request by @brokeaesthetic decided this was probs the best way to go about it 💓
collection of small blurbs for tangerine: reader with fear of spiders, reader pranking him, reader asking what ifs
collection of small blurbs for pietro: reader joking about his hoe phase
— TANGERINE.
wc. 196
People are often one to laugh over your irrational, almost silly fears. In most cases you’re brave - hard as rocks, but the moment you see one of eight-legged insects scatter across your way, you’re out of there. It doesn’t matter how big or small they are, a spider is a spider and you don’t wanna see it. You’d find yourself calling for your boyfriend, calling in your knight to catch it for you. You hated them, but you’d never kill them. It’s not their fault they’re scary. You’d almost always be out of the room, lingering in the hallway as Tangerine finds and catches the spider in a glass. You would talk to him through the door, pestering with questions - asking if he caught it yet. He knew never to show you, to only tip the cup out of the window or door - or if it were a spider too large, he’d be keen to take it to the furthest point in the garden, making sure it couldn’t get back in. Though, he does like it when you need him. He likes to feel needed, even if it’s just to collect a harmless tiny little thing.
wc. 240
Annoying Tangerine was fun, it was easy. Almost anything could piss him off, and often, it was hard not to piss him off. Anything could make him tick, it was just the matter of what way you were going to do it. In the past, you’d choose to add salt to his tea instead of sugar, or draw on him during the night - often opting for a black, felt-tip goatee or penned, handlebar attachments to his moustache. Sometimes, if you really wanted to annoy him, you’d share how the bikini wax you got earlier that day was from a male cosmetologist. And he’d fall for it every time. But the one that would tick him off most, is when you spoke to him like you were a guy, hitting on him in the crudest ways you could think of. If he were minding his business, eating a banana while doing work bits on his laptop, you’d always, always say, “what that mouth do, ma?” It was simple, but it never failed to crack you up. Another favourite of yours is to fake bang him when his back is to you, rubbing up on him from behind while you whisper some whacky obscenities. He’d push you off, calling you a, “fucking freak.” But you wouldn’t let him get the last word because before you let go, you’d call him your good girl, slapping his ass as if to emasculate him further.
wc. 210
Sometimes at night, you’d struggle to sleep - many thoughts swirling your mind. The deep, existential ones were common, but you were far more acquainted with the pestering, silly ones. Random little what if’s popping up. Tangerine would be beside you in bed, settled and almost asleep when you break the silence, asking questions as if there were no filter. Anything ranging from, “Would we still date if we didn’t meet when we did?” or “What if there was a house fire. What would you save first? Like what object or thing would you save?” Often opting to the extremes, like, “If you woke up one day and I wasn’t here, what would you do?” or, “What if I suddenly went deaf and blind, what would you do?” To him, these were silly, pointless questions that are a result of no sleep - but he could always tell they’d mean something to you. Even if it was a stupid thought. So he’d scooch closer to hug you under the covers, soothing over your skin as he sleepily whispers to you - telling you those things will never happen, and that he’d love you no matter what happened to you. Always being sure to punctuate it with the emphasis that you need to rest.
PIETRO.
wc. 430
It was no secret Pietro had been around. His staggering charm and good looks coming to play when it came to bedding women. In other words, he used to be a whore. A few days ago, you and Pietro were in the discussion of what you both used to be like before meeting one another. You chatted and shared stories of your past lives, and upon hearing one of his encounters, you learnt something new about yourself - realising how quick you are to feel envy and jealousy. He shared how he used to have multiple hook ups a day, describing how he’d meet one in the noon, and then a couple girls together at nighttime. It was like he was finding humour in it, laughing about how much of a slut he was. But you were struggling to find anything funny about his stories and it actually pissed you off more than anything. Possessive and territorial - even though you didn’t know him those years ago. So to retaliate, you told him your exaggerated body count, sharing lies of how every day in the month of September, you slept with a new person - telling him in detail the encounters of these strangers. It was all lies, but it helped with the strikes of jealousy you were feeling. And so today, he pulled you aside, a quizzical look on his face as approached the topic running rampant in his mind. “You uh–” he starts, a small chuckle escaping as if to release the nerves. “The other day…” he prompts, waiting for you to give him something. “Yeah,” you nod, also waiting for him to give you something - you had no idea what he meant. He rubs the back of his neck like he was stalling, as if he was having a hard time getting the words out. “When we were sharing stories. Was yours true?” You laugh, caught by surprise. You wildly shake your head ‘no’, unable to stop yourself from the amusement. “God, no,” you pause. “Dude, you pissed me off so I lied.” He chuckles, mirroring you. “I pissed you off?” “Yes. So bad,” you hum, emphasising with a stern nod. “Talking about all those girls– you really bothered me, man.” “Aw,” he playfully coos, the sound almost like he was mocking you. “You got jealous?” he teases, a sly smile slapped across his face. “Shut up,” you fight off a grin, pushing him away when he tries to kiss you. “Get away. You probably have chlamydia.” “Yeah, I caught it from you after you slept with all those people.”