#the morning birds r chirping now

[ibuproffee]

Gimbops @ France v Chile

#the morning birds r chirping now #I have a couple hours' sleep under my belt & I'm WIDE F*CKING AWAKE #demented and happy #TYSM EDF #gimbappe #olivier giroud #kylian mbappe #edf

[themidnightcrimson]

good morning ࿏ wm

summary: in which you decide to get what you want first thing in the morning.

words: 3.9k

warnings: top!wanda, power bottom!reader, dubcon/noncon, breeding kink, cumstrap (r receiving), somno (r giving), blowjob on cumstrap (r giving), enhanced strap, brief choking, just imagining slutting top!wanda out like this woeidbsibfwioe its the power bottom in me

this fic is for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.

masterlist.

The room was cool and the bed warm by the time you woke up. Legs shifting smoothly under the crisp sheets, you could hear the faint chirp of a lone bird outside the window along with what sounded like a gentle spring morning rain shower.

Plat plat plat plat the rain softly tapped against the window and quietly onto the roof above you. It was a sleepy rain, an early morning rain whose clouds blocked the sun from glaring through your window. It made waking a little easier, a little more soft.

The other thing that made waking a peaceful experience was the warm body you were tangled up with. The soft, curled ends of light brown hair tickled your bare shoulder, and it was the first thing you saw in the dim room as you opened your eyes. Your head rose and fell slowly with Wanda’s steady breath. It was resting on her bare chest, the skin there hot against your ear. She always slept so hot.

Your legs were tangled with hers, your arm thrown across her torso. As you blinked your eyes awake, you tilted your head upwards to get an angle of her from below. The stretch of her jawbone, the mountain of her cheekbones just beyond it. Heavy eyelashes fluttered closed, deep pink lips pursed in her sleep. The crinkle between her eyebrows that was always there when she slept. She was starting to get a permanent wrinkle from it, and while she was embarrassed of it, you told her it was just the imprint of all the dreams she’d ever had right there in one wrinkle between her brows so she would never forget them. Wanda was always a deep dreamer, for better or worse.

The puffy comforter you shared rested right below her breasts, likely pushed down during her overheated sleep. Her hair was splayed over her chest, barely covering the peaks of her soft pink nipples. Her skin looked pale and soft under the dim gloomy morning light. You let your hand glide over the soft expanse of her tummy, fingers pressing into her flesh as you shift, waking up a little more. Letting out a silent yawn, you casually let your hand stroll further down beneath the blanket, being thrown off guard a little when your hand touches cool silicone between her legs.

It was Wanda’s new creation still left strapped around her hips via harness from last night’s endeavors. It took a lot of research and magical effort for Wanda to create her enchanted strap that functions like a biological part of her body. Using her magic, she enchanted the strap so that she can feel through it and cum through it. Let’s just say the first few tries once she perfected it could be described as very quick, hot, and wet on her end. It was the most mind-blowing feeling she had ever felt, being able to feel you inside. Even now, a few weeks later, she still warns you how sensitive it still is, which you could tell from the beginning because of how fast she came with you.

Wanda’s magic was very powerful—spontaneous creation. For that reason, she insisted on wearing a condom the first several times using the enchanted strap out of fear of accidental pregnancy, though you knew she secretly had a breeding kink. Finally, she stopped using condoms, but she still pulled out of you every time. It was hot, seeing her get so close to just doing it, to just letting go and planting her cum deep inside you. You could see it on her face every time. But every time, milliseconds before release, she pulls out and chooses to spill all over your tummy or back instead. Of course, that was also hot in its own right. But you desperately wanted her to cum inside. You weren’t sure if it was the risk or the ownership aspect of it, but you fucking needed it.

And you knew she wanted it too. She had a tendency to hold you down when she’s about to cum, almost as if she is about to force you to take her cum, which you willingly would take every single drop. You even told her in a heated moment of passion to cum inside you once, and she almost did accidentally. Hearing you say that made her orgasm immediately, and she had to frantically pull out right as she spurted all over your mound, making sounds you’d never heard her make.

And now, in the dim morning light with cozy rain coming from outside, and Wanda’s soft, warm sleeping body with her cock in your hand as you thought over all these times with the new magical piece, you wanted it.

But she was so pretty and peaceful in her sleep with her crinkled brow of dreams and her slowly rising and falling chest. You wouldn’t wake her.

Licking your lips, you shifted your body so that you hovered over her, taking great care in slinking down her body without moving the blankets or the bed too much. With the hem of the blanket resting at the back of your neck, you rested your elbows over her plush thighs, eyeing the strap that now sat right in front of your face.

Humming, you trail your fingers to the harness straps, fiddling with the fabric on her hips for a moment before you carefully let them trail to the base of her cock, taking it in your fist gently. Glancing back up to her, you saw the same image—her head resting on the pillow, turned to the side, sleeping peacefully like an angel. The warmth between your legs grew as you formulated the plan of your desires, licking your lips and coming closer to her strap.

You placed Wanda’s length in your mouth. It surprised you every time how big she was—an advantage she smugly gave herself when crafting her piece. Suctioning your lips, you began to swirl your tongue around the tip of the strap with a gentle but purposeful pressure.

It didn’t take long before your mouth ignited the spell within the strap, and her magic peered through the silicone in cracks that looked like molten lava in a crimson hue. That’s how you knew she was aroused now, and as you looked up at her again, she was still sleeping as peacefully as ever.

It took some practice for you to understand how to give your girlfriend a blowjob since it was your first time, but Wanda was patient and could get off with basically any touch you gave her with how sensitive the strap felt when she wore it anyways.

So you lowered your mouth further down on her strap that was warming up between your lips, keeping your hand on the base to keep it steady. Letting your other hand gently squeeze her thigh, you sucked her gently, wanting to make her feel good but not wanting to wake her up. It startled you when, as you took her entirety in your mouth so that the tip of her cock poked the back of your throat, Wanda’s legs twitched under you. It was only once and, looking up as you deepthroated her, you saw that the sleeping look on her face remained unchanged.

The depth with which you took her in your throat prompted tears to form in your eyes and saliva in your mouth. Sniffling, you kept taking her all the way in and then suctioning as you lifted your mouth from her, letting your tongue flick around her tip before deepthroating her again. You were slow and gentle, but she was hot and throbbing with magical arousal. You could even smell it on her now and, reaching down under the base where her slit was, you found that she was wet there, too.

Getting excited, you bobbed your head perhaps a little too hard, and she twitched again, this time letting her head sway to the other side. You paused, waiting for any sign of further movement or signs of being awake, but she was still deep asleep, the crease in her brow deeper now. You went back to sucking her off dutifully, and as wet sounds filled the air, Wanda moved again, this time arching her back. The movement sent her hips bucking up, which shoved her cock into your throat unexpectedly, causing you to choke on her girth.

Recovering, you continued carefully and watched as she twitched and squirmed in her sleep, somehow still staying deep asleep even as you could feel her throb faster. Her lips fell open at one point, soft gasps of air filling the quiet, dim room along with your wet sucking sounds. Her body heated up even more under your hands, and she started to buck her hips more.

Picking up your speed, you deepthroated her more and more, choking yourself on her strap while she grew even more restless. You knew she was seconds away from cumming, so you grabbed the base of her strap and sucked harder and faster. Finally, with a whispery, sleepy moan, and a more violent twitch of her hips, Wanda came in your mouth. You kept your mouth around her, feeling her warm cum gush at the back of your throat and ooze down it. You waited, letting her twitch and gasp and push out every last drop of cum before you finally swallowed it and took her out of your mouth. She was sweet to the taste with just a hint of metal, an interesting mix of her magic that reminded you of the taste of her real arousal.

There were many benefits to this magical creation of Wanda’s, one of many being that there was an unlimited supply.

Her cock now wet and shiny and slightly glowing, you carefully crawled back up her body and straddled her. She had almost immediately fallen back into utter stillness as soon as she came, except for her chest that was rising and falling much faster now. Biting your lip, you reached down and took her breasts into your hands, squeezing and letting your thumb roll over her nipples that were already rock hard for you. You could feel her cock, resting below your thigh, twitch and throb, basically vibrating with magic. All you could taste was her cum that coated the inside of your mouth, the taste still soaked into your tongue.

She just looked so pretty, even more relaxed now, having just helplessly cum in your mouth without even knowing it. Leaning down, you pressed a chaste kiss to her still lips before moving your mouth to her neck and pressing soft, wet kisses there. You let your hand grope her breasts for a moment before sliding it down and rubbing her tummy, lowering it further and further until you reached below yourself and took her strap in your hand again.

Still kissing her neck, and feeling her twitch once below you, you adjusted yourself over her cock and rubbed your throbbing, wet slit down her length, not letting it go inside. You remember the first time you did that, before she ever went inside you with the new strap, and she had prematurely came. She had been so embarrassed, taking off the cum-filled condom and tearing the strap off of her and getting up, but you’d found it so hot. You loved having this control over her. You loved knowing that you held this power over her, that you could make her cum so easily, that she desired you so much that she found it hard to even have any control. You wanted to tease her constantly, to degrade her and embarrass her by using her desire for you against her.

Wanda’s sleepy breaths hitched as you rubbed your warm, wet folds up and down her length, leaving a wet, sticky trail on the strap. She shifted under you, turning her head back to the other side. Her eyebrows creased deeper, her face contorting into a look of neediness as she subconsciously bucked her hips, pushing herself harder onto you. Chuckling, you gave her one last kiss on her neck before sitting up fully, unable to control yourself anymore. You wanted to get what you truly wanted out of her before she woke up.

Your breathing growing heavier, along with the rain pattering much harder on the window outside, you lined Wanda’s cock up with your entrance, letting it sit there pressed against it for a moment. You took a deep breath—her size still surprised you, and you still needed to relax and prepare yourself before taking her in. Thanks to the blowjob and how wet you were, there was enough lubrication for you to lower yourself down on her cock, feeling her slide right in and stretch your walls around her.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you stopped halfway, feeling a tinge of pain. Wanda shifted beneath you, which didn’t help, so you just took another deep breath and basically slammed yourself down on her, Wanda’s entire cock ramming deep inside you.

As if on cue, right as you let out a louder shriek than you meant to because of the way her cock hit your cervix, Wanda also let out a sleepy form of a moan, her head swaying to the side as her legs shifted under the blankets below you.

Placing your hands on her shoulders, you stayed still and felt her throb inside you as she squirmed, watching her eyes scroll side to side behind her eyelids. Biting your lip, you slowly lifted yourself off halfway before coming back down again, nearly seeing stars when she hit your deepest point again.

It was obvious that doing this wasn’t going to keep her asleep for much longer. She was still moving, eyelids fluttering, lips twitching as if trying to speak between her growing breaths. She was breathing faster now, redness blooming on her cheeks.

There was no point in being careful now. Grinding your teeth together, you rolled your hips, throwing your head back as she hit your sweet spot in your lower tummy. She was so big that her cock was basically all you could feel as you rode her, feeling pure pleasure bloom inside you as you anticipated the ending you were dreaming about.

“Mmmm-nnnn” Wanda murmured as she squirmed more beneath you, kicking at the sheets covering her feet and arching her back. “Ahhh…” She was starting to come to, being lured by your actions into an in-between state between sleeping and waking. She was arching her back off the bed and bucking her hips up into you, natural instinct to have more friction and be as close to you as possible coming through.

Power filled you as you stared down at the helpless witch, her cock lodged deep inside you, throbbing as you bounced on it. You bit the tip of your tongue and squeezed her shoulders, digging your nails into her skin as you rode her cock.

The feeling of your nails in Wanda’s skin was the one thing that brought her into awareness. Her eyelashes fluttered, mouth dropping open. Finally, her eyes opened fully, exposing those pretty irises that were usually green but were now a deep, sleepy crimson red from the magic she was subconsciously using.

A grin slashed across your own face, your tummy filled with excitement as you watched the look of confusion on Wanda’s once peaceful face. This was the second moment you were anticipating the most. Her eyebrows contorted in confusion as she stared up at you, her eyes blank with dumb sleepiness at first as her mouth let out heavy breaths. Then she blinked a few times, her eyes falling down over your body and to her own. She saw her cock, glistening with wet, appear halfway with every other bounce you made. She watched it appear as you lifted up, and then disappear again as you slapped yourself down on her lap.

Then she felt it. The tight, wet warmth. The squeezing of your walls around her. The more textured parts around your cervix, how much warmer and tighter you felt the deeper she was. Your lips smushed against the base of her cock when you had her fully inside. The ridges of your cunt massaging her length as you jerked up and down on her, the friction feeling like a white hot flame of pleasure with each stroke.

Her mouth fell open wider with a loud, startled moan, her hands immediately slapping onto your hips and holding them. “Baby!” she exclaimed in surprise, trying to blink the bleariness out of her eyes as you continued fucking yourself on her.

You giggled at her reaction, how she was confused but so turned on and so obviously overwhelmed by the feeling of you milking her cock as soon as she woke up, this being the very first thing her consciousness experienced this rainy morning. You felt her cock swell a little inside you, now that she was awake with her magic.

Her breathing turned into gasps, her eyes squeezing shut as she hissed through her teeth, her hips trembling as you slammed down onto them. “Fuck, baby, fuck, fuck,” she croaked, her voice sleepy and husky and burning hot in your ear.

“I always wanted to wake you up like this,” you whispered, scratching down her chest and over her nipples, causing her to let out the cutest little high-pitched whimper.

“Fuck,” was all she could whisper, holding your hips as they bounced up and down on her length.

You could see the sweat breaking on her forehead, the flush in her cheeks, the way her tummy tightened under your palm. She was getting close.

“D-Did you use prot-protection?” Wanda stammered, her brown hair starting to stick to her temples. She knew the answer. She could feel it, but she needed to ask anyway.

Chuckling, you let out a pornographic moan just to make her shudder and then said, “Nope.”

Wanda’s eyes widened a little in panic. She could already feel herself leaking a little, or maybe it was just your wetness, which was also dripping down her shaft and onto her thighs. Through the slight panic in your eye you could see the desperation, the idea she always dreams about sitting right there in her brain.

You purposefully clenched, and she bit her lip and threw her head back, her body lifting off the bed as she pushed herself into you. You gasped at the depth but used your strength to pin her hips back down to the bed.

“Baby,” she breathed, her eyes barely open. “Baby, get up.” Her voice grew breathy with quickness. “I’m gonna cum. Get up.” She slapped your hip a few times to make you get up, but you kept riding her.

“No,” you purred, leaning down closer to her face and smirking. “You can easily push me off if you want to.” You watched her, struggling to keep her eyes open, her body moving with your bouncing, look up at you with such a strong mix of horror and desire on her face. You waited, but she only continued to struggle beneath you, not making any effort to use her magic or strength to push you off. “So why don’t you?”

Wanda whined, throwing her head back and closing her eyes as if just looking at you was going to make her bust. Her nails dug into your hips as she trembled, looking like the pleasure was turning into pain as you continued to ride her. There was no way she would actively deny you. She could stop herself all she wanted when it was her in control, but if you were going to take it from her, she couldn’t not acquiesce.

“Baby, please,” she murmured through gritted teeth, tears forming in the corners of her eyes from the struggle to keep herself from cumming. You knew she could stop it if she wanted to—you didn’t have her physically wrangled, and even if you did, her magic could put an end to it immediately. “Please, get up, I can’t hold it.”

Grinning, you slam your hand over her throat, and she gasps, choking slightly as you squeeze her throat. “You’re so cute like this,” you whisper, “Begging me to stop. You’re the one who can’t control yourself.”

Tears were falling down her cheeks now. “Please, please,” she begged, her eyes squeezed shut. “Please, baby, I can’t—I can’t hold it—I’m gonna cum, fuck, please…”

“Do it. Give me all your cum,” you hiss, riding her harder to the point where the bedframe slams against the wall. Wanda, choking on the pressure of your hand around her throat, trembled and violently twitched below and inside you as she tried her hardest to hold it. But she was hot to the touch, and so were you, and your cunt felt so good squeezing around her cock, and you were taking complete advantage of her which she found to be so hot, and she hadn’t been able to stop dreaming about breeding you for weeks now, and it was all too much for her to even stop it.

“Fuck, baby, fuck, get off, I’m gonna… fuck, fuck fuck!”

Wanda’s nails dug into your hips as her words turned into incoherent babbles, her mouth falling wide open and her body lifting completely off the bed as she finally lost all control. You tried to watch her as long as you could, but your eyes fluttered closed when finally you felt her cock give one last hard twitch before loads of her burning hot cum went gushing deep inside you, splashing the wall of your cervix and filling your tummy all up.

The feeling made you cum, shivering on top of her and squeezing around her which only prolonged her orgasm even more. Wanda saw flashing images of you pregnant, which had been fueling what she thought was fear for weeks now, but she was learning just now that that fear was pure fetish. She tugged your hips down onto her and pushed herself as deep inside you as possible as she loaded you with her cum, surprising you with her strength as she kept you in a complete hold.

After a few moments, when she had filled you with all she had to give, which was a shocking amount this time because of how long she had held it, and you were limp against her chest, recovering from your own orgasm, Wanda finally relaxed, letting go of your hips and closing her eyes.

“Fuck,” she breathed, panting as sweat rolled down her tear-streaked face. You were quiet for a minute, relishing the feeling of a full tummy of Wanda’s cum, her cock throbbing gently in your cunt. You were so glad she’d enchanted that strap.

Finally, you hummed, looking up at her. She looked dazed and fuzzy-minded, her eyes hooded and cheeks blushing red from embarrassment. She sighed and grinned sheepishly, placing her hands over her face. You smirked. “That was a lot better than cumming on my tits, right?”

Wanda breathed. “Well, good morning to you, too.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #marvel #lgbt #lesbian #top!wanda #power bottom #subby top wanda #sub top wanda #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #wanda maximoff x f!reader

[abibliophobiaa]

falling like the stars, falling in love

eddie Munson x f!reader. unrequited steve harrington x reader. unrequited eddie munson x nancy wheeler. steve harrington x nancy wheeler.

summary: you’re fifteen when you fall in love with your best friend, and twenty-one when it all falls apart. eddie munson is there to pick up the pieces of your heart, and you’re there to gather his. but both of you get more than you ever bargained for when your silly friends with benefits arrangement becomes complicated. but such is the nature of love. (15k words).

warnings: 18+, smut, loss of virginity (r), friends with benefits, codependent (maybe toxic) relationships, angst, unrequited love, heartbreak, second chance romance, drinking, mentions of recreational smoking…but i promise a happy ending.

——

The sun shines the next morning.

There’s comfort in knowing it always does, even if the day that came before was one of the hardest you ever faced.

A new page, a turning point, and maybe a new beginning.

It’s all you hope for.

You lean against the wooden beams of the lake house, overlooking Lover’s Lake. Birds chirp in the trees, leaves shift to and fro, the water ripples and shudders, a child giggles near the dock, a mother calls out to another running in the grass.

A blanket covers your form, the chill of the morning air spreading gooseflesh along your arms.

Your body aches in places, a lovely kind of ache. An ache from his fingers along your skin, his lips at your mouth, his hips between your thighs.

An ache from being loved thoroughly.

A living, breathing, comforting thing.

“Are you okay?”

It’s a soft whisper against your ear. You hum gently as he draws nearer.

His hands circle your waist. Your fingers brush over the backs of his forearms. Familiar.

The heat of his chest rests at your back. Your body slumps into his, a new comfort to be found there.

His chest is still bare, hair still a mess. But when you turn in his arms and take him in you find you like it. Tousled and unkempt by your hands, his eyes peering down at yours soft and sweet and warm.

Uniquely him. You love those eyes. Could spend forever falling into them. A long time, a lifetime, but spending it beside him is the greatest gift you could ever long for.

And the greatest gift you’ve ever received.

The answer isn’t simple.

Then again, none of this has ever been.

——

It starts when you’re fifteen.

Silly teenagers with nothing but dreams and fantasies.

No thoughts or cares in the world, other than what clothes to wear, what part time job you want to work, who you’re interested in and who likes you back.

Silliness.

Triviality that, if you look back on it now, wish you could get back.

Steve Harrington is perfect. He’s your best friend. The first person you met when you moved to Hawkins at nine years of age. He’s charming and on the school baseball and basketball teams.

He’s liked by most, but to him you are special.

Best friends, in the way that always brings a smile to your face because you know it’s the forever kind.

Permanent in the way the scar on your knee is, from the day you and Steve raced across the pool yard after hours, outrunning Hopper, and you’d cut it when hopping the fence in your efforts to get away.

You’re fifteen and Steve’s body is changing a bit. He’s fuller than you remember, honed by hours of working out, of skin tanned from endless hours in the summer sun. He’s always been handsome, but that summer he just seemed different.

You’re fifteen and you’re reading a book, left propped open between the circle of your thighs as he calls your name and you lift yourself up to sit, taking in the boy treading water in the pool.

His hair is a wet mess. Little droplets clinging to the ends of his hair, his long lashes. He’s grinning at you — a pearly white smile that has your heart twirling in your chest.

You shove it away, because it has been doing that for months now. It’s a new side effect with him. A sickness you’ve never felt before. Some might call it love, and you groan, shoving your finger in your mouth when your friends tease you about it because ‘he’s my best friend’ and ‘that’ll never happen.’

But you don’t know what else to call that annoying fluttery feeling in your belly when he draws near. Nor can you stop the pitter patter of your heart when he looks your way.

It’s inconvenient, troubling, and it’s a crush.

A silly crush that’ll go away. These things always do.

Don’t they?

And maybe that’s a foolish thought. You certainly think so when he teases you to come on in. Warns that the water is warm.

You hesitate on the hem of your tee shirt. You don’t know why, because he’s seen you in bathing suits before, but lately even this feels different. You want him to look at you the way he looks at the girls at school, and yet you also don’t want him to look at all, because if he looks he might see all your imperfections. Might see something he doesn’t like, and for some reason you hate that even more.

Because you want him to like you, to like all of you, to want you in the way you know you want him.

You’re fifteen and you’re swimming in a pool with your best friend. Your boy who also happens to be your friend. Never a boyfriend.

Never that.

You’re fifteen and you splutter out how you turned down a date with Brendan Abbott because, “I’ve never been kissed.”

“Really?” Steve asks, and he sounds genuinely surprised. And before you can even question the curiosity in his voice, he adds, “I just mean…you’re pretty. I bet loads of guys want to kiss you.”

Not the one that matters, though, you think to yourself.

Steve’s kissed dozens of girls, you know. You know because he’s told you, his cheeks staining a pretty pink. He always goes pink like that, and you always smile back, despite that odd pain that wedges its way between your ribs.

Heartache you think, but again, you’ll never put a name to it.

“I could kiss you, you know?” he suggests. And he’s red again in the face, quickly spluttering, “I mean, your first kiss should be with someone special, right?”

Steve’s the most special.

So you’re fifteen and he’s wading over to you in the pool. He cups your cheek and looks you in the eye. There’s a heartbeat and he’s kissing you. Soft, sweet, simple. It doesn’t linger long. Doesn’t give you enough time to feel like fireworks are exploding in the sky. But it’s enough to set something into motion.

Something terrible, really.

Because you’re fifteen and you’re in love — and maybe you’ll always be.

——

You’re nineteen when you meet Eddie.

A glass bottle to the man you love’s throat. He’s there in an instant, terror in his eyes, and you shriek at the suddenness of it. His eyes flash and you recognize him.

You had…a class before with him.

Can’t recall which.

You know him, of course.

Everyone knows Eddie Munson. Maybe not for all good reasons — and at this moment, it’s the worst reason. Because you’ve been looking for him for hours, trying to figure out what in the hell happened to Chrissy.

He looks like a deer in headlights. A terrified human searching for comfort when the world has grown cold.

He recalls what he saw.

Her body, broken. The way she hovered up on the ceiling. The way her eyes were ripped from her body. It’s gruesome and horrible and you curl a hand around his forearm when you notice he’s trembling. A shiver that only someone who has seen death head on knows. You’d seen it before, when Billy died the summer before that.

So you offer him that. A hand for comfort, as he recounts the worst day of his life, and you realize the newest worst day of yours.

It ends up being a long few days. You spend them hoping you’ll all get out alive, and in the process you find a friend in him. He’s charismatic and frenetic, he’s funny and he’s dramatic and he’s handsome in a rugged way that Steve isn’t.

And he notices the way you stare at Steve. Offers you a hand of comfort as you all trek into the Upside Down. You take it, and it feels like a new friendship.

Neither of you speaks, but it feels like an understanding.

——

At twenty, Steve’s halfway in love with Nancy all over again. You’re used to this. Steve has fallen in love with what feels like all of Hawkins — all except you. Neither of you speaks about that. You’ll never bring it up to him, can’t fathom the idea of shattering years of friendship.

But there’s something different about this time. The way he talks about her and how things are going. He’s dreaming of his future. Talking about kids. His Winnebago. About a future that suddenly seems like it’s hurtling towards you, while you’re seemingly stuck in place in the past.

It chokes you. The idea of him and her. Her and him and their six children he tells you about. Traveling all around the world, making memories, starting a new life.

He never talks like this and it terrifies you.

“I’m sure he’s just being his usual self,” Robin says, “diving in and hoping he doesn’t sink. You know how things were with him and Nancy before.”

“This feels different, Rob.” You huff and you whine and she offers you another beer and a look of sympathy you know means she’s really just doing her best.

There are few people in this world who know how deep your feelings run for your best friend. Those quite literally being her and Eddie Munson. And you plan on keeping it that way until the day you die.

Even so, it still hurts the next weekend when you’re all over Eddie’s new government funded apartment for a game night. Nancy gets up to leave and Steve offers to drive her home. And though you offer to clean the dishes for Eddie in the kitchen, it’s not an innocent offer by any means, because you watch them through the curtains.

Don’t know why you do. It stings. Burns in your eyes fiercely as you watch him lean down to kiss her. Watch how his hand slides down her back and into the pocket of her jeans, the way their bodies fit together like they’re made to, how he holds her close like she’s everything to him. Just like he’s everything to you.

“You’re only screwing over yourself by doing that,” Eddie murmurs from behind you, a dish towel hanging over his shoulder. He holds out a hand as you swipe at the tears gathering on your cheeks, and you hand him a plate to dry down.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huff, sponge running over the glass. “Plus you’re one to talk.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He shakes his head with a scoff, moving around you to put a plate away.

“I don’t?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

“No.”

There’s a day you remember vividly. All of you at Lover’s Lake. You, freshly out of the water after Steve tackled you off the dock at the end of your family’s lake home and the two of you ended up splashing at one another for an hour.

He sat by Nancy around the fire after and you opened the screen door to find Eddie leaning over the back porch railing with a beer in his hand. He watched her like one would watch a movie. Her every move, each smile that curled her lips, holding onto her every word like he might memorize them all. The lilt, the cadence, the tone.

In a moment, you recalled all the times you’d seen them together prior. His best friend, he proclaimed. And maybe it was in the way Steve was your best friend. The other half of your soul. Your person. But you also saw the hurt reflected there in Eddie’s gaze whenever she stared at Steve.

Because while Eddie always stared at Nancy, Nancy always stared at Steve.

“It sucks when you’re always looking at them, but they never look at you back,” you laugh miserably, handing him a glass cup, back in his kitchen, “right?”

He looks away.

He doesn’t speak after that.

Good, you think.

Conversation over.

——

It carries on like that.

Pining.

Wanting.

Waiting.

Loving him while you watch him love another.

But you suppose it’s not all bad — that there is some solace in this world you’re destined to walk.

There’s comfort in the kids. In watching them flourish. In your friendships. There are milestones. When you graduate from your community college program and move into your first apartment. Steve, with a ball cap on his head, arms toned as they hug your boxes. Eddie behind him, his hair pulled back into a ponytail.

They’ve grown closer over time, best of friends who scare similar scars. Kindred, in a sick sort of way they never should have been, simply because sometimes the world is cruel.

Eddie looks at you and you look at him and there’s a smolder of something between you, a promise for when everyone else heads home for the night.

That’s a newer development, too.

This…pseudo relationship with Eddie. A space between being together and not. In knowing each other’s bodies in a way that most friends don’t.

And maybe it’s wrong. The way you twine together some nights like vines. Him stumbling through the door after the sun goes down over Hawkins — because no one knows about this secret dalliance — and rushing across your living room to grasp your face in his hands. To kiss you soundly and drag you down onto the floor, ridding you of your clothes, your underwear, his mouth seeking your center like he’s starving for air.

You’re not really sure when it starts.

Sure, there’s always been an attraction there, but it’s always been something you don’t really dwell on, because Steve is the true paramour of your affection.

And you see the way Eddie watches Nancy.

Right?

But Eddie is kind and loving and he adores you in a way that feels sort of like running toward a cliff and jumping without a parachute.

You always know he’ll catch you. Don’t really know when he became that person for you. The one who you trust wholly and completely.

Yet if you think really hard about it, you’d say it started on your twenty-first birthday. After a strong drink and plenty of dancing at the bar. Steve grabbed your hand and twirled you around. Swayed and bobbed to the music and you grabbed his hand and tugged him outside. And maybe it was the little bit of alcohol you consumed and liquid courage granted by it, but you pushed him up against the side of a lamppost and kissed him.

When you think about it now, you want to cry, but in the moment it felt right.

He spluttered and gasped and you knew you’d made a mistake. Watched the way sadness creeped into his eyes, the awareness dawning on him.

Someone barked out a laugh, yourself maybe. Him. You weren’t sure. But it sounded disbelieving. Years and years of unspoken words spilled out like ink onto a blank sheet of paper. Left there to rot. And he stared — stared at you with a hurt in his eyes that ripped you down the middle. Because you knew he couldn’t return it, knew in an instant that he didn’t love you in the way that you wanted him to.

Not in the way that he loved Nancy.

Nancy. Perfect Nancy with the perfect hair and the perfect mind and the perfect life. Nancy, who was beautiful and stunning and wonderful and inspiring — and why wouldn’t someone love her? She was your friend, a good one at that, and a girl that any guy would want to be with.

Nancy, who you knew was the one meant for Steve, even if admitting that to yourself felt like a knife wedging its way into your gut.

“Honey…” he trailed and his voice broke. An aching, shattering thing that mimicked what was going on inside your chest.

Tiny, little shards. Little ruby glitter in the cavity that once housed a beating organ.

“It’s silly, right?” You laughed again. A hollow sound. A grieved cry that had Steve reaching for your forearm, trying to hold you together. “I've loved you since I was fifteen.”

“You’re drunk…”

“I’m not,” you argued. If anything, you felt stone cold sober now.

It didn’t change anything. Didn’t make it any less true. Maybe it was how Steve coped with it. Blaming it on too many drinks, emotions running high, your lives changing at a rate neither of you saw coming.

“Is everything okay out here?” Eddie stood on the sidewalk, watching from a distance, ready to step in if he needed to.

He did that often. Sought you out. Made sure you were okay. Watched your back as you watched his. There was always an awareness there that both of you held toward one another. An unspoken thing. Special still.

“Just…a moment?” Steve asked, and Eddie looked your way. Waited until you nodded it was, in fact, okay before he slipped back inside the bar and left you alone with your heartbreak. “You’re my best friend. I love you, but I —”

“Don’t love me, love me,” you finished for him.

Felt your lip wobbling, felt Steve’s arms as they wrapped around you, tugged you into a solid chest. You heaved out a loud sob, the kind that had him clutching you tighter, one hand at the back of your head to keep your forehead pressed into the hollow of his throat. Kept you hidden as you weeped, just like he knew you preferred it.

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the night. Kind of left it like there, open in the air, the understanding that you loved him and he didn’t love you, and it hurt every time you thought about it — every time you reminded yourself that you’d worn your heart on your sleeve and watched it fall to the ground.

Everyone left in separate cars. Robin with her girlfriend, Steve with Nancy, Jonathan with Argyle, leaving you to clamber on into Eddie’s car. Both of you had sobered up enough, dawning clarity breaking like the sunrise.

Eddie turned to you when you pulled up to your parent’s house. Looked at you with a sympathy that made you draw the hoodie you pulled on over your dress closer to your body, wanting to shrink away from him. Make yourself smaller, if only to hide from the emotions warring in your mind.

“Did something happen tonight?” He asked, his voice soft.

You tugged at a stray lint on your thigh, rolled it between your fingers, shrugged a bit. “I kissed Steve.”

“Shit,” he breathed out, unbuckling his seatbelt. Leaned back into his seat, finger running through his hair.

“And then I told him I loved him,” you added, head shaking as you laughed pitifully.

His head shifted on the headrest, eyes taking in your downturned lips. “I take it that didn’t go well?”

Another huff of a laugh. “He said ‘I love you, but…’”

“Fuck,” he said, hand reaching over the center console to rest on your thigh. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

He always called you sweetheart. You noticed he called things he held dear to his heart that. His guitar, Max, El, Erica. Nancy. Robin. And most recently, you. So it shouldn’t have warmed your heart, but it did. Twisted something low in your belly, a warm, unfurling sort of thing.

The next words spilled out of you in a rush. Set into motion the course of the next several years. “Do you want to come upstairs? You’ll have to be quiet. I just…don’t want to be alone.”

“I—I…yeah?”

The offer was to talk. To find comfort in another human. Because you hadn’t even thought about sex. Hadn’t had sex in your twenty-one years. Not because you were holding onto your virginity or anything, but because you just hadn’t felt comfortable enough yet to do so. And it wasn’t like you invited him up there for that. It started out innocently enough. Him following closely behind you through your home, slipping up your stairs, fingers laced together. An anticipation hummed in your blood, a tremble of uncertainty in the way he stood there in your bedroom, not moving from the door once you closed it behind the two of you. He seemed so large in your childhood bedroom. Hair a mess on his head, in the way it always was, charmingly so. His hands slipped into his tight jeans, the gesture making his black tee stretch taut over his chest.

A dress still clung to your body after you removed your jacket. Something flowing and pretty that you picked out with Robin the week before. It suddenly felt sticky and tight on your body, and with a nervous glance, Eddie caught your hint and turned around to face the door. Tapped his fingers against his thigh as you undressed and slipped on something more comfortable. A simple pair of sweatpants and an oversized tee shirt.

“You can sit on my bed, you know?” You had sat back down against the headboard, the wood littered with endless pillows and a stuffed penguin that Steve had gotten you at a fair one summer.

In a fearful effort to rid yourself of the evidence of your stuffed friend, you lifted it in your hand and raised an arm to toss it into your closet when Eddie launched himself down onto your mattress with a thump and snatched it out of your grip.

“I don’t sleep with that, or anything…” Heat flooded your cheeks, because why did you care if he knew you actually did sleep with the silly thing, if only to keep the nightmares from the Upside Down away?

“It’s cute,” he murmured to himself, ringed fingers tight around the black and white toy. Sounded genuine and you didn’t doubt him; never did, truly. “Got a name for it?”

“Pip the Penguin,” you said quietly, so quietly.

“I like it…” Suddenly, he changed his voice, warping it into something an octave higher than his usual tone. Bopped the fluffy creature against your forehead, making you laugh. Pretended to talk with the thing and said, “Mr. Pip the Penguin wants you to turn that frown upside down. Because you’re so fucking beautiful when you smile.”

“Pip the Penguin doesn’t curse,” you admonished, plucking him from Eddie’s hands and placing him onto your bedside table. And then, softer still, “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Always,” he promised, and you rolled over onto your side to look at him, to really take in your best friend’s features. “I’m sorry your birthday is shot to hell.”

“It’s not,” you admitted, reaching over to run your fingers along the rings flush against his knuckles, “I’m spending it with you.”

“For what it’s worth,” he said, holding your hand in his and pausing your movements, thumb running across your skin, “you’re great and deserve the world. Anyone who can’t see that is kind of an idiot. Sorry, Harrington.”

You level him with a ‘you’re kidding me’ look.

