#Petey wants some | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

webslingingslasher · 1 year ago

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Hi can I ask for a blurb where Peter accidently hits the reader while playing or something like he sometimes forgets about his super strength but fluff at the end please 🥺.

this got away from me but this was so fun and cute to write!

“I kinda want a black eye.”

Your boyfriend slowly lowered the bag of peas on his left eye, his elbow dropped daringly, forcing you to look at the dark purple hue.

“Oh, really?”

You nod, “it looks gnarly but it’d be cool to have one.”

“Baby, my heartbeat is currently taking place from my eyeball. You don’t want one.”

Stretching across the space on the couch you raise Peter’s hand back up so he can ice the bruise some more, it does look painful.

“I think if you loved me you’d give me one.”

Peter took a second to see if that sentence would resonate with you but it hadn’t.

“We should go to the women's shelter and spread that knowledge.”

You scoff, “they weren't asking for it, Peter. I am.”

Your boyfriend lowered his temporary ice pack and reached a hand out, his thumb rubbed under your eye, you almost thought he was thinking about it. Almost.

“I’d never. I would, however, patch you up if you ever got one.”

“Do you have a friend that could-”

“No.”

—------------------------------------

Oh FUCK did your eye HURT.

It was on a level ten throb level, it felt like a ring stretching to your eyebrow and nose. You couldn’t even open it, all you could do was press your hand to it and try and stop the pressure from building, it didn’t work.

You were able to blink it open just enough to be blinded by the living room light, you’ve never been so light sensitive. Squeezing it shut you winced, you tried to be understanding and calm; it was an accident after all. But the pain was spreading all over your face and you had a target right on the corner of your right eye, and it hurt.

If your right eye could open it’d be shedding tears too, you had one continuance stream coming from your left eye.

Your voice bubbles with pain, “petey, it hurts.”

Your boyfriend couldn’t even breathe right now, he had hurt you. The one thing he swore he would never, could never do, and he did it. Panic flooded his body, panicked he’s caused serious damage, panicked you’d be scared of him, panicked you’d dump him, panicked your dad would come curbstomp him.

“It hurts so bad,” he knows you’re calling out for him, he knows you need him, but all he could replay was the ‘whack!’ in his head. It wasn’t gentle in the slightest, you whipped away from him with a hiss, your hand immediately covering your eye. You had been okay at first but after a minute had passed it became nearly unbearable.

Peter knows how bad a black eye hurts, and he just gave you one.

His short, barely there breaths start to stutter.

And suddenly Peter couldn’t see because his vision was muddled by tears, he tried to blink them back but they ran. He can’t remember the last time he’s cried, but this brought him to his knees. He never wanted to punish himself more than in that second. He should’ve been quicker, he should’ve known you were behind him, he has those goddamn senses and they did nothing in that moment.

“Peter!” A desperate cry for attention, you don’t know what to do, it hurts more than you could imagine.

You look up at your boyfriend still standing in shock where he jumped away from you after hitting you directly in your eye. A wrestling battle, you had tried to take him down after he’d pinned you three times. In an effort of a sneak attack you crawled up the couch and tried to jump on his back where he sat on the floor. You dived and at the last moment his hand… well you don’t know what he was trying to do but it connected hard to your cheekbone.

Your back hit the couch and you held your hand as you hissed and groaned in hurt, Peter scrambled up and backed up behind the coffee table, as if he was scared to be around you.

He’s crying, your boyfriend’s crying. You’ve been punched and he’s crying.

“I’m.. I’m sorr.. Fuck.” Peter snaps out of it, you need him. He crosses to the couch in two steps, his hand cupping your cheek. It makes everything in him deflate when you flinch as he touches you, he bites his bottom lip to stop a sob. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

His heart hurts as you cry, his thumb taps at your hand covering the damaged eye. The one he caused.

“Let me see it, please?” Peter said it like a question, like he’d ever be lucky enough to have that privilege.

You sob, “it hurts.”

Peter blinks, more tears. He can’t believe he’s crying over this, he also can’t believe he hit his fucking girlfriend.

“I know, I know it does, baby. Please let me see it.”

You choke in air to stop your crying, it works. You slowly lift your hand off your eye, it’s not throbbing as much but the pressure has inflated tenfold and you couldn’t open it if you tried, it was swollen shut. You tried to gauge a reaction out of him, to see how bad it is. You forgot your boyfriend had the world’s best poker face.

Peter wanted to curl up into a ball when he saw the damage.

It was bruising, and swollen and you couldn’t open your eye and it was all his fault.

His fault, his fault, his fault.

If he was normal, if he was a normal boyfriend, this wouldn’t have happened. A normal teenager doesn’t have the strength to hold a ferry or stop a runaway bus, he does. And he used that strength on you.

His powers, his abilities, his strength.

His fault, his fault, his fault.

“You need ice.” Is all that could come out. A wince wraps over your face when you nod, you try to sit up and groan. “Everything hurts. How do you do this? Pain has to affect you differently, right?” Peter ignored you as he backed away, you don’t think he’s ever been so aware of his surroundings and actions.

He shouldn’t be getting ice, he shouldn’t be putting it in a plastic bag and wrapping a rag around it, he shouldn’t be grabbing you tylenol extra strength, he shouldn’t be icing your black eye he caused.

His fault, his fault, his fault.

It scared you how quiet he was, the accidental punch was just that. You weren’t upset at him or scared he would do it again, you were scared how odd he was acting. He was strangely quiet and standoffish, when he came back to you with ice and pills you watched him think about holding the bag to your eye but stopped and put it in your hand.

He shifted his weight and looked at the couch, he stepped back and sat on the coffee table.

Peter cried and was quiet and standoffish and scared to touch you. He was terrified of himself, you may be physically hurt but he was emotionally broken, his one major thing washed down the drain. Accident or not he gave you a black eye, and it was tearing him up inside.

You hummed when ice hit the hot skin, suddenly it didn’t hurt.

“Am I right, super high pain tolerance?”

It’s like you broke through a wall, Peter looked up at you like he just found out you were in the room.

“I hit you.”

You would’ve rolled your eyes if you could’ve.

“That’s a little dramatic.”

Peter shook his head, upset you weren’t upset.

“I hit you hard, I hurt you. I…” His hand pulled at his curls so hard you grit your teeth. “I fucking hit you,” he whispered it, like his own mind couldn’t wrap it around.

He doesn’t pull out the fuck word often.

You thought about reaching out for his hand, but you think that’d made things worse.

“I’m not scared of you, petey. It was an accident.”

“I swore i’d never hurt you, that I would never hit you and I didn’t-”

“Mean it.” You cut him off, “you didn’t mean it.”

Peter rubbed at his jaw and blinked, you saw tears puddling and you wanted to do nothing more than hold him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, you lowered the bag of ice from your eye prepared to switch seats. He wouldn’t let you.

“Ice.” Cold and hard, like you had no other option. You didn’t question him, you followed instructions.

“Remember when you asked me to give you a black eye months ago?”

It was a joke. Sure, you saw a tiktok with a girl who had one and you couldn’t deny it looked a little cool. Then seeing one on Peter the same night you couldn’t shake it. You were just playing around, it’s not like it was that serious.

“I was joki-”

“I told you I'd never, and I did. I hit my girlfriend and gave her a black eye.”

Disgust. That’s what it was. He was disgusted with himself.

You sat up straight, your lip curled up.

A black eye? Sick.

“Wait, really?”

Peter looked up at your excitement, it came from nowhere.

“You gave me a black eye? I have a black eye right now? For real, for real?”

This wasn’t a cute or funny thing, and he won’t let you make it be one.

He hit you.

“This isn’t funny, I hit you and you’re happy you got a black eye?”

“Pete, I forgive you. And not just cause you gave me a black eye, because it was an accident and you didn’t mean to and you’re obviously extremely remorseful.”

“But I-”

You reached out for his hand, “forgive yourself. You forgive yourself.”

It wouldn’t be instant, until your eye healed, which would be at a much slower rate than him, he wouldn’t be able to fully forgive himself.

“No more wrestling.”

You scoff, “no more sneak attacks, how about that?”

He shook his head, “I don’t want this happening again.”

“If the situation was reversed would you want me to hold it against myself?”

Peter scoffed, “absolutely not, but it wouldn’t hurt me like it does you.”

“So you do have a super high pain tolerance.”

He snapped and ripped his hand from yours, “yes, I do have a super high pain tolerance. I also have super strength and give my girlfriend black eyes.”

