#Didn't make all of em but yeah more than half

[nightsmarish]

hiiiii this maybe weird but could i request a wolfstar x reader and she has like a lovey stuffed animal from when she was a baby she still needs to sleep with that she was trying to hide from the boys and how they’d react to finding out?? I love your writing :)

Poly!wolfstar x reader (Remus Lupin x Sirius Black x Reader) | 700+ words

A/n: a little short than I planned, but that's okay. Thank you for requesting, boo!

Tw: sleepy Remus, anxiety, first time the boys sleep at ur flat, kinda modern-ish, werewolf thing in implied a secrete r doesn't know? Kinda like a mid fic at best

★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊★⋆｡

Most couples sleep over at eachother houses. It's completely normal. But, despite that fact, the nerves are eating you alive.

It was agreed before hand that the boys would crash at your place after your date. It is extremely late since the drive-in double feature ended at 2 a.m., and your apartment is much closer than Remus and Sirius' flat. Which means you've had ample time to hype yourself up, to tell yourself they won't judge you for sleeping with that bloody stuffed animal.

But now? Sitting in the passenger seat of Sirius' car with Remus half passed out with the nearly illegal amount of blankets and pillows the three of you brought? Your very not prepared for them to see the small stuffie.

Everyone stayed rather quiet throughout the car ride. Remus was already tired before the movies, probably because the moon was a few days ago, but you have no real conformation that affects him; all just speculation you've made the past few months of dating the boys. And Sirius is coming down from a sugar high, which leaves him calmer and more tired than usual. As well, with the added fact that he doesn't want to disturb your shared boyfriend as he goes in and out of sleep.

And the quietness stayed when the car parked infront of your apartment complex. Grabbing the blankets and pillows and helping a groggy Remus to his feet, the three of you manage to make it safely into your flat.

And while the boys just happen to conveniently be a bit distracted on assessing what blankets and pillows will be used to properly sleep in your bed, you sneak away to the bedroom.

There, laid out in the middle of your bed lays the little creature you've had for probably too long. You scurky on over to it and grab it, trying to quickly find a place that is both safe and well hidden for the night.

But, alas, one does not simply walk away from Sirius Black and expect him not to follow.

"Whats that, love?" Your shorter boyfriend stands in the door way, fluffy, dark green blanket in his arm. Behind him, in the living room, Remus is fighting, a little lazily, with two blankets that got tangled together.

"Wha-?" You glance down at the plushie in your hand, "This? Nothing. Nothing, why?"

Sirius quirks a brow, and dear Salazar, he can be intimidating; it's like his gaze is boring into your soul.

"Pads, leave 'em alone." Remus joins him in the door way, successfully having one of the two blankets.

"I'm not doing nothin' just wanna see who will be joining us tonight." He walks further into the room, throwing the green blankets onto the bed. Turning to face you again, gently grabbing your hip with one hand and cuping ome of your hands that holds the plushie, "assuming he will be joining us?"

You pause for a moment before practically melting into Sirius, who chuckles as he hugs your waist properly, "yeah- he's gonna join us. If that's okay." Your voice is muffled into the black t-shirt he's wearing.

"'Course, that's okay, dovey." One of the two is behind you now, having dropped the extra blanket on the bed as well. You can feel him press a light kiss to the top of your head from behind.

You move your head from where it laid on Sirius, looking at the two extra blankets that taint your bed. "I have enought blankets, we didn't need more."

The smile never leaves the boys face, letting go of you and landing unceremoniously onto your bed, looking up to you and Remus, "nonsense, darlin, how else will be over heat in the middle of the night?"

"We won't overheat in the middle of the night." The tall one gets in the bed as well, much less dramatically and soooo ready for bed.

"You are so confident in that." Sirius twists his body to see Remus getting comfy in the extremely messy bed, then glancing at you. "'Cm'on, doll, bring your friend and come join us."

A small smile graces your lips as you join the boys, one halfway to a dead sleep and the other welcoming you into his waiting arms after you turn off the bedside lamp.

[teaboot]

How do you make your patches for your vest? They look so cool!

Acrylic paint or matte fabric paint

Old black jeans

Cardboard or cardstock, ideally thin cardboard from packaging waste

Xacto knife

Pencil

Computer

Old sponge or makeup dabber

I pull up the logos from the bands I love and trace them onto printer paper or wax paper wirh pencil. Then I put that paper pencil-side-down on cardboard and rub the back hard until the pencil is transferred to the surface. Then I take an xacto razor and cut out the shape of the logo. Put the newly-made stencil right-side-up on the fabric and sponge paint on.

Let the paint dry, then go over it a few times if needed with a brush. Fix errors with black paint.

Sewing the patch on, I get double-sides fusing from the fabric store to make iron-on patches, or just pin them down and sew by hand.

Highly recommend double sided fusing for all kinds of patch jobs if you have issues sewing for any reason, just know that the glue melts into the fabric and will leave marks if you try to remove them later.

Glad you like 'em! ♡♡♡♡♡ V proud 😊

Current status: ⏬ ⏬ ⏬

Addition: here is what it looked like when I originally thrifted it- tag said it was a distressed denim forever 21 jacket, size large ⏬ ⏬ ⏬

for a lil how it is/how it started ♡

[nabtime]

Sir Waylon of Gotham

Waylon wasn't much for talkin' to hoity-toity well-to-doers. Didn't much like their attitude. Or the way they looked at 'im. Lookin' down their noses, all pinched-faced and holier-than-thou, like he was the scum of the earth for the way he looked. And while Waylon wouldn't deny that he was scum, it sure weren't for lookin' the way he did. He'd earned that title fair 'n square, through hard work 'n strikin' fear inta the people of Gotham.

And he did that by bitin' they's arms off, not 'cause he was a li'l scaly.

Point was, Waylon didn't talk much with fancy people. Yeah, he talked to the Bat Brood and they could half be considered fancy on account of mostly bein' Waynes under the mask, but they didn't count. Not really. 'Specially their newest petite couyon that liked to swing about in his sewers like the chit owned the place. He didn't know how the kid was added to the family- coulda been adopted, coulda been one a' the other one's partner, coulda been another blood son a popped up outta nowhere 'gain.

Waylon didn't ask and the chit never said. No, all Phantom ever wanted to talk 'bout was how Waylon was doin. Idjit was far too concerned about Waylon's well-bein' when he shoulda been mindin' his own damn business. Kid said it was part a his business. That heroes had to check in on the reformed, make sure they were well and happy so they didn't have a need to get back inta villainy. Waylon wanted to call bullshit on 'im but he just didn't have the heart when the kid looked so earnest 'bout it.

And maybe the kid was swingin' in all the time just to check in on an Old Croc. Maybe even the kid didn't mind bein' 'round 'im an 'is big, scary teeth. Sure it were more likely he needed an escape an' the sewers were a place most Bats didn't venture less they had to, but iffin that were true- kid didn't have to find and talk to him every time.

All this was to say that he'd gotten used to seein' Danny 'round the sewers, and even seein' Jay when the older kid was sent to bring the other back topside.

Who he had not gotten used to seein' in the sewers, though, was a pretty thing all done up in medieval dress and glowin' green. Nor was he used to the hulking Knight done up in glowin' black armor standin' next ta her.

And, again, Waylon wasn't much for talkin' to hoity-toity people, let alone Ghost Royalty or some such, but he was still a man with manners. An' they were in his sewers (well, an' Grundy's, but the big lug weren't here, so's point was moot) so he was haven'ta be the one to greet 'em.

He growl echoed off the stone and muck as he approached the two beings that were floating midair, just above the water. They both looked lost until he fully rose from the grime and addressed them.

"Youins need somethin? Ya lookin fer Danny?"

And, well, Waylon said he had manners. Never said he was gonna use 'em.

"Oh!" said the sweet thing in flowing gown, her voice just as soft as she looked. "Yes! You must be the good Sir Waylon of Gotham that the King speaks so fondly of. I am Princess Dorathea and this is my personal guard, Fright Knight."

Sir Waylon? Now that's not somethin' he's ever heard afore. Him? Deservin' of a title like Sir? Ain't no way. He weren't 'bout to say nothin', but it sure did make him feel all flustery that a noble Lady like her would think so highly of a monster like him.

"Nah I wouldn' say he's 'xactly fond a me, but the name is Waylon, yeah, uh- My Lady."

And she smiled at 'im, sweet as anythin', like he weren't made a sharp edges an spilled blood. The big Knight aside her was actin like that too, posture relaxed as he just let her get closer. Closer an most people ever dared. 'Cept Phantom an some a the Bats. Was it a ghost thing? No fear a death, so whats scary about a big man with sharp teeth anymore?

"Would Sir Phantom be near-abouts?" she asked. "I require his counsel on matters of import."

"Sorry, cher- uh, My Lady," he grumbled, "ain't gotta clue where he's at. Somewhere's topside, prolly."

Her shoulders slumped just the slightest, obviously disappointed in his answer. And try as he might to want to give her a better one, he only knew where the kid was when he wanted to hang around underground. Waylon avoided the streets at all costs these days, not wantin' to risk trouble again. He'd spent enough of his days wastin' away in Arkham and Blackgate, thanks.

The Lady turned thoughtful though and graced him with a tilt of her head and a smile. "Perhaps you would deign to assist me instead, Sir Waylon?"

"Well nah, I'd love ta, My Lady. Supposin' its somethin' I can help ya with."

"Yes," she said, circling around him in a graceful glide, "so long as you are willing, you will suit just fine."

"Ya still haven't told me what ya need help with, ah- My Lady."

Waylon couldn't see the Knight's expression but he could almost feel the amusement pourin' off a him. And he wondered just what the hell he'd agreed to that a guy like that'd find it funny.

"My brother is making moves to take back the Kingdom. He has amassed a small, but skilled contingent of rebels and intends to usurp me at the upcoming Yule Celebration."

"So ya need muscle ta help stop 'im?"

"Oh no," she said, sweet but full of venom- like arsenic. Her grin was now full of teeth, teeth much to sharp for a proper Lady like her, and her eyes turned to glowing reptilian points. "I can take care of him myself. I intended to ask Sir Phantom along as contingency."

She looked him up and down and the Knight standing guard behind her was projectin' a certain smugness as he did the same.

"You, however, Sir Waylon," she said, and the tone near sent a shiver down his spine. "Will do well as both warrior and suitor."

"What say you?"

[barcaatthemoon]

a bad feeling || arsenal x teen!reader ||

your bad feeling before a game ends up turning into your worst nightmare, but your teammates don't let you mope for too long.

"now that is a starter if i've ever seen one," katie said as she put her arm around your shoulders. you had been nervous all morning, nearly throwing up your breakfast before any of you had gotten on the bus. you were playing against manchester united, which meant going against tooney, but more importantly, mary. you had been with arsenal for a little while now, but you hadn't gotten to really play in any of the games against united yet.

"oh yeah, that backline won't know what hit 'em," alessia joined in. she wasn't sure what you needed at the moment, but katie's jokes had been making you smile so far. they wanted you to be relaxed and comfortable. there was a lot riding on this game, but the last thing any of them wanted was to put too much pressure on your shoulders. alessia wouldn't be able to forgive herself if she had done something to cause you to crumble. "you okay?"

"yeah, i'll be fine," you reassured her. a part of you felt like you'd be anything but fine. you weren't sure why, but you felt like something bad was going to happen. there had been something off all day, but you couldn't figure out what it was, so you tried your hardest to ignore it.

on the pitch, things were working fine until they weren't. manchester's girls were being a bit rough with you, which alessia and katie definitely noticed. at the half, katie had absolutely gone off ranting about them, but alessia had distracted you during katie's rant. you were a bit more winded than you normally would have been, but you didn't let the other team's aggression deter you.

"you go out there and score some goals," katie said as she pulled you in for a hug. you nodded against her before she kissed the top of your head and let you go. alessia pulled you into a similar embrace, something that she had noticed leah do during every game that you got to play in. leah's injury was hard on you, but everybody had picked up the slack to make sure that you were taken care of.

you started the second half in good spirits. you managed to get an easy break early on, slipping past their defense with ease. you kept your head forward like you'd always been taught to. the defense wasn't nearly as far behind as you had expected, and when you went to take your shot, one of them came in for a tackle. it wasn't clean, but she hadn't expected to connect as well as she had. your movement mixed with hers had you crumpling to the ground clutching your knee.

"(y/n)?" mary was the first person at your side. she pulled your head into her lap as she rubbed your back. ella was quick to join alessia and katie, as well as a few of your other arsenal teammates.

"i want leah," you whimpered. alessia frowned as she held onto your hand. they all crowded around you until the medics came with a stretcher to take you away. a few quick scans had confirmed your worst nightmare, an acl tear. it was worse than that, but all you had heard was that part. everything else out of the trainer's mouth had been garbled like your head was stuck in a fish bowl.

the rest of the day felt like a blur. you were whisked away to a hospital, several people from both teams and your national team came to visit you. it wasn't until you were back in london at your parents' place that you finally saw the one person you had been begging and pleading for all weekend, leah. she hadn't come alone, having heard how you had been moping since you left the trainer's room in manchester.

"hey," leah greeted you. she was speaking softly, just like everybody had since you got hurt. you were laying up in your bed, confined to your room to rest for a few days. technically, you could move around your house, but you didn't see the point in getting out of bed until you could play again.

"is it okay if i come in?" viv asked from your doorway. you perked up a little, not having seen her for what felt like forever. beth was with her, the two of them rarely separated off of the field. you nodded and scooted over so that there was more room for all of your teammates to come in.

"what are you guys doing here?" you asked. leah took the spot right next to you, the two of you having developed a special bond from the start. you had flocked to leah immediately, but back then, you had just been in pure awe of her. now, she was like your absolute best friend on the team and had stopped treating you like a baby all the time. that wasn't to say she wasn't fiercely overprotective of you like you were her sister.

"we wanted to check on you. i heard you've been having a hard time since the game," beth answered. you shrugged it off, despite knowing that she was telling the truth. you had been having an incredibly hard time dealing with your injury and the reality of what it meant. you were so young, and this was the kind of thing that ruined careers.

"more importantly, we wanted to remind you that this setback is temporary. you'll rest and rehab it, and take care of yourself so that it doesn't happen again, not for a long time at least. you'll bounce back from this because you're young and smart enough to take good care of yourself. i believe in you, we all do," leah said. "isn't that right?"

"yeah, i'll get better," you mumbled. leah nudged you, trying to get you to say it again louder. "i'll get better, and i'll stay better."

"that's right," leah said triumphantly.

"how long are you guys staying?" you asked. you were a bit distracted from your injury, and hopeful that your friends would stay for a bit. since joining arsenal, you hadn't really had much time for friends your own age. they didn't understand the strictness of your schedule and training regiment. it was just easier to hang out with your teammates, even if the age gap meant that you had a lot of differences in interests.

"well, i happen to have a clear night. in fact, i believe that mary and tooney are coming down for a little get-together. if you've got all your school work done, i am sure that your mum wouldn't mind if you stayed over," leah suggested.

"viv and i might even stop by for a bit before her bedtime," beth said. you had finished nearly your entire week's worth of work with an open schedule, which meant you were free to go to leah's for the night. that was something that your mother definitely knew, and had most likely even arranged to get you to come out of your room.

"do you mean it?" you asked leah. she nodded and helped you pack a bag to spend the night. it had been a long time since you'd gotten to attend a team sleepover, and even though you couldn't play and train with everybody else, you were glad that they still thought to include you. you hadn't admitted it to anybody else, but your big fear was that the team would shut you out because you were injured.

[forsworned]

ok, but hear me out. Poly!tf141 on undercover mission. Reader is dressed up, think very club type attire or so. Paired think of the audio "favorite" by Isabel Larosa 👀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀˗ˏˋfavorite ft. poly!tf141ˎˊ˗

꒰ঌa/n໒꒱ okokokokokokokok i finally finished anon im sorry it took me so long, i was trying to make sure it made as much sense as possible but its a fucknnn wrapppppp , i hope u like it ;-; reblogs & comments are appreciated!!

꒰warning(s) heavily suggested polyship, alcohol abuse, violence, titty bar???꒱

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀˗ˏˋrequests are openˎˊ˗

Pulsating rhythms of the club thudded against their tightened sternums as they impatiently waited for her appearance. On one side, Kyle and Price sat on hightops, sipping slowly at their top shelf whiskey's. Price sucked his teeth at that. Damn them all to hell for their overpriced liquor.

Kyle chuckled from behind the rim of his glass at his Captain's displeasure.

"Fuckin' tossers. All o'em." Price's mood was quite piqued already. This mission for sure was going to get him diagnosed with hypertension.

"Relax, boss. She can handle it." Kyle's voice is smoother than the fine, fiery amber liquid they were downing. Price could admit that it was damn good whiskey.

"Not talkin' 'bout the duck." He retorted, finishing his glass and pushing it away from him. He teased the end of his stache between his fingers.

Kyle simpered at him. "Oh yeah? 'Suppose y'talkin' 'bout the whiskey then."

Price's icy blues peered up at his Sergeant's honey gaze, a half smirk curled up on his lips now.

"Damn good whiskey."

Kyle and Price both chuckled at that. Clearly they were both on edge and neither of them were willing to admit to that. It wasn't easy knowing that she was compromising all of herself for the sake of a mission while they sat their twiddling their thumbs like a bunch of sods.

"'re y'two gonna keep actin' like a pair of plonkers, or y'gonna do wha' y'were assigned to do 'n' keep watch?" Simon's rasping voice was heard over the comms.

Johnny snickered from his seat at the bar." Ahh, give 'em some slack, L.t.. It ain't easy watchin' oor wifie shake 'er ass in fron' of a bunch of--"

"I can hear you, y'know?" Her voice like a dream (the prettiest girl they've ever seeennn), pulling them out of their squabbling.

"There she is." Johnny's murmured, glancing over at her figure appearing between throngs of men. The bright strobe lights casting shadows over her form, highlighting her curves. Every stride more enchanting than the next as she bounced through the crowd so effortlessly. She balanced two whiskey glasses and a bottle of Glenfiddich on a slim black tray as she approached her two teammates.

Did their eyes deceive them, or was she really wearing that?

"On the house, boys." Her tone is ribbing, playful with a hint of a gentle chide. The curve of her red painted lips, and the feline-like eyeliner that cascaded over her tightlined eyes made her that much alluring. Their eyes traveled down her frame, carefully analyzing the black bodycon dress that fit her like a second skin.

The outfit was undeniably slutty. Black strings wrapping around her chest and over her shoulders. The neckline was low, revealing her cleavage while the length of the skirt just barely brushed against her ass. Their eyes stopping at the thigh-high black, latex boots she was wearing.

How long had she been hiding these outfits from them, they didn't know. And knowing her, she would never tell.

"On th' house, you say?" Kyle's gaze heavy on her. "Says who?"

She tilted her head to the side with an impish grin. "Says me."

Price's mouth seemed to have been full of cotton because he couldn't even manage a word. That satisfied her. "Enjoy, boys."

She sauntered off to the next set of patrons, and Price had to readjust himself for a moment as he shook his head with an incredulous look.

"Trousers gettin' too tight?" Simon jested over the comms. That earned a few chuckles.

"Where'd she get tha' lil thing anyways?" Price attempted to derail Simon's taunting.

Johnny's eyes never left her form from the moment she stepped out on the floor. She was working her magic with all the patrons, speaking the native language while he listened in on how it rolled off her tongue like it was her own as their haughty eyes undressed her—it was enough to make his skin crawl. "No idea, but 's makin' me kinda jealous."

"Ditto." Kyle shook his head as he poured his Captain and himself another drink.

"Le's get this shit over with." Price picked up his glass, clinking it against Kyle's before they both downed it with ease.

And boy was it not fun for any of them. Johnny's job really had to be the comedic relief for the night because the way that their collective blood pressure was raising right now was enough to send them into cardiac arrest.

Simon sat in the control room with his gun in his holster, knife in his left hand as he observed every individual body in the room. The mangled body to his left, slumped on the floor for the night as he flitted through multiple CCTV to track her movements and get an idea on the deal that was about to happen.

The mission? It involved an international weapons deal between the Mexican cartel and an arms manufacturer from Russia. They had to infiltrate the club that the cartel owned and [name]--very, very much to their dismay--was the bait.

Kyle, to no one's surprise, was the first one to break the silence.

"The boys are gettin' restless." Kyle eyed the crowd that seemed to be growing by the minute as more and more people came in for some late night fun. The cartel member's body language indicated that they were getting restless.

Price was already on edge. His fingers were gripping the Mexican Pine wood of the hightop table. Every second that went by felt like an eternity as he watched her shake her hips up against one of the cartel members and laughed as a bottle of vodka was passed around between them.

Simon grunted, watching more individuals come in. "Gonna be a bloodbath."

Johnny stayed quiet, but his brows were furrowed with worry. His baby blues watched her as she took a shot with one of the cartel members in an attempt to be flirty while he pressed a hand against the small of her back. Johnny couldn't hide the way his face contorted in disgust.

"Quit bouncin' y'leg, Johnny." Simon warned. In an instant, Johnny's actions are halted like a guard dog on command. He sucked his teeth.

Price's jaw ticked when he laid his icy glare on her taking another shot and laughed coquettishly while the cartel member's hand went up her skirt. "For Christ's sake."

Kyle gave his Captain a sympathetic grin. It was hard being the only one under control.

"Le's have another." He sighed, pouring them both another drink in a weary attempt to calm their nerves. Well, really Price's nerves.

As the night drew on, the club gained more traction. Her movements becoming more risqué as she allowed the men to grope her and squeeze her.

"Gonna lose my bloody shite here." Price muttered, the way they tried to get under her skirt as she laughed it off, her back pressed up against one of their bodies. She was good. He had to give her that much.

Simon turned his attention away from the screen, taking notice of the slight beads of sweat dripping down Price's temples.

He was sweating now too. To be so comfortable with these bastards as she played them like a fiddle. Price's heart was thudding in his ears. He couldn't breathe.

"Gimme an update on somethin', anythin', Simon." Price was practically pleading at this point. A small edge to his voice as he spoke with neediness, referring to the deal that was suppose to be made tonight.

Simon let out an exasperated huff as he kept his eyes on the group, laughing and sharing drinks.

"Still nothin' yet." Simon grunted, scrolling through several camera angles. A cigarette was pinched between his lips, and he pulled from it as he turned to look over at Price. It had been two hours of Price stewing in his seat with nothing to show for.

"She sure as hell ain't making it easy..." Price mumbled, running a hand over the back of his neck.

Kyle was observing the situation with a smirk. "Sure as hell not..." His mouth kicked up at the corner. She was being very provocative with them, trying to get them off their game.

"She's doin' a'ight for herself, ain't she, boss?" Kyle asked while Price remained stilled, almost intentionally provoking him a bit, which in its own respect was quite cruel to do but he couldn't help himself. The Captain was seething in silence, a small twitch on his mouth being the only indication that he had heard what his Sergeant had said.

Simon leaned his cheek against the cold wall of the control room, watching her play the men like a puppet master. Her words and touches were calculated.

He took another drag from his cigarette, trying to keep his nerves calm as Price felt like he was wasting away on his seat. A quiet chuckle escaped his lips and he silently thanked the cartel for installing such HD quality cameras so that he could at least savor this moment.

Three hours in, and there was no sign of the deal being made. Simon wondered if they all wasted their time being her back up.

"She might a'well be dancin' in a stripper's club," Price grunted, his back still stiff as he remained seated.

Simon bit back a laugh. "T’be fair, it is a titty club."

"Shut the 'ell up, Simon." Price turned over as his head pounded in tandem with his heartbeat. His jaw was clenched tight, blood boiling in his veins. "That does not change the fact that she is bein' taken advantage of."

"Right..." Simon muttered, taking another puff from his cigarette with a side-eyed smirk.

"Jus' wait until we have a debrief for this mission, you cocky bastard." Price grunted. It was an empty threat. Like the way a father would reprimand his naughty kids.

Kyle and Johnny could be heard chuckling over the comms and that seemed to alleviate the tense mood once again.

It wasn't until Simon noticed the shift in body language that sent his senses into overdrive. An instinct that he never ignored as he carefully analyzed one of the members who was leaning against the bar. He turned to the barman, ordered a round of drinks for him and his friends. In the distance, he could see [name's] lithe body swaying gracefully in and around the throngs of men. A slow, confident sway. His attention immediately shifted to the bar, catching glimpses of the body language between the cartel members and another girl they could barely keep their mouths off of.

She looked a lot like their [name]. The same build, the same hair and a similar fit. It made his stomach turn a bit.

This was the part of the mission he hated. It was when things started to get real—when there were a lot more moving pieces and when a slight error could cost her, them and the mission.

One of the members was speaking to the girl, he couldn't hear what his words were but he could read his body language clearly. He was starting to connect the dots when the girl was passed a keycard that was gently pushed into her back pocket.

"We've got movement." Simon warned.

"Where?"

Price and Simon could practically hear one another's voices on the edge of breaking.

"One o'em is passin' a keycard to woman at the bar. Keep watch." Simon commanded.

Kyle and Johnny stayed silent. But their focus remained locked on the pair, keeping eyes on her as the men around her continued to paw at her.

The barman finished pouring the drinks, and then a few other people passed by the cartel member before he leaned in to whisper her location. Simon took note.

The man and the girl began to walk away from the bar, heading towards a back door. Her body reacted defensively for a fleeting moment, recoiling ever so slightly to the unwanted touch. The door was out of the camera's range. Only the door handle could be seen. The man continued to drag her towards it, his grip tightening as he did. Simon got even more of an uneasy feeling as they drew closer.

Simon's eyes darted to another screen where a meeting was starting to take place and [name] had somehow managed to slip past the members. She was currently situated on the other side of the meeting doors, tucked away in a corner that kept her out of sight from them but gave him a clear view of her movement.

Simon noticed that there was two guards slumped over in the rooms leading to where [name] now was. "[name], do not engage. Do you copy?"

"Copy." Her voice crackled over the comms.

Simon couldn't help but think when the hell she got there with her weapon ready in hand, still in her same outfit from earlier. There wasn't much time to think about how or when she had done that.

"When did y'leave?" Kyle inquired, on behalf of them. A smirk could be heard in her voice.

"When no one was lookin', silly."

Johnny's and Price's jaw ticked in amusement at that.

"Slippery minx." Price muttered. "Weren't you s'pposed t'keep an eye 'er, Johnny?"

"I was." Johnny replied confidently. It was evident that he allowed her to do her own thing. It sure as hell beat gawking at her while other men got handsy with her assets.

Simon fixated on back on the pair from earlier, as they moved through multiple rooms, and suddenly she was thrown into the bathroom, landing on the tiles with a cry.

"Fuckin' military slut. You think I don't know who you are?" The cartel member sneered.

The girl recoiled and shook her head not able to find any words. "¡…n-no, señor! ¡N-no soy un chivato!"* She cried out.

(...n-no, mister! I am not a spy!)*

"Bloody hell, they've got the got the wrong lass." Simon grumbled over the comms realizing that there positions were somewhat compromised. It was natural for cartel members to be weary and hypervigilant about moles, but he had to maintain control over the situation.

The man didn't seem to be buying it as he fished out his gun from his holster. Simon could hear the sound of the man's voice rising over him manhandling the girl through the CCTV's audio system.

"I don't know what you are thinking you little whore, but you shouldn't have come to my club if you didn't want to get used! Don't come crying to me when these bastards finish with you!" The man yelled. His voice was so laced with arrogance and pride that Simon was tempted to get off the comms and put a bullet through his head.

