my chest; bitter storms not unlike the London rains that punished me not long ago. At my heartstrings is Aphrodite pulling, breaking, tearing away with forces unattainable by any of us mortals, but she has absolutely no need. Whatever the higher powers may do upon me would be in vain; I would feel this deeply for Peter regardless of anything that tried to stop me.

I can’t bear holding my words back anymore. “Peter…” I whisper, my voice breaking, a tremble, a tremolo.

“Yeah?” From his eyes being fixated on the floor, back to me they flicker in an instant. I can just about see wells of stifled sorrow threatening to spill from them; only a dam he’s been building for years is stopping the flood. His mask of jocular self-deprecation is cracking. 

It’s difficult to read his expression, but he can’t read mine either. 

In the few years of my life, admittedly so far short - living as whatever it is that I am - I’ve learned that in silence readily comes doubt. The mind panics as it reels, from a self-loathing spiral to desperately attempting to console itself; often, with little to no success. If in Peter I see myself, perhaps he’s the same way.

A small part of me hopes he sees me in himself too. 

“I think I understand… I get what you meant now. How you told me that what I was saying felt like it was straight out of your head?” I confess.

The unreadable look on his face turns into that same sombre smile I saw from before. He shakily nods as he takes in a breath, shallow.

“Maybe you’re afraid - that those people who’ve already gotten to know you as Quicksilver - wouldn’t like to see you change – no, not change; open up. That you don’t want to upset the equilibrium that’s already been established?”

I’m making sure to look him in the eyes. He needs to know whatever I’m saying is the truth and nothing but the truth. “But the person I met here was you, Peter. I didn’t meet ‘Quicksilver’,” I say slowly, such that he has the time to ingest every single word that I’m saying to him.

Peter swallows and hums an affirmation, his head dipping before he nods.

I continue, “I… can’t even explain how much I understand being afraid of being honest. Being authentic. But from what I’ve seen, whoever ‘Peter’ is? He’s hilarious, he’s kind, and he’s insightful. He’s loveable. Even from the little while we’ve sat here together, I know for a fact that there’s more to you than meets the eye. You don’t have to keep hiding. We already have to do enough hiding as it is.”

“Thank you… seriously,” Peter whispers, choking. He takes another breath in, lets it out, and closes his eyes. “I’m sorry, I– I need a second. It’s not that I’m not thankful that you’re being so nice. I am, really. You’re being so understanding and I– I just… gotta process everything. I’m good, promise.” 

I nod and internally smack myself in the head once I realise he can’t see it. You absolute pillock. “Of course. Take whatever time you need.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, relieved. Through the look on his face, I can see clearly how quickly his mind is racing. As he props his head up in his hands, elbows on his knees, his eyes remain closed. The outside has to be shut out – inside is chaos enough. It doesn’t matter that I’m growing anxious waiting for him to respond. He needs this respite. 

Peter finally opens his eyes and returns his gaze to meet mine with a timid smile. “Sorry about that,” he breathes. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear what you said. I worry about it so much, but I just can’t tell anyone, y’know? Like, that’s the entire problem. It’s a fucked up paradox.”

Shaking my head, I say, “Mm-mm, it’s alright. I think I do understand, now. I mean– it wouldn’t be fair to say that I know exactly what you feel,” I glance up at the clock above the fireplace. “After all, we did just meet for the first time only half an hour ago.”

“Wow… Half an hour? Man… it feels like I’ve known you for ages. Or that you’ve known me for ages, anyway…” Peter murmurs in disbelief.

“I know. It’s… strange. I– I will never know what it’s like to be you, that’s impossible, and I’ll never try nor claim to. But… I just can’t shake this feeling. Somehow I feel like we’re–” I catch myself before I say something daft. What the hell are you thinking?

“Don’t overthink it,” Peter interjects. Silently, I thank the Fates for saving me from impulsively humiliating myself. “I feel it too, man. I mean, yeah. We’re not the same person, obviously. You have your own personality and I have mine, but…” He stops for a second, his face turning pink once more. “I’ve never ever met someone else who’s so much like me– At least, someone else who’s… I don’t know what you would even call it, but… different; and I’m not talking about being a mutant.”