You held your hand up, the other one slightly freezing from the cold but you were too scared to take it off.

“First off, plural. Second, please stop. You’re making me feel bad, I’m really okay and I’m not mad and I forgive you a thousand million percent.”

Peter inhaled sharply, he has to believe you. He’s more shook up than you are and he guesses he should agree with you, you were the hurt one. If you forgive him he could try and do the same.

“I think you need to give me a black eye to even it out.”

You gasp like your offended at his words, your hand lays over your heart.

“I’d never!”

Your boyfriend ran his tongue over his teeth and gave you a dead stare, his hands pushed him off the coffee table. His words grumbled, “toxic.”

#peter parker x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #peter parker blurb #peter parker angst #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker fluff #my writing

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puck-luck · 1 month ago

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have your cake | quinn hughes

warnings: overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, coming on reader's body, subspace (not directly called that but gf is DEEP in SOME headspace) pairing: birthday boy!quinn hughes x fem!reader summary: it's quinn's 25th birthday, so fem!reader gives him the chance to do his favorite thing in bed for as long as he would like. wc: 2992

“Thank you for dinner, sweetheart,” Quinn says, bringing his napkin to his face and wiping his mouth. “And thanks for not making my birthday such a big deal.”

He had asked for such, so you were just trying to follow his wishes. The Canucks hadn’t had a game today, so Quinn had gone to practice like normal. He had grabbed a drink with Petey, Garly, and J.T. afterward as a special treat for his birthday. You know that Tocchet had asked catering to make Quinn a singular birthday cupcake, since he isn’t the biggest fan of sweets during the season.

With you, though, he just wanted to spend his time. You made him a steak, his favorite. On the side, you baked a potato and heaped a healthy pile of green beans onto his plate. For fun, you made some cheesy garlic bread, and although he doesn’t normally eat gluten during the season, he’s never been able to deny your fluttering eyelashes and doe eyes.

He cleared his plate. He always does, but you feel especially proud of your cooking today.

“You’re welcome,” you respond. “I’m glad you liked it. Has your birthday been good?”

Quinn nods. “It was a good day. Very calm. It’s still weird without Jack and Luke, but I talked to them earlier. They called me before practice, right after they got out of the gym.” He pauses, reaching out with his palm up so you take his hand. “This dinner is the cherry on top.”

“You haven’t even had dessert yet,” you tell him. “Since it’s your birthday, you get to have your cake and eat it, too.” You’d been thinking about the pun for hours. It might not make the most sense, given the dessert that you’re going to offer him in just a few minutes, but you think you’re funny. You’re on the last few bites of your own dinner, so you want to clear your plate and load the dishwasher before you offer him anything.

“Baby, I don’t need anything sweet,” Quinn says. “I already had something today.”

You take the final bite of potatoes, then swallow. You stand, collecting his plate and stacking it atop your own. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“What is it?” Quinn asks.

“A surprise,” you tease, winking at him as you rinse the debris off of the plates with hot water. Then, you load the dishwasher and wash your hands, drying them with the towel that hangs near the sink.

“You’re such a tease,” Quinn laughs, pretending to chide you for withholding. He stands from the table and washes his own hands, but as soon as he’s done, he takes the opportunity to get handsy with you. He dries his hands on your clothes, leaving wet handprints over your ass and waist, plus one over one of your tits for good measure.

You twist away from him like you hate the antics, but it’s just the precursor to his dessert, which he doesn’t know yet. Sure, he’s probably hoping to get laid tonight– and it is his birthday, after all– but you had other plans.

Quinn rarely gets to do his favorite thing in bed. Part of that is because you’re both busy and when you fuck, you want to fuck. You like getting to the point where Quinn’s ample cock is buried inside you, filling you with his come, all while he murmurs little nothings about “you’re mine,” “gonna put a baby in you,” or the like.

His favorite thing is to lay between your legs and eat you out until your thighs are squeezing his head and covering his ears and suffocating him. Like you said– you’re normally greedy for his cock, even impatient (which is how he often describes your attitude in bed), but today is Quinn’s birthday.

So, if he wants to, and he will want to, he’ll eat your pussy for dessert. He’ll eat you out until he’s had his fill, no matter how many orgasms it takes. You already set two full bottles of water on the bedside table in your shared room, plus you bought some fruit at the store so that you can recharge when he’s done with you. You’re expecting overstimulation, a fuzzy brain, and maybe even tears as a result of the pleasure.

You’re prepared for anything, because you’re at the mercy of the birthday boy today.

“Go to our room,” you tell Quinn. “I’m going to bring you dessert in bed, okay? I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just let me get everything ready.”

“Good idea,” Quinn says. “Then we won’t have to leave bed afterward.”

You playfully roll your eyes at him and shoo him away, but he’s absolutely correct. That’s the whole point.

Quinn goes, blowing you a kiss just before he walks out of sight because he can’t help himself from being silly when you share a domestic evening together.

Once he’s gone, you pretend to prepare a dish. You open and close the fridge a couple of times, you click the lighter like you’re lighting candles, you remove plates and cups from the cupboard so that he hears the clatter and suspects nothing. As you move around the kitchen, shuffling along inconspicuously, you remove your clothes.

Underneath your normal leggings, t-shirt, and one of Quinn’s Canucks sweatshirts lies your favorite part of the outfit. You’d been planning to do this since the end of September, so you’d had plenty of time to go to Victoria’s Secret and buy yourself a black, lace crotchless teddy. Quinn will get to look up at you in the (not-so cheap) fabric and admire how it fits you without sacrificing his ability to eat you out. There’s no barrier between your cunt and his tongue, despite the fact that you’ll still be clothed.

You have planned everything out to the final detail, to the final possibility, and you might be just as eager as Quinn will be when he sees you.

So that you’ll have something to snack on when he’s done, you actually wash the fruit you bought earlier and put it in a bowl. Holding the bowl in one hand, you politely knock on the bedroom door before entering.

Quinn is already in the process of removing his shirt and getting ready for bed. When you walk in, he turns to meet you. When he sees what you’re wearing, he freezes and his lips part in surprise.

In a second, you watch his expression melt into his typical “my brain has turned off and now the only thing that I can think about is getting my girlfriend in bed” look.

“Happy birthday, baby,” you say, biting your lip as you take in his reaction. You put a hand on your hip and pop it to the side, showing off your outfit.

“Are you my present?” He asks, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“I’m your dessert,” you correct.

“Even better,” Quinn decides, crossing the room and getting his hands on you.

“Wait,” You tell him.

Quinn pouts, but drops his hands to his sides.

You give him a little twirl, revealing the way that your behind is only partially covered by the lace of the lingerie. You move slowly, giving him plenty of time to stare at all of the parts of your body, thoroughly taking you in.

He gives you a low whistle as you turn. You touch his jaw when you’re done, then you turn to the bed. You actually crawl from the foot of the bed, giving him a show.

When you collapse against the pillows, making yourself comfortable. Quinn stares at you, walking to the bed and touching your ankle. He draws a star on your skin, surveying the view.

“What can I– what do you want me to do?” Quinn asks, eyes still raking your figure.

“Whatever you want,” you reply. “It’s your birthday.”

“Whatever I want?” Quinn repeats.

You hum in affirmation. “Your fingers, your cock,” you list. You raise your eyebrows, bringing one of your legs up into a bent position. His eyes are drawn to your core. “Your mouth.”

Quinn’s attention snaps to your face.

“Whatever you want,” you confirm again. “For however long you want. All night, even. Birthday boy.”

“I love you,” Quinn says, climbing up onto the bed and settling between your legs. “You’re perfect.”

“I expect the same kind of treatment on my birthday,” you banter back, moving with his touch. He nudges your knee, so you spread your legs for him.

Quinn doesn’t reply, running his fingers over the fabric that lies on either side of your pussy. He pushes his thumb against your clit, applying pressure but not giving pleasure, not yet.

You take it as a sign that you’re in for a long night. So, you shift and make yourself more comfortable. You look down, watching Quinn.

He’s gentle to start. He presses sweet kiss after sweet kiss to your folds, to your clit which is still hidden. He takes his time.

You’re not sure which is true: if you’re wet of your own accord, or if Quinn’s gentle licks and smeared kisses make you that way.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. You’re wet and Quinn’s getting to do what he loves. You’re comfortable, he’s making satisfied noises as he grows more eager, and everything feels good.