By now it was obvious that the man thought she was [name]. The girl cowered before him in fear, not daring to move as she kept repeating that she wasn't a spy. But his eyes were filled with nothing but rage. It seemed to be the end of the line for her.

Simon's heart was in his throat as he watched the man aim his gun at her chest. He held the trigger down before another man walked in with two more guards.

He missed. He missed!

The girl's chest rose with relief, still trembling in fear.

"¡Maldito imbécil! ¡¿Parece una espía?!"* One of them shouts at the man who attempted to murder the girl just moments ago.

(Fucking moron! Does she look a like a spy?!)*

A gun is brought to his head and he's instructed to let go of her or die instead. The man lets go and backs away to allow the one of three guards to escort him off. The two guards that are left glare down at her in pity as they watch her shudder.

"Vete de aquí."* One of them gestured his head to the door.

(Get outta here)*

The girl tries to get to her feet but she collapses with tears streaming down her cheeks. They help her up and lead her out of the door as they shake their heads, muttering about who the fuck is training their guys nowadays.

"Fuckin' hell." Simon muttered to himself as he switched back his focus to the meeting happening in the room. No one had seemed to move from their positions. "'least tell us when y'r on th' move." His voice was filled with exasperation at [name's] cunningness.

"Sorry, Si."

She didn't mean that.

"How many?" Price asked over the comms, pushing away her actions to the back of his mind. He would deal with her later.

Simon could hear the girl cry as her tears mingled with the music from the club that drifted in and out of the bathroom. The girl was visibly distraught from her near death experience. Simon's lip was curled at the sight.

"Six." Simon replied as he watched the two guards lead her out of the restroom.

"Nine." Her voice interjected. "Those guys that took care of that--little squabble, are coming in right now." It made her heart wrench that she compromised another innocent woman, but with her out of harms way it was easier to focus on the mission once again.

"Sharp eye, hen." Johnny complimented her.

"Thank ya, Johnny." Her voice practically sang.

Minutes dragged by and Simon's eyes were dancing between [name] and the door that the cartel members all seemed to be facing, like they were waiting for the arms dealer to walk through at any given second.

"Any moment now." Simon muttered, keeping his eyes on the entrance for someone to enter, antsy for the deal to begin.

The door was pushed open and a man dressed in a crisp black suit with greased back silver hair and a thin, angular frame entered, along with another cartel member who held his weapon with his finger on the trigger. The man's eyes scanned the room as they approached the other cartel members, who remained relaxed. Simon let out a sharp breath, hoping that they had arrived on time to foil the deal.

"Tango has entered the building." Simon muttered into the comms.

A collective sigh of relief could be heard over their earpieces, but not from Price. His grip tightened on the bar stool as the seconds dragged on. It was hard to contain his breathing when his adrenaline spiked that high but he was managing.

Simon's voice was even and cool. He had trained for this moment. "Standby f'r engagement. Weapons free at m'signal."

"Copy." Price replied.

The transaction seemed ready to go down smoothly as the Russian man slid his briefcase towards the cartel members, who in turn slid over their weapons.

Simon's muscles began to tense, bracing himself for the inevitable gunfire. He was ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Price's hand went to the butt of his gun, checking that it was secure in its holster as he waited for the signal to move in.

The men made their exchange, and the deal looked like it was going to go down without a hitch. But something didn't feel quite right.

Just when it seemed like things were going to go swimmingly, one of the cartel members raised his weapon and fired at the man in the suit. The man dove for cover behind the bar as a bullet shattered the glass door behind him. Chaos erupted as the entire room exploded in gunfire.

Bullets ricocheting off the walls, commands being yelled over the noise the clamor could be heard from both sides as the cartel was scrambling out of sight. [name] took that as her ticket to take care of the Russian arms dealer, but she was gently pinned to the wall.

A familiary honeyed voice in her ear. "An' where do y'think y'r goin', ducky?"

Johnny, Price and Simon move in with ease and efficiency as they neutralized the threats with no remorse. It more than personal at this point, as she ogled the way Simon used his lucky blade against the throat of one man, Johnny breaking the arm of another and Price taking his sweet time over the man that he watched so vehemently put his hands up your skirt. There seemed to be a common theme here.

"Someone call it in." Price let out a exasperated sigh as he shot the last guy straight in the skull without even giving him a second glance. He carded his calloused fingers through sweat saturated locks and his eyes fell on her.

His Sergeant's arms were enveloped around her lovingly as they eagerly tabbed their teammates individual vendettas.

"Done, sir?" Kyle probed playfully as he eyed his Captain and then the other two men. Simon flicked off the blood on his blade on the ground before using the now cartel member's suit to clean of the rest and stuffed it back in its holster, while Johnny's casually rolled his neck from side to side, cracking his neck like he just finished sparring.

The corners of Price's mouth turned up into an incredulous grin as he licked his lips and riveted on [name]. "Y'pull anotha stunt like tha' again, ducky--" He breathed out and shook his head as he took in her puckish grin. "ah fuck it. I've got no fire left 'n me after tonight."

He scratched his temple with the rear end of his handgun. "Y'call it in, Johnny?"

"Done tha' already, Cap." Johnny's tongue was peaking out of his lips as he pressed them in a thin line to keep himself from laughing, but the way the corner of his lips were kicking up gave it away.

"Good man." Price clapped the Scot's shoulder and soon the soft brouhaha of their men was heard, approaching them as they slammed doors of their vehicles ready to clean up the bodies and take them back to base. Simon and Johnny were more than happy to help them drag off the bodies onto the oncoming stretchers.

Price's bleary eyes glanced over at her form for a fleeting second before he headed toward the truck, but not before he pinched the exposed skin of her ass cheek causing her to yelp.

She pouted at him in passing to which he gave her a cheeky grin, gently instigating a smirk from her. Kyle's lips are on her cheek, his subtle stubble scratching her soft skin as she feels his breath against her ear.

"Y'r really in for it this time, ducky."

[seospicybin]

TOO HOT TO HANDLE.

EXTRA HOT REUNION

Lee Know x reader. (s)

Too Hot To Handle Masterlist.

Synopsis: You and Minho are having a Too Hot To Handle reunion with other contestants to catch up on the life after the retreat. (7,2k words)

Author's note: Merry Christmas! Hope you enjoy my gift to you ❤️

HOST: Welcome to the Too Hot To Handle reunion! Today, we're going to get all the updates on your favorite couples and what happens once they return to the real world. And I know, you're all dying to know if the couples are still together or not but in the meantime, let's find out if our sexy group of people remember all the times they broke the rules.

-

AGNES: Uh, I did a lot [cringes]

LUCA: I wish I had broken more rules. [Laughs]

YOU: The kiss Agnes and I did with Jack.

JAI: [Counts with fingers] There's just a lot of 'em.

BRYAN: Uhm... I'm the accountant, remember?

MINHO: The sex?

YOU: Then I broke more rules with Minho.

AGNES: Oh, the kiss with Jack!

JACK: Just once but I kissed the two hottest girls in the retreat [grins]

-

HOST: Here's the couple who broke half of those rule breaks and managed to win the show. Welcome back, lovebirds!

MINHO: [Waves hand]

YOU: Hi, gorgeous! [Smiles]

HOST: You guys won. Congratulations! [Claps]

YOU: Thanks, girl!

MINHO: Thank you.

HOST: So, what are you guys doing with the money? Are you guys sharing it? Or maybe... saving it for the wedding? [Chuckles]

MINHO: I make her keep all the money.

YOU: He insists that I handle it.

HOST: Uh-oh. I sense something wrong. What is it? Tell us all about it...

MINHO: [Shrugs]

YOU: Ugh!

MINHO: We were supposed to go on this trip together.

YOU: [rolls eyes]

HOST: Girl, I can see you holding back. Spill!

YOU: [Sighs] Well, since I'm taking care of the money, I thought it would be nice to go on a trip together with the money we've won. On the day we were supposed to leave, we had an argument so yeah...

HOST: Oh, no [frowns]

YOU: I booked the flights, the Airbnb... I have to cancel all of that because he canceled last minute like... [exhales air]

HOST: Minho, you want to add to that?

MINHO: That's all true. We argued on the day of the flight and I canceled.

YOU: And I texted him, you know, he could have still come, we could sort things out face to face but no, he didn't reply to any of my texts.

HOST: If I were you, I would have still gone on that vacation.

YOU: Honestly, I was looking forward to that trip, I want to spend time with him and have fun... [sighs] I was a little heartbroken by that.

HOST: Just to clarify... are you still together or not?

YOU: I'm just going to let it out of my chest that I... I will always have love for Minho and I support him, I'll always be attracted to him. I—

HOST: I'm sorry, girl but you have to hold it right there and we'll get back to you later.

-

HOST: If there's one thing that the villa proves is that people are complicated and one person knows this more than most... it's Zara!

ZARA: [Blows kisses] Hi, hello! That's actually the nicest way to put it, it's complicated [laughs]

HOST: Let me tell you, I was sad to see you got eliminated [pouts]

ZARA: Aww... but that's the thing, I came home not feeling sad at all, and to feel that, I usually have to go out with friends and have a few drinks. But I was sitting at my home thinking of what Lana taught me and what I'd learned... [smiles] It was all a good life lesson.

HOST: What made you feel that way about your elimination?

ZARA: I don't know, I woke up feeling like I learned enough in the retreat, obviously, I didn't want to keep hurting myself and get myself into more drama... [inhales] it's for the best.

HOST: Are you seeing anyone at the moment?

ZARA: Yeah and he's amazing, he's sweet and fun and he's just as obsessed with me as I do for him [chuckles]

HOST: I love that, yeah. You just feel like want to eat him, right?

ZARA: [Laughs]

HOST: But in regards to what happened to you and Bryan, have you spoken to each other ever since? Are you on good terms?

ZARA: He sent me some texts once the show ended but that's just that [thinly smiles] let's just leave it at that.

HOST: It was fun catching up with you but I have to go and talk to Agnes and Jai.

ZARA: Send my love for them [Blows kisses]

HOST: And I am sending you my love. Cheers, babe!

-

HOST: I cannot wait to find out if they're still horny for each other, it's one of my favorite couples, Jai and Agnes!

AGNES: Hi, hi! [Makes smooching sounds]

JAI: G'day! [Grins]

HOST: I never knew I missed that grin of yours, Jai! [Chuckles]

JAI: I know [grins] I'm doing it for you.

HOST: Shush it, boy! Your girl is here!

AGNES: I'm very aware of how flirtatious my man could be. But I'm watching you [squints eyes]

JAI: [Holds both hands up]

HOST: Tell us what happened after the show. Are you guys still naughty and horny?

JAI: Oh, yes.

AGNES: [Laughs]

JAI: She stayed with me for a while, back when I was still having a roommate and he asked me if we were alright. We kept going at it that it concerned him.

AGNES: Oh, my God!

HOST: Oh! You two are just so passionate [laughs]

AGNES: [Nods] [giggles]

JAI: We are!

HOST: Now, for the most important question, are you guys still together or not?

JAI: We had a little break then we just kind of... found a way back to each other.

AGNES: [smiles] We are still together. Yay!

HOST: Oh, thank Goodness!

JAI: A month ago, is it? We took a trip together and eventually met her sister and her family.

AGNES: It was unplanned! [Laughs] [shows hand] There's no ring yet, everyone.

HOST: Jai? Any plans to put a ring on it then?

AGNES: [Laughs]

JAI: Uh... to be continued?

HOST: It's been lovely, you guys. I hope you two stay happy.

AGNES: And horny?

HOST: Yes [laughs] Thank you and see you [blows kisses]

-

HOST: Before we get to the final interview, the guests are sharing their best moments in the villa.

AGNES: Oddly enough, I missed the dressing room, I guess that's because we gossip so much in there [giggles]

JACK: The kiss, obviously [laughs]

LUCA: The first party in the villa. That was... just wild and so much fun.

MAISIE: The final date I had with Luca was just romantic, probably the nicest date I ever had.

YOU: It's all the times Sabine and I hang out in the pool. Then there's also the time when Minho said he likes me, with the cushion and everything [laughs] that was just so special.

BRYAN: Just having with the guys, I guess, we were fooling around a lot, just lots of laughs.

-

HOST: Finally, we have come to the most awaited moment. Let me take a deep breath first [inhales] [exhales] Okay, we're ready now.

YOU: Where were we? [Laughs]

MINHO: The canceled trip and you were sad about it.

YOU: Yes, that... we had arguments like that not once or twice, I think that's just our love language [laughs]

HOST: That's kind of sexy, actually.

YOU: At that time, I just knew I had to be the one putting on the big girl pants, again [rolls eyes] if he didn't want to come to me then I'll just come to him.

HOST: Oh, my God! Is it like one of those movie scenes where the girl chasing the guy—

YOU: yeah, it's pretty much like that but the problem was... it was around Christmas and you know how hard it is to get a flight during holidays, it was a nightmare but I went through all that to see him.

HOST: And...?

YOU: It was cold and snowing, I dragged behind me, and knocked on his door, expecting that his face would light up when he saw me...

HOST: Oh, no, I sense a 'but' coming...

MINHO: I was just telling you to stop knocking [shrugs]

YOU: That's what he did, he scolded me for knocking on his door.

HOST: It keeps getting worse... I don't think I want to hear the rest.

MINHO: We're still together, we made up that day.

HOST: Oh, thank you Minho. I was close to having a cardiac arrest [clutches chest]

YOU: [Smiles] I didn't mean to scare anyone, sorry. We're still together, we still argue sometimes but we're still together, thank God!

HOST: That's good to hear so what are the plans now? Besides trying to be civil with each other [laughs]

YOU: Oh, before I forget, Minho also said the L word that day [giggles]

HOST: What? How could you hide it from it?

YOU: We were exchanging Christmas presents and he casually dropped the L bomb.

MINHO: Casually?

YOU: Honey... [laughs] I didn't say I don't like it. See? [Sighs] We need a couple counseling.

HOST: That's not a bad idea [chuckles]

YOU: I think it was special that there were only the two of us, it was intimate and heartfelt, and it couldn't be more perfect [smiles]

HOST: Minho, that... I didn’t know you were such a gentle guy.

MINHO: I've been meaning to say it, I just... didn't have the right time to say it.

YOU: Because we're always arguing.

HOST: [Laughs] I love that you guys complete each other's sentences.

YOU: I know, that's why I love us. That, and also because the make-up sex is just... [moans] [thumbs up]

HOST: Ugh, okay, you got me jealous now. I'll leave you two back to arguing then [laughs] Best wishes to you two, my loves! [Blows kisses]

-

HOST: It's been a blast catching up with all the casts of Too Hot To Handle Season 2. Thank you so much for watching, see you next time!

-

LAST CHRISTMAS 

"I don't chase, I attract."

You say those words out loud and manifest them to the world when you meditate in the morning but here you are, getting off the plane to chase a guy who canceled your planned trip at the last minute and not replying to your calls or texts.

You might have attracted him but nobody tells you that you have to chase him around too.

The layers of clothes that should have shielded you from the cold only make your body hot and soon drenched in sweat.

Why there are so many stairs? Why Minho has to live up on the hill? Why is your suitcase so heavy? Why did you pack so many clothes? Why are you here at all?

Despite the fatigue that slowly taking over you, you manage to conquer the last flight of stairs and arrive at his house.

After hours of bustling through the airport and the traffic, not to mention, dragging your luggage through the street, you're aware of how you look and it's not how you want Minho to see you when he opens the door.

But he should be appreciative of your intentions to come here and surprise him.

Right?

Can't believe you have second thoughts when you're already standing right in front of his door, why couldn't you have these thoughts before you got on the plane?

You throw away your worries and stop thinking altogether, your hands start knocking on the door. Once, twice... no one opens the door.

Oh, God? What if he's not home? What if—

You keep knocking on his door in case he didn't hear you the first two times. Your knocking is almost turning into a banging when he finally pulls the door open.

Minho stands there and looks at you with your hand hanging mid-air.

"You can stop knocking now," he says, scolding you for the aggressive knocking.

You don't expect confetti or cake or grand entrance music, but not this either, just you and him, looking at each other in silence.

Another moment passes and Minho opens the door wider, "Why are you just standing there? It's cold, get in!" He scolds you again.

It's only been a few minutes but he has scolded you twice already and weirdly, you obey him, getting into his house, pulling your luggage behind you.

Something is beeping from inside the house and Minho runs to check it, you allow yourself to go further inside. You take off your coat and purse, putting them on top of your suitcase before continuing to look around his house.

It's not small, not big either and it's obvious that he keeps it tidy and clean. You expect nothing less than that.

It's like seeing a movie scene, except that it's real. Minho looks exceptionally gorgeous in his dark sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and one hand that is busy stirring something in a pot.

"Go wash your hands!" He orders.

You're too deep in your daydream to listen to him the first time and only get what he said the second time.

"Dinner is almost ready," he adds, closing the pot with a lid and then turning off the stove.

"Where's the—"

"The door behind you," he answers your unfinished question.

You're too tired to bicker with him and the smell of the soup he's cooking is appetizing, making your stomach rumbling in hunger.

Is it why Minho is not that happy to see you? You look horrible with your eyes looking dark and heavy with exhaustion, your hair is greasy and stuck to your forehead.

There's no time to dig into your suitcase to get your toiletry bag so you do everything to make yourself look presentable, wash your face, and brush your hair with your fingers, hoping that it's enough for now.

Minho has already set everything on the dining table when you return from the bathroom, looking at the food he's serving, your stomach is getting impatient on being filled with some home-cooked meals.

"This looks good," you say, taking a seat on the dining table.

He doesn't say anything to your compliment but goes to the kitchen to bring back a pitcher of water, then sits opposite you.

Minho immediately starts digging into his food and as much as you want to do the same, you're hoping to hear something from him other than commands.

"Do you perhaps... want to say something to me?" You carefully say.

He continues eating, taking a few things from different plates and eating them with a spoonful of rice.

"Like... 'oh, what a nice surprise!' or 'I'm happy to see you, honey'," you recite a few lines you wished to hear him saying yet he seems to enjoy his food too much to pay attention to what you're saying.

You softly sigh and pick up your spoon, "A hug would be nice," you mumble.

He glances up from his bowl of rice and looks at you, "You must be hungry. Eat!"

You cave in, obeying him again, and eat the food just like he ordered. Maybe because you were hungry, you feel less upset now that your stomach is filled.

You help with the dishes after dinner, drying your hands with a towel once you're finished then refill your glass with more red wine before leaning against the counter, watching Minho slicing up fruits, he looks so relaxed but maybe because he's in his element, in his own place.

"You're different at home," you mutter, then take a small sip of your wine.

He glances at you for a second before focusing back on the task in hand, the hand gripping the knife showcasing the evident veins on his forearm.

"Off-guard," you point out.

He pauses cutting an apple then looks at you, "Should I be on guard?"

To other people, Minho may seem like he's trying to pick a fight with you but that's just how he communicates, a bit snarky with a whole lot of nonchalance in it.

It's a good thing that you've been with him long enough to know how to handle him. You put your wine glass away and smile, "You're the one holding a knife, I should be the one on guard."

He smirks hearing your words and it took you this long to make him do that.

"So... will you put the knife down so you can kiss your girlfriend who came all the way to see you?" You sweetly ask, tilting your head to the side and batting your eyelashes at him even though you're not sure these flirting tricks would work on him.

You see that he loosens the grip around the knife and you come closer to him, "That's it, easy, easy..." you playfully say.

You take his other hand and let the knife drop onto the cutting board, turning him to face you. Holding his eyes in a gaze, you slide your hands up his arms then reunite them on the nape of his neck.

"I missed you," you softly mutter but your heart is close to shattering.

"So much," you say all of those words out while deeply looking into his dark brown eyes as they stare down into yours.

"Do you miss me?"

Minho hates it when you're insecure like this but you can't help it, it's just happens when you care so much about someone so let's hope he still knows that.

Then he leans in and kisses you, answering your question with a fiery kiss that melts your worries away until the only thing that remains is the warm feeling he brings with those lips.

When he pulls away, you forget the reason why you ever doubted him.

He then rests his hand on your back, he then slowly and deliberately blinks his eyes before saying, "I missed you too."

It's nice to hear that you're not the only one suffering from the longing. You smile knowing that he thought of you when you weren't here with him even though you're sure not as many times as you thought of him.

"Okay, good, the feeling is still mutual," you awkwardly say with a dry chuckle.

What can you say? Dating Minho is not for the faint of heart, it takes a lot of patience and courage, and it takes... a lot of things.

But is he worth it? The answer is Minho worth everything and more.

- 

The shower helps you get rid of the stress that’s been clinging onto you and you come out refreshed, not feeling tired at all. If anything, you feel excited to spend the rest of the night with Minho, catching up on a lot of things.

Before that, you make yourself presentable this time, putting on your night dress and drying your hair real quick. You notice the toiletry bag Minho brought to the villa is on the sink and it seems like he packed it recently. You shrug it off, keeping your skincare routine brief, impatiently wanting to join Minho on his bed.

On your way to the bedroom, you also notice that he packed a suitcase in his closet, you wonder if he’s planning to go somewhere soon.

Minho is sitting on his bed reading a book, doing it so elegantly like he’s in a furniture TV ad.

“Are you going somewhere?” You get on the bed and lay on your stomach facing him.

“Huh?” He asks without looking away from his book.

You peek over to see the book he’s reading, from the cover you can see that it’s either a mystery, thriller, or horror book, it could be all of that combined.

“I saw your suitcase, packed,” you tell him.

He lowers his book to look at you, “unpacked, you mean,” he says.

Ah, that explains it but looking at how he keeps his things in his house tidy, there’s no way he lets his things stay in his suitcase for too long.

“You should dry your hair. You’ll catch a cold,” he says nonchalantly yet oozing with affection.

This is why you love him, he’s hot and cold, always keeping you on your toes, dating him is one endless thrilling ride.

“I just didn’t dry the end,” you tell him.

The talk about the suitcase reminds you of something. You roll over to the side of the bed and open your suitcase, taking two gift boxes you actually prepared for tomorrow. You bring them over to the bed, sitting next to Minho and place the smaller box first onto his lap.

“Merry Christmas,” You say with a bright smile on your face.

Minho raises an eyebrow at you then glares down at the gift on his lap, “What is it?”

“Your Christmas present from me,” you simply answer.

He seems way too calm for someone who receives a gift from his girlfriend and not sure you’re going to get used to this.

“Open it!” you impatiently say because he keeps observing the box and doing nothing to find out what’s inside.

He finally takes the lid off and sees the bracelet inside. You’re smiling as he takes it out to observe it. You hurriedly help him putting it around his wrist.

“Do you like it?” You ask once you clasped the ends together.

“Did you buy it with the prize money?” He asks with a sly grin.

Why he’s making it hard for you? You must admit that Minho makes you realize that you have a lot of patience in you. You take a deep, deep sigh and put on a big smile for him.

“I’m glad you like it and you’re very welcome,“ you respond, not going to make this supposed-to-be-a-heartfelt-moment into an argument.

It’s time to hand him the second box, instead of putting it on his lap, you drop it right on his crotch as a way to get back to him. He doesn’t flinch but pulls the box closer to his chest before opening it. You put your hand on top of the lid, stopping him from opening it.

“It’s not for you,” you tell him.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Then why did you give it to me?”

“Because I know you don’t have a Christmas present prepared for me so I got you one,” you explain.

It takes him a moment to process your words, “So, you bought this for me to gift to you?”

“Yes,” you answer without a beat.

He bursts into laughter and the box is shaking along with his body as he laughs, “So it- this one for you?”

You take the box from him and smile at him, “Thank you for the present, honey,” you say, then place a quick peck on his lips.

You put on an act, pretending not to know what’s inside the box and slowly uncovering it, taking the lid off with low exciting squeals coming out of your parted mouth. You tear through the wrapping paper and gasp at the sight of the content.

“Oh, my God! Honey…” You coo at him.

You take the pair of lingerie out of the box and show it to him, “This is so beautiful!” You exclaim with excitement even though you were the one who bought it.

“You like it?” He’s slyly smiling as he asks you.

“Are you kidding me? I love it!” You dramatically ask, clutching the gift close to your chest.

You lean in close and tilt your head to the side, “Ugh! You know me so well,” You sneer, then peck his lips.

“I’m glad you like it,” He coyly asks.

You put everything into the box and sigh, “I wanted to put them on and show them to you but…”

You put the lid back onto the box, excessively raising your shoulders, and slump them down as you let out another dramatic sigh, “I’m not in the mood.”

Minho snorts and puts away the boxes, stacking them on the bedside table, “Yeah, you’d better rest, you must be tired.”

And Minho always picks the worst time to be considerate towards you, you roll your eyes and stomp your feet as you walk back to your suitcase, tossing the lingerie into your suitcase and angrily shut it.

“But if you’re not tired, I would love to see you in them,” he says with a devilish smile dancing on his beautiful face.

Hate that you melt right away to his sweet consolidation, your foot is tapping the floor as you pretend to consider his request.

“Well… if you insist,” you say, grabbing the lingerie back from your suitcase.

You’re giggling as you walk to Minho’s closet, changing out of your night dress and putting the lingerie on. As you’re changing, you see Minho’s backpack sitting next to his “unpacked” suitcase. You don’t mean to snoop but it’s open, you can see what’s inside. Using your fingers, you pry it open wider and see that he has a plane ticket clamped between his passport, you reach down to take a look at it when he calls from you from the bedroom.

It feels as if you got caught stealing, you scramble to leave the closet and Minho is putting something into his bedside drawer when you come back. He looks at you, confused to see you standing in a silk robe that comes with the lingerie.

“That’s not the same as what I bought for you,” he playfully says, sitting on the edge of the bed facing you.

You come up to him and stop right in front of him, “Jeez, Minho! You’re not a kid anymore, unwrap your gift yourself,” you tell him with a cheeky smile.

It’s a good thing that he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating right now and it’s beating faster when he looks up, staring into your eyes as his hands reach for your silk robe, untying it until they part open.

You do the rest, sliding the silk robe down your arms and letting it fall onto the carpeted floor. You take a final step, closing the gap between you and him.

He places his hands on each side of your waist, his fingers teasing the thin straps of the lacy underwear but his eyes never stray away from yours even for a moment

“So…?” You curiously ask since he’s not saying anything the moment he sees them on you.

He glides his hands up to your back and draws you close until his lips land on your abdomen, inhaling your scent as he kisses it, making you flutter inside. After a while, he glances up at you and says, “Glad I bought it.”

That sends you into a laughing fit and at the same, he pulls you until you both collapse onto the bed.

-

A breathless gasp escapes your parted mouth as Minho inserts his fingers inside you, he uses two digits to find that spot that makes you let out another gasp, louder, almost inaudible.

He’s hovering above you as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace and his face is so calm, a contrast to your state: a moaning mess under him.

He presses a kiss on you with tongue and teeth clashing in your mouth, his kisses are hungry, it feels as if he wants to eat you whole.

“Oh…” You moan again, feeling his fingers curl inside you.

Minho then drags his mouth down your chest, using his free hand he yanks down the cup of your bra just so he can suck on your nipple and leave it soaked and wet with his saliva. He continues his trail of wet kisses down your body and he stops with his head hanging between your legs, watching your eyes fluttering as he keeps pumping his fingers.

He pulls your underwear to the side and keeps it there, without wasting another second, he plants his mouth on your cunt, not caring how wet it is. He lifts his head for a moment, using the tip of his tongue to trace your folds and gently, circling your clit that is pulsating with so much desire.

Minho dives down into your wetness again and this time, he lands right on your clit and sucks hard on it.

“Oh, fu-“You can’t even finish your profanity, your voice is shaking and so are your legs.