Peter stills for a breath. “Like, fine, sure, we just met. Doesn’t mean it’s not true. I’ve been more myself around you than I have anyone else in years.” It’s a relief to see how quickly he’s bounced back.

What Peter just said doesn’t register immediately, but my eyes fly wide open the moment it does. The blush I’ve been trying so hard to force back down decides to bend to my rule no longer. My heartbeat is drumming against my ribs. Pursing my lips in my completely flustered state, I turn away to hide whatever idiocy is emanating from my entire being. 

Without meeting his eyes, I say, “I’m glad you said it and not me, because I think I might have died if you hadn’t agreed. And… I agree– about never meeting someone else like me before. I don’t know how else to say this, but it’s really comforting knowing I’m not the only one who’s… like this. Whatever ‘this’ is.”

He sniffs then chuckles; the sound of it sends reverberations saccharine straight into my heartbeat. “You aren’t the only one, and now I finally know I’m not either, so, thank you; and seriously, thanks for saying what you said. I never thought I’d ever hear anyone tell me what you just did.”

“I meant all of it,” I say sincerely.

He tries to suppress that smug smirk I’d seen so many times before. “All of it? So… Loveable, huh?” he finally says.

Fuck.

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Mission abort. Mission abort. Turn around now before you can never go back. 

“Oi! You know what I mean, stop poking fun at me. I was trying to be nice and you just take it as an opportunity to take the piss out of me? You’re such a prat,” I swat at him as I joke.

“I know, I know. I’m just making a little fun. What’s a prat? Also... taking the piss? Does that mean what I think it means?” Peter asks, a sly grin plastered across his face.

I sigh loudly. “Oh come on, you can get these from context, can’t you?” I say, exaggeratedly exasperated. Inwardly, I’m tickled pink.

“Oh, the genius can’t take the time to teach the idiot about one little thing?” He feigns a fainting spell in despair, much like those so common in tragic theatricals. Charming.

“Hey, you’re not an idiot. But seriously, do you actually want me to sit you down so that I can teach you British slang? Learning is my entire thing, and even I have to say that that sounds like a dreadful class,” I cock my head to the side, raising an eyebrow dubiously. 

Peter beams coyly, tousles his hair, and bounces his leg. “If I get to listen to you talk the whole time? Yeah, man, I’d take a whole course. I know you said that you think Slavic languages sound pretty, but your accent is real pretty, y’know? It’ll probably get even stronger if you start talking about all of your English stuff. Come on, I can’t miss that.”

I blink. Did not expect that response, at all. I did think to myself that I would eventually educate him on British slang, but I didn’t think he’d actually want to sit down and learn about any of it.

“You’re… probably right, actually. I imagine my accent would start getting even more painfully British if I actually focused on talking about… well, Britain. Still though, I truly don’t believe you’ll enjoy sitting through me lecturing you about our weird insults and euphemisms.”

“Try me,” Peter taunts me, a coy smirk lacing his tone with mirth. “Hell, I’ll even speak some Russian to you in exchange.”

“Really?” I ask, doubtful. I can’t lie, getting to hear Peter speak in Russian does seem really appealing. Not because it’s Peter, I tell myself. It’s just getting to hear a Slavic language for the first time. I’ve always wanted that, right? 

Peter nods.

“Don’t complain when I come back with a three hour lesson plan, then,” I jokingly warn him. The teasing is starting to grow on me. I can see why he’s been doing it to me so much now.

He grins, pleased. “I’ll ace this class. You don’t even know, man. I try not to brag about it–”

I point a finger at him accusingly. “You try not to brag?” I interject rhetorically. “That’s definitely not consistent with whatever I’ve seen so far.”

“Hey! That’s just about my powers. I’m a totally badass speedster and I’m not afraid to show it. If that means I’m bragging, then fine,” Peter harrumphs, defensively denying whatever I insinuated, and I snicker. “Anyway, like I was saying - before someone rudely interrupted me…” Peter looks at me pointedly, to which I disapprovingly raise my eyebrows in response. 