You touch his hair, smoothing it off of his forehead. You tilt your head, admiring him with slow blinks and a serene smile on your face.

Quinn has a one-track mind at the moment. Until he’s drawn an orgasm out of you, he won’t look up and check in.

His tongue teases you, traipsing along your slit and circling your clit leisurely. He’ll run his bottom lip over the skin, letting it drag along your core and create unexpectedly satisfying friction. He’ll nose at your clit, bumping his features along your most sensitive points, just because he can. Quinn’s eyes are closed, fully immersing himself in the moment.

He works his tongue into you over time, at first teasing you with flicks and short dips, but it doesn’t take long for him to grow greedy for more– greedy for your release all over the muscle. It’s then that he licks into you as best he can, using his thumb to stimulate your bundle of nerves. He repeats the same motion over and over– prodding his tongue into you, drawing it out… again and again, all the while he’s pressing against your clit.

Your first orgasm builds slowly. Slow and steady wins the race, they always say, and Quinn is drawing the orgasm out of you like the tortoise in this race. You’re starting to feel a bit jumpy, like the rabbit, your hips aching to move beneath him and grind against his face.

But, this is his birthday present. You restrain yourself because it’s his gift. He gets to set the pace. If Quinn wants to make this the most built-up, desperate orgasm of your life, he’s allowed to do so.

It takes minutes. Minutes of Quinn humming and licking and touching you with the pad of his thumb until you feel yourself start to crest over the wave of your climax.

“Close,” you breathe out.

Quinn pays you no mind, just continuing his ministrations until you’re clenching down on his tongue with a whimper. Your hand clutches his hair, trying not to seize up beneath him as you come, riding out the waves with his tongue still poking around inside of you.

He moves more slowly as you come down from your first, withdrawing his tongue from your cunt and licking over the slick that accumulated after your orgasm.

“Again,” Quinn murmurs. He doesn’t allow you to take a breath before he finds your clit with his tongue and latches on.

He seems committed to making your subsequent releases quick. His mouth feels like the tube of a vacuum against your clit, unrelenting and merciless. He’s sucking, and sucking, and sucking.

Quinn is starting to get sloppy. He’s got slick all over his lips, all over his chin. He stares up at you now, nothing behind his hooded eyes. He’s just taking you in, looking at you from his favorite angle.

His hands are resting on the insides of your thighs, laying securely to keep your legs spread for him. His pupils are dilated, massive and dark. His jaw works– you can see the bones in his face shifting as he tastes you. His face is scruffy as he nuzzles against you.

It isn’t long until you come again, just as strong as the first one. This climax seems to hit you harder, just because it came more quickly.

“Another,” he says into your skin, shifting one of his hands to push a finger into your heat. He doesn’t move his mouth from your clit, only intensifying his suction.

“Fuck,” you reply, halfway between a moan and a cry for… something. A break? For more?

You’re not sure. Things are starting to blur together and turn fuzzy. You’ve come twice without a moment of reprise, because that’s what Quinn wants. You’ll give him as many as he desires, until you physically cannot give any more.

You close your eyes and lose track of time, seeing stars the next time Quinn makes you come. He’s worked up to a second finger now, scissoring them and removing his tongue from your clit to shove it between his fingers. All three are inside of you, bringing you over the crest again.

Then, a third finger and his tongue on your nipple.

Then, again, with his tongue on your other nipple.

Another with his mouth pressing insistent kiss after insistent kiss to your cheeks, lips, and neck.

Your vision is black, then reeling with colors like that scene in Ratatouille when Remy mixes all of those different flavors, then like television static on an old TV.

“One more,” Quinn’s voice comes out of the darkness.

You whine, high in the back of your throat.

“I know, sweetheart,” Quinn murmurs. He’s touching your face, wiping underneath your eyes. “I know. You’re doing so well. You’re being so good for me. I love you so much– give me one more on my cock, okay? Then we’ll be done.”

“Quinn,” you keen, opening your eyes and finding it hard to look at him through the wetness there. You hadn’t realized that the overstimulation had gotten to you so much– but that’s what multiple orgasms will do to you. That’s how you react when your body is experiencing so much pleasure that it’s painful.

“That’s right, baby, I’m right here,” Quinn assures you. You can feel his cock nudging against your entrance, which feels like it’s gaping. You’re certain that your clit is swollen from the stimulation, the excessive stimulation. He sinks into you, inch by inch, cooing quietly to keep you grounded. “You’re so close already, I can feel it in the way you’re squeezing me. It’ll be quick, baby, I promise.”

He continues to talk while he fucks you, telling you how good you’ve been. He tells you how sexy you are, how perfect. He tells you how hard he’s been since you walked into the bedroom in your dirty, pretty lingerie and how he honestly thought he was going to come in his pants when you clenched down on his fingers for the third time and a weak dribble of your cum had dripped down his wrist.

You’re far gone. Sure, you’re there– you can feel him inside, pumping into you and throbbing against your walls. You can feel the way Quinn’s lips move over your own when he kisses you and when he speaks, feeding the words directly into your mouth. His fingers are toying with your puffy clit, and you’re sure it feels nice, but all you can feel is heat and friction.

“Quinn,” you say again.

“Let go,” he instructs under his breath. “Let go for me. Come around my cock, baby.”

You nod, agreeing to a seemingly-impossible task.

Quinn is always able to make the impossible happen. Your final climax manifests in shaking legs and bolts of lightning in your stomach, churning and folding in on itself. Your eyes are squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners, which Quinn kisses away.

He doesn’t come inside you. After you reach your final peak, he pulls out. He jerks himself above you, continuing to kiss your face and praise you for being so good to him. He comes all over your stomach and you’re glad– if he had come inside you, or somewhere equally as sensitive like your tits, it would be far too much when the time came to clean you up. With his cum on your stomach, he’s able to wipe you down without causing you any discomfort.

When it’s all over, he helps you sit up and drink your water. He kisses your temples and your forehead, your cheeks and your jawline. He surrounds you with one of his big t-shirts, like a massive hug, and he pulls you onto his lap so that you can collapse into the crook of his neck. Quinn rubs your back and convinces you to eat some of the berries you brought into the room earlier.

You’re tired when you’re able to verbalize a full sentence again. You’re exhausted, really. Quinn pushed you to your absolute limit, although you’re not dissatisfied with the way things went. You sought a night where he could do whatever he wanted, which he did, and now you want to sleep.

“Happy birthday,” you muster.

Quinn breathes out a chuckle, cradling your jawline as you stain his neck with a splotchy kiss. “Thank you again for being so perfect,” he says. “You made my birthday so special, baby. Let’s sleep, okay? I’ll cuddle you all night long.”

Within minutes, you’re drifting off to the lullaby of his breath.

#puck-luck's fics #andy writes anything🍄#quinn hughes #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #qh43 #nhl smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #hockey smut #happy birthday quinn <3

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dinosaurwithablog · 6 months ago

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The peach pies came out so well that I decided to use the same method to make chicken pot pies. Oh my my!!! This is the best chicken pot pie that I've ever had. You can hear the crust crunch as you put your fork into it, and the filling is scrumptious 😋 I like this way of making pot pies better than the traditional way because the crust cooks better. It's sooooooo flaky and light. I can't imagine that I can eat this whole thing, but it tastes so good it's gonna be hard not to do so. Petey, definitely, wants to help me finish it. She's very excited about dinner tonight. So am I. In the words of Julia Child... bon Appétit 😊 😋😍

#chicken pot pie.#homemade is better #this is delicious #light flaky crust #i love the crunch #Petey wants some #Sharing is everything #cooking #baking #Julia Child #bon Appétit

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hemlock-dreams · 1 month ago

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Hiya! I stumbled upon your ex-con!au and fell in love. The lore dump was *chefs kiss*, so good and I love the hard and tough life this AU puts Peter through. *slides you a crisp $5 bill* do you have any other head cannons for your au? Also do you think Weasel knew exactly what he was doing when he hired Peter or was it more like a meh let see how long he lasts?

*pockets the 5*

Weasel just thinks he runs the bar. As the best dancer/top rizz at St. Margaret's, Scarlett (Emma Jean Watson AKA MJ) is the real power.

Weasel was initially very reluctant to just hire some rando that walked through the door, but when Scarlett asks, it's NOT a suggestion. So Weasel agrees (read: was bullied into accepting).

And Weasel was looking for someone to sling drinks and drop handsy drunks anyways. The girls love Peter, Weasel gets someone else to deal with troublemakers and Peter gets an income! Win-Win-Win!