You slip your hands into his hair, tugging at it as he keeps on sucking and it’s a fruitless effort to try to stop him, the more you try, the harder he sucks on your clit and the faster he pumps his fingers, making you overwhelmed with pleasure.

The only conclusion is Minho won’t stop until you

“I’m- oh, I’m cumming…” you whine, helplessly tugging at his hair.

He hovers above you again but now, he slowly puts his body on top of you, pinning you as he presses kisses on your lips, making you dizzy as he can’t stop kissing you until you run out of breath.

“Honey…” you sigh as you gently push his chest away.

You smile at him and put your hand on the back of his head, wanting to keep him close to you. As you catch your breath, you allow yourself to take a moment to enjoy this moment with him, placing a sweet kiss on his lips and then letting out a low sigh as you pull away.

“Gosh…how I missed you!” You pour out all of the emotions you’ve been keeping inside you and seal the hole in your heart with a kiss that yet again, takes your breath away.

It’s time to show him how much your body misses him. You pull the hem of his sweater and take it off of him to continue kissing him. Slowly, you roll him to the side until he lays next to you and overlaps half of his body with yours.

Minho lets you have the pleasure of doing whatever you want to him, he puts his hands over his head as your hand goes lower and slips it under his sweatpants, palming his member before letting it out.

You glance down to see how his cock is hardening in your hand, “Oh, he’s excited to see me,” you playfully mutter to him.

 “What are you going to do then?” He coyly asks.

“Mmh…” you delightfully sigh as you pretend to think of an answer all the while your thumb is circling the tip of his cock.

“I just have so many ideas,” you answer him with a seductive tone.

To execute your ideas, you first get rid of his sweatpants then sit on his thick thighs. You seductively smile at him as you take hold of his cock in your hand again, slowly stroking it with your clothed cunt only inches away from it.

You both wanted it but what’s the fun in giving in to the temptations right away?

His cock is swollen and hard, so ready for you and you are just as eager to take him but refrained yourself. Instead of that, you lean down to lick the tip of his cock with your tongue. The second time, you place a lick from the base up to the tip and then stroke it again.

“How you like that?” you tease him.

Minho doesn’t say anything, he remains calm but his body tells you otherwise, not only his cock, his body reddens all over, his chest, his ears, his cheeks… he’s completely turned on.

You tease him by rubbing his cock to your clothed core, “Mmh… yeah,” you hum in pleasure.

To tease him more, you put his cock inside your underwear, soaking it with your essence as you start grinding on him, unknowingly teasing yourself too in the process.

The yes he’s giving you… oh, it’s so intense, so full of lust, he looks at you like you’re the sexiest thing he ever laid his eyes on, making you feel so wanted, and admired. You suddenly feel a charge of confidence surging all over you and you lean down, kissing him with so much passion until you drain all the air in your lungs.

“Screw this!” you mutter.

 Carefully, you push his cock inside you and ease yourself down, taking him little by little until he’s fully sheathed inside you. You just sit there to adjust yourself to his size, closing your eyes as your hands start touching yourself.

Minho gets his hands on you too, he places them on your thighs and glides them up the sides of your body. You take his hands, using them to cup your breasts and fondle them together. You’re lowly moaning as he squeezes on them.

Minho only stops just to pull you close so he can kiss you, putting his arms around you to not let you go and without warning, he starts bucking his hips into you. You can tell he’s smirking against your lips while you let out a broken moan.

“That’s not-oh, not fair!” you mumble yet pressing another kiss on him.

Minho insists on you keeping the lingerie on, he ends up being the one taking it off of you and tossing it onto the bedroom floor. He made you climax twice already but Gosh, looking at him passionately making love to you, you can already tell you’re going to climax for the third time.

“Oh, my God! You feel so good,” You murmur into his shoulders with your fingers clawing his back.

Minho crashes his lips on you, deepening his kiss as he thrusts harder into you. He can sense that you’re about to cum again, he adds intensity to his thrusts and goes as shallow as possible.

Your eyes are screwed shut, feeling the knot inside you keep tightening, getting close to your-

Minho slows down, knowing that you just cum around him and the way he kisses, it’s so gentle as if he knows that you’re already overly stimulated.

You hold him close as you come down from your high, returning his kisses while keeping him inside you.

“You’re not going to stop, are you?”

You brush his hair back with your fingers, putting all the hair covering his face and holding his jaw, “Don’t stop, honey,” you whine.

Nothing gets him off than hearing how needy you are for him. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist and pull him closer, “I don’t want you to stop until you cum inside me,” you whisper into his ear.

That seems to work as planned, Minho picks up the pace of his thrusts, harder and deeper, giving what you both wanted.

You give up on holding in your moans, you let them spill out of your parted mouth and as he gets closer to his release, you press a haste kiss on his mouth.

“Want you to cum inside me, honey,” you whine again.

You have to pause a few times as he mercilessly pulsates his hips against you and the bed creaks along to his movements.

“Oh, please, please!” you sigh.

“Minho, please!”

At this point, you can’t tell if you’re begging him to stop or keep going, the pain and pleasure start to blur into one. You hold onto his shoulders with fingers digging into this flesh and forming crescent marks on his warm, honey skin.

It takes Minho a few more thrusts to finally cum inside you, releasing all of his seed inside you as he collapses on top of you. You embrace him, holding him with so much love, and kiss him with all of your heart until it quakes inside your chest.

Minho hastily kisses your lips, then drags his mouth close to your ear, you’re already drowsy and tired from the day that you barely can keep your eyes open anymore. You can hear him mutter something into your ear but when you’re about to tell him to repeat it, you fall asleep instead.

-

"Honey, wake up!"

If it isn't because of the hand squeezing your asscheek, you wouldn't have budged from your sleep. When you try to open your eyes, they are heavy and you feel like taking another hour of sleep.

Then Minho bites at your arm, making you jolt on your bed in reaction.

"Minho!" You sharply gasp.

"Wake up!" He says again, now slapping at your ass cheek.

Your feet are kicking the duvet as you whine like a fussy kid, "It's too early."

You turn over on the bed, lying on your side to face him, and croak, "What time is it?"

"One."

"One a.m?"

Minho presses a kiss on your shoulder then gets up from the bed, "Come on, wake up!"

He walks out of the bedroom and leaves the door ajar. You force yourself away and rub your eyes before opening them.

The daylight is almost blinding you and you immediately shut your eyes again, scooting to the side and your hand reaches for your phone on the bedside table.

You tap the screen until it lights up, showing you that it's indeed one o'clock in the afternoon. You must be tired from the flights, dragging your suitcase up the hill in the cold, and then there was the sex, a lot of sex. You remember how you passed out not long after he cum inside you.

Oh no, you missed the whole Christmas morning and that's not the plan. You thought of how nice it would be to snuggle together with Minho on the sofa while having hot chocolate on Christmas morning.

Instead of that, you stand in front of the sink and feel horrified to see your reflection in the mirror, how tired and miserable you look after ten hours of sleep.

Instead of wearing your clothes, you stop by his closet and borrow one of his comfiest knitted sweaters. His suitcase and his backpack are still there, you assume he didn't know you were snooping into his stuff.

Well, there's another reason to snoop in further to see where he's going with the flight ticket. You check for the situation first and waddle back inside, taking his passport out of the bag.

Minho looks so hot even on a government-issued ID photo and before you forget the main goal here, you flip it open to see the details of his flight ticket and you see it.

Unless he has someone else to see in the city you live in, you can safely assume that he planned on coming to see you too, and probably wants to spend the new year with you.

"I knew it!" You exclaim to yourself with a giddy smile on your face.

You wanted to remain calm and pretend that you didn't see the flight ticket and everything but... you can't help but smile when you see him sipping his coffee in the kitchen.

Minho is what people say as one with the softest heart builds the hardest shell. He acts cold, nonchalant, and a bit mean, but that's how you know he really cares for you, and he's genuine and sincere about you.

You come up to him and throw your arms around him, not wasting time kissing his lips, putting all of your affection into this long kiss, and pull away with a gasp.

"Merry Christmas," you happily say to him.

Minho smiles and returns the kiss with a quick peck on your lips, "Coffee?"

You eagerly nod and you wait on the sofa, taking a cookie out of a plate full of them, watching the snow floating in the air through the window.

"Thank you," you mutter as he hands you your cup of steaming hot coffee.

"This is good," you tell him, taking another cookie from the plate.

"I made them," he casually says like he didn't put any effort into baking such delicious cookies.

Minho is good at a lot of things so when he said he made these cookies, you didn't doubt him even for a second.

You place a kiss on his cheek, "These are really good," you tell him again.

You might have missed the Christmas morning but there's always a time to snuggle close to him. It's quiet and warm, it's such a nice moment and to be able to spend it with him is one that you're most grateful for.

Suddenly, Minho takes something from the end of the sofa and shows it to you.

"For you?"

You stop chewing your cookie and put the rest away, "For me?"

He nods and coyly sips his coffee, watching you excitedly unwrapping the gift to find out what's inside.

You gasp as you see a necklace inside, white gold with a small pendant, delicate and beautiful.

"I love it," you tell him with a gleeful smile.

It's always the thoughts that counts. The fact that he thought of you when he picked this gift worth more than the gift itself.

"You should be. I bought it with my own money," he pokes fun at you.

You pout at him, handing him the box so he can put it on for you. You hold all of your hair up in your hands as he puts the necklace around your neck, safely clasping the ends together.

"I love it," you mutter again, letting go of your hair so you can bring his head close and give him a sweet little kiss on his lips.

"Thank you," you say as you break the kiss with a soft caress on his cheek.

He smiles and places a kiss on your cheek, then your jaw. When you think he's going to kiss your neck next, he brings his mouth close to your ear, and ever so softly he murmurs, "I love you."

Your heart shrinks and the next second, it expands twice its size, overflowing with warm feelings. You feel like flying, riding on the clouds of those three words.

"What did you say?" You ask with a foolish smile on your face.

He slyly smiles and sips his coffee, "You heard," he says.

"I heard but..." you lean in close to his side and hold his hand, "can you say it one more time?"

Your sweet smile and the fondness in your eyes are not enough to make him cave in. You should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

You pout and then sigh, but you feel the need to return those words to him. It's not because you have to, but you have known for a while that he is not just a passing fancy, you see a future with him, and as silly as it sounds, you can see yourself growing old with him.

What you have for him is real and it's powerful, it's taking over you.

You hold his jaw and turn his head to look at you, you lean in close until your noses meet in the middle, softly you nuzzle them together while softly smiling at him.

"I love you," you say back with all of your heart that it aches.

Then you place your lips against him and let your heart pour out, flowing all of your emotions into the kiss.

When you open your eyes, his eyes are staring straight into yours. He holds your gaze and lovingly, he says those three words again for you.

"I love you."

And in his eyes, you find comfort, safety, you find a home you want to live in, forever.

-

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[riaki]

dog treats (for humans) | yuuji itadori x reader

pt.5 of christmas event! vry short sorry, a day late but it works as fluff for the jjk ep today !?

"[name], look! i baked something!"

your immediate thoughts are something along the lines of oh, no.

yuuji's a decent cook. or at least, that's what you like to believe; hours of the two of you making messes in your kitchen after ruining the recipe book you were following prove otherwise. still, he's not half bad. and there was that one time he taught his roommate to make meatballs; something vague like 'a legacy of hotpot meatballs'. that's your boyfriend for you.

baking, though, is certainly not his forte. as demonstrated by the giant blob of half-baked somethings on the tray; an amalgamation of dough stuck to the wax paper.

you're not quite sure what you're looking at when you enter the kitchen of your apartment; it's an absolute mess. there's flour everywhere, and some strange looking leftover dough sitting in a clump on the counter. it smells a bit weird, but that's not new. what draws your attention the most other than the flour coating the polaroids on the fridge or the four spatulas on the counter is the mess on his person.

he's coated in flour. there's dough sticking to his cheeks, almost like whiskers on his face— but that does nothing to dampen the sunny grin on his lips. his hair is ruffled, clumps of flour and powdered sugar clinging to the tips. you can just picture him mussing his hair in frustration, fingers running through the soft pink strands, the color of grapefruit and strawberry lemonade on a midsummer evening.

"what exactly did you make?" you asked, glancing him up and down. he's wearing the holiday apron you bought him on a whim; it's so dirty that you don't even recognize the pattern of the golden retriever stitched to the front. it looks more like a lima bean now.

he grins, pushing the baking tray towards you as if you're supposed to come to some grand realization of what exactly he did make.

"i made dog treats! for fushiguro. you think he'll like 'em?"

"those are dog treats...?"

you certainly wouldn't've been able to tell from first sight. but that explains the peculiar smell; it must've been a product of whatever he was doing.

"yeah! aren't they great?" he laughs, full of mirth, and you catch his smile on your own lips. his enthusiasm is infectious.

"they seem more like regular cookies." you note, observing the mess on the tray. the edges are burnt a gentle caramel crisp; if you didn't know better, you would've definitely taken the initiative to make cute cookies with your cookie cutters and frost them however you like.

you're too lost in your thoughts to notice what he's doing until it's too late— your stupidly beloved boyfriend has broken off a chunk and taken an equal sized bite out of it, chewing with all the thoughtfulness of a michelin star chef. there's a few crumbs in the corner of his mouth, and if not for the contents he probably would've asked you to wipe some jam on his lips and treat yourself to a sweet treat on his cheeks.

"yuuji!" you reach out, snatching the tray from him and setting it down before you scowl out the cheeky look on his full cheeks. "spit it out." you demanded, and you're faintly reminded that it's probably fine for him to be eating them because he's acting like a puppy anyway.

he just grins at you through a mouthful, shaking his head vigorously and swallowing as he pumps his fists, and you can practically see the stars in his eyes. "'s great! you shbould try ib, bwabe."

you just roll your eyes (albeit fondly), reluctantly reaching over to the tray to break off a chunk of the dog treats(?). you give it a good feel and sniff before nibbling off a piece, trying to discern the taste in your mouth. you're starting to think that yuuji might've mistakenly made regular cookies and called them dog treats. there was no sign of raw meat or anything on the counters, which only strengthened your suspicions.

"hey, it's actually not that bad." you marveled, glancing up at him again. he's watching you expectantly, waiting like a little puppy for your response. his eyes light up like stars; far too excited for such a weak answer as yours, but his enthusiasm shines through either way.

"right? i was thinking, maybe we could keep them to ourselves..."

"don't get carried away, yuu." you sighed, shaking your head. but he just grins, grabbing your hand and pulling you close to press an insistent smooch to your lips.

he laughs, sending vibrations through your skin as he peppers your face with floury eskimo kisses. "you'd rather me gift him these things? he'd sic his dogs on me!"

"...maybe you're right. let's just keep them, then."

my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

[kokoa-la]

Paper Clips Make Good Lock Picks- part two

Part 1

"Still going to ignore me?"

...

"Okay okay you got me. Let's get out of here first. We have an hour and a half before another teacher comes in and watches us for the last 15 minutes."

"What's your name?"

Oh, Danny forgot to introduce himself huh? 

"Danny."

"No last name?" 

"You haven't made it far on the friends list"

"Wow friends already? We just met"

"You're breaking out of detention with me. You picked a lock for me, that's called being friends."

"Do you make all your friends by committing crimes together?"

"Only the best ones"

Danny smiled before walking out and checking the hallway side to side. All clear. 

He waved Tim over and out of the classroom. 

"You know this whole hallway is under watch right? There's cameras here." 

"They don't work."

"What?" 

Danny laughed a little before signaling Tim to follow after him against the wall. 

"You didn't know? After school hours certain cameras shut down. In fact, a lot of them are broken and they never paid to get them repaired. That's why they accept bribes. They lie about having proof of crimes, works every time."

"What are you talking about?"

Danny groaned. Of course Tim didn't know about this, he was one of the rich kids they'd exploit. Danny as well as the other kids who were here off of scholarships or special deals knew about the tactic and had ways to avoid it, but rich kids like Tim didn't need to avoid it. The halfa cursed at the unfairness of life. 

"Of course you don't know. The teachers here scam the rich kids. They accuse them of crimes they didn't commit and because their parents never care for proof, only reputation, they bribe them right away without even asking for the evidence. It's happened so many times and it's why when actual problems happen it's swept up under the rug."

"Are you serious?"

"Uh yeah dude. Usually kids like me try their best to avoid it. Meaning don't fight back, don't stay after school, don't go to the bathroom for anything other than an emergency, and don't talk back to any teachers at all. Those are the basics when you're not as rich as everyone else."

"So that's why you're so adamant on being framed, but couldn't you just ask them for proof it was you?"

"Not that easy. I don't have a guardian, I'm a 'charity case' as they say it."

He practically spit out that last part. Utter disgust in his tone. 

"No parents, no money, no dice. If I don't find proof myself and publicize it or threaten em with it, I'm stuck for a year. I have things to do you know"

"Like blowing up chemistry labs?"

Tim teased. Danny gave him a look over his shoulder and rolled his eyes.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. You're so funny Tim! I wonder if Andys laughing in the hospital."

"He deserved it."

"And I'm innocent."

The two just stared at each other before Danny laughed and turned back around, continuing his walk. Tim chalked up the whole conversation as something to investigate later at home. His new "friend" was turning out to be a lot more interesting than he let on. 

"So this is you searching for clues? Have you gotten anything since you started"

"Well as I was saying earlier all the cameras in the hallway leading to the lab don't work at certain times, and the ones that were IN the lab are completely unsalvageable. And at the time of the explosion the usual delinquent students - Anderson included - were out of class."

"So they're the prime suspect, no chance of it being anyone else?" 

"Not many motives. If someone was using it for an outside project they didn't have permission, and other than that it's just the love of destroying and messing around."

Danny had led them through the school, taking twists and turns Tim couldn't recognize, eventually they had stopped at a roadblock. The hallway ended where a giant white tarp lay hanging from the ceiling. Caution tape was draped from each side to the other. 

"Where are we?" 

"The scene of the crime." 

Danny smiled before walking towards the plastic covering and picking it up from the ground and waving Tim over. Tim sighed before looking around and following after him, shaking his head on the way over. 

"Don't act all disappointed in me, you're literally following me"

"I may have just met you today but I'm convinced that it I left you alone you'd somehow either die or blow something up"

Oh how Tim didn't know the truth to that statement. Danny gasped and placed his hand over his chest all dramatically, taking false offense. 

"I'll have you know death cannot take me! It has tried and failed. Plus, we've been over this, I'm innocent!"

Tim didn't even want to unpack the first part of that. Logically it could be an exaggeration, but something about it felt a little too real to his senses. 

"Whatever, you felon."

"Delinquent."

"Fair, now let's get going" 

The roles had reversed as Tim took the lead instead. Danny let him despite having been here multiple times over the last few weeks. Maybe Tim would see something he couldn't. 

“So what are you hoping to find?”

“Proof of my innocence, or proof of their crimes.”

“Isn’t finding their crimes easier? Considering a lot of people already know about it.”

“Well yeah, but that’d turn back on me.”

“How so?”

God, Danny wanted to punch him. 

“Because they’d flip it on me and say how did I get the information? They’d accuse me of stealing and breaking and entering. They’d say that a delinquent child like me who hasn’t got good influences in my life would resort to just about anything to get out of punishment-”

“That’s a bit specific, don't cha think?”

“Well I’ve had similar things happen to me before”

Creepy boy with creepy powers rang in his head, he ignored it. 

“Anyways, how am I even going to get that stuff? The principal's office has all of that information and the cameras there are fully functioning and top quality. Plus, how am I supposed to get into their computer? I don’t know the password and I can’t hack shit for the life of me. Programming I can do, but that? Whole new haunt.” 

“Haunt- you know what? I’m not going to question that.”

“Good. We’re running out of time anyways. Choosing all the hallways that don’t have cameras or ones that work took a while. We need to wrap this up in 20 and then go back the way we came.”

Tim nodded and walked a bit faster towards what used to be the chem lab. There was more plastic screening in the way, but it was easily bypassed by the two. 

“There’s no one here.”

“They only do construction on this place during school hours two times a week.”

“Why? That’ll take forever.”

“Exactly.”

Tim’s questions were getting to Danny at this point. While the halfa acted all knowing in the beginning, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s actually clueless beyond what he discovered on his own. He doesn’t know why they’re prolonging the construction, it’s probably another scheme of theirs- or if they’re lucky, an extensive cover up. Danny, in all honesty, just wants to be able to go home to his little trash heap of a living space in Crime Alley and sleep. 

Tim moved forward, being way too careful. Danny knew he was oddly silent, but he could still hear the other, so he didn't question it. Superhuman hearing for the win! 

“Why is the construction flowing this way? The back of the room is close to being done, but the front is still in complete disarray. They shouldn’t be doing parts of the room, but the whole room in steps.”

Yeah, Danny couldn’t answer that one. At this point, he was just assuming that Tim had to verbalize his questions when answering them himself. He didn’t reply, and with the way the other didn’t ask again or even look at him, Danny was right. He was content to just let his detention mate do his thing, lord knows Tim’s smarter than Danny anyways.

Tim stepped forward cautiously. The ground was still slightly unsteady considering only like 15% of the room had the floors replaced. Now that Danny thought about it, that was weird. He may be clueless about anything other than ghosts and space, but even he knew that foundations were placed first. This is a dangerous and even unsafe way to do construction. Why repair one part of the room first and then bleed out? Was something hidden in that area? Plus, there was still debris from the explosion- 

“What do you think they’re hiding?”

“We’re about to find out.”

Wow, Tim was really invested now. Danny would have just gone back by now and visited tomorrow, but Tim is full on interested. 

All that was left to do was follow the rich kid further in the room. 

“Careful some of the paint is wet.”

Danny didn’t even want to ask how the other knew that from this distance. Danny could tell, but again, super human senses, Tim? Fully human. It didn’t really matter that much though, so he just followed him further and stepped around certain tiles. 

Tim started inspecting just about everything. Nothing was safe. Every piece of wood, every corner, every point in which two colors met- the guy even pulled out a leveler. Where did he get that? You know what? Didn’t matter. Danny was giving his best in minding his business. If it got him set free? He’d ask zero questions- consider his curiosity swallowed. 

“Tim, we have to go. We’re almost out of time.”

“Is it just me or is this cement not level, and doesn’t the drywall seem incorrect to you?”

Tim finally turned back to Danny, breaking out of his investigator mode. The halfa sighed before stepping over to where his new friend was, taking a closer look at what Tim was pointing out. He was right. The cement was uneven against the wall. It was strange considering Chemistry labs required tile flooring. The tiles wouldn’t go well if it wasn’t steady. Plus, the walls were supposed to be in levels: cement, then insulation, then final layer (could be anything really). The drywall set up wasn’t screwed in correctly, and Danny was pretty sure he could see the insulation in some parts. Considering special tiles or substances had to be used over the drywall to make the chemistry lab safe and usable, it wasn’t a good base. 

Okay, Danny will admit, maybe he did do a little bit of research into chemistry labs. It was a rabbit hole he couldn’t escape when listening to Mr.Lanch drag on and on about the 5 page essay due in a month. He was bored, sue him. He was used to being attacked by ghosts everyday, this place was tame. Sure, it was exhausting, but it was still interesting. 

“This isn’t right. The concrete has cracks in it.”

“So?”

“The school is supposed to use epoxy for the flooring, but for that to work the cement underneath it has to be perfect. This is far from that.”

“But they’re doing tiles, not resin.”

Tim gave Danny a look, and it honestly made him feel poor. Epoxy flooring was expensive- like really expensive- Danny has never seen it before that’s for sure. 

“Danny, the school has enough funding to make 20 of these labs with the highest grade. Tuition alone is insane amounts, even for the rich. The facilities the place offers should be of the highest quality. Even if the floors have to get replaced every few years, it states on the website that it’s supposed to be epoxy.”

Tim took what seemed to be a thousand photos of the area, getting every little detail. 

“Hmm, sounds like they’re cutting corners to cut costs. Leave it to the corrupt.”

“Alright, I got what we needed, let's head back.”

“Thank the Ancients. We’re gonna need to hurry, you know. We took too much time.”

Danny was quick to retrace the steps he took entering, ensuring no more tracks were left. Tim followed suit, and soon enough they were back into the maze of Hallways. This time with Tim leading the way. How the other knew it already when he’d only been through it once was beyond Danny, but again, he wasn’t gonna question it. 

Questioning others gave them a way to ask you questions in return, and Danny wasn’t too keen on answering anything personal.

.

.

.

“Made it!” 

Danny laughed as he slumped in the first seat, dead tired from the way they ran after seeing the clock. They were 10 minutes away when the clock showed they had 5 minutes until a check in. To say they ran would be an understatement. The way the two of them jumped down those stairs would surely raise many questions if Danny was keen to ask, but hey, maybe Tim was one of those ‘do every hobby known to mankind’ rich kids. 

Well his new friend was fit, at the least. Tim hadn’t even broken a sweat, only slightly breathing a little heavier. Danny wished. As a ghost he didn’t have such things as stamina, there was no out of breath when you don’t breathe. As a human, however, he was stuck with meager capabilities he gathered up from running away from bullies and fighting off ghosts with watchful eyes. Seriously, he needed to do whatever Tim was doing (just cheaper). 

Funnily enough, the second Tim sat down a seat away from him, Mr.Lanch entered the room. 

“I see you two have moved. I hope you didn’t cause any disturbances.”

He said while looking directly at Danny. Danny was sure to keep a tight smile on his face, hiding his clenched fist under the desk next to his thigh. 

“No way, sir. I just needed some help on that essay we have. You know I’m a little-”

“Behind, yes, I’m aware. Don’t distract Mr.Drake, he has well enough to do on his own. Am I clear?”

“Yes, yes. Sorry, won’t happen again.”

“Now apologize to Mr.Wayne for bothering him.”

“He wasn’t a bother.”

Tim interrupted, and Danny swore Tim looked annoyed. How come?

“Excuse me?”

“Danny wasn’t bothering me, Mr.Lanch, I was happy to help.”

There was an attitude in his tone, a bit of sharpness that Danny could pick up. He couldn’t for the life of him understand why.

“Yes, well, an esteemed individual such as yourself mustn't get too involved with the likes of him.”

Was this guy for real? Not even bothering to hide the blatant discrimination. Danny refrained from rolling his eyes, his fist clenching ever so tighter, making indents in his skin. 

“What may that mean, Mr.Lanch.”

“Mr.Drake, I’m sure you are well aware that people like… him are not the best influence on those such as yourself.”

Danny could feel the rage bubbling under Tim’s skin- being a sort of empath had its perks. 

“People like him? I am unaware as to what exactly you mean by that.”

Yeah, this was going to continue escalating. Danny cleared his throat, making both of them look over at him.

“I’m sorry Tim for bothering you earlier. It won’t happen again, don’t worry.”

“That’s better like it, now, I will return when time is up. Good day.”

And with that, Mr.Lanch left the room, making Danny sigh in relief. He sunk into his seat and rubbed his fingers over the crescents in his palm. 

“Why did you do that?”

“What?”

Tim gave him an annoyed look.

“Apologize.”

“It’s not that important, Tim. It’s easier on me if I just do what he asks. As long as I don’t get punished too badly it’s fine.”

“Didn’t we just return from trying to prove your innocence?”

“That was different from this. A year of detention and being banned from any labs for the rest of highschool is way too drastic to just take it. I have a thing called a job, Tim, I can’t be here when I could be working. Not all of us have people making food for them anytime they want.”

This was ridiculous. Seriously, Danny may care about justice and all that jazz, but he made a promise to- well- Jazz that he’d finish highschool and do it right. He couldn’t start problems when he already barely got in from this alone. Tim would be fine anywhere he went, Danny wouldn’t, and that’s just the truth. He couldn’t punch his way out of this one, and he accepted that the first month in. It really was Casper high part two, but instead of the treatment being because he was the weird kid, it was because he was the poor orphan. Not much better, now, was it.