He continues, “I try not to brag about it, since I’ve been maintaining this whole class clown schtick I have going on? But I’m actually a pretty good student. Only when I want to be, though. I’m not good at the actual studying bit.”

“I’m honestly not surprised, Peter,” I say, and I genuinely mean it. 

It’s not like he had tried to be overtly intellectual while we’d been getting acquainted with one another, but he did carry himself with an intelligence – admittedly, an intelligence that might have gone unnoticed to some if they hadn’t paid attention. It takes brains to consistently pretend not to have them. “And also, you really don’t have to dumb yourself down for me. Please don’t. I actually actively dislike it when people do.”

Peter tilts his head side to side. “Oh, so the little genius wants me to get on her level? Challenge accepted, I’ll do it, just you wait,” he chaffs. 

For all of my worries that I’d be treated differently for being slapped in the face with the ‘genius’ label, Peter’s nonchalance about it really eases my spirits. Hell, the boy was even incorporating it into his banter. I’ve been so afraid that it would make people think that if I was honest about it, that I was being haughty, ‘holier-than-thou’. To Peter, it’s as if it’s just another regular thing about me– it doesn’t make me an outsider, and he doesn't think I need to be placed on a pedestal. I can finally breathe again.

Still, I don’t want him to get the impression that I’m just an arrogant arsehole. “Oi, bugger off. I don’t think I’m better than you or anything like that. I’m just saying; you shouldn’t have to pretend to be someone else, right? Like we were literally saying just a moment ago? Especially if being ‘someone else’ means you have to hide your strengths,” I clarify.

Peter squints as he looks off into the middle distance, calculating something in his head. “Hey… I couldn’t impress you by breaking into the actual Pentagon, right?”

I frown. “I never said that.”

Peter touches his hand to his heart, shaking his head. “Didn’t have to– heard you loud and clear, man. It wasn’t good enough for you, that’s fine,” he showily gestures and huffs with finality.

I roll my eyes at the melodrama. “Again, never said that, but sure mate, whatever you say,” I concede with a sigh. 

“Listen, I made a vow to myself that I’d impress you. Fine, the superhero stuff doesn’t cut it for you. And y’know, I gotta say, I was kinda expecting that the whole superhero thing would impress girls by default. You’re gonna be a challenge, but Peter Maximoff will not be defeated. So… Maybe I just have to take the intellectual route with ya’, huh?” he ribs at me, ruffling his hair.

Teasing Peter is fun, but being teased by him is mortifying.

I can maintain my calm. I can be smooth. “Alright, sure then, if you insist,” I fold my arms and press myself back into the cushions behind me. “I don’t know why you’re so hellbent on trying to win my admiration, but it’ll be entertaining to watch your many attempts. What do you have for me?”

Peter bubbles his lips with a loud pop. He looks at me warningly. “I know I said I only brag about my powers, but fuck it, I’ll boast about this– And hey, before you complain, you invited me to.”

“Fair enough, fair enough. Go on, the floor is yours,” I motion for him to proceed.

“Yeah so, no one would expect it, but I get top marks all round, baby. Only the teachers know that, ‘cause I wanna keep things on the down low, yeah? But hey, you’ll find out for yourself soon, right? I’m gonna take this class o’ yours, and I’ll turn in assignments, I’ll go to every class, I’ll do all of your required reading—” Peter rattles on.

“Really?” I interrupt to ask dubiously, bringing my hand up to my chin, “What about the recommended reading?” No one does the recommended reading. This has to be a joke, right?

Peter clicks his tongue and winks. “Hey, if it’ll get me in with the teacher, I’d do all the reading and more. I can totally be a teacher’s pet. You just wait and see.” 

Let me implode right now.

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“But uh, seriously, joking aside,” Turning sincere again, Peter clears his throat again and adjusts his seating position on the sofa to face me better. Thank god, he was joking. “I know I can get carried away trying to joke about things and all? But what you said before that means a lot to me.”

Right. That.

