#but the plot is way too tangled lmao

[gunsatthaphan]

“no one will come in here again, right?”

[kaythefloppa]

The one good impact Bunk'd had is that it can serves the best example to why shows being renewed for more seasons past their prime is not always something to be celebrated over or fought for.

[winterzsurprise]

A New Beginning || Miguel O'hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x F!reader

Summary: You tell Miguel that you're ready to have a child with him.

Tags: SMUT, NOT BETA READ, breeding kink, unprotected sex, big dick Miguel, creampie, vaginal fingering, brief blowjob scene, soft sex that turned rough later on, Miguel kinda whimpered lol.

Period is gone and came the asexual lil shit who can't write smut anymore lmaooo. I have two other plots just waiting to be finished (something about being paralyzed by his venom and needy sex after a death scare) but aaaaaaaaaaa. This is so shit, I apologize lmao.

mi vida - my life || cariño - honey || mi cielo- my sky (correct me on this please)

“I think I’m ready.”

Miguel didn’t respond for the longest time, focused on frying the vegetables. Clearing your throat you tried again.

“Miguel? I think I’m ready.”

“For what exactly? What trouble are you brewing up again?”

Sensing his dedication towards completing his task, you grew doubtful of your decision of dropping the news to him. 

Miguel, always tuned in to your moods even without seeing you, immediately turned off the stove and turned to face you with crossed arms at your prolonged silence.

“Alright, what is it?”

Now seeing the permanent frown in his face, you wondered if he’s even as ready as you are. Being the leader of the inter-dimensional spider society and a chronic over-worker, you could see him putting his job first as the protector of spider people since he sometimes does it with you.

But you’ve seen how his eyes lingered a little too long on Mayday and Peter B whenever they visited. You’ve seen him replay clips of a future that doesn’t belong to him and watched him mourn over a child that never existed in this universe.

Having a kid with both of your features…

It doesn't seem like that bad of an idea.

“I’m just… thinking about kids you know?”

The twitch in his eyebrow betrayed his uninterested expression. “Oh? What about them?”

“I think I’m ready for one.”

Tensed silence immediately filled the room, locking your throat close as you waited for a change in his stance with bated breath. You saw the surprise flash in his eyes but he made no move to indicate his interest in the subject. 

If it wasn’t for Mayday, you wouldn’t have thought about bringing a child into a world where she'd have parents from two separate dimensions, both superhuman and known as saviors of the world. Not to mention, while being an active crime fighter in your own universes which is not an ideal occupation for a pregnant woman.

Even then, you had your IUD removed a few days ago when you returned to your world for a visit and only today did you guys had the time to bond.

As you linger in the silence, regret starts to crawl up your throat. Maybe it's a stupid decision after all...

His sigh sliced through the thick atmosphere before his voice did. “Are you sure?”

Miguel, no matter how unsure his voice sounded, had a hungry look in his eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about it for so long and... I think I’m ready now.”

You swear you could hear the clock from the living room tick beside you as you wait in anticipation. 

tik!

tok!

tik!

tok!

tik!

Miguel reached behind to remove his apron, crumpling them like a paper ball and tossing them to the side before crossing the distance between the two of you with one large step, hands surging to cup your cheeks to pull you in for a deep kiss.

You melted in the soft plushies of his lips, hands rising to tangle themselves into his hair. 

His hands wandered down to your rear, tapping it rapidly and you jumped up to wrap your legs around his waist before proceeding to walk blindly to the bedroom, relying solely on muscle memory.

Miguel’s lips melded with yours smoothly with years of experience, his taste familiar in your tongue. Your fingers combed through his hair, tugging him closer as the door opened behind you.

It didn't take long before you hit the softness of your bed. His body dwarfs yours in every way and the realization never fails to send jolts of pleasure down your spine.

There's greed and desperation in Miguel's hands as he tore through your shirt and bra, freeing your breasts that pebbled with goosebumps from the cold air. Despite the hunger and rush in his movements, his touch is the softest it has been in a long, long time since the needy sex from months ago after a death scare.