“I’m serious,” he added, smiling a bit. “I mean, you play guitar like a beast. I don't know many girls who do that. Definitely metal. You’re fun to be around, really cool, definitely would smoke with.”

You had. Numerous times. “Eddie.”

“Maybe a little bit of a shit driver —”

“Eddie!” You shrieked a giggle, clutching his hand tighter.

“I said 'a little bit’” he teased, pushing back a hair that fell into your eyes. “Did you forget that time I had to try and shove your car out of the mud?”

“Yeah, but it was you who told me to turn onto that side road in that rain storm.”

“It was still a fun day, though.”

You sat in your car for hours, rain splattering against the window, waiting for a tow truck. The boy beside you, hair wet from the rain, his shirt clinging to his body. His chest rising and falling with the effort, the cloudy sky and the way he reminded you of sunshine even still. Remembered the way he looked at you, all soft around the edges, that little dimple in his cheek. So handsome it had made your chest ache with it — kind of like how it was then.

“It was,” you agreed softly.

Neither of you slept that night in your bedroom. Instead you talked until the sun started to rise over Hawkins, a quiet something glimmering in the spaces between the two of you. It didn’t have a name yet, no wings to give it flight, but there was something new there nonetheless. You talked about everything and nothing. Dreams, wants, fears. Silly thoughts that sprang to life in your mind, and he was a perfect listener — nodded and laughed and was wholly engaged in you, and you in him.

And you don’t think about Steve once, the ache of rejection dulling to a sweet nothingness.

“Wanna watch a movie?” It was asked after some time, when the nervousness of where you wanted the rest of your morning to go creeped in after your parents called upstairs that they were headed off to work, leaving you alone with the boy they didn’t know was in your bed.

He held you like that. On your bed, arms around your waist from behind as colors flashed across the television screen. Both of you were quiet for a long time. No words said, nothing to say really, until you rolled back over and looked up into his umber eyes. Wondered what it would be like to kiss him. You didn’t have to wonder for long, though; he leaned in, nudged his nose against yours, cupped your cheek. Asked you if ‘this was okay.’ A nod, and you sank into the mattress at that first brush of his mouth over yours, at the way your heart fluttered, something sparkly and beautiful flashing behind your eyes. He held you like that, kissing your lips, your jaw, your neck. Fingers tentatively explored as you sighed and hummed against him, over the slope of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, the line of your collarbone. And then, with a gentle touch, he brushed a thumb along your ribcage, beneath a breast.

Testing, asking for permission.

“I didn’t come up here to hook up,” he said, but it was muffled by your lips against his, an eagerness drowning out his words.

“I know.”

“I…do really think you’re beautiful.” You tugged at the hem of his shirt, helped him pull it up and over his head. Ran your fingers along the scars there. “Fuck, I — you’re my best friend and I —”

“I want this,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss a line across his pecs. “Do you want this?”

Could feel that he did. Could feel it against your thigh, the thick heat of him through denim, straining against his belt and zipper. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” A kiss. “Yes, Eddie.” Another kiss.

He tugged off your top. You slipped off your sweats. He ran calloused fingers along your abdomen, over the slope of your breasts, teased at sensitive flesh. Watched as your head rolled to the side and a sigh spilled from you, feelings you’d never felt settling low in your belly. You liked it, liked the intensity in how he looked at you when he lowered himself down your abdomen, kissing your skin. Liked the desire aimed wholly at you in his eyes as he eased your thong down your thighs and tossed them toward your closet. Felt a thrill at the stare locked on the place only your fingers had ever ventured before this night, like he’d discovered hidden treasure.

“Eddie?” A nervous whispered breath.

He climbed back up your body hastily, thumbed at the worry line creasing your forehead. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I’ve never…you’re my…” You swallowed as something like understanding passed over his features.

His forehead dropped against yours, deep breaths spilling from his nose, hand holding the curve of your cheek. “Are you sure? I want you to be one thousand percent sure. Your first time…it should —”

Your hand slid up over his stomach, over the rapid thrum of his heart. “Yes, Eddie. One hundred thousand percent sure.”

He leaned over you with a laugh to turn Pip the Penguin around, facing the lamp. “Can’t have him seeing this. Feels like someone is watching.”

And you laughed, just like you always did with him. Just as you did when he slipped out of his boxers and nearly tripped getting out of them, tumbling forward onto your bed, just as you did when he crawled back up your body and blew a raspberry into your neck to ease the worried lines between your brow when you finally saw him bare for the first time. Something so foreign and yet exhilarating to you. Watching his nervous hands, the way he hovered over your body, the gravity of the moment finally hitting you. He readied you with gentle fingers, with a sort of pleasure that you’d only previously known by your own hand, and yet felt so differently when it was someone else’s inside of you.

Later, as you gasped and shook within his arms in the aftershocks of your orgasm, you watched him roll on a condom with blissful, hazy eyes. Clasped your hand in his as he pressed it down into your pillow, not without kissing the back of it first.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much, okay?” he asked, and you felt him there, pushing in just the slightest bit, face pinched in concentration.

Eyes widened at the feeling, so foreign and yet not wholly unpleasant.

Just…different.

“Is this okay?” He pulled out a little, pushed in. Pulled out, pushed in a little further each time.

And then, when he reached the point where it seemed your body wouldn’t allow him to go any further, you gasped and Eddie’s hips stilled immediately.

“Shit,” he breathed, dropping onto his elbows, searching your face worriedly, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shook your head. “No, no…you can keep going. Just go s-slow.”

His fingers rubbed along your cheek. “Gotta relax, sweetheart.” You tried to do exactly that. Smiled to yourself as he distracted you with kisses along your jaw, fingers gripping into your hips, little circles along your thigh curled around his hip.

“Can you just, like…” You chewed on your bottom lip, the burning growing sharper with each slow movement of him within you. “Push all the way in.”

“It’ll hurt,” he said, wincing at the thought of hurting you.

“Only for a second. Please,” you leaned up to kiss him soundly, nuzzling his nose as you added, “I want to feel all of you, Eddie.”

As he warned…it hurt, a fullness you’d never felt before. Stole your breath. He wiped your tears away, whispering ‘sorry’ after sorry into your kiss-bitten lips. There was a brief moment where you jokingly teased that you worried if he’d actually fit, even voiced it to him as he shook with laughter into your neck at what he took as a compliment. Because laughter seemed to be a theme between the two of you. You giggled with him, breath hitching when your muscles loosened and he sank in all the way, your body connected with his in an unfamiliar and yet wonderful all at the same time.

That first time was awkward, giggly, and yet perfect all the same. Your bodies coming together in an unhurried rhythm that maybe ended too soon because he spluttered out that you felt too good — a pretty praise that had you preening, and then pleading when he rolled his hips in a way that had you seeing stars, cresting a wave, the crash of your second orgasm stealing your breath away.

Now, it’s a little different.

In your apartment, your back against your new kitchen cabinets, your boy expertly licking at you like he might die if he doesn’t watch you crumble for the third time that afternoon.

First, when Steve and Robin finally left for the afternoon and he had you up against the door, your cheek against the frame, his name a mantra on your lips, his forehead at the back of your head as he filled you deliciously from behind. The second time, you barely made it onto your new bed — frame still on backorder — before he had you on your back, with you scoring marks down his shoulders. Knowing how to draw out your pleasure, to ramp it up – knowing your body in a way no one else ever has.

So different from the people you were a year ago, and yet still trying to pretend that the ties between you don’t grow more confusing with each and every passing day.

——

You’re twenty two and Steve has some news for you. And it’s never the kind of news one wants to hear from the man they’ve been in love with for nearly ten years.

“I’m going to ask Nance to marry me.”

“That’s great!” You blurt it out. You don’t even know why, because it’s a lie, just like the countless other things you have said to save face in front of him. “Really — Steve, that’s incredible! I’m so happy for you. How do you think you’ll go about asking her?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Turns out, it’s happening at Enzo’s the next week. Surrounded by all your best friends. Eddie sits at your right, watching as Steve gets down on one knee. As Nancy cries softly and accepts — as Steve slides a ring up onto her knuckle, thumb brushing against the back of her sparkling solitaire diamond.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt quite like you thought it might. There’s an ache, sure. A feeling of loss that you always feel when it comes to Steve. Though when you turn your head and look at Eddie, and he squeezes your hand in his, there’s peace there.

That’s a newer development. Just as him staying over for days on end is, leaving things of his in your drawers, using your shower. You’re best friends who sleep together and spend all their extra time together, and yet there’s this limbo of where you are and if this is ever going anywhere that neither of you seems keen on opening up to talk about.

Steve finds you later that night, standing outside overlooking the restaurant’s garden. A freshly filled champagne flute rests in your hand. Eddie is inside with Robin, Nancy and the rest of your friends, laughing at the bar where you left them. But out here the world seems quieter. The stars twinkle brighter. Hawkins seems to rest, even though there’s a disquiet in your mind.

“That was a beautiful proposal,” you tell him, turning to rest your back against the railing. He joins you there, elbow leaning onto the metal, his own glass filled with an amber liquid shifting as he moves to get comfortable. “Really. I’m so proud of you guys. You deserve all the happiness in the world after all the hell we’ve been through as a group.”

“You’re in the wedding party, you know?” he chuckles, and you never doubted it. “You and Robin kind of both have to share the title of ‘best man.’”

“As long as we have matching outfits, I’m in,” you giggle airily, head tilting back to look up at the sky.

“You’re in your head a bit,” Steve says, like he knows, because he does.

He knows everything about you.

Except for one thing.

“I’m okay,” you lie, taking a sip of your drink, “just been a long night. We’re getting older, you know? I can’t party like we used to.”

He narrows his eyes, because you’re twenty two and full of shit.

“So it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact you and Eddie are seeing each other?”

“We’re not.”

Not a lie. ‘Seeing’ would imply that your relationship is going somewhere. What you and Eddie have been doing…what you are doing…it has no beginning and no end, but there’s an awareness that at any point either of you might meet someone else and move on.

Lately that thought hurts. Not sure what to do with that.

“Okay…having sex then.”

“Why do you have to say it like that?” You grimace. “It’s weird coming from you.”

“Oh, like we haven't discussed my sex life in thorough detail –”

“Yeah, and I can tell you, as someone who has lived through it, that wasn’t fun either.”

He continues, ignoring you, “Gotta say, kind of feels shitty that you didn’t tell me about it.”

“There’s nothing to ‘tell,’” you say, shifting to look at him. “We hooked up…and then kept hooking up. We hook up, it’s what we do. It’s all we do, actually. I mean, not all we do. We have to breathe and eat sometimes, and we are also friends –”

“Friends who f –”

“Steve Harrington, enough out of you, you child.” There’s a bite to your tone, but no bark. He smirks at you, a cheeky, proud-looking thing that would have made you mourn years ago, but makes you feel a little smug now. Maybe time truly does heal wounds. “How do you even know?”

“When Nancy and I were over at your place last weekend, we realized I forgot my jacket and I, uh, heard you guys.”

Horror seeps into your blood. You wish the ground would open up right now. Swallow you whole. Wish a black hole would suck you up, never to be seen again. “I could have been doing a workout video.”

He grins, and you contemplate shoving him over the railing, but Hopper’s inside and you don’t really feel like facing jail time for murdering your best friend on what should be the happiest day of his life. “Do you always moan Eddie’s name during your workouts?”

Cheeks burning, you splutter, “Maybe I do.”

“So how long has this been going on?” Steve asks, choosing to once again ignore your attempts at redirecting the conversation.

“My twenty-first birthday. We went back to my place,” you tell him, quickly amending, “technically it was the next day. We…talked the whole night. It felt right.”

It was the perfect first time, you decided long ago now. And then that second time, after you’d both passed out, and you climbed on top of him, asking him to show you what he liked, before you ended up skipping your college classes in favor of spending the whole day exploring each other’s bodies.

“That was a…shit day,” he says, and it sounds sad. You never talk about that day. After you told him you loved him, it was almost like both of you had an unspoken agreement in place to just never breathe life into it again. Hearing him acknowledge it now…you don’t really know how you feel about it. “I’m sorry for that, again. I just –”

“It’s in the past,” you reassure him, offering a smile. “We can’t help who we fall in love with.” You know that now.

“So he met Pip the Penguin?”

You shove him. “Yes, he did. And we’ve sort of been – doing this ever since.”

“You love him,” Steve says, like it’s not even a question. At your arched brows, he repeats, “You love him.”

It’s a silly notion, you want to tell him earnestly. Though the more you think on it, the more you can see his words have some merit. For years Steve’s been the object of your affection, and suddenly his relationship with Nancy hurts less, you can be around him without feeling like there’s a raw, bleeding wound in your chest. You always accredited it to getting used to knowing this isn’t something that’s going to change. Yet as you picture Eddie's face in your mind, a coy smile tugs at your lips.

Steve grins. “See?”

“How do you know?” Disbelief imbues your words. It can’t be this simple, can it? To simplify the feelings with the word ‘love.’ An emotion that seems so big and so scary.

“I know what you look like when you’re in love,” he says, mouth tugging southward a bit over how he knows. He makes his way over to the door leading inside, needing to get back to his party. His eyes are soft. “It doesn’t take a scientist to define the way you look at him.”

He leaves you with your thoughts.

You nearly crumble with the weight of them.

——

Eddie’s not himself. You spend the day with Steve and Nancy, working on wedding planning. At one point, the guys end up stumbling into the bridal boutique where Nancy’s standing on a pedestal in a beautiful gown, her veil a billowing sprawl of lace behind her. She’s gorgeous, not that you ever doubted she would make a beautiful bride.

Later that night, Eddie fucks you like he’s trying to forget. Fingers curled tight around your wrists, no words of affection pouring from him, not like they usually do. He’s quiet and when he spills into you, you roll over onto your side and cry.

He tries to console you. A hand splays over your bicep, his mouth at your shoulder. He hadn’t even bothered to undress you tenderly like he usually does. It had been frantic and hurried and it feels like you’re an exposed nerve now, the pain throbbing in your chest.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” It’s another new thing. A nickname for when you’re alone. A term of endearment you wish he would just take back now.

“I feel like you weren’t even here just now. Toward the end,” you whimper, rolling over, lip wobbling.

“No no no,” he coos, kissing along your brow, trying to soak up the blood seeping from your invisible wounds, “hey — hey, baby, I —”

“You were trying to forget.” You tug your blankets up around your shoulders, covering yourself.

“It was a hard day —”

“But I’m right here!” you cry out, launching yourself out of the bed, eyes burning as you whirl on him. “I’m right here. I’ve been here. We’re…this isn’t right, Eddie. It hasn’t been for a long time. Can’t you see that? You just fucked me because you saw Nancy in a wedding dress.”

“That’s not —”

“I think we need to stop this.” His mouth settles into a firm line, eyes rounding as the words slam down on him like a ton of bricks. “Put a pin in it. Call it. Give it a time of death. I just can’t do this anymore. It’s changed for me. It’s not ‘just sex’ anymore.”

“It’s never been ‘just sex’ with us,” he argues.

Eddie climbs out of bed. Tugs on his boxers, tries to console you with soothing hands on your arms. Resolute in your decision, you take a step back, head shaking a bit.

“I’m…” A pause.

After your conversation with Steve some months ago now, you really took the time to think about his words. The realization you’ve fallen in love with Eddie slowly over time. The man who weaved his way into your life so seamlessly on a day you needed him the most.

Eddie, who snores beside you in bed most nights and wakes you with endless kisses along your cheeks, because he wants you to smile first thing every morning. Eddie, who always forgets to separate his lights from his darks every time he does his laundry, so you started doing yours together. Eddie, who you spend every Friday night on your couch with, a pizza and a joint between you, punctuated by soft kisses and endless cuddling as you watch your favorite movies together. He’s become a staple in everyday life; a constant, a rock, an anchor.

You can’t quite pinpoint when it happened. When friendship changed into something more, but it had, and you couldn’t stop the free fall once you were on the edge of the cliff.

This love is also painful too. It’s knowing for a long time the two of you used sex as a way to run from your problems. Had relied on one another to find solace. It’s realizing that, though you want nothing more than to curl your arms around his waist and hold him for the rest of the night, that’s actually the last thing either of you need right now.

“I think you should stay at your apartment tonight,” you tell him, your voice a little hollow. Cold. Eyes downcast. “I think we need some time to cool off, and I think we need to do it separately.”

Eddie swallows thickly. His voice breaks as he chokes out, “Yeah…okay.”

“I love you,” you tell him, stare him straight in the eye as you do so. His breath shudders out of him. “And I think you love me too, but I don’t want you to say it back. I want you to say it when you can fully mean it. But I can’t do this…half version of love I’m getting now. I want the full thing, we both deserve the full thing.”

He tips your chin up. Kisses you. The first tears spill from your eyes, and when you open your eyes, there are tears in his eyes too.

“Fuck,” he rasps, folding his arms around your waist, holding you close as you both break.

Never really together, and yet it’s the worst break up. It cleaves you right down the middle. Leaves you in two pieces, where one belongs to Eddie and you don’t know that you’ll ever get it back. The man wound so deeply in your veins now he’ll likely remain there forever.

You want him to be — just not now.

Not in this capacity, not like this.

You want that earth shattering, ground shaking, immeasurable kind of love. The kind that extends beyond stars and space. Love that transcends time and follows you even in death at the end of it all.

You’d rather have all of Eddie instead of this, even if it means losing him for now.

There’s that saying, albeit cliche, that if something is meant for you, you need to let it go. If it comes back, it was always yours.

In actuality it’s scary — letting him go.

But you trust it’s the right thing. Trust that it’s the best thing for the health of what’s already here, even when every atom and cell in your body wants to fight against what it innately knows is best for it.

Eddie opens his mouth to speak. Thinks better of the words he’s going to say. Instead kisses you on the forehead three times.

I. Love. You.

“I’ll —” He stumbles over the words. Know that he means to say ‘I’ll see you soon,’ but neither of you knows if that’s true.

Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes you simply need to lean up on your toes and kiss him for what might very well be the last time. Tears spill down your cheeks and his. Little fractures. Glittering reminders of beautiful memories made in the time spent together.

He packs a bag and hikes his things over his shoulder. Exits the door you’ve watched him walk in so many times that the thought of never seeing him pass through again makes you want to shatter all over again.

And when he blows you a final kiss on the way out, you do.

——

“So you…ended things?”

Steve tries to understand, your head in his lap, heart in your throat as you bleed love all over your living room floor. It hasn’t stopped since Eddie left. Since you picked up the phone and dialed a number you’d never forget and sobbed out a broken, “Steve.”

There are no words needed to be said. In the background you hear the rustle of keys, and then he’s at your doorstep fifteen minutes later, ready with his arms open for you to fall into. And now you’re here.

He lets you cry. He lets you sob against the pillow on his lap until your eyes are puffy and you’re reduced to hiccuped breaths. Doesn’t judge you for it, offers comfort, understands. He lost Nancy for a while, too. Gets it.

“Staying together in the way we are now isn’t healthy,” you tell him, woodenly, “it’d kill us. I love him, and I know he loves me, but this is what we need right now. Time and space and — and I already miss him so much and it hurts, Steve.”

“Kind of like a limb torn off, right?”

“Maybe not that dramatic?”

“Heart ripped out then?” he amends, huffing a laugh.

“Yeah,” you sob, “that.”

“Hey?” He whispers, and you lift yourself up to look at him. Crumple all over again as he coos, “Honey,” pulling you into his arms. “I know it doesn’t look like it right now, but it’s going to get better, okay?”

“Promise?”

He drops a kiss to the crown of your head. “I promise.”

Everything feels like it’s ending. But one day turns into two, and then two into three. Suddenly it’s a week, and then a month, and without him, the earth turns. The leaves change. The sun rises and falls every day. The ground withers as winter comes and passes, and the flowers bloom in spring. Without him, children still giggle in the park as you rush along on a run. You meet up with friends, deflect advances from men and women at bars — tell them you’re taken, don’t know why — try to live. Try to heal because it’s what you promised Eddie you would do.

Life continues, you miss Eddie because you’ll always miss him, but you don’t see him.

For seven months.

Nancy and Steve make it happen. Coordinate your schedules in a way that allows you both the time you need.

The night before the wedding, after the wedding rehearsal dinner, you invite everyone back to your family’s lake house. You took it for the weekend, just to have some time away after what you’re sure is to be a busy weekend. Wanted to catch up on some reading, wake up to the familiar sounds of birds chirping and the water gurgling.

Eddie stares at you from across the living room, beer in his hand. Watches you like one would watch a show and it has your heart twirling, stomach churning, fingers twitching around the stem of your wine glass.

It’s fleeting. A brief moment before Nancy asks Eddie to help her with something in the other room, and he rushes after her. Robin leans back against the pillows she’s piled up against the couch, her girlfriend, Vickie, beside her, both eying you curiously, “What’s that all about?”

“Nothing,” you mutter absently, sipping at your champagne.

“They used to hook up,” Steve explains, shrugging. “But then they fooled around and fell in love. Just like the song. You know how it goes, ‘fooled around and fell in loveeee.’”

“Steve!”

“What? You were going to tell her in a second. I could see it on your face.”

You blanch. “I mean, yes. But you didn’t have to just spill it out there for the whole world to hear.” You swallow. “Yes, we…were together for a bit but then I ended things. It's been over seven months now.”

“Wow,” Robin breathes out, throwing back the rest of her drink, “so, uh, the smoldering looks Eddie is throwing your way?”

“They’re not smoldering looks,” you argue, cheeks burning, “and if there are, it’s probably just because this is the first time we’ve seen each other in months.”

“Can’t believe none of you assholes told me about this,” Robin huffs out, head shaking. “Does Nancy know?”

“Eddie is her best friend,” Steve says flatly.

“So yes,” Robin concedes. “You’re going to give me grays.”

“You’re only twenty three,” you remind her, and Vickie pins you with a ‘just let her be dramatic’ sort of look.

“I’m just — my best friend was in love with my other best friend. And now the same best friend is sleeping with my other best friend. And those best friends are now acting like a bunch of idiots because they can’t get their shit together and just fall in love and I’m supposed to act like this is all normal?! Just casual, typical Friday night conversation before my other best friend’s wedding to my other best friend —”

“That was…not at all confusing. Nope,” Steve mumbles. Vickie smacks his arm, because there’s a shuffle by the door and Nancy and Eddie appear once more, another log for the crackling fire perched in Eddie’s elbow.

The chatter in the room dissolves after that, as Steve and Nancy make their way upstairs to the room they’re taking for the night. Robin and Vickie have the guest room, leaving you with a decision to make, stopping back into the living room after everyone says goodnight to find Eddie sitting there, watching the fire.

“So…we have one bed free,” you begin.

“It’s yours.”

“You’re a guest,” you remind him, stepping further into the room.

He doesn’t look your way, but you can see orange flames dancing in the reflection of his beautifully dark eyes.

“I want you to have it,” he says, finally turning to face you. Breath hitches in the back of your throat, your body’s normal response when he’s near, clearly not dulled with the passing of time.

“Okay.” You give a curt nod. “Here, let me grab you a blanket.”

He’s quiet. So unlike the man you spent over a year with. Regards you carefully as you move about the room, ducking down to grab a blanket from a basket near the fireplace. Your hand outstretches to pass the blanket to him, his fingers touching yours. It’s a lingering sort of thing. His fingers warm against yours, the barest of brushes of his knuckles across your skin. Electricity dances in your veins.

Then it’s over as quickly as it comes, the blanket thrown over his thighs, his eyes on your face.

“Sorry I missed your birthday," he says.

It was the worst birthday you had in years.

A laugh. “Sorry I missed yours.”

You heard all about it from Steve, but couldn’t bring yourself to go at the time.

He swallows, throat bobs with effort. “You didn’t bring a date for the wedding?”

No, and you hadn’t dated anyone since him either. Tried and failed here and there, blind dates friends set up, but they never went anywhere.

“Neither did you,” you state, as a matter of factly.

Unless she’s hiding somewhere else, and you feel your heart kick anxiously up at the notion.

“Just me,” he says, exhaling deeply.

You thank the heavens, or whoever will listen, for this tiny blessing.

He smiles, and it’s that favorite smile of his. The one where his dimples pop and his face brightens. The one reserved for those many nights you spent inside with him, laughing until the early hours of the morning, both needing to go to work the next day, yet neither finding it in yourselves to care.

“Look at us.”

“Yeah.” Your hand rubs up and down your arm, feet shifting awkwardly beneath you.

“You look…” His eyes trail over your features with a familiar fondness within those dark depths. “You look really good. Happy.”

“I am good…and happy,” you tell him, nodding. “You…you look good, too. I should, uh, head up for bed.”

His head dips, and then dips again rapidly. “Right.” Clears his throat. “Yeah – ah, early morning tomorrow.”

“Yup,” you pop the ‘p.’

There’s a pause in the conversation. A moment where neither of you moves. You know you don’t want to. Want to remain right here. You also know better. There were words said months ago, words with intention behind them. The need for both of you to get better, to get to a place where you’re ready for whatever this thing is between the two of you.

You’re ready, have been for a while now, but Eddie…

As you finally start to trek backwards, maintaining eye contact with the man who still holds your heart, he whispers, “I’m glad you didn’t bring a date.”

“Me too, Eddie,” you admit quietly, biting at your bottom lip. “Maybe it’s selfish, but…me too.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He’s beautiful like this. Dark eyes on yours, hair a wavy mess around his shoulders, strands loose from his ponytail. Soft, in a way that makes you want to climb onto the sofa beside him and let him hold you, erasing all the memories lost. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Breathless, you feel completely and utterly breathless under this spell. “Goodnight, Ed. See you in the morning.”

And you’re gone. Slipping up the stairs to your bedroom, closing the door behind you, and placing a hand over the organ clanging away behind your ribcage. With an exhale, you rush into the bathroom and flick the light on. Your features illuminate in the mirror. Eyes wide, chest heaving, looking a little out of sorts. Your cheeks burn with the whisper of his touch, mind whirling at the meaning behind his glances, the timbre of his words.

Steve might be the first person you loved.

Your first kiss.

But Eddie is the first person you can say without a doubt in your mind you are in love with.

Even now, with seven months of time between you – and you don’t think anything will change that.

——

The wedding ceremony is a beautiful thing. Flowing, floral archway. A church that looks like something out of a postcard. Little mosaic windows, a gorgeous sprawling ceiling with high beams. Everyone they love is here. Family and friends made along the way. The kids, with their beaming smiles and not so childlike faces any longer.

Steve and Nancy recite their vows to one another, the words sounding muffled in your ears, because for the first time in your life the boy you’ve been looking at is finally looking right back at you.

Eddie, in a black suit, smiling over at you. Hands folded in front of himself as Steve and Nancy declare their everlasting love in a room filled with their loved ones. The feeling of his hand on your arm as he walked you down the aisle like a brand that lingers on your skin. Can feel it even now, the way his fingers would feel should they grace your cheek. Had leaned into that caress so many times, seeking the comfort of him.

You don’t even know why, but you smile back, thinking of one of your favorite days with him before everything had gone to hell.

You wanted, very badly actually, to hook up that night. He’d brought a backpack with him, intended to stay for the weekend. But when he walked into your apartment, a spare key on his keyring, he found you holed up on the couch, grumbling about how your weekend plans were ruined.

“They’re not ruined,” Eddie chuckled, dropping down onto the couch beside you. “You act like I’m this insatiable man.”

“You can be –”

“Hi pot, meet kettle.” You glared half heartedly. “Plus you’re a very active participant, and you benefit from it in the form of plentiful orgasms, so quit your yapping,” he teased, catching a little wince, the furrow between your brows. “No dice? What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“Period cramps,” you grumbled out, pulling your blanket up higher on your form. “You don’t have to stay. I’m not going to be much company like this.”

“One, I always like hanging out with you. You’re my best friend, you dork.” He flicked your nose, grinning when you wrinkled it in response. “Two, let me run to the supermarket real quick, okay?”

“Why?” Your head tilted to the side.

“Going to grab us some food so I can cook dinner,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, “and some things for my girl. Gotta take care of her, right?”

His girl. His girl. He’d never said that before, and something about it felt perfectly wonderful and also a little bit like a lie. You wanted it to be true, though. Realized you hadn’t wanted something so fiercely like that in a long, long time. Didn’t know what to do with those emotions, so you dropped back down onto your mountain of pillows and watched as Eddie quickly slipped out of your apartment in a flurry of black leather and curly hair, and slammed the door behind him.

He returned a half hour later with a bag of treats. Your favorite chips, candy, some popcorn. He got started on spaghetti and requested you pick out a movie. Oddly domestic for two people who usually spent most nights tangled in bedsheets.

Later, after your belly was full and the movie was playing on the television screen, Eddie tugged you against his chest and dragged a hand along your lower back, thumb pushing with perfect pressure at the base of your spine to alleviate some of the ache there.

“Is this good?” he asked, voice quiet.

“Perfect, honestly,” you hummed, head nuzzling further into his chest.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, don’t know who fell asleep first, but when you woke up it was to Eddie’s body curled around yours, his arms slung around your abdomen.

Wanting to do something special for him, you quietly extricated yourself out from within the tangle of his arms. Flicked on your kitchen light and started throwing some things together for pancakes. Your oversized tee shirt fluttered against your thighs as you worked, bare legs covered only up to the knee by your crew socks. At some point as you hummed along to the softly playing radio, Eddie appeared behind you, arms around your waist, his chest at your spine.

“Morning,” he muttered, pressing a loud kiss to your cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay now,” you said, leaning your head over your shoulder to look at him. He trailed the backs of his fingers across the highest point of your cheek. Kissed you slowly, softly, sweetly. “Hmm. What was that for?”

“Didn’t get one yesterday.”

And it shouldn’t have made your heart stutter. It shouldn’t have made a liquid heat pool in your belly. Because the arrangement had always been the two of you being best friends who sought shelter in each other.

You kissed him again. “Better?”

He grinned, twirling you in his arms, hand catching yours. “Nope,” he chuckled, drawing you in closer as ‘My Girl’ spilled out of the radio speaker, “but if you dance with me I might be able to forgive you.”

In the morning light you did just that. He whirled you around and brought you back into the circle of his arms. Looped an arm around your waist to hold you close, your face against the curve of his chest, his chin resting on the crown of your head as he gently hummed along. ‘Well I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way? My girl, my girl, my girl. Talkin’ about my girl, my girl.’

Eventually the pancakes burned, the room filled with smoke, and the fire alarm went off. You laughed about it, fell to the ground in a fit of giggles, your thighs over his lap as you both foregone breakfast in favor of eating ice cream out of a carton.

It felt normal. A little too normal.

Now you only look over to him fondly as Steve and Nancy’s vows draw to a close. Wish, as they walk back out the double doors at the end of the aisle once they’re officially husband and wife, for more stolen moments like that.

——

“Hey,” Steve’s voice calls from the end of the hallway, just as you slip out of the powder room. “I’ve been looking for you. They're doing the couple’s dance next.”

You let out an incredulous laugh. “I think you forget I’m single these days.” You pause, rushing over to grab at his tie, askew around his neck. Nimble fingers reach up to grasp at it, working the fabric back into proper place. “You go on ahead. It’s your special day.”

“I promised a friend I’d get you onto the dance floor for one dance,” he says, curling a hand around the back of your wrist. With a frown, he adds, “Just one dance, please? He gets all dramatic and pouty when he doesn’t get his way.”

“Go figure, so do you!” He narrows his eyes as you add, “no wonder you’re best friends.”

“I’m choosing to ignore you,” he says, suddenly — albeit dramatically — glum.

“Today is your wedding day,” you remind him, sliding your palm down to wrap around his hand, “you shouldn’t be worried about me.”

“Yeah, but remember when I decided you were my best friend at ten years old? I said I’d protect and love you forever —”

“We were kids,” you laugh, shaking your head, “we said a lot of things we knew nothing about.”

“Hey.” His hand frees itself from yours, only for both to rest on either side of your cheeks. Tears, unbidden, start to burn on your lower lash line, threatening to spill out. “You are my best friend. And I want you to be happy. It’s been seven months. Hear him out, see what he has to say, and don’t let this day pass by without at least giving things a chance.”

“Why, Steve?”

“Because I married my person today,” he says, brushing away a tear as it glides down your cheek, “and I think he could be yours. Look at me, okay? Look at you — too pretty to be crying right now. I love you.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

Would love him forever. That kind of friendship never fades, never dwindles, never dies.

A different type of love than the one you once loved him with, because that spot was always meant for Eddie, even if you hadn’t always known it.

“One dance?”

“One dance,” you agree, curling your arm through the loop of his elbow he leaves open for you to take.

The reception hall is glowing in a pale blue. All around couples start to litter the dance floor. Bodies close together, heads bent low, hushes of whispers between partners shared only for their ears. Steve halts you as you step out into the crowd, and it’s then that the world seems to stop. There, at the edge of the floor, stands Eddie with his hands in his pockets. His tie is a little loose around his throat, the top button of his shirt open, revealing a hint of the tattoos he got to help cover some of the scarring there. And then you catch the tilt of his lips, the dimple in his cheek, the way he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the room.

“Go…” Steve gives you a little nudge and joins his new wife.

On shaky legs, you start to walk. One foot after another, after another. One two, one two. You count each footfall, and can feel the thump-thump of your heart, as every step brings you closer to him. Finally, the tips of your heeled shoes meet his leather ones.

Your head lifts, eyes catching him in the dim lighting. “Hi,” you whisper.

“Hey,” he says back, unsure of where to put his hands, one raising to touch your shoulder before he thinks better of it.

“I’ve been told I owe you a dance,” you say, fighting back the silly smile that threatens to grow on your lips.

“Got worried,” he confesses, a tentative hand curling around your back, pressing against the middle to pull you in close.

Your body brushes him, and it feels like coming home after a long day. It feels like your whole soul exhales. Feels right. “Why?”

“Thought you might stand me up,” he chuckles, your head resting against his shoulder, “and then I’d look like the only idiot alone on the dance floor.”

“Look, Eddie, I —” you say, just as he says, “I missed you so damn much, sweetheart.”

There it is. The wonder, the questions you’ve yet to ask, uncovered in one sentence. The confirmation that everything you’ve been feeling, every longing moment, has been mutual.

“That day in your kitchen,” he says, quiet enough only you can hear, “when we danced like this was that first moment for me.”

“What moment?” You blink up at him nervously.

“When I realized how completely and utterly fucked I was because I lo — liked you more than I ever realized,” he admits, a little sheepishly, “although pretty sure it was before that. Look — when we broke up —”

“Eddie,” you interrupt, heart hammering away wildly like little hummingbird wings, “I don’t think a wedding is the best place to discuss this. And I want to discuss it, don’t get me wrong, I just think we should…keep things normal for our friends. It’s their day.”

“It’s been seven months,” he reminds you.

As if you could ever forget, as if there isn’t an ‘Eddie’ shaped indent forever etched into your comforter that you’ve stared at for every day since he walked out your door.

“And I’ve thought about you every single day for each of them,” he says, and it nearly breaks you all over again when you catch the longing in his voice.

“I know,” you say, a little hoarsely, “I have too.”

His lip twitches at that, hopefulness replacing the forlorn look on his beautiful face. Everything in you screams to lean up and kiss him, to put to rest the disquiet in your soul, but you refrain. Focus solely instead on the emcee as he announces the bouquet toss.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you tell him, shrugging softly. “You’ll call me? Tonight?”

Eddie grimaces. Nods. “Sure. Yeah.”

Walking backwards, you flash him a wave, trying to not inwardly wince at your last words to the man. ‘You’ll call me?’ There’s little time to linger, as girls gather around on the dance floor and Nancy turns away from the crowd, her back to your group. Steve looks on at Eddie’s side, the two laughing jovially as Nancy launches the bouquet over her head and into the sea of women.