“Oh, uh– Don’t worry about it, yeah?” I’m getting embarrassed again remembering what I’d said. I was so caught up in the moment, I called Peter loveable? I know we brushed it off, but this is a nightmare. Why did I have to be reminded of that? 

I find myself unable to stop over-elaborating in an attempt to cover up my awkwardness, “I just think you should start being more yourself, Peter. Since that’s what you want, right? Maybe break out of your shell? Oh, god, that’s too much of a cliche– uh, live more authentically? Be who you really are? Ugh, no, now I sound like some counsellor. How do I even say this? I… just hope that you can feel comfortable being yourself some day.”

“Hey, you don’t needa freak out. I get what you’re saying, and uh… thanks. Thank you, I mean. Don’t wanna make you think I’m not appreciative or whatever,” Peter begins twisting a silver lock between his fingers. “And uh… I hope you get to take them off one day, if you want. The gloves, I mean.”

The gloves – I’m caught off guard. I try to look down at my hands but I don’t see them. All I do see is the leather gloves covering them, separating me from the rest of the world. There are a few biological mutations that propelled humans into becoming the complex lifeforms that we are today. Overdeveloped brains, larynxes capable of complex speech, bipedalism. Our hands. Our capacity for fine motor control, for heightened kinesthetic sensitivity in the pads of our fingers, grip with the opposable thumb. It can easily be argued that our hands are one of the core ways in which we as people can interact with the world around us.

Mine are covered. “I do want to. I hope I can.”

Peter smiles ever so slightly, and lets out a breath of relief. I didn’t even realise he was holding his breath. Tension leaves his frame, and he relaxes. Just how worried was he for me, exactly? Was it just as much as I was worried for him?

“Good, good. I’m glad,” he tilts his head slightly to meet my eyes. They’re looking into me, bittersweet. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but…”

“It’s alright. Go on,” I encourage him.

Peter takes a sharp breath and looks around - I don’t think at anything in particular - and brings his hand to cup the side of his face, fingers twisting the hairs that frame it. Looking away, he asks, “Do you think you’ll ever be okay touching somebody else again?”

My body trembles at the thought — what if I can never take the gloves off? All I’ve been thinking for the last few days since leaving my parents was to cover, protect, shield. Of course, I covered myself up after that first attack. How could I even think to let myself be vulnerable to that kind of torment again?

It was like Hades himself had personally devised for me some tortuous punishment. I didn’t even know what I was being punished for. My heart is sinking at the realisation; this buffer between my skin and the external world wouldn't be my safety if it was for forever. It would be my own prison. The harrowing reality is that I have no idea if I can ever let myself escape it.

I blink slowly, swallowing, and try to hold the tears back. “I want… to be able to.”

The gloom in the air is blatant and palpable. Whatever Peter’s thinking, he’s giving me no indication whatsoever as to what it is that’s going on in his mind. “This might sound a little insane–” he hesitates, a flurry of anxiety in his eyes.

“No, say whatever it is you want to say. I’ll hear you out.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m just proposing this, so it’s totally fine if you don’t like the idea. Wouldn’t blame ya at all, no hard feelings. But, y’know - only if you want - whenever you think you’re ready to… take the gloves off? I don’t mind being your test subject. I can be your lab rat.”

Shock doesn’t begin to describe this. My heart catches a beat. My jaw slacks. My stomach twists. My eyes widen. The butterflies come back. I squash them down. 

“Peter, I don’t think you understand what you’re offering to me,” I whisper. 

Before I can make out his expression, he looks away. “It’s okay, if you don’t wanna. You don’t have to justify it.”

“No, no, it’s really not that. I’m honoured and so grateful that you’d even offer, but… I really don’t think you would if you understood what it meant,” I try to explain. 

He nods, and I go on, “You’d be letting me into everything. I could see your whole life, know every thought you’ve ever had, feel every emotion you’ve ever felt. I could know everything there is to know about you. You don’t have to give me all of that. It’s not even about how we just met. No one should have to give me that, and I’ll never ask for it.”

“... Oh.” 

“... Yeah. I don’t think you really want to be my ‘lab rat’.”