In the meantime, Peter tries not to fall back on old mistakes and Wade isn't jealous. Nope. Not at all.

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“So…who sold you to Weasel?” Because someone who looks like that has no job working at a place like Maggie’s without the threat of blackmail. At the very least he should be up on stage, twerking those fat tits instead of slinging drinks from the wrong side of the bar.

Petey (Hmmm…nah) laughs, and the velvet rasp of his voice is unfair, “Scarlett.”

“Say no more,” Wade grouses, because what Scarlett wants, Scarlett gets. That woman has Weasel’s balls in a fucking bowtie.

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Thank you so much for these amazing asks! I'm having so much fun fleshing this world out!

#spiderman #peter parker #spideypool #deadpool #hunting!spider #mary jane watson #peter fighting his demons rn #but that was another life another MJ. They're just friends here #i love the angst but we're gonna give peter some WINS

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rowdyluv · 3 months ago

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needed you - qh43

summary: y/n has an intense fear of storms, particularly the incessantly loud rumbling thunder.

word count: 3.4k

notes: @sweetestdesire request for a a quinny fic. “You’re really scared of some thunder? C’mere.” turned out to be angsty but soft quinn

warnings: use of y/n, tense, angst, may induce stress, soft quinn,

"See ya, guys! Thanks for the fun night in," Y/n called out to her friends as they filed out the door, their laughter and chatter echoing down the hallway. She waved goodbye, feeling a bit relieved that the party had wound down. The quiet was a welcome change from the earlier clamor of games and gossip. The apartment was left in a gentle mess, but the warm glow of friendship lingered in the air.

Y/n stretched while she yawned and began to clean up, her mind wandering to Quinn. She knew he was out with the team, but she had hoped he'd be home sooner. The thought of his strong arms around her, calming her raging thoughts through the impending storm, brought a smile to her face and a bit of ease to the sickness winding in her stomach. As she packed away the last of the snacks, she glanced out the window. The night was still, the moon casting a serene light over the cityscape. She couldn't wait to crawl into bed and cuddle up with him, sharing stories about their respective evenings.

Meanwhile, at the bar, Quinn sat in the middle of a booth between Brock and Petey, his shoulders slumped and his eyes glazed over from the beers. The laughter of his teammates washed over him, but he couldn't find the energy to join in. He checked his phone again, noticing it was already 12:30 AM. He had promised Y/n he'd be home early tonight, but the guys had talked him into a few more drinks. He felt a twinge of guilt, but he never truly goes out so maybe just this once it should be okay to be selfish.

“Huggy put your phone down! We’re here to have fun.” Garland slurs from the other end of the table.

Quinn nodded and slid his phone into his pocket. He knew he had to stop checking it every few minutes. It was getting late and Y/n was probably worried, but he didn’t want to dampen the mood with his own anxieties. He took a deep breath and tried to push the feeling aside, focusing instead on the raucous laughter around him. The bass of the music pounded through the bar, making the floor vibrate beneath his feet. It was the kind of music that demanded you to either get up and dance or get lost in the rhythm, and for a brief moment, he let it consume him.

Back at the apartment, Y/n stood in their kitchen with shaking hands, the weather gradually getting worse was setting her nerves on edge. The wind had picked up outside, whipping against the windows like a crazed lover. Rain had started to patter down, a prelude to the storm that had her heart racing. She took a deep breath and tried to convince herself that Quinn was just stuck in traffic or had lost track of time. He'd be home soon, she thought, trying to reassure herself. But the silence of his unanswered texts and calls was deafening.

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for something to do, anything to distract her from the storm brewing outside and the one building inside her chest. She settled on making a cup of tea, her hands trembling as she filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. The gentle hiss of the gas flame igniting filled the room, but it did little to calm her nerves. As the water heated, she checked her phone again, willing it to buzz with a message from Quinn. Nothing. The wind howled, and the rain grew heavier, now pounding against the windows.

“Maybe if I call him?” She thought out loud. The clock read 1:10 AM as she dialed the number she knew by heart.

“Hey, you’ve reached Quinn, leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!” His voice, though much younger and recorded, brought a bit of comfort, but not enough to ease the two storms brewing. The one in her and the one outside. She took a deep breath and began to leave a voicemail, her voice shaky but steady.

“Hey, Quinny, it’s me. Hope you’re having fun with the guys. Uhm just wanted to let you know that the storm is starting to get pretty intense out there... I’m sure you guys are fine and just having a good time. Call me when you get this, okay? I…just mi—want to know you’re okay. I love you, bye!” She hung up before she could say anything else that might betray her fear.

1:30 AM.

The bar was getting louder, the air thick with the scent of stale beer and sweat. Quinn leaned back in the booth, his arms folded tightly across his chest. The music was a cacophony of beats and shouts that didn't quite drown out the thunderous pounding of his own thoughts. His eyes scanned the table, finding his teammates passed out, their heads resting in a pool of spilled drinks and crumbs. He had never felt more out of place, yet he stayed to make sure these morons made it home.

If Quinn knew anything in that moment it was for sure that he’d be getting them back at practice this week.

Back at the apartment, Y/n's trembling grew more pronounced with each passing minute. She couldn't ignore the storm anymore. It had started as a gentle whisper, a hint of rain against the windows, but had escalated into a full-blown symphony of thunder and lightning. Her heart hammered in her chest, each peal of thunder sending shockwaves through her body. She curled up on Quinn's side of the bed, her phone clutched tightly in her hand, the cold screen a stark contrast to her clammy palms. The scent of his cologne still lingered on the pillow, faint but comforting. She buried her face in it, breathing him in, willing him to appear through the door.

‘One more call? No that’s to creepy clingy girlfriendy.. But he likes clingy girlfriendy y/n..’

Her thoughts swirled in a tornado of doubt and fear. Finally, she gave in, hitting the call button with trembling fingers. The line rang once, twice, three times, before she heard his voice, a recorded message that didn’t ease the ache in her chest this time. She took a deep breath, trying to keep the panic from seeping into her voice.

“Quinn, it’s me again. The storm is really bad out here. The lights are flickering, and I’m so scared. I know you’re busy, but I need you. I know you said you’d be home early, and I trusted you. Please, come home soon. I’m not okay without you here with me, especially when it’s like this. I love you so much, and I just want to be safe with you. Call me, text me, anything. I need to know you’re okay. I’m just—I’m really scared, Quinn. I’m sorry, I know I sound desperate, but I can’t help it. I need you right now. Please come home soon. Uhm bye,” she whispered into the void, the weight of her words hanging in the silent apartment like the eye of the storm.

The phone remained eerily silent, the screen a cold, unyielding barrier to the warmth she craved. She sent one more text, a simple heart emoji, and hoped that somehow, it would be enough to break through the barrier holding him hostage from his phone.

With each flash of lightning, the shadows from the windows grew more menacing, reaching in like skeletal fingers to pluck at her already frazzled nerves. Y/n couldn't take it anymore. She grabbed her fleece blanket and bolted from the bedroom, her bare feet slapping against the cool hardwood floor, and dashed into the ensuite bathroom. The only room in the apartment that didn't have windows and hopefully wouldn’t make her feel claustrophobic. The bathroom was a small sanctuary of porcelain and tile, the scent of mint and the hum of the extractor fan a stark contrast to the tempest outside. She locked the door behind her, creating a barrier between her and the storm, but it didn't help. She could still hear the thunder rumbling like a displeased giant, each boom echoing through the walls and reverberating the foundation of the building.

Her phone, now a silent sentinel of her fear, remained in her hand. She checked it again, hoping against hope that she had missed a call or a text. The screen remained dark, cold, and unchanged. Her heart sank, the weight of loneliness pressing down on her chest like a lead blanket. 'Why isn’t he answering?' Her thoughts screamed. She knew he wasn’t the type to ignore her, especially when she was scared. Maybe his phone died, or maybe he was too busy, but the doubt was eating her alive.

Quinn's head snapped up, the sound of his ringtone piercing through the buzz of the bar dwindling down. He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his phone to see Y/n's name flashing on the screen. He had missed a couple calls and quite a few texts from her, each one more frantic than the last. His heart sank as he saw the time, 2 AM. He quickly stood up, knocking over Petey, who fell into Dak, in his haste. Which worked out in his favor as he had to walk over them. The room filled with fuzzy stars for a moment, a reminder of the drinks he too had consumed. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He wasn’t driving, so he ordered up an Uber home.