Tim finally shut his mouth. Danny allowed himself to roll his eyes before putting his head down on the desk. 10 minutes until freedom. 

Day one was finally over. 

_______________________

Imma be real honest I actually hated part 2 which is why I never posted it, but i've been convinced bcs someone asked for the link to it so i avoided tumblr for a week because i thought itd be mean to show activity and ignore them- so i went back edited it and now theres a part 3 and im worried this will become a short story

anyways enjoy!

Koa out <3

[silverzoomies]

Turkish Delight

peter maximoff x reader smut

chapter 1: sweet talkin'

warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot, phone sex, mutual masturbation, best friends, dirty talk

word count: 6,368

a/n: hiyaaa !! i'm back with more filth !! peter speaks russian in this one. i've seen people use russian in place of sokovian language before. and since i've been learning russian for a while, i thought i'd give it a shot !! if you're familiar with the language and anything seems off, please let know asap !! as usual, apologies if peter seems ooc, or if my writing isn't up to par !!

tag list (if i forgot you, please remind me !!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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Chillaxing on the sofa in his mom’s basement, Peter drew out a sigh. His hooded eyes gaped at the TV screen. As he channel surfed, his thumb tapped lazily on the remote. Peter stopped to check each channel in abrupt intervals. Afternoon cable was boring as hell today. It failed to grasp his short lived attention span.

Seinfeld reruns? He saw just about all of ‘em. Soap Operas? Those were more his mom’s thing. Huge pass. Nature documentaries? Could be cool. Guess it depended on which one, though.

Oh. It was the one about the polar bear’s great journey across the arctic! Nifty enough. Except, Peter saw that one three or four times already now. Скучный (boring). Так скучно (So boring).

‘Kay, soooo…TV was kind of a no-go. Instead, Peter popped on the PS1 and settled for a game of Metal Gear Solid. The game’s opening intro was a little too slow for his liking, but Peter forced himself to focus. It sucked he was so antsy today, so fidgety and impatient. He needed some kind of distraction. Any distraction. And he needed one fast.

Peter bounced a leg, half invested in the game’s dialogue. His fingers absentmindedly flicked the controller buttons. Not even five minutes into playing, he found himself frustrated and bored again. This time around, he figured some company might ease his ennui.

He darted across the arm of the couch to a side table. Over a stack of comic books and empty cans of soda, he snatched the receiver to a Garfield phone. Peter dialed a number in less than a second. Too fast, at first. The phone didn’t even register his request. Rolling his eyes, he dialed the number again. Slower this time.

Peter kept the vibrant hunk of orange plastic between his cheek and shoulder. Buzzy ringing echoed on the other end of the line, as he waited for the recipient to pick up. The time it took for a voice to finally respond felt like fifty billion years. Your voice. One of Peter’s closest comrades. The pal he shared most, if not all, of his free time with.

There were days when you visited, and you laid back on the sofa with him. With your legs stretched over his lap and a magazine in your hands, you relaxed. Peter would always do his usual, playing whatever game he ‘bought’ from the local K-Mart. Every time he cursed himself for making a misstep, you giggled. You knew how frustrating it was for him, if he wasn't a hundred leaps ahead of everything. And just to get back at you - but also to hear you laugh again - he’d reach over and dig his fingers into your belly.

He loved that it took such minimal effort to make you laugh. You always had an easygoing warmth about you. And maybe you were also pretty cute too. Sometimes, the crook of your smile made him blush. Oh, and you didn't mind duking it out in Mario Kart sometimes. That was also kinda cool. What more could a lonesome guy ask for? Просто друзья. Ничего больше (Just friends. Nothing more). Yeah. He could be content with that. No problem.

Ten minutes into conversation with you, Peter breathed a yawn into the receiver.

“You know, I’m surprised you have the patience for talking on the phone.” You joked.

The speakers roared with a soft buzz in his ear. Peter didn’t register your words at first. Blinking lazily, he tapped the PS1 controller buttons at rapid speed. In the game, Snake fought off an onslaught of bad guys. Peter faked his offense with a scoff.

“Seriously? Man, what’s up with that? It’s like everyone thinks I can’t do stuff at normal speed without goin’ berserk.” He said, cursing under his breath as Snake got gunned down again.

A small part of him wished you were there, with your legs over his lap, cracking jokes at his expense. Over the phone, you emitted a gentle laugh.

“Because you have? Multiple times, dude!” You said.

Surely you could hear Peter’s eyes roll in his skull.

“Oh, yeah? Name five.” he pressed.

The fast paced clicking of the buttons echoed like a trill in the basement. He overheard the sound of rustling as you shifted in place. If Peter had to guess, he’d bet his left foot you were still lazing around in bed. It was a Saturday, after all. With the hour tipping on the edge of late afternoon. You always moved at the slowest of speeds on your off days.

“I’m just saying! I totally get it. Even I don’t have the patience for chats on the phone sometimes.” You said, and a squeaky yawn followed.

More rustles scuffed from your end, as if you moved to stretch. Keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering, CRT screen; Peter followed flashes of light from each grunt’s gun. His reaction time proved effortless as always. His methods, not so much.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Peter mumbled after a beat, “Doesn’t bother me much if I’m talkin’ to you.  You’re not boring, first of all. And on the off chance I do get bored, I can just say - hey, babe, I’m gonna hang up. And you won’t get-uhhh…” He lingered on his next thought, distracted with gunning down more masked baddies, “You won’t get, like, butt hurt over it."

“Why would I?” You laughed, “Did someone seriously get offended by that?”

“My aunt did once. She got mad pissed ‘cuz I told her I was ‘kinda bored’ on the phone. She made me pass it to my mom, so she could rat me out. Said I showed a ‘lack of consideration'; ‘er whatever.” Peter paused, brows furrowed. In Metal Gear, Snake perished yet again. Peter rolled his eyes once more, “She’s kinda mental, though. это возмутительно (it’s outrageous).”

Your only response was a quiet hum of acknowledgement. Peter broke the silence that followed.

“Hey, you’re not busy today, are you? Wanna do somethin’ later?” He asked, knowing full well you had jack shit to do.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling soooooo lazy today.” You playfully teased.

The soft pattern of your breathing sent electric tingles down Peter’s neck. Shuddering, he shook off those unexpected chills. Another beat, and Peter groaned, as Snake perished over a low poly landscape. You gotta take it slow and stealthy, man - Peter reminded himself.

“Хорошо (okay)? So? Come be lazy over here then.” He replied, “Tell you what. If you do, I’ll go ‘n snag some of those Turkish delights you like. The same ones my mom gotcha for your birthday. Remember? From Sokovia?”

Your voice perked up instantly, bringing a cheesy smile to his face. Homely fondness simmered in his chest, and Peter felt himself blush. He pulled his lip between his teeth, pausing his game to focus more on conversation. Leaving Snake stranded in the middle of the snow.

“Oh my gosh!! No way?? I haven’t had those in forever! Seriously, the ones from Sokovia?” You chimed.

“Hell yeah! But you gotta get outta bed first, dingus. C’monnnn.” Peter whined, “I’m so bored here, babe. Oh! I totally forgot. I finally got my hands on a Gameboy Color too. Swear on my life I paid for it this time. You could come over ‘n try it ouuuuuut.” He teased in a sing-song voice, wiggling his brows.

“Gameboys and Turkish delights? You’re spoiling me today, Peter! What’s the occasion?” You joked over the line.

He shrugged, forgetting you couldn’t see him, “Bored outta my friggin’ skull. That’s what.” After a beat, he awkwardly added, “And maybe I like hangin’ with you? Do I even need a reason?”

“Well, I gotta admit…you had me at Turkish delights.” You feigned a dreamy tone.

Peter chuckled again. Under his breath, he muttered softly, “ Это все, что тебе нужно, да (That’s all you need, huh)?”

“Huh?” You asked, oblivious to his comment, “What’d you say? I didn’t catch that last part.”

Peter ran a hand through his silver locks, leaving his hair loose and messy. Cradling the phone in his other hand, he knitted his lips to one side.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You want me to come get you? ‘Cuz I can.” He checked his digital watch, decked out in a Star Wars theme, “I can right now, if you-”

“It’s fine. I love going out with you, but I really don’t wanna deal with motion sickness today. I just had lunch too. No offense!” Another yawn rang over the phone, hitching into a squeal at the end. Peter didn’t realize he was smiling so big until his cheeks started to hurt, “I’ll just drive over. Sound good?”

Peter rolled his eyes, sarcastically groaning. He threw his head back into the sofa cushions, playing up his fake frustrations.

“Auuuuuuugh! But that’ll take years.” He dragged a hand down his face, pulling his cheeks under his fingertips, “Is this ‘cuz you blew chunks last time?? You know that doesn’t bother me, right? Everyone does it, babe.”

You made a noise of disgust. Something like an eugh , “Please, don’t remind me. That sucked so much. Yeah, no, I’d rather not. I really need a break from it.” You sighed again. Kind of a bummer, but he could deal.

“It’s whatever you want, I guess. So, when are you gonna head out?” Peter asked, sitting up on the sofa and putting the controller aside.

He bounced a leg at rapid speed, his knee moving in a flesh tone blur of motion. Less from agitation, more due to anticipation.

“I’ll leave soon. Just give me a few minutes. Think you can wait?” You chuckled in that sweet, quirky way again. The melody gave Peter butterflies. Ignoring the fluttering in his belly, he pushed himself off the couch. Grabbing the base of the Garfield phone, Peter cradled the lil guy in an arm. He figured he may as well get dressed, and freshen up before you arrived, “It’s so cold today. I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet! I’m still bundled up in my undies. Got your jacket on too. You left a Game n Watch in the pocket, by the way. I didn’t even know they still made those!”

“Yeah. I totally called that one. Get up already, ya slacker.” Peter joked trapping the phone between his cheek and shoulder again. He scratched his bare chest. His fingertips grazed the sparse covering of white hairs there. Yawning, he nodded, “Okay. Okay. Okay. Sure, just-”

Something about your last statement finally clicked in Peter’s brain. He rapidly blinked, shaking his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. Peter did a quadruple take.

“Подожди (wait)! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, waiiiiiit …hold on a sec.” He narrowed his eyes, “Say that again?”

“Say what again? The part about the Game n Watch?” You asked, and Peter’s brows furrowed.

“N-Nah. The…did you just…have you been lyin’ around in your underwear this whole time?”

“Uh, yeah? Why? Is this revolutionary information?” You chuckled.

“In my jacket? Like, I didn’t hear that wrong? What’d you like…sleep in it ‘er somethin’?” Peter arched a silver brow, pressing the phone handset closer to his cheek. As if doing so might somehow help him hear you more clearly.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal either way. You borrowed his jackets all the time. Peter never thought anything of it before this conversation. Aside from the fact that - when you did return them, he loved the sweet scent you left behind. The smell of your perfume, with the added bonus of your natural pheromones…

Ебать (Fuck)! Why was he even thinking about this? The two of you had such a casual thing goin’ on. But now, Peter thought of you in a different light. Something friskier. Not that he meant to. Maybe killer boredom + cute friend = horny speedster. Or perhaps the planets aligned in some totally off-the-wall way.

Whatever the case, Peter’s mind raced on autopilot. He pictured the way you might look right now. In your room, spread across your bed in nothing but your underwear and - Ебена мать (Holy shit) - his jacket. With your long legs bare, your knees bumping together as you squeezed your thighs shut. Tummy exposed. And your tits-

Woooooooah there! Slow down, casanova! Peter shouldn’t be…nah, he really shouldn’t be wondering what your breasts looked like. Ppfffbbbbt …’kay, so, maybe in the past he thought about it once or twice. But what dude wouldn't contemplate the hidden mystery of a pal's titties sometimes, ah?

“Well, so what if I did? That doesn’t weird you out, does it?” You asked, a careful waver in your voice.

“Uhhhh…nahhh, babe. Just…” Peter shifted in place, rerouting his thoughts, “Just…got one hell of an image in my head. Might’ve pictured you like that for no particular reason at all.”

Lucky for him, you didn’t seem to think anything of his confession.

“Not much to imagine…” You replied. Сомнительно (Doubtful).

“I mean…pffbbbttt…sure, yeah. Maybe not.” Peter awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his neck. His voice dropped, a little more hushed, “Unless…you’re wearin’ some really cute panties over there.” Again, he laughed, rushing out a quick, “I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m totally messin’. Just bustin’ your balls, babe.”

Except…he sorta wasn’t. Peter found himself oh-so curious. Twisting the phone's orange wire around his finger, he anticipated your reaction. Anxious you might think him weird for pushing things too far. Never had the two of you charted this kind of territory. It was a minefield, with a 95% chance neither one would make it out unscathed.

“I guess? I think they’re kind of cute.” You added, innocent as ever. Awesome. You weren’t peeved at him, at least. Peter brought the phone to his chest, exhaling an anxious breath to calm his racing heart. When he put the phone to his ear again, he figured you’d moved on. But your cadence shifted. To test the boundaries of your friendship, you teased, “They’re pretty small on me, though.”

Ah. Ah. Интересно. Очень интересно (Interesting. Very interesting). What an unexpected but totally wicked development. Peter lowered himself slowly onto the couch, setting the phone's base on the side table. He eased backwards into the cushions, and tightened his twisting of the phone wire. Swallowing hard, Peter found he had difficulty focusing. Especially with his imagination running so goddamn wild.

“Yeah? …How small is pretty small?” He dared to ask.

Long seconds of silence ticked by at the pace of a narcoleptic sloth. If Peter weren’t so eager to hear what you had to say, he may have torn his hair out. Over the line, you laughed.

“Small enough they barely cover my ass? Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” You cooed.

Peter fluttered his inky eyes, nibbling chapped skin on his lip. Fuzzy pink swarmed the rest of his face, as his mind conjured images of you so effortlessly. Clear as day. Heat stirred to life in his groin, and Peter pictured the way your plush cheeks might hold in tight painties. His breath hitched.

“I-uh…” Peter felt the heat in his cheeks creep down his neck, flustered at lightspeed, “Just thinkin’...maybe you should do somethin’ about that?” He gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. What a lame response, “Черт возьми (damn it)!” He huffed under his breath, too quiet for you to hear.

Toying with this newly discovered sexual tension, Peter humorously asked-

“Sooooooo…what color?”

You giggled into the receiver, airy and light. His body registered the noise somewhere , down south of his belly. He wondered if you were as flustered as him. And the visual of your bashful face and shy smile had his heartbeat ramping up to mach 10.

“What? A-Are you for real asking me…oh my god, dude!” Your giggles turned into goofy snorts. Which he found so endearing. Once you composed yourself, you spoke again. Though, your tone came off as more flirtatious, “If you really wanna know so bad…then fine. They’re black. Lacy. With a little bow on the front.”

Дерьмо (Shit)...

His silver brows soared high, disappearing under his bangs. Paying little attention to his instinctive actions, Peter guided his free hand between his thighs. Inwardly, he told himself he was only adjusting his uncomfortable hard-on. ‘Cuz it’d be totally weird if he did anything else…right? Best to ignore the movement of his thumb, as it absentmindedly circled his bulge.

“Huh…that’s so…” Peter blinked, clearing his throat and masking his nerves with a chuckle, “‘Kay, I’ll be up front with you, babe. That sounds cute as hell. Very nice.”

“Really? Oh, please, Peter. They’d be cute on anybody.” You scoffed.

“Uh huh…” He smirked, dropping his tone even lower, “‘Cept, now that I’m really thinkin’ about it? I’m bettin’ they look criminally cute on you.” Peter lazily smirked.

You laughed, breathless like you ran a thousand miles, “Wh-...what are we even doing right now? Seriously, why am I talking to you about my-” The uneasiness in your voice bled through the line.

Your concern was for good reason. Nevertheless, Peter interrupted you mid-sentence.

“Easy there, chuckles. We’re just chatting. Nothin’ too unusual, right? We’ve had some seriously raunchy conversations before. Remember? That time I got laid on a golf course? You told me about that time some dude shot a load in your eye. What’s the difference, anyway?” Peter grimaced, as he recalled your story from eons ago.

You giggled yet again, “Peter, you know damn well what the difference is!” You clarified with a sigh, still playful. The phone wire went slack around his finger, as Peter second guessed himself. He parted his lips, on the cusp of apologizing. Bringing one hand up to the phone, he held it loosely. Your sugary voice chimed again, “I’m kinda wondering, though…what would you think if I told you I’m topless right now?”

His grip compressed around the handset.

“Topless, huh?” Peter cast a quick glance at his hard-on, twitching painfully under his boxers. His mind jumped straight to sinful places again. Peter thought about what your tits probably look like, embraced in his jacket. Nipples hard, grazing the inner-lining. He swallowed, “What’re you tryna tell me? You gonna drive over here in nothin’ but that?” Peter quipped.

A more sultry laugh melted through the receiver. Peter trembled, as your smooth voice coaxed him like a tempting song. His free palm squeezed his bulge, putting pressure to his length over fabric. Peter’s brows turned inward, and he fluttered his eyes shut.

“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, if it wasn’t so cold outside. It’s freezing today. I don’t know how you can run as fast as you do when the weather’s like this.” Your tone disguised itself with lighthearted innocence again, “It’s not any warmer in my room either. My nipples could cut glass. They’re, like, soooo hard.”

Peter adjusted himself on the sofa, giving the swell of his bulge another teasing squeeze.

“ Ты маленькая соблазнительница (you little temptress)...”  His hot breath fanned the phone.

“I love it when you talk like that…” You replied, “Even if I have no idea what you’re saying. It sounds really hot, to be totally honest.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter teased his lip with his teeth, speaking in a more flirtatious voice; buttery smooth, “ Я забыл вынести мусор (I forgot to take out the trash)...” For added effect - just to embarrass you more - he tacked on a husky moan.

Peter made himself blush, as the sound came out far more pornagraphic than he intended. The rasp of his voice scraped through the line in a hushed, “ Oh, yeah, baby. ”

The erotic tension you felt from his teasing was palpable, even over the phone. Peter could sense the shift in the way you gasped. So faint, so shy, so cute.

“Oh…oh, wow...uhm…” You tried concealing your bashfulness with more of those candy coated giggles. But Peter could practically hear the blood racing to your cheeks, “What’s that mean? Something good, I hope.”

Peter bit his tongue, lips turning in a cheeky grin.

“It means you’re really turnin’ me on…”

Another hesitant pause fell between the two of you, before you scoffed.

“Oh my god, no it doesn’t! I can hear you laughing!” You griped, snickering along with Peter. A few more tension heavy beats pulsed over the line. You spoke again, “Hey…I’m sorry. Can I put things on pause for a sec? I just wanted to ask…are you okay with this?”

“Are you?” Peter gently asked, giving you ample time to think about it.

“I don’t know…maybe…” You whispered, “Isn’t this, like, super weird for you?”

“I mean…suuuuuuure. It’s totally weird. If you kept goin', I wouldn't be into it...at all...” He bullied you with a playful edge, hoping you could read the flirtatious undertone in his voice.

“Ohhhhh…you wouldn't be?” Judging by the saucy lilt in your voice, you most definitely caught on, “You know what would be even weirder?”

Peter adjusted on the sofa again. Getting comfortable, he laid on his back. His taut legs stretched across the cushions, and Peter propped his head on the couch’s arm.

“Whazzat? Enlighten me, babe. I’m listenin’. You got my full attention.” He teased.

“Your full attention, huh? I must be doing something right.” You snickered, “So…you know how I said I love it when you talk…like that?” Your voice wavered, “What I really meant was-uhm…when you do that on the phone…it makes me kind of horny.”

His brown hues burst open, wider than ever. Peter’s pupils dilated, expanding as far as the universe itself. He swallowed again, his mouth falling open. Your filthy confession set his arousal ablaze, making his dick twitch. As heated desire took over, Peter couldn’t restrain himself. He snuck his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, fingertips gliding over silver hairs. A small piece of him almost felt guilty for doing so.

“It does, huh? Хорошо знать (Good to know).” Peter whispered, tenderly grasping his shaft.

You made a naughty squeak of a noise in response, “Y-Yeah, Peter, I’m serious. You really have to stop doing that.”

“Почему (Why)? Are you soakin’ yourself over it? Gettin’ a lil wet? It’s cool. You can tell me…” Peter heckled, expelling a breath as he gave his dick a single tug.

“Oh, I bet you wanna know all about that, huh? You’re so bad, Quickie...” You teased, clicking your tongue.

Peter’s ears burned, turning pink as he took in the coquettish nature of your voice. Scoffing, he feigned his indignance.

“What?! Hey, nah nah nah! You started this! Это несправедливо, черт возьми (it’s not fair. Dammit)!” Peter laughed, carefree with you as always, “You can’t seriously drop a bombshell like that and expect me not to-”

“Not to come running?” You hummed, sweet tempered, “I’m just messing with you, baby. But since we’re on the topic…I made such a mess of these little panties. Just from listening to your voice.”

Peter couldn’t even pretend he didn’t like the sound of ‘baby’ on your tongue.

“Oh, man…anything but the panties…” He joked, “You should-uh…you should save yourself some trouble. Y’know…take ‘em off, maybe? Might be more comfortable.” Peter hinted, playing nonchalant, “Just tryna be a good friend. Give you some advice. You should for sure take it.”

“But I’m already so cold…” You whimpered, “Your jacket’s so warm. Smells good too. Really good. But it’s not enough to keep me covered.” You spoke with flirtatious innocence, and Peter played along.

“No harm done, принцесса (princess). I’ll warm you up if you need me to.” He reassured, sweet talking you over the phone, “Ты думаешь, что я не позабочусь о тебе? (Do you think I won't take care of you)?" Peter mumbled again. He listened to your sickly sweet laughs, before asking, “So…do you get like this every time we talk on the phone?”

“Mmmm…maybe.” You hummed, “What if I said yes?” You shuffled around again, and Peter’s mind jumped elsewhere. He imagined you shed yourself of damp, black lace. Leaving you wanton and needy in nothing but his jacket, “You know…we’ve been talking about me a lot this whole time. You wanna tell me what you’re wearing? I don’t really have a visual.”

“Oh…me?” Your request caught Peter off guard.

“Yeah, you. Who else, blockhead?” You playfully quipped, smoothing your voice to say, “You don’t have to be shy. I just wanna know, so I can think about taking it off of you.”

Peter didn’t know he could blush this much. Puffing a bashful laugh, he looked down at his body. Mostly nude and toned enough. He had his x-gene to thank for his pecs and hard abs. A fluffy bouquet of silver hairs peeked out from his boxers. Underneath, his dick throbbed, pressing eagerly into fabric.

“Uhm…I’m not wearin’ a lot? Nothin’ special. Just some black, boxer briefs, I guess. Wait, no-” Peter lifted a foot, his lips curling in a goofy smile, “Got my Star Wars socks on too.”

A sensual moan graced his ears, “That’s so hot.” You softly whined, “Star Wars socks? Peter, just take me now.”

Despite the fact you were totally messing with him, that playful comment made his chest tight. 

“Nothing else though?” You pressed.

“Nnnnnnnnnnope.” He drew out the word, popping the P, “Just the-uh…yeah. Boxers ‘n sexy socks. Not much to take off.”

“And you’re pretty fit, aren’t you? You always looked really jacked to me, so-” You said.

Peter cocked a brow, snickering to cover his embarrassment.

“Wooooahhh…you been checkin’ me out, babe?” He asked, darting his dark hues across his athletic bod. Peter flexed an arm, “Sure, I guess I’m in decent shape.” He found he couldn’t dismiss your compliments. Peter looked good, and he knew it. But he preferred hearing it from you, “Hey, you wanna know somethin’, like, way crazy?”

“This? What we’re doing right now is so crazy, right?” You laughed, sounding as bashful as him.

Peter snickered, “True. Truuuue. But, uh…” He shrank in his spot on the couch, pressing the vibrant handset closer into his cheek. Pre-cum seeped through his boxers, as Peter tugged his dick steady and slow. Careful not to stimulate himself too much yet. He dropped his voice to a hushed rasp, “I’m kinda in the same spot you are right now. If you-uh…if you catch my drift.”

The two of you knew each other for a long time. Several years, in fact. But never once did Peter think he’d hear his closest pal say-

“Ohhhh. Are you hard right now, baby?”

Oh. Yeah, this buddy-buddy friendship was in major trouble. Doomed to crash and burn. As soon as the words fell from your lips, spoken in your honeyed voice; Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. He sank his teeth so hard into his lip, he almost broke skin.

“Y-Yeah. Since you-uh…started talkin’ about your panties. I’m sorry, babe. Just been kinda bored and worked up all day.” He sheepishly chuckled.

“You poor baby…” You coddled him over the phone. And while he should’ve been embarrassed, Peter had no problem with you talking like that, “Can I ask how big you are?”

Peter stalled for a moment, before pulling the front of his boxers down. His hardness flopped against his belly, pulsating and ruddy from his teasing. Taking his aching length in his hand, he rubbed the underside with his thumb.

“You mean my dick? It’s-uhhhh…like six, maybe seven inches almost?” He squeezed his cock, milking beads of pre-cum, “But size doesn’t matter, yeah? It’s the motion of the ocean, babe.”

“Noooooo, baby. You’re so perfect. Wish I could see how good you look like that…” You cooed over the phone.

Your kindly words and airy tone made the veins in his dick throb with electric heat. Peter clutched his cock tight, pumping the velvet skin a touch faster. Giving himself just a simple taste of relief. His stomach clenched, hardening his abs.

“Не так идеально, как ты выглядишь (Not as perfect as you look)...” Peter muttered, drawing in a shallow breath, “Babe, I gotta tell ya, I’m really feelin’ this. I’m so into you right now. W-Want you to keep talkin’ like-uh...”

His imagination took his depravity to the next level. Now, Peter thought about joining you in your room. He wondered how soft and smooth your skin would feel. Supple and hot under his fingertips. What might you look like writhing under him, whimpering as he played with you? As he teased you? Man, you were both so screwed.

“Never thought dirty talking with me would turn you on so much…” You giggled.

Peter secured the handset between his cheek and shoulder. With both hands free, he raised his palm to his lips. He drew a long stripe with his tongue, bringing his damp hand to his cock. The slick lubrication pulled a gentle moan from his throat.

“M-Maybe a little bit. Ебать (Fuck), maybe a lot.” Peter groaned, labored in his breathing, “Can you - Ебать (fuck) - you wanna do somethin’ for me? Just a little favor between friends? S’all I’m askin’, baby.”

“Anything you want, Peter.” You mewled.

“Can you- mmmmohgod -” Peter choked up. He almost chickened out, but pushed himself to ask, “Can you touch yourself for me? Please? Пожалуйста, моя маленькая принцесса (Please, my little princess)...” His foreign whispers weaved pretty whimpers from your lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, if you want me to. But you have to do the same for me too. It’s only fair, right? Equal exchange?” You whispered, acting playful again.

Peter breathed a guilty chuckle, “Uhm…yeahhhhh…about that…”

You softly gasped, “Have you been-”

“Playin’ with my dick this whole time? Maybe.” Peter admitted. His thumb caught another pearl of pre, spreading the slickness over his sensitive head, “But I’m not, like, totally jerkin’ it yet…” He lied, pressing you to encourage him.

“Oh, you’re not, huh? What are you doing then?” You asked, “Are you being a bad boy, Pietro?” The abrupt drop of his given name shocked him into silence.