Peter presses his hand into his jaw, his forehead tenses and his eyes frantically dart around. He blows a puff of air out into his hand and it escapes with a hiss.

“Okay… do you wanna make a pact, then?” he eventually asks.

With much hesitance, I ask back, “What kind of a pact?”

“I try to stop hiding myself from everyone, you try to stop hiding your skin. I’ll already be trying to be real, authentic, right? Share myself with everyone and all? And… If I’m already doing that…” he trails off, beginning to himself. “Then maybe it won’t be so different if you actually touch me.”

For once, I truly don’t know what to say back. Peter cuts into the silence, “Shit, that’s not what I meant. You know that, right? I don’t mean touch me like tha–”

“Peter, I know that’s not what you meant,” I interject in his panic. God, it’s like looking into a mirror.

He stops talking, taking in my words. “Okay, uh– good. Good.”

Sighing, I say, “I don’t know, Peter, we barely know each other. I don’t want you to impulsively promise to let me in like that. If we were already really close - like childhood friends for years, or, I don’t know, if it wasn’t literally the first time we’d ever spoken to each other? Maybe things would be different. It’s not because I don’t like you or anything, honest to god. I just… You shouldn’t. You would stand to lose everything in this pact. I can’t do that to you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Peter rustles his hair, shoots me an oddly confident smirk for the context, and he shifts. Biting the inside of his cheek, he begins shuffling his way over to my side of the sofa. What in the actual fuck is happening? 

Processing the sight of Peter edging closer and closer towards me feels… unreal. It’s as if I’m an audience member watching a scene play out before me on a screen. My heart is a furnace whose fires crackle raucously in my ears, head-splitting. There’s simply no possibility that I’m here on this plane of existence, at this moment in the temporal line. He’s dangerously close now – teetering on the line between the platonic and… something more. 

I just know my face is red.

In a pace so slow it almost kills me, he slinks his arm behind me to rest on the back of the sofa. In a dulcet tone most incongruous with his demeanour, he softly asks, “Is this okay?”

Whether I nod or only tremble out of how flustered he’s getting me is almost unknowable. Taking in a breath, deep, so deep it nearly feels like I’m not breathing at all, I attempt to desperately cling onto whatever sanity is left within me. I give him a nod with more certainty.

“Cool, cool. Great, even,” Peter hums his approval. Leaning in impossibly closer, somehow taking care not to touch me, he whispers into my ear.

“So– we’ll just have to get to know each other better, then.”

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crush (peter parker)

summary: peter has been visiting you as spider-man long enough to develop a crush on you. the problem? you have a crush on somebody else.

notes: u guys…i love peter parker so much okay!!! also this is a short fic bc i have a longer one in the works. yes i realize this is 4k words but like, that’s short for me ok bye happy reading! 

warnings: typos, probably.

Peter Parker sat on the ledge of your fire escape, careful to avoid the patches of snow from the previous day. It had been a long night of patrolling and his lower back ached to no end. The familiar space spread warmth to Peter’s chest as he attempted to collect his breath, the inside of his suit scratching against his skin. 

It had been dark out for a few hours. Peter knew that May would be going to sleep in an hour, leaving the perfect opportunity for him to slip back into his bedroom undetected. He had lied to her earlier, saying that he’d be studying with a group of friends he had made at university earlier that semester. But he had other places he needed to be. 

He would be lying if he said his only reason for patrolling was to keep his city out of danger. While that was a big motivation for him to put his suit on, the other reason was because he wanted to see you.