As he waited, Quinn felt his stomach twist into knots. He knew how much Y/n hated storms and here he was, leaving her alone to face it. He had promised to be there for her, and now she was probably terrified out of her mind. He scrolled through the texts, each one a silent plea for him to come home. He read the last one, her voice echoing in his mind. "I'm really scared, Quinn." He cringed, feeling like a complete asshole for not being there for her.

The Uber pulled up, and Quinn practically threw himself into the backseat, slamming the door shut behind him. The driver looked at him in the rearview mirror, the concern clear in his eyes. "You okay, buddy?"

Quinn nodded, trying to ignore the guilt that clawed at him. He fumbled with his phone, finally managing to play the voicemails. Y/n's voice filled his ear, each word a dagger to his heart. "The storm is really bad out here," she whispered, and he could almost feel the tremble in her voice. "The lights are flickering, and I’m so scared." The sound of her sobs grew louder, the thunder outside seeming to sync with her cries. Quinn wasn’t afraid of much, so he didn’t quite understand his girlfriend’s fear over storms. It could be because she didn’t care to say why she’s scared, and he wasn’t going to press her. It’s evident they bother her, and it’s enough for him to be the support she needs.

Until he’s not.

The bathroom door rattled in its frame as the storm outside reached a crescendo. Lightning flashing under the space between the door and the floor. Y/n had never thought that lightning was the scary part of storms, it has always been the thunder that had driven her to seek refuge in someone, something, someplace. She wasn’t quite sure why the deep, resonating booms always managed to succeed in getting her so worked up.

Maybe when she was younger it was because she had always associated them with crawling in bed with her parents or if the power went out they would gather in the living room to play games in the candle light. Until the day every thing just up and changed. No one was there to help her weather the storm, figuratively or literally.

Maybe now it’s because she has grown accustomed to associating thunderstorms with Quinn's soothing touch and whispers, telling her that everything would be okay. That with him, he would never let anything happen to her. He, who had become her anchor in the storm, was nowhere to be found.

The Uber ride home was a blur of neon lights and puddles reflecting the chaos of the storm. Quinn's mind was racing, his thoughts tangled with guilt and fear for Y/n. He had never been the one to break a promise, especially not one so important to her. He had to get home, had to hold her and tell her it was okay, even if he didn’t believe it himself.

The car pulled up to the apartment complex, and Quinn dashed out into the rain. The cold droplets stung his skin, sobering him up as he sprinted towards the building. The lights in the hallway flickered as he panted up the stairs, the thunder now a constant drumroll in his ears. His hand shook as he inserted the key into the lock, the sound of the tumblers clicking into place echoing through the empty corridor.

He burst into the apartment, the door slamming against the wall. "Y/n!" he called out, his voice strained with worry. The living room was dark, except for the TV screen flickering with a muted news broadcast. Rainwater dripped from his hair, tracing a path down his forehead and into his eyes. He wiped it away, his heart racing as if he had just played a full hockey game. Quinn let out a heavy breath before he hurried upstairs towards their bedroom.

Reaching the bedroom door, he carefully pushed it open. The sight that greeted him was not what he expected. The bed, usually a bastion of order and comfort, was a writhing mess of blankets and pillows. It was clear she had been restless, her fear probably keeping her from finding any semblance of peace. But she wasn’t there. The room was empty except for the ghosts of his guilt and her fear. He flipped on the lights, the sudden brightness piercing the gloom, revealing the chaos of his side of their now empty bed.

Quinn's eyes searched the room, looking for any clue as to where she could be. That’s when he heard it. A muffled sound, faint but unmistakable. Sniffles, coming from the bathroom. He approached the closed door, the thunder outside giving way to the quiet that follows, as if the storm was holding its breath. He placed his hand on the cool wood, feeling the vibration of the storm's power through it. "Y/n?" he called out as softly as possible.

The sniffles grew quieter, almost as if she was trying to control her cries. She stepped out of her place of refuge enough to unlock the door, she then quickly retreated back to her previous position. She was curled up in the bathtub, her knees to her chest, her chin perched on her knees, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

Quinn’s heart broke when he saw her like this. He had never seen her so scared, so vulnerable. He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her further. "Hey," he said softly, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder. But she jerked away from his touch, her body stiff and face showing no emotion.

He dropped to his knees, the one desperate for her attention now.

"Y/n, baby, I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with genuine concern. "I had no idea it was this bad." He took a step closer, the scent of rain and alcohol mingling with the faint minty scent of their bathroom. He wished he could take away her fear, absorb it into himself so she didn't have to feel it anymore.

"You promised me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You promised me, I would never be alone again with no warning, no explanation beforehand. You promised you’d be home early." She choked back a cry on the last part, her eyes glued to the faucet, watching the droplets of water fall into the tub. Quinn shattered into a trillion pieces. He had promised all of that. No apology will be enough to make any of this better, he accepted that, but he had to at least try.

"I know," he began, his voice thick with regret. "I fucked up, Y/n. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, I didn't mean to leave you like this." He paused, willing her to look at him, to see the pain in his eyes that mirrored hers. "You're my entire world, you're everything to me. I'd never want to cause you pain, especially not when you're already scared." He tried reaching for her again, this time to push her hair back and combing his fingers through her hair. He left his hand cradling her head.

"Garland told me to put my phone away," he murmured, his voice low and tight. "And before I knew it, Brock was pretty drunk and Petey was extremely wasted. I had a few myself. The music was so loud that the bass kept me from feeling the vibrations of my phone, and I lost track of time. With them so wasted, I felt I needed to make sure they got home okay, but when I finally checked my phone.” Quinn paused swallowing down the knot in his throat “and I discovered your calls and all the messages I left." His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his guilt. "I know it doesn’t account for the fact I should have checked my phone way before, I should have come home earlier like I had promised."

Y/n felt the anger and fear melt away with each of his words. She knew the guys could be a handful. What group of hockey players weren’t a handful? She didn’t want to add anymore to his burden of guilt. She leaned into his hand, the warmth of his touch sending waves of comfort through her. "Can we go cuddle now?" She asked him shyly, her voice still shaky. The storm outside was slowly calming down, but the tempest in her chest raged on. She needed him, needed his warmth and his words of comfort to soothe her. Quinn quickly wiped the shocked look from his that was slapped on the moment cuddle now fell from her lips.

“C’mere pretty girl.” Quinn grins as he lifts her from her bathtub refuge. “I will never pass up an opportunity to cuddle with you.” He softly places her down on her side of the bed, walking to his dresser to grab himself a set of dry clothes, finally. “I’ll be right back to you.”

Y/n nods into his chest, watching him retreat back into the bathroom. She takes a deep breath, the fear of losing him subsiding more and more with his touch. She grabs the first t-shirt she can find from his drawer, pulls it over her head and wraps it around herself like a cocoon. She crawls into bed, able to relax this time around when lying down.

When Quinn returns, freshly changed into a dry shirt and sweatpants, the sight of her in his shirt brings a warm smile to his face. He slides into bed next to her, pulling her close so that they are face to face. Fitting together as if they were made for each other. She feels the warmth of his body seep into hers, the steady thump of his heart beneath her palm as she lays her hand flat on his chest. The rhythm of it soothing her like a lullaby.

"I could feel and listen to your heart all day, just to know you’re okay," she mumbles into the fabric of his shirt, her voice muffled but clear enough for him to hear. He pulls her in tighter, a silent acknowledgement. A low rumble of thunder in the distance happens and he rubs his hand soothingly over the back of her head.

Quinn whispers, "I’m making you a new promise, pretty girl. I promise from here on out I will not be going out when storms are predicted. Only exceptions of course are those to do with work. Unless it’s just the guys wanting to go out, that is not work related.” Y/n didn’t speak, to exhausted to form words just nodded her head in acknowledgment before dozing off.

He watched her for a few minutes, grateful to be holding her in his arms. The thought of her curled up in the tub, terrified, was a knife in his chest. He had never meant to cause her this much pain. He kissed the top of her head reveling in her soft breaths as she slept before whispering what’s been on his mind since his shower to her sleeping form. “I noticed you didn’t end your second voicemail with an ‘i love you’ or now before falling asleep…we’ve always made a point to make sure the other knows, regardless of how bad the argument was. I know you aren’t hearing this because you’re asleep but it’s easier to say it now than looking in your eyes tomorrow and watching tonight all over. I just really hope you know how much I love you.”