Peter felt his groin tighten, and an exhilarating rush electrified his nerves. For the thousandth time, you giggled. And for the thousandth time, Peter’s heart leapt. Dumbfounded, he gathered his composure and played along again.

“Y-Yeah. So bad. You gotta help me, babe. I’m just-...I’m so hard. Don’t think I can stop myself if you keep talkin’ like that.”

Through the receiver, Peter’s ears caught wind of a needy mewl. He gripped his cock hard, guiding his fist in firmer strokes. His legs quivered, and the heels of his Star Wars socks slid across the couch.

“Does it feel good when you touch your pretty cock like that, sweetheart?” You cooed.

Peter almost went straight into cardiac arrest. He jolted in place, feeling his cock stiffen in his grasp.

“Святой трах (Holy fuck)..." Peter suffocated on his own groans. For an instant, his words failed him, “Uhmmm…hah…wow-uh…Ебать (fuck). Feels good, yeah. Don’t think it’s enough. I need-...uhm…I want-uh…”

“Yeah? What do you want, baby. It’s okay.” You spoke so sugary sweet again.

“I-...Я просто хочу увидеть тебя (I just want to see you)...” Peter’s veins tingled under his touch, as he tugged his dick with more urgency, “Shit! I-...how come I never knew you could be like this-” And to Peter’s ultimate humiliation, he whimpered your name. Along with another whiny, “ Ебать (Fuck). ”

“Like what?” Your coy voice teased him over the line.

“I dunno…so-uh…so damn nasty.” He joked, and even through the phone; he knew he had you flustered again.

“I guess we all have our secrets, hmm? Tell me more, Pietro. When you touch yourself like that. With those big, strong hands…how’s it feel?” You asked, driving him to keep going.

Peter snorted a laugh, “Strong hands? What??” His endearing playfulness took a backseat, as he grunted into the receiver, “God…feels like my strong hand’s not enough. Мне реально тебе нужно прямо сейчас. Нужна так сильно (I really need you right now. I need you so much).” His voice fell to a whisper. Pumping his slick, crimson cock through his fist, he breathlessly pleaded, “Talk to me, baby. Please. Tell me-ohhh…tell me what you’re doin’ over there.”

You squealed a sultry giggle, further igniting Peter’s pleasured frenzy. He squirmed in his spot on the sofa, forcing himself to stay put. Battling the forces of the universe, it was all Peter could do not to race to your room. Just to spread your legs and hump you like a speedy bunny.

“Mmmm…I’m just doing what you asked me to…I’m being so good for you right now.” You whimpered.

“Oh. Okay…uhm…far out. Uh…wanna gimme the steamy details?” He heckled again, fumbling his words in his nervousness, “Please, don’t hold off on me, baby.”

“I’m…” Your precious voice wavered, teeming with awkwardness as your confidence dwindled, “I’m playing with my little pussy. Just for you. And I’m so wet. I can’t stop thinking about your hands…so big…”

“Боже мой (my god).” Peter muttered. Combating impatience brought upon by his genes, he willed himself to take things slow. His strokes became steady and teasing, as he edged his aching cock, “Holy shit, babe. Yeah? Keep goin’...”

You moaned soft squeals into the receiver, “I want you so bad, Quickie. Please, baby, don’t make me beg. Can you touch this little pussy for me? Please? Your fingers are so big. I don’t think they’d fit all at once. It’s been a while, and I’m so tight.” Your naughty voice pleaded.

“God, I wanna touch you so bad. Я хочу прикоснуться к этой сладкой киске (I want to touch that sweet pussy).” Peter’s impatience got the better of him, and he quickly gave in. He grasped his cock hard, wringing himself fast enough to make his balls bounce. Creasing his brows, he groaned, “Ohhh..What’re you tryna to do to me, babe? Talkin’ about how tight you are…Ебать…”

“But I ammmm.” You whined again, “I’m squeezing my tiny fingers so tight. It’s so soft and hot for you. Bet it’d feel really good if you stretched me. With your fingers, with your cock - fuck, Pietro. I just need you, baby.”

“Please, baby, oh, please? Wanna be inside you. Wanna feel you. I promise I won’t go too fast. Я обещаю (I promise).” Peter whimpered. But as you mewled again, another forceful wave of carnal heat crashed over Peter. In a quieter tone, he choked, “Нет, я могу. Я пойду так быстро (No, I can. I’ll go so fast).”

“Pietro, you can go as fast as you want, baby. I won’t stop you.” You pleaded, your broken voice so kittenish and wanton, “F-Fuck. I’m rubbing my clit. So sensitive. Thinking about you. Thinking about your mouth on me.”

“Ебать!!” Peter moaned through clenched teeth. His self control rapidly abandoned him. Speedily rutting his sore cock through the squeeze of his fist, his body refused to slow down, “Говоря о скорости (Speaking of speed)...” Peter craned his neck back, raising a hand to keep the handset to his ear, “You gotta stop makin’ all those cute noises, baby. Please…I can’t-”

As surges of horny pleasure circulated through his body, Peter thought of you again. He imagined you on your bed, caged under him between his arms. In his daydreams, he kissed you intimately, touching your pretty, naked body. Peter wanted to feel how wet you were for himself. And hell, the danger of pushing your friendship past its limits made you more tempting. Such a lewd, risky thought pushed him closer to the edge of something righteous.

“Baby, I wanna see you. Can I? Can I see you stroke that thick cock? Would you let me? Ohh, fuck, Pietro.” You whimpered. And your noises were so shamelessly lecherous, you could’ve made a pornstar blush, “Can I kiss it, please? Can I kiss your big cock?” You whimpered.

“О боже мой, пожалуйста (Oh my god, please)!” Peter choked, every word hitching in his throat, “Baby…babe, you can’t do this. Ya really can’t be-” He laughed lazily, his dark eyes falling half lidded. His cock throbbed, bright red and turning purple at the tip. He rutted in a speedy blur, “Stop. Stop. Stop. I’m gonna…babe, I’m gonna bust-” He slurred.

You squealed his name as loudly as your hushed voice would allow. And Peter swore he could hear the slick sound of your fingers. As they played with your pretty, little cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Please cum with me. Please? Pietro, OH~!”

“я кончаю, я кончаю (I’m cumming, I’m cumming)! ‘M Gonna-” Peter’s moans seeped through the receiver, his wet lips parting and mouth hanging open.

His swollen cock erupted in white-hot jets, coating his pecs and belly. With all his muscles tensed, Peter’s legs trembled. He rode out those lusty waves in tandem with you. The pleasure of orgasm sounded leagues more intense on your side. You took longer to cruise through it, whimpering and moaning Peter’s name. As you did, Peter basked in his momentary afterglow. Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, his head resting on the arm of the sofa; he listened to you with a smirk on his lips. At the end of your journey in ecstasy, your moans turned into flustered giggles.

Peter's thoughts reeled him in again. Imagining you, looking so sheepish and fine in his jacket. Now, he desperately wanted the real deal. To see you in all your post-nut glory. Mere seconds later, his sore cock pulsed to life again. As his hardness squirmed on his belly, Peter breathed another sigh.

On his end, you heard nothing but silence. You kept calling his name, your tired voice infused with anxiety.

“Uhm…Peter? Hey…are you there?” You asked.

And he didn't say a single word more.

[mintkookiess]

Hi, can you do a Earth 42!Miles x Earth 42!Spider-Woman!Reader. Reader somehow meets Hobie and they hit it off. Miles sees them one day and gets jealous.

Of course!! Sorry this took days, writer's block is a bitch

Hope you enjoy this one!

I'm Yours, Miles. (42!Miles x Spider-Woman!Reader)

"Oh crap, I gotta go babe," You said, getting off of Miles' bed to change into your Spider-Woman suit. Your boyfriend lazily looked up at you from where he was laying, his fingers fiddling with the pillow. "Sure ma, you comin' back right?" Miles asked, with a subtle frown.

Your watch had beeped, signalling another mission from Spider Society and you had to deal with it as soon as possible. After changing into your suit you turned around, giving Miles a weak smile before leaning down to kiss his forehead. "I'll be back I promise." You muttered before swinging out his window.

You swung through multiple buildings before stopping at a certain rooftop. Your fingers glided through the techy watch given to you by Miguel only to see your universe pop up on the screen. "Seems like an anomaly here..." You muttered to yourself. You were about to check what the mission was about when you hear a portal open behind you.

Your Spider-sense immediately went off, making you take a sharp turn to see who was coming out of the portal. Suddenly, an all-too-familiar popped out, making you smirk. Nonchalant attitude? Guitar lazily slung behind him? The 'not giving a fuck' expression? It was none other than your friend Hobie, or Spider-punk.

The two of you had had missions together for about two weeks now, and despite only having met during the first one, it was an instant click. You two were the closest in the entirety of Spider Society which didn't come as a surprise given your many things in common, like your sense of humor.

He looked at you with his usual half-lidded eyes, nodding in greeting. "Seems we're paired up again huh?" Hobie walked towards you as the portal behind him closed once more, his comical figure hovering over you.

You gave him a light wave, "Hey there, seems like Spot's been all over the place here lately," You said with a light frown forming in your lips. Hobie only chuckled, "Miguel has been bugging me about it all morning, but you better not think I'm here cause of that."

Your eyes only rolled at the man before you, "Yeah yeah whatever, come on." The two of you then left the rooftop, skipping across buildings and other establishments on your way to assess the damage in your world's Alchemax.

Miles had been busy on his end, walking towards Alchemax with Uncle Aaron with the information that there's been some explosive damage on the institution, and they were tasked to obtain a certain material for Kingpin.

He quickly suited up in his Prowler suit before heading out with his uncle, completely oblivious to the fact that you were also there with Hobie hoping to fix the anomaly.

Once you and Hobie approached the familiar building, you noticed that the upper levels had been covered by black spots, making it look like Alchemax designed their place with polka dots. You nodded at Hobie and he returns it as the two of you stealthily swung up to the giant hole through the wall above.

Smoothly landing on your feet, your eyes explored to see that there were even more spots inside than on the outside. "Mad respect for the guy for fucking 'em up." Hobie chuckled, standing beside you.

"Scan room." You instructed into your watch, and the space before you glowed orange that projected from the device. "Scan complete, anomaly detected. Universe of origin: Earth-1610. Locating their coordinates."

Before you, in bright orange holograms, the events of how the Spot infiltrated the Alchemax and accessed the collider replayed before you and Hobie.

While the two of you observed your surroundings, Miles and Uncle Aaron had snuck in. But before he could move even further, he's already heard your voice and... someone else's.

He told Uncle Aaron that he'd check something out before walking toward the source of the voices, his clawed hands clanking against each other with every sway of his arms.

"—would be perfect if she was here." You sighed, pinching your forehead with your fingers. Hobie placed an arm around your shoulder nonchalantly, " I think 'ts all good, you gotta show 'em that you can fix it up yourself, yeah?"

"But I'd seriously want some advice from Jess right now." You groaned, taking in the large damage before you. You placed a hand on your hip, contemplating on your next move.

Only, you weren't able to as you suddenly heard a voice behind the two of you.

"Who is this, mami?" Miles' distorted voice called out, his walk a bit intimidating as he approached the two of you. The two of you turned around while Hobie's arm was still hanging around your shoulder. "Mi—" You suddenly cut yourself off, realizing that he came here as Prowler. "What are you doing here?" You asked in an attempted professional tone.

"Don't use that tone on me," Miles said, letting his mask retract to show his face. Hobie had to take a double take, "Another Miles? babes I can't be trippin' right?"

Miles right eye twitched at Hobie's nickname. "Babes? Who the fuck is this cabrón?" He started to get closer to Hobie, but you were quick to step in front of him. "Miles, Miles stop, he's just a friend." You hurriedly said.

It was never a nice sight when your boyfriend got jealous, and there wasn't even anything to be jealous about in the first place.

"You better back the fuck up bichito," Miles growled, but didn't dare shove you out of the way. His eyes sent daggers towards Hobie, who just stood there with that same idgaf look. "Look man, I ain't with your girl like that." He said, raising his hands in a surrendering gesture.

You grabbed Miles' shoulder, forcing him to turn back around and away from Hobie. "Baby, why are you even here?" You whispered, your thumbs rubbing circles on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. Your boyfriend only clicked his tongue in response, looking away to glare at the floor.

A sigh escaped your lips, lightly tapping his shoulders. "We'll talk about this later," You whispered, kissing him on the cheek before walking back to Hobie.

"Y'all good?" He asked you, carrying his guitar over his shoulder. "Sorry about him," You sighed, shaking your head. Miles placed back his mask before walking away, or more like stomping away.

After the anomaly had been fixed, (albeit with a little help from Jess), you head back to Miles' place to fix up the misunderstanding and assure him like you always did when he got like this.

It was a bit cute though.

You flung yourself inside Miles' bedroom, flawlessly landing to see him hunched over his desk, sketching away in his notebook. You sighed, removing your mask as you walked towards him before crouching down to hug him from behind, your chin slowly resting on top of his head.

Your eyes peeked down to see that he was making another drawing of you, but his strokes were a bit harsher than usual. "You okay?" You whispered, placing a kiss in his braided hair. "Mm." Was all he does in response, still drawing in his notebook.

You leaned further down until your lips were against his cheek, "You know he's just a friend baby, nothing more." You murmured, kissing his cheek gently. You felt him tense up in his seat, but he still ignored you.

Or rather tried to. Miles was quite flushed, his eyebrows furrowed together and he didn't want you to see that side of him. You only continued to silently pepper him with kisses until his body starts to relax a bit into your touch.

"You okay now?" You mumbled, planting one last kiss on his ear. Miles shivered at the sensation, dropping his pencil on his desk. He leans his head back against your chest, looking up at you. "Yeah I'm good."

You leaned down, kissing his forehead. "You're the only one I love Miles, get it through that thick head of yours." You laughed softly, poking his forehead with your finger. "Well who the hell calls their friends babes or places a hand over their shoulder huh?" He asked defensively.

He was also definitely pouting at this point. Just a little.

You suddenly burst out laughing, nuzzling your nose against his while he was still looking up. "That's just how Hobie is okay? He calls everyone that I swear,"

Miles raised an eyebrow, definitely not amused by your answer. "I'm gonna have to talk with him for a bit." You smiled, shaking your head in disbelief, knowing that there wasn't really anything you can do to stop him.

"Fine, if that's what gets you to assure yourself of my undying loyalty, then go be my guest."

Miles stood up, turning around from his chair to wrap his arms around your waist as his brown eyes bore into yours intently. "You're mine ma, I'm going to make sure everyone knows that, hmm?" He mumbled, his hand slightly pressing down on your back.

You could only stand there, pressed against him with nowhere to go, so you just nod. "I'm yours Miles, I promise."

Fin.

Tag: @ii01vp

If you want to be part of the tag list, feel free to msg!

More of my Miles content here babes!

[tonyspank]

PROLOGUE | GET ME

Jenna Ortega x G!P Reader

Words: 1.2k A/N: I decided to turn the imagine into a book! This isn't published on Wattpad yet so feel special LMAO

series masterlist | main masterlist | next chapter

You didn't know the exact number, but it was quite a few people sitting together at your dining room table. Everyone was laughing, talking, and enjoying each other's company. You examine the scene in front of you, taking a quick sip of your iced tea.

You couldn't help but smile, feeling the warmth of the moment as your mom laughed loudly placing an arm on your dad's shoulder. He leaned into the touch, smiling even wider than before.

"No! Honestly, you guys are like Mr. and Mrs. Smith." John, your father's best friend says, letting out a heartwarming chuckle. Your mom and dad look at each other, their eyes twinkling with love and joy. They both nod in agreement, finding it hilarious to be compared to the movie couple.

"Don't you think Jenna?" Jenna turns at the sound of her name, humming in agreement. "Just like em'. Remember when they were them for Halloween?" John laughs, nodding in agreement. "That was a good one, wasn't it?" He turns to your mom and dad, giving them a wink. "And you two were perfect for the part."

Jenna smiles, grabbing her glass of wine. Her diamond ring shining in the light of the room. "Y/N," a voice says at the end of the table. You raise your eyebrows, looking at the older blonde-haired woman. "My son, Chris, wants to know if you're still playing basketball."

You nod, taking a sip from your glass. "Yeah, I'm still playing." You say, smiling. The woman smiles back, "That's great. Chris would love to hear more about it." You nod again, placing down your glass. "Sure, I'd love to. Why don't you let me know when he's free and we can talk about it?" The woman nods, "I'll do that. I'm sure he'd be happy to hear what you have to say."

The rest of the night went by smoothly, everyone being glad to celebrate your parents' success with their recent client. You were grateful for your parents. They loved you dearly and always made sure you knew that despite their busy schedules.

You had a deep appreciation for their dedication and hard work. You wanted to make them proud, and you knew that meant doing your best in everything you did.

Everyone was gone except Jenna who was talking to your father at the kitchen island as your mother and you were washing the dirty dishes used for the get-together. Jenna was telling your father about her plans for the future. Your mother and you were silently listening, washing the dishes as Jenna talked. You could tell your parents were proud of her and the plans she had made.

She was their youngest friend, but one of their closest. They looked at her like another daughter, and she looked up to them as mentors. "But yeah, that was about it." Jenna finishes off. Your father nods with a hum, stroking his beard. Jenna smiled, a peaceful look on her face.

"Could you put these glasses away?" Your mother asks, gaining your attention. You look away and grab the glasses, putting them away in the cabinet. You turn back around and your father winks at you causing you to laugh.

Your mother smiles, shaking her head. She knows your father and you are always joking around. "We have some news." Your mother speaks up, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Your father nods, sitting upright on the bar stool. "We're leaving for Europe tomorrow morning for business." You nod, already knowing this information.

You feel there's a but coming in, "But..." There it is. "It's a three-month-long trip." Your father speaks up immediately reading the look on your face, "Well, it was supposed to be a month and a half but your mother and I want to take some time to relax."

You shrug and nod, knowing that you can handle the extended trip. You turn to your father and smile, "It's all good. I'll be on my best behavior. You two deserve a vacation." Your father side-eyes your mother, who takes a glance back at her husband.

Okay. What's going on? "We know... because Jenna will be watching over you." You snap your head to Jenna, your brows furrowed together before glancing between your parents.

"You're leaving Jenna to babysit me?" Jenna smiled nervously, not knowing what to say. Your parents exchanged a look before your dad spoke.

"Honey you have to understand, it's three months. We trust Jenna to take care of you."

You sighed and crossed your arms, not wanting to accept the reality. You knew what they were saying was true, but you just didn't want to believe it. You looked at Jenna, who was still smiling nervously. You turn back to your mom, uncrossing your arm. "I'm eighteen!"

Your mom raises an eyebrow at the rise of your voice. You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "You just turned eighteen. Watch your tone." You exhaled sharply and nodded, conceding to the fact that you had to wait before you could make your own decisions.

You glanced at Jenna, who was still sitting patiently, and then back at your mom. "Okay, I understand," you said, before turning your attention back to Jenna. Jenna smiles at you, relieved.

"And since you're under some new supervision we talked about some ground rules." First a babysitter and now ground rules? Were you fourteen? Your mom looks at your dad who nods quickly, turning his attention to you.

"We're taking the keys to your motorcycle," your eyes widen and you drop your jaw. He continues despite your reaction, "Please consult with Jenna before you do anything. No random invites, no random going out, tell her."

You nod your head in understanding. You know that this rule is for your own safety. "And finally go to class. No skipping! If I get a call from the office telling me you missed class, all hell will break loose. You hear me?" Your mom buts in, a stern look on her face.

You nod again and mumble, "Yes ma'am." You take a deep breath, knowing that your mom is looking out for you. Your mom raises from the counter, walking over to you and rubbing a hand on your bicep and saying, "We love you. We want you to be safe and responsible."

She gives your arm a gentle squeeze stepping back and facing Jenna, "Jenna you can stay in the guest room upstairs. If you need anything don't be afraid to ask, and make yourself at home." Jenna smiled and thanked her.

"There's plenty of food in the kitchen, and feel free to watch TV or use the internet if you want." Jenna nodded, giving your mom a warm smile. She thanked her again, and your dad stands up giving Jenna a squeeze on her shoulder before sticking his tongue out at you and heading upstairs.

Jenna laughed and your mom shook her head, amused following behind the tall man. Once your parents we're out of the kitchen Jenna looks at you, her dark brown eyes staring into yours. She smiled brightly and said, "Don't worry, I'm not a bad babysitter."

You shake your head, smiling. "Please stop. The term babysitter is so embarrassing." Jenna laughed and said, "I know you're not a baby, but I guess I'm still going to have to look out for you." She winked and you both laughed. You were relieved that she wasn't going to treat you like a child.

This was going to be a crazy three months.

[objectumnonsense]

robot oneshot, as requested VwV

The lab was dark, save for the dim neon light filtering in through the curtains and a singular work lamp in the corner of the room. Every few minutes, a train passed overhead, making the ceiling groan with the weight, but it was otherwise quiet. The lab's only two occupants sat without speaking, one in maintenance mode on a table and the other wearing thick, elbow-length rubber gloves and wielding a variety of delicate tools.

The Mechanic worked diligently and in near silence, save for softly humming a tune and occasionally blowing their hair out of their face while they worked on SN-0407-67. The only sounds coming from 67 were the hum of its fans and the occasional buzz of a wire being put in the wrong place, quickly corrected by the Mechanic.

After about half an hour, the Mechanic said, in a voice rough with disuse, "Exit maintenance mode," and a line of small lights blinked to life on the back of 67's neck. Its shutters flicked open and it turned its head right around to face the Mechanic.

"Is there a problem?" it buzzed.

"Well, I don't wanna catastrophize, but I'm lookin' through your lower back complex and I'm seein' some stuff that looks an awful lot like buzz bug eggs. Can you run a diagnostics check for me real quick?"

"Affirmative." In a blink of its shutters, it received data from all of its main systems and most of its secondary and tertiary programs and responded.

"Small loop errors in primary memory arrays. Minimal damage to recursive power wiring. Buzz bugs may be a possibility. Suggestion: analyze sample of offending material."

"Will do. Wanna go back to sleep?"

"Negative. We are almost done, correct?"

"If this don't turn out to be an infestation, yeah. What's got you so eager to leave?"

"Nothing. I simply do not enjoy being in maintenance mode for extended periods of time."

"Oh? Why's that?"

67 turned back around and allowed the Mechanic to pry open its back panel and delicately reach through its wiring with a pair of tweezers.

"I dislike being unaware of my surroundings for so long. It is against my purpose."

"It's necessary though, ain't it?"

"As is sleeping. But you are avoiding that now."

"Fair 'nuff."

The silence returned for a few minutes. The Mechanic extricated some pieces of material from 67's wiring and the gaps in their chassis while it sat perfectly still and nearly silent.

Abruptly, a small yellow light on their shoulder lit up and they said, "Your heart rate and breathing have increased."

"Huh?"

"Are you in distress? Is the infestation worse than you expected?"

"Oh, no, nothin' like that. If this is buzz bugs, we caught 'em real early. I could probably get all of this outta you before dawn."

"That is good."

They continued without speaking for a few moments more, the yellow light still turning on and off rhythmically, before 67 spoke up again.

"Your heart rate has not decreased."

"And I suppose I can't ask you to ignore that?"

"Negative. It is against my purpose."

"Right. First aid robot."

The Mechanic pursed their lips and tried to continue their work, but 67 kept talking.

"You hands are shaking slightly. Allow me to check your blood sugar content."

Before the Mechanic could respond, 67 had already completed the check.

"Blood sugar content within healthy range. Brain scan indicates higher than normal levels of oxytocin. Heart rate and breathing rate are increased, but have plateaued."

"Can't keep anythin' secret from you, huh?"

"Negative. You have poor control over your responses to emotion."

"Well, can't say I didn't try."

"Correct. You are still avoiding telling me the reason for your heightened emotional state."

"Would it hurt so bad to let this one go unmentioned?"

"A key to maintaining healthy relationships is communication between constituents. I am curious why you are acting differently."

"It's... complicated. It's a human thing."

"Mechanic, "human things" are my area of expertise. I will understand whatever you tell me."

"I just..." They sighed, but set their tweezers aside and brushed their fingers along a piece of 67's circuitry. "Can you feel this? When I'm workin' on you?"

"To an extent, yes."

"And does it... hurt?"

"Not unless something is damaged. It feels almost the same as when my exterior is touched."

"Almost?"

"There is a level of... trust involved. I trust that you will not break me, you trust that I will not close myself or shock you to injure you."

"When I do this..." the Mechanic traced the column of 67's spine with their index finger, "what is that like?"

"I fail to see why you are asking me again. Did I not just explain it?"

"I know, I know, just.. tell me what you feel me doin'."

"Alright."

A moment's pause.

"I feel you touching the outer shell of my spine. It holds much of my central processing power, which is why it's covered by thick metal plating. But I know you will not try to damage it."

"And now?"

"Now you're moving towards my power cell. It's a very powerful battery, and very fragile. But you will not damage it."

"Now?"

"You're reaching up through my chest cavity towards my transform arrays. This is where most of my proprioceptive senses are processed. It's also highly sensitive to touch. But you will not damage it."

The Mechanic let out a shaky sigh. The blinking yellow light on 67's shoulder began flashing more quickly. They noticed it was in time with their heartbeat.

"Your breathing and heart rate have increased steadily. Is there something you aren't telling me?"

They abruptly pulled their hand out of 67's back and stammered an apology.

"Sorry, I'm - sorry, that - that was kinda weird. I shouldn'ta -"

"It was not unpleasant."

Their words ground to a halt and they stared at the back of 67's head.

"You... motherfucker, you knew this whole time, didn't you?"

67 made a beep that sounded like a laugh.

"Negative. I only realized when I scanned you."

The Mechanic leaned their head against 67's shoulder with a clunk.

"And I couldn't get you to delete this whole interaction from your memories?"

"Negative."

The Mechanic sighed again and leaned back, rubbing their temples.

"Well, that's about it for your checkup anyways. We should probably get goin'."

"Mechanic, I would not refuse if you wanted to take this further."

The Mechanic froze. "Whuh?"

"I do not have the capacity to feel it the same way you do. But I understand it would be enjoyable for you. My purpose, after all, is to ease suffering."

"Wh - but - I - I'm not sufferin' about it, I just -"

"Mechanic."

67 rose and walked around the table, standing very close to the Mechanic and resting a careful hand on their hip. They swallowed thickly.

"We are the only ones in here. We have time."

The Mechanic let out a nervous, breathy chuckle. They raised a hand to 67's face plate and brushed their thumb along it.

"You're amazin', you know that? Just... incredible."

"I know," 67 replied, a playful lilt in its voice. "Tell me if you want me to stop at any point."

"Alright."

67 stepped even closer so that one of its legs was between both of the Mechanic's and they had to lean back against the table. One of their hands rested on 67's shoulder and the other settled on its hip.

67 hooked a thumb over the Mechanic's waistband and tugged down. Its other hand worked its way up their shirt and cupped their chest. It leaned its head down and bonked it gently on the top of theirs.

"Was that supposed to be a kiss?"

"Affirmative."

"You're such a dork."

67 hummed. Its movements remained smooth and steady, but the Mechanic distinctly heard its cooling fans pick up when it tugged their underwear aside.

"Could it be you're enjoyin' this too, 67?" they purred, lifting the hand that was on its shoulder to the back of its head, where they brushed over some of the exposed wires there. Its lower shutter twitched upwards.

"You do look... very nice. Under me like this."

"Mmm. Kinky." They spread their legs further and gasped when 67's searching hands found their bare skin.

"Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah. It's just been a while. Go slow."

"Understood."

Gently, 67 started working its hand, and the Mechanic let out a quiet groan. They rolled their hips into 67's touch, grip tightening on its neck and making its shutter twitch again.