Keep reading

Bucky Barnes

Honey Girl. by @violentdelightsandviolentends

Pie-eyed over you by @themorningsunshine

Marked what’s mine by @daxisyzz

It’s been calling me by @godmadeaterribleerror

Timeless by @mandoalorian

Hold on by @aquaticmercy

Don’t touch the tech girl by @aquaticmercy

How to impress a 21st century girl by @brunchable

Jackass by @aquaticmercy

First base by @writingunderneathawillow

Let it happen by @flowersforbucky

Marked what’s mine by @daxisyzz

Have we met before ?by @aquaticmercy

Late night shenanigans by @navybrat817

guys. guysgyys

THE WAY HE LOOKS AT MC IM GONNA JUMP PH MY GOD

IT'S SO SOFT HE'S SO IN LOVE I CANT TAKE IT

I love the whole tension thing they have going on but my heart aches for lover boy Sylus he's so in love please let him love MC

OH AND

HIS SMIRK HERE?!?! HE'S SO HOT BUT SO DAMN CUTE AT THE SAME TIME WHAT IS HE DOING

a redraw from error 143 💗

𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆 𝗺𝗲 - 𝗽𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗿

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: peter wants to be babied.

𝘄/𝗰: 0.5k

𝗮/𝗻: hey guys!! it has been nearly a year since i’ve last written and i just wanna say i’m sorry for leaving for so long </3 please do bear with me, this may not be that good judging by how long it’s been since i’ve last written. i hope you enjoy though! also for everyone who has requested something, i haven’t forgotten about you! i’m getting to those soon :)

“please hold me” 

it’s nearly 1am and you’re sprawled out on your bed watching some random movie that was playing on tv. you’ve been up waiting for hours for peter to come by after patrol, and now he’s finally here sneaking in through your window.

“are you okay baby? you finished up pretty late” you question softly as you take off his mask and brush his hair out of his face.

“i’m fine. i just want you to hold me” he says tiredly and practically puts all of his body weight on you, causing you both to fall back onto your bed.

Keep reading

YES

This right here is the hottest thing a man can do

pocket-sized

percy hynes white x short! reader

masterlist

mentions of: height? idk let me know if you find any!

synopsis: percy liked that you are shorter than him

i’m no longer writing for him so plz no hate!!!!

12 inches. a whole foot shorter. you were 5”2 and Percy was 6”2. he liked how he could tower you. he liked the way you would have to look up at him. he especially appreciated when it was sunny outside because you would have to look up and the sun would catch your eyes making you scrunch your face. he also enjoyed how your hands would be wayyyy smaller than his. but out of all these things, his favorite thing about how short you were was putting his head on top of yours and wrapping his hands around your waist.

You and Percy have been dating for a year. you bumped into him in a pharmacy, trying to develop your film. Percy was waiting next to you holding his camera and you with yours.

“you take pictures” he tries to start a conversation with a girl he found attractive

“yeah, just started with this, I have an actual camera,” you say smiling weakly

“I think you should keep using a disposable camera so we could bump into one another more often,” he says trying to secure a date with you

“or you could just ask for my number” a date you wanted

“would Instagram be included in that bundle” he tried to stalk you, he tried to find out who you were as a person

“or maybe on the other hand I actually don’t have a number” you try to joke

“no don’t be like that” he’s a little flustered now

a few days later after that interaction, you were on a date. after that date led to more dates than asking for you to be his officially. it was nice to have someone to call yours and be excited to hang out with whenever possible.

—-

“ready to head out,” Percy says wrapping his hands around your waist as you’re putting on the final touches of your makeup and hair

“yeah, one second,” you say putting on some perfume that Percy got you during his time in Romania. it was vanilla-scented. your favorite

you were ready to go out on your date. the date was a dinner and you wanted to bet Percy that he was going to move your seat next to his to be able to sit next to you.

right, when you were seated across from each other Percy gets up and moves his chair in the middle asking you to do the same and you did. the thing is that you thought that the distance between the two of you was perfect, but in Percy's eyes he thought differently, he scooted your chair so his practically touched. the whole night after was him with his arm around your shoulder or his hand lying on your thigh.

—-

during car rides, Percy likes to put his hand on your lap. squeezing it and making his fingers dance around. when it was summer he liked how you would dangle your head out the window. how your hair would dance in the wind.

he also liked how in the winter you would bundle up and wear his hoodies because they were so warm but you secretly liked the smell of them. he liked that you would wear the hood and sit on the car seat with yours legs held to your chest because you were so cold.