“Good gracious, you forget and he gets all sappy. Yes Quinny I love you. I love you. I love you.” In between each ‘I love you’ was a peck on the lips.

Quinn couldn’t help but laugh, the sound low and warm, like a quiet summer night. He pulled her closer, the storm outside now just a faint memory, the rain had turned to a gentle pitter-patter. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose and finally her lips, feeling the tension of the night slip away with each touch.

"You know you're going to have to repeat that when I’m fully awake, right?" She mumbled falling right back asleep.

“That is perfectly fine, I’ll be right here next to you whenever you’re ready.” Quinn closed his eyes and was soon asleep as well.

A night of two tales, Quinn is lucky it worked out for him and happy he’s able to keep his girl.

#cay writes #quintin hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes angst #Vancouver Canucks fic #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fics #hockey fic #soft!quinn hughes

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romanhughesy · 3 months ago

Text

Uh Huh (Are you up/Are you down?)

It's your first time meeting Quinn's brothers, but he can't find you in the club.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: alcohol/clubs, handful of y/n's used. slightly suggestive?

Quinn is confused.

He sweeps his eyes between the doors, the bar, and the handful of booths towards the front of the club, back and forth like one of these times, he’ll turn his head, and you’ll appear. The plan was your idea, after all.

His brothers were coming to visit, and trips to his side of the continent were kind of a big deal. It’s your first time meeting them. You and Quinn had been official for eight-ish months now, and he wouldn’t say it’s super serious, but he wouldn’t say it isn’t serious either. He really likes you, and sees a lot of potential in your relationship. But, the pair of you are still working through the early days milestones, like this. You were, understandably, nervous about meeting his family, even if it was just his brothers and not his parents, yet. Jack and Luke would be in town for a few days, and you insisted that while you wanted to meet them, you also wanted the brothers to have plenty of time together, just the three of them. While he searches for you, letting Jack get their first round from the bar, he remembers your guy’s conversation about the visit. You held his hand, eyes searching his face, and reassured him that you understand how hard it is for him to spend most of his time so far away, while Jack and Luke live in the same apartment. You felt it was important for the brothers to just exist together, without trying to fit a new person into the dynamic the whole time. Quinn couldn’t say much, but he pulled you closer and ran a hand through your hair, feeling seen and cared for in your particular way. Quinn’s never had any bad experiences with girls meeting his family, but he’s heard horror stories. The consideration and empathy you hold for others is one of his favorite traits of yours, so he should’ve expected it to extend to his brothers, but it touched him nonetheless.

“There’s Petey!” Jack exclaims, suddenly back at Quinn’s side. He startles out of his thoughts, but follows Jack’s pointing finger and sees Petey, Conor, and Brock emerge through the crowd between them and the door. His team and his brothers mingle, loose hugs, daps, and chirping, and then Conor, of course it’s Conor, notices Quinn’s split attention. “Huggy, where’s your girl? I thought you were showing her off tonight?” Now, everyone looks at him, expectantly, but he actually has no clue where you are. Well, some clue.

See, when you both talked about Jack and Luke coming to visit, you mentioned that it’d be nice to meet them for the first time while doing some kind of larger group activity. Some of Quinn’s friends (his teammates, let’s be honest), and some of your friends, getting together. The suggestion was another reminder to Quinn that you might really be a bit of a genius. He’d have time with just you and his brothers together later in the visit, but since your girls mostly knew his guys, and his guys knew his brothers, it’d spare the awkwardness of the two of you just sitting around and getting interrogated about your relationship by his nosy brothers. You could connect with them, but casually and the whole group would all have lots of other people to bounce off of. Jack and Luke would definitely want to go out while they were here, anyway, so great idea, really. Except, he can’t find you anywhere.

He figured you had to be somewhere in the club. You’d texted him a chaotic group selfie while you and your friends were getting ready. You’re holding your phone to the mirror, making a kissy face, while a couple of your friends pose and a couple more are mid-makeup application. He’d smiled at his phone during dinner, and gotten ribbed for it by Luke, of all people. His baby brother. You’d followed the message up a little later with a random emoji, and he couldn’t help but smile, again. Not one for spending much time on your phone, especially when with friends, you’d quickly send off an emoji or two as a form of checking in. But, your picks were never relevant to what you were doing or where you were, which always amused Quinn. He’d assumed you made it to the club, because you sent him the abacus emoji and a red heart, but he couldn’t exactly say that to everyone looking at him for an answer right now. So, he smooths it over.

“She got here with her friends a while ago, but I haven’t spotted them yet. Maybe they’re outside.” Quinn knows he sounds a bit lame, but it’s a bit much for his brothers and close friends to give him those looks. Luke turns to Jack, smirking. “Dude, I’ve been telling you she’s not real. You’re gonna have to pay up.” Quinn very narrowly resists the urge to try and headlock both his brothers at once, but Brock is helpful, as always. “Nah, we’ve met her. She’s cool. Kinda too cool for Quinner. Maybe he’s paying her?” Okay, maybe Brock isn’t always helpful.

Shaking his head, Quinn tries to regain his control over the unruly group he calls his loved ones. “Let’s just get another round, I’ll keep an eye out. They’re here, somewhere.” Conor offers to claim an open table closer to the dance floor, while someone else buys him a drink. “I’ll go with you!” Luke says, with a wry smile. He doesn’t even need to sneak around in the Canadian club like he does in Jersey, he’s just a freeloader. Whatever. Quinn will make Jack pay for his drink, payback for taking bets on whether or not his girlfriend is real. He didn’t really anticipate Jack carrying a tray of shots back to the table, Quinn balancing all three brothers’ beers, but Jack makes some cheesy comment about them being “for the ladies” that Quinn doesn’t want to dig into any further. Petey is the first person to grab one of the shots off the tray, which feels a little bit like payback again. Quinn laughs, and takes one for himself.

The boys settle into easy chatter, and whenever you and your friends turn up, Quinn thinks the night will be pretty close to perfect. You compliment him so well, and he sees it the most when you’re at his side in social situations, easily holding your own around his rambunctious friends. You’re always good for a laugh or a well timed joke, but also attentive, and, as far as Quinn can tell, content to sit and listen even when the topic doesn’t particularly interest you. You’ve impressed his friends more than a few times with your memory, following up about family, little injuries, or dates the next time you see them. They can all tell how much you care about Quinn, and bask in some of your care with their proximity to him. He asked you about it once. Your ease, and seemingly genuine interest in whatever people tell you. Quinn is the kind of person who hates small talk more than almost anything, and you’re the kind of person who asks follow up questions when the grocery store cashier tells you about their beach vacation. At first it confused him, but the day he asked, you smiled softly and told him: “I just love people. Some people say there isn’t enough kindness or love in the world, but I see it in the tiniest stuff. So I just try to give all my extra love to the universe. It makes me happy.” The axis of his world tilted, just a bit, but he definitely felt his heart stumble. You guys were even less serious then, but the idea of a person like that enjoying his company, choosing him, it made Quinn warm all over.

Jack presses another shot glass into his hand, and Quinn shifts his focus back in front of him. Conor raises his, grinning and toasting to the “Hughesapalooza”, as “Hughes Bowl” is apparently reserved just for the ice. Quinn throws back his shot, swallowing the liquor and his grimace, and takes another fruitless look around the club. As his eyes focus back on the table, he sees Jack craning his neck, looking around Petey’s head towards the dance floor. Quinn furrows his brow. He doesn’t quite think his brother is in the same search party as him. Boeser must catch his expression, because he puffs out a laugh. “If y/n doesn’t turn up soon, she’s not gonna meet Jack because he’ll never make it off the dance floor.” The middle Hughes whips his head back, caught, but his smile is more cunning than guilty. “Can you blame me?” He answers easily, throwing another look over his shoulder. “Check out that group of girls by the DJ booth. They seem like a great time.” The rest of the guys rustle around to peek, so Quinn looks too. He’s not really curious, but if it shows on his face that he doesn’t even feel like he needs to look at other women while waiting on you, he’ll get chirped within an inch of his life. He squints, eyes flitting over the crowd until he finds the group of girls his brother has to be talking about. They’re in a circle right in front of the DJ booth, loose enough for dancing but tight enough to keep out unwanted partiers, and Jack’s right. They’re definitely having fun, and looking good doing it. The way they’re dancing, grabbing each other’s hands and waists, smiling and singing along, they don’t seem to realize they’re the center of attention. It’s almost riveting, even to Quinn. The one directly in front of the DJ booth, facing them, and the rest of the club, twists her hips just so, tossing her hair to the beat. The lights are bright, and color shifting, but the reflection off her hair as she tosses it… the cut… her clothes…

“Is that…?” Petey’s question trails off, but his teammates have already averted their eyes from the group, back to their captain. His brothers follow suit, albeit slower, and Luke almost immediately puts the pieces together. “THAT’S Y/N?” He shouts, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. Jack laughs, almost a scoff, but when he scans everyone else’s expression, his brows shoot up. He looks at his older brother, disbelieving, and Quinn can’t help his smug smile. “Too cool for Quinn is right.” He mutters, grabbing a shot off the emptying tray and tossing it back. Quinn rolls his eyes, but he does let out a chuckle. The laugh helps vent a bit of the relief flooding through him.