It happens in slow motion. You think it does, at least. An elbow digs into your ribs here, a knee bumps yours there, a shoulder bashes yours, and, without even realizing it, the flowers thump into your chest. Robin’s shaking your shoulder, laughing in your ear as Nancy rushes over to wrap you in a hug. Steve’s grinning and elbowing Eddie, who is turning a shade of red you’re pretty sure a tomato would envy.

It’s just a silly tradition, you think.

Doesn’t mean anything. So you grab onto Nancy and Robin, pull them back onto the dance floor, and pretend you don’t wish deep down it did.

——

Your keys drop into a bowl near the coat rack. Your jacket is pushed up onto a hook, still wet from the rain that’s starting to fall over Hawkins. Feet aching, you kick those off at the doorway, breathing a deep breath at the instantaneous relief. With a sigh, you slip into the kitchen and hit the light switch, as well as the back light, and suddenly the wide open windows to the sliding door leading to the lake are illuminated. Your eyes trail over the water rippling in the distance. The moon is a perfect circle in the sky, the twinkly lights your parents had wrapped around an umbrella outside like little fireflies in the night, even on a dreary evening.

Another sigh and you slip over to the counter, grabbing a bottle opener. An unopened red wine bottle sits idly on the counter, and you snatch a glass from a cabinet above, pouring a generous cup.

You’ve barely enough time to take in that first decadent sip when the doorbell rings, filling the home. Eyes flick to the clock against the wall, read that it’s nearly eleven now. Maybe the neighbor’s dog got free again? Wouldn’t be the first time.

Another ring.

“One second!” you shout into the open air, placing your glass down on the counter to rush down the hall.

Through the peephole you see him. Hair stuck to his forehead and slicked to his leather jacket. His shirt is nearly seethrough. Droplets of water cascade down the tense lines of his face, his forehead.

“Eddie?” you ask as you tug the door open, head cocked to the side. “What are y —”

“I’ll call?” He sounds pitiful. A hoarse sound tugged from deep within his chest, like his words have been raked over glass.

You…there are no words. “Yeah, Eddie. It’s when a person picks up the phone, dials a number, and the other person answers. Generally they carry on a conversation after, if we are getting technical here.”

He shakes his head and water flicks from the ends of his wet strands of hair with the movement. “Since when are we the kind of people who do that? We’re the kind of people who just barge right into places. I show up at your place, you show up at mine. We eat each other’s food, share everything. Hell, I had a key to your apartment. I’d stop on my way back from the shop to shower because you always lived closer to there than my apartment. Gotta say, I miss that. And fuck — I miss you, sweetheart.”

He’s shivering now as you ask, “What are you doing, Eddie?”

He lets out an incredulous laugh, looking to the sky, exasperated. “Standing here in the pouring rain trying to tell the girl that I love…that I’m in love with her and that I want to be with her. For real this time.” He pauses, arms curling around himself. “And I’m, like, really cold right now and I wanted to have this conversation inside but here I am, trying to make a grand gesture.”

“I thought you weren’t a grand gesture guy.” You’re joking, but there are tears burning in your eyes at his words.

“I’m a grand gesture kind of guy for you. Only you.” His teeth chatter, “Fuck, sweetheart —”

“Oh,” you jolt, tugging the door open wider, “come in. I’m so sorry.”

It’s instant. As soon as the door shuts behind him, and he’s standing there sopping wet on your rug, his hands find your face and draw your mouth to his, claiming your lips in a searing kiss.

A kiss that starts off tentatively. Light. Teasing. Gentle brushes of skin passing over yours. Relearning each other, as if you’d ever forget him. As if you’d ever forget the mintiness on his tongue, the smokiness in his kiss. As if you’d forget the way he always loops an arm around your lower back to tug you in closer, bringing you flush against him, wanting to always be near.

But it’s not enough, you decide, as you work at the buttons on his shirt. Each one pops out slowly, fingers tripping over themselves, a puddle already forming on the ground beneath you. Once he’s free, you tug his undershirt out from his dark pants, fingers roaming over the soft of his stomach, the line of hair disappearing beneath his pants that has him circling your wrists with his fingers to pause you in your ministrations.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he whispers against your ear, brushing featherlight kiss after featherlight kiss to your throat. “I want to take my time with you.”

“You love me?” you ask him, humming into his mouth as he walks you backward into the living room, barely making it to the couch before you’re clambering up onto his lap, dress riding up on your thighs.

“I love you,” he says, kissing your cheek. “I love you.” He kisses your other cheek. “I love you.” He kisses your forehead. “I love you,” and finally, your lips.

Your face crumples with his words, tears stinging your eyes. His thumbs come up to brush at the ones that slip down your cheeks, voice a coo when he says, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I’m happy,” you whimper out, “I missed you. Every day, I missed you.”

“You’re stuck with me now,” he chuckles, and you laugh along with him, liking the way that sounds, “I’m moving my things back into your dresser as we speak.”

“Promise?”

He sobers then. Lips turning downward, the wrinkle on his forehead more pronounced, his hands curling around yours and giving a squeeze. “I’m sorry. For that last day. I…my head was all over the place at the time. I was trying to figure out how I felt about you and clearly had some feelings still that I needed to work through with Nancy. But you — you didn’t deserve that.”

When you shake your head, he continues, “It hadn’t been ‘just sex’ for me for a long time. I mean, I made up excuses to see you whenever I could. Maybe I didn’t realize what was going on, but I just wanted to be around you all the time. And when I wasn’t able to see you and just…be with you…it wasn’t easy. But I know it’s what we needed and I’m ready now. I just want us, for real this time. I want to hang out at your apartment, do all that stupid couple shit that I can only see myself doing with you. I want you to yell at me when I leave the damn toilet seat up. I want to brush my teeth with you before bed and hold you every night. I want to do this with you, be with you in the way we should have been all along, if you’ll let me.”

“Yes,” you kiss him, long and lingering, breathing him in as he does the same. “I want it all with you, Eddie. I love you…I love you so much.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever get used to you saying that,” he says, staring up at you wondrously.

“I’ll remind you everyday, don’t worry,” you tell him with a giggle, sliding your hands up and over his shoulders, along the curve of his jaw. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Eddie makes love to you for the first time that night.

A slow, gentle thing.

His body crowds over yours, hands map out every line of your body, memorizing every detail he’s gone without for months. Kisses along every inch of you he can, whispering praises into your skin. When he pushes inside for that first time, your breath rushes out of you in a strained gasp as your body readjusts to seven months without him, mouth dropping open with a whine when he bottoms out.

It’s slow. His hips rolling against yours, body cradling you close, thumb finding your clit to bring you up and over the edge, trembling beneath him with a cry of his name.

That first time feels like a sorry.

The second, he pulls you into the shower, washing every inch of your body. The remnants of the wedding and him still on your skin. He’s sweet, all soft, fluttery kisses against your lips and shoulders, your spine, your thighs when he gets down onto his knees to glide the washcloth along them.

His mouth finds you in the shower, your head rolling back against tile, fingers tangling in his hair as he props a thigh over his shoulder to keep you open for him.

When you finish, you pull him back up to your lips, smothering his own moan with a kiss as you cup him in hand and help to guide him into you.

That time feels like a promise. The steady rhythm of his hips, the fierceness of his love, the strength of his arms as he holds you, his eyes locked on yours as you both bask in the euphoria of closeness.

The third happens somewhere around the time the sun begins to rise again over Hawkins, the rainstorm from the night before a wispy memory. Thighs slot over Eddie’s hips, his hands sliding up and over your breasts, teasing as you roll over him, the drag of him and the soft moans spilling from the man beneath you spurring you on.

That third time, as he flips you over onto your back and moves inside you so slowly, hands and eyes locked with yours — that one feels like a new beginning, a turning page.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the dawning realization. Tears he brushes away with sweet kisses, whispering, “I know, I know,” into your shoulder as he comes apart at the edges, your own release shattering through you like a bolt of lightning. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You sleep intermittently. Both of you. The house is yours for the weekend, so you make the most of it. Lips coming together, bodies joining after soft sighs turn into eager movements of hands beneath covers. Over and over, like you can’t get enough — and you won’t get enough.

Somewhere around dinner time the next evening, you traipse out of bed with Eddie still sprawled out on his stomach, long tee shirt dancing along your thighs. Sock clad feet excitedly slide across wooden floors, fingers curling around the refrigerator door to pull out a bottle of champagne. As the cork pops, Eddie appears in the doorway, a white tank top covering his body, sweats hanging low on his hips. A tattooed arm comes up to rest there, the muscle of his bicep straining with the movement.

“Hi,” he whispers. Pauses, making a little camera with his hands, pretending to snap a photo.

“What was that?” you giggle airily, pouring two glasses, offering one to him.

“Just looked so damn beautiful, sweetheart,” he leans down to kiss your forehead, “sunset behind you, your smile.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle with those on his free hand. “How about I order us a pizza? I’m starving.”

You eat in comfortable silence, the bottle of champagne slipping away as the hours do. Everything feels saccharine and wonderful, perfectly warm, as he later tugs your hand on the way downstairs, deciding on a game of pool before heading back up to watch a movie together.

Eddie makes his way over to the record player in the corner. As the music fills the room, the lyrics to “The Way You Do the Things You Do,” meet your ears, a silly smile sliding across your lips.

“Are you a secret romantic?” you tease, snatching a pool cue from a rack.

“Only for you,” he muses, catching the one you throw his way as he starts to rack the balls. “I like this record, though. Reminds me of you.”

You lean over the table to break, not missing the way his eyes trail your backside as you do so. Balls scatter, a solid sinking into a pocket. “So…you’ll move in?”

“Is that your way of asking?” he chuckles, moving around the table to make a shot, knocking another ball of yours in.

“Well…” You bite at your lip, focusing on your next shot. Sink one of his. “My place is closer to your job. It’s bigger. You’ve basically lived there before…”

“You don't think it’s too soon?”

Your mouth pops open, wincing as he sinks another one of your balls. “I mean, I didn’t think. I just feel like —”

“I’m kidding, baby,” he swoops down to kiss your temple, “Told you last night you’re not getting rid of me. I want to do things right this time.”

You sip your glass a bit, relishing the bubbles that spring to life in your belly, sure many of which are thanks to the man staring at you the way he is.

“Your turn,” he says, gesturing toward your cue.

The next song plays on the record, and you once again lean forward, watching Eddie’s gaze in the mirror hanging across the way as he slips up from behind you, curling an arm low around your belly, kissing your neck.

Heat coils low, then lower still. “You’re —” A quiet sigh spills out of you, his lips toying with the space beneath your ear. “…distracting me.”

As he moves out from behind you, lining up his next shot, you snatch his pack of cigarettes free from his pocket. His eyes lock on yours as you pluck one free, holding it between two fingers, drawing it up to pursed lips. Dark eyes lock with yours as the tip glows red, watching you draw in slowly. As you exhale he snatches it from you, bringing it to his mouth.

And maybe you lean over again, backside poking out a little bit too far than it needs to, but the effect is him curling his arms around your hips, dragging your back flush against his chest as you reach up to take the cigarette back from him. Like that, you feel every inch of his body. Each dip and curve of a broad torso, the corded muscles in his arms from working with his hands for hours all day. Hands you know to be skilled, not only with your body, but with cars and his music. And he’s warm — like a damn near furnace, breath tantalizingly sweet against your ear as he kisses you softly there.

“Fuuuck me,” you sigh out as his fingers start to draw lazy circles around the tops of your thighs, dragging higher until they disappear beneath your shirt and toy at the hem of your panties, teasing, slowly swaying to “My Girl” once it starts.

“Always so wet for me, baby,” he purrs, nipping and sucking a line at your neck. He’s hard where he rests at your ass, and the urge to touch him has you reaching behind your back, cupping him through his sweats.

Eddie groans and you’re suddenly spun around, the cigarette stamped out on an ash tray behind you, your glass of champagne nearly knocked over. His hand grasps one of yours, his other loops low around your back, bodies swaying to and fro to the music, lyrics interrupted by the sounds of your lips meeting his. And it’s perfect: moonlight spilling in through a darkened window, your shirt dancing around your thighs, his heart beating in tandem with yours. You’re not sure when, or how, it happens. One moment you’re swaying with him, arms around his neck, keeping him in close. The next, you’re on your back, balls scattering around you on the table, his mouth clashing fiercely with yours.

You shove his sweatpants down, and he tugs at your panties. He’s bare beneath, and as soon as your underwear is tossed somewhere else in the room, he’s crawling up your body, the hot underside of his cock sliding through already slick folds, coating himself in your wetness.

“Eddie,” you let out a breathy whimper, the friction of him against you perfect and yet not enough all the same, “Eddie, please. I want you inside me.”

His eyes are on yours as he grips himself in hand, gliding his glistening pink tip along your center, asking, "You want me like this baby? Tell me.”

“Please. Please, I want it all, Eddie.”

“Look at us,” he whispers, and you watch that moment, that forever splendid moment where he buries himself inside you, closer to you than anyone has ever been or will be. “Jesus…” He grinds out through clenched teeth, pulling out slowly before pushing all the way back in, “You always feel so good. You feel like mine.”

“I love you.” You pant into his neck, clawing at his back as he picks up his pace, “Always loved you.”

You’ve said it a thousand times now. Watched every time as pure and unadulterated peace fell across his features. But now Eddie only holds you, whispering the sentiment back into your skin as his body drives yours further up the pool table, imbuing every roll of his hips, every thrust, with the emotions overflowing in his chest. You can feel it, the depth of it. The way he loves you, the trust between you, the promise he’ll always keep you safe and close.

You can only bask in it.

——

“Are you okay?”

He asks you again, as you stand outside that next morning, a blanket wrapped around your form.

The answer isn’t simple.

Then again, none of this has ever been. Not with Eddie. But you suppose that’s what makes it your favorite love story.

Because it’s yours. Because it’s messy and it’s different and it’s yours. Because you started off as two friends, maybe in the wrong place, in love with the wrong people at the wrong time when you first met years ago.

Or — perhaps, the right time, because in the end you’re here. With him. With thoughts of the future, plans for what happens when you head out later for your apartment.

To the place where you’ll start the newest chapter with him once and for all.

“I’m perfect,” you tell him, lowering down onto the swinging chair against the side of the home. Your fingers tangle with his, your body slumping over his chest as he gets comfortable against the cushions. He holds you like that as you trace patterns into his skin, trace over scars, over tattoos. “I’m going to miss the lake house, but I can’t wait to go home.”

“I know.” He drops a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers brushing against your spine. “Me too.”

A comfortable silence drapes over you as you watch the sun creep higher along the sky. As you listen to the birds chirping, the chatter of children. Later, it’s the ruckus of people launching themselves into the water, people fishing and boasting of their catches. And at night, as you and Eddie make one last fire and share a glass of wine, fireflies drifting around your head, you allow yourself to imagine a life where forever looks like this.

A life with your first real, honest, true love.

Someone who stares right back at you as you grin at him over the lip of your glass, who leans over and kisses you just to whisper he loves you into your lips one more time.

In a year from now you’ll be back, you in a flurry of pretty tulle and him in a tux, newly Mr. and Mrs. Munson, but for now you smile to yourself, ready to watch the next chapter unfold.

——

this is the first thing i have written this long in months after having the worst few months of my life. so happy to finally hit post on this one. i hope you enjoy, maybe leave a comment or a reblog. would mean the world to me. 💕

#lunaloveseddie #lunalovessteve #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x you #steve harrington x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction

[lovebugism]

Can u plz do something with Stevie x shy!reader and the reader obsessed with birds? I've never seen it done yet 🥲

i know very very little about birds so i tried my best haha hope u like it! — steve tells you he loves you for the very first time at six in the morning on his back porch swing (shy!r, fluff, 0.7k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Steve didn’t know being your boyfriend meant going on dates that preceded sunrise. He was only ever a morning person when the paycheck called for it, in truth. But he sits with you still, as warm and close as the bundle of fresh laundry he left in the drier, while the sky turns slowly pink. 

There’s no one else he’d want to be awake at 6 a.m. with.

He can’t tell if you’re sleeping or not, but you’re leaning heavy on his shoulder like you are. Maybe it’s the porch swing forcing this proximity, or the way you’ve got yourself curled on it. Either way, the weight of you is a comforting one. It makes the twilight between times feel much less bitter.

Then, the late late night gives way to an early early morning. The buzzing of nocturnal nightlife turns into the sudden chirping of faraway birds.

“What’s that one?” Steve asks with his cheek smushed into your hair.

“Mourning Dove,” you answer immediately, though he thought you half-asleep. He hadn’t had to ask you which one it was, either. It’s a deeper coo compared to the high-pitched chirping, slower and more sorrowful.

“How can you tell?”

“‘Cause the three part-call. With the highest in the middle,” you explain distantly, more focused on getting comfortable next to the warm body beside you. You worm both arms around one of Steve’s and bury your nose into his sweatshirt-clad bicep, sinking further into the shared blanket draped over you. “I think it’s a male looking for a mate.”

Steve pushes you back and forth on the swing with one foot. “I hope he knows you’re taken,” he jokes.

Your tired eyes peek open to shoot him a heavy-lidded, monotoned stare.

He licks his lips. “Not my best, huh?”

“You’ve had better,” you tease and settle back into him again.

“Also, I was, like, one hundred percent sure that was an owl, by the way.”

“I think all the owls are asleep now.”

“Ah,” Steve hums with a slow nod, golden hands curled around the warming mug of coffee between them. “That’s why they call ‘em night owls, huh?”

You smile wide to yourself, not bothering to hide it because he can’t see how big you’re beaming from this angle. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Harrington?”

He scoffs. “Alright, smartmouth— tell me which bird that one is?” It’s louder than all the rest of them, probably coming from somewhere close. It’s a prettier sound, too. A lot higher than the one before it — a harsh humming, then rapid little chirps, followed by a high-pitched trilling.

“A Lark. Maybe a Lark Sparrow, ‘cause of the buzzing.”

Steve huffs. 

You amaze him, sometimes, with how smart you are. Other times, he’s jealous because he doesn’t have a whole filing cabinet of knowledge in his brain about a very particular topic of interest. Not about birds. Not about anything. 

If he had to give an on-the-spot presentation about anything in the whole wide world, he’d only be able to come up with the time he won the basketball championship his sophomore year of high school. Which not only makes him sound like a complete meathead, but also makes him sound totally lame.

“The amount of information in your head is alarming, you know that?”

He feels your cheek squish against his arm when you smile. “I thought you liked that about me?”

“I do like that about you,” he laughs. “I love that about you.”

You lift your head to blink over at him, eyes still glassy with leftover sleep. Your gaze is wide and filled with something glittering — hope, maybe. “You love me?” you murmur after a few moments.

Steve bounces a shoulder and tries to be cool about the sparkling in his chest. “‘Course I do,” he answers like it’s obvious. He flashes you a crooked smile and two eyes more honied than the early morning sunrise. “Why else would I be out here at 6 a.m.?”

“’Cause you really like birds?” you joke in a tiny voice.

The boy nods, meeting your quiet smile with a more obvious grin. “I’m crazy about ‘em, actually,” he confesses, scrunching the bridge of his chiseled nose.

He’s not talking about birds this time.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: bug turns one

[mysticworks]

Small moments ~ Lee Know x Reader

... this is my first writing for SKZ and I'm super nervous about it - open completely to making improvements. Hope you all enjoy !

D R A B B L E

Dating an idol is hard. But its the small moments you have together that make all the tough times worth it.

Genre: Pure Fluff

------------------------------------------------------------

Nobody ever said being with an idol was easy.

Finding time, was one of the hardest things. With Lee Know having hefty schedule after schedule, and somehow, during his time off, you'd always be caught up with work.

And that made it all incredibly, incredibly difficult. Difficult to plan vacations, or take restaurant trips. Difficult to even have a day solely in each others' presence. 

You’d often go months without date nights, have birthday celebrations over rushed video calls, making do with the spare moments that you had together.

You'd plan little walks in the park, or find an excuse to meet somewhere during work; like that time he was practising late for a music show, and you turned up to his practise room with a basket full of snacks.

Or when he turned up at your office, with a bouquet of flowers to make up for Valentine's day. Except he'd told your manager you were expecting a tiny guest in your family, (your manager didn't need to know this tiny guest was a rescue kitten) - and leaving work early that day became a matter of absolute urgency, which your manager didn't even try contending.

Sometimes he'd be miles and miles away performing to audiences of places you’d only ever dreamed of.

Sometimes he’d be right by your side, too deep in long overdue sleep to be woken up.  

And so… every moment was precious to you. 

The small comforts and little gestures, all accounted for a world’s worth of love.

And this was one of those moments too. 

Lee Know lay in bed beside you, your head resting against his toned chest. He had a lazy hand thrown across your waist, spooning you into his side, the other, lacing through your hair.

His long fingers curled around random strands before loosening again. 

You both lay with your eyes half closed, the dewy morning light beginning to seep in through the gap in your curtains as early hours came round once again.

The house was silent, your synched breathing the only known noise; the garden birds chirping, only secondary - background.

“Minho?” He only hummed lazily in response, not fully out of slumber and you felt the vibration from his deep sound run through the entirety of your body. 

“I love you.” 

You felt his arms tightening around you at your words, as if pulling you further and further into him.

Lee Know clutched at the duvet warming you both, proceeding to turn you on your side. 

You faced each other now, though still in his arms - his eyes swept across your face, taking in every small detail - he wanted to memorise each pore, each mole, each and every line etched on your face.

It would be a while before you could do this again. 

He placed the smallest of kisses onto your forehead; a faint peck that left your skin tingling. 

“Of course you love me, look at me.”

You gave his chest a playful thump, rolling your eyes. “You’re supposed to say ‘I love you too’, dummy.” 

He gave you a goofy smile, before pulling you into himself, his lips now brushing against your ear. 

In an almost silent whisper, he spoke the words you wanted to hear, “I love you too,” before deciding to add a playful, “sometimes,” at the end.  

That earned him another thump, before you both broke out into a fit of sleepy giggles.  

#lee know #stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz #skz imagines #skz fluff #lee know fluff #lee minho #skz stay #skz scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee felix #lee know smut #bang chan #chris bang #han jisung

[shutit-haha]

Icarus

Yet another Bakugou x Reader from PR

You were a busy little thing, always buzzing around his office with those tiny wings on your back. He had never seen a kind of bird like you. Well he had just in a nature documentary on tropical birds. You were a humming bird, oh and you definitely hummed, and buzzed, and sang, and shouted, and chirped. You made all the noises really, unfortunately for him. Truthfully you were a quiet little thing at first. Which as pleasant as it was- did weird him out a little bit. you would just sit there silently while working and he had no idea as to what animal you were. Just that you're pretty little wings always sparkled in the light.

Imagine his surprise when the first thing he learns about you comes from a nature documentary he puts on late one night. He couldn't seem to fall asleep and rather then to miss the plot in an action packed film or *cough* rom-com, he put on something educational. And would you believe it? There were your wings flashing at him in the dark. Heavy half-lidded eyes saw the twinkling star and squinted. It was like the universe was speaking to him that night. (Though he had no clue.) He was a sailor lost at sea and the glimmer of your wings were that of a lighthouse calling him home.

He treated you with much more respect now these days. I mean only one bird can fly backwards and it's a humming bird. And go figure your wings flapped in such a pretty figure eight. "I need your help with a presentation." He grunted at you when you placed his coffee down on his desk.

"No problem Sir," you smiled. Today you wore an emerald dress, red lipstick, black heels. He watched you walk away. His eyes started at the top of your head taking in your pretty hair, and then next your pretty wings, he took in your shape and then- oddly enough your shoes. He scowled, you'd look better with red bottoms. He'd have to buy you red bottoms to go with those pretty lips.

When you entered the room this time, you wore a jacket and now carried your morning drink. The amount of sugar in there was ungodly, however the documentary explained humming birds required LOTS of sugar. "We're doing a power point on some statistics. Need you to make it all nice and pretty for the people."

"¿Necesitas las matemáticas también?" Your head instantly shot up, nearly ramming into his. Round eyes the sizes of saucers stared at him with this kind of... fear? "I'm sorry, sometimes I forget I'm not at home. Would you like the math for this too?"

"Si es demasiado no te preocupes."

You're jaw dropped at his reply. His Spanish was most definitely Spaniard, it's what all those language apps use. He on the other hand was so curious as to why you're pronunciation was different from his. It was nothing crazy, more so slight. Like the S's or R's. Where were you from? How long ago did you see your family? Is this why you're quirk was so odd to him? Did it say on your resume that you were trilingual? Did he read your resume? Who reads those?

"Sir," you chirped. You were back at his office door again, knocking on the door frame as a sign of entering. He looked up from his filing work and grunted at you. "Forgive me but I have another question." You creeped into the room slowly, heels silent though he wasn't sure how. He noticed how you stood near the seat across from his desk, but never plopped your rear into the cushion. You went on and on, while he nodded or shook his head, but you never sat down. He watched you exit again, stopping you just before you could leave.

"Just sit down," he barked. "tired of watching you flutter around it's making me sick." No it wasn't. He just felt bad watching you go through that door every five minutes. And those damn wings kept catching in the sunlight coming in through his large windows. They shimmered and sparkled all the way until you left, in which case his office would return to normal again. You had a week to work on this presentation, a week until the gala. This was day one and already he was questioning.

Those round eyes blinked at him from where you stood in the doorway. You hugged your open laptop close to you, it was only a couple years old but still he looked at it with disdain. You needed something newer, something strong and powerful, something reliable you can trust. "I said sit down dammit!" In his head he was already brainstorming some computers.

"Yes sir," you scurried over to the leather seat.

Bakugou's phone rang not fifteen minutes later. "You can stay here." He stood up from his seat, hulking form momentarily blocking out the sun. His spine popped and his neck cracked, large arms reaching for the ceiling. From where you sat he looked like some deity born from sun. A droplet of liquid gold had fell from the very sun itself, and when it cooled it made him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched you watch him. "Stay," he repeated to you again, pointing this time. His office was secluded and had a door that locked. You had a desk that was out in the open and single bottom drawer that you need a key to open. He needed to get you an office.

"Will you be back?" You didn't like staying in other people's spaces when they weren't present.

"Villain attack," he shrugged. "Not sure how long it'll take."

"Right," you nodded absentmindedly to yourself. "Ok," more nodding. Were you stuck? He watched you, giving you a good once over before deciding this was just you. And he was off, rushing out of his office to go do what needed to be done.

"What cha lookin' at?" Kaminari tossed his arm over Bakugou's shoulders.

"None of your damn business," he growled out, pulling away.

"Aw hey come on man, doesn't look like anything secretive." Kirishima chimed from where he stood buck naked and drying his hair. The locker room reeked, however regardless of the smell here he was. He wanted to be at least half-decent when seeing you again. Didn't want smell to make you shrink away, or all the heat radiating off him to intimidate you. He was then dawned by an Awful thought. What if upon touching you he burned all those beautiful feathers.

"Looking for a computer dammit," he growled. His blonde spikes were weighed down by all that water in them and laid right over his eyes as a result. Though he swiped at them every so often gravity would just pull them right back down. He needed to add some type of heat resistance thingy to his list of things. Did they even sell what he wanted? Could he find someone to make it?

"Your computer's not that old." That was Kaminari again whom was currently charging his phone.

"'S not for me."

"OoOoOoh who's it for?"

"An employee stay out of my business dammit!"

Kirishima and Kaminari shared a look, "ok," they responded.

#x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #interracial couple #puerto rican #boss x employee #boss x reader #Random animal facts honsetly #pro hero au #Puertorican reader #spanglish #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #slow burn #hybrid reader #bird hybrid

[wol-fica]

-ℙ𝕦𝕝𝕔𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕤-

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

——————————

pairings - jennaortega x fem!reader

summary - sweet moment with your favorite girl

warnings - none

an - missed writing for my Rechazame series, so i wanted to bring back our ever favorite personal assistant R

——————————

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face to shield your eyes from the bright sun. 

It was an early morning, birds chirping and dogs barking as the world began to wake up. Thankfully it was Saturday, which meant you didn’t have work and could sleep in as long as you want. 

You rolled onto your side, blinding reaching around in front of you to find the warmth of your girlfriend, only to be met with the dip of a mattress and cold sheets. 

You peeled your eyes open, squinting to see around the sun-filled room. Everything looked normal, bookshelf filled with a multitude of literature, closet open and presenting the pale arrangement of clothes you and your girlfriend owned, and the bathroom door wide open, the sound of someone humming a small tune sneaking out. 

Your body moved, arms pushing you up and out of bed. Once your feet hit the floor, you closed your eyes and took a big stretch, sighing when your back popped pleasently. After you cracked your neck, you moved towards the bathroom in just your boxers and a sports bra, and you were greeted with the smell of vanilla and coconut bodywash wafting through the open door. 

On the edge of the bathtub your girlfriend sat, facing away from you as she shaved her legs. The room was warm and a tad bit humid, clear signs of Jenna taking her routine shower that she does almost every morning. The light from the sun was creating a golden hue on her skin, her features seeming to glow from your perspective.

She wore a white t-shirt, black shorts, and her signature black headphones, nodding her head along to whatever song that was playing in her ears. You stood for a moment, taking in the fact that you could admire here without her knowing. 

After a few more seconds of silent ogling, you moved towards the sink, grabbing your toothbrush and toothpaste to start your day. You scrubbed away the grime and bad breath, rinsing your mouth with a cup of sink water before gurgling it and spitting it out into the basin. 

You glanced towards Jenna, noticing that she still hasn’t turned around or noticed you yet, so with a small smirk of deviancy on your face, you reached and took her jaw in your fingers. She jumped at your touch, brown eyes looking up just in time to catch you leaning in to press your lips to her cheek. 

You kissed her warm skin, inhaling her bodywash with a pleasant sigh. She smelled sweet, and just like how she always smells like. A small giggle escapes her mouth at the feeling of your breath on her skin, causing you to smile. You pulled away, gently caressing her shoulder with your hand as a silent ‘hello’ before you left the bathroom and headed for your closet. 

Not sure of what to wear, you decided on some grey sweats and a plain white tank top. You easily threw each garment on, and was now reaching up to grab some slippers from the top shelf. Unnoticed by you, Jenna walked in and slid under your outstretched arms, wrapping her arms around your waist to gain your attention.

You looked down, catching her looking at you fondly before she stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to yours. You responded immediately, hands dropping down to cup her face. Your thumbs rubbed on her soft skin, pulling her closer and letting yourself melt into her hold. She tasted delicious, her cherry chapstick soothing your own dry lips from just waking up. 

“G’mornin’.” You mumbled, giving her lips and forehead a peck before reaching up for the slippers, “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm, I did.” She replied, letting go of your waist so she could take her slippers from you, “Did you?”

“Yeah, I think I fell asleep on top of you.” You said, sliding the comfy shoes on your feet.

“You did, we never finished that movie because of it.” Jenna giggled, sliding to stand in between your open knees, “It’s fine though, I got to cuddle you.”

You snorted, leaning back up to meet her eyes. She was already staring at you, her hands coming up to cup your cheeks. You leaned into her palm with a sigh, letting your eyes close at the feeling of her soft touch. She cooed at you, choosing to thread her fingers into your hair to detangle its morning mess. 

Her nails scratched at your scalp, massaging and relaxing you quite quickly. She expertly removed all the knots from your hair, knowing the tricks on detangling your fluffy locks. Once she finished, you wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her in to you.

Your face buried in her stomach, practically purring at the warmth she provided. She cradled your head, leaning down to kiss your ruffled hair. You sighed in contentment, happy that she was here and holding you.

“Do you want breakfast?” You asked, leaning your head back to look at her, “I can make you something.”

She mumbled a ‘yes please’ but didn’t let go of you, instead pulling herself into your lap so she could rest her head on your shoulder.

“Baby, you gotta let me go so I can go cook.” You chuckled, holding her thighs.

“No.” She said, burrowing herself further into your shirt.

You smiled, patting her butt lightly before standing up with her in your arms. She wrapped her legs around your waist, tightening her hold on your neck before you took a step. Your hands slid under her thighs, giving her some extra support to hang onto you while you walked to the kitchen.

“Okay beautiful.” You said, setting her down on the counter, “What do you want to eat?”

“Pancakes.” Jenna stated, swinging her feet while she stared at you lovingly.

“Pancakes.” You repeated, leaning in to give her a quick kiss before getting to work on making the requested dish.

You moved swiftly, pulling all the ingredients together and creating the batter in less than ten minutes. Soon, the pancakes were cooked and crisped to perfection, looking quite fluffy on the plate when you handed to Jenna.

“For the girl that looks so gorgeous on this fine evening.” You said cheekily, sliding the plate towards her and leaning in to nuzzle her cheek with your nose.

She laughed, taking the plate whilst blushing heavily. Carefully, she stabbed it with her fork and ate a piece, sighing in satisfaction at the sweet taste on her tongue.

“It’s delicious baby.” She praised, taking another bite, “So yummy.”

You internally high-fived yourself for being such a damn good cook for your girlfriend. She always loved what you created in the kitchen, and you loved having the label of the masc bisexual housewife; it just felt right to you.

“Here, eat.” Jenna said, holding up her fork to you.

You complied, opening your mouth so she could feed you. The pancake was perfect, fluffy and sweet with just the right amount of chocolate chips.

You really outdid yourself.

“Mmmm.” You nodded, happy with the salivating taste, “That’s good.”

“It’s cause my beautiful girl made it.” Jenna cooed, reaching out to pinch your cheeks.

You flushed red, shaking your head at her comment. She just laughed at you, hiding her smile with her hand while she did. You grinned, pressing a kiss to her cheek before leaving little pecks all over her face. It felt perfect, just you and her giggling as the sun rose on your love.

Just how Jenna wanted it to be.

———————

taglist: @cartierdreamx@tundra1029@red1culous@vorsdany@andsoigotabutterfly@theafterofnevermore@yomomisgay@house-of-lovin@slvt4lanadelrey@thenextdawn@nepobaby08@dunohilly@somekindofpoet@alexkolax@cinffy23@pedrosprincess@amberfreemansburntface@myfturn

#jenna #ortega #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem reader #jennaortegaedit #jenna ortega fluff #jenna ortega smut #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you

[pinchofhoney]

Your stories r so cute!!! Just a lil idea if it piques your interest: set between part 1 and part 2 in jackson, joel has a crush on a sweet shy bubbly girl who works as a farmer or in the greenhouses : )

spring is a season when more than just flowers bloom

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

joel miller x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

warning: fluff, fluff, pure FLUFF, life is most beautiful during the first days of spring (with a kitten!!)

summary: Spring brings with it more than just the beauty of blooming flowers. As the sun starts to shine a little brighter, it also has its own way of awakening deeply hidden emotions. The world feels brighter, and everything seems a little bit more beautiful. Especially in the right company.

a/n: hello, anon!!<33 i absolutely loved your idea and hope you'll be satisfied with what's hidden further down the line!

i'll also standardly mention that my inbox stands wide open waiting for more of your ideas with joel, or any other character played by pedro! (and every like and reblog is very much appreciated)

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

taglist: @wolfmoonmusic @alexxavicry @babypeapoddd @domaniquessidehoe

The first rays of light began to peek through the curtains of your window, and you could feel the excitement bubbling inside you. You knew that today was going to be a good day, and you were ready to start it off with a smile. You got out of bed and stretched, taking in the sweet and melodious chirping of the birds outside your window. It was the first days of the spring you have so long awaited. The gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for the simple pleasures of life. It was a beautiful morning, and you felt blessed to be alive to witness it.

Jackson had been your home for three years now, and it was a place that held a special place in your heart. You had stumbled upon the settlement when you were traveling alone, fighting to survive in a world overrun by infected. But when you arrived, you knew that you had finally found your new home and your people. The settlement was small, but tight-knit, and you felt a sense of belonging that you had not experienced in a long time. The community had welcomed you with open arms, and it wasn't long before you had found your place among them.