—-

he never cared about the arts really until he met you. he liked being able to take pictures of you in his bed in a small form but never liked actually making the art. he never learned from the lessons that Netflix made him do.

he liked how you would look when putting your head on his bicep. while you would observe the art. he would have you wrapped around his arms. his head on top of yours. you would talk about all the details of the painting and he would listen nodding and humming in amusement.

one thing the two of you had in common was liking films. every Tuesday heading to the closest AMC theatre. you would watch films and analyze them together afterward.

the theatre had reclining seats and you could move the middle cup holder up so the both of you could cuddle together. and that’s what you did.

every film no matters if it was scary or not you would lie on his chest while he wrapped his arms around you. (the same way you both slept) you liked the way his heart would beat speed up when he would look down on you. you could tell because his head would move around. and you could tell his shit-eating grin was on his face once again.

of course, afterward, you would talk about the film going back to your shared place. he would laugh at your theories of the film. he would play your theories in his head on the way to sleep and they would always make sense.

—-

he also liked baking with you. he liked how you would move around a lot and get the batter on your face somehow. he liked that you had your hair back in a messy style and would have an apron on. sleeves rolled up ready to take on whatever you were doing

“perc! I need your help” you yelled and saw him resting his body on the wall that splits your living room from the kitchen

“what do you need my highness” he bows down

“I need you to get me the pink bowl on the top right cabinet” you point to the thing causing your pissed-off state.

you never understood why he never got you a stool. maybe he liked being of help and being able to be in your bubble while you bake. because he never once got in the way of your work.

he never once let you put the pan into the oven because he was scared you would burn yourself. which never happened when you were on your own.

“why can’t I do it,” you ask feeling like all the work he has done

“don’t want you to get burnt,” he says opening the oven and putting in the pan

“there are mittens for a reason, y’know they aren’t decorations”

“but you look so pretty all healthy and smooth,” he says getting the brown batter from your nose and licking his finger clean

he liked cleaning up with you. playing with bubbles and splashing you with water. he grew in love with your face, he grew to be able to read your facial expressions. enough being said he could read how pissed you were but he knew to not mess around anymore.

waiting for the pastry was enjoyable. he liked waiting on the couch with you. you were in between his legs and your head rested on his chest. you would scroll on your phone and Percy would watch. when the pastry was ready you both would always burn yourselves it was like you never learned. and you would both laugh at each other. but it was enjoyable and you both would finish it in a day.

—-

the get-together was at his place. it was strictly just the cast. they slowly started to pile in through the door. he was excited to be reunited with them. he found the friends that he loved. and you were happy for him. as he greeted everyone he was ready to sit down on the couch and you were close behind. he was holding your hand guiding you to your seat.

another thing Percy was extremely mad about was you sitting on his lap. no matter if there was plenty of space everywhere else. he loved sitting with you. he especially did this when you were laying on the couch watching some TikToks and he would make you get up and lay on top of him. it would make you go crazy and not in a good way. but it made him happy so you let it slide.

“so how long have you two dated” hunter asked

“About two years,” Percy says playing with your hair. twisting it and fiddling with it between his two fingers

Emma was trying to get your attention. she thought you were interesting. she liked the way you probably have a lot to say but just keep to yourself. she knew deep down you were funny because well you were dating Percy.

“what’s something that Percy has done here that no one else knows about,” Emma asks looking directly at you. you start laughing at the thought

“no-“ Percy says trying to hold you from saying it

“he…he sings t swift when he’s bored” Percy tried to cover your mouth before you finished the sentence, but it was too late because what you said was out and everyone was laughing

“so- uh- so who wants to play uno” Percy says trying to move the conversation

wanting to get the Uno cards that were under the coffee table. in a red tin box that once contained chocolates, Percy got you for valentines day. once you got it you were walking to his kitchen. all the seats were taken and Percy put you on his lap. he shuffled the cards and something about that no matter who did it, was attractive. Percy however liked the way your hands made the Uno cards look humongous while he made them look tiny.

“Are you both teaming?” Jenna asked

“should we” Percy whispers in your ear sending butterflies straight to your stomach

“Sure,” you say kissing his cheek and everyone started teaming up.

halfway through the game, Percy has half the deck with him.