Quinn trusts you completely, and likes how independent you are, but after an hour or so of little, fleeting doubts crossing his mind, he can’t deny the feelings that bubble up in him now that they’ve found you. You, looking gorgeous and enjoying yourself with your friends— he definitely noticed how there were no men anywhere near your circle— facing the whole room, waiting for him. The boys rib him for the dopey smile on his face as he watches you move, but it really couldn’t matter less. He stands, giving the boys a smirk and a “be right back” over his shoulder. Their eyes narrow when he heads towards the bar and not the dance floor. “That’s weird, right?” Petey looks between the table, Quinn, and back at y/n, confused.

At the bar, Quinn leans on the edge and tries to steal glances of you through all the other bodies. Your group is still noticeable, but come in and out of focus with all the other motion around. He turns his attention back to the bar, nodding to the bartender. “Hey man, can you get a round of tequila shots out to that group of girls right in front of the DJ booth? And let them know they came from that table,” Quinn points to his friends and brothers, but only Brock is watching him. Boeser raises his brow, but turns back to his conversation with Luke, seemingly uninterested. The bartender’s also not roused, blandly replying, “Sure, man. But I can’t take them off your tab if they’re not interested.” Quinn thinks laughing would make him look cocky, or like an asshole, or both, so he just nods, says “No worries,” and gives the bartender his last name for the tab. The Hughes name apparently does interest the guy a little bit, if his surprised expression is anything to go off of, but he says nothing else to Quinn as he pours the shots, and gets the attention of a barback.

Heading back to the table, Quinn ignores all the boys’ questions and angles his chair so he can see you better, waiting. A minute or so later, he sees someone get your attention from the DJ booth, handing down the shots and pointing in his direction. His stomach tenses, not unlike waiting for puck drop, but explodes into butterflies the moment you spot him. Even from the table, he could see your squinted eyes and furrowed brow lift, suspicion giving way to surprise as a big grin takes over your face. He smiles back, giving you a wave that you, and all of your friends, return. You hold up your finger, shoot your shot, and gather your girls in record time. He’s pretty impressed, and his brothers’ dropped jaws only make him feel even more smug. They love to talk about all the attention they get from girls in Jersey, but he can see Jack and Luke both steel themselves as the most beautiful girl in the room, Quinn’s, leads her pretty friends to their table.

Quinn reacts instinctively, standing and closing the last step between your bodies, arms wrapping around your waist and pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You take a step back, beaming up at him. “Hi, love! You guys just get here?” You sweep your gaze over the rest of the group, eyes twinkling, but they widen when Conor answers for Quinn. “We’ve been here for like an hour!”

“No way!” You gasp, looking back at Quinn, who nods, unable to suppress his smile. “I was facing the door the whole time: I was looking out for you guys!” You insist, but your tone is still bright as you apologize for keeping the guys waiting. Jack and Luke stand to greet you, and you leave Quinn’s arms to hug them both. “No sweat, you guys looked like you were having a ton of fun.” Quinn can tell by Jack’s tone that he’s teasing a little bit, and apparently, you can too, because he sees your cheeks flush even in the dark club. Your best friend drapes her arm around you, grinning. “She doesn’t come out to dance very often, but when she does she’s got more energy than the rest of us combined.” Quinn watches you flush a little darker, adorable, but you push down your embarrassment and grab the hand of one of your other friends, introducing your group to Quinn’s. Most of them already know each other, but it helps break the ice. Quinn catches one of your quieter friends sidling up to Petey after saying hello to everyone else, and he raises his brow at the blond, who looks away quickly. Alright.

Quinn offers your friend with the highest heels his chair, cracking a smile at the pure relief on her face, and slides in closer to you. You’re chatting to Jack and Luke about what the brothers did for dinner, easy as ever, and Quinn almost regrets wrapping his arm around your waist, only because it turns his brothers’ attention back onto him. Jack looks him up and down, gaze almost disapproving, which throws Quinn off for a second. “So you’ve been keeping the coolest girl you’ve ever dated all to yourself for almost a year now? How dare you! Y/N would love a Michigan vacation, wouldn’t you, Y/N?” Quinn’s eyes roll, ready to defend himself, but you beat him there. “Don’t be mean!” You lightly chastise, like Jack’s your own younger brother. Quinn almost snorts. “Quinn’s tried inviting me so many times. I don’t get enough time off work, and I don’t want to cut into your family time. You guys spend so much time apart, I worry about throwing the vibe off when you guys should just be enjoying each others’ company!” Quinn knows your feelings on this too well. He has invited you to travel with him a handful of times in the last few months, and still he accepts your reasoning. But, he also has missed you terribly every time he leaves and knows that his family will love you. Case in point, Luke runs a hand through his hair and says “I just met you, and I can already tell your vibe is way better than Quinn’s. Next time, you can come visit and leave him behind to go to work for you!”

“Hey!” Quinn interjects, not actually bothered but having to disagree, on principle. You place a hand on your chest, mock affronted. “You’d leave out your private chef and best boat driver? Doesn’t sound like a good vacation at all.” Jack lets out an honest-to-god cackle, and Quinn slumps against you a little. “Not you too,” he complains, quietly smoothing over when your soft hand pats his cheek. Jack, clearly pleased that you’ll poke fun at Quinn, changes the subject by asking about what you do for work, and you all chat for a while, conversation flowing naturally.

The smaller conversations merge, and soon enough, everyone is shooting the shit and the tray of shots is cleared. Brock nominates Conor and Luke to go get more, grinning wryly. Conor takes it like a champ, and drags along Luke, who’s taking it like the baby of the family. The two of them have barely made it to the bar when a new song starts, and best your friend leaps up from her chair, grabbing your hand. “Oh my god, we have to dance!” You turn to Quinn, wearing an excited smile with an apologetic edge, still clearly thinking about leaving him hanging earlier, and he melts. “Go have fun, baby. We’ll be right here.” You beam for real, this time, kiss his cheek, and Quinn watched you follow a couple of your girls to the floor. Jack smiles at him across the table, “She’s special, huh?” He says, like he’s reading his older brother’s mind. Quinn just nods, watching you dance. He was right, earlier. Now that you’re around, fitting into his life like all of the empty spaces were made for you, he’s having basically a perfect night.

a/n: hiiiii lol i haven't written any kind of fic in FOREVER so if u made it through this that's cool let me know what u think!! quinn hughes brainrot is too strong i just think about him. all the time. title is from "uh huh" by tinashe stream her new album QUANTUM BABY okay bye <333

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fic #qh43 #nhl fic #nhl imagine #quinn hughes x fem!reader

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urrockstar-xe · 10 months ago

Text

math test - p.parker x fem!reader

posted jan 27th, 2024 3:28 pm

came up with this cutesy idea the other day, hope u enjoy :)

summary: Peter's tired of allowing Spider-Man to be a shitty boyfriend, so he makes up for it the only way he can think of that wouldn't get you in trouble.

masterlist

not proofread

wordcount: 0.8k

It was nearing 2 in the morning when Peter slowly lifted his window open from the outside, not so gracefully falling inside once it was a wide enough gap, followed by him stumbling several times as he tried to close his window while simultaneously trying to take off the red and blue spandex suit that so badly needs a wash.

The sound of his old bed frame creaking caught Peter’s attention once he finally pulled on some sweatpants.

He whipped around, his gaze immediately falling to your half-asleep figure in his bed, a familiar sight now, one Peter had adored. Your half-opened eyes tried to focus on his silhouette.