"Is - fuck - is that hurtin' you?" they asked.

"Negative."

"Want me to - to stop?"

"Nnegative."

At the stalling of 67's voice, the Mechanic raised an eyebrow. "Is it gettin' you off or s-something?

"N N N N - Unsure. My proproprocessor has encountered an error."

Experimentally, the Mechanic chose a wire and tugged on it - not enough to break it, but with enough force to pull it partially out of line. 67 jolted forward, making a buzzing sound the Mechanic had never heard before, and its hand dug harshly into their flesh, making them gasp.

"Arrre you alright?" it asked, stopping all motion. The Mechanic whined and pushed against its hand.

"Don't stop," they pleaded.

"One moment. I nnneed to check -"

The Mechanic tugged on the same wire again, creating the same reaction, and sighed with satisfaction.

"Memememechanic," 67 scolded, though the effect was somewhat lost due to the skipping in its voice.

"Keep goin'. I didn't tell you to stop."

"Make me."

The defiance caught the Mechanic off guard, but only for a moment. They glared up at 67.

"Y'know, you're real disobedient for a robot," they growled, finding a different wire and wrapping it around their finger. 67's shutters closed completely this time, its entire body jerking randomly for a moment before the Mechanic let the wire go again. "I thought you were s'posed to follow directions?"

"Youyouyou haven't said the magic word yet," 67 replied, though their hand had begun to move again.

"Make me cum, 67. That's an order."

"Affirmativvve."

The Mechanic cried out at the dizzying pace 67 suddenly set, hips rocking helplessly into its touch. Its name flowed from their lips like a hymn. 67 bore down on them, chest pressed to theirs, free hand supporting their back so they didn't fall.

"Yesyesyesyes, just like that, yes -!"

With a drawn-out moan, the Mechanic came hard, slumping back so that 67 had to adjust its hold on them, completely at its mercy as it kept up the harsh pace of its hand. It slowed to a stop the moment the feeling became too much and their groans of pleasure turned into whimpers.

The pair stayed like that for a moment, the Mechanic struggling to catch their breath and clinging to 67, whose fans were still going at top speed. It stared adoringly down at them, privately recording a short clip to replay later.

"Holy shit," the Mechanic finally breathed, pushing themself upward off of 67's arm. "That was... wow."

"I trust you enjoyed yourself?"

"Yeah. Jesus Christ. Are you... can I - is there anythin' I can do for you?"

"Negative. No part of me can experience anything close to sexual arousal, but I appreciate the consideration."

"So, just outta curiosity, what were the wires doin' to ya?"

That gave 67 pause.

"I'm... unsure. It's not a sensation I've ever felt before."

"Was it bad?"

"Negative. It was... novel. I'm not sure what to make of it."

"So what... would it be okay if I did it again?"

Another pause.

"...Affirmative. Please be careful."

"You know careful's my middle name."

The Mechanic lifted both of their hands and rested them on 67's neck. One slid its fingers over the exposed wires, still slightly out of place, making 67 beep and twitch.

"Why don't you try tellin' me what you feel?" they purred, finding a wire and winding it around their finger. 67 took a moment to respond, its voicebox making nonsense sounds before it could gather it to something intelligible.

"I I I I feel... dizzzzy? I think that wiwiwire has a role in proprioceptive data transfer. It's hard to to to to rrrecall at the moment."

"Mmm. And what about now?" the Mechanic asked, parting the wires and reaching deeper into 67's neck. They felt their finger make contact with cool metal, and 67 made a long, low tone until they lifted it.

"My my my my my centrrrral spinal casinnnnng. It's very sensensensitive to touch, which is is is why it's underrrrneath everything ellllse."

"You're startin' to sound pretty rough, 67."

"Hard to to to prrrocess speech at the momoment. Unsure how to parrrrse sensory dadadadata."

"Still don't want me to stop?"

"Affirrrmative. Want you you you touch furrrrther in me."

"Fuck, that's hot."

The Mechanic moved upward this time, under the plating on the back of 67's head with a muttered "keep your head down." 67's head briefly dropped limply downward, chin hitting its chest with a dull thunk, before the Mechanic hastily removed their hand and it looked back up at them.

"Why did you you stop?"

"That wasn't bad?"

"Negative. Want morrre."

"Oh, I see how it is." They resumed their probing, 67's head falling again, its voice struggling to express exactly what it was feeling.

"Hannnds in my in me touch ch ch ch mind feel I feel your hands," it managed, and the Mechanic bit their lip, looking up at it with adoration in their eyes.

"God, you sound fuckin' wrecked. I wish I knew I could do this to you sooner," they confessed. 67's optic flickered.

"Want want hands want touch morrre so so so much so want want want wannnnnnt -"

Abruptly, its voice dropped so low it was almost a buzz, its optic blinking out, hands in a vise grip on the Mechanic's hips while the lights on its body turned off all at once. Its fans continued on high for a moment more before they lowered to a more normal level and a noise like a dial-up played.

"Shit."

The Mechanic waited nervously while 67 rebooted, slowly releasing their hips before its optic blinked back to life, immediately zeroing in on them.

"Are you okay? Did I touch something I shouldn't've?"

"Negative. I am still processing. Please give me a moment."

After a second or two, 67 spoke again.

"Last sensation recorded before shutdown: foreign object inside cranial casing. Pressure applied to central tactile nerve. Systems overwhelmed." It blinked. "No memory lost. I am in no pain."

"So that tactile nerve thing -"

"I felt... everything. It's hard to explain."

"I think I get it. Don't worry."

"It was... good. I felt good. I would like to do this again sometime."

"Is right now a good sometime? 'Cause that was fuckin' hot."

67's optic widened slightly, disbelief creeping into its voice.

"Causing a temporary shutdown... made you aroused again?"

"It was more like making you get there. But yeah."

"Interesting. In that case..."

67 opened the maintenance panel on its chest, exposing a crisscrossing maze of wires and circuits to the Mechanic, who practically drooled.

"Help yourself to me."

[mypoisonedvine]

Possessive Eddie, maybe around Rick or after a party

ps. LOVE YOU GUYS <3

GETTING TO THIS LATE but it's cuteeee omg

eddie's possessive in a sweet way in this, not dark or controlling! but warnings for implied smut, insecurities, mentions of smoking and drinking, and mentions of semi-public sex lol

You noticed that he was acting different after you tagged along to a run to Rick's; but you liked the extra attention, so you didn't say anything.

You noticed, too, the way he would get extra touchy and affectionate when you mentioned hanging out with Steve or catching up with the guys you used to share your crayons with in elementary school. Still, you didn't say anything, and you didn't quite notice the connection.

But he was all over you during Steve's party. It started the second he saw you-- he said you looked hot, which you certainly appreciated, but then it's like he couldn't keep his hands off you. You couldn't even go get a drink or take a smoke break without him clinging to you like crazy.

"What's gotten into you, barnacle?" you giggled as Eddie nuzzled into your neck from behind, mumbling something about if you were wearing new perfume or if you just smelled better than he remembered.

"Barnacle?" he repeated.

"You're all up on my stern!" you explained, and Eddie laughed a little as he wrapped his arms around you.

"Well sorr-yyy," he whined, "just wanna touch my girl, s'that a crime?"

"No," you replied, "but you always get like this when we go out anywhere. Steve may not invite us to parties anymore if I keep wearing you to them."

"So? Then we can just stay home and I can touch you even more," he purred, leaning in to kiss your face, but you pushed him back slightly as you knitted your brows together.

"What's your deal, Munson? Do you think if somebody sees me alone for a half-second they're gonna think I'm single and ask me out or something?" you wondered.

Eddie got really quiet, which was always a sign of trouble, and your eyes went wide.

"Oh, shit-- did I really get it on the first guess?" you realized.

"It's-- it's not that! Uh, not exactly..." he mumbled, looking away.

"You know I would totally shut down anybody who tried to come onto me, right?" you assured. "Just because someone thought I was single wouldn't mean--"

"No, no, I know," he shook his head, "s'not that I don't trust you. I'm just.... I'm so proud of you, y'know? And yeah, it drives me a little crazy when other guys look at you, I like reminding them they don't stand a chance-- 'cause you've got me. And I wanna remind you of that, too."

You smirked. "I'm not really at any risk of forgetting that, Ed, especially with you on me like white on rice all night."

"I'm not trying to smother you," he promised, "just want everybody in Hawkins to know you're my girl. Shit, I want everybody in the whole world to know! I bet most of 'em still couldn't believe it, that a loser like me got a girl like you."

"Please," you rolled your eyes incredulously.

"No, I'm serious!" he laughed. "Everyone already thought I was doing witchcraft before, but now that I've got you?"

He didn't even finish the thought fully, but you laughed, too, and pulled him closer by the shirt to kiss his cheek. "Okay, stud, you really want everyone to know I'm yours?" you challenged, seeing one of his eyebrows raise. "How about you take me to one of the Harringtons' half-dozen guest bathrooms and make me say your name loud enough for this whole party to hear?"

He purred as he pulled you closer at the hips. "Sounds like a deal."

[weebsinstash]

consider; multiverse shenanigans with a spider!reader where they make some offhand comment about how their heat/rut is coming up soon and they'll need some volunteers to cover patrols while they're down and half the society is like 'o damn that sucks, yeah i can swing a tuesday' and the other half is like 'your WHAT is coming up???'

and it turns out that a decent chunk of the multiverse has no idea what a/b/o orientations even are and it somehow just got totally lost in translation until that very second that this was a thing. what do you mean omega???? what the fuck do you mean you just thought i was a really boring smelling beta?????????? y'all motherfuckers are SNIFFING PEOPLE?!?!?!?!

now consider a miguel that is not from an a/b/o verse hearing about this and doing a little research to figure out exactly what a heat/rut is and just getting sucked down a rabbit hole and going feral for the idea that you're going to be in a highly suggestible and vulnerable state for nearly a WEEK and he's going to miss it!!! he didn't get invited!!!! what the fuck!!! the man spends a solid 48 hrs immersed in really bad multiversal porn and comes out the other end hungover and weeping that he nearly missed out on this

so he takes it upon himself to do a little rearranging, some scheduling, some scheming, and lo and behold you find yourself stuck in this crappy half-built nest in nueva york with miguel, who has no real idea how he's supposed to actually perform for you while ur like this and is just making it up as he goes- and totally ignoring the cultural and consent issues he's digging up doing this bc its biology right? so its fine? people in ur universe do this all the time, he has no idea why ur complaining just let him help u out jeez-

Some rando Spiderperson intending to be transphobic: --and they want us to accept everyone as whatever they say they wanna be now, as if men can get pregnant!

Reader, without skipping a beat: what the actual fuck are you talking about, my father carried me and my siblings for 6 months

Miguel is just starting to know you and is actively trying to learn more about you and one day you just, I dunno, you two do a mission together and he gives you praise and you just look at him with a big smile 😊 and your ass straight up PURRS for a few moments and he's just like 🥺❤️ gatito... ❤️

The man sees you talking to Jess and Peter B one day and O'Hara is watching from a distance because he's, awkward and not sure how to approach you, and suddenly his super hearing can pick up someone in the room talking idly about you, or even explaining ABO stuff to another person. "Yeah, see em over there, holding Peter Bs kid? Those Omega always have nurturing instincts. It's cause they're wired to spit out tons of babies. They're the breeders. They even have natutal pheromones to calm down their mates and friends and children" and suddenly Miguel's ears are burning "youre tellin me my darling might wants lots of little babies running around? Fantastic."

Mexican/Irish and also Catholic Miguel who wants one of those STUPID HUGE families where people have at least 6 kids and it's like "oh a typical Omega pregnancy usually has at least two or three babies in one go and theyre shorter than normal human pregnancies huh? Interesting :)"

Some members of the Spider Society are like "why is Miguel kind of lowkey being a dick to me all the time now" oh well its very simple you see, Miguel read your file and found out you're an Alpha and you share this weird connection and also natural biological attraction to HIS lil honeybee and He Hates You Now. Fuck off out his house and don't let him see you talking to his baby or else

He gets really close to you one day, I mean like physically, or hey maybe emotionally too, and he's hugging you and he gets a whiff of your scent and it's something he can't even describe, something that has a carnal biological effect on his where he just wants to keep holding you and hearing your voice like a drug, like it's oxytocin on crack, and suddenly in true scientist fashion he's researching you, your universe, its history, its medicine, its culture.

Can't help but imagine a Miguel who goes full yandere and gives no fucks about doing what he wants for darling and splices his DNA with Alpha DNA so he can officially claim you as a mate, scenting, knotting, and everything. Lyla gives you instructions to meet him in a specific place and it turns out he's been experimenting on himself and he's deep in a rut and suddenly your knees are getting pushed into your chest and you're getting passionately knotted and filled up by a grunting growling purring Miguel who's leaving love bites and kisses all over your skin, just, his size alone would make him hard to get away from, you don't even need to add Alpha instincts and being able to track your pheromones on top of that 😳

Miguel "just let me 'help you as a friend'" O'Hara who tracked when your next heat was going to kick in and maybe even drugged you so it comes at a specific time and he makes it where the two of you are together or even trapped or something when it happens and, here he is, "oh just let me help you, isn't it hurting" but like. We all know it's because he wants to. Like could you even imagine he's, you know, using his fingers and he goes to remove his pants or free himself or whatever and you're just like "no I'll get pregnant" and he just kind of has a Microsoft error window in his brain because it's like. Oh you'll get almost DEFINITELY pregnant? Guaranteed? You're trying to tell the man you dont want to and instead at least internally he's like "promise? 👉👈"

[literaila]

it’s really nothing 

tasm!peter x fem!reader (office au) 

summary: with peter parker as your coworker, work is something to look forward to. 

warnings: idiots to lovers, pining, reader has a panic attack, peter gets sick, spider-man stuff, fluff, actual idiots, they both “hate” m&ms 

a/n: this is the longest oneshot i’ve ever written. and also, i really like calling people criminals. let me know what you think! 

*

peter parker has pretty eyes.

this is what you're thinking about while he stands in front of you, smiling politely, waiting for you to say something. 

to shake his hand and establish a growing work relationship. 

they're brown. soft and warm and a bit too bright for so early in the morning--he probably hasn't been up all night and probably doesn't suffer from a severe coffee dependency. 

not that you do, either. it's just... 

"y/n," you say, smiling even though it feels more like a wince. like trying not to scare away the newbie. you shake his hand.

the newbie who you were supposed to be director of today. 

the newbie who you definitely did not forget about. 

and who is absolutely not almost devilishly handsome. 

his eyes are crinkled at the edges and you can't tell if it's because he's amused or concerned. 

or if he is just pleasantly waiting for you to say something. 

"sorry," you clear your throat. look away from him, to the person in the cubicle beside you--who is not judging you in the slightest. "busy morning." 

"it's okay. i like... awkward silences." 

he's got dimples. a little quirk on his cheek as he waits for you to tell him where to go. what to do. how not to get fired on the first day. 

"i'm a little distracted," you concede, almost regretful. almost like he definitely thinks you're crazy. 

he turns to look at whatever you were staring at. "yeah," he turns back, smiling. "that's a nice wall." 

"okay," you take a deep breath in, feel the shame smother you with your shirt. "let's try this again." 

peter, who looks like a tiny little beam of light in this room full of half-asleep people, nods. he holds his hand out again. "hi, i'm peter. i'm supposed to ask you where my desk is." 

you almost laugh. "y/n," you say again, to clarify. "i'm supposed to show you where your desk is." 

"hopefully it's facing that wall." 

and so ensues the battle of trying not to stare at him for thirty seconds every time he makes eye contact with you.

fraternization is forbidden from the office. 

you lead him to his desk, show him all of the drawers, completely with a jar full of pens--courtesy of the company--and a little welcome gift. 

a little bag of m&ms that you may or may not have rushed to get from the vending machine down the hall. 

"what's this?" 

you swallow. again. maybe for the fiftieth time. "just a 'welcome to the office' sort of thing." 

peter raises a brow. "from who?" 

"me. i'm, uh, supposed to be your 'office buddy' while you settle in." 

more specifically, you're supposed to be the person he goes to. the person with all the answers. the person who does not get distracted when looking into the eyes of their coworkers. 

third time's a charm. 

 peter nods. "oh, well, i don't like m&ms."

there is a tiny fraction of you that would like to beg him not to make this even harder than it already is. 

"you don't like m&ms," you repeat. 

he shakes his head. his hair is messy. and soft. you'd like to reach out to touch it. 

and burn your hand off immediately after. 

"i didn't realize we were hiring criminals," you shrug. take the candy from his hands. 

peter's jaw drops, minimally. "um, sorry?" 

"not like m&ms is a federal crime." 

his eyes widen. he looks a bit relieved. and then his face switches, smooth and chill, and almost evil eyes. "guess i must've missed that one." 

"if you don't take my candy i'll have to eat it myself." 

he raises a brow. "i'm assuming you like m&ms." 

"nope. hate 'em." 

he laughs. "then why would you give them to me?" 

"it was the last thing in the vending machine. and i assumed you weren't also on probation. " 

"neither of us is very good with assumptions," he leans back, looking a little bit more comfortable than he did a minute ago. 

like maybe he doesn't think that you're absolutely insane. 

you smile at him, try and keep the energy up even though you would really like to lay down on his desk and take a nap. 

"so," you say, clasping your hands together. "my desk is right there." 

across from his, of course, because you're already the office leader in procrastination. 

"if you have any questions i won't be too far away." 

"questions?" 

"yeah. like, about what email to use for an article. or where to find files in the overly complicated filing system. or why it smells like pickles every couple of days." 

his brow furrows. "pickles?" 

"don't ask." 

he picks up a pen. clicks it. puts it back down. 

you watch because how are you supposed to do anything else? 

especially when he's got a voice like that and a face like that and eyes that could probably remove your heart from your chest and take a bite out of it. 

he clears his throat. "does everybody get an office buddy?" 

"only the pretty ones." 

immediately you turn around, run directly into the wall. 

you fall directly onto the floor. 

you don't dare to look at his face. 

you laugh, awkwardly, scratching your neck. "sorry. i, um. i'm not very good at this." 

at talking to people who are insanely attractive, or showing anyone around. or breathing, really. 

"being an office buddy?" peter tilts his head, but he's smiling at you. 

you're pretty sure the crinkle is amused. 

"talking to people. especially when i'm sleep-deprived. or, trying to make a good impression." 

peter laughs, seemingly appreciative of your self-depreciation. "you're doing fine," he assures. "you know, after the whole wall thing. and then the m&m thing." 

you cross your arms. "it was an example of your everyday employee." 

"oh okay, then." he nods. "it worked." 

"and that was a welcome gift." 

"you called me a criminal." 

"i also called myself a criminal. and if you turn out to be anything like me, then you'll last at least a year." 

he bites his lip, looking a little bit confused. 

you laugh. 

"c'mon, i'll show you where we keep the snacks." 

his eyes light up even more. you have to take a deep breath in before you start walking. 

*

peter tries not to bother you. 

he took this job with the money in mind. 

because selling pictures and running around all night and falling asleep in a bed made out of more cardboard than cushion, well, it was time for a change. 

time to become an actual adult--in aunt mays words--and get an adult job. 

when peter took this job--mostly because it was the first acceptance he'd gotten and the rejection letters were killing his ego, piece by piece--he figured that it would almost bore him to death. 

but pay the bills. 

but make it possible to keep up with his extracurriculars and avoid getting his water turned off when he was covered in a slime-like substance that he would really rather not think about. 

he figured that it would be horrible; because having a job was, inevitably, horrible. 

but he was good at suffering. he was good at balancing the scales and doing what needed to be done. 

and may had threatened him with not letting him do his laundry at her house anymore, so, he didn't really have any other choice. 

when he took the job, peter hadn't thought that he would be spending almost every night rushing to submit his forms and edit a million different articles. 

he really hadn't thought that most of his hours spent in the office would be spent staring at you. 

at watching your lips move as you talked to someone on the phone; or straining to hear you whispering to yourself--because not even with his senses could he make everything out completely. 

or at staring at your hands as you typed. your eyes as you laughed. or when he said something--how he managed to, peter wasn't sure because his brain all but stopped whenever you were within five feet of him--to make you smile. 

because your smile, god. it was the worst of all. 

it was soft and beautiful and so mesmerizing that peter was worried you had already killed him every time he saw it. 

there was just something about you. 

something funny. something intriguing. a tiny little thing he wasn't sure how to describe. 

and so, it really wasn't his fault that he didn't get any work done. 

it's not as if he'd chosen to sit right across from you and be forced to watch you work all day. 

he made a conscious effort not to. 

to only stare when you were staring back. 

to type random things onto his document and swear that he was actually going to get something done. 

today. 

but, of course, today he was having a problem. 

the problem being that he didn't want to bother you but he also hadn't talked to you all morning. 

three weeks after he'd officially met you. 

you were his office buddy. his friendly coworker who he was just a little bit infatuated with. 

and he didn't want to bother you. 

he tried not to. 

to keep his staring down to a minimum and avoid planning what he was going to say to you the night before. 

he smiled at you during lunch, asked how everything was going. 

and that was that. 

until now, because peter was having a problem. 

"hey," peter whispered, trying to keep his voice down. 

you looked up from your computer, a quick smile making its way to your face. 

peter pretended not to notice the three cups of coffee on your desk. 

or that your shirt was inside out. 

"hi, peter." 

"hi. i'm--i'm having a little bit of trouble with a document..." 

you raised a brow, making one of your eyes quirk up. just so peter could memorize the color a little bit more. "trouble?"

"i don't know how to change the font." 

it wasn't a complete lie. it also was a poor, poor excuse to talk to you. 

to not bother you. 

"the font?" you ask as if he was lying. 

which he would never do. especially not to get your attention. 

"i've never used this program before." 

"microsoft word?" 

he nods. he watches the edge of your mouth quirk up. 

he watches your fingers tap against the desk. 

"okay," you say, so easily. "i'll show you." 

you stand up, close enough to peter for him to smell your perfume and practically taste your amusement. 

"thanks," he says, quickly, taking a couple of steps back. 

and then a couple of steps more. 

he allows you to lead him back to your desk. to sit in his chair and spin around, just so that he's looking at your face again. 

"i like what you've done with the place," you say, gesturing to his almost empty desk. 

"thanks. i try." 

you laugh. "very cozy." 

and then you spin around again, and peter leans a bit closer to you, watching your eyes as they flick over the computer screen. 

"see the little 't'?" you patronize him, using the cursor to point.

he avoids laughing and giving himself away. he feels like a child. 

which, in hindsight, he pretty much is.  

peter nods. he's sure you can feel it. 

because he can almost feel it when you swallow. 

"you click that," you do so, "and then choose whatever font you want. except for comic sans. because that is against office policy." 

"what if i like comic sans?" he whispers, closer than he wants to be to your ear. 

"then we can't be friends and i'll be switching departments." 

he chuckles. "where would you go?" 

and he leans up, just so you can turn around again. and maybe because he feels little bit lightheaded. 

it's really nothing. 

"probably legal. they have a ping-pong table down there." 

"and a dungeon with all of their lost souls." 

you shrug. "reasonable price to pay." 

you're smiling at him, so small that he might not notice if he hadn't been watching you do it for three weeks.

"i'd personally go with janitorial. get the whole place to yourself." 

"they also have to clean up your desk, so." 

he crosses his arms. "what is that supposed to mean?" 

"you think i haven't seen the old wrappers and cans of soda? did you clean up just for me?" you touch your chest, mock appreciation. 

"nope. it is 10 am, and the janitors love me." 

"i highly doubt that." 

you stand up, wiping your hands on your pants. "okay. you got it now?" 

"yup. thanks for your help." 

peter can see you trying not to laugh. he watches very closely. 

"sure thing, peter. let me know if you have trouble finding the space bar." 

and if peter's got a little bit of a crush, so what? 

he likes his new job. 

*

you poke him on the shoulder. "peter." 

he doesn't budge. his eyes barely even move. his chest just barely inflates. 

so you resort to almost pushing him out of his chair. "hey," you say, just a little bit louder. "peter." 

and then, as soon as you've begun to push him again, his hand darts out to grab onto yours. 

you let out a little yelp. 

it scares you more than it scares him. you try to flinch back but his grip is hard, his eyes are stern and confused as he looks at you. 

as he looks down at the hand that's on you; creating bruises on your wrists. 

and then he lets go, as if your hand was burning hot, and jumps away from you. 

"i'm sorry--" 

"are you okay?" 

peter blinks. looks like he's forgotten where he is or what he's doing here. he blinks again. "what?" 

"you were asleep. i woke you up." 

"oh." 

you nod. take a breath in and readjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder. "you okay?" 

"i'm fine." 

you stare at him. his eyes are a little bit wild. a little bit all over the place. 

he's staring at his keyboard like he's lost the ability to think clearly. 

"peter," you say, softly. "it's five." 

"five?" 

"yes. time to go." 

"oh." 

you frown. "how long were you asleep?" 

"not long. like, an hour." 

some part of you wonders how you didn't notice that. considering how much you're looking at him on any average day. 

"i didn't realize. i would've woken you up sooner." 

you rub your hand, taking a step back as he gets up from his desk. as he grabs a bunch of spare things and doesn't really look you in the eyes. 

"it's fine. i wasn't getting a lot done anyway." 

his voice is quiet. soft. a bit rough--like he's been using it too much. sore. 

"having a hard time sleeping?" you ask, trying not to step over the boundaries of your office buddy relationship. 

peter snorts. "you could say that." 

you nod. stand there uncomfortably. 

not sure if you should just leave or wait for him. which one will cause you more pain. 

peter looks up. he sighs. "your hand," he gestures to the red mark you've got on your wrists--which really don't hurt that bad but are a bit startling. "i'm sorry."

"oh," you look with him. shrugging. "it's fine. it's what i get for waking you up." 

"no, i just--" he pauses. shakes his head like he's being stupid. "sorry. i don't know what's wrong with me." 

"i'm sure there's a multitude of answers, peter parker." 

you say it with a smile on your face, trying to avoid the seriousness of this situation. in which, you should probably be concerned for him. 

in which you would really like to hug him because he looks sort of sad. sort of crumbled as he picks up his bag. sort of small. 

he chuckles. "good guess." 

"ready?" you ask him, straightening up. 

"i'll walk you to your car." 

you hold a finger up, brow raised. "i think i'll walk you to your car.  'cause you're looking a little... green." 

peter blinks. 

"and also because i'm a gentleman." 

"of course," peter snorts a little bit, beginning to walk. "thanks for waking me up," he says, "i would've just slept there all night." 

"and then what would the janitors think of you?" 

he waves a hand. "they'd just clean around me." 

"or call the police." 

"yes. or that." 

you smile at him. 

appreciate the way he smiles back. even if it's just for show. 

*

when peter runs into you just as he's leaving the bathroom, it's a completely normal reaction to be a little bit shocked. 

to crave the warmth of your body, even if it's slamming into him and causing him to trip. 

causing you to trip, which, peter does not take advantage of. 

he does, of course, steady you with his hands, looking down at you as you blink. 

"woah," you say. "i didn't think i was going that fast." 

"practicing for a marathon?" 

you glare at him, just a little. "just going to lunch." 

your eyes are delightfully smooth. your mouth is quirked up in peter's favorite way. 

he laughs. "i would run too." 

"sorry. didn't mean to crash into you." 

"it's fine." 

he stares at you for a moment. waiting for you to say something. 

you don't because you're not a strange coworker trying to preserve any minute with him you can get. 

"where are you going?" he asks, rocking on his heels. 

"forced to go to the sandwich shop on the corner. i forgot my lunch." 