Despite the dangers that lurked outside the safety of the settlement, you refused to let fear and despair take hold of you. Your bubbly and sweet nature had won the hearts of people, and your infectious positivity had become a glimmer of hope for everyone around you, instilling them with the strength to carry on. Your infectious positivity spread like wildfire, warming the hearts of people and reminding them that even in the darkest of times, there was always a reason to smile.

The outside world was a dark and unforgiving place, ravaged by the Cordyceps brain infection that had left only a fraction of humanity standing. You felt like you could hear the distant sounds of infected roaming in the wilds beyond the walls every day, which was a constant reminder that the safety of the settlement was a fragile thing.

But despite these challenges, you believed that there was always something to be grateful for. Whether it was the warm rays of the sun on your face or the simple pleasure of a home-cooked meal, you knew that the small things in life were what made it all worthwhile.

In Jackson you had been entrusted with the care of the greenhouses. From an early age, you had been surrounded by the beauty of nature, thanks to your mother, who was a florist herself. She had instilled in you a love for all things green and growing, and you had spent countless hours by her side, learning the art of nurturing and caring for plants.

Every day the houses of hundreds of plants welcomed you with open arms. You could feel the warm, humid air wrap around you, enveloping you in a cozy embrace as you stepped inside. The space was bursting with life, with lush greenery and vibrant blooms stretching up towards the ceiling. It was your responsibility to tend to these plants, to ensure that they flourished and thrived under your care. And you took that responsibility very seriously.

As you donned your gloves and apron, you felt a sense of purpose and dedication wash over you. You knew that the work you did here was important, not just for the plants, but for the community as a whole. Each day, you would make your way down the rows of plants, checking on each one carefully. You looked for signs of growth, of health, of disease. And when you found something that needed attention, you would carefully tend to it, pruning and watering and adjusting the lighting as needed.

It was hard work, there was no denying that. Your back would ache from bending over the plants for hours on end, and your hands would be raw from the constant labor. But despite the physical toll it took on you, you loved every minute of it.

The greenhouse was more than just a place to work for you; it was a sanctuary. It provided an escape from the harsh realities of the world outside, a place where you could lose yourself in the beauty and tranquility of nature.

The plants seemed to breathe life into the space around you, filling the air with their sweet, earthy scent. The rustling of their leaves and the buzzing of the bees created a symphony that surrounded you, and as you sang softly to yourself, your voice blending seamlessly with the sounds of nature, you felt truly alive. In this moment, there was nothing else but the beauty of the world around you.

You were not naive. You knew that outside the Jackson's protective walls, danger and uncertainty loomed. You knew that the world was still a dangerous place, and that there were no guarantees of safety or security, but for a brief moment, you let go of the fear and focused on the present moment, finding solace in the simple pleasures of life.

You chose to see the good in everything around you, finding comfort in the beauty of nature and the kindness of your fellow friends. Each smile, kind word, or small gesture brought warmth to your heart and hope to your soul. Every day, you woke up with a sense of gratitude. You were grateful for the opportunity to work in such a beautiful place, and to be surrounded by such incredible life. You were grateful for every moment of happiness, no matter how small. As you tended to the plants, you took pride in the fact that you were providing food for the community of the settlement. It gave you a sense of purpose and fulfillment that few other things could match. You knew that your hard work and dedication made a difference, and that was enough to keep you going, even in the face of adversity.

In the midst of a world filled with chaos, you never thought you would find love. Every day brought new challenges and obstacles that made you question what the future held. But, there was a moment when you felt as though fate had other plans for you. It was a feeling that you couldn't shake, and despite your initial skepticism, you began to embrace the warmth that spread throughout your chest.

At first, you tried to ignore it, believing that it was just a passing fancy. You had seen so many relationships crumble under the weight of life's challenges, especially now, that you were hesitant to even consider the possibility of love. But, the feeling persisted, and you found yourself daydreaming about a future with someone who could stand by your side through thick and thin.

And that’s when you met Joel Miller.

When he first arrived in Jackson there was still snow all around and the temperatures outside left much to be desired. That didn't mean, that you didn't have things to do in your greenhouses. Working with plants, you had your hands full at any time of the year, because taking care of them, doesn't end with planting them at the right time. Despite the misconception that winter meant less work, you were always busy. You had lost too many important people in your life, and you were determined not to lose the plants that were dependent on you. So, you made sure to take all the necessary measures to ensure their survival, even in the harshest of weather.

The first time you encountered Miller was when you were moving heavy boxes of frozen soil into the greenhouse. As you stood near the building with one of them in your arms, you couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by Joel. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a serious expression on his face that made him seem unapproachable. His hair was disheveled by the wind, and there were lines etched around his eyes that suggested he didn't smile very often.

You immediately noticed how different he was from you. While you were outgoing and sociable with a smile that could light up a room, he seemed to be the complete opposite. Joel seemed to be reserved and kept to himself most of the time, rarely initiating conversations with others. Additionally, he appeared to be in a grumpy mood, which only added to his aloof attitude. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and he looked like he would rather be anywhere else but there, dealing with the freezing cold boxes.

Despite this less-than-stellar first impression, you made a conscious effort not to jump to conclusions about him. You knew that you couldn't judge someone based on a single interaction. As someone who didn't believe in judging a book by its cover, you knew from experience that there was always more to a person than met the eye. Perhaps he was going through a tough time or simply needed some time to warm up to new people.

Looking back, you were glad you gave Joel a chance. After he returned to Jackson from his journey with Ellie, he began to seek out your company. Despite his initial impression of seeming to dislike you, it was clear that he appreciated having you in his life. He kept popping in your greenhouses whenever he had a chance, and it was always a pleasure to have him around. In fact, you got the feeling that he liked being around you even more than you enjoyed having him around yourself. It was as though he found comfort in your presence, and you were happy to be a source of that comfort for him.

And today was no different. You were lost in your own world, consumed by the task of tending to the lush greenery around you. Your fingers delicately plucked at old leaves and removed the weeds that threatened to smother the life out of your beloved plants. You knelt amidst the shrubbery, surrounded by a cacophony of sounds – he rustling of leaves, the gentle dripping of nearby water, and the distant hum of people.

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke your reverie, pulling you back to reality. It was Joel's voice, and it was the sweetest sound you'd like to hear all day. You lifted your head and peered through the thick foliage towards the entrance of the greenhouse. Your heart swelled with joy as you saw Joel approaching, his steady gait bringing him closer to you.

“Y/N?” Joel called out again, his voice jolting you back to the present. You got up, brushing the dirt off your knees and discarding your gloves. You stepped out of the shrubs and onto the path between the plant beds, a smile spreading across your lips. Joel smiled too. “Hey there, how’s my favorite plant lady doing today?” he asked, his voice warm and friendly.

You chuckled, feeling the corners of your eyes crinkle with amusement. “Hi, Joel,” you replied, making your way towards him. “You won't believe it, but absolutely nothing has changed since yesterday,” you joked, happy to see someone you cared for. You couldn't help but notice that Joel was holding one of his hands behind his back, but you didn't pay it much attention.

“How about you?” you asked, eager to know what he had been up to.

“You haven't heard yet, have you?” Joel teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Heard of what?” you queried, your brow furrowing slightly. You tossed the gloves aside and pushed back a stray strand of hair that had escaped your bun while you were engrossed in your work.

Joel watched you closely, his hand still concealed. Then, with a flourish, he brought his hand forward, revealing a tiny ball of fur. You gasped in delight as you saw the adorable kitten nestled in Joel's palm.

The world around you faded away as you focused solely on the little being. You took the kitten from Joel's hands, and it let out a soft meow as you held it close. Tears of joy filled your eyes as you looked down at the furry creature in your arms.

“Where did you get it?” you asked, your voice hushed and filled with wonder.

“He came to the gate this morning,” Joel explained. “Not sure where he came from. They sent a few people to check the immediate area, maybe there are more.”

You looked up at Joel and saw a side of him that you'd never seen before. His features were relaxed and his expression was serene, a gentle smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watched you cradle the kitten in your arms. He seemed at peace, and it filled you with a sense of contentment.

You held the kitten closer to your chest, feeling its warmth seep into your body. It was a tiny creature, but it had brought so much happiness into your life in that one moment.

As you and Joel walked out of the greenhouse, he suddenly brought up a detail from one of your earlier conversations. “If I remember correctly, you mentioned having a cat when you were young, didn’t you?” he asked, catching you off guard.

You were taken aback that he remembered such a seemingly insignificant detail, especially since you had been doing most of the talking during your time together in the greenhouse. However, Joel had always been a great listener, making you feel heard and understood. You had found yourself opening up more than usual and sharing stories about your life before the Cordyceps outbreak. Despite the apparently one-sided nature of your conversations, Joel had been paying closer attention than you thought. “Did you really remember that?” you asked in surprise.

Joel chuckled. “Of course I did. You told me all about it.”

“Its name was Aster,” you added, recalling your beloved childhood pet fondly.

Joel looked at you with a curious expression. “Why did you choose that name? Have I asked you before?” he inquired. You couldn’t resist sitting down on a nearby bench, the warmth of the spring sun comforting against your skin. The little ball of fur that Joel had brought along, against your wishes, immediately made its way over him, curious about the zipper on his jacket.

“My mother picked that name,” you explained, watching the kitten, which looked even tinier next to the man. “It’s actually related to flowers,” you said cheerfully, attracting Joel's attention. You knew he wasn't familiar with plants, but you loved sharing your knowledge with him and he loved listening to everything you had to say.

Joel looked intrigued. “How so?” he asked.

“My mother's favorite flowers have always been asters,” you continued. “Each plant has its own meaning, these have one too,” you explained. “Asters symbolize patience and love. When you adopt a cat, you usually need some patience for those sweet eyes,” you said, reaching out to pet the kitten, which had now curled up against Joel's thigh and was purring contentedly.

You couldn't help but laugh softly as you added, “And besides, my mom found it in the garden, near the asters.” You realized that the actual reason for the name was probably not as deep as you had made it out to be.

To your surprise, Joel's deep, quiet chuckle filled the air in response. “And what is your favorite kind of flower?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

You thought for a moment before answering, “I've always had a soft spot for daisies. We used to have them all over our front lawn when I was a kid,” you said, looking ahead at the people bustling about in the streets of the settlement in the distance. A gentle breeze swept over your face, and you closed your eyes, a soft smile spreading across your lips. “I haven't seen them in a long time,” you admitted in a hushed tone, your voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

Joel's expression softened as he gazed at you, taking in the wistful look on your face. “I'll have to keep an eye out for them on our next supply run,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring.

You opened your eyes and looked at him gratefully. “That would be nice,” you said, feeling a little lighter at the thought of seeing daisies again.

Joel's eyes lingered on the sleeping kitten before turning to you. His question was simple, yet there was a meaningful glint in his gaze. “Do you still have a lot of plant work to do?” he asked.

You looked down at the tiny ball of fur and replied, “Not really, why?”

“We need to show the little one his new home,” he said, his words laced with emotion as he watched the kitten.

You suddenly felt like a little girl again, as though you had just received the pet of your dreams from your parents. “Do you mean my house?” you asked, excitement bubbling up inside you.

Joel's response was filled with praise. “I think you are the best person this kitten could have come across,” he said, watching as a smile spread across your face. “The others will agree with me, you know it well.”

“Really?” you asked, holding your hands close to your chest in anticipation of his response. When he nodded confirmatively, without a moment's hesitation, you threw your arms around Joel, wrap him in a tight hug. You were careful not to awaken the sleeping kitten with your sudden burst of energy.

It was the first time you had hugged him, the first time you had invaded his personal space. Your love language was touch, and hugs were very familiar to you and close to your heart. However, Joel was frozen in place, unsure of how to react to the physical contact, which made you realize that he had a different nature than you.

Joel had forgotten what it felt like to be hugged. Years had passed since anyone had embraced him, and he had become accustomed to loneliness. The unexpected warmth of your hug caught him off guard, and at first, he stiffened. But as you held him, Joel felt a long-forgotten sensation begin to spread through his body. It was like a memory coming back to life.

You moved away from him awkwardly, afraid to lift your gaze to his face. You didn't know what kind of reaction to expect. “Um,” you stuttered, clearing your throat. “Sorry,” you said more quietly. Only after a moment filled with nothing but the noise of the nature that surrounded you, you decided to look at Joel's face.

He looked at you with surprise, his eyes wandering over your face while his gray hair was blown away by the gentle breeze. He hadn't realized how much he had missed this kind of physical contact until now. Finally, he let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. “You should name him Cuddle,” he said with a hint of amusement in his voice, referring to the kitten.

Then, Joel put his arm around you, pulling you close to him. You felt a wave of warmth wash over you, and you leaned into him, savoring the comforting embrace. It was a moment you would never forget, the first time you had hugged Joel Miller, the man who had given you the perfect gift.

#the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller drabble #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal drabble #pedro pascal fluff #fluff #fanfiction

[peakyswritings]

Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby X OC

PART IV

Summary: after their late-night conversation, something has changed between Nina and Tommy. Now Tommy’s slowly coming to understand that they might be more similar than they thought.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, addressing the topics of rape and murder, English is not my first language.

A/N: This is more like a passage chapter with little to no action, but it’s fundamental for the development of Tommy and Nina’s relationship. But be ready, cause there’s a storm coming!

Important information for the context: In this chapter, Nina explains the delitto d’onore (honour killing) and the matrimonio riparatore (rehabilitating marriage), two practiced which were recognised by the Criminal Code and were only abolished in Italy in 1981. In Italy, r*pe went from being a crime against the moral to being a crime against the person only in 1996.

PREVIOUS PART

SERIES MASTERLIST

CHAPTER’S MOODBOARD

Dividers credits

Sipping lemonade at the kitchen table, with the birds chirping outside and a slight breeze coming through the open window, Nina relished the first moments of peace in weeks. With the women of the family busy with the tradition of making tons of tomato sauce to preserve for the winter at Aunt Rita’s house and the men out for business, she could finally enjoy a day all for herself. She might even go to the sea, stay there to watch the sunset.

Glancing out the window, a curious sight caught her attention. Tommy Shelby was lounging in a chair, his head leaning back, his eyes closed. He had abandoned his formal attire, he wasn’t wearing a jacket nor a tie, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing his forearms. There was something captivating in his disheveled appearance, and in the way - despite his apparently vulnerable position - he still seemed to be fully aware of his surroundings. There was a clear tension in his shoulders and his eyelids fluttered, from time to time.

After their late-night conversation, it didn’t take long for Tommy and Nina to go back to their old ways. That morning, while they sat at the breakfast table, they mostly ignored each other, and the few words they exchanged during the day were mere courtesies. It was almost as if last night never happened. Almost. Because it had happened, and something had changed between them. But it was such a small change that neither of them were actually aware of it. Maybe that change was the reason Nina took pity on him and walked out to approach him.

However, as soon as his stern blue eyes rested on her, an unfamiliar nervousness took over her, and she suddenly felt stupid, regretting her impulsive decision. It wasn’t like they were close, after all. But he was there, and he was looking at her, and it was too late to go back. She had to find something to say before that situation became even more awkward.

Before she could speak, something she hadn’t noticed before caught her eye. A black full-ball was curled up in Tommy’s lap, hidden by the shadow of the table. Nina watched in shock as Winston purred and stretched his little paws, enjoying the man’s scratches behind his ear. How the hell did he manage to touch Winston without losing a finger?

The gangster’s eyes shifted between Nina and the cat, and his lips curved into an taunting grin. “Your cat likes me. That should be a good sign.”

“Quite the contrary.” She retorted, recovering from her astonishment. “Winston’s a devil. If he likes you, there’s clearly something wrong with you.” She teased him, feeling the previous embarrassment slowly fade away.

“But he likes you.” He squinted his eyes, pointing at her.

“Yes, because I feed him.”

Something moved in the grass, causing Winston to raise his head and stare at a specific point. It took him only a few seconds to spot a lizard, and he jumped from Tommy’s lap to catch the poor animal. Traitor, she thought to herself, watching as the cat ran away with his loot.

Once Winston had disappeared, she remembered the reason why she had walked up to him in the first place. “I’m going to the sea for a while.” She said, shifting her weight from one feet to the other. “If you need something, everybody’s over there.” She nodded her head at Agnese’s house.

Tommy stayed silent for a few seconds, pondering, almost hesitating. “Would you mind if I came with you?”

There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, which surprised Nina even more than his question. One thing that she had learned in the short time she had known him was that he never wavered. Yet, only for an instant, his firm and unmovable facade seemed to falter.

Truth was, Tommy didn’t even remember the last time he went to the beach. He was still a kid, Finn probably wasn’t even born yet. He had almost forgotten how it felt, and for the first time in a long time, he longed for a feeling that seemed to belong to another life. But Nina didn’t particularly like him, and perhaps he was overstepping by asking to go with her. Moreover, if her family found out, chances were that they would get the wrong idea.

“No.” Nina shook her head, recollecting herself. “No, I don’t mind.”

She took both Tommy and herself aback with her answer. Up until a few days earlier she would’ve said a sharp “no” without thinking about it twice, but now, as much as she hated to admit it, his company wasn’t so unpleasant anymore. Quite the contrary. And their bickering surely was a way of escaping the boredom of the small village.

So they found themselves walking down the dirt road outside the big gates of the houses, in the opposite direction from where Tommy had arrived a little over a week ago. It stretched in front of them as far as the eye could see, and its left side was surrounded by nothing but trees, whereas the right side overlooked the sea below. In the silence, he could already hear the sound of the waves and breathe the salty air, and the comfort it brought him almost made up for the burning sensation of the sun on his face. He wasn’t prepared for the warmth of the Italian summer, so radically different from Birmingham’s gloomy weather.

Eventually, they approached some narrow stone stairs, which led down to a small beach.

“Careful.” Nina told him, starting to walk down the high steps with surprising ease. “It’s slippery.”

Tommy followed behind her, paying close attention both to where he placed his feet and where she placed hers. She was going a bit too fast for his liking, and although her movements were agile and graceful, he had the impression she might slip at any moment.

Little did he know, she had walked down those steps hundreds of times. It was a spot she had discovered a few years prior, hidden from prying eyes and unknown to most people. It wasn’t even a proper beach, rather a small sandy space surrounded by rocks. It was her refuge, the place that sheltered her when she needed to be alone. Sometimes she would sit on a rock and watch the hypnotising motion of the waves rolling in, other times she took off her shoes and stood at the sea’s edge, lulled by the feeling of the cold water around her feet. She could pretend that nothing existed except for her and the sea, that she was free of the suffocating weight of judgement and injustice. And she could breathe.

“Nice place.” Tommy’s hoarse voice came to her ears as she went to sit on a rock. She watched as he looked around, an unreadable expression on his face. Another thing she had learned about Tommy Shelby was that it was impossible to tell what was going on inside his head. He was so good at hiding his feelings that Nina figured it must be an ability he had mastered over the years. There was nothing left of the glimpse of humanity he had revealed the previous night, and she wondered whether her mind had just made it up.

With his back to her, he stood in front of the sea, observing the slow motion of the waves. “How’s your cousin? I haven’t seen her today.”

Unlike the previous days, that day no big lunch was organised in the shared garden, and Tommy had eaten with Nina, her parents and her two brothers in their dining room. Since he had officially started the courting the day before, the family’s agitation had quieted down, and big gatherings were not necessary anymore, unless something important happened, like a proposal. But it was too soon for that. So that day everything went back to normal, just like Nina had predicted the day he had arrived.

“She’s busy. She and my cousins are helping my mum and aunt Rita.” She informed him. “Summer means conserve. They’re making tomato sauce and preserving it. It’s a tradition.”

“You didn’t join them?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not this year.”

Tommy took her short answer as a sign not to inquire further. He wasn’t blind, he had noticed she was a bit of an outcast in her own family. He had seen how her aunts and cousins looked at her, how they whispered among themselves when she said or did something they considered unacceptable, how her own mother lowered her head in embarrassment on those occasions. It hadn’t taken him long to understand how things worked in Sicily: women had to be meek, agreeable and marriage-minded. It was no wonder Nina’s temperament clashed with that state of things.

“Anyway, Agnese’s happy.” She continued. “Just like everyone.” Although she was trying to keep her tone neutral, she couldn’t hide a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“But you’re not.” He stated matter-of-factly, turning to face her.

“I’m happy that she’s happy. What I’m not happy about…” she left her sentence hanging, thinking about her next words. “Is this whole sale thing. Because you can call it whatever you want, it doesn’t change what it really is.”

There it was, the rage she tried so hard to contain. It never completely reveal itself, it only shone through cracks and fractures, like in that moment. But Tommy had seen it since the very beginning, for anger recognises anger, and he was angry too. He had been angry since he was a boy.

He sat next to her, keeping his eyes on the calm sea in front of them. “You’re right.” He nodded, knowing there was no point in denying what was in front of everyone’s eyes. “But it’s necessary. I’m selling myself too, you know. Before all of this I didn’t think I’d ever get married.”

Nina glanced at him, furrowing her brows. “You never thought about marriage?”

“I did.” He admitted, his mind wandering to moments that seemed so distant yet so close at the same time. “There was a woman I wanted to marry. Grace.” He explained, having to force himself to say her name. After a whole year, that name still stung on his tongue.

“What happened with her?” She asked curiously.

“Turns out she was a spy, working for an Irish cop who was investigating on some stolen guns.” Reality crashed back on him as he said those words, the memory of how he had been played by the woman he loved hitting him like a bucket of cold water. “He thought we had them.”

“Did you?”

A smirk made its way on Tommy’s face at her innocent question. He turned to look at her with raised eyebrows, slightly leaning towards her. “How do you think a backstreet razor gang managed to take control of the city without the police intervening?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it right away, shaking her head with an impressed look on her face. For once, she was at a loss for words.

“Anyway,” he straightened his back, becoming serious again. “She ratted us all out, and then she left.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past.”

It’s in the past. Tommy had lost count of all the times he had said that to himself. Maybe if he repeated it long enough, it would eventually become true. And maybe it was happening, because that was the first time he thought about her in days. Yet, it still hurt. He thought they were the same, that he found her, and she found him. He was wrong.

After a while, Nina broke the silence that had fallen between them. “At least you’re not some old man.”

Her sudden statement caused a chuckle to escape his lips, and even though she had tried to keep a straight face, she soon followed him. Tommy realised that he had never actually heard her laugh before. A few times she had chuckled, but until then she had never let out a real laugh. It was infectious, and he found himself laughing for the first time in God knew how long.

Soon the laughter died down, and Tommy was left with question that had been burning in his mind for a while. “Why don’t you want to get married?”

There was no judgment in his voice, just plain curiosity. He didn’t find it strange, but he couldn’t help but wonder what made her so adamant about the matter.

She took her time to answer, as if she was ordering the words in her mind, and he couldn’t tell whether she was translating her thoughts or finding the way to address a subject that was clearly a sore point. She was so fluent in English that sometimes he forgot it wasn’t her first language. Then her accent came through, or she mispronounced a word, and he was reminded that it probably hadn’t been easy for her to master a language without living in the place it was spoken. It was quite impressive.

“Because if I got married,” she started, bringing his attention back to the topic. “I’d be completely subordinated to my husband. I couldn’t make financial or even employment decisions. If we had children, they wouldn’t really be mine, I’d have no right over them. In the eyes of the law, my husband would have absolute power over us.”

Tommy attentively listened, not daring to interrupt her, afraid that she would close herself off again.

“Best case scenario, I’d end up being a wife and a mother, nothing more, nothing less. Worst case scenario, I’d end up like one of my mother’s friends, who was killed by her husband because he thought she had cheated on him. And he got a sentence reduction. Because it was a honour killing.” She spat out, her voice full of scorn. She frowned, as she did every time she didn’t agree on something.

“Honour killing?” Tommy raised his eyebrows. He had heard about it, of course, but there was something grotesque in the fact that it was somehow recognised by the law.

“If a woman brings dishonour in any way to the family, and one of her family members were to kill her, they would get a sentence reduction. It’s called delitto d’onore. Honour killing.” She explained, and he could tell she was trying not to let emotions take the best of her. Her gaze rested on him, and he figured his expression let his thoughts slip through, because she nodded. “You think that’s fucked up? Wait until you hear about the rehabilitating marriage.”

“What about it?”

“If a man rapes a woman, he can escape his sentence by marrying her. It’s in the Criminal Code, just like the honour killing. And the woman must marry the man to save both her honour and her family. Otherwise she’ll be identified as a shameless woman.” Her dark eyes blazed with outrage as she stared at some point in front of her, and Tommy found himself sharing the same disdain. Maybe it was the part of him who had never tolerated injustice, a side of him he had pushed back a long time ago, but that stubbornly came to the surface whenever something unfair occurred, or maybe her rage was so strong that it was able to infect those who were close to her.

“It’s not that uncommon that a man kidnaps a woman so that she will be forced to marry him.” She shook her head, her voice lowering. “It’s not right. Sometimes I sit here and it’s all I can think about. It’s not right. And no one seems to be angry about it. Most people even agree with it. It’s just how things are. It’s normal. It shouldn’t be.”

Tommy knew that feeling, the frustration that came with helplessness. It plagued him when he was a boy, when he was treated differently because of who he was, of where he came from. When his mother couldn’t afford to put on the table anything but lard. When aunt Polly’s children were taken from her. It was that feeling that pushed him to make sure people feared the Shelby name, so that no one would dare treat them like scum ever again.

“I’m not saying that I wouldn’t like to have a family of my own. But it’s not worth the risk of becoming no one. I don’t want to obliterate myself. I don’t want to depend on a man who might be cruel to me. I want something that’s mine. Because right now, I have nothing. And I know that I finished school, and that’s way more than what most boys get, let alone girls. But it’s not enough.” Her voice cracked, but there was no trace of tears on her face. “Is it so bad to want something more?”

No, Tommy wanted to say. No, it’s not. But couldn’t bring himself to speak, because he knew that there were no words that could make it better.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, pulling herself together. “I got carried away and I talked too much.”

“No.” He said quickly. “You didn’t. I asked you a question and you answered it.”

For some reason, Tommy didn’t want Nina to think that her talking bothered him, that she had to hold her tongue with him. He liked hearing her talk. She was smart, she had thoughts of her own, and she challenged him. She didn’t agree on everything he said - or pretended to - just to please him, she didn’t make herself smaller like everyone else did in his presence. That was somehow refreshing.

There was silence again, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. They were both meditating on the words they had said and heard, and the gap between them didn’t seem so wide, now. As the sun started to set, the sky took on shades of pink and orange, and a warm light illuminated the beach.

Tommy took advantage of Nina’s distraction to look at her. The last rays of sun lit up her eyes with a golden hue, giving them a colour which resembled honey. Her tan skin seemed to gleam, and her cheeks had taken on a tinge of red. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time, and he realised - she was beautiful. He had already noticed her interesting, sharp beauty, but now it felt as if it had intensified. A light gust of wind rose up, and her long raven hair tickled his cheek, sending a shiver down his spine. When the scent of lavender filled his nostrils, he couldn’t restrain himself from closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

Nina shifted her position, causing their hands to accidentally brush.

He didn’t flinch away this time. She didn’t either.

NEXT PART

Heart, Body and Soul tag list: @zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms @call-sign-shark @kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @gaslysainz

Tag list: @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989 @call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe

Tommy Shelby tag list: @50svibes

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fics #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x oc

[t-lostinworlds]

I Spy, No Spy | Peter Parker

》 PAIRING: peter parker x avenger/secret agent female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: friends to lovers; fake dating-ish; fluff

》 SUMMARY: You're a trained spy, Peter was not. But you two ended up on a mission together where he was needed to be less of the chatty superhero in red & blue tights and more of a debonair undercover agent in a suit & tie. It shouldn't be too difficult, right? No mask, no web shooters. Just you and him pretending to be fiancés, hiding and making out in a closet to avoid getting caught—simple. Unless he included his overgrowing feelings for you, of course.

》 WARNINGS: peter being down bad & horny™️ for r (my fave genre of peter by the looks of it), slight self-deprecating peter, pet names (darling, my love, babe, angel), peter x suit x glasses (a dangerous combo), mediocre spy-ish stuff, canon typical violence (i.e. guns, knives, fighting, ass-kicking), slight jealousy/possessiveness (both parties), slight pettiness from r, closet make-out, little peter got excited (idk why i said it like that lmao it’s just a boner), cuddling w/ boob grab (not sexual lol).

》 WORD COUNT: 21.3k+ (is anyone still surprised)

✘ MOODBOARD

A/N: this idea has been in my drafts since sept or oct 2020? I think? basically i plotted this a decade ago a.k.a this happens after Endgame but before...anything else (NWH who? lol) this is more an alternate universe tho. i honestly have no idea how i feel about this but i did enjoy writing it. a pretty tame, fun lil spy au fic so nothing groundbreaking sksks anyways! i hope you enjoy!

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ PETER PARKER MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

The sun rays that leaked through Peter's bedroom window tickled his eyelids, making them flutter open as he yawned.

A tired smile curled on his lips as he buried his nose into his pillow. It was rather comforting, hearing the faint chirping of birds, the soft rustle of the tree just outside his room, and hell, even the chants in the far-off distance of people training.

It was a peaceful Saturday morning, and Peter really liked that.

To top it off, summer had just begun, so no college work to worry about in the meantime. He was finally having a much-needed break from obligation and responsibilities—well, not entirely since the superhero gig didn't really have actual breaks. But he was hopeful that today was a quiet day, at least.

There were plenty of activities that could take up his whole day. He could start with a morning run around the large stretch of land, maybe pack up some breakfast and eat it by the lake, located at the edge of the area. He didn't mean to sound like some guru, but he could really use being one with nature for a little bit. Maybe he could meet his friends for lunch if any of them were free, or maybe he could spend the afternoon relaxing by the compound's private pool—

"Good morning, Peter."

Peter jumped with a squeak, limbs tangling with his sheets, making him fall off the bed with a loud thud. Groaning, he slowly sat up on the floor, rubbing the back of his head to soothe it.

That was certainly one way to get the sleep out of your system.

"Emergency meeting in conference room A-One in ten minutes."

Well, so much for his plans to relax.

"Got it, FRIDAY."

It was still a bit odd hearing the A.I. as an alarm early in the morning most of the time. She was certainly very helpful though. From scheduling to reminders, simple google searches to more complicated equation-solving whenever he would need help.

FRIDAY was like the compound's own Alexa but much, much more advanced. Well, she certainly wasn't meant to be used as such but nobody could truly blame him for not taking the perks for granted.

And there were a lot of perks living in the place—the Avenger's compound, to be specific—and despite being here for almost a year now, Peter still hadn't gotten used to its extravagance, much less exhausted all its resources.

It was a drastic change from the little apartment where he and May used to live, and he wasn't talking about the size alone.

She was living with Happy now, Peter visiting over for dinner whenever he could. She was a bit reluctant to let him move out at first. It was expected when they'd practically been living together for a good chunk of his life. But he was grown now, so wanting to dabble into independence shouldn't come off as a surprise.

Sure, it was more him being available and closer to saving the world type of independence, but independence, nonetheless.

Plus, Peter simply wanted to give them as much privacy as he could.

Happy and May were like teenagers in love and the things he heard despite the thick walls thanks to his enhanced abilities…he'd rather not think about it. His super hearing definitely helped in making the decision.

He still hadn't stopped patrolling New York, of course. If it was a quiet day on earth—more so, the universe—he still swung about the city, stopping any petty crime he would come across. But when an Avenger's level threat would arise, Peter was now only a couple of doors down, equipped and ready to join the mission.

It was difficult to juggle: his normal life, attending college, being Spider-Man on top of being an official Avenger.

Nonetheless, Peter wouldn't have it any other way.

Maybe it was because he enjoyed the thrill of taking the superhero gig to the next level. Or maybe it was because he was granted the opportunity to live lavishly in the compound. Maybe it was the sheer feeling of accomplishment and pride to be able to save the world. 

Or maybe it was because he got to see you every day.

You, who Peter has an insanely huge crush—no, who he really, really liked.

He might even go as far as to say that he was falling for you.

The two of you had moved in at the same time.

He could still vividly remember how he'd just placed the last box on his bed when the building shook. He peered out his window to see what the commotion was about, just in time to catch the Quinjet landing on the well-kept grass. His brows had furrowed in curiosity when the door opened, watching Sam and Bucky come out first, then a third figure trailing right behind them.

Peter didn't really believe in love at first sight, but God did it feel like that when he first saw you.

Okay, maybe it wasn't exactly love—or maybe it was, who knows—but he really couldn't deny how intrigued he was of you, intimidated even. And that was when you walked into the common room in simple jeans and a pink hoodie.

He swooned the minute you smiled at him when you introduced yourself, his knees wobbling the minute you shook his hand.

It was later on that he found out that you were a former (more like forced) member of HYDRA, abducted at a young age, trained to be one of their elite spies, and brainwashed to do their bidding. Which was why it made so much sense how the one and only Bucky Barnes had a soft spot for you—quite surprising for someone who was known to be a huge grump.

You actually came from Wakanda that day, to erase whatever it was HYDRA planted into your brain. Now, you were a recruit on the team, willing to do good with the skills you now had.

You and Peter were around the same age—part of the young ones, as Bucky pointed out—so it didn't really take long for you to become friends.

Well, a friend he kept ridiculously fawning over, a friend who made his heart race whenever you were nearby, a friend who Peter didn't really want to remain as such.

He was thankful though, being your friend was better than being no one to you at all.

But still, it was difficult to suppress his feelings, especially when you were one of, if not, the sweetest and kindest person Peter had the pleasure of knowing.

Whenever he would stumble into the compound late at night, all badly beaten and bruised, somehow, you'd be the only one awake, helping him up to his own room where you'd then clean his wounds for him.

The first night it happened, you had said FRIDAY alerted you of his presence. You had rushed as fast as you could when the A.I. mentioned he was injured. After that, it simply became a routine for you both.

It was like an unspoken rule around the compound, how you were always the one who'd patch Peter up after missions—unless you weren't present, of course. There were even a handful of occasions where Peter would be the one patching you up, a rare instance where he'd be home from campus while you'd come back from an intense mission that rewarded you with fresh bruises and cuts.

He was convinced you were simply being nice to him, though. You did consider him as your friend and you were kind enough to help with an ailment or two. You were such a caring person overall. He was sure if it was any other person, you'd do the same. So, Peter wasn't exactly special in that regard.

But then you got assigned to help him train every weekend, which only made his overgrowing crush for you, well, grow some more.

It was a new requirement for recruits, learning how to fight without much use of technology.

From the wise words of the new captain: Gadgets and tech should be there as extra sets of tools, not as a replacement for your arms and limbs. If you rely on them too much, they're going to become crutches.

Bucky stared at Sam funnily at that—since his vibranium arm was both a tool and a replacement of his limb—but everyone got what he meant. Being able to take down bad guys with only your bare hands was definitely more helpful than not.

Peter didn't know if someone was secretly spying on him, or had overheard him gushing about you to Harley—or if said friend himself had ratted him out—that led to the two of you being paired together.

Bucky said that you were the best woman for the job to help improve hand-to-hand combat or overall fighting skills. You'd been training since you were young after all, and that was saying something. Peter was probably still learning his additions and subtractions while you had already mastered the art of jiu jitsu. Wanda added that the two of you were already close hence why you got paired together, simply to skip through that awkward phase of introductions.

Peter had a feeling the two were playing matchmaker. But he chose to ignore it.

Either way, it certainly didn't help his predicament.

Being so close to you in that regard, with you wearing those tight leggings and tank tops, grunting and sweating, your bodies getting tangled and just…yeah.

Training with you was enough to make his head—both heads, if being honest, but he'll keep the other one to himself—explode.

You were incredible.

So it didn't take much for him to get distracted by you during your sessions, either.