His fingers found your stiff nubs and pinched them, sending sparks crawling over your body, stirring your nerve endings awake. Miguel's lips parts from yours to pepper kisses down your skin, leaving warmth in its wake.

You quickly made work of his top, pushing it over his head before he latched onto your skin once more like a bloodsucker.

"You're so pretty, mi cielo." He groaned, kneading your mounds together. "I lose my mind just thinking about your tits growing full with milk for our kid." 

You couldn't suppress the shudder racking your body at the mention of having your own child, together. A low moan left your lips and Miguel's hand wandered lower to tug on the bands of your shorts and underwear.

"You don't mind this one, yeah?"

"Rip it off."

He didn't need to hear it twice, the sound of fabrics tearing off into two echoed in the room and plant both your legs on either side of him, leaving you bare for him to see. Sitting back on his heels, he admired his work as he caressed your inner thighs with small circles, a promise of what to come.

"As much as I want to eat you up, I want to see you falling apart my dick more."

You nod feverishly, sighing as deft fingers found your clit to roll in tight circles, occasionally scooping down to spread your wetness around your folds. Heat explodes from your abdomen, spreading across your body as pleasure slowly ricochets inside you.

His finger enters you, curling up to caress the spongy part of your walls and you moan. Miguel spared no time adding another digit inside you, picking up a fast pace and your body arched, hips twisting to follow his ministrations.

But before the pressure in your abdomen builds up, he pulls away to your distaste.

"Fuck…" You whined.

"Stop whining and get on top of me. I wanna see you bounce."

He slipped off of his pants and boxers, tossing it to the side before switching positions with you. You reached down to his hardened length, pumping him leisurely while he ran his calloused hands up and down the meat of your thighs.

You eyed the clear pre-cum erupting from his tip with every pump with fascination. Miguel's hands tensed on your thighs as a warning yet you bent down to lick off it off. A salty taste explodes in your mouth and Miguel grunts, nails digging into your flesh.

"Mi vida..."

"You're such a mood killer." You said, earning yourself a pinch in your thigh and you giggled.

You positioned his intimidatingly huge dick directly under you and with a deep breath, you let the tip sink into you. It's barely in and you're struggling with his girth stretching you wide open. Seeing the struggle in your face, Miguel rubbed circles on your hips.

"You can do it, baby. You know you can take me in."

With the slight pushing from Miguel, you eased him in with a mewl. He feels deeper and fuller this way and you gasped at him, nudging more of him inside.

"Fuck..! You're so deep..! I c-can't—"

"You can and you will. I'll make sure you do."

"P-please... Ah!"

Surrendering your control to him momentarily, he gladly took up the mantle. Your mind grew fuzzy at how full he makes you feel and it pleased Miguel to no end to see you drunk on his cock. Reaching up to your neck, he pulls you down for a dizzying kiss.

You whimpered into his mouth as he gained some speed, nudging the roof of your uterus, keeping your mouth hang ajar, spouting gibberish and noises of absolute ecstasy. His hands roamed your body with the greed of an explorer in a new land yet tender as if handling a feather whilst you tugged hard on his locks.

"You feel so tight around me. God, you feel heavenly." He grunts as he drives himself in your heat.

Your body grew feverish as your heart grew fuller from the softness of his touches and kisses. The knots in your abdomen twisted tighter, your impending climax arriving a little early.

"I-I'm close…"

"Give it to me, come all over my dick. I want it all."

Picking up speed, you cried onto his shoulders as he plummets into you hard. Your hips grew erratic as you followed the intensity of his thrusts, his hands grabbing the globes of your ass to guide your heat onto his. 

"Come for me, cariño."

Your whimpered whispers of his name filled the room as you tip closer to the edge.

The knots in your abdomen unfurl and you come, trembling on top of him with a shout. He grunts as the tightness brought by your end, hugged his girth firmly. His hot pants fanned your ears as your climax encouraged him closer, the sound of his pleasure sent sparks throughout your body and swells your chest with pride.

"Take all of me, baby. You want it yeah? Want me to fill you up real bad? Want me to breed and knock you up?"

"Yes yes yes…! I want it please please please!"