“Shit, hey sweetheart I didn’t mean to wake you” Peter’s whispered apology was laced with a soft muffled tone as he pulled a hoodie over his head, not bothering to fix his hair as he made his way towards his bed. “Didn’t know you were sleepin’ over tonight” He said with a tired smile playing on his lips, the bags under his eyes failing to distract you from the beauty that was your sleep-deprived boyfriend as you merely scooted over for him to join you.

“Supposed to help me study for that test” you mumbled, no malice in your voice, no hints of irritation, not even a slight sadness to your voice at the thought of him forgetting about your plans. All you cared about at this moment was your boyfriend cuddling with you, using all your energy to open your arms for him to slide into.

Peter stopped dead in his tracks, looking down by the nightstand and seeing your backpack on the floor, a math book sitting on the floor beside it next to a few pens. So that’s what he tripped on when he came in.

“Oh, man. I’m sorry, doll. We can work on it first thing in the morning, swear.” Peter promised, giving into what you wanted and sliding in bed next to you, wasting no time in wrapping you in his arms.

“It’s due tomorrow, and I have to leave early for that dumb field trip.” You mumbled into his shoulder, not meaning to but making Peter feel all the worse for forgetting as he softly smoothed his hand up and down your back.

By the time Peter woke up the next morning you had already left, leaving behind a note on his desk.

”don’t think too hard about that test, I’ll just ask if I can have extended time on it. I’m just happy you got home safe”

The little hearts surrounding your name at the bottom and the emphasis on him getting back at all seemed to have the opposite effect on Peter than you had intended.

As now, he just seemed more determined to fix this problem he had made.

You laughed as your friend lifted her arms into the air, taking in a big deep breath as you both finally got off the bus, “freedom!” she exclaimed.

“We have that test in like 30 minutes” You reminded her with a smile, earning a glare in response. “Buzzkill”

You chuckled this time, before watching her lift her finger and point behind you, turning as you followed where she was pointing, “that’s geek charming, what’s he doin’ here?” she asked quietly, expecting you to have an answer as you watched your boyfriend hurry over to you, green folder in his hand.

“No clue, I’ll meet you inside” You smiled at her, watching her nod and smile back in response, walking backward towards the school while she obnoxiously waves and says “Hi, Peter!”

Peter waved back, finally in front of you as he turned his gaze to see you already looking at him, with a soft smile.

“Hey,” Peter matched your smile, holding out the folder to you before you could respond. “For your test, you forgot your math stuff in my room, so”

You smiled, taking it gratefully, “Thanks, Petey. Although I don’t know how much help it’ll be-” Peter cut you off, “I mapped out in your notebook exactly how you can find any answers for the test and explained it in notes how I knew you’d be able to understand” You looked at him in awe as he rambled, watching as he took off his backpack and fumbled with it before pulling out your math notebook and handing it to you. “Peter-” “I almost wish I could take the test for you, I’ve just had so much to do lately as you know who and that’s no excuse for ditching my best girl when she needed my help so I figured this was the least I could do” Peter continued, taking a breath once he had finished.

You set the folder and notebook down on the grass, pulling Peter into a tight embrace. “This is nice” he mumbled into your shoulder, squeezing your waist ever so slightly. “I love you, Peter Parker” You mumbled back, pulling back just enough to set a soft kiss to his lips.

“I love you more, now go pass your test and make me proud, you can do that, can’t you, sweetheart?” Peter smiled at you, chuckling as you placed one, two, three more kisses on his mouth before pulling away and grabbing your stuff.

“When I pass, you’re buying me dinner, baby!” You said, beginning to walk away.

“Whatever you want, doll!”

#tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm x reader #tasm x you #tasm x y/n #peter parker imagine #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagines #the amazing spiderman x reader #Spotify

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im-sleepdeprived · 4 months ago

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Your page says requests are open, so I'm sorry if I missed something 🙏🏻 Could you possibly do Peter Parker (preferably TASM) and friend reader who has a pet jumping spider that she named after him (bc she's crushing bad)? I think it would be funny if she didn't know he was Spider-man. ❤️

this is actually the cutest thing ever i loved writing this😭 hope you enjoy the little blurb !! no warnings just tooth rotting fluff and some deep, deep pining !!

“Look!” You exclaimed, holding up a see-through container filled with dirt, grass, and twigs, housing your newly acquired pet.

Peter leaned down to peer into it. “He’s adorable.”

You beamed. “I know right!” You’d always had a fascination for critters, but especially arachnids. Hence the tiny jumping spider in your hands right now. Peter found it precious when you rambled on about your love for spiders, not knowing that your very best friend (and long time admirer) was, in part, one. He always felt a little special.

He knew it was stupid, you were never talking about him. Hell, you had no clue he was Spider-Man. But still. Usually everyone was freaked out about spiders, people hated them, even him (before the bite) and yet you managed to see the beauty in them. What other people found gross and freaky you found intriguing.

You’d been over the moon this past week since you found out there were jumping spiders finally available (he never would’ve guessed it, but apparently they were popular pets) at your local reptile store, (you were also adamant about not getting one from a big chain store).

“I named him after you,” you admitted a little bashfully.

“Oh?” Peter could feel his heart speed up. Maybe his secret wasn’t as well protected as he thought it was.

“His eyes, see?” You moved the container closer to him and placed your index finger on it, tapping gently. “He’s got those two big ones in the front and these ones on the side.” More tapping from your finger. “He reminded me of you when you wear glasses,” you giggled sweetly.

Peter felt his heart soar. “Yeah?” He smiled wide. “Well I’ve gotta say I’m honored, I know how long you’ve wanted one.”

“Yeah,” you beamed. You always appreciated that Peter let you ramble on about your favorite things, no matter how weird they were. You knew it was an unconventional interest, and yet he never made you feel different or odd they were. It only made you fall that much more in love with him.

“Did you know that the males perform special dances for the females to get them to mate with them?”

You side-eyed Peter, impressed with his knowledge. Usually you were the one hitting him with random facts. “No, actually, I didn’t know that. Could you imagine if humans did that?” You laughed.

“Well isn’t that whats going online these days? With all those dance trends and ‘thirst traps’.” He made quotation marks with his fingers on that last part, making you laugh again.

“I wonder if Spider-Man does that,” you pondered.

“What do you mean?” Peter’s brows furrowed.

“I mean, isn’t he part spider or something? That’s how he can climb walls and stuff, right? And isn’t it why his name is literally Spider-Man. I just wonder how many spider traits he actually possesses.”

“Not the webs, the webs are artificial.” He answered you simply, eyes going wide when he noted the curious look you gave him. “Oh! I mean—I think I heard it—READ IT! Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “I read it somewhere.” Everyday it was getting harder and harder to keep this secret from you.

“Okay weirdo,” you chuckled. “It was between you and him.” You said suddenly.

“Me and who?” Peter asked.

“You and Spider-Man,” you said as if it made all the sense in the world. You tapped the small box in your hands again. “I almost named little Petey here Spider-Man cause I thought it was cute.”

Peter crossed his arms and smirked at you. “Really?” He thought it was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. If you weren’t careful, he was going to pull out his suit right now and tell you everything. Well, either that or kiss the living daylights out of you. He reallyyy wanted that last one to happen. “And why didn’t you?”

“Well Spider-Man great and all, don’t get me wrong, saving the city and all,” you made a gesture with your hands, “but you’re my best friend Pete. Of course I’d pick you.”

Peter stood shocked. Honestly, he didn’t deserve you and all your kindness. Everyone loved Spider-Man, no one really cared about Peter. No one but you apparently.

“Now,” you grinned wickedly, “wanna take Peter 2.0 out the box and see how far he can jump?”

He scoffed, “Can’t believe you even have to ask sweetheart.”

“Great,” you handed him the container,” you go first. I wanna get a picture of you and your name twin!”

Peter laughed sweetly and looked down at his ‘name twin’ lounging leisurely on his little twig. Slowly, Peter lifted the lid and placed his finger beside Peter 2.0, allowing the spider, about the size of his fingernail, to crawl onto the tip of his finger.

He slowly lifted his wrist out the box and looked over to where you stood, camera in hand, grinning wide. “I took your camera, hope that’s okay.” You said sweetly.

“Yeah, it fine.” he wanted to tell you you could anything of his you wanted.

“Cool,” you held the camera up and positioned the viewfinder so it was in front of your eye. “Okay…Smile in 1…2…” you squealed.

Peter hadn’t noticed, too busy ogling at you and how beautiful you looked using his camera like that, but your jumping spider had, well….jumped.

“Peter!” You yelled.

“Me or him?”

You burst into giggles, Peter (human) following suit.

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