More often than not, Peter would find himself watching you in awe rather than trying to dodge your punches. You called him out on it a few times, and each time he'd turn pink, the tint on his skin turning darker when you'd order him to do push-ups as a means to discipline. You were strict at times, but he was still so lucky that you were also being patient with him when he couldn't get it quite right the first few times. Although, you being in command and in control only added to his endless list of things he was swooning over you for.

It was admirable the way you would have him so out of breath after a spar and he was the one with superpowers. You were being smart with it, tactical with the when, where and how to hit rather than just throwing a punch for the sake of it. You'd dance around him, gracefully, swiftly, strongly, each move precisely choreographed to outmatch him as if you'd already looked into the future to know what he was going to do next.

Peter was a goner the minute you pinned him down on the floor for the tenth time in that one session.

He didn't know if it was the smug smirk on your face, your knees on either side of his hips, the way you had his hands above his head, or everything all at once. But Peter's blood was definitely boiling with every touch, rushing up to his brain that quickly turned it to mush—or maybe it was rushing down. He really couldn't tell where the pulsing was coming from. If it was his heart or some other organ that gets filled with blood.

By then, he couldn't stop thinking about you, couldn't stop talking about you, head over heels like he was living and breathing for you.

Ned and Harley said it was an obsession at this point but in his defense, you were way out of his league.

And he hadn't even taken into account how you felt about him.

Sometimes, Peter would have an inkling that his feelings were reciprocated. With the way you'd smile at him, the way you'd say sweet things to him, and the lingering touches from time to time, how could he not?

But, what if that was his rose-colored glasses making them seem like something they're not? Was it truly acts of affection and adoration or was it Peter's brain just romanticizing the shit out of simple kind gestures done for a friend?

Then came the thought that you were sweet and kind to everyone. It was just who you are, a ray of sunshine through and through—a ray of sunshine that could kick your ass ten times over but still. He'd rather not give himself too much hope. It was safer to assume that you were only seeing and treating him as a friend and nothing more.

Besides, it was too far-fetched, someone like you feeling something for someone like him.

You'd walk down a hallway with your head held high, while Peter would keep his eyes trained on the tiles. You'd stare your enemy down with no hesitation, your presence commanding, threatening, both words and actions carrying that certain chill that would make anyone second guess crossing you. While Peter would dance around them to avoid proper confrontation, going for silly jokes and sarcastic quips to mask any nervousness he would sometimes feel.

You're one hell of a powerful, strong woman and that's without any enhancements or superpowers involved.

While Peter…well, he's just your dorky, other times clumsy, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

As he said, you were way, way, way out of his league.

So he really couldn't do much but admire you from afar—or up close, but discreetly—until he would grow the extra set of balls needed to actually do something about his feelings for you, especially with the possible outcome of rejection.

He'd like to believe he'd grown quite a bit of confidence after entering college. It was a slow progress but he did manage to break out of his shell. With the number of parties Harry Osborn had managed to drag him into, how could he not? He was quite glad that now, he was able to talk to pretty girls without much stuttering and blushing involved.

But somehow when it was you in front of him, he would suddenly revert to his old high school self again. His cheeks would either be red or pink, barely able to get his words out as he would sometimes stare at you for longer than he should, all awestruck and dazed with admiration.

Peter's point was painfully proven right once again when he saw you down the hallway.

You were wearing black leggings and a black tank top along with your favorite running shoes. It was your usual getup whenever you would train or workout. Yet no matter how many times Peter had seen you in them before, it never failed to make his heart skip a beat. It was nothing fancy at all, but God did it look stunning on you.

It was mostly unconscious, and well, his rational brain did sometimes take a backseat when it comes to you. But his eyes drifted over your body, from your exposed shoulders to your collarbones, flitting momentarily on your chest, before they went to your legs, your tight leggings leaving so little to his imagination as they hugged your thighs. He tried to move his gaze back up to look at you more appropriately but simply got stuck on your hips. There was a slight sway in them as you walked—in slow motion, he was sure of it—with such confidence, and the way you held yourself with power and poise was breathtaking.

Shit. Did the AC malfunction? Why is it suddenly so hot—

"Hi, Pete."

Your voice snapped him out of his stupor. But your bright, beautiful eyes and your so-goddamn-pretty smile all while you stood right in front of him was more than enough to have him swooning again.

"H-Hey," he squeaked, painfully aware of how hot his cheeks had gotten. Add the fact that he hadn't been out under the sun much, he was sure you could see how pink it was. That knowledge alone probably made it a shade darker. Then came the fleeting thought that you might've caught him practically eyeing you up—

He quickly cleared his throat, keeping his head down to hide his blush as he opened the door to the conference room.

"After you."

"Thank you," you hummed, reaching a hand out to squeeze his arm before you moved past him.

It took a lot for his knees not to wobble at the gesture, even more, when he caught a whiff of your shampoo…or was that your perfume? But if you had just gone on a morning run and taken a shower—no, that wasn't your body wash. You didn't look like you'd just got out of the shower, so maybe it was just your scent. God, you always smell so nice.

"Holy—get your shit together man," he grumbled to himself, hastily wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans, fixing up his hair before entering the conference room.

It was relatively empty—well, the whole compound was given that the rest of the Avengers weren't at headquarters in the meantime, caught in other obligations whether personal or otherwise. The only other person in the room was Wanda, sitting across from you.

"Pete," you called, tapping the chair beside you before he could even choose a seat to take. There were plenty of vacant ones. Trying to calm his raging heart, he walked over to your side and sat down. But each beat only grew faster when you tilted your head at him with a smile. "Did you go on a run this morning?"

"Oh—uh, no, not yet," he said, trying his best to keep his eyes on yours rather than let them wander, like…down your lips. Shrugging to seem unbothered, he added, "FRIDAY announced the meeting just when I woke up."

"I haven't either," you hummed. So, it was just your scent earlier, the same one that was filling up his nostrils now as you leaned a little closer to him. "Maybe we can go—"

"Another day, another robbery," Sam cut you off as he and Bucky entered the room.

You moved away from him then, leaning back on your seat, attention now on the captain. An unconscious frown made its way onto his lips, because yes, he was slightly—greatly—annoyed at the interruption.

"Only this time, it calls for a national emergency," Bucky added, taking the seat next to Wanda.

"Global, if we don't stop it in time," Sam sighed, connecting a flash drive to one of the USB ports installed on the table.

"Oh no, did they steal the president's nudes?" Peter joked, immediately shrinking in his seat when the two men shot him a look. "Sorry, sorry, bad joke and definitely not the time—I'll shut up."

"That was funny," you whispered, flashing him a smile and Peter's face immediately burned. He wasn't given much time to respond when Sam cleared his throat.

"As much as that would be horrifying, it's something much worse." He pressed a button on the table that made the hologram come to life. There was only one item shown, a rectangular, gold-colored device, probably the size of a credit card but thicker by half an inch. Sam pointed at it and said, "The Gold Codes."

"The Gold Codes?" Peter muttered, brows furrowed in confusion.

"The president's nuclear launch codes," you answered, always willing to help him out on things he wasn't too well versed on.

"Oh." Peter nodded, smiling at you appreciatively before his face fell, eyes widening in realization. "Oh. That's definitely worse than his nudes."

You laughed, and it made Peter's heart do flips.

"And of course, its partner, the nuclear football. But instead of it being a whole briefcase, it's been reduced to this—" Sam flicked through the hologram, a black device coming up beside the gold codes. It looked like a plain external hard drive, roughly the same size as a pocketbook. It wasn't that big so it was definitely easy to carry around and, by the looks of it, easier to steal.

"Technology advancing sometimes isn't the best," Bucky grumbled.

You sat straighter in your seat, forearms resting on the table as you eyed the devices. There was a furrow between your brows, lips pursed as you tilted your head.

Peter couldn't stop his smile.

He always found your thinking face adorable.

You turned to Sam after a moment and asked, "Don't they change the codes every day?"

"Yes, but as our hundred-year-old resident said, technology is advancing so the card automatically syncs up to any changes made," Sam explained.

"That's the stupidest thing ever," Wanda scoffed.

Peter nodded in agreement. "Why did these even get stolen in the first place?"

"The one who was carrying the nuclear football was a double agent," Bucky said.

"Classic," you scoffed. "And have we found where it is?"

Sam nodded at Bucky, the super soldier rummaging around a bag that Peter just noticed he brought with them. He slid across a black envelope with gold detailing, your brows furrowing as you took it in your hand.

"Oh wow, an invitation to a charity gala tonight at The Aces," you gushed, scanning through the glossy, black paper before you turned to look at Peter. You probably saw the confused look he wore because you offered him a sweet smile before explaining, "It's one of the fanciest ballrooms in New York, most of the galas they hold are very exclusive for the rich and the rich-rich, like filthy 'I can end world hunger but I'm an asshole so I won't' rich."

"Thanks," Peter hummed, smiling.

"I got you." You bumped his shoulder with a wink, which quickly made him blush.

"But it's a smokescreen," Sam continued. "The real party happens later in the night."

"That's what she said," Bucky interrupted enthusiastically, earning a heavy eye roll from Sam and laughs from you and Wanda. The technically old man looked around the room. "What? Did I say the joke wrong?"

"You got the spirit," Peter chuckled.

"As I was saying, they're holding a black market auction later in the night in the small underground theater a floor beneath the building." Sam continued, swiping up the hologram until it showed a floorplan of a theater along with a couple of photos of high-tech armor, guns, and a whole bunch of things Peter couldn't exactly name. What stood out the most to him, though, was the logos: Stark Industries, Oscorp, Pym Technologies, Sable International, and the likes. "Stolen technology and weapons being sold to anyone who has the money to buy them."

"So, it's like the dark web, but fancier," Wanda quipped.

"Stealing items and then selling them to the highest bidder," Peter hummed. "Sounds like the British."

You snorted, quickly covering your mouth when everyone turned to you with raised brows.

"Sorry," you mumbled, kicking him under the table playfully, probably as a warning to stop making you laugh. Peter only grinned proudly in response. He always felt proud whenever he made you laugh.

"Anyway, the nuclear football is easier to find. It's locked in a room along with the other items they're planning on selling," Sam started, flicking through the hologram to show a floor plan of the whole building. He circled the large room in the middle before tracing a pathway leading up to another, much smaller room. "It's located on the east wing, right side of the main ballroom. It has double doors so you wouldn't miss it, especially with the armed guards."

"And the card?" Peter asked.

"Would be much more difficult to retrieve. It's going to be with the person who orchestrated this whole thing. The problem is—"

"You don't know who it is," you finished.

Sam nodded grimly. "Whoever is the mastermind of this grand scheme has been quite good at maintaining anonymity. The only time they're going to reveal themselves, along with the codes, is during the secret auction, which you can't get into unless you're chosen to be there."

"If you think the gala was exclusive, the auction is on a different scale," Bucky explained.

"We don't know what code or secret handshake will be needed to be able to attend the auction. Our best course of action is to attend the gala, scope the scene, and hopefully, get intel on how to join the auction without much breaking and entering involved," Sam said. "I had Harley tap into the security system of the building and guess what?"

"You found an even bigger problem," you and Peter said at the same time.

Sam nodded. "The whole building is now armed with sensors fit to detect every single Avenger's superpower, any Stark-grade weapons and also, vibranium. Bucky's metal arm, Wanda's magic, my wings, so on and so forth. Neither of us could simply swoop in because the second those silent sensors go off, or any commotion will start, poof goes the codes along with our criminal."

Bucky shifted in his seat. "Even if we discard all of that and try not to use it, going in there as, quote-on-quote civilians won't work either because—"

"Everyone would immediately recognize who we are," Wanda finished.

"Since there are only two people here whose faces aren't known publicly"—Sam looked between the two of you—"Peter and Y/N, you two are going to be the ones to retrieve the codes and the football."

"W-What?" Peter choked, eyes wide as he stared at the captain. "Don't they have my powers in the sensors?"

"They only have it for your web shooters and suit, and as far as I know, both are detachable."

"But that's me, that's how I operate," he stammered. Going out there as himself wasn't part of his skill set. He'd feel too exposed without his suit. Not to mention he was going with you. Which of course wasn't a bad thing at all but it only added this pressure to not mess things up. He couldn't live with himself if he'd fail this mission, fail you—or worse, have you get hurt because he wasn't capable enough. "How am I supposed to be Spider-Man without those?"

"You have to give yourself more credit, Pete," you said, placing your hand over his own, the one resting on his thigh. Peter's eyes followed your touch before he met your gaze again, his blush prominent, heart thumping so loud he was scared you might hear it. "You're more than just a suit. And you need to remember how you've managed to make your synthetic web in the first place. So I'm sure you'll do fine with your brain alone. Even then, you still have other abilities, and you have me."

Peter looked at you fondly, a smile curling on his lips as he turned his hand so your palm was over his, squeezing it to silently say thank you. He wasn't even aware of what he was doing, not until he saw your smile turn slightly shy. It was the quick glimmer in your eyes that made him realize he was absentmindedly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

"Seconded." Wanda smiled at the two of you, chuckling when you and Peter jumped slightly away from each other. You pulled your hand away, Peter frowning at the loss of contact. But he shook his head, turning his focus back on the mission.

"Y/N here also said you'd gotten really good at your hand-to-hand combat skills," Bucky said, an all-knowing smile on his face as he glanced between you two. "So, I don't think you'd need your web shooters as much if ever it comes to a fight."

"Which we hope won't result in that," Sam quickly added with a reassuring nod. "The plan is simple: scope and mingle, assess the scene, try and get some information as to how to get into the auction. Once you've done that, sneak into the vault to retrieve the nuclear football. I've already assigned Harley to make a duplicate device to swap with the real one so it won't trigger the alarm.

"Then, you sit at the auction and wait until the codes come up. I'm sure it will be presented by the anonymous seller so by then, we will be able to put a face on the mastermind. Our agents should already be blocking every single exit of the building by that time so all you have to do is to retrieve the code calmly. Try and ease your way into the main stage, charm and persuade, or whichever way works. Any more questions?"

You and Peter looked at each other, before you both turned to Sam, shaking your heads.

"Good. We've already set your fake identities up, google searches running for miles, the last thing we need are photos, together, individually, candid and professional which would only take a few minutes. Your fake names are already on the guest list, your outfits and everything else you need will be waiting for you at the hotel you're getting ready at as part of the whole ruse," he instructed. "You two are the best and only shot we've got in this. Plan your moves wisely and rely on each other. We can't afford to lose those codes."

"Yes, Captain."

•••

The hotel suite was fancy.

Peter had never been in one this expensive-looking before.

It had its own living room, a minibar, a huge bathroom, a king-size bed, and then a massive window that overlooked New York City. He definitely indulged himself with their complimentary champagne, and given the fact that he couldn't get drunk, he mostly did it for the taste—which was flavored expensive, to those wondering. Hell, even the chocolate they had tasted expensive.

Then again, the two of you were undercover as a rich, engaged couple so it was part of the whole thing. You never know whose eyes and ears were for who in these types of missions.

But still, it was quite the treat and he'd be stupid not to make the most of it—without getting too distracted, of course.

Peter was now all suited up, not in spandex this time. It was a crisp, black, formal suit made with fabric he wouldn't dare guess the cost and a brand he couldn't even begin to pronounce. He had a white dress shirt underneath, paired with a black tie. The one he was currently having a hard time doing as he stood in front of the floor-length mirror in the living room.

He groaned in frustration when he once again messed it up. He didn't wear this kind of clothes often, so he really didn't have much of a reason to learn to master the art of…tying?

"Need help?"

Peter turned around, the breath knocked out of him once he saw you come out of the bedroom.

Wow.

Oh wow you looked gorgeous in red.

It was an off-shoulder, long-sleeved dress, your arms covered in lace as the fabric hugged your figure. The skirt was long as it fanned onto the floor with a really high slit on your right leg to show off the silver heels you were wearing. Your hair and make-up were done to marry the whole style, all while enhancing your natural features rather than covering them. Your red-painted lips though—

"Wow."

"Yeah," you laughed softly, your gaze falling over yourself as your hands smoothed the fabric of your dress. "I don't know who picked it but it's really pretty and it fits really nicely. Perks of having body scans for our suits, I suppose."

"You look beautiful," Peter breathed out, still frozen in his place as he stared at you in absolute awe.

"Thank you," you said, your sweet smile turning into a smirk as you eyed him up and down with a nod. "You clean up nice, too, Parker."

"Oh—uhm, t-thanks." He blushed, shaking his head before gesturing both hands at you. "But you, I—wow, you look, wow."

"Shut up," you laughed, your dress flowing as you moved closer to him. "Here, let me."

Peter wasn't even given much time to recompose himself when you once again took his breath away by simply standing so close to him. Every inhale was just filled with your scent, his heart skipping a few beats as he scanned your face, only a couple inches from his and God did you look even more beautiful up close.

His blush deepened when you reached for his tie, your brows furrowed in that adorable way he'd come to familiarize as you slowly did it for him.

Peter honestly didn't know what to do with his hands, yet there was some sort of pull that he couldn't resist, like an instinct as he gently rested them on your waist. He was distracted by how close you were, but not enough to miss the way your breath hitched at the contact. Testing the waters, he squeezed it gently, biting his cheek to stop his smile from growing when he saw your fingers falter.

But oh did the pride bubble in his chest.

You shook your head, finishing up his tie with a smile. It was Peter's breath that hitched this time when you smoothed it over his chest, your palms flat against the muscle, touch so sweet, skin so warm. You looked up, your smile faltering when your eyes met his.

He didn't know how long you stared at each other. He also didn't know who moved a little closer first, but he definitely wasn't complaining. Not when he was so close that he could count exactly how many eyelashes you had. And he gladly would've if your voice hadn't snapped him out of the trance that nobody could ever put him under but you.

"We should get going," you whispered, but you still lingered for a few more seconds, more than enough for his brain to run its course, thinking that maybe, his feelings for you weren't as unrequited as he thought.

It was the sound of a beeping alarm that broke you two apart.

"Come on, we can't be late," you said after a breath, flashing him a sweet smile before going to grab your things.

"Wait," he cleared his throat, patting around his pockets before finally retrieving a velvet box. You turned around just as he'd opened it, showing you the ring that resided inside.

Your eyes widened, lips opening and closing as you gawked at the sparkling diamond for a few seconds before you met his gaze. "Peter—"

"Oh shit! It's not what it looks like!" he panicked.

Peter did always find himself daydreaming about you often, and he would be lying if he said he hadn't already pictured something similar to this moment. But even he could recognize how many steps he'd basically jumped over by showing you a diamond ring. And as much as he would love to fast-forward to that part, he'd also like to take you out on a date first. Well, if he'd even get the courage to ask you that, anyway. 

"I-uh, you know, us, covering as an engaged couple? So, of course, uhm, you'll need an engagement ring?"

"O-Oh," you fumbled, nodding quickly before you offered him your left hand. "Yeah, of course."

Peter took it in his delicately, fingers running over your knuckles before he carefully slipped the ring on. Squeezing your hand, he reluctantly let go. 

"Did you pick this?" you asked, bringing your hand up to your face, fingers wiggling as you admired the ring.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, I did—well, Bucky helped."

"It's beautiful."

"It looks even more beautiful on you."

Your eyes snapped up to look at him, your smile growing as you hummed, "Charmer."

"It's the expensive suit." He shrugged, a teasing grin with a blush to match.

You laughed that lovely laugh of yours, adoration and pride swelling in his chest.

"Oh, Harley asked me to give you this," you said after a moment, pulling out a familiar pair of glasses before handing it to him. "He said it's all you need to do your magic."

"Nah, it's just a little tool kit I put together, really, kinda like a small computer so nothing magical about it," he chuckled, waving the glasses before putting them on. "It's carbon-based nanotech, passable through metal detectors. I've managed to look up what security system they had installed in the safe and there's sort of a minicomputer inside so it should be easy to bypass the system. I already have the program in here that would run through all the probable security codes so all I need to do is activate the glasses and it would automatically unscrew everything and connect to a hopefully pre-existing female micro-USB slot with the male counterpart in this old thing and—" he paused, face heating up as you gazed at him with a twinkle in your eyes. "What?"

"Nothing, just—you're amazing," you sighed, smile widening before you nodded. "Let's go?"

Peter ignored that way his whole body tingled at your praise and offered you his arm.

Not like it was a new reaction whenever he was around you, anyway.

"Let's."

•••

"Mr. Reid, the car is already waiting for you."

That was the first sentence Peter heard when you reached the hotel lobby. He looked behind him before looking at the man in a suit, pointing at himself in confusion.

"I'm not—"

"Lucas, honey, come on," you cut him off, slipping your fingers in his. You flashed him a knowing smile, squeezing his hand before you tugged him along as you followed the guy.

Right. Fake identities.

"Woah." Peter gawked at the car in front of him, leaning closer to you as he whispered, "Is that a Rolls Royce? Like, the new one?"

"Sort of. It's the Phantom Extended." You nodded with an amused smile. "The best way to blend in with the rich, don't you think?"

Peter was about to open the door for you but then the butler—at least, he assumed that was who he was—beat him to it. So, he opted on helping you with your dress instead, making sure it didn't get caught on anything as you settled inside.

"Thank you, my love," you giggled.

My love.

Peter luckily didn't slip on the expensive lambswool floor mat as he got into his seat.

It's pretend. Get a grip.

Once the car started moving, you pressed a button on the center console, the clear glass that separated the front and back immediately turning into an opaque white, completely secluding the two of you from the driver. He looked at you curiously, nervous—okay, and maybe a bit excited—as to why you decided you suddenly needed privacy. Peter had heard a lot of stories about what goes on in the rear cabin of expensive cars, especially with the partition up, so could it be—

"Did you get to read about our fake identities? The one Sam sent?"

Thinking with the wrong head again, aren't we, Parker?

"I, uhm, no, got too preoccupied with the ring and getting dressed," he admitted, looking at you guiltily. The mission had barely started and he was already messing it up. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, no, it's okay," you reassured with a smile, hand on his thigh, squeezing for good measure. He wasn't able to relish in the warmth of your touch for long as you shifted in your seat, turning around to face him. "I mean, everything is very last minute. I'll just tell you about it.

"Lucas Reid, the young 26-year-old and dashing CEO of Reid Enterprises. You inherited the company at nineteen when your father died of illness," you started.

Peter scrunched his nose. "So, basically, I'm a trust fund baby?"

"Sort of, but you do prove that you did the work," you said. "Company sales skyrocketed when you took the seat."

"What about you?" Peter gestured at your ring, blushing. "Well, apart from being my fiancée."

"I run my own fashion company." You shrugged, winking at him as you added, "Can't be living in my future husband's shadow now, can we?"

Future husband.

God how Peter wished for that to be true.

He shook his head, hands rubbing on his thighs. "Do we have a backstory? Like, as a couple?"

"Not much. Five years ago, we met in Milan during fashion week—"

"Let me guess, sparks flew right off the bat?" he chuckled.

"Love at first sight, obviously," you scoffed, rolling your eyes teasingly.

Not too far off from reality.

"Besides that, it's all the basics from there. Dates, extravagant gifts, and then two months ago, you proposed."

"Right," he started, bumping your knee with his lightly. "So, when's the wedding?"

You laughed, "We're not sure yet. Too busy."

"Of course," Peter sighed, rolling his eyes playfully. "Can't get me out of my office, now can you?"

"I have my ways," you hummed, wiggling your brows at him.

Peter was so sure his face had gone so red.

"You always do," he chuckled shyly, shaking his head before smiling at you. "Can we go over the plan real quick?"

You smiled. "Of course."

Peter knew what to do, obviously. He'd already gone over the plan probably a hundred times in his head. But he simply wanted to make sure he wasn't missing anything, especially something that could potentially jeopardize the whole mission. He couldn't afford even one single misstep, not when you and your safety could be put at risk—and the millions around the world that would suffer if those weapons got into the wrong hand, of course.

"We're almost there," you said once you've gone over the plans twice, eyes scanning across the windows. "It's just on the next turn."

Peter's heart quickened.

He didn't even notice that his emotions had gone evident on his face. Not until you squeezed his arm.

"You okay?" you asked, brows furrowed in concern.

"Yeah! Yeah, of course," he said quite unconvincingly. It was when he heard the ticking of the turn signal did his nerves shift to overdrive, his eyes wide as they met yours. "Shit, I don't think I can do this. I mean, I'm not usually out there with my face showing, you know? And I'm so so so not James Bond, I'm the farthest from James Bond I'm like, Lame Bond. I'm not smooth o-or charming or suave enough to be a spy—oh no. No, no, no, what if they find me out right away? I'm going to mess everything up and this is going to go horribly wrong and—"

"Hey!" you interjected, hands cupping his face, squishing his cheeks slightly as you pulled him closer, eyes boring into his with determination. Peter didn't know if it was the proximity that shut him up, or if it was your scent that overpowered his senses—probably both. "You're going to be fine. You've got this."

He gulped, nodding before letting out a shaky breath.

You smiled reassuringly, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, his skin turning redder with each caress. "Be observant, you don't have to talk. With this kind of crowd, trust me, the quiet ones are the most intimidating. If there's anything you feel like it's a bit off, trust your gut, and let me know, okay?"

"Okay," he breathed out, nuzzling into your palm absentmindedly, finding a sense of comfort from your warm touch.

"And if it gets overwhelming, just follow my lead."

•••

Peter got out of the car, nodding curtly with a tightlipped smile at the driver who opened the door for him.

He decided at the last minute that Lucas Reid was going to be a stoic, passively quiet CEO with a resting 'serious' face that only means business.

Peter straightened up his suit before he offered you his hand, the huge rock on your finger glinting underneath the city lights as your palm met his.

He gently guided you out of the car, helping you fix up your dress before offering you his arm. Your fingers curled around his bicep as you kissed his cheek with a soft thanks. Peter smiled at you warmly, pulling you closer to his side as you made your way inside the building.

Stoic and passive except towards his lovely fiancée, of course.

He might or might not have stumbled upon a few Mobster Spider-Man fanfictions on some website not too long ago. And he might or might not have taken some inspiration from it.

"Please take a basket to put your phones and any other electronic devices in and step under the detectors one by one," one guard instructed.

Adjusting his glasses, he pulled out his newly upgraded phone. It was sponsored by the Avengers obviously since he couldn't exactly rock up with his old, cracked one, with him being rich and everything. He smiled at the lock screen photo—it was of you and him, your lips pressed against his cheek, taken just a couple of hours ago to have photos to make this engaged couple gimmick believable—before he placed it in the basket you were holding up for him.

You smiled reassuringly before you stepped under the metal detector first, Peter following just closely after.

He let out a nervous breath when he saw how heavily armed the guards were. A variation of M17s and a couple of AK-47s were in the hands of fully uniformed men from head to toe. They look like your typical SWAT team, but Peter knew they were more dangerous than that, especially when their morals were as corrupted as he'd presumed.

He was an enhanced superhero, yes, but he sure as hell wasn't bulletproof. And as much as he could probably dodge a few shots, he would rather not take the gamble of finding out exactly how many he could avoid.

That wasn't what he was worried about, though. Because as he felt your fingers slip back into his, he was reminded of how vulnerable and defenseless you were. No superpowers, no bulletproof vests, still an amazing badass who without a doubt could take on two guys in a fight and win, but still a human who could get badly hurt by a simple pull of a trigger.

There were only so many bullets he could jump in front of you for.

"We're going to be fine," you whispered, squeezing his hand as if you could sense his worry. "I got your six."

Peter squeezed back. "And I've got yours."

The two of you stayed close to each other, arms linked as you headed towards the ballroom. But once the huge archway came into sight, you leaned closer to him.

"You go ahead," you whispered in his ear, squeezing his bicep. "I need to go to the bathroom."

Peter nodded.

He knew that some agents had already hidden some of your equipment hours before. Well, he hoped they successfully did, anyway. If not, then, you both might have to compromise.

Peter didn't know what exactly he was expecting when he entered the ballroom but it definitely wasn't as fancy as this.

The ballroom was grandiose in itself with its ornate marble columns and crown moldings, complementing the beautifully impressive murals that covered the ceilings. Even the red curtains that draped along the walls seemed far too luxurious for the mere fact that they were curtains for crying out loud.

Peter had never seen so many chandeliers hanging all in one space, not to mention, ones that seemed to be decked out in gold and crystals…or were those diamonds?

Everything was decorated with a color scheme of cream, black, silver, and gold, from the round tables and accompanying chairs. To contrast were various glass structures illuminated by some kind of light as they glinted and shimmered even from the corner of his eye. There was an open bar in one corner, a long table of finger foods and various desserts, and live music coming from the string quartet on a rotating, circular stage right in the center of a—is that an indoor fountain?

"Wow," you gasped as you appeared beside him, your eyes twinkling underneath the chandeliers. "It's gorgeous."

"Yeah," Peter sighed, eyes trained on the way your face glowed in awe as you admired the space. "Gorgeous."

Your smile brightened as you tilted your head, gaze meeting his. Then, your brows furrowed, stepping in front of him and eyeing the top of his head. "Come here. I need to fix up your hair."

Peter ducked his head without question, hands around your waist as he let you settle the mess of his windswept curls. He found the furrow of your brows absolutely adorable, but the way your tongue slightly poked out of your red lips made him want to just pull you in and kiss you senseless.

You tucked a few short strands behind his ear, gently pressing your thumb into his concha, the earpiece fitting snugly before he heard a faint crackle and then a deep voice.

"Parker, can you hear me?"

"Aye, aye, Captain," he muttered.

He heard a few snickers in the background followed by Sam scoffing sarcastically.

"My, aren't you two cute."

Peter's brows furrowed, confused eyes meeting yours. "What does he mean?"

"I answered the same way," you giggled, shrugging as you smoothed over his tie and buttoned up his suit jacket.

Peter's heart fluttered at that.

"We'll be on the line listening. Be discreet. Only communicate what's necessary."

You and Peter shot each other a look, grins widening into a knowing smirk.

"Aye, aye, Captain."

"Jesus Christ."

The line went quiet, presumably Sam muting their end until further notice.

Peter shook his head, chuckling before turning to you. "So, what now?"

"Scope," you said, waving back at a random woman who was making their way over to you both. You turned to him with a smile. "And mingle."

•••

Peter was so far out of his element.

He was already a terrible liar when under pressure, stuttering and blubbering until he would end up telling the truth. And that was around people he got along with.

Now how was he supposed to make small talk with the rich all while pretending to be rich himself when he clearly was not?

His best course of action? He didn't talk.

It fit well with the persona he'd created, anyway.

He was mostly following your advice—well, more like literally following you around. He was like your trophy fiancé in some way, and honestly, Peter wasn't opposed to it.

You were taking charge, and all he had to do was scope the scene, nod and smile whenever he was acknowledged while mostly speaking only to you.

From an outsider's point of view, he probably looked like such a puppy for his girl, only meeting your eyes, hovering by your side, his attention and touch always on you. A hand on the small of your back, an arm around your waist as he hung onto every word that slipped past your beautiful red-painted lips. For them, he was simply a man completely enamored by his soon-to-be wife. So it definitely sold this whole fiancé gimmick you two got going on.

Then again, it wasn't like he had to pretend that much, either. It wasn't hard to act all smitten with you because he already was. And, okay, he was playing it up a little. Peter would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy acting like you were his and he was yours, even if it was only for a mission.

Other than that, he also quite enjoyed indulging in the food and beverages that were paraded around by the waiters. It tasted so good, so obviously made with high-quality and expensive ingredients, but most importantly free. Could you blame him for taking advantage of it?

He was being an opportunist, he was well aware, which was why he didn't think much about downing the very tasty champagnes they offered, especially when he was free from any consequence that the drink brought—well, one of the consequences.

Because as much as he was immune to the buzz of the alcohol, he couldn't say the same for the effects it brought on his bladder.

It didn't really expand when his abilities got enhanced.

With how utterly gorgeous you looked tonight, it shouldn't have surprised him that the second he left your side, some men in this gala would take his absence as an opportunity to make a move.

He might've been acting like a guard dog, he admits, glaring at anyone who dared to glance at you wrongly. You were "his fiancée" after all, he was simply playing the part of your possessive protective husband-to-be.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

But still, when he came back after his little bathroom break, Peter wasn't too keen on what he saw.

You were talking to some dark-haired man wearing a bold, fully gold-colored suit and an even bolder beard. He didn't look old, but he didn't exactly look young, either. Or perhaps his facial hair played a part in that regard. He was—as much as he hated to say it—well-built and good-looking. If Peter was to guess, he was probably in his early 30s.

The interaction looked innocent enough, and Peter wouldn't have found it a big deal if this guy wasn't eyeing you up like you were a piece of meat.

"Amelia Devonché," the man greeted, his French accent thick, his flirtatious tone, even thicker.

So that's your fake name.

"The one and only," you said, smiling as you tilted your head. "Although I don't think we've been introduced."

"Halbert Auclair," he said, bowing as he held out an open palm.

Halbert? What kind of name is that?

"Pleasure to meet you," you hummed, slipping your hand into his.

"Pleasure's all mine. You look quite lovely tonight, mademoiselle," he crooned, bringing the back of your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

Peter's jaw clenched, an intensely heated emotion boiling his blood, only relaxing slightly when he heard your fake giggle.

He'd heard your real one enough to differentiate the two.

"Why, thank you, monsieur."

Clouded by his emotions, Peter took long strides towards you, swiftly wrapping a possessive arm around your waist and pulling you to his side, kissing your temple and then, without thought, near the corner of your mouth.

Your eyes snapped to meet his, a fleeting look of surprise on your features before you quickly masked it with a smile. "This is my fiancé—"

"Lucas Reid, one of the youngest yet richest CEOs here today," Halbert interjected, offering his hand out to shake.

"Hmm," Peter said with a curt nod, his grip a little tighter when he shook it.

"Man with few words, I see," Halbert chuckled dryly, flexing his fingers once they were free from his hold.

Peter bit his cheek to stop a smirk, pushing his glasses up before slipping his hand into his pocket, looking at you with a much more relaxed smile.

"My fiancé isn't great with crowds. Always stuck in his office, he is. The only thing in his mind is the business, and well, me," you gushed, resting your left hand on his chest, tilting your head to flash him a smile. "Am I right, handsome?"

"Very much so, darling," Peter said, unaware of how his voice sounded. He was still running on jealousy that he couldn't help but gently take your hand from his chest, bringing the back of it to his lips and then kissing the diamond ring on your finger. He smiled at you sweetly as he ran his thumb over your knuckles. "You still owe me a dance, my love."

You blinked a few times, lips parting before you shook your head with a soft laugh, "Oh, yes! How can I forget."

"Have a lovely night, madem—"

Peter didn't even wait for him to finish his sentence as he gently ushered you towards the dance floor, just in time for the string quartet to play their version of Quando, Quando, Quando.

So…he didn't quite think this through.

Peter had no idea how to dance.

His boiling jealousy was quickly replaced with nervousness and dread as you guided his hands, one on your waist, the other curled around yours.

You were so blatantly staring at him that his nerves could only grow tenfold. It was only a matter of time before you realized just how jealous he acted. Hell, he only just realized it after the emotion had left his system. And despite avoiding your eyes, he could still sense it, how you were trying to figure out why he'd done what he just did.

Peter cleared his throat, "Something wrong?"

"Are you okay?" you countered, placing your hand on his shoulder before moving to the music.

He didn't know if he should be thankful or slightly embarrassed that you were the one leading the dance. But then again, there probably would never be a time when Peter wouldn't follow your lead—dancing or otherwise.

He'd follow you to the ends of the earth if he could.

It was working, though, bodies synchronously swaying to the sound of strings as if you'd done this plenty of times before. It was either a testament to how good you were at basically everything—a quick learner, a leader, a teacher and hell, a dancer—or just how well you two complemented each other.

Peter believed it was both.

"Yeah," Peter chuckled timidly, eyes trained on the ground to avoid your eyes and to make sure he wouldn't step on your foot. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seemed…" you paused, hand squeezing his shoulder lightly. "Angry."