"charlie's?" 

peter watches you lick your lips. he watches you breathe in and out and pretends that he's not being weird. 

he's not. 

"yeah. have you been there?" 

he nods. smiles a little bit. "it's good." 

you smile back. 

he breathes in; trying to match his heart to yours. 

you look a little bit disheveled; a little bit eager as you stare at him. 

and he's got no clue how he looks because he's got no control over his body. 

you breathe out. "well..." 

"oh," peter steps aside, running a hand through his hair. "enjoy your lunch." 

"thanks, you too." 

and then you walk away from him. 

peter tries not to feel a bit begrudged by his lack of conversation skills--particularly when it comes to you--and he tries not to think about how warm and soft your skin is, or how cute you look when your hair is a little bit messed up. 

but then you turn around, clearing your throat. "you, um, wanna come?" 

it barely takes peter a second to say "let me grab my bag."

*

"where'd you work before this?" you ask peter, sipping on some coffee. 

nursing the fact that you're going out to lunch with him and that he offered to pay. 

not that it means anything. it doesn't. 

it'd be nice to have a friend around the office, though. 

and it's nice to know that he doesn't completely hate you. yet. 

peter swallows some of his sandwich, face contorting strangely. "i did some pictures for a couple of newspapers... but um, just a lot of odd jobs," he shakes his head. nonchalant. 

"you like photography?" 

"just a hobby." 

you raise a brow. "that's not what i asked." 

"yeah," peter answers, slowly. "i like it." 

"you must be pretty good at it, you know, since you got paid for it." 

he shrugs again. "i'm alright." 

you let out a confused breath, trying to take his short answers as a good sign. 

as any sort of sign. 

"how long have you been working here?" peter asks you, quickly changing the subject. 

you pretend not to notice. 

"oh, a year and some odd months." 

peter leans a little bit closer to you. "and you've lasted this long?" he whispers. 

you laugh. "it's not that bad. good holiday pay. free vending machine snacks. and clive, the elevator guy, brings me coffee sometimes. can't let him down." 

"clive?" 

you frown. "you haven't met clive?" 

peter shakes his head. 

"that is a problem. i'll introduce you to him. it'll change your life." 

peter laughs. 

"no, i'm serious. after i met clive i was a completely different person." 

"i guess we'll see." 

"no, peter. i wouldn't joke about clive." 

peter raises a brow. "you joke about getting fired all the time." 

you wave a hand. "pfft. have you ever even met the boss?" 

you say the words like they're formidable. 

kind of like how peter is looking at you right now. 

his eyes are absolutely insane. 

"um..." peter thinks for a moment. "no, i don't think i have." 

"me either." 

"really? you've been there a year." 

you point at him. "exactly. who's going to fire me?" 

peter smiles. "fair point." 

you nod at him, content. 

happy, for some strange, incomprehensible reason. you can feel his eyes on you. 

you look up at the clock. 

"you better finish your sandwich," you tell him, meeting his eyes. "we've got fifteen minutes." 

and so it begins. 

*

"hey," peter says, sticking his head in front of your face, and interrupting your typing. 

you scoff and push him away, moving so you can see the screen again. 

resume typing.

"y/n," peter sings. 

"i'm working." 

"why?" 

you turn towards him, sighing. "what do you need?"

he gestures towards your coffee cup, smiling. "want some more coffee?" 

"no. i've had two cups already." 

peter raises a brow. "that's low for you." 

"rude." 

he grabs your cup. "don't worry. i know how you like it." 

"stalking me, peter parker?" 

"you're in there all of the time," he deadpans. "it would be hard not to know." 

"rude," you repeat. 

peter turns around, whistling as he carries both of your coffee cups. 

you shake your head, somewhat amused, somewhat confused. 

you blink until the image of his face and stupid smile is gone. 

continue writing. 

and then peter sticks his head around the corner again. 

"by the way, you're missing a comma in line three." 

and you hate him, just a little bit. 

you barely even smile as you add the comma in. 

*

peter has been looking for you for the last ten minutes. 

it's become sort of a thing to walk out together; to make fun of the building as you go, swearing that you're never ever going to come back. 

peter, well, he likes the opportunity to stare openly at you while you laugh. 

and when you weren't at your desk, peter took the time to explore a little bit. 

and maybe go through some of your drawers looking for snacks--not that he'll admit to it when you ask. 

he finds you in the basement, going through a filing cabinet. 

"what're you doing?" he asks, attempting to scare you as he turns on a light. 

you've got a flashlight in your mouth and a glare in your eyes. 

"that's too bright," you say, around the flashlight. 

"woah. what's going on?" 

peter gestures to the mess on the floor. to the papers you're practically buried in. 

"i couldn't find a file, and nancy in information technology said that it 'wasn't in the database' so i'd have to come and look for it down here. and none of these are alphabetized." 

"ah. and did nancy use that snarky tone of voice?" 

you glare even harder at him. "yes. she was very unpleasant." 

peter groans as he sits down right next to you, messing with a file you've left on the floor. "sure you're not projecting?" 

"peter, you should go home." 

he laughs. "c'mon, you can't stay here all night. why don't you look for it tomorrow?" 

"i need it tonight." 

he puts a hand over yours, urging you to look at him. "you're gonna be looking forever. who knows the last time these were organized?" 

you sigh, head drooping. "i know. i was trying to do it myself but..." 

"there's thousands of these," peter finishes for you. 

"yeah." 

he laughs. "yeah." 

you rub your eyes, and peter watches you as you try not to yawn. 

"when was the last time you ate?" he asks. 

"had lunch at my desk." 

"you know that's not enough," he chides. "that was six hours ago." 

"my deadline is today. i didn't realize i needed the file until today." 

you sound just a little bit angry. and absolutely tired. 

peter can see the circles under your eyes, and the furrow between your brows that hasn't gone away since he walked in. 

"okay," peter sighs, taking the stack of files from your lap. 

"peter," you sigh. "i really need--" 

"i'm gonna help you." 

you look up at him, frowning. "what?"

"it should only take an hour or two with both of us. and then we'll go get something to eat. and then you'll go home and sleep." 

"it's--peter. that's sweet, but you don't have to. it's already late and--" 

"c'mon," he says, handing you a couple. "who am i going to annoy if you're at home sleeping tomorrow?" 

there's just a quirk of your lips. and then it stills, and you're staring at him very seriously. "are you sure? i know you don't get a lot of sleep anyway." 

he smiles, nudging you with his shoulder. "we'll work fast. and then have fries." 

and the smile it earns him is worth the exhaustion the next morning. 

*

"hey," you frown, tilting your head to get a better look at his jaw. 

peter looks over, eyebrows raised. "hmm?" 

you point to the side of his face, brows furrowed. "you've got a bruise." 

peter touches the spot you're pointing to--as if you've just reminded him of this--and winces. "oh. yeah." 

"does it hurt?" 

he shrugs. "a little." 

"what'd you do?"

he smiles. "how do you know that i did anything? some of us wake up looking this good." 

"peter." 

he rolls his eyes. looks away from you and sighs. "i was helping may hang some pictures. dropped one." 

"on your face?" 

"no, actually," he says, smiling at you. "i dropped it on my foot. the bruise just happened to show up on my face." 

if it wasn't for his smile you might push him off of the bench. 

"you're stupid," you respond. "and reckless. and stupid. did may yell at you?" 

he snorts. "told me that just because i 'act like a child' doesn't mean i'm not 'a responsible adult' and that i shouldn't be so 'stupid.'" 

you nod, pleased. "good. now i don't have to." 

*

peter is not staring. 

he does not stare at you, he swears. 

he watches the wall instead. 

the wall with its lips and eyes and nose and cute little crinkle in its brows. 

he watches the walls and he doesn't get any work done. 

and when you look back at him--because you always do--he'll make a face at you. gesture towards the clock with a frown. 

it might get him a laugh. or a pout. 

and peter finds both of those things equally gratifying. 

so it anyone asks, peter does not stare at you. he has no reason to. no need to look at something that he already knows very well. 

and still, he can't quite look away. 

*

"where are you?" you say, immediately, without any greeting. 

because it's ten in the morning and you're actually staring at a wall. a wall that might've been interesting about five months ago before brown brown eyes took its place. 

now it seems boring, blatant, and annoying. 

"hello?" peter says, sounding as if he's attempting an old man. 

"hi, peter. where are you?" 

"at home." 

"really?" you say, rolling your eyes into the receiver so that he can feel it. "i thought you were sitting right across from me. what i really meant was, where the hell are you?" 

there's a pause. a quick shuffling. and then: "i'm sick." 

you frown. "sick?" 

"you know the thing where your body begins to ache, and then you--" 

"i don't need to hear about your bodily feelings." 

peter laughs. "well, that's where i am." 

you almost whine. you almost swear to god that you're going to drag him in here so that you don't want to nap all day. 

or go over to his apartment and have him cough in your face. 

"what am i supposed to do?" you ask, spinning around in your chair, allowing the cord to wrap around your chest. 

it's not like anyone is looking at you. 

"i don't know," peter answers, voice muffled. "your job?" 

"that's boring." 

"so is reality tv. where did all the good stuff go?" 

"you're at home watching tv and i have to work." 

you hear peter sigh. "i'm at home sick and you're perfectly healthy at your desk. you get to talk to clive today." 

he sounds a bit desperate; a bit peeved. 

"clive misses you." 

"he tell you that?" 

"no. he actually told me that he wants his money." 

you spin back around. pretend to type something into your keyboard. 

"not this again." 

"you lost the bet." 

"i did not, you both knew that i--no, you know what?" peter pauses, breathing against the microphone. you almost have to tilt the phone away from your ear. "i'm too sick to argue." 

your brows furrow. "that's not good." 

he laughs. "i'm going to take a nap. get an article done. ask clive about cacti. steal all of the m&ms from the vending machine." 

"it's not like anyone eats them." 

"goodbye, y/n." 

"but, peter..." you whine. 

and that's how you end up at his door, shivering on his welcome mat. 

*

peter frowns as he opens the door. "what're you doing here?" 

you, immediately, walk right past him, feet pounding on his floor. 

"i brought soup," you say, instead of answering. "and good company. and crackers."

"i don't like soup." 

peter follows you into his kitchen--because somehow you know where everything is and are completely comfortable in his house already--leaning against the counter. 

he tries not to wince as his leg strains to keep up. 

you stare at him a moment, frowning. "you don't look sick. do you have a fever?" you reach out to touch his forehead but peter leans back. 

"i don't like soup," he repeats. 

"ah," you wave a hand. "yeah you do." 

"no." 

you sigh. "peter. soup is good for you. and so is getting out of bed." 

peter stares at you for a moment. 

any other day he might've appreciated the faux oblivious smile on your face. or the humming you're doing as you look for a bowl. 

"y/n," he says, flat. 

"hmm?" 

"how did you get my apartment number?" 

you turn back to look at him, eyes wide. "you know," you say, calm. "google." 

he stares at you. 

"i looked it up." 

he raises a brow. takes the weight off of his left leg. 

"you have a file, peter. which is very useful when your favorite coworker wants to bring you soup because you're sick." 

"clive is my favorite, so--" 

"you're sick," you emphasize. "which means you should go lay down. i'll bring you the soup when it's warm." 

peter bends down so he can look you directly in the eye. 

so he can stare at you a little bit closer and laugh when your eyes begin to disappear. 

so he can watch your skin curve and fall and all of the indentations that he can't see from more than a foot away. 

you stare back at him, eyes wide. 

"you're not sick," he mocks, "which means you should be at work." 

you cross your arms. "it's my lunch break." 

your stubbornness would usually excite peter, but it's getting hard to stand. 

"did you eat?" 

"coffee in the car. and i stole some candy from the candy jar." 

peter frowns. "that's not lunch." 

he teases a small strand of hair out of your eye, pokes you in the forehead gently. 

you pretend to fall backward. 

"i'll have some soup," you say, pleasantly, stepping past him. "there's enough for two." 

"you could've come after work," peter says, mostly just so that you'll look at him again. 

so he can catch an inch of your smile and hide it in his pocket forever. 

it's a crime that his camera is in the other room. 

"i was worried," you admit, a little bit softer than usual. "i didn't think you could get sick." 

"i am human," and even peter doesn't really believe it.

"yeah, but you're, like, naturally gifted. immune system of steel." 

"i wash my hands." 

you laugh, the small sound is a beacon in the room. 

an earthquake shaking peter's core, again and again. 

"you don't have to be worried about me," he says. 

but what he really means is thank you for coming, and i wish you'd stay all day. 

he means absolutely nothing at all. 

"it's not just that," you turn around, gentle light in your eyes, face morphing into something peter can't describe. "i missed you," you tell him. "it's boring." 

he tilts his head. tries not to let the words fall too far to the ground. "you done it before," he protests, just so you'll smile again. 

"well, i didn't have any friends at work before." 

peter takes the words. he grabs them from the air with his hands and throws them into a corner somewhere very far away. 

he waits a moment, for you to laugh at him, to smile, to tell him what the hell to do about any of this. 

and, because you know him, you do. 

"go lay down," you tell him, pointing towards his door. "it'll be just another second." 

and peter tries not to limp as he walks away. 

he tries not to look back at you; fails. 

*

it really means nothing. 

it means nothing as you push away from your desk, legs feeling surprisingly limp, hands shaking as you use them to stand up. 

as you run them over your face, making sure that you're still here. 

you look towards peter's desk and see nothing. he's sick today, you remember. 

he's been sick for three days. 

that this is all normal, and perfectly fine, and just your average workday, really. 

except for the overwhelming feeling pulling at your chest, making it just minimally harder to breathe. 

harder to think. to see. to wonder where you are and why you're supposed to be here. 

work, you rationalize. you think it through again and again. 

and it still doesn't help. 

you take a step, moving away from the cubicle, from the phone that you've left stranded on your desk and the tears that--as you'll find out later--have ruined a document. 

you take another step, swearing to yourself that if you're going to throw up--which isn't even a possibility really--it won't be here. 

it won't be in front of these people, and it will not be over something so small. so trivial. 

still, that sort of fluctuating anger crawls further up your throat. 

if you tried to speak, you would find only air in the place of words. you would find a dry and broken throat. 

you would find that you've lost the ability. 

you walk down the hall, nervous tears dribbling down your cheeks. 

you wipe them away with an errant hand that you can't feel. 

the next goal is the bathroom. the next goal is to calm the hell down and try and pull yourself together. 

it's only nine in the morning. 

it is too early for any of this. 

too early for the sun to be up and too early for these feels to have collapsed your chest in whole. 

you were fine when you woke up, you swear. 

you had breakfast, got to work, had coffee, got to work. 

there's no disorganization in a routine that you've been developing for years. in the same job that you've been used to since you got there. 

panic attacks aren't acceptable when everything is fine. 

you're fine, you tell yourself, a meek repetition in your brain, but whoever is controlling this doesn't seem to care. 

you're fine. 

the bathroom is two hallways away. on normal days, you have to plan out when you need to pee. 

you clench your fists so tight that they lose blood circulation. 

you wipe another tear away, angry at the movement it takes to do so. 

ashamed to be walking down this hallway and avoiding the eyes of coworkers you would usually smile at. 

but they don't deserve this sight. 

you walk a little bit faster, unsure how far you've gotten. 

it could be inches. it could be miles. 

and it's at this point--when you've made it so far from your desk that you can no longer feel the indention of your chair on your legs--that you realize that this isn't going to get any better. 

that compartmentalization has failed you, once again. 

your eyes burn as you look down at the floor, trying to note all of the coffee stains you can see as you walk along. 

you fill your lungs with air, basking in the bit of relief, the cool feeling in your chest before the anger comes back swinging. 

it mocks you with a laugh. with a funny little remark about how deep breathing won't get you through this. 

and it's fine. 

you walk faster, swearing to yourself that you just need a moment alone. 

and then you hear a quick little "hey," before you run directly into someone. quickly looking up while your eyes fill with tears again. mistake mistake mistake. 

running into your coworker--especially this one--is definitely a mistake. 

especially with his eyes and his face and every single thing that he just seems to know. 

"hey," he says, softer, trying to keep you steady with one open hand, the other holding a coffee mug. 

you're pretty sure that he just spilled some of it on the floor but you don't dare let yourself look. 

this is fine, you think, as his fingertips burn your skin. 

"peter,” you whisper, voice cracking. "what're you doing here?"

you try not to wince. 

immediately, he's frowning. "what's wrong?" 

you laugh. you chuckle. you practically cackle at the words. 

what's wrong, do you think? nothing. 

absolutely nothing. 

you stand up even straighter. "nothing. i'm fine. how are you? feeling better?" 

you're very confident that he can't hear the hesitation in your voice. after all, you're completely fine. 

you smile at him. 

you know that there's something else you should be saying, something funny, something to make him smile. 

this might be normal if you could just figure out what that something was. 

"c'mon," he whispers, little concerned brow. little evil eyes. "you're crying." 

you clear your throat. "am i?" pretend to wipe away any remains. "i get really bad allergies this time of year." 

"you don't have allergies." 

you laugh again, little bit smaller. there is no evidence of a lie on your face. 

the feeling is still there, laughing with you. 

"i think i would know, peter," you say, taking a step back from him. "just heading to the bathroom so--" 

"y/n," he's even softer, like whatever you're saying is causing him physical pain. "you don't have to lie." 

"i'm not lying," you swear. 

you swear again and again that you're not going to start crying in front of him. 

because if there's one thing that could make this any worse--besides an actual heart attack--it would be peter parker watching you cry. 

"did something happen?" 

"no. i have to go to the bathroom." 

"did someone do something?" he's leaning down a little bit, trying to get a clearer view of your eyes. 

there's really no better view than this, you think, staring into his brown eyes. waiting. 

"nothing happened, peter." 

"then why are you crying?" 

"i already told you--" 

he tilts his head. he's breathing almost normally. he's standing close to you. his eyes are so gentle, warm. "i just want to make sure that you're alright. you don't look alright." 

"i'm fine," you say, out loud, through clenched teeth. 

and another tear falls down your face, mocks you as it hits the ground. 

and then another, because where else are they supposed to go?" 

"okay," peter says, leaning down just a little bit so he can grab your hand. taking a step closer, and using a hand to get you to look at him. 

to rub your skin with the tip of his thumb. 

to drive you even more insane than you already feel. 

any other time, this might be a dream. 

he takes a moment to look at you. and you look back, a bit perturbed. a bit annoyed. a bit anything but fine. 

and then he nods. "okay," he repeats. looks up from you to around the office--you don't want to know how many eyes are on the two of you. 

peter uses his grip on your hand to pull you, clearly not hearing your protests, as he drags you into a room. 

into a maintenance closet that you didn't even realize existed. 

"there," he says. "no more people." 

the room is big enough for you to take a step away from him. breathe out. "thanks." 

but it doesn't help. 

the tears continue because the floodgates are open and the universe would like to continue to make a fool of you, thanks. 

"it's okay," peter says, and he takes the step forward. his hands wipe away your tears, but they aren't fast enough. "it's okay. you don't have to tell me." 

and then, in a quick gentle motion, he wraps you in his arms. 

he holds you so close. so tight. 

fingertips trailing on the skin of your neck. chest smelling exactly like his house. 

breaths and heartbeats in your ear. 

"why are you here?" you whisper, against his chest. just to break the silence and no longer feel overwhelmed by his very proximity. 

"i missed you," peter answers, quickly. "i feel better." 

"that's good." 

he nods against your head. breathes in even deeper. 

you're not sure if it's for you or him. 

"peter," you whisper, and your voice shakes. 

you topple over the side of the building. 

but he catches you. 

"i've got you," he whispers. "whatever happened, i'm here." 

"thank you." 

"shh," he says, and "don't be ridiculous." and "you look pretty even when you're crying." and "i would offer you some m&ms right now, but i think that would be counterproductive." 

and you breathe against him, allowing yourself to laugh. 

allowing the feeling to envelop you whole. 

you almost don't mind, because however much panic is stuffed down your throat, peter is holding you. 

peter is hugging you and whispering in your ear. 

"it's okay," he repeats, a different variation of your own words. "i've got you," he promises. 

and it's okay, you think. 

it's completely fine. 

this is nothing. 

except, you know, falling in love with peter parker. 

*

"what is this?" peter mouths to you from ten feet away. 

he's got no idea why you're staring at him, but he doesn't really mind. 

"what?" you mouth back, lip quirked a little bit too much. 

peter raises his brows. points at the letter in his hands. 

you squint at it. 

he waits. 

and then you shrug your shoulders. "i don't know," you mouth to him. 

he stares blankly at you. thinks about throwing it across the room. 

you laugh and look down at your desk, resuming whatever you were getting done before he interrupted. 

but peter doesn't mind that very much anymore. 

he emails you with no subject line. 

an invitation.

you take five minutes to respond. in which, peter spends throwing trash into his trash can from six feet away.

he gets every single one in. 

for the work party thing? 

you look up at him, raised brow. 

yes. 

peter thinks about how it would be easier to just text. 

yeah. they do one every year

did you go? 

yes

was it lame? 

yes. and no. there was a dart board

you're a liar

you smile up at him. pretend that you're the most productive employee here.

peter chooses to ignore your face so that he doesn't get distracted. 

are you gonna go? he asks.

not sure. are you? 

for the dartboard

wise decision

go with me. i promise no lameness.

he can hear you laugh but he doesn't look up. 

just keeps your voice as a soundtrack in his mind. copy and pastes the sound. hits save. 

you're a liar peter

but he finally smiles at you. 

*

 peter parker is, above all else, completely wrong about the party. 

not that it took much convincing on his part; one single word, one single chance to hang out with him for just a little while longer, well, that was enough. 

it was enough of an answer, enough of a promise, and the threat of honeysuckle eyes staring at you until you fell apart, piece by piece. 

so the party is lame. 

almost the same as last year. 

there's a punch bowl on the table, spiked with something you choose not to think about. there's a speaker in the corner of the newly arranged office, blasting music that you don't know the words to. 

there's your coworkers, mingling, standing awkwardly together because when is there time to actually talk to each other--nonetheless develop any friendships. or, acquaintanceships. 

discluding you and peter, of course. 

because, as you've recently become aware, he's your best friend. 

he's your best friend when he's curled up on his couch and eating all your popcorn and laughing when you choke in the middle of the movie, but handing you some water anyway, eyes betraying whatever sarcastic comment he was about to make. 

he's your best friend when you're eating lunch together, contemplating the benefits of pulling the fire alarm at one in the afternoon. 

he's your best friend when he sends you memes over email, swearing that they're going to make you laugh. 

he's your best friend when he's throwing things at you from across the office, earning the two of you some nasty looks from the same coworkers in the room now. 

he's your best friend when you want to kiss him. 

when you want to lean in just a little bit closer and confess everything to him; allow yourself to be uninhibited by his smiles and eyes and laughter and voice. 

he's your best friend, and sometimes, you wish he wasn't. 

because it just makes it a little bit harder. 

not so easy to stop noticing all the amazing, wonderful, significant things about him when you're spending each weekday with him and listening to his voice over the phone every weekend. 

not so easy to stop loving him when he's just... 

he's your best friend. 

even now, standing too close to you, whispering in your ear. 

"do you think they're all robots?" he asks you, gesturing towards the group of people. 

"i think we would know by now." 

he looks severely judgmental. "look at them," he points, "they're all just standing there. perfect posture. great smiles. well manufactured." 

"i'm sure some people think that about you too, peter."

he looks at you, offended. 

"oh wait," you say, shaking your head. "you've got the posture of an eighty-year-old, so, probably not." 

"i do not." 

"ninety." 

"we are the same age." 

you raise a brow. "there is no proof of that." 

"besides our birth certificates." 

you wave a hand. "i'm still young," you say, "you're getting up there." 

"weren't you the one complaining about 'wasting your life away sitting at a mindless--'" 

"that proves nothing." 

peter laughs. takes another sip of his punch and winces. 

you look around. anything to avoid his face. and his stupid attractiveness. 

why you're here, you're not quite sure. 

"wait," you say, grabbing peter's shoulder. "i think there's a real person here." 

"really? where?" 

"nancy." 

you gesture towards the woman standing alone, staring at peter like she's going to demolish him in a second. looking at peter like he's an actual greek statue--not too far-fetched--and she'd like to destroy him. 

it might make you laugh if you weren't severely irritated. 

"nancy from i.t.?" peter asks, looking around. 

"yes." 

"the same nancy who gave you attitude and then made the two of us go through files all night?" 

"yes." 

"wow," his eyes land on her, and you watch as she looks away from him, cheeks flushing. "i think she was staring at you." 

you laugh. 

"no, really. her hatred is being fueled." 

"she wasn't staring at me, peter." 

he raises a brow, looking down at you. "uh, i'm pretty sure she was. maybe you didn't see it but she had evil in her eyes--" 

"she was looking at you." 

"what?" he looks back to her, back to you. shakes his head. "no she wasn't." 

there's just something about his eyes. 

"yes, she was." 

"what did i do to her?" 

you laugh. "she was admiring the view." 

peter's brow furrows, and you take the time to admire his eyelashes, the light hitting the side of his face. 

"what does that mean?" peter asks because he's completely oblivious. 

and adorable. 

"pretty much everyone in this room has a crush on you, peter parker. you're a handsome guy." 

"you think i'm handsome?" 

you use the time to take a sip of your drink. to look around the room and admire the disco ball on the ceiling. how they got that up there, you're not sure. 

peter swallows. "everyone in here?" 

"yup." 

"even clive?" 

you laugh. "clive is well beyond a crush. i think it's considered more of an obsession."

peter smiles. he nods, pleased. "good. i feel the same." 

"i'll be sure to let him know," you look down at the floor. try and get the coffee stains out with your foot. 

it hurts a little bit to look at peter right now. 

to stare at his face and understand that it means nothing. 

smiles and laughter--they're yours but not for you. 

and it's fine. 

you're perfectly alright with that. 

you clear your throat. "you should go talk to her." 

peter looks up. "who?" 

"nancy." 

his lips purse. "why would i do that?" 

"she likes you." 

"she was mean to you," peter frowns, eyes right on you. 

looking at you the same way he did that first day. like you're crazy. 

like he can hear the words you're saying but they still don't make sense. like he can touch your skin but can't feel it. 

you shake your head. "it was nothing. she might be nice." 

"why are you trying to set me up with nancy?" 

you sigh. "peter." 

"are you trying to pawn me off to someone else? because i'd really rather go with clive..." 

"i don't--" you sigh again. bite your lip. look down and imagine the ground isn't there. "i don't know. just..." 

peter nudges you with his shoulder. "hey. this is lame." 

you snort. "i told you so." 

there is music blaring in both of your ears. it's gotten increasingly louder in the last thirty seconds. 

if you looked over you might see people dancing. you might actually see your coworkers getting along. 

but you don't look over. you don't dare take your eyes off peter. 

"wanna go somewhere else?" peter asks, with a bit of a smirk. 

and then you follow your best friend out the doors, not bothering to look back. 

*

peter has always considered himself to be fairly strong. 

after a difficult childhood, a difficult teenager, a difficult life--he thinks that he's grown well. that as long as his feet have remained firmly on the ground, then he must be doing something right. 

he must be on his tiptoes now. 

"hey," you say, arm locked in his, so close to him that he can smell you. "there's a diner open. wanna get shakes?" 

he can feel you. 

"shakes?" peter winces. 

"peter parker, if you're about to tell me that you don't like shakes--" 

he laughs. pulls you towards the shop. holds the door open for you. 

he tries to fall back on his heels. tries to remind himself that strength doesn't mean anything. that he could hold you up for as long as you needed. that he would hold you up forever. 

he plants his feet in the ground and digs his toes into the soil. 

he smiles at you. 