“I should've never teamed with you” you laugh at just seeing the cards

“I’ll make us win don’t worry” he had his eyes wide like he was determined. and that he was because he always kept his promises to you.

and by the end of the night you both did. he liked the way your eyes would sparkle with joy that only lit up with winning. how you would wrap your hands around him and laugh.

—-

one thing Percy hated was high heels. it was like they were enemies. you never understood it. it wasn’t like you would get whiny about the heels hurting you. in fact it was the opposite. you would run dance jump all of it and all Percy’s face was saying is how much he hated those things giving you height.

he liked that you would have to tip-toe for him but those were easy access they took one of his favorite things about you. and if he could he would destroy them all.

he liked that at the end of the day, you would dress in his clothes to go to bed. it was practically a nightgown for you. he liked how you would clean your face and make sure you felt clean. he liked the way you would be ready to go to bed and not even act like you didn’t want to be by him. because you did you wanted him to wrap his arms around you because it is reassuring and comforting. and wake up in that same form in the morning.

“Happy Mother’s Day.”

You pause your scrolling, brows pinching together as you glance up at Sylus with both amusement and confusion.

“Do you know something I don’t?”

You had no children (yet) and you were almost positive you’d know if you were pregnant well before Sylus did. Still, Sylus seemed amused by your confusion. “No, not unless there is something you aren’t telling me.” He winked as he sat beside you, pulling you into a tight hug.

“So why are you wishing me — a woman with no children — a happy Mother’s Day?” You lean into him, laughing softly as he kisses the top of your head.

“Well, Luke and Kieran seem to think of you as a motherly figure from time to time… and you’re also very caring and sweet in nature.” He hums thoughtfully, twirling the ends of your hair. “You take care of me quite often.”

“So you’re saying I’m motherly?”

“…pretty much. I think it sums you up very well.” You sneak a glance at him, cheeks warming when you realize he’s been looking at you the entire time. “Is that even enough of a qualification to celebrate this holiday?”

“In my book it is.” You feel warm at that, a sheepish smiling tugging at your lips as you shake your head.

“You’re silly. I don’t think I’m all that gentle… not enough to be considered motherly…” your voice strains a little, as if you had just unleashed an insecurity you didn’t fully realize was lingering in the depths of your mind.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, kitten.”

Sylus didn’t flinch at the look of disbelief on your face, rather, he smiled instead. “You’ve always fussed over me, even though you know I can heal my own wounds.”

“The first few days of knowing you, you forced me to shoot you in the chest.” But Sylus shook his head. “That may be true, but don’t you recall what you did immediately after?” Of course you did, you panicking, scolding him like you’d known him for years and tried to stop the bleeding.

“The look on your face tells me you do.”

“What does that have to do with this conversation?” You still couldn’t understand where he was taking this. “You couldn’t stand me the first time you met me, you were scared and disgusted. Despite that, you still tried to save my life. That’s very telling of your character.”

“You bandage me up despite my ability to heal, you fuss over me all the time. You worry about the twins too, and ensure that they get their fair share. You may have callouses on your finger tips, but your hands are nothing but gentle and kind. Full of love and care.”

You’re not sure why, but you feel your eyes begin to brim with tears. “You’re strong, incredibly so. And yet you’re so soft, so sweet, so empathetic. The kind of soul that just wills you to open up even if you’ve never done so before. People feel safe when you’re around, me included. And not just because you’re one of Linkon’s best hunters.”

Sylus doesn’t stop, not even as you brush the tears from your eyes before they can slip down your cheeks.

“So, yes. You’re motherly, you’re a natural caregiver. And I know that one day when we finally have children of our own, our babies are going to be so incredibly blessed to be able to call you their mama.”

Your heart aches, a sniffle rumbling your chest as you lightly smack his arm. “You’re a sentimental jerk.” Sylus only pulls you closer, laughing softly as he kisses your head. “I love you so much, even though you made me cry.” The laughter grows a little louder, the hug a little tighter.

“I love you more than words can convey, and I meant every word I just said so don’t you dare doubt me.”