Peter blushed.

Jealous. Not angry.

"I'm not," he brushed off, shaking his head. "Got nothing to be angry about."

"Right," you hummed, and it sounded like you didn't believe him at all.

"Did I mess up?" Peter sighed, worried eyes finally meeting your curious ones.

"What? No. You just came off as quiet which isn't a big deal," you reassured, smile widening with amusement. "Where did that South London accent come from, though?"

"Wait." Peter blinked, frowning. "I did an accent?"

"Yeah, you did," you laughed. "Which I didn’t even know you could do."

"I guess I was too nervous to even realize," he admitted, chuckling. "I've been binge-watching The Great British Bake Off lately, maybe I just picked it up."

"So nervousness makes you do accents," you hummed, smiling. "Interesting."

"What?" He narrowed his eyes at you teasingly. "Don't tell me you like a British accent too, like, half the world apparently."

"It's cute," you admitted with a shrug. "But I like your accent more."

Peter blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah, I like the kid from Queens," you said nonchalantly.

Peter almost stepped on your foot. If you weren't a trained spy with quite good reflexes, you might've gone home with a bruised toe.

You shook your head, giggling as you pulled him back to the rhythm of the dance. "You're going to have to keep the charade if you speak to other people, now, though"

"Yeah, didn't really think about that." Peter scrunched up his face, clearing his throat before he looked at you shyly. "I really don't dance."

"Well, you're doing great so far," you hummed, pulling him closer as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Peter secured his on your waist then, both of you gliding across the dance floor to the symphony of the strings as you held each other's gaze. It was impressive, really, that this was the first time you both danced together, but danced like two spiders spinning their silks in a synchronized choreography to create a large heart-shaped web.

Then, he felt bold, confident.

He didn't know if it was from that same pull from earlier tonight, his senses being muddled by your overpowering presence, your warm body pressed so close against him, or the sweet lure of the music that added something to the air.

Perhaps it was everything all at once.

But Peter couldn't help but lean even closer, the tips of your noses just a hair's breadth away.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, his gaze fluttering across your face before meeting your eyes.

Peter reveled in the way your smile got shy.

"You've said that already."

"Once will never be enough."

You shook your head with a giggle, eyes twinkling, "And you said you aren't smooth."

"Like I said," he started, lowering his voice, shrugging with a teasing grin, "It's the expensive suit."

Peter's heart warmed at your sweet laugh, that certain pull growing stronger at the lovely sound. He dipped his head, noses touching before he pressed his forehead against yours. He squeezed your waist when your breath hitched, warm and inviting as it tickled his lips, tempting, oh so close—

"Ahem."

You both jerked back, eyes wide with surprise.

"Sam! You've ruined it!" Peter heard Wanda hiss through the earpiece.

"He was finally getting somewhere!" And that was Harley.

Peter's whole face grew hot with embarrassment, squeezing your waist, still keeping you close as he looked away.

He completely forgot about the comms being live and open to everyone back at the compound.

Then again, all of them had been suspiciously quiet until now. 

"Well, damn, I'm sorry? But this is an important mission, not a radio drama?"

"You just had to cockblock—"

"I'm surprised you even know what that means, you white fossil—"

You cleared your throat, smiling at Peter shyly. "Any intel?"

"I think that French dude is our bad guy," he answered swiftly, ready to change the subject or else his knees might go out.

"Auclair?" You raised a brow at him with a smirk. "How so?"

Peter might sound like he had a vendetta against the guy who shamelessly flirted with you. But, he did have a few points to back his claim.

"It's kinda weird how quickly he knew about us. Unless he stole the guest list and researched every single one of the names or he's the host. Also, he really made a point in stating how rich I am. You only do that when you want money for the auction. And if that's not proof enough—" Peter pulled a black and silver playing card out of his pocket, the same one Halbert gave to him during the handshake. "Seven of hearts, well, kinda. It's more arrows than it is hearts. All of them are pointing downward no matter which way you turn it. Look—" He turned the card, an almost holographic effect as the arrows remained south. "That's not how normal playing cards are. So I assume it means downstairs to the secret auction. And we've got about an hour max until it's seven. And if that's not obvious enough—" Peter showed you the back, tilting it to the light to expose the words 'Big Toys, Bigger Guns' in the middle in gold lettering.

"Cheesy, but it works," he finished.

"That's a really good catch, wow," you praised, grinning proudly. "Someone's getting the hang of this already, huh?"

"Watching those James Bond movies finally paid off, I guess," he chuckled, nodding at you. "Plus, I got a good teacher."

You smiled. "Keep a careful eye on him," you instructed, snorting a little when he all but glared when he found the man. You squeezed his slightly tensed shoulders. "Subtlety."

"I don't think I need to be subtle because he keeps eyeing you like he stands a chance as if the rock on your finger isn't big enough. You're my fiancée. So me glaring at some guy with too much beard who looks at you far too long for comfort let alone appropriate isn't out of the ordinary," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Men are pigs I tell you."

"Someone's committed to the bit," you teased, smiling far too bright for it to be innocent. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're jealous."

Peter quickly snatched a champagne flute from the tray when a waiter walked past, handing it to you with a small curtsy.

"You look parched, my darling."

You rolled your eyes but took the glass anyway, your grin telling him that maybe you like the accent more than you were letting on.

But she likes your accent more.

Peter couldn't stop his heart from melting at the thought.

He was also glad that his distraction worked, his jealousy hopefully forgotten as he guided you toward the bar once the song finished.

"Door's unguarded," you murmured against the glass, sipping gingerly before you handed it back to him. "Stay here and keep an eye out. I'll find us a key."

Peter nodded, sitting on one of the stools as he carefully and deliberately followed your movement. Not that he thought you couldn't handle yourself, but an extra pair of eyes will always be better than none. Also, he was being observant of his surroundings, his enhanced senses helping in making sure there wasn't anything suspicious going on, keeping him on high alert in case he needed to jump in.

He watched with pride as you slyly stole a keycard from a gullible enough guard who was too distracted by your flirting. It was an impressively swift sleight of hand that if he wasn't paying attention enough, he would've missed it.

Still, Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes at how stupid and easy these guards tend to be, any focus and rational thought out the window all because of an alluring smirk, a teasing touch and a glimpse of skin—the simplest seduction from one gorgeous woman.

But then again, he wasn't exactly one to talk. Because as innocent as a bright smile from you, Peter would literally do anything you ask him to.

He was far too focused on you that he didn't even realize that someone had replaced your seat, not until he heard his name—well, the fake one.

"Lucas Reid."

Peter turned, eyes landing on a woman wearing a gold dress, curled, long hair framing a somewhat familiar face. Peter wasn't blind, he could see she was objectively pretty. But she simply could never hold a candle next to his gorgeous fiancée—fake or otherwise.

"Greta Auclair," she said with a smile, holding out her hand.

Peter didn't miss the flirtatious undertone in her actions. How could he when she was so adamant on fluttering her eyelashes at him, or the way she wasn't subtle at pushing up her chest, the low-cut top doing so little to hide…it? Them?

Not that he was looking. It was simply in his line of sight.

"Auclair," he hummed, shaking her hand briefly as he tried to make sure his accent didn't sound so forced. He honestly didn't know why he decided to make things harder for himself. "Any relation to Halbert?"

"Twin sister," she waved off, flipping her hair to one side.

Peter nodded without another word, attention swiftly shifting to search for you in the crowd.

"I must say, I've heard a lot of things about you," she hummed as she leaned forward, fingers curling around his bicep, gold-colored, manicured nails glinting underneath the light as she squeezed the muscle. "Apart from being a quiet man, of course."

Peter's resolve faltered a little, the gesture completely catching him off guard.

What's up with this family and overstepping personal space?

"Good things, I hope." He smiled tightly, crossing his arms over his chest, subtly shaking her hand off.

"Oh yes, very good things," she giggled, hand on his thigh as she leaned forward with a smirk. Winking, she added, "Naughty ones, too."

Peter gulped as he leaned back.

"O-Oh, uh—"

"Lucas."

He quickly spun around on his stool to the sound of your voice, facing you fully. His eyes widened in surprise as you gently nudged his knees apart but he didn't even hesitate to make room for you to stand in between. He placed his hands on your hips when you pulled him closer, your arms snaking around his neck.

Peter didn't know exactly what was going on, but he certainly wasn't complaining. Besides, like he said before, he would always follow your lead.

Yet still, he looked up at you in both curiosity and confusion, trying to gauge what was going through your mind. But you certainly were better at reading people than he was. Or perhaps that was you simply being a master at masking your emotions. Because apart from the slight edge on your smile, he was coming up empty.

"You must be Amelia," Greta interrupted.

Your grip on Peter's shoulder tightened, eyes rolling with a scowl before you turned to Greta with a forced smile. "Yes, hi."

Peter's brows raised at your uninterested tone, even more when you didn't even bother prolonging the conversation as you turned back to him, body leaning closer.

Interesting…

"Can you help me find the bathroom?" you purred, tone seductively sweet to match the implication of your words. You pressed your chest against his, faces only inches apart as your fingers played with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

Peter short circuited.

He merely stared at you in awe, blood growing hot, heart pumping erratically as his grip on your waist tightened.

Peter would be lying if he said he wasn't at the least bit turned on.

"Please?" you added with a pout when he didn't manage to speak for a good few seconds.

It was the slight pinch on his skin that snapped him out of it.

"Of course, my love," he said, clearing the lump in his throat as he hastily stood up.

Peter wasn't even given the time to get his bearings straight when you immediately took his hand in yours, pulling him away from the bar and down the hallway. He squinted at the sudden brightness of the ceiling lights, greatly illuminating the cream wallpaper with intricate gold-colored patterns, similar crown molding from those in the ballroom, and various paintings hanging on the walls for guests to admire. The space was obviously still for public access, but it was relatively empty.

Once you two were alone, you didn't bother hiding your emotions. And Peter could clearly tell that you were angry.

It was making him slightly nervous.

"Is everything okay?"

You ignored him.

Peter frowned when pulled your hand from his and put some distance between you. He watched as you tensely opened a metal door, entering in haste without looking back. He ran after you to avoid getting locked out, the two of you entering another much smaller hallway that could only fit one person at a time. It was more of a tunnel, to be honest.

He never liked it when you were upset, especially during a high-risk mission. But most of all, he hated disappointing you, and with the way you were acting, he could only assume he'd done something wrong.

Peter was hot on your tail, carefully watching your every sharp turn, just to make sure he wasn't going to lose you. Though, it wasn't long until you two emerged into a hallway that was similar to before.

You were staring straight ahead, heels clicking angrily as the skirt of your dress rapidly swished with every harsh step.

Oh you were pissed.

"Did I do something?"

"You shouldn't be distracted on the job," you said, tone clipped.

"But I wasn't distracted," he defended, his frown deepening.

"Flirting, distracted, same thing," you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "It's not the time to woo girls. This is not a frat party."

Flirting? Woo girls?

"But I wasn't flirt—wait," he paused, his smile breaking out as realization dawned on him.

He could be quite oblivious sometimes, but he was not dumb. This wasn't going over his head, not when the way you were acting looked far too familiar. He'd seen the same thing happen only a couple of minutes ago, after all.

Because you weren't angry. 

Much like how he wasn't angry moments before your dance.

Peter stopped, looking at you carefully with arms crossed over his chest, smirking as he quoted your words,

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're jealous."

You halted in your tracks, shoulders straightening with a huff before you continued walking.

It told Peter everything he needed to know.

He couldn't wipe off his smirk, pride bubbling in his chest, confidence boosted that little bit more as he jogged after you.

"There's going to be two guards at the door," you instructed monotonously once he reached your side, eyes avoiding him. "I'll distract one. You take care of the other one."

Peter stood straighter with a salute, still grinning from ear to ear.

"Yes ma'am."

You rolled your eyes, but he didn't miss the way the corner of your lips quirked up.

•••

"Excuse me, ma'am, this area is restricted."

"Oh, dear! My apologies, is this not where the bathroom is?" you gasped, and Peter was impressed at how clueless you sounded. If he didn't know you beforehand, he never would've guessed that you'd be one of the most elite and smartest spies there ever was. "Would either of you fine gentlemen guide me to where it is?"

Peter heard the two guards grumble before one spoke up gruffly, "Go. I've got this covered,"

"Yay!" you giggled, clapping your hands excitedly. "Thank you so much!"

Peter couldn't stop his grin at how cute you were.

When you and the other guard were out of sight, Peter made a run for it. Guard Two only caught a split-second glimpse of him before his fist harshly connected with their jaw, wincing when he heard a faint crack.

"Sorry," Peter whispered with a grimace, standing straight and adjusting his glasses. "Didn't mean to hit that hard."

He quickly turned towards the sound of grunts and hisses, fists colliding against muscles and then a body falling onto the floor. He rushed towards where you disappeared, entering the hallway just in time to see you fixing up your dress. Your eyes met his when he walked over to you, your smile sweet yet proud.

"Need a lil help carrying this guy," you said, gesturing behind you.

He nodded with a chuckle, eyes trained on your face once he reached your side before his brows furrowed.

"You got a little—" Before he could think about it, he reached a hand up, thumb rubbing over the corner of your mouth, attempting to get rid of the smudged lipstick.

He couldn't help but stare, easily putting him in a trance as he smoothed his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it away slightly before letting it plop back, your warm breath tickling his skin when your lips parted.

Your little outburst of jealousy earlier might've boosted his confidence a lot more than he'd initially let on.

"Peter," you murmured. "The guard."

"Oh! Right," he cleared his throat, moving over to the unconscious guard, hauling them over his shoulder effortlessly as if they weighed nothing. He walked over to the second guard, doing the same over his other shoulder. When he turned around, he saw you standing there, brow raised. He shrugged, smirking. "Super strength."

You shook your head, rolling your eyes, "Show off."

Peter laughed.

After carrying both guards into the room—unlocked thanks to their keycards and fingerprints—you busied yourself with their weapons.

Peter was looking through the various crates and boxes, all labeled with familiar and not-so-familiar logos, some in different languages, while others were completely blank. Some items weren't hidden at all, from high-tech guns in glass displays to alien guns in wooden crates, various iterations of vibranium shields, and holy shit, is that a Wakandan spear?

"Where the hell did they get all of these? This is so much ammo in one room—"

Peter's words died in his throat when his eyes landed on you.

You were leaning over, one foot resting on one of the boxes on the floor, your fingers grazing your leg as you carefully pulled your skirt up inch by tempting inch until your thigh was exposed to him. Your gun holster later came into view, the straps squeezing the supple flesh tightly and fuck—

Peter had never wanted to be an inanimate object so badly ever in his life.

He quickly averted his gaze when you pulled your skirt back down. He pretended to read the labels on some crates as he cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt because Jesus it's getting really hot in here.

"Take this," you said, walking over to him with your hand extended, your fingers curled around the barrel of a gun.

Peter's eyes widened as he looked at the gun and then at you. "We haven't gotten to this part of my training yet."

"Come on, you've seen some movies."

"Since when did movies become tutorials?"

You stared at him for a moment, shaking your head with a chuckle before holding up the gun before him to demonstrate.

"Safety on when you don't want to shoot, safety off when you want to shoot," you said, flicking the pin on the side of the gun. "Cock it only once. It's semi-automatic so after that, all you need is to pull the trigger for continuous shots. Grip with two hands, dominant hand tight around it, other hand on top. Don't try to be arrogant by holding it with only one, especially when you've never fired a gun in your life. Point and shoot, simple. Make sure you aim at the bad guy, though."

You took his hand and placed the gun in his palm, smiling at him sweetly as if you hadn't just given him a loaded weapon.

"Got it?"

Peter stared at you dumbfounded, gulping as he held it to his chest, "That's definitely not all there is to it when using a gun."

"Hey, don't worry," you said reassuringly, squeezing his shoulder. "It's just for precaution. You might not even need to use it."

Peter nodded with a sigh, staring at the gun in his hand before he slipped into the hem of his pants, snuggly kept there by his belt.

Rookie mistake.

"Make sure the safety is on before you put it there, wouldn't want an accident to happen."

Peter froze before he quickly pulled it out, aiming the barrel as far away from him as possible.

He groaned in utter embarrassment when you laughed.

"Can you just carry it for me?" he asked, pouting for good measure. "Please?"

"You're fine," you giggled, gesturing at your leg. "And I only have one thigh holster."

Yeah. I saw.

"I really don't want to shoot myself in the balls," he said, physically shuddering as he screwed his eyes shut. "And I think you're aware of how clumsy I get sometimes."

You laughed out loud, shaking your head as you moved back toward one of the unconscious guards. Peter watched you curiously as you started checking their suits, a faint 'aha!' leaving your lips before you started taking one of their jackets off.

Peter's brows shot up. "What are you—"

"Jacket off," you interjected, showing him a shoulder holster. He did as told as you walked back to him. You helped him slip the harness on, clicking buckles and adjusting the straps before taking his gun and slotting it in soon after. You tilted your head as you smooth it over him. "Better?"

"Much," he breathed out, smiling at you gratefully as he slipped his jacket back on. "Thanks."

You returned his grin, patting his chest before you went and looked for the safe.

Which didn't take too long.

"They could've at least made it inconspicuous, shit's too easy," you scoffed, gesturing at the safe that had a huge American flag on it, stars and eagles, too, as if it wasn't obvious enough. You looked at him with a knowing smile. "Do your magic."

Peter squatted in front of it, taking his glasses off and twisting the nose bridge. There was a soft whirring sound before the glasses turned into a mini, android spider.

Carbon-based nanotech will always impress him. Imperceptible to metal detectors all while never losing its function and durability.

"Of course it's a tiny spider," you muttered, delight laced in your tone.

"What?" He looked at you over his shoulder with a teasing pout, holding up the spider in his palm. "You don't like him?"

You purse your lips, shaking your head before meeting his eyes. "He's cute."

"And hopefully he works, too," he said, turning back to the safe before carefully placing the little guy on the keypad. It took a few moments for the mechanical spider to do its thing. Peter let out the breath he was holding when the safe opened without a hitch. He looked at you with a grin, gesturing at the device inside. "Voilà."

You scrunched up your face. "And that proves that you can't be good at everything."

"Hey!" he gasped. "It wasn't that bad."

"Just leave the French accent alone," you teased, though your eyes were shining with admiration. "But that brain of yours is definitely something else."

Peter blushed, waving your compliment off, "Nah, it's just—"

"Shut up, Parker," you scoffed playfully, but your smile was genuine. "You're incredibly smart and annoyingly amazing. It's not up for discussion."

"Thanks," he chuckled shyly, cheeks turning redder. He gestured at the nuclear football, before looking up at you. "You have the decoy, right?"

"Oh, right." You nodded, reaching into the neckline of your dress before you pulled the rectangular device out, showing it to him with a proud grin.

Peter stared at you, mouth agape.

"What?" you snorted, shaking your head at his surprised face. "I don't have pockets!"

"You could've asked me to carry it."

"I can't exactly bring you with me into the ladies' restroom now, can I?" you said, shrugging. "And I couldn't just hand it to you in the middle of the ballroom with all those people."

"Touché," he hummed, taking the device from your hands. His brows furrowed as he turned it in his palm. "Is it supposed to be warm?"

"It's been with the girls in the past hour or so, of course it's going to be warm."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he tried not to let his curious thoughts wander.

He was failing, though. Miserably so.

Because holding the device when it's been in your boobs made him wonder exactly how warm your boobs would actually feel if it was direct contact, right in the palm of his—

"What?" you asked, none the wiser, briefly. Because then it was immediate, the realization crossing your face, probably noticing just how red his face had gotten. "Oh my god—Peter!"

"Sorry!" he squeaked, hurriedly turning his back on you, focusing on the task at hand.

"My boobs are clean, by the way."

"That wasn't the route my thoughts went to," he grumbled.

"Yeah, I figured," you giggled. "Just wanted to confirm."

He rolled his eyes even though you couldn't see him.

Focus. You got this.

But just as he was about to switch the devices, you moved closer to him, bending over until you were at eye level with the safe, your scent overpowering to the point of being distracting.

"Y/N," Peter sighed, head hanging low as his hand fell onto his sides. "You're making me really nervous when you're breathing down my neck."

"Sorry! Sorry," you laughed, heels clicking as you moved further behind him. "I'll just…step back."

With bated breath yet careful fingers, Peter swiftly switched the devices, blowing out his cheeks in relief when nothing happened.

"Great job, Pete."

He shot you a smile over his shoulder and closed the safe, letting his spider friend reverse its steps before taking him off the safe, pressing its tiny tummy for it to turn back into glasses.

Peter put it back on, running his fingers through his hair before turning to you.

You beamed and held out your palm.

But just as he was about to hand you the device, he quickly pulled it back with narrowed eyes.

"Are you putting this in your boobs again?"

You stared at him in amusement. "I didn't grow any pockets at the last minute, so yes."

"Don't you think it's dangerous?" he reasoned, carefully waving the device to get his point across. "I mean, this is the real thing."

"It's not radioactive," you chuckled. "It's not going to suddenly blow up."

"We don't know that—"

"Hey, don't worry," you hummed, your reassuring smile turning mischievous. "I'll still have my boobs at the end of this mission."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm concerned about you, like, as a whole person."

"Yeah, I know, and that includes my boobs."

He groaned, "Is this becoming a thing?"

You shook your head, laughing, "No, no, I just didn't think I'd find out that you're a boob guy, during a mission, no less."

"I'm not a boob guy," he scoffed.

Peter was a you guy, to be honest, as in you as a whole person—eyes, boobs, lips, butt, thighs, everything included.

And personality, obviously.

You laughed, leaning close to kiss him on the cheek, throwing him off-guard that you were able to take the device from him without breaking a sweat.

Peter sighed in defeat.

He really wasn't any better than any of the guards in this building.

"Come on," you called, hands now free, the device properly hidden with 'the girls' as you opened the door for him. "We need to get going."

•••

You both were navigating your way back into the ballroom when the hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood up.

"People incoming," he warned, grabbing your hand as you pulled you down a hallway. His enhanced hearing just about picked up the sound of guns being loaded. "Armed."

"How many?" you asked, your free hand picking up your skirt as you walked even faster.

He tried to listen closely, calculating the footsteps that echoed down the hall sans both of yours

"Four," he confirmed, brow raising. "Maybe Five."

"That's too many. The minute they'll see us, they're going to get suspicious. It's going to be too late for both of us to take all of them down without at least one sending a signal," you rushed, testing out every door down the halls in hopes that you'd get lucky. "We need to find a place to hide."

"Shit," Peter cursed, looking from left to right of the hall. "They're coming from both sides."

"In here!"

He wasn't given much to process your words when you all but grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pushed him inside a room. The space was quick to grow smaller when you followed suit, your dress knocking over a broom on your way in.

Of course it had to be a janitor's closet.

As if his life wasn't already filled with enough clichés.

Peter grabbed the handle to pull the door close, darkness swallowing you both as it clicked shut. He felt around the metal knob only for his fingers to fall on an entirely flat surface.

"There's no lock," he said, so deathly confused. "What kind of door has no lock?"

"Quiet!" you hissed, pressing your palm over his mouth.

Peter stared at you wide-eyed, his pupils slowly adjusting to the lack of light that he was only now able to gauge just how close you two were.

"Listen," you whispered.

He nodded, closing his eyes as he concentrated on distinguishing the voices.

"The guards have been knocked out."

"Nothing is missing in the room."

"Still, check everything. Be on high alert for anything out of the ordinary."

Peter's eyes snapped open, panic settling in as he heard the footsteps growing nearer.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed, voice muffled by your palm. You removed your hand, eyes confused yet expectant. He explained in hurried whispers, "They're not suspicious of anything being stolen yet but they're coming this way. If we get caught, they're going to immediately find out what we're up to and we're doomed."

Peter watched as your face went through different types of emotions. First, it was worry, a flicker of panic crossing your eyes only to be replaced by something else entirely. The crease between your brows deepened, lips pursed as you tilted your head.

It was that all too familiar thinking face he'd grown to adore.

A second later, your brows shot up, eyes wide, and—if he didn't know any better—twinkling as if a light bulb lit up on top of your head.

"Not unless we make them believe we're just some couple needing a quick fix."

"What?" Peter asked, confused.

You only gave him a sheepish smile and a barely-there whisper of,

"I'm sorry."

Peter wasn't given the time to ask what you were apologizing for when you suddenly grabbed him by the nape of his neck and crashed your lips against his.

He stumbled, his back hitting the shelves. Although the way his head was spinning was definitely not because of the impact.

Peter groaned, kissing you back immediately and with fervor, his hands gripping your waist, head tilting as he pulled you closer.

He shivered when your hand moved down his chest before moving inside his jacket, only realizing that you were slipping the nuclear football between the holster, tugging the straps a little tighter to stop it from slipping out.

Then, you guided his hands, much like with your dance earlier. Yet this time, one landed on your exposed thigh as you hiked your leg against his waist, placing the other on top of your ass.

Peter felt like he was about to faint.

But with every bit of respect he had for you—which was a lot—he still hesitated. 

He was unsure as to how far he was allowed to go, deeply worried to cross the line of no return. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable by pushing your boundaries.

He also didn't want to ruin everything he had with you. Whether that was you being his friend or you being his teammate, he really didn't want to lose any of it.

Peter didn't want to lose you.

"It's okay," you whispered against his lips, probably sensing his inner turmoil. "Touch me, Peter."

That was the last thing that made any sliver of his self-control snap.

He growled, squeezing your ass and your thigh simultaneously, pulling your body flush against his as if you could go any closer.

Your gasp was met by a low groan, your hand fisting his jacket as the other took home in his styled hair.

The door swung open, a momentary stream of light illuminating the tiny room. There was a disgusted growl before the door slammed close, darkness covering you both again but neither of you stopped.

Peter gripped your hips, pushing you back slightly until you were the one pressed against the closed door. He cupped the back of your neck, arm curling your waist as he slotted his thigh in between yours in a desperate need to be inhumanly closer.

Your soft moan just about made his knees buckle.

It also made him feel daring enough to gently tease his tongue against your bottom lip. You let him in with his ease, both of you moaning as your tongues did their own dance inside your mouth.

It was intoxicating.

The faint taste of champagne mixing with the taste of you. 

It was something that Peter probably spent a great amount of time thinking about yet nothing in his imagination ever came close. No matter what his brain had conjured in the past, it could never do you justice.

It was addicting.

Your pretty little sighs in response to his soft groans, how you were everywhere, your scent, your taste, your overwhelming warmth engulfing his very being. Peter was drowning in all things you, the very thing that could make him breathe again.

It was too much, yet he needed more.

You were so close, but not close enough.

Peter's hands glided down your body until he was cupping your ass, their warmth settling on each of his palms. But just as he was about to tell you to jump up into his arms, you placed a firm hand on his chest.

Your lips detached with a soft pop, the back of your head softly thumping against the door. You gasped for air, hands fisting his jacket before you rested your forehead against his.

He really needed to remember the fact that he could hold his breath longer than any average human could.

Peter put his hands back on your waist, fingers squeezing as he nudged your nose.

"Y/N, I—"

"Like you, too."

Peter's eyes widened, head pulling back as he stared at you in shock. Whatever confession he had left his brain, a lump caught in his throat, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he failed to string any letter into words.

Oh boy he was flustered.

The thought of you, you, someone so confident, someone who is way out of his league liking him back, him, little nerdy, dorky, stumbly old Peter Parker, it made his heart soar.

"I'm a trained spy, Pete, I know how to read people," you giggled when he stayed silent for a few seconds. "It's written all over your face. You really haven't been subtle about it the whole night, either."

"I don't think subtlety is my specialty," he whispered, a shy smile growing on his lips as he pressed his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses brushing in the sweetest of ways.

"It really isn't." You nodded in agreement with a wide smile of your own.

"So I don't think I need to be subtle about this," he started, gaze holding yours. He was nervous, but if he didn't say this out loud, he might just explode. "I'm falling for you."

"You're so cliché," you giggled, his cheeks growing hot, his whole body melting, his heart jumping out of his chest and landing straight into the palm of your hand when you added, "I'm falling for you, too."

"Really?" he asked, surprised yet his voice came out a little shy.

It was obvious enough. The words had been said. But he wanted to make sure because this just seemed like one big lucid dream and he'd actually die if he were to wake up any moment now.

"I mean, I haven't been subtle about it either," you giggled, kissing him briefly yet sweetly, brushing your nose with his as you breathed out, "But yeah, I do. I feel so strongly for you Peter that I just—I feel nervous, I feel giddy, I feel safe and appreciated and I just feel so, so happy whenever I'm around you and I just, whatever I did in the past didn't matter because you accept me for me and I trust that you've got the best intentions, I trust you with my life, and you're just the sweetest most thoughtful and I'm just glad to have known you and—" you paused, shaking your head with a soft laugh, "I'm such a sap."

God this felt like a dream come true.

"I like you being a sap," he chuckled shyly. "But I'm just…me, though."

"Exactly," you confirmed, smile genuinely laced with pride. "You're brilliant, Peter Parker. How can I not fall for you?"

Peter's cheeks were starting to hurt with how wide his smile was, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining.

"You're so way out of my league," he whispered, arms wrapping around your waist.

"I could say the exact same thing to you," you giggled, pecking his lips. "But let's debate about this another time, yeah? We still got some codes to find and a bad guy to catch," you said, turning around swiftly to face the door before he could even have a chance to stop you.

"Wait, don't—" Peter sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on your waist tightening as his face landed on the juncture between your neck and shoulder. Your back was against his chest, bodies pressed up far too close. "—move," he lowly groaned against your skin.

"Oh."

Peter felt his whole body heat up from embarrassment. Because he knew you could definitely feel it behind you. He could hear the fast pace of your heart, and if that wasn't a tell-tale sign, he didn't know what was. And no matter how much he tried to pull away, even just slightly, the small space of the closet wasn't letting him do so.

"I'm sorry, I am so, so, so sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen I—"

He tried to move away from you again, but clumsily elbowed the shelf on his right instead which made a few empty buckets topple over from the top. He quickly pulled you back to avoid you getting hit by the falling cleaning supplies, but in turn, it made your ass press against him a little harder.

"Fuck," he groaned, body going rigid when you gasped. You probably think he was a proper pervert now. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do that either. And I tried to control it I swear but it's just—my senses are enhanced and you're so close and that kiss was really hot and you're even hotter and your ass really feels nice in my hands—shit! I shouldn't have said that, I should not have said that. I mean not! Not that it's untrue, it's very, very true. You've got a really pretty and nice ass and I should really shut up goddammit—"

You cut him off with a giggle, head tilting to the side as your fingers reached up, burying it in his now messy brown hair.

"I feel flattered that a kiss got you this excited," you teased, earning a soft whine from him.

"It's not just a kiss when I've been wanting to do it for so long," Peter confessed, kissing your shoulder softly before he mumbled, "And it's not my fault that you're out here looking like a goddess."

"Look at you," you giggled, squeezing his forearm that was wrapped around your waist. "That expensive suit is really doing wonders with your smoothness, huh?"

"It brings out the suave in me," he hummed, grinning. "Makes my eyes pop, too."

You let out a sweet, hearty laugh.

Peter chuckled, heart warming as he buried his face into your neck.

"How about you take this because I really don't want to accidentally drop it," he started, pulling the device out of his jacket and handing it over to you, kissing your shoulder with a deep breath, "And just give me a second to calm down."

You giggled.

But what you said next did anything but help.

"Yes, sir."

•••

It was quarter to seven when you both made your way down to the underground theater.

There were fewer people this time around. Peter supposed it was expected. What, with a secret auction selling dangerous weapons, you simply couldn't hand out invitations like it's free candy. It could land in the wrong hands—well, right hands, in this case.

He fiddled with the card inside his pocket, free fingers pushing up his glasses, eyes narrowed at the guards by the entrance.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, noticing how they were ushering people into the theater individually. "I think it's a card for each person and we only have one—"

Peter stopped when he found no sign of you.

"You're not supposed to disappear without letting me know," he said through his comms.

He heard you giggle in response, "I was supposed to be back before you even notice."

"Point still stands," he grumbled. "Where are you?"

Peter grinned when he felt a familiar warmth behind him, your arms wrapping around his waist as you rested your chin on his shoulder.

"Hi."

"Hi," he chuckled, taking your hand to pull you by his side. He circled his arm around your waist, brow raised. "Where'd you go?"

You smiled innocently, yet the proud glimmer in your eyes was unmistakable. You held a hand up, a black and silver card pinched between two fingertips.

Always ten steps ahead of him.

It made him want to push you against a nearby wall and kiss the living daylights out of you.

"Now, how'd you get that?"

You winked. "You know I have my ways."

Before Peter could respond, everyone suddenly turned around to the sound of a commotion.

"Sir, you're not allowed without an invitation," one guard said.

"But I had it!" a man with a stark white beard exclaimed, patting around his pockets, "It was here!"

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir."

"Well, you just lost your highest bidder!"

Peter turned back to you, impressed. "You need to teach me how to do that."

"I can't teach you all my tricks—" your laugh died once you walked by a lamp, illuminating both your faces in this otherwise dimly lit entry hall. You pulled him back under the light, your eyes widening. "Oh shit."

"What?" he asked, worried. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just—" you snorted, gesturing to get him to come closer, hand cupping his cheek. "There's lipstick all over your mouth."

Peter blushed, chuckling, "Would it be so bad to just leave it?"

"You look like you just ate a can of tomato sauce."

Peter pouted.

You shook your head with a laugh, thumbs brushing as much lipstick stain as you could. Just when he thought you were done, you cupped his face, pulling him closer to kiss him firmly on the cheek.

"There," you hummed, giggling, "Since you want my lipstick on you so bad."

"It's hot," Peter shamelessly admitted with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes but grinned anyway, taking his hand and pulling towards the entrance.

"Come on. Let's go spend the millions we don't have."

•••

It took a few more minutes for everyone to settle in their seats. You and Peter choose the front-right corner. It was near the stage but not at the center of attention.

As the clock struck seven, the main stage lights lit up. There were a couple of marble statues littered across—for decoration he assumed—and vases filled with wildflowers he could never name. Right at the center was a white podium, a huge projector screen behind it.

Then, a flash of gold appeared on the stage.

Peter immediately knew who they were.

"Welcome, everyone," the Auclair twins said in sync.

"Why is it always evil twins?" he said.

Obviously, he knew about Halbert, he was the one who gave him the card. But he didn't expect his twin sister to be in on it, too. But then again, the guy seemed to be all beauty with no brains.

And no, he wasn't biased.

"I knew there was something off about her," you scoffed, arms crossed over your chest, pout prominent as you glared at the stage. You were starting to look like you were throwing a tantrum. But Peter decided not to say anything.

Yet.

"I think you all know why we've gathered here so I won't bother you with unnecessary semantics," Greta started, waving her hand at the projector, now showing a live feed of the room you broke into earlier. "Any or all of those high-grade toys could be yours tonight, if you're willing to empty out your pockets, of course. But, to lift everyone's spirits up," Greta paused, giggling wickedly as she dug her fingers into the neckline of her dress, procuring the star of the night, and the bane of yours and Peter's existence.

"The Gold Codes and the nuclear football, available for bidding at the end of the night," she purred, waving the card around as if it wasn't one the most dangerous items on the planet. "We have to save the best for last, of course."

"So hiding things in your boobs is a common thing then," Peter said, catching the sour look on your face from the corner of his eye. He was trying really hard to bite back his smirk.

"So you found the codes before anyone else did."

"What?" Peter looked at you confused. "But I didn't."

"You did," you said, jaw ticking. "You just didn't know you were already looking at it."

It took Peter a moment.

"I was not looking at her boobs."

"Sure you weren't," you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"Darling," he drawled teasingly, playing up the accent, the fire in your glare unmistakable as you met his eyes. He pinched your chin between his forefinger and thumb with a grin. "You've got nothing to be jealous of."

Huffing, you pulled your face off his grasp, "Shut up."

"You know," he started, daringly throwing his arm over your shoulder. You were never one to cross when you were angry. But Peter simply wanted to have some harmless fun. After all, this was the first time he'd ever seen you like this. "I still haven't decided if you're cute or hot when you're jealous."

"Don't tempt me to punch you."

He chuckled, leaning to press his lips against your temple. His smile widened when he felt your whole body relax beside him.

"So, what’s the plan?" he murmured against your skin.

You shifted in your seat, resting your head on his shoulder.

"We wait until the codes and the football are up for bidding," you mumbled. "Then, I'm going to be a show-off, placing a higher bet over anyone while moving closer to the stage. Once I'm in good proximity, cause a distraction and I'll swipe the codes."

"Got it," he confirmed, flinching in his seat when he heard the bang of a hammer.

"Your numbered paddles are under your seats. Now, let's begin."

Peter had only seen auctions in movies, and they always seemed to be the most boring thing ever.

He never expected them to be as anxiety-inducing as this one.

It was probably the fact that these were dangerous and deadly weapons, carelessly sold to anyone who had the money to buy them. 

His heart would sink every time he'd hear that fucking hammer.

Peter was fidgeting with the bridge of his glasses, eyes sharply trained on the stolen Chitauri gun being wheeled off the stage.

"Relax," you whispered, hand on his knee to stop it from bouncing. "We've got backup near the premises. Once we secure the codes, they'll immediately interfere. None of those weapons are getting out of this building."

"They're buying it like it's candy," Peter grumbled frustratingly. "As if lives won't be put at risk if it gets out there."

"Next up, Oscorp's drone satellite," Greta introduced excitedly. "Bigger, better, deadlier than the one by Stark Industries."

Peter's fist clenched. "Why do they always find the need to one-up each other?"

"Egomaniac billionaires," you supplied, hand curling around his fist, bringing his knuckles up to your lips before you intertwined your fingers together.

It helped him calm down a little.

"Things are starting to get boring, don't we think?" Greta laughed, waving around the controller. It was either she wasn't aware of how dangerous the device in her hand was, or she simply didn't care. Her wicked grin told Peter it was the latter. "So how about we do a little test run?"

"Shit," he cursed, sitting upright. "That's not part of the plan."

"You're the faster one," you said, tone calm as you tugged your skirt discreetly and pulled your gun out. "When I give the signal, immediately run towards her and secure codes."

"What signal?"

You stood up, gun raised.

Everyone froze as you shot at the wires that held the scaffolding that was hanging on top of the stage. It immediately gave way, dropping onto the wooden stage and blocking both exits on each side.

Chaos erupted then.

The people running towards the small entryway made it difficult for the guards to get in right away.

But Peter was still staring at you in shock.

"Go!"

He snapped out of it, taking long strides towards the stage, reaching the twins just in time before they could even manage to escape.

"Mr. Reid," Halbert chuckled darkly, pushing Greta right behind him before pulling out a revolver. "You should've bought a gun."

"Well, good thing I did," Peter quipped, reaching inside his holster only to find nothing. He looked up, eyes wide. "Shit. I dropped it."

"Oh my God—" Peter heard you groan in disappointment, and he could practically hear that eye roll.

He would've found the time to be embarrassed if Halbert hadn't started shooting at him. He dodged every bullet easily. His enhanced reflexes paired with how inaccurate this guy's aim was, it wasn't really much of a challenge.

And no, he wasn't showing off.

Okay, maybe a little bit.

Peter couldn't stop his chuckle when he heard the familiar clicking of an empty cylinder.

"Well, looks like I didn’t even need one," he bragged as he stalked towards Halbert, yanking the gun out of his hold before hitting him on the side of the head with the butt of his own gun, rendering him unconscious. He turned to Greta with a mocking tut, "Your twin isn't the wisest, isn't he?"

"No," she scoffed, smile widening as she glanced over his shoulder. "But he bought us time."

Peter saw the entryway clear of civilians, the armed guards swiftly invading the theater.

"Shit."

A flash of red caught his eye, your sharp heels clicking rapidly before you slid on the floor, picking up the gun Peter dropped. You knelt on one knee, gun in each hand, aiming it toward the guards and raining hell on them motherfuckers.

You didn't miss a shot.

He shook his head in awe, "And you said to hold it with two hands!"

"I've fired guns since I was twelve!" you said, tilting your head to throw him a smirk. "I think I can be an exception."

How could he argue with that?

Peter swerved to the right, heart thumping as the glint of a knife covered his periphery. He grabbed their wrist, pulling him forward in one swift motion and throwing the culprit towards the seats.

"Who brings a knife to a gunfight?" he huffed as he kicked away the knife that fell out of their hand.

Peter's attention got stolen by your growl.

His eyes landed on you just in time to see you grab a man's forearm from behind, using all your body weight and the right momentum to throw him over your shoulder, a pained scream when you undoubtedly dislodged his arm, the knife clinking onto the floor. You kicked the guy on the head, his eyes rolling back as he turned limp. You stepped on the knife's handle to fling it into the air, catching it with your left hand before flipping to your right, holding your skirt taught before cutting a new slit on your skirt. Then, you spun, red dress flowing with the motion as you kicked the guy running towards you on the side of his throat.

If Peter wasn't in love before, he sure as hell was now.

"What?" you panted when you caught his gaze, brows furrowed.

"That was so hot," Peter breathed out, your eyes rolling for the umpteenth time before they suddenly widened.

"Down!"

He ducked as you threw the knife, the blade soaring past him and landing into the guy's shoulder, the gun that was aimed at Peter's distracted ass dropping onto the floor.

He looked back at you in absolute wonder.

And did his pants grow a little tighter?

"Will you marry me?"

"Jesus—focus!"

"Is that a 'no'?!" he called out teasingly, elbowing one guy on the chin before hurling his unconscious body toward his allies. He called it the bowling move. Taking a gun from the floor, he turned to you with a pout. "Can't believe you'd reject me, babe!"

"Kinda in the middle of something here!" you yelled back, shooting a guy on the leg before knocking him out with the butt of your gun. You stood straight with a deep breath, tilting your head with your lips pursed before nodding behind him. "How about you help me get those codes first?"

Peter turned, seeing Greta dragging her twin towards the side exit.

"Oh yeah, right," he chuckled sheepishly before going after her. "My bad!"

Fully catching him off guard, Peter flew forward and landed on his chest when Greta swiped his legs. He rolled onto his back, narrowly avoiding the six-inch heel she dug into the floor where his head was supposed to be.

"So you can fight," he breathed out, doing a kip up to get back on his feet.

"I bite too," she hummed, winking. "And I've been wanting to sink my teeth into you, pretty boy."

"Uh, thanks?" he chuckled dryly, face scrunched up. He swerved the knife she threw at him, looking back only to see she got two more, one on each hand. He sighed, "Great. You throw knives."

"What?" she asked, tone mocking as she flipped one in the air, catching the blade in between her fingers with ease. "You don't like knife play?"

"That doesn't sound like fun," he grumbled, running towards her, swiftly ducking as she kicked her leg before grabbing her by the ankles.

Greta fell on the floor with a thud, yet she was quick to kick his knee with her other foot, Peter hissing as her sharp heel dug into his skin. She used this slim window to pull her leg forward, dragging Peter with it and making him land right on top of her.

"Quite a handsome face. Maybe we can go out for dinner sometime," she purred, running her tongue over her lip as she traced his jaw with a knife, sharp tip teasing his throat. "The real party happens later in the night, of course."

"Yeah, no thanks," he breathed out, pulling his head back and quickly grabbing her arms, flipping her onto her stomach in one swift motion. Peter pinned her down using his body weight as he knocked the knives out of her hands. He pulled her wrist towards her back, his knees tight on either side of her hips as he sat up. Holding her wrists with one hand, he undid his necktie with the other, tying her up securely before letting go.

"Kinky," she huffed out a giggle.

Peter rolled his eyes, pulling her up by the shoulders until she was seated on the floor. He walked around, dusting off his suit and adjusting his glasses—they got sticky tape on the sides to not let them fall off during fights. He thought about this ahead, thank you very much—as he stood in front of her.

"I guess it's true what they say about the quiet ones," she said, head tilted as she shamelessly ran her eyes down his body before meeting his eyes. "You're a different kind of man, Lucas Reid."

"The name's Parker," he said with a deep voice as he buttoned up his jacket with the utmost seriousness on his face. "Peter Parker."

You scoffed loudly.

Peter immediately spun, his landing eyes on your figure standing behind him, your jaw tight, arms crossed over your chest, a scowl on your pretty face with that fiery glare to match.

Oh you were pissed.

But Peter had a feeling it wasn't at him.

"You've been itching to do that the whole night, have you?"

"Maybe," he chuckled.

You rolled your eyes, nodding towards Greta.

"Just take the codes."

Peter stared at you like you'd grown a second head.

"What?" you asked, voice taut, so clearly getting annoyed.

"You take the codes."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because I respect women?"

You blinked a few times before dropping your head with an exasperated groan.

"What? You know where it's hidden!" he exclaimed in defense, gesturing towards the bound woman. "I'm not just slipping my hand in there!"

"I have a feeling she won't mind," you muttered to yourself, but thanks to his enhanced hearing, he heard you loud and clear. "You've practically been humping each other."

Peter decided to keep quiet, scared that you'd actually punch him this time.

Though the glare you shot him was proof that you knew he heard you.

You shook your head, another eye roll before you walked over to Greta, bending at the waist until your face was level with hers.

"Let’s make this quick. Left or right?" you asked.

"Dégage, salope," she hissed.

You gasped, hand over your mouth in feigned shock. "Now, that's not nice."

"Wait, what did she say?" Peter asked as he stood by the sidelines, not too close but not too far. He was giving you the space to do your thing.

"She called me a bitch," you cooed, pouting condescendingly. "Fine. Since you don't want to make this easier for us—"

Before Peter could even question what you were about to do, you stomped on a knife, catching the handle mid-air and straight up slashing the blade in front of Greta.

"Woah!"

Peter downright expected you to have chopped her whole head off—okay, maybe slit her throat because the knife wasn't that big.

But nothing happened.

No chopping, no slicing, no blood, nothing.

Well, not until a split second later when Greta gasped, the top half of her—really expensive, he assumed—dress sliding down her body.

Peter looked away immediately, face hot as he screwed his eyes shut, turning his back on her for good measure.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N," he muttered, taking his glasses off to rub his face with his palm.

But he couldn't wipe his smile off.

Peter knew you could take the codes without having to cut her dress. You were simply being petty. And it was safe to assume it had something to do with the way Greta had been shamelessly flirting with him for the whole night.

Your jealousy fed his ego a little bit.

"You can look now," you said, tone low. "She's covered."

"Are you sure?"

You scoffed, "It's not like you don't want to see it, anyway."

Peter swiftly turned, only catching a glimpse of Greta now wearing Halbert's jacket with the matching gold tie gagging her mouth.

He immediately turned to you who was standing to the side, looking anywhere else but at him. He walked over, rubbing up and down your arms until you uncrossed them. He pulled you closer by the waist, nudging your nose while mirroring your pout.

"Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad."

"Then why did you do that?"

"I had to get the codes."

"Yeah, but it didn't have to involve boobage exposure."

"Boobage exposure," you snorted, the corner of your lip twitching as you finally met his eyes. "I feel like that's something you enjoy."

"I didn't even look!" he defended, his smile widening when you tried your best to hide yours. "I promise. I didn't want to, either."

You shook your head, sighing, "You're such an annoying dork."

"Your annoying dork."

That made your smile appear.

"My dork, huh?" you hummed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

Peter smiled, pulling you closer, tip of his nose brushing yours. "Well, if you'll have me, that is."

"Have you as what, exactly?"

"Your boyfriend," he said, slightly surprised by his own boldness. But then again, you two had already established what you felt for each other. The fear of rejection wasn't there anymore. Shaking his head with a smile, he added, "Wait, answer that on our date this Friday?"

"Love the newfound confidence, Agent Parker," you said, giggling. "And yes, to both questions,"

"I really like the sound of Agent Parker," he hummed, wiggling his eyebrows at you. "Am I a certified spy now?"

"Eh, if you don't drop your gun next time, then sure."

"Come on," he sighed, pouting. "I could use a name change, you know, like Spy-Dork-Man."

Peter burst out laughing when you physically cringed.

"Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't kick you because of that god awful pun."

"Because I'm your dork now, bad puns included, so you're going to have to get used to it from early doors."

"Touché," you laughed.

Peter looked at you adoringly, but just as he was about to kiss you, a sudden ruckus of applause made you both jump, stance on defense reflexively.

It was the team, right in front of the stage, clapping and wolf-whistling like a bunch of assholes.

Peter groaned, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he wrapped his arms around you.

"About time you two solved this…tension you have," Wanda said as she reached the stage, gesturing at the two of you before she held her hand out to Bucky. "Hand it over, Super Soldier. She technically kissed him first,"

"Maybe I shouldn't have held Sam back from unmuting the line in the closet," Bucky sighed, pulling out his wallet and handing over twenty dollars.

"You had a bet?" you gaped at the two of them.

Peter turned to Sam. "You tried to interrupt us again?"

"I wouldn't have to if you guys didn't constantly forget that your comms aren't reserved for the two of you only," the Captain chuckled.

"You guys were so cute, though," Wanda said with a smile.

"The smooching sounds were a bit much." Bucky grimaced.

"Don't forget the abundant talk about boobs and ass," Harley laughed, appearing from behind everyone with a bag in hand. "Good thing you finally grew those balls though, Parker. I've grown really tired of hearing you whine about your obsession—sorry, I mean, crush on her."

"Shut up, man," Peter groaned, burying his face back on your shoulder to hide.

"Leave him alone," you laughed, rubbing his back in comfort.

"I wished I could've hacked the cams earlier so it would've been like watching a James Bond movie meets rom-com live," Harley said. "But the audio was good, popcorns still definitely enjoyed."

"Lives were on the line and you guys enjoyed popcorn," you deadpanned.

Sam laughed as he patted both of your backs. "Nah, we just knew you two got it handled."

"What are you guys doing here then?" Peter countered, glaring at them.

"Clean up," Wanda said, cracking her fingers before adding, "I also need to erase your faces off of people's memories because blowing your covers wasn't exactly part of the plan."

"And this guy practically gave out his real name," Bucky chuckled, patting Peter's shoulder before moving over to the unconscious men lying on the floor.

"I couldn't let the opportunity slip!" Peter protested. "It's probably going to be my only James Bond moment, I had to take it."

"That was pretty stupid," you said, scrunching your face at him with a laugh.

"I know that now, thanks," he grumbled.

"Here." Harley tossed him his web shooters and mask, and Peter felt a sense of comfort as he snapped them onto his wrists.

"Pete, you think you can swing us home?" you asked, slipping your fingers into his.

"Yeah, of course," he chuckled, squeezing your hand. He could definitely get used to feeling your affectionate touch constantly.

"Right, we're going to leave this to you guys, now bye!" you called out before you all but dragged him towards the exit, Peter's groan and your laugh echoing down the hall when Sam yelled,

"Use protection!"

•••

You both were honestly too tired to even attempt and continue what started in the closet.

Well, you did try to.

When you landed back at the compound, you both decided to go to your separate rooms and take much-needed hot showers first. But getting to your quarters in itself probably took around ten minutes, all because Peter simply couldn't help but stop every couple of meters down the halls, pressing you against the nearest wall to kiss you senseless.

It took you shutting the door on his face for you both to finally wash off the sweat and grime of the day.

After he was all cleaned and clothed, he didn't waste any time making his way out of his room. But when he opened the door, you were already standing there, fist in the air, mid-knock.

Peter chuckled as he grabbed your waist and pulled you into his room, giggles and satisfied sighs bouncing off his walls as his lips covered your own. He grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you with ease, a murmured comment from you about him showing off his super strength as he carried you to his bed.

But the second you both hit the mattress, it was simply far too comfy and soft that the intense heat of the kiss gradually simmered into a mellow warmth. His body was covering yours, fingers intertwined, lips moving slowly, lazily yet just as sweet. 

And after a few more moments of you two languidly kissing, you ended up settling with cuddles for the night.

Now, here you were, being the little spoon with your back pressed against his chest, limbs tangled, bodies warm and snug under the covers. He was drawing lazy circles on your stomach, his eyes growing heavier with each rise and fall of your chest, the steady beat of your heart lulling him.

Peter thought you were already fast asleep. And he was just about to follow suit until you spoke up,

"Are your hands cold?"

"Not really," he murmured, voice a little rough. "Why?"

"You can always use my boobs in case you need to warm them up."

He groaned, burying his face onto your shoulder. "Are you ever going to let this go?"

"What?" you giggled softly. "You just seemed so interested in their warmth earlier. I'm allowing you to quell your curiosity."

Peter lifted himself a little, just so he could get a clear view of your face.

"Is this a genuine invitation for me to cup your boobs?"

"Only if you wanna," you said, turning to him with a soft smile, eyes half-lidded. "No playing, though."

He nodded with a laugh, settling behind you and gently sneaking his hand under your shirt, no pressure or anything so that you'll be able to move away whenever you wanted to. Then again, you were skilled enough to break his wrist, anyway.

But you didn't do that, not at all.

Instead, you shifted in your place, providing more space for his arm to fully wrap around your torso until he was cupping a boob in his hand.

You sighed, body melting into the mattress even more, your back warmly pressed against his chest as you nosed his pillow.

"They are really warm," he hummed, his whole body relaxing as he let his hand just…be there, without any malice whatsoever. "This is oddly comforting."

"Yeah," you mumbled, a loud yawn following suit. "Like stress balls."

Peter chuckled, "That's one way of describing it."

You hummed, yawning out a soft, "Good night, Pete."

Peter smiled. "Good night, angel."

The next response he got was your soft snores as you finally drifted off to sleep,

Peter didn't expect his night to end with you sleeping in bed with him, all cuddled up in his arms, let alone, with him cupping your boob—which he surprisingly found comforting and adorable rather than anything else.

But he did expect to fall asleep with a huge smile on his face.

And then later in the morning, the thing that would wake him up wouldn't be the sunlight anymore, it'd be your warmth, tickling his skin as you cuddle closer to him. A tired, yet satisfied smile would curl on his lips as he would bury his nose into your hair, breathing in your sweet scent. It was much more comforting, hearing your little snores and sighs, or even your occasional mumbles about whatever it was you were dreaming about.

It was new, but definitely something he could get used to.

It was going to be a peaceful Sunday morning with you, and Peter really loved that.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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[cheeriecherrymain]

I was thinking of a request involving lipstick kiss stains? I find that shit adorable

I made it slightly less adorable by making it a wee bit angsty whoops (if anyone wants it I might write more)

---

Viktor x fem!Reader (18+)

-When Viktor wakes that morning, it’s not to the sound of his alarm, like he had expected.

-No, instead of an incessant bell ringing in his ears, startling him out of sleep so badly that he nearly flies off the bed, he…wakes slowly. The world is muffled around him, warm and hazy, a little patch of sun creeping through the drawn blinds to slowly toast him.

-And the more he rouses, the more he hears. A distant chirping of birds, the din of the city dulled by a closed window. And, of course, the slow, shallow breathing of another person beside him.

-The weight of an arm thrown across his waist.

-It takes him a couple seconds to remember last nights’ events, worrying for a brief moment that he might have brought a stranger home in some kind of drunken haze. But…he hadn’t.

-He’d brought you home.

-His dazzling assistant, so hardworking and kind - efficient in all the work you do and always coming up with the simplest solutions to the most complicated problems. You’ve been an absolute gift to have around the lab, from doing menial tasks like copying notes or fetching lunch, all the way to outright helping design and build HexTech experiments.

-And he’d brought you home with him.

-He’d been entirely lost the prior evening, out of place among the groups of rich patrons and sponsors. Jayce had wanted him there, to help him feel out which families they might be able to get funding from, but…it had been somewhat of a disaster.

-Despite him being one half of HexTech’s creators, no one paid him any mind: he usually preferred it that way. He could work easier if he wasn’t always worrying about what other people thought of him. But he was entirely useless to his partner in such a form, and he had promised that he’d stay for the duration of the event.

-He figured if he couldn’t leave, he might as well indulge himself.

-You’d found him about an hour into the party, after you’d shown up fashionably late. You were a bit like him, in the sense that you weren’t drawn to a crowd - you weren’t a natural at public speaking, even though you were good at it. You didn’t know every social rule and faux pas that would allow you to easily navigate and manipulate the general population.

-He’d been three sheets to the wind when you’d located him and promptly sat down beside him. Happily whispering that you were happy he’d come, because now you had someone to spend the time with.

-He doesn’t remember much after that. You’d tried to convince him to switch to water instead of alcohol, but in the end he’d turned the tables on you. It hadn’t taken much pressing, if any at all - he’d only so much as mentioned a lime shot and you’d requested one, wanting to try it for yourself.

-And then you’d…you’d…

-He frowns a bit, staring up at the ceiling. He can’t quite remember - not entirely.

-He recalls being on a balcony at one point, laughing harder than he had in years. Leaning against you while the two of you whispered to each other and made a general ruckus.

-He remembers leaving the party…or perhaps getting kicked out? He’s not sure. But he remembers stumbling waywardly forwards, leaning heavily on both you and his cane, while you attempted to steer the two of you towards your apartment.

-It was some kind of miracle that the two of you hadn’t fallen headfirst into something.

-And then he remembers the smell of your home, when he first stumbled in through the door. The distant scent of spices commonly used in cooking, rich and hearty and pleasant.

-And after that….

-There are only flashes of memory - still images ingrained in his mind.

-The feeling of his lips on yours. The squish of your hips beneath his fingertips. 

-And you, dropping to your knees in front of him. The delicious picture of your soft, blood-red lips wrapped around his cock. He remembers swaying into your bedroom, pulling you down onto the mattress with him, the both of you giggling madly while your mouths found each others’ again and again.

-And oh, the sounds you’d made. The way you’d squeezed around him, hot and wet and begging him to fuck you deeper. And him, whispering sweet words to you, in a tongue you didn’t understand.

-Telling you how beautiful you were, how good you were for him, how all he’s ever wanted was you. “Miluji tě,” he’d groaned, as you’d both found your release.

-Miluji tě.

-I love you.

-You hadn’t known the significance of those words, when he’d uttered them. And even more than that, you didn’t understand how wholly and truly he’d meant them. 

-He extracts himself from your grip very slowly, making sure to stay carefully quiet as to not wake you. He was probably the last person you wanted to see so early in the morning - your boss, whom you’d gotten drunk with the night before and then enthusiastically slept with.

-He pulls on his clothing from last night, buttoning everything as hastily as he can without alerting you to his presence. You stir a couple of times, sighing in your sleep or rolling over, but never once do your eyes open. Never once does he have to shamefully explain to you why he was still there.

-He casts one more longing glance at you, willing the image to stay in his mind forever - of you, sleeping peacefully, with your mussed hair and perfect, relaxed face, your lips smooshed into the barest of pouts.

-And then, silent as ever, he sneaks out of your home and begins the journey back to his own. He garners a couple of stares on the trek, but he pays them no mind - he must be a sight, after all. Unkempt and messy, so very obviously returning from an evening of something regretful.

-He doesn’t regret it.

-Even when he gets home, and realizes why he’d gotten so many stares and little smiles, he doesn’t regret it.

-He could never regret the way your lipstick stains his throat and the collar of his shirt.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #viktor headcanons #though it's more of a bullet point story

[gxdsfavgal]

Closet

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader

Warnings: blurb, fluff, slight religion mentioned, OBX3 spoiler, not edited

A/N: I was inspired by this oneshot and also a scene from Ginny and Georgia (I've never watched it I just remember seeing it on TikTok)

-

-

It’s been almost a year since the Pogues came back after finding the treasure of El Dorado, the event to celebrate was close. It was hard for them, coming back from so much trauma.

My arms and home were open for them, especially for JJ. He’s always had a soft spot for me, and me for him.

A few months after they came home from South America, JJ and I decided to keep our relationship a secret. Hidden from the eyes of our parents and the whole Kildare population, except his friends.

Now here we are, JJ and his friends standing as I was in the audience clapping and cheering for them. I am truly happy for them, happy that they have peace after everything they've been through.

After they got away from the attention, the Pogues were all in a group smoking while I was distant from them, not wanting to be by them while my parents were just a few feet away.

I was admiring JJ. I felt so lucky to have him and that he finally lives a safe and healthy life. I was admiring their friendship and how it was life or death with them.

"Are you okay?" JJ asked as I flinched, not knowing he was next to me already. He giggled at my easily frightened state.

"I'm perfect." I said with a wide smile, my eyes found his sharp blue ones immediately.

"Perfect as in you're really feeling good or perfect as in you're hiding your emotions?" he stood back away from me to get a better look at me.

"Jay, I was just admiring you guys." I smiled up as him as I secretly intertwined our fingers.

"You mean admiring me, not them." he teased.

"Whatever Jayj." I playfully rolled my eyes.

"Wanna come with us on the HMS after this?"

"Y'know my parents, they won't let me since we got church in the morning." I pouted as I looked over to my parents who were coincidentally talking to the priest.

JJ threw his head back in a groan, letting out a loud and breathy sigh.

"Come over after?" I lifted my eyebrows in hope. "Through the window of course."

The side of his mouth lifted in a grin. "Yes, I'll come straight after." He gave my forearm a squeeze, knowing that if my parents saw us hug it would end differently.

"Now go." I playfully hissed at him, using my hands to shoo him towards his friends.

"Man I want to kiss you all over your face." He faked grabbing my face in the air, making a playful mad face about no PDA.

"Me too, but go seriously. Have fun." I nodded at him.

He sent me a warm smile, the smile that I knew meant that he will miss me even though it's for a few hours.

We had to get used to it. The whole not being able to hangout together, staying up on the phone all night, and stealing glances at the local restaurants.

But it never made him not want to be with me, he was committed and so was I. He understood the need to hide things from parents.

-

Late last night, JJ snuck through my window with my help. We quietly maneuvered through my room and just watched a movie, enjoying each others presence in our arms.

I fell asleep first, tired from waking up early to help set up for their event earlier in the day.

When I woke up it was already bright outside, the sun just hitting the sky. The warm air coming through my window, and the quiet chirps of the birds made it sound like a movie.

I felt a warm presence behind me and a heavy arm on my shoulder. JJ was sound sleep, his peaceful state made me smile hard.

I turned my head back around to watch the sun rise through my window, but my peace was interrupted once I saw the time on my phone.

"JJ wake up." I sat up quickly and tried to shake him awake but failed.

I quietly cussed as I thought of different ways to wake him up.

"JJ" I shook his body harder. When that didn't work, I pulled the warm blanket off of his body, the now cooler air hugging his skin.

He groaned loud so I rushed to cover his mouth with my hand. His eyes shooting open quickly, his body going into fight mode.

"Jesus." he dragged his hands over his tired eyes.

"JJ, I have to get ready for church." I pointed towards the time, hoping he was conscious enough to understand.

"So?" he settled back into the bed, his eyes already threatening to close.

I heard my parents bedroom door open, the footsteps descending to the kitchen.

"JJ please." I kneeled next to him on the bed, shaking his body again.

"Five more minutes." he mumbled into the pillow.

My patience was running low, and I did not have a lot of time until my parents came into my room to tell me to get ready. I grabbed my pillow and repeatedly hit it against JJ's shoulder, trying not to be so loud.

I heard the footsteps of one of my parents going up the stairs, I knew that their next stop was my room.

"JJ now." I pulled him up by his shirt and pushed him into my closet. His half asleep body was heavy and made a loud thud.

"Hey hun?" I heard a quiet knock on my door.

"Yes?" I pretended to have a raspy morning voice.

The door opened to reveal my dad with two mugs of tea in his hands.

"We're leaving in 30 minutes, I'll set your mug down." He pushed the door a little more to set my tea down into my desk.

"Thank you dad." I smiled at him as I rubbed at my eyes.

"Oh one more thing." He turned his body back towards me.

"Yeah?" I looked up at him with wide eyes.

"JJ, get out of the closet please."

My heart dropped out of my ass when my dad said those words.

JJ opened the door of my closet to reveal his groggy state, but the words of my father scared him awake.

"Good morning sir." JJ said nervously as he stood up straight.

"Morning JJ. Next time, just use the front door." my dad smiled at him and came towards me to leave a kiss on my head.

My dad turning his back away from us to walk out the room, our backs returning to a relaxed slouch.

"Oh and JJ?" he turned back around before reaching my bedroom door. We both straightened up again.

"Yes sir?"

"Would you like to join us at mass today?"

JJ looked at me with wide eyes, not knowing how to answer but I just shook him off; only because I didn't know how to answer.

"I- Uh- Yes. I would love to join you and your family." JJ said with a nervous smile.

"I have some clothes that could fit you. Let me get them." my dad left my room with a smile, leaving us to get ready for mass.

I sat down on my bed with my jaw on the floor and my heart pounding so hard.

"What just happened?" I looked up at JJ that stood over me.

"I don't know, but I love it." he had a soft smile on his face.

"I can't believe that happened." I giggled out into his stomach as I wrapped my arms around his hips.

"No more hiding." his palm rubbed over my back.

#gxdsfavgals masterlist #jj maybank #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank obx #obx jj maybank #obx #outerbanks #obx3 #jj outer banks #obx jj #jj x reader #jj fluff #jjm

[iseos]

: dream girl

wc. 1110 archive. pairing. huh yunjin x fm!r synopsis. it was all in her head genre. fluff, angst now playing: bad dream by lexie liu

YUNJIN OPENS HER EYES TO WATCH as the clouds slowly glide across the sky while her head rests on your shoulder. you're both comfortably sat on a bench together in your backyard as you read a book with one hand holding yunjin's, occasionally letting go to turn the page.

you gasp, physically perking up suddenly. yunjin lifts her head to look at you, your hair covering the side of your face but she can tell you're facing out into the expansive field and trees ahead instead of down at the words.

“i just remembered the most perfect place where we can relax, should we go there instead?”

“but your shoulder is so comfortable,” yunjin pouts.

“c’mon,” you almost beg, “i know you’ll love it!”

yunjin still was hesitant, not wanting to ruin the tranquil air they had found themselves in, but she could feel the excitement radiating off of you and ultimately agrees with a nod.

without saying anything else, yunjin allows herself to be pulled as the two girls start running barefoot away from the house and towards the trees with their hands intertwined. the grass brushed against their ankles and the long blades left remnants of the morning dew on their skin.

they passed through the trees and other foliage low to the ground until yunjin was led into a clearing in the forest.

the trees lessened, leaving an open area for the bright sky to shine down onto the lush grass that was littered with dainty wildflowers growing all throughout.

it felt like a hidden oasis untouched by the outside world just for the two of you.

the two girls drop onto the ground in the middle of the clearing in a fit of giggles, their limbs thrown across the grass as they lay side by side. you discarded your book somewhere nearby as you laid down, no longer interested in it.

you shift to instead sit on your knees and look out into the distance. the sounds of running water in a nearby creek blended with birds singing and chirping crickets in the distance as your ambient background music.

a light breeze blew through the field, ruffling the leaves on the trees a few feet away, making the grass dance around them, it even blew your hair gently, almost teasing yunjin as she tries to catch a peak of your visage.

"can we stay like this for a little while? it's nice," the brunette sighs dreamily, making you turn your focus onto the peaceful girl.

"we can stay for as long as you'd like."

yunjin brings her hand up to shield her eyes from the bright sun hanging in the sky above the two of you, but you instead guide her hand to your lips as you leave a gentle kiss on the palm of her hand. a rosy blush begins to color yunjin's skin at the contact and she quickly turns her head away.

your quiet laughter floats through the surrounding air followed by the sound of you shuffling in the grass.

feeling your presence hovering over her, yunjin turns back to see you kneeling closer beside her, the sun behind your head like an eclipse.

you admired the girl for a moment and the small flowers that grew above her like a crown. yunjin couldn't even adjust her eyes in time to fully make out your features before you were leaning in to leave small pecks all across her face.

when you eventually pulled back from your crusade of love against her skin, yunjin had her eyes squeezed closed and a large smile adorning her lips.

playfully, you poke her arm. "jennifer," you singsong, but she just shakes her head no.

you try again, "jen." still nothing.

"yunjinie," you laugh at the girl laying comfortably in the lush grass ignoring your calls with her eyes still pinched tightly shut.

a gentle hand is felt on the brunette's leg just above her knee as it shakes her gently.

yunjin still refuses to open her eyes as her name continues to be called.

the voice gets quieter as if it starts to whisper while continuing to call out to her until it ultimately becomes silent. the sound of the leaves blowing in the light wind, the melodic voice calling yunjin's name, even the birds in the distance come to an end. 

the silence continues for only a moment before the voice returns, "yunjin c'mon," only this time it's different and less gentle than before.

the hand returns to her knee again too. like the voice, it's less gentle, shaking her now with more annoyance rather than amusement.

yunjin decides to finally open her eyes, only to be met with the harsh fluorescent light that quickly created an ache behind her eyes.

instead of you kneeling beside her in the grass with a halo of sunlight around your head, a less than amused chaewon was stood to yunjin's right watching her wake up and rejoin their reality.

a reality that severely lacked you.

looking around with a pain in the side of her neck from resting her head awkwardly on the arm of the chair was in, yunjin noticed the other girls spread through the open room stretching.

chaewon sighs at the seemingly not fully awake girl, "practice is starting again soon, get up." yunjin rubbed out the knot in her neck and joined her other members for the rest of the practice, though with a distant mind and a heavy heart.

later that night after they had all returned to their rooms, yunjin hurried to get to sleep once more, eagerly wanting to be swept away back to that field; back to you. but it never worked.

as the days went on, the brunette girl took every chance she got—every time she went to sleep—hoping to return to something she barely knew.

yunjin even went as far as recreating how she first fell asleep, sitting in the same chair in their practice room with her head bent to the side, though that always left her with nothing but a repeated pain in the side of her neck and a longing in her heart.

her mind could only replay the memories of your short time together on a loop, but the longer yunjin fought her unconscious mind to take her back to you, the more it became harder to even remember what she was looking for. and much like how you slipped out of her grasp and out of her dreams, eventually that peaceful breeze she once felt against her skin instead swept away the memory of you and your false promises.

“i recognize when our time is over, you’d be gone”

© iseos

#iseos writing ࿐ྂ #le sserafim #yunjin #huh yunjin #le sserafim oneshot #le sserafim imagines #le sserafim drabbles #le sserafim fluff #le sserafim angst #le sserafim x fem reader #yunjin fluff #yunjin scenarios #yunjin x reader #yunjin imagines

[alhaithams-big-naturals]

Alhaitham was packing a bag and his roommate Kaveh was watching with interest, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Similarly, his cardigan was wrapped around his body.

It was a cold morning, but Alhaitham was dressed in hiking gear, shorts and tight tank top.

"Where are you heading to?" Kaveh eyed his backpack.

Without looking at him, Alhaitham zipped up his bag, "Hike."

"Yes I see that, but where?"

"The..." Alhaitham mentally prepared himself for Kaveh’s freakout, "Hermanubis Trail."

His roommate set down his mug with a clatter and grabbed him by his shoulders.

"Can't you go on the King Deshret Trail or even archons above, the Lord of Flowers Trail?" Kaveh let him go, stepping back to pace in front of him, "I heard that one has good views AND there's been no dead bodies or missing persons on that one."

Alhaitham pinched the bridge of his nose, "No. I'm not going there for sight seeing anyway. I'm curious about the sightings."

"Please, please tell me you're at least bringing my gun with you."

Alhaitham tossed his backpack over his shoulder then turned to look at him.

Kaveh made pleading puppy dog eyes at him. Eyes the made the recipient bend to the will of user. Who could ever say no to these eyes?

"No."

Kaveh sighed and turned away, "if you're not back in 24 hours, I'm contacting the cops."

He grimaced in distaste, but didn't argue.

"Do what you wish." Alhaitham grumbled and Kaveh clapped in delight.

He watched his roommate grab his mug of coffee from the table and settled on the couch.

As he opened the door, he heard him speak in a tone that he's never heard from the other before. A serious one.

"Do not come back in a bodybag."

~

Alhaitham honestly enjoyed hiking. He did it every so often. After all their little town of Sumeru City, the founders had unachievable views, had very many hiking trials.

Of course being surrounded by forests was cause for quite a few legends and local cryptids to be made up.

Aranara and people with fox ears to name some. Rumor had it there was a whole village of them both. However, the amount of people who hike is honestly a lot and there was hardly any sightings of either.

Any sightings could easily be concluded to kids being kids and concussed adults.

Less and less people have gone hiking in the past years. Kids rather being playing games instead of going outside and parents were too tired from work.

Now, however, no one is. Or at least not at the trail Alhaitham was on.

Hermanubis Trail.

Hermanubis Trail was renowned for lost hikers. It had twisting paths, most which lead to deadends. Not to mention due to less foot traffic recently the path had started to become overgrown.

Alhaitham had his earphones in and was walking peacefully down a path.

Recently there had been a string of missing people on this trail. A few even turned up dead.

Alhaitham paused and took out an earphone as he examined a tree. A bird chirped overhead.

He held his hands to shade his eyes as he looked up. One of the books he had been reading this week had been about birds.

As he listened to the bird and looked for it in the trees, he also heard a twig behind him snap.

The world went quiet as he froze.

When he turned around, nothing was there.

~

It started getting darker before he realized it. Alhaitham really did expect himself to be back home tonight, but as he turned around to head back as the sun started setting, he wasn't sure if he would make it.

As dark settled in the woods, Alhaitham nervously continued walking. The paths were much harder to see at night.

He fell with a thud as he tripped over a tree root. Pain shot through his ankle, but he pushed himself up to keep moving.

Alhaitham limped into yet another deadend, his phone flashed with a battery low warning and he let out a loud sigh.

If matters couldn’t become worse, rain started pouring.

So Alhaitham turned around and kept walking.

~

The last memory Alhaitham had was of just that. Walking the now muddy trail.

As he awoke with a groan, he found two glowing red eyes staring at him.

He tried to move away, but he whole body ached and he was freezing cold from the rain pouring.

The eyes continued staring.

"Hello?" Alhaitham croaked out.

"Human." The creature held his bag up, "You carry no weapon?"

Lightning flashed and Alhaitham saw the figure clearly.

An animal snout mask covered his face as he tilted his head down and what looked like ribbon surrounded his arms. Most importantly jackal ears, a desert creature.

The rumors of the fox village had said they were fennec foxes which lends hand to the theory that somehow this forest overtook a desert.

He let out a grunt as lighting sparked over towards him from the other.

They stepped back and Alhaitham saw the ribbons start glowing as did the mask. His hands and what could only be described as claws also started glowing.

Lighting swam around them now and Alhaitham stared in awe now that he could really see them. The white hair was ratty under the the helm of his headpiece.

His clothes looked ancient.

"Leave." He growled.

Alhaitham finally tried to stand, but winced as he leaned on his ankle and fell back to the ground.

In almost an instant, the purple glow was gone and he felt the claws prod at his skin gently as this legend helped him stand.

Then he was lifted, being carried in his arms.

Alhaitham was honestly a bit unsurprised at this beast man's strength, but he was surprised by the gentleness.

~

As he carried Alhaitham towards the start of the trail, he finally spoke up.

"You brought no weapon."

Alhaitham nodded, "Considering an unknown creature had been rumored to be killing people I figured that if the creature was truly unknown then it could also very well be endangered."

The beast man listened to his explanation before huffing with amusement, "You have been the first to not try to kill me, human."

Alhaitham thought for a moment.

Surely not all those missing people came looking for a fight...

Instead of prying, he introduced himself, "Well, I'm Alhaitham. I'm sorry about the others in this town."

The beast man was silent for a moment before speaking, "Cyno."

Alhaitham’s eyes widened, "Pardon?"

"My name it's Cyno."

He smiled, "It's nice to meet you, Cyno."

Cyno turned his head away, but if Alhaitham could see better in the darkness, he would've seen his blush.

~

When Alhaitham got home, he was promptly pushed back into his car, this time on the passenger side as Kaveh lectured him all the way to the ER.

He was rushed back and the doctors and nurses tried to get him warmed up. The cold morning had turned into a brisk day, but that quickly turned in a freezing night. So he had been close to becoming hypothermic.

As he was finally relaxing away from the doctors and nurses, his ankle in a cast and a few blankets over him, he noticed the light flicker in his room. He found himself smiling as he spotted glowing red eyes peering in the window.

Kaveh looked to see what he was smiling at and they quickly disappeared which caused a fit of outrage from Kaveh for him to smile after giving him this much stress.

Alhaitham couldn't wait to go for another hike already.

#cytham #haino #longer than I thought it would be >.<

[rinbowaman]

S E 7 E N : P R O L O G U E - P A R T T H R 3 E

Warnings: MDNI18+ Sexual assault, sexual harassment, religion, angels and demons, mentions of hell, angels are bad guys, demons are good guys, sinful pleasures, dry humping, fingering, making a deal with the devil.

Your mouth partially closed as your eyelids grew heavy.

‘No….no……no……why?.....What is this?....what?....how?’

With a tiresome look, you felt all of your strength and energy zapped out of you as you stared at the blood-stained message.

‘How did this get here? Who wrote this? How did they know I’d be here?’

You beat yourself down with so many questions mentally, yet you were beyond scared. Your body wanted to jolt out and start running yet you found yourself stagnant, still staring at the message. You wanted to cry hysterically, yet your body was frozen, your emotions were frozen, everything about you was….frozen.

Unsure of how long you stood there, you finally peered away once you realized that no one was around. No one was present. Only you. Yet this message with your name is on this wooden board, and it was fresh.

You walked, no longer found the need or desire to run. Thinking back on how Lily had conducted herself days before her execution, you now understood why she had been so hopelessly stale. You have become the same as she was.

You walked, for nearly three miles as you took notice of the wooden signs, display landmarks of the miles and paths that you took.

Coming across a trail that had an open field to the right of it, the moon directly hovering over the large widen open space as it stationed itself in the night sky, you offset your path from the trail and cut through the tree line and into the field.

If it had been daylight, it would have been pretty to see, since all the flowers and the surrounding trees provided a wide variety of structure and colors.

Taking off our low-heeled shoes, your gazed remained on the ground as you walked, in pitiful motion, across the field and into the neighboring tree line.

‘Why should I even bother going home…I should just die right now….it’s better than those things killing me brutally.’ Once you crossed the field, you submerged yourself deep into the forest as you heard the trinkle of a creek nearby. In one area, there was a spot that wasn’t dense with foliage, it was a nice area that was clear, manicured even as the fluffy moss covered the ground versus grass. It had wild floral bushes growing around, and the moonlight’s rays shined through from above. Fireflies appeared at random against the surrounding bushes and trees. It looked tranquil, peaceful…it looked like a good place for you to die.

Dropping your shoes carelessly, you calmly took in the sensation of your sore feet comforted by the thickness and softness of the moss beneath them, it was bright green and felt like velvet. Laying down on it, you unbutton the remainder of your shirt, folding it, you placed your head on it as you laid in a half circle. Your thigh high stockings torn from the run; you looked like a mess. But it didn’t matter, for now, you were relishing in the feeling of the warm air hitting our skin, as you lay tired, drifting off into sleep.

It felt like you had just barely closed your eyes and re-opened them, when the chirping of the birds woke you. It wasn’t even daylight yet, but the red hue in the dark sky indicated that it was early morning.

Propping yourself up, you remained in just your skirt and bralette as your hair drapes over your frame, the dewy air felt good.

‘Where should I go?....What do I do?....’

You felt like you wanted to cry, yet you remained as strong as you could, taking in the comfort of nature that surrounded you. However, after a moment of your thoughts reflecting back to Lily, and that horrible message that was on the map with your name on it, you felt the intense burn of moisture coating your eyes.

‘Don’t cry….dont cry…..’

As much as you tried to suppress it, it became harder for you to not sob.

‘When I die…I wont be able to enjoy moments like this…I wont be able to see such beautiful nature…I wont be able to….’

You’re not sure if you began crying out of fear or because you felt sorry for yourself…maybe both. You stood up, taking deep breaths with your hands on your waist, trying to calm yourself. But nothing worked.

Standing with your arms loosely wrapped around your bare waist, you sobbed harshly, taking advantage of being alone in the forest while it was still dark, in the early morning, and cried your heart out. Your voice was all that could be heard as it bounced off the trees, interrupted the morning song of the birds nearby, and silenced the tranquil sound of the creek.  

……………………………………………………………………

“Why are you crying?”

Your head snaps up at the deep and calm voice that startles you out of your sobbing state.

Looking over to the direction of the voice, with the look of sadness and beauty drenching your face, you watched as a young man, dressed in red and black with a mask hovering over his eyes, takes in our sight as you directly look his way. A slight gasp escapes his lips the moment you look at his face, as if he was just star struck by something that greatly pleased his view.

“…Pretty….” He calmly murmurs out.

“Who….who are you?”

He slightly tilts his head as he pauses his steps. Crossing his arms, he looked as if he was studying you, though it was hard to tell exactly as you couldn’t make out his eyes beneath the black strip of lace that laid over them.

With a slight chuckle, he gives off a dashing half smile.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes…you know that?”

You ignored his words of flattery; you were in no mood for anything. Not after the night you’ve been through, as well as the horrible fact that you were going to die…soon.

“Who are you?! What are you doing here? Leave me alone! Stop talking to me I’m not in the mood to listen to your stupid pick-up lines!” you tearfully lashed out. The moment you finished, your breathing started to escalate again, as if you were hyperventilating and the urge to sob hard was breaching you.

“just please…leave me alone….” You looked away and began to softly sob as you tilted your head, your arms remained loose around your waist as you stuck out a hip, trying to ease your stance as you felt like you were going to collapse any moment.

“Hmm…you’re even prettier when you’re mad….or crying.”

Looking back up at him with a harsh look on your face, your hair surrounding your frame, the man continued to breathe slow and deep each time you faced him.

Licking the inside of his mouth, with his arms remained tightly crossed, he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue and leaves his mouth open, appearing rather suggestive in his countenance towards you.

“Oh geez…when you look at me that way…you’re making it harder for me.”  He slightly smirks as he tilts his head more.

‘What’s with this guy?...why is he saying these things?

“Who…who are you?” You trembled with slight hesitation in your voice as the man was consumed by the elaborate decoration of his attire. 

“Why are you crying?….”

You shook your head, tears building back up in your eyes as you felt the burn from the coating of moisture glazing over your eyeballs. His voice was as smooth as fine liquor and burned like fire.

“G-get away from me. Please! Don’t come any closer!”

Ignoring your pleas, he continues to walk softly and steadily your way. 

“Oooh….I don’t think so. Those tears….they’re beautiful-you’re….beautiful. You’re unique. You’re fearless even when fearful, and I want to do something about it… I want to do something about….you.”

With his eyes hidden beneath the mesh of the lace mask, hiding his identity completely, you couldn’t be entirely sure but from what you could make out with his other features, he didn’t look to be anyone you recognized. 

With a bright red blazer jacket, adorned with black crystals and elaborate stitching, his satin shirt rested against his broad chest underneath it, paired with black trousers. Not only did he appeared to be well dressed, but he was lavishly adorned as if he was going to a special event. 

What is a man like him dressed like this, doing in the middle of the woods of all places? 

“Please…please st-stay away….”

You pled in a near whisper as you succumbed to a tearful fall, landing on your knees as your mind becomes tatted by the harsh reality, that in seven days from now, you were going to be brutally executed, all in front of the eyes of the world. 

Up until this point, it had always been preached that only sinners would die by the hands of the angels….but what sin? What sin have you committed? What about those children or newborns that were selected? Some of them hadn’t lived for a while day and were marked with the stained label of ‘sinner’ and were thrashed before their own parents by those terrible creatures, known as the ‘angels’.

Sure, you weren’t overtly religious. You never went to church, and you weren’t a virgin, but was that truly a sin worth you dying over? What about the rest of the world? There were so many others that came to mind, people who had done far worse than you could ever imagine, yet they were allowed to live? Longer than you? 

“Please….” You sobbed…hard. Your mouth gaped open as you dipped your head low, covering your eyes with your hand as the squeaky tone of breathless gasps utter out past your lips, all from the overwhelming sense of despair of facing death in a week’s time. 

‘I….I’m going to die…and no one cares….I didn’t do anything wrong.’

You hear his footsteps pause right before you, a long exhale released through his nostrils as he squats down, taking a knee and props himself in front of your pitiful state. His hands stroke and caresses your arms as your hair lays, draping over your back and shoulders while you cradled yourself, trying to find solace in your despair. 

“Please…won’t you tell me why you’re crying? Look at me for a second…please…. look at me…I’ve never seen eyes like yours before. They mesmerize…and right now, that’s all I want…is to be mesmerized…by you.” 

His voice was calm, smooth, and deep with a slight bit of high tune when he expressed excitement in his words. 

Raising your head up, you come face to face with the man. Still wearing the lace-wear over his eyes, but up close and out of the shadows, you could tell he was devastatingly handsome. 

“Theeere….that’s better. Hmm?” He tilts his head as a sweet and soft, yet faint, smirk forms on his lips, showing just a bit of his teeth. 

“Now tell me…what’s wrong?” Even though you couldn’t make out his eyes, it was evident that he was heavily gazing into yours. He leans in, his nose barely touching the tip of your own as he releases a single, hot, and lengthy breath against your lips. 

“I…I am to die in seven days….and I don’t know why…I….” 

His head reverts the tilt he displayed. Raising his eyebrows, he licked his lips and scoffed out another smirk, only this time, more teeth were exposed in a slight grin. The smoothness and handsomeness in that smirk was…devilish. 

Watching as you frowned your brows together, confused as to why he smirked upon hearing that you were going to die in a week, he reassures you that the matter wasn’t at all funny to him. 

By slightly squeezing your arms together, he pulls you into him. 

“Hey…heeeeeeeey…..” his tone was deep. His voice croaks at the last bit of his dragged-out tone. Whispering, he bids to you. “Come here….sit on it.”

He places a firm grasp on your hips and pulls you atop of him as he leans and lays all the way back, gently guiding your form to straddle him as he raises the hem of your skirt just a tad to expose more of your thighs. 

“Better….” He merely utters as he grins and releases a short bit dark chuckle, biting down on his bottom lip.  

With his hands gently, and softly gripping your waist, he starts to motion your movements to softly grind on him. Despite the both of you being fully clothed, your thin panties did no justice in obscuring the sensation of being dry humped. 

“W-what are you….mmmm…..uugghhhh…” you moaned out as the tightness in your core starts to pulsate. It had been so long since your last sexual encounter, yet, even though there was no penetration, the feeling of the man beneath you taking control and watching you through that lace mask as he slightly lifts, pulls, pushes, and dips your hips in diverse motions, it was weakening you in the most pleasant way possible. 

The lace eyewear remained on the whole time, hovering his identity from you. Whispering, his deep tone barely present as he tells you, “Yeah…good giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrllll.….just like that. Move with me.” 

For a moment, you forgot about your untimely fate that would take place in just a matter of days. Each time he slightly lifted you and admits strength in his lift while also softly bucking into your barely covered slit, it caused you to moan and whimper out. Your voice bounce off each tree as it echos throughout the forest setting.

“Now…tell me more about this whole dying nonsense. What’s with that?” He issues, as he continues the movement of his hands by waving your hips against his groin. 

You whimpered out your words as your eyes remained winced shut, your head tilted back as your hair extends its reach along his finger tips. 

“I…..got selected to die…by the angels…” 

“Oooooh….those guys…” he nonchalantly states. The second he finishes his words, he begins to pick up the pace, just slightly, causing you to start bouncing rapidly at high momentum.

Underneath you, he watches your body absorb the impact of his thrusts as he bit down his lip. Moaning out, your breath and vocal cords hitch at random each time your covered clit slightly pelts against his groined attire. 

“O-oh! Oh my…..ugh! What are you…??” Your words were stuttered out as you couldn’t manage to form completely sentences. He kept up the movement and pace, yet kept speaking as if you both were talking business.

With his hands rotating your hips and popping them, a lightning bolt of heightened tingle travels from your crotch to your stomach, and chest. You slap your hands over his, desperate to grab on to something. 

‘Who…I don’t even know this man…why is he doing this? My God what is happening to me? It just…..it feels so good…oh my God he feels so good.’ 

Making your body pop continuously, your chest grew sore from the heavy weight that formulated from this man’s discretion. You lost all structured pose as you fall forward, quickly shifting your hands next to his ears as you prop yourself from falling flat against him. Yet the position you just rendered yourself into didn’t make the situation much better as he continued to display the amount of leverage he had with your movements, not to mention, your face being this close to his. It allowed him to shift over and kiss in your ear and nuzzle against your neck. 

“So…I take it you don’t want to die?” Continuing his movements, he converses so calmly once more, meanwhile your moans and whimpers pick up pace, volume, and pitch. 

“Uuuuggghhh…..mmmm ah!…God!…what are you doing to me?” 

“Mmm…your moans are the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.” He softly speaks against your ear, causing a sensitive tickle as he kisses it with tiny, loving pecks. 

“I’m about to give you an ultimatum…you can take it or leave it, will you hear me out?” He whispers against your ear once more, followed by a sudden lick over it, from lobe to helix, and ended with his exposed, row of teeth pressed up against it, gritting against each other as your skin barely surfaces them. 

“Y-yes….mmmm…please….please I-I can’t…”

“I know baby…oh I fucking know. You’re so perfect…. let me continue while I give it to you, yeah?” 

Picking up the pace once more, he continues the act of intense dry humping, thrusting, bucking and grinding, as he takes in the delight of hearing the increase of gasped moans that escaped your pursed, glossy, Cherry-stained lips. 

“O-oh!” Was all you could vocalize out repeatedly as your breasts continuously tapped against his chest from the heightened pulse of each buck his hips commit. 

“First off, you can call me Helel…can you say it? For me? I want to hear your voice call out my name.” 

“He-Helel!” You yelped out as your hips and clothed core succumbs to the rapid series of taps from the bulging hardness that laid under his trousers, yet it didn’t deter from the immense sturdiness as you felt every bit of his hard-on while he continues. 

“Yeah…you sound even prettier than I imagined…I want to hear it…. eternally…”

Kissing your ear once more, he shifts his face right below your chin as he takes his hand, reaches for the back of your head and pushes you towards him, committing you into a lengthy and passionate kiss.

His silver stands that were swooped to the side presses against your cheek as he practically eats the inside of your mouth. With harsh and yet, sensually pleasing motions of gaping his mouth wide, then closing them just to smack them open as he massages his tongue against yours, you moaned into his mouth and melt right on top of him. You wanted more. It felt too good…he felt too good. 

It was strange though…. the kiss was…

The moment he slipped his tongue inside your mouth and massaged the inside of your cheeks, you could have sworn you tasted something…it was sweet and juicy…you recognized it, though it took you a second to put your finger on it. It was very similar to that of a common fruit…

…………..

‘Apples?…’

P A R T F O 4 R

#heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #heeseung smut #heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts #enha x reader #heeseung fanfic #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enha heeseung

[callsignspark]

MARRY ME

----------

"nudging into the crook of your partner's neck"

anon, so this took a hot second, but I purposefully held on to this one because I knew exactly what I wanted to write for this, and I knew it had to wait until part six came out!!

Mar[r]y Me | part 6.5

pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Mariella “M&M” Vertucci (fem!OC)

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, a few suggestive comments, fluffy with a side of pining and yearning, this is set before they're together obviously

word count: 3.3k

note: this takes place the morning after part six and is a direct continuation of that chapter so I recommend reading that first, but it’s not absolutely necessary!

part 6.5 - drip coffee, sweet and light

Warm.

It’s early, but it’s the first thing she notices as she wakes up. The sun is starting to shine through the blinds, birds are chirping outside, and she’s warm under the covers. It takes her brain a minute to remember there’s another person in bed with her.

Bradley.

Last night comes rushing in: the club, their fight, the apologies, their confessions, the view of him climbing into her bed. Her heart starts beating faster when she remembers what he said.

“I want you. If you’ll have me.”

It's the sweetest thing a man has ever said to her. The combination of his sincere apology and confessing his feelings had her floating on air. Watching him undress to join her in between the sheets was the cherry on top. And now, waking up, wrapped together, she doesn’t know how things could get better.

Her phone chirps from the nightstand, but she can’t be bothered to care about whoever is texting. It can’t be important this early in the morning, not when she’s in his arms, feeling so safe and comfortable tucked against him.

“You gonna check that?” His voice sends a shiver down her neck, the deep, gravely tone heating her up even more.

“No.” She pulls out a hand from where it’s trapped between their chests, running her finger along a scar on his collarbone. “This early, it can’t be too important, or someone would be calling.”

“You’re so smart.” He hums, slipping his hand under the back of her sweatshirt and brushing his fingers over her spine. “How early is early?”

“Not sure. Early. You can go back to sleep.” She whispers, starting to scoot away. His eyes crack open, his brown eyes meeting hers for the first time.

“Where are you going? Come back here.” He punctuates his request by tugging on her waist, his big hand burning through the material of her shirt.

She smiles at him, slipping his hand away. “I’m going to the bathroom; I’ll be right back. Go to sleep.” He lets her go then, and she can feel him watching as she slips out of bed.

Mary examines herself in the mirror as she washes her hands. She knows she doesn’t look any different, but she feels different. Lighter. It's only been a few hours since they went to sleep, but she feels more rested than she has in a month, the emotional burden and worries lifting after their conversation.

Back in her room, she’s greeted with the most lovely sight. Bradley stretched out in her bed, his skin golden against her white sheets that are bunched around his hips - black waistband peeking out. His hands are tucked behind his head, arm muscles bulging as he shifts to look at her. Her heart feels like it’s melting as she takes in his hair; the normally neat curls are fluffy and messy from being mushed against her pillows.

“Harvard called.” He grabs her phone off his chest and pushes it across the bed. “He said he wants to leave at four or so; I told him I’d relay the message.”

“He’s up early.” She plugs her phone back in and stretches her back, a soft grunt escaping when her shoulder pops. “Did he sound surprised that you answered and not me?”

“He sounded drunk,” Bradley says dryly, reaching an arm out. “I don’t think he’s gone to bed yet. But we can sleep for a few more hours, so c’mere.”

She climbs onto the bed, heading to him and getting comfortable against his side. “What time do you have to go do things?”

“Jake fucked up getting the reservation, so our tee time isn’t until 1:30; we’ve got time.” He's back under her shirt, enjoying the way her soft skin feels under his hand. Mary gets heavier against his side as she starts to fall back asleep. “You sleepy?”

Mary quietly whines, nudging her head into the crook of his neck. “Shhhhh, I’m tired.”

“Oh, okay, sorry.” He smiles against the top of her head, resisting the urge to tickle her side. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mary.”

He can feel the smile stretch across her face, her hand brushing against his sternum as she whispers it back to him.

Bradley wakes up a few hours later to find they’ve shifted positions in their sleep. He's plastered to her back, left arm under her head, right hand under her sweatshirt resting on her stomach, dangerously close to the curve of her breast. His nose is getting tickled by the hair escaping her bun where he’s tucked his face tucked against the back of her neck. He’s so comfortable and content that it isn’t until she shifts back, pressing into him, that he even notices he’s hard.

It’s worse than that night on the couch.

She’s overwhelmed him again. Pressed against her curvy body and surrounded by her scent, asleep together in her comfortable bed, turning out to be too much for his system.

“Mary?” He whispers her name, desperately hoping she isn’t awake to witness his embarrassment. Nothing about this situation is screaming the “just friends for now” promise he had made last night.

She doesn’t respond.

Her eyes stay closed as he peels away, but the relief is short-lived when she starts wiggling back, trying to get closer to his warmth. He tries a few more times to escape, but she follows him on every attempt. It’s not until he’s dangling on the edge of the bed that he tries a different approach.

With his left hand finally free, he uses his right hand and his body weight to press her forward, rolling her onto her stomach so she can’t follow him. It works. He’s able to get off the bed without disturbing her and almost makes it all the way to the bathroom.

“Bradley?”

He freezes, popping his head back and keeping his front half firmly hidden behind the bathroom doorframe. “Yeah?”

She rolls onto her side, hair splayed across the pillows. “What time is it?”

“About 10:30, honey.” His tone a bit tighter than intended.

She kicks the covers off, exposing her legs. “You okay?”

“Fine.” His throat has never been drier. “Just gonna use the bathroom.”

“Okay,” Mary yawns, arching her back as she stretches. Her sweatshirt - which is his sweatshirt - rises up, showing more and more of her tummy, causing him to break into a sweat. “You hungry? I can still make pancakes if that sounds good?”

“Yeah, pancakes… sound… good.” He can feel his brain melting as he watches her crawl to what had been his side of the bed, her shorts becoming dangerously short as she bends over the edge to grab some pillows that had been lost during the night. Bradley returns the smile she sends him when she pops back up, moving into the bathroom now that their conversation is over.

“Oh, Bradley?” He huffs - so close - peeking around the door he almost had closed.

He finds her checking something on her phone. “Yeah?”

“Extra towels and toilet paper in the cabinet above the towel rack. There’s a new toothbrush in the middle drawer if you want it.” Then Mary looks up, a wicked glint in her eyes. “And there’s lube in my nightstand. Let me know if you want some help with that.”

He feels his face burst into flames as she lets her eyes drop to where his erection is raging behind the bathroom door before flouncing out of the room, a giggle echoing down the hall.

She’s going to be the death of me.

The kitchen springs to life as Mary ties her apron and flicks the radio on, an antique from her grandmother that she’s brought with her everywhere since college. Big band music swelling as she opens windows and the sliding door, fresh air and neighborhood sounds rushing in. She moves methodically around the kitchen, efficiently gathering ingredients and supplies, never having to backtrack for a forgotten item.

Pancakes aren't complicated; they turn out good even if the ingredients aren’t precise, but Mary takes her time measuring. Combining the wet ingredients first before adding the dry, mixing until all the lumps are gone. She hesitates for a minute before folding in some red sprinkles. Deciding that Bradley would appreciate the addition, and even if he didn’t, he would still be sweet about it.

She hears him come in as she’s checking the temperature of the frying pan; it’s almost there, the water test telling her it needs a little more time, and she adjusts the burner. Mary turns around, ready to ask him if he found everything okay in hopes of him turning red again, but she’s the one caught off guard.

Standing at the edge of her island is Bradley Bradshaw, wearing his sexy, black boxer briefs and her flight school sweatshirt.

The sweatshirt that is long on her despite being the victim of a failed crop top attempt, but it’s perfect on him. The lower half of his abs showing below the furled hem. Her call sign branding him.

Mine.

The possessiveness surprises her. She’d never been possessive in past relationships, and Bradley isn’t hers to claim, yet she can stop the thought.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

“How are the pancakes coming?”

Her eyes shoot up from his stomach, knowing she’d been caught but still smiling. “Good. Everything okay in the bathroom? Have any problems?”

“Oh yeah, everything was right where you told me it was. Had a great time.”

The two of them are flushed, her smirk matching his as they tease each other.

“I’m sure you did.” She continues before they take this beyond the agreement they made last night. “Could you make coffee? The grounds are in the fridge.”

“You got it.”

They quietly work side-by-side, only breaking the comfortable quiet to make sure he made Mary’s coffee correctly. Pride grows in his chest when she lets him know he got it perfect.

Two and a half spoons of sugar, just enough to make it sweet without causing a headache, and enough cream to make it a nice nomadic desert beige. A paint color she had jokingly referenced one time, but he had filed away the information for a time like this.

Bradley sits at the table, taking in the music softly playing while the skillet crackles. He watches Mary slice up some strawberries while the last round of pancakes cooks. She does a lap around the kitchen, stopping by the table to drop off butter, syrup, and the bowl of strawberries before taking a sip of coffee and turning the stove off. The final few pancakes are flipped onto the plate, and she heads towards the dining room, smiling when Bradley pulls out the chair next to him.

“How many do you want?” She asks, crossing a leg underneath her before sitting on the cushioned seat.

“I’ll take three to start, please.” He warps an arm around the back of her chair, playing with the ends of her hair.

His heart feels like it might burst as he watches her carefully butter his pancakes as she stacks them, adding a little syrup between each layer and then a lot on top. Mary adds a handful of strawberries to his plate, some falling into the syrup pool.

Bradley’s throat is thick by the time she slides the plate in front of him. No one had made him pancakes in a long time. They’re his favorite, and he can’t remember the last time he had them.

But Mary made them.

Just for him.

Because he said they were his favorite.

And she put red sprinkles in them. And she added butter and way too much syrup without having to ask. And she added strawberries cut up like hearts on the side.

He abruptly stands up, startling Mary as the chair scrapes back before heading towards the bedroom.

“Bradley?”

He hears her call after him, but he doesn’t respond, focused on his mission.

“Bradley?”

It’s more concerned this time, but he’s already making his way back, phone in hand.

“Is everything okay?”

Her eyes are big and worried, and he wants to kiss her. Wants to press his lips to hers so badly. He knows she would taste like strawberries; had seen her sneak a few berries as she was cutting them. But he doesn’t, just sits back down, closer this time, their thighs brushing his chair is so close now.

“Had to grab my phone.” He says like that explains everything. And when he opens the camera to take a photo - multiple photos - of his plate, she supposes it does.

“One more.” He mutters before aiming the camera at her and grinning at her confused face. “Smile, honey.”

“Oh, Bradley, no!” She reaches for his phone, but he gently grabs her wrist.

“Please? I need a photo to print out for my bunk on the carrier.”

“Oh my god!” Mary buries her face in her hands. “You can’t just say things like that, Bradley!”

“How about this instead?” He shuffles closer, pulling her hands away to take a photo of them. Bradley doesn’t let go of her; just uses one hand to open his camera roll and look at the selfie.

He smiles at the result.

They look happy; temples pressed together as sleepy smiles crinkle their eyes. Bradley’s call sign is visible on her arm, making his heart sing. It’s not shown in the photo, but he’ll never forget how warm her other hand feels resting on his knee.

“Now that’s a good photo! Definitely taping you up in my rack. I’ll have to take a photo and show you my bunk set up before we leave port.”

Mary can hardly breathe. Never once had a man wanted to take a photo together so badly and then been so excited to hang it up.

“Yeah, we look…”

Happy.

Like a couple.

Like we’re in love.

“…good. Can you send it to me?”

They enjoy breakfast, talking about the upcoming week, and making tentative plans to talk while she’s in Lemoore. The last of the dishes are being dried when Bradley’s phone rings.

Mary peeks at the screen, smiling at the bad photo Bradley’s set as the contact photo. “It’s Jake.”

“He’s going to complain because I’m not ready to go a full two hours early!” He groans, grabbing the phone. “What, Hangman?”

“You don’t have to drop by my place; I’m going to drive myself to the course today because I’m running a little late. But I think Bob still wants a ride.”

Bradley is only half listening to Jake’s rambling, distracted by the sight of Mary tidying her living room in her tiny pj shorts and his sweatshirt when a noise on the other end catches his attention.

A woman’s voice and the sounds of a garage door.

“Where are you?”

“Did you even hear me?”

“Yeah, you don’t need a ride. Where are you? Who is that?”

“I’ll meet you guys in the parking lot at 12:30.” A feminine giggle comes through the receiver has Bradley’s eyes bulging out of his head. “Don’t forget that Reuben is joining today.”

“Wait, Jake, who-” His phone beeps in his ear, signaling Jake hung up.

“Everything okay?”

“I know why Jake didn’t come last night. Sounds like he found a lady friend to spend Valentine’s Day Eve with.”

“Good for him; he’s a good guy; he deserves a nice girl.” Mary walks up, stepping between his legs as he sits at the kitchen island. “Did she sound pretty?”

“I don’t know. It was hard to tell from her giggle.” Bradley nudges his leg against hers, fighting the urge to pull her onto his lap and devour her.

She nudges his knee back, smiling at him from underneath her lashes. “Should probably get dressed. You have to get ready for golf, and I need to finish packing.”

He playfully groans, happily following Mary to her bedroom and watching as she picks out clothes for the day. Fully distracted when she opens a drawer that gives him a peek at a rainbow of colorful lacey items.

“I can was- are you okay?” Mary cuts herself off, eyebrows furrowing as she looks at Bradley standing there in his underwear, frozen with only one foot in his jeans.

“Yeah!” Bradley sends her a big smile, something in his eyes that she doesn’t recognize, while he tugs his pants on the rest of the way. “Never better!”

“Okay.” She watches him for an extra second, appreciating the sight of him zipping his jeans. “Like I was saying, I can wash your sweatshirt while I do a load of laundry and then drop it by your place before I leave today.”

“Oh, don’t worry about washing it. I can just take it home with me.”

“Are you sure? I’ve been wearing it to bed all week, and it hasn’t been washed.”

“That’s okay! I don’t mind.”

“If you’re sure…” Mary watches him slip his black button-up on, strong chest and stomach framed by the way the unbuttoned shirt drapes over his broad shoulders.

“Totally sure! Don’t worry about washing it! I’m gonna go put my boots on; I’ll meet you in the living room.”

Mary quickly gets dressed in her travel outfit of leggings and an oversized t-shirt she borrowed from Reuben’s closet junior year and never returned. Her heart flutters when she walks back into her bedroom, seeing her flight school sweatshirt carefully folded on her pillow.

She stops and brushes her fingers over the soft material. She can’t help herself as she presses the material to her nose, inhaling the scent of her laundry detergent, his spicy cologne, which is so warm and quintessentially Bradley.

Note to self: pack flight school sweatshirt for Lemoore.

She finds Bradley in her entryway, leaning against her front door and looking like a male model. His all-black outfit molded perfectly to his muscular body. The black boots and dark sunglasses hooked into his shirt only adds to the model off-duty vibe.

And when he looks up, smiling at her and immediately tucking his phone away? She’s pretty sure she deserves a commendation - maybe even the medal of honor - for not melting into a puddle on the door.

Mary shakily hands him his sweatshirt, which he throws over his shoulder before pulling her into a hug.

“Make sure Brigham drives safe; let me know when you guys get there, and I’ll talk to you later this week, okay?”

She nods against his chest, enjoying the warmth for as long as possible. “I will. Have fun at golf; let me know how badly Reuben does.”

“You know he’s going to be bad.”

“Yup!” She pops the last letter, resting her chin on his chest and smiling up at him. “If you could get a video of him getting mad at the golf ball as if it’s the ball’s fault and not his, Dani and I would greatly appreciate it.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.” She pulls back, reaching around him to open the door. “Okay, I’m not kicking you out, but if you don’t leave, you’re going to be late, and Jake will have a conniption fit.”

“You’re right. As funny as it is to watch that vein in his forehead throb, I don’t want to deal with it today.” He bends down to press a lingering kiss to her temple, right on the tiny scar she got when she fell off her bike at eight. “I’ll talk to you later, honey.”

And then he’s gone, jogging down her front steps to the Bronco and waving before he backs out of the driveway.

Mary watches him go, not closing the door until he turns the corner. She only allows herself a few seconds to blush and bask in how the last twelve hours have gone.

How much better everything is now.

Then she’s pushing herself off the door and heading towards the bathroom to throw a load of laundry in so she can finish packing. And if she put her flight school sweatshirt in her bag? Knowing that she’s going to sleep in it every night, she’s in Lemoore just because it smells like Bradley? Well, that’s something just for her to know.

tagged some extra friends/mutuals, and as always if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list, send an ask!

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