"i love shakes," he says. 

and what he really means is. 

i love you. 

*

"it is two in the morning," you complain as peter rubs his hand together, looking like a child. 

excited and lit up and far too awake for this early in the morning. 

"i thought you were young," peter says. pulling you along. 

his hands are cold. 

and still, you don't really mind. 

he's holding your hand. 

"i am young. and old enough to not want to freeze to death on some swings right now." 

"y/n," he chides as if you're being ridiculous. "when was the last time you played on a swing set?" 

"probably when i was five." 

peter points at you. "exactly. you don't remember what it's like. the joy of feeling like you're going to fall off--" 

"and die." 

"i won't let you die." 

"peter," you say, dryly. 

but you're smiling at him.

and as long as he keeps holding your hand, you think, you might follow him anywhere. 

*

when peter notices that you're shivering, he offers you his jacket. 

but you don't take it. 

"i've seen you in the office," you say to him, the words teasing. "and i know that you're the one always turning the heat up." 

"it's cold in there!" peter protests, following you as you lead him to the edge of the world. 

as he tells himself that it's nothing. 

nothing at all. 

expect wanting to keep you awake, to keep you smiling, to keep you from falling on your face, and to keep you in his arms. 

you don't take his jacket, so he must resort to the next best thing. 

slinging an arm around your shoulder so he can nuzzle his nose into your neck. 

"peter!" you squeal, squirming away from him. 

but his hands are wrapped around your waist, holding you close. 

and he's definitely not taking the time to breathe you in and imagine kissing your skin right where it's most warm. 

"are you cold now?" he asks, trailing his nose up your neck, feeling you shiver beneath him. 

"no." 

"are you sure?" his lips are at your ear. 

his grip is weak, barely even there. but he can feel how heavy you're breathing. he can see your breath in the air. 

"i'm perfectly content, thank you." 

you only stutter a little bit. only sound a little bit shaky. 

"you can still have my jacket," peter tells you, lips close to your jaw, nose by your cheek. your skin is soft, smooth. 

"i don't want your jacket." 

"it's warm." 

"so am i," you claim, but you're leaning into him. just a little bit. 

peter pretends that it means nothing. 

and when he walks you home, you snuggle under the jacket with him. 

the pounding in his chest is nothing more but a simple reminder. 

he's strong enough to live with it. 

to hold you this close and have it mean nothing. 

*

there's this thing. 

it's been there for a couple of weeks. 

pressure on your chest, an unrelenting reminder that you need to do something. 

and you ignore it, for the most part. 

tell yourself that it's nothing significant. 

but looking at peter now--peter with his flushed cheeks and wide eyes and small smile and eyes and--you can feel it. 

trickling down your throat, a gentle river, swarming at the bottom of your stomach. 

you take a breath in. 

"that was a lot more fun than last year," you tell him because it's only the truth. 

his smile widens. "i was right." 

you point a finger at him. "the party was lame," you clarify. "but the company was good." 

"just good?" 

he's got dimples. 

dimples that you might drink out of, given the chance. 

you shake that thought out of your mind. 

"getting cocky, parker?" 

his eyes are on yours, swarming your face. "i can tell when you're lying." 

the smile on your face feels almost numb. 

and you don't say anything back to him. 

the pressure enhances, builds and falls, and pounds on the doors to your heart, swearing that it only needs a place to stay. 

you've always been too kind. 

been too forgiving. 

loved a little bit too much. 

"okay," peter whispers, taking a step back from you, hands leaving yours. "you should go inside." 

"why?" you ask, even though you know the answer. 

"it's cold out here." 

"i'm not cold." 

he smiles. brushes the side of your face with his finger. "liar liar," he says, softly. 

his fingertips make your whole body fall apart. 

you might be ashamed if you weren't so completely invigorated with him. 

"are you going to be okay getting home?" you ask, just to break some of the silence. 

tear your heart apart vein by vein. 

"i'll be fine." 

"it's late," you protest. "you could get hurt." 

"i appreciate your confidence," he's smiling at you, but it's not enough. 

"peter," you sigh. 

his hand falls to your chin, tracing a line up your jaw. "hey," he whispers. "i'll be fine." 

"hey," he says to you, again and again. 

the pressure increases until you can barely feel anything at all. 

and here's the thing about peter. 

you can't stop looking at him--from that very first day. 

and you haven't been able to stop loving him for months since then. 

"i've got to go," he whispers, but you both know that he doesn't really mean it. 

"peter," you say. 

he stares at you. his eyes flick from every inch of your face, every small spot, every secret that you have written on the skin there. 

he's close enough that you can feel his breath. 

that you never want him to move away. 

and you should really turn and open the door. 

you should really go inside and forget about all of this. 

you should pretend that this means nothing for just a moment more. 

but. 

"peter," you whisper, one last time. 

"yes?" he answers back, right there. so close to you. 

and his eyes stare back at yours. they have answers. they have so many questions. 

"you need to kiss me." 

and then, he does. 

*

"what?" you whisper to him, walking down the hallway, taking your jacket off, bag in hand. 

peter is pretending that he's not trying to slip his fingers in between yours. 

he's pretending that this is exactly how it's supposed to be. 

"we should've taken the day off," he says. 

"we just had two days off." 

"not long enough," he swears, whispering so that only you can hear. "i want a lifetime." 

"let's start with this week." 

he laughs. he's far too close to you. 

fraternization is forbidden. 

"this is weird," he says. "i want to kiss you." 

"you can kiss me at five." 

"but i want to kiss you now." 

"join the club." 

he smiles at you, and finally lets your fingers slip from his. he watches your eyes, so sure on his that it almost makes his knees buckle. 

"i'm going to hold you to that," he says. 

"good." 

and then you walk to your desk, putting your jacket over your chair. 

peter is staring at you, but what else is new? 

you look up, just so you can smile at him. 

with the lips that he's tasted. the hands that he's felt. the girl that he's spent the last two days with, and also can't get enough of. 

he wants to run over to you. he wants to kiss you just one last time. 

and, if the look on your face means anything, he's pretty sure you feel the same. 

he pouts. 

you laugh. point at the clock. 

he stares some more. 

and really, it's not like he got a lot of work done before anyway. 

*

my masterlist here. 

tags:  @moonlarking-blog​ @v1ci0us​ @preciousbabypeter​ @alexxavicry​ @directioner5life​ @random_writer1021 @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah​

[tigertales9]

Necessary Roughness

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut

Description: It's been exactly a year since the Bengals Super Bowl appearance against the Rams. This fic is traveling back in time to 2/13/22 to relive some of those moments, both good and bad.

Location: Bengals Super Bowl after-party at Pauley Pavilion on the UCLA campus (with a few flashbacks to SoFi Stadium).

A/N: I'm in my Super Bowl feels and decided to churn out a little something to make me feel better. Fair warning: The smut is smutting. There's a 99% chance I'm going to write a part 2 for this, but it'll be a minute (more like a month) since I'm slow as hell.

Part 2 is now up : Necessary Roughness II

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

You take a sip of your margarita, throwing occasional glances at the stage where your man is singing and half-ass gyrating with Kid Cudi.

"This marg is kinda weak," your best friend announces. "Like lime kool-aid with a tiny splash of tequila."

"Yeah, it sucks," you nod in agreement, rolling your shoulders before thinking back over the past several hours.

The Super Bowl did not go the way you wanted. The temperature was 82 degrees at kick-off, second hottest on record. "This ain't football weather!" seemed to be the battle cry of the Bengals fans in your section at SoFi Stadium. It all went down hill from there. The o-line couldn't block for shit, serving Joe up on a platter for a Super Bowl record 7 sacks and a ton more pressures and hits. You shake your head when you remember how scared you were on that one really awful hit. With 11:38 left in the game, Joe was absolutely hammered to the ground, immediately grabbing his good knee and grimacing in pain. You held your breath until he finally got to his feet and limped off the field, refusing medical treatment. You held your breath on every play after that as well, absolutely terrified that he would get another gruesome injury like he did in his rookie season.

"Hey, you want another crappy drink?" Your bestie's voice pulls you out of your anxious recollection for a second. "Uhhh, yeah. Thanks." She nods her head and waves the bartender over as you slide back down memory lane.

Even with everything that went wrong, the Bengals still damn near won the game. It took a sketchy holding call with less than 2 minutes left to win it for the Rams. "Fuck 'em," you whisper, taking a sip of your fresh drink as you think about the look on Joe's face as you greeted him briefly in the tunnel after the game. You bite your lip when you think of the pain in his eyes.

"This drink is stronger," your bestie chirps, giving you a thumbs up as the music hits a crescendo before slowly grinding to a halt as Kid Cudi's set ends. "Much stronger," you smile, taking another sip while searching the stage for Joe; he knew where you were -- on the far back wall at the makeshift bar -- so you knew he'd eventually make his way to you.

You continue to sip your drink as your best friend chatters in your ear. "This is kind of a weird place to have an after-party," she states. "What's it called again?"

"Pauley Pavilion," you answer. "It's really close to where they guys are staying."

"Cool," she says, swaying in her seat to the fairly subdued DJ set that's just started up. "Are they gonna have another live set?" she asks, "or just this DJ stuff?"

"I'm not sure. I guess we'll find out in a bit." You pat her leg and give her a smile. "I'm glad you're here with me, Gina."

"Me too," she grins, looking around at the other folks posted up at the bar. "Doesn't seem like very many WAGS came."

"They're mostly up front by the stage."

"Oh, that makes sense."

You take another sip of your cocktail before letting your mind wander a bit.

You didn't want to come to the after-party, but you knew you needed to support Joe who really didn't want to come. When he'd locked eyes with you in the tunnel at SoFi, your stomach dropped at the look on his face. You were devastated for him, but you were also really glad he seemed to be in one piece, even though he was slightly favoring his 'good' knee. You'd waited for him to greet his parents before stepping forward to hug him. "I love you," you'd murmured against his sweaty neck, feeling his arms tighten around you as he returned the sentiment. His eyes were glassy as he stepped back and captured your gaze. "You're still coming to the after-party, right?" he'd asked, grimacing for a second while shifting his weight onto his hurt knee before quickly shifting it back. You'd dodged the question. "How's your knee?" He'd shrugged. "Prob just sprained. I'll get an MRI when we get back home."

You smile to yourself when you remember him leaning down until his nose was almost touching yours.

"Babe, I need you to focus. Are you coming to the after-party?" You'd grinned at his bossy tone. "Yes, sir. Your parents aren't coming, but Gina is coming with me. I need to stop by the airbnb first to shower and change clothes. I'm sweaty and gross." He'd given you a quick kiss. "You're never gross," he'd whispered, waving to a team employee who was trying to get his attention. "Gotta go," he'd said, slowly backing away from you. "Text me when you get to the party."

You sigh as a loud burst of laughter pulls you back to the present. A few seconds later, you almost jump off of your barstool when you feel a big hand squeeze your shoulder then slide under your long hair to rest on your neck. "What the hell?" you snap, throwing a nasty look at the offender before realizing it's Joe. "Oh shit, Joe, you scared the hell out of me," you laugh, pressing a hand over your racing heart. "I thought you were some strange perv." He grins at the look on your face. "Nope, just a familiar perv," he teases, giving you a wink. "Good game, Joe," Gina chirps, smiling when Joe makes a stank face. "I thought y'all should've won." Joe heaves a sigh and shrugs his shoulders. "It is what it is," he mumbles, giving Gina a smile to soften his abrupt words.

You squirm in your seat as Joe shifts his gaze back to you, giving you a slow up-and-down look while licking his lips. "I like your outfit," he says, reaching a hand out to finger the slinky fabric of your mini skirt. "Thanks," you whisper, glad you'd opted for the flirty circle skirt paired with a white v-neck tee, cognac leather knee boots and a matching lightweight leather jacket.

Joe leans in close. "I've got something to show you."

"Okay," you grin, giving him an expectant look.

He shakes his head. "Not here. It's behind the stage."

"Oh," you mutter, your eyes going wide at the wicked look on his face. "I can't leave Gina by herself," you say weakly.

He gives you a soothing smile before looking at Gina. "I'll bring her back in like 30 minutes, okay? Just stay here and don't move."

"No prob," Gina says, taking a loud slurp of her cocktail while giving you a knowing smirk. "Take your time."

"C'mon," Joe orders, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the throng of people, keeping his head down so he won't be recognized. You follow close behind, breathing a sigh of relief when you eventually find yourself in a mostly-empty hallway just behind the stage. "Where are we?" you whisper, eyes going wide as Joe opens a door and ushers you into a pitch-black room. "It's a storage room," he answers, flipping the light switch before locking the door. He turns to face you, the bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling providing just enough light to see his heated look. He strips his jacket off as you take a quick glance at your surroundings -- mostly boxes stacked up against the walls. You toss your purse on top of a large box quickly followed by your jacket, licking your lips in anticipation as Joe closes the distance between you.

"How did you find this place?" you giggle.

"I asked one of the security guys if there was a private room I could use."

"Wait," you whisper. "What if he hid a camera in here?" Joe stops in his tracks and looks around the room before looking back at you. "Shit, can't risk that," he mutters, his voice husky with desire tinged with disappointment.

Damn, you think to yourself, trying hard to keep your own disappointment from showing. Joe takes in the look on your face and quickly makes a decision. "We don't need light," he states, placing his big hands on your waist and lifting you up and to the side before setting you down in front of a stack of boxes. He takes a few steps back and tilts his head. "Back up a little," he directs, giving a thumbs up when you take a couple steps back, your ample ass hitting about halfway up the top box. "Perfect," he murmurs, turning on his heel and striding toward the door, locking eyes with you as he reaches for the light switch. "You done manhandling me?" you laugh. "Just getting started," he growls, something primal flashing in his eyes before he flicks the switch, plunging the room into complete darkness.

You blink your eyes a few times, trying and failing to make out his shape in the pitch-black room. "Uhhhh, Joe? Where are you?"

"Right here," he answers, not more than a foot away from you. You reach both hands out and encounter his muscular chest, flattening your palms against him as he slowly closes the distance between you, backing you up against the stack of sturdy boxes. You feel the heat radiating off of him and smell his scent -- clean with a hint of spice. "It's so dark," you whisper, your pulse rate kicking into overdrive when you feel him drop a kiss on your neck. "Totally dark," he purrs, latching his lips onto your sensitive skin and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. You whimper at the delicious sensation, suddenly aware of how loud you sound in the semi-silence.

"Are they gonna play more live music or just this half-ass DJ stuff?" you whisper, jumping as the next live set starts up. You feel Joe's gruff laugh against your neck. "Now we can be as loud as we want," he murmurs, sucking hard on the delicate flesh just behind your ear.

You close your eyes as he continues to tease you. You can feel the heavy bass from the speakers vibrating up through your legs, syncing up with the throbbing pulse beating in your chest … your neck … between your thighs. You slide your hands from his chest down to his waist and pull him closer, biting your lip as he cuffs his long fingers around your wrists, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp before slowly running his hands up your bare arms. "You have chill bumps," he whispers. "Are you cold?"

"No, I'm burning hot," you moan, a little embarrassed at how needy you sound. There's a pause in the music. You hold your breath and count 2 - 3 - 4 before you viscerally feel the beat drop; a moment later Joe's lips crash down on yours, zero finesse just pure need. You grab his shoulders and hold on as he devours your mouth, his tongue thrusting and tangling with yours to the sultry, thumping beat.

After a minute, you taste the metallic tang of blood just before Joe breaks the kiss. "That's my blood," he breathes. "Sorry. Forgot my lip got busted during the game."

"Does it hurt?" you whisper.

"No. But you're probably grossed out by . . ."

Before he finishes his sentence, you cup a hand behind his neck and pull him back down, sliding your tongue in his mouth as his throaty groan vibrates against your lips. You reach your other hand down to his crotch, sliding your thumb up and down his prominent erection through his jeans several times before flicking the button open and lowering the zipper. You grab his waistband and give a tug, groaning in frustration when he places his big hands over your much smaller ones, stopping the downward progress of his jeans. "I need you in my mouth," you whine, going completely still when you feel his lips nestled against your ear. "Ladies first," he purrs, nipping your earlobe while sliding a hand under your skirt to cup your lace-covered crotch. You feel liquid heat flood your core as he grinds the heel of his hand against your clit. "So wet for me, baby," he groans. "I need to taste you." He gives your earlobe another nip before dropping to his knees at your feet.

You reach down and place your hands on his shoulders, trying to steady yourself in the sea of darkness. I feel like I'm floating, you think to yourself, squeezing your eyes closed when you feel his hands slide under your skirt, long fingers grasping your thong before slowly pulling it down. You grab a handful of your skirt and pull it up, tucking it into your waistband to give him easier access. You steady your hands on his shoulders again, breathless with anticipation for what's to come.

"Shit," Joe grumbles, making your eyes fly open. "What is it?" you ask, looking down as if you can actually see what's going on. "Panties are stuck on your boot zipper," he gripes, trying to delicately untangle the thong for several seconds before giving up. "Fuck it," he growls, ripping the scrap of lace in half and tossing it to the side. "Spread your legs for me," he orders, purring in approval when you widen your stance. You feel his hot breath on your crotch and you bite your bottom lip, bracing yourself for the feel of his mouth on your bare skin.

A second passes … and then another. You feel like you're on a roller coaster, inching up the last few feet of track before plunging over a steep drop; your body is already anticipating the fall, craving that out-of-control feeling but held back by his hesitation. You look down into the inky blackness, the sound of your hammering pulse beating in your eardrums louder than the music pulsating through the wall behind you.

You gasp his name when you finally feel him press a kiss against your clit, your core clenching hard as he follows the kiss with a delicate puff of breath. "Please?" you beg, digging your fingers into his shoulders as he licks a long swipe up your slit before plunging inside, no more teasing, just tongue-fucking you with deep, steady strokes.

He eventually drags his tongue up to your clit, teasing you with delicate licks followed by harder sucks until you're begging for release. "Don't stop!" you whine, biting your bottom lip when he slides two fingers into your slick heat, curling them to bullseye your sweet spot. You make a noise that's half-moan half-scream as your climax hits, hissing in pleasure as he continues to tease you. "My legs are gonna collapse," you whimper. "I've got you," he soothes, his hands gripping your waist to hold you up as you gasp for air.

After taking a minute to catch your breath, you slide your hands on top of his and remove them from your waist. "My turn," you whisper, dropping to your knees, hitting the floor a lot harder than you meant to. Gonna have bruises, you think to yourself, reaching forward as you hear Joe stand up and push his jeans and underwear down. His cock feels hot and heavy in your hands as you circle your thumb over the velvety head, sliding the precum in concentric circles before replacing your thumb with your tongue. You tease him with delicate licks and sucks before running your tongue up and down the length of his shaft, peeking up at him through your long lashes before you remember he can't see you. You usually maintain eye contact when sucking him, knowing it drives him crazy; but here in the absolute darkness you're able to focus on the feel and the smell and the taste of him.

You close your eyes and open your mouth, taking him about halfway in before stopping, teasing him a bit before taking him deep. You both groan when his tip brushes the back of your throat, and you push forward, knowing you're gonna gag but needing to take him deeper. You feel your eyes start to water as Joe places a big hand on the back of your head, his deep voice murmuring filthy praise as you worship his thick cock. Your core contracts at the slightly musky smell of him, causing you to moan. You hear Joe hiss at the added sensation, his hand fisting in your hair as you moan again, tracing the prominent vein on the underside of his cock with your tongue. "That's so good, baby," he grits out, "but I wanna cum in your tight little cunt."

You pull off of his cock just as he reaches down and hooks both hands under your armpits; he easily lifts you up, purring his approval as you wrap your legs around his waist, his cock already buried deep inside you before he sets your ass on the storage box behind you. You grab onto his shoulders and hold on for the ride as he immediately starts thrusting; you throw your head back, hitting it against the wall. Ouch! you think briefly before losing yourself to the sensation of Joe's thick cock pounding into you.

There's a brief break between songs, and you're captivated by the luscious sound of your flesh slapping together before the next song starts. Joe immediately gets into the rhythm of the new song, rolling his hips forward to the beat in a way that causes your eyes to roll back in your head. Shock waves of pleasure shoot up your spine with each hard thrust and you feel the delicious tension building deep inside you.

He leans down and presses kisses on your chin and your cheek before finally hitting your lips. He catches your whimpers and moans in his mouth before sliding his tongue inside, groaning when you give it a hard suck. "So hot tasting my pussy on your tongue," you moan against his slick lips, sucking his tongue back in your mouth then gasping when his next thrust bottoms out. "Jesus," he hisses, sliding a hand between your bodies to rub your clit as his hips snap forward. "I'm close," he grits out, his breath catching in his throat as your climax hits; he gives two more hard thrusts then follows you over the edge.

You suck air into your lungs as fast as possible, more than a little lightheaded in the aftermath of your mind-blowing orgasm. You hear Joe gasping for breath and smile into the darkness. At least he's just as wrung out as me, you think to yourself.

"You okay?" he finally wheezes, his breath warm on your neck.

"Yeah, aside from the bruised knees and cracked skull."

"Cracked skull?" he asks, running his hand over the back of your head.

"I'm exaggerating," you chuckle, moaning as he massages your scalp with his nimble fingers. "I bumped my head on the wall."

"Did you hit it hard? Why didn't you say something?" he asks, the concern in his voice making you smile.

"Because I was getting railed by this tall, hot stud with a perfect cock and I didn't want that to stop."

"Fair enough," he chuckles.

"How's your knee?" you ask.

"Just fine," he mutters, pulling up his underwear and jeans. "Sorry I was a little rough."

"You were amazing," you sigh, clinging onto him as he lifts you off the box and sets you on your feet. "Damn, my legs are shaky," you laugh as you sway against him; he holds you for a minute, giving your legs time to get decently steady.

"You good?" he finally whispers, dropping a kiss on your forehead.

"Yeah."

"Stay right here," he says. "I'm gonna go turn on the light.

"Okay." You untuck your skirt and let it fall back down your thighs. "Who knew having sex in a pitch-black room on a stack of boxes while almost fully dressed could be such a sensual experience?" you muse, locking eyes with Joe when he flicks the light back on. He smiles and gives you a wink. "Everything with you is a sensual experience."

"Thanks, babe," you say before pointing at the floor. "Are those my shredded panties?" He makes a sheepish face while scooping up the scraps of lace. "I got a little carried away," he mutters, eyes going wide as he looks at the ruined tiger-striped thong. "Oh no! These are my favs," he whines, looking at you with a pouty face. "Relax, I have another pair at home just like them," you soothe. "Plus, I can always order more." He nods his head as he grabs his jacket and stuffs the thong remnants in a pocket. "Order like 50 of 'em," he demands.

"Yes, sir," you laugh, digging in your purse for your pack of wet wipes and a fresh pair of panties. You quickly reach under your skirt to give your crotch a wipe before gingerly stepping into the panties. You hear Joe chuckle and you shoot him a glance, noting that he's staring at the ceiling with a wistful smile on his face. "What are you thinking about?" you ask, pulling a compact out to touch up your smeared eye make-up.

He rolls his shoulders a few times before meeting your gaze. "I'm thinking … the bad news is I lost the Super Bowl. But the good news is I made an amazing memory that'll last a lifetime."

"Being onstage with Kid Cudi?" you ask.

"What?" he furrows his brow. "Oh yeah, that too, but I was talking about this," he says, waving a hand toward you. "Sex in total darkness was crazy intense," he continues, a dirty smile gracing his pretty lips. "Maybe we should get some blackout curtains for our bedroom so we can recreate it every now and then."

"Sounds good," you agree, tossing the used wipes in a trash can and returning his smile as you walk toward him. "I also think you'd look really hot in a blindfold," you tease, giggling when his eyebrows shoot upward. "Ohhhh yeah, that sounds good," he mutters, his active imagination already conjuring up dirty visuals.

"Now that I think about it," you continue, "why haven't I had you in a blindfold in all the years we've been together?"

He gives you a cocky smirk. "Cause I'm a bossy motherfucker who likes to call the shots in bed?"

You roll your eyes. "Oh yeah, that's why." You watch him for a few seconds, grinning at the blissed-out look on his face as he stares into the distance. "I'm ready to go," you say, breaking into his fevered musings.

"Hold on," he sighs, closing his eyes. "I'm still imagining that blindfold action."

You shake your head at him. "We just had sex and you're already thinking about it again?"

"Obvs," he chuckles. "It's your fault for being so damn hot." He grabs the doorknob then pauses. "Listen, I wanna say something," he states, turning to face you.

"Okay."

"You see this smile on my face?"

"Yeah."

"You did that. On the shittiest day of my life, you made me smile." He leans down and presses a lingering kiss against your lips. "You make everything better," he continues, his voice cracking a bit as he pulls you into a tight hug. You feel your eyes well with tears as you return his hug. "I love you," you whisper, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling. "Love you, too," he sighs, burying his face in your neck while you run your fingers through his hair to soothe him.

After several minutes he takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent before standing up and locking eyes with you. You wipe a stray tear as it slides down your cheek, searching his face to gauge his mood. He wipes a tear off his cheek and gives a pitiful sniff before speaking.

"So you gonna do the blindfold thing for me tonight?" he croaks, deftly jumping back as you swing your purse at him, just missing. "Boy, you're giving me emotional whiplash!" you snap. "Crying one minute and horny the next!"

"I've been horny the whole time!" he argues. "The gratitude and the love and the tears just bubbled up on top of the horniness!"

He delivers that last line with such an earnest expression that you can't help but laugh. You take several deep breaths before speaking. "Listen," you sigh, running a hand through your hair. "When you finally get home tonight -- probably around 7:30 or 8:00 -- you're gonna be dead tired. You're gonna want to eat dinner and crash not get your freak on."

"But it's Valentine's Day," he pouts, poking his plump bottom lip out for maximum sympathy. You check your watch. "It's well past midnight, so it's been Valentine's Day for a while." You gesture at the stack of boxes y'all had used and abused. "That dirty little romp should count as our V-Day action." He's already shaking his head before you finish your sentence. "Absolutely not!" he argues. "That was post-Super-Bowl-loss sex. No way that counts for V-Day."

"We'll see," you mutter, kind of surprised at how adamant he's being. "Right now I need to know what you want for dinner? I'll get home a couple hours before you, so I'll have plenty of time to make us a nice meal."

He gives you a cheeky look. "I want the blindfold."

"Babe, I need you to focus," you snap, echoing his words from earlier. You point a finger in his face. "When you get home tonight what do you want to eat?" He gives you a wicked grin and opens his mouth to answer; you quickly press a finger against his lips. "Don't say pussy," you order, smiling when he heaves a dramatic sigh. "Way to kick a man when he's down," he grumbles. "Oh hush," you chuckle. "I just want to make sure you get a good meal and get tucked into bed, with or without a blindfold."

"With," he insists, grinning at the exasperated look on your face. "Listen, I know I'm gonna be tired, so you'll have to do most of the work. Are you okay with that?" he asks, giving you a pleading look that you can't say no to.

"Do I get to call all the shots?" you ask.

"You can call most of the shots," he states, sinful lips curling up in a smile as you narrow your eyes at him. He gives you a dirty wink before continuing. "I mean, I've got a few ideas."

"Oh, you've got a few ideas?" you snark, rolling your eyes as you reach for the door handle. "Why does that not surprise me?"

He shrugs and gives you an innocent look.

"Bossy. Mother. Fucker." you say fondly, shaking your head as you sling the door open, giggling when Joe gives your ass a playful smack.

"You know you love it," he teases, his deep, throaty laugh like music to your ears as y'all walk back toward the crowd.