Miguel protectively wrapped his arms around you as he came, exploding and painting your insides white with a deep groan. His arms only tightened around you, forbidding you from leaving.

Flipping you both, he sits up to stare at where you both connected with lust clouded eyes. Pulling out, you groaned at the feeling of his seed pulse out of you and Miguel clicked his tongue.

"You're wasting them."

Scooping them up, he plunged them into you and your thighs twitched from the intrusion. You let your eye close as your soul slowly settles back into your body, exhaustion weighing your eyelids shut.

The sound of wet squelch of his fluids mixed with yours burned your cheeks and you forced yourself to focus on the feeling of his fingers plunging his seed back in, pleasurable albeit a little painful.

Miguel halts, only to bring your legs up to your shoulders, stirring you awake from your momentary rest to meet the wicked gleam in his dilated eyes as he pinned your thighs down and loomed over you.

"Don't even think of sleeping tonight or tomorrow. We haven't even started."

[sceletaflores]

you need a seat? i’ll volunteer!

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader

summary: how much of a selfish douche does patrick have to be to not beg tashi to sit on his face every night? you certainly would.

—or: you show tashi what she’s missing out on…

word count: 3.7k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, girl kissing, oral (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving) but not really, cheating (i can't stop lmao), patrick catching strays, a hint of "there's only one bed" trope, kinda sad angsty wlw pining, like this got a little depressing at the end lmao, more plot than i thought it would have when i started writing it (i physically can't not write so much plot it's a disease), no use of y/n.

author's note: AHHH HAPPY PRIDE!!! this is purely self indulgent lmao no one asked for this but i just had to write it. this is my first ever wlw fic!!! I know, please stop clapping, it was my duty to post one during pride month. i'm still writing the homoerotic wlw friendship fic, i promise it's coming! i just wrote this one way faster than i thought i would lol okay hope you love it! mwah xoxo

You and Tashi sit across from each other on the bed of some fancy hotel room in Texas the night before a match against UT with a new, exciting charge in the air between you.

Actually, the two of you sit on the only bed in the room after a mix up with the hotel’s booking but “You girls are close, you don’t mind sharing? Right?”

Your coach was right, you don’t mind sharing at all. Not one bit.

You and Tashi were more than close. The two of you have been best friends since middle school, and playing tennis with each other just as long. Whether it was playing side by side or with one of you standing on the opposite end of the court. It was you and her, always.

You realized your feelings for Tashi Duncan were a little more than platonic when you were 15 years old. You were staying the night at her house, laying on her bed with your legs tangled together under the covers watching Mean Girls as Tashi idly braided your hair. It was during the Halloween party scene where Cady catches Regina and Aaron kissing when Tashi spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “Have you ever kissed a boy like that?”

You just shook your head silently, leaning further into her hands as Cady stormed out of the party on-screen. You didn’t know why she was asking you, you told her everything. If a boy kissed you like that she’d be the first to know. Tashi was silent for a few more seconds, tying off the end of your braid and resting her hands on your shoulders. 

“I could show you how,” she had said, “You know, for when guys want to kiss you like that.”

You immediately felt your heart start to race, palms suddenly sweaty. Her suggestion caught you off guard, but you think you heard that girls actually do stuff like that. It’s just practice, it’s not like it’s a big deal. Plus Tashi’s your best friend, you trust her.

You turned up to face her, searching her eyes for any hint of a joke, but you found nothing. Her face was earnest, bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she looked down at you, and her eyes filled with a mix of mischief and something deeper. 

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Tashi smiled, moving closer until your faces were inches apart. You closed your eyes as your breath mingled with hers, her hand settling softly on your jaw. The first touch of her lips was soft and sweet, sending a shiver down your spine. 

You gave in, parting your lips to let her tongue brush against yours. You felt something deep inside of you slot into place, like a missing puzzle piece finding its home. You got lost in the moment, mind going blank and fuzzy as your tongues explored each other's mouths. The thought of kissing boys suddenly felt unimportant and distant with Tashi’s lips moving against yours. 

All too soon she was pulling back, her face soft and flushed. “See? Not so scary,” she said with a smile, you swore you could hear a slight tremor in her voice. She brushed her thumb across your cheek once before she laid back against the headboard and cast her gaze to the movie still playing.

“Yeah…” you trailed off, leaning against her to watch Regina get hit by the bus. Your mind was still buzzing, the feel and taste of Tashi lingering on your lips.

That kiss changed everything for you, but the two of you never talked about it again. Tashi woke up the next morning as if nothing had changed, smiling at you over breakfast talking a thousand miles a minute about the new tennis club in town. It’s been years since then, years of pretending like you’re not really in love with Tashi Duncan, that it was just a phase. You just adore her so much, a totally normal platonic best friend kind of adoration, that’s all.

It’s well past the time you and Tashi should have been asleep by now, pre-match jitters and excitement keeping the two of you up late. You’d been talking for hours already, and somehow the topic has shifted into raunchier territory. Maybe later you’ll blame the pent-up energy for blurring your filter, but for now you were content swapping recaps of the latest hookups you’ve shared with Art for her stories with Patrick. 

The addition of Art and Patrick was definitely a new development in your relationship with Tashi. Two boys who thought they were being discreet following the two of you around the Adidas party all those months ago, taking turns chatting you up on the beach and inviting you back to their hotel room.

Then college started, and Patrick and Tashi were suddenly dating, and things sort of changed. Tashi was spending more time with him, leaving you alone to stew in your anger of feeling like the next best thing. Well not completely alone, Art was always there. In a similar situation as you, with Tashi taking up all of Patricks time when he’d visit campus. Leaving the two of you to sit in Art’s dorm sharing a handle of cheap vodka every time you got kicked out of your room so Tashi and Patrick could have some “alone time”.

Art’s hot, and he seemed to like you so it felt easy enough for the two of you to pair off like Tashi and Patrick did. You wouldn’t call it dating, friends with benefits fit better, but he was a nice distraction from the new Tashi shaped hole in your life, so you indulged. Tashi was overjoyed when she found out, so happy for you in every sense of the word. Constantly badgering you for details, like she was just before your conversation took a complete one-eighty.

“No way Patrick hasn’t asked you to do that before,” you ask a little too loudly, beyond shocked as you stare at Tashi sitting across from you on the mattress. 

She scoffs quietly, shaking her head as she picks at a loose thread sticking out of the comforter. “It’s kinda been all about him lately,” she trails off with a shrug, like that’s a good reason.

Fucking Patrick. You think bitterly, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. What a fucking loser.

You knew he wasn’t good enough for Tashi the second you met him. All flashy bravado and superficial charm, like a peacock strutting around with no substance. Tashi seems to like him enough so you bite your tongue at every dreadful detail she’s told you about their relationship, because you’re such a good friend.

Seriously though, how much of a selfish douchebag does Patrick have to be not to beg Tashi to sit on his face every night? 

You certainly would.

“Art and you do that a lot?” she asks nonchalantly, but her eyes have a certain look to them. One you can’t quite place, they’re sharper than they were before. Maybe even a tiny bit challenging, as if she’s daring you to go there. You were never one to back down from a dare, especially in front of Tashi.

You nod slowly, fingers toying with the edge of your shorts.  “A couple times.”

“How’s it feel.” She makes it sound like a question, you know her well enough to recognize that it’s more like a thinly veiled demand. Her voice is barely above a whisper but she may as well have shouted at the top of her lungs with the way it cuts through the space between you so sharply.

You see flashes of Art red-faced and needy as you knelt on top of him with your knees on either side of his head, of him spilling inside his boxers as you rode his face, using his tongue to get yourself off.

It has warmth pooling in the bottom of your stomach, thighs subconsciously clenching together. You imagine yourself in Art’s place, laying flat on your back as Tashi kneels above you, chasing after the taste of her with your tongue. 

“So good…” You whisper back, voice breathy like you just got done training. You can feel Tashi’s eyes on you, intense and persistent.

You meet her gaze, her familiar brown eyes dark and blown out in a way you’ve never seen before. She looks flushed, her cheeks tinged with the slightest hint of red. Her lips part ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of teeth as she bites down on her full lower lip, a tiny gesture that sends a zing up your spine. It's like the room's temperature just shot up by ten degrees, creating a kind of heat that makes you feel light-headed.

Tashi’s stare is unwavering, it makes your skin crawl in the best way possible. She looks hungry, you feel a pang of unfiltered need shake your body like thunder. You’ve never felt deja vu before, but you’re guessing it feels something like this.

The offer slips past your lips before you can think of stopping it, “I mean…I could– I could like show you. If you want.”

For a second, there’s silence. All you can hear is the sounds of the city three floors below you flowing in through the window. The distant hum of traffic and faint chatter blend into a muted sound that underscores the tense quiet in your room. You hold your breath, forcing yourself to meet Tashi’s gaze. Every second that passes feels like an eternity, you’re inches away pretending it was a joke, from running away with your tail between your legs.

Then, Tashi’s eyes narrow slightly, her lips curling into a sly smile. She leans closer, bridging the small gap between the two of you, the mattress shifts under her weight. “Show me,” she murmurs, her voice an assertive whisper. The intensity in her eyes deepens, locking you in place. 

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears louder than the city noise outside. It wasn’t really a joke when you offered, but you never thought Tashi would actually call your bluff. You thought she’d just laugh, roll her eyes and call you gross with a smile on her face. You swallow hard, a mix of excitement and nerves churning in your stomach.

Tashi’s hand moves to your chin, gently bringing you closer to her. The electricity between you is palpable, a charged connection that sparks and crackles. Her thumb brushes across your lower lip, and you feel yourself leaning into her touch, your body responding before your mind can catch up. 

“Show me,” she repeats, her voice firmer now, a command wrapped in velvet. Her words hang in the air, thick with anticipation and promise. You nod, a small, almost unnoticeable movement.

“We- Art and I - we…uh, usually kiss before,” you try to sound casual. Tashi’s eyes soften, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

“Then kiss me,” she says. You can feel her breath on your skin, warm and inviting. You lift your hand, reaching out slowly. Your fingers brush against the bare skin of her arm, you’ve touched her millions of times before, but this one is different. It’s a hesitant touch that feels both daring and delicate. She doesn't tense or pull away; instead, she leans into your touch, her eyes never leaving yours.

Your throat feels dry, your mind racing, but you push through, your hand glides up her arm, tracing a path to her shoulder. Her skin is smooth, warm under your touch, and you can feel the slight tremor that betrays the relaxed front she’s putting on.

With every inch you cover, you feel more confident, your movements becoming more assured. You lean in, close enough that you can see the slight rise and fall of her chest, hear the faint hitch in her breath. 

It’s been years, but you swear her lips feel the same. It’s far from the slow, sweet, timid kiss you shared on her bed. The moment they touch yours, it’s like a jolt of electricity runs through your veins, reigniting a fire deep within you that never truly died. Tashi’s lips are soft, yet demanding, moving with a hunger that mirrors your own. You can taste the faint hint of her coconut lip balm and something that’s uniquely Tashi, a flavor you had almost forgotten but that comes rushing back with each second that passes. You lose yourself in the rhythm, the pressure, the way her tongue teases yours, exploring, claiming.

If you weren’t so fucking turned on, so fucking wet that you’re drenching your panties, you’d probably laugh. You’d laugh at how easily you ended up back here, kissing Tashi just because she asked you too. You wonder if she’s thinking about that night too, if she ever thinks about it.

Your hands find her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more needy. Without thinking, you drag Tashi onto your lap, her chest pressing flush against yours as her knees fall on either side of your torso. She responds quickly, her fingers tangling in your hair, grip tight enough to have you softly moaning into the kiss. 

It’s messy, wet, and consuming, with spit mingling as your mouths fight for dominance. Tashi still refusing to let go of the upper-hand even though you’re technically supposed to be the one showing her something, but you don’t mind. She bites your lower lip, hard enough to make you groan, sending a shock-wave of heat straight to your core. Her nails scratch against your scalp, pulling you impossibly closer. The air is thick with the sounds of your ragged breathing and the soft, breathy moans escaping your throats. 

When you finally pull apart, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other, a small thread of saliva connects your lips before it falls and breaks.

“Show me,” she whispers again, this time softer, almost a plea. And with a newfound confidence, you nod, ready to give her whatever she asks for. 

“Off,” you say impatiently, tugging at the waistband of her shorts. Tashi’s eyes darken, her breaths coming in shallow, rapid gasps as she quickly complies, shimmying out of her shorts and tossing them aside. You waste no time, falling on your back so fast your body bounces on the mattress. You can hear the bed creaking as Tashi crawls towards you again, you can feel the warmth of her as she throws a leg over your hips and starts to make her way up your body. She pauses at your chest, hesitating. She looks down at you, her eyes more unsure and vulnerable than you’ve seen in a long time. You just smile softly, giving her a small nod and bringing your hands up to squeeze her thighs reassuringly. Her body is warm and firm beneath your palms. 

“Tash,” you whisper, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against her skin. “It’s just me.” 

Her eyes search yours for a second longer, the tension melts from her face, and she smiles. A real smile, not the fake one she gives pushy interviewers, one that reaches her eyes. Her vulnerability bleeds into tender determination as she gives you one sharp nod of her head and shuffles the rest of the way up your body.

With a sense of urgency, your fingers hook around the edge of her panties. Tashi’s trembling, her fingers digging into your shoulders, hips lifting slightly to aid you slide her panties to the side.

Being face to face with Tashi Duncan’s cunt feels euphoric. It feels right, like this is where you should have been all along. She’s so wet for you and so beautiful and so perfect and you can hardly wait to taste her.

You lean in, trailing soft, deliberate kisses along her inner thigh, feeling her shiver beneath your touch. Tashi’s breath hitches, a soft moan escaping her lips as you get closer to her core. Her eyes never leave yours, her pupils completely blown out and swallowing up the warm brown.

“Please,” she breathes, her voice strained with longing. The plea sends a thrill through you, has you feeling power drunk because the great Tashi Duncan is begging you. Begging you to touch her, begging you to make her feel good, begging you to make her come.

You lean your head up, you can feel her body tremble as your breath brushes against her. Your lips part, placing a soft kiss directly over her clit, making her squirm and moan softly above you. You flick your tongue out, teasing her, drawing more desperate sounds from her lips. 

The taste of her is intoxicating, flooding your senses and making you crave even more. She tastes like girl sweat, like girl sex, you moan into it, gripping her thighs hard to try in vain to steady yourself.

Tashi’s eyes flutter shut, her head falling back as your tongue slides through the wet slit of her cunt. Her response is immediate, lowering herself down against your tongue as a low moan escapes her lips. Tashi's hips start to move, instinctively seeking more, needing more.

You watch her through half-lidded eyes, mesmerized by the sight of her losing herself in the pleasure you're giving her. Her hands tangle in your hair again, guiding you, urging you on as you work your tongue along her slick entrance. The rhythm of her hips matches the movement of your mouth, and you can feel her growing wetter, absolutely drenching the bottom half of your face.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” she mutters, pretty face pinched in pleasure. You moan into her cunt, angling your head up to drag your tongue up her slit slowly until you reach her clit, sucking it into your mouth and swirling your tongue over it.

“Oh my God,” Tashi huffed. She opened her eyes and looked down between her legs, catching your glassy eyes with her own. The sight only made her grind her hips faster, “You’re so pretty,” She muttered. Your loud moan is muffled by her cunt, heart fluttering in your chest at her words. You can feel your hands start shaking with the intensity of the moment, way more intimate than it probably should be.

Her right hand lets go of your hair, shooting out to lace her fingers with yours. She squeezes your hand hard, gripping onto it like a lifeline as she rides your tongue. You respond in kind, using your free hand to guide her, to hold her steady as you delve deeper into her cunt, your nose bumping up against her clit. Her taste, her reactions, everything about her is perfect, and you can feel her body tightening, her muscles clenching as she gets closer and closer to the edge. 

Her other hand tightened its grip on your hair, pulling you closer as she threw her head back, a low, throaty moan escaping her lips. “Don’t stop,” she gasps, her voice breaking, “I’m close.”

You increase your pace, tongue working even faster over her clenching cunt. You lose yourself in her, in the rhythm of her movements, in the sounds of her moans and gasps. You need her to come, you need to see, need to feel it, need to hear it, need to fucking taste it.

And she does, her body tensing, then shaking as she cries out your name, the sound filling the room. You hold her through it, your tongue moving in gentle, soothing strokes as she rides out her orgasm, her body slowly relaxing under your touch. You keep going, tongue greedily soaking up everything she has to give you until she’s spent, her body going limp, her breath coming out in ragged, uneven gasps. 

Tashi leans back, blindly shoving her free hand down your shorts to delve between your slick thighs. Your hand grips hers harder, moaning out as her fingertips brush over your throbbing clit. Your eyes open to find Tashi already staring down at you between her thighs, the fancy hotel lights making a halo of light around her messy hair. She looks fucking ethereal.

You’re so worked up it only takes a few clumsy circles of Tashi’s fingers to push you over the edge. Back arching off the bed as you come, hips bucking up into her touch. Waves of pleasure crash through you as you soak your panties in your release as Tashi watches with sharp eyes. She keeps going, fingertips sliding over you with featherlight touches until you’re squirming away, thighs instinctively clenching shut.

Tashi falls back onto the bed next to you, the two of you laying beside each other trying to catch your breath. The room is filled with the soft sound of your synced heavy breathing, you can feel her hair tickling your neck from where it splayed out on the pillows.

“Patrick’s coming to the UT game tomorrow,” her voice breaks the silence, voice raspy and winded, “Art will probably be with him.”

Her impassive tone feels like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head. You look at her, but Tashi keeps her gaze trained on the ceiling, her chest rising and falling quickly. She’s sweaty, baby hairs sticking to her forehead, her face is stony. She closes her eyes, it feels like a door slamming in your face. Your heart sinks in your chest, dread starting to wrap its tendrils around you.

Patrick and Art. Their names hang in the air like a storm cloud threatening to burst, casting a shadow over the fragile intimacy of the moment. You swallow hard, trying to muster a response, but words elude you in the suffocating silence. Tashi speaks again before you can, “We should all go out to dinner after, like on a double date or something.”

You trace the outline of her profile with your eyes, the curve of her jawline, the faint sheen of sweat on her skin. Each detail seems sharper, more defined, as if etching itself into your memory with painful clarity all over again. You have to close your eyes too, scared if you keep them open that the tears burning your waterline will start flowing down your cheeks. All you can do is lie there, next to Tashi, and feel the weight of her words settle into the space between you, putting up a barrier you're not sure how to breach. 

“Yeah…sounds good.”

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[nyoomerr]

How about half demon SY fic? Maybe with some Cinderella-esque elements?

I can easily imagine Airplane making another half demon (of the non-heavenly variety) as a character foil for Binghe.

The original version was regularly mistreated by his full demon relations, saw them sucking up to the also half-demon emperor (maybe even trying to marry off a bratty full demon half-sister), and in his rage set up some dramatic ‘revenge’ plot that ended in his death.

Of course, with Shen Yuan in the role (and not wanting to die like the OG-version), he somehow bungles the whole thing into a seduction instead.

i'm not sure about cinderella-esque, but here's some half demon sy taking pity on things he really shouldn't be taking pity on, lmao

---

Luo Binghe was not the only half demon in Proud Immortal Demon Way, of course. Between cultivators that wanted to get a little freaky with it (weird) and demon lords who took human women as war prizes (downright terrible), there were plenty of occasions for mixed breeds to be born. 

Luo Binghe was, however, the only successful half demon.

His spiritual pathways developed perfectly suited to balance demonic and spiritual qi without getting the two energies tangled, and none of his demonic traits interfere with his human ones as so many other half demons experience. His demonic teeth sit without discomfort in his human mouth, he has no extra demonic appendages that struggle to reconcile with a human circulatory system, and his claws don’t even bleed when he retracts and extends them in a way that would cause any other half demon to be crippled with pain.

Perhaps it’s a result of his miracle healing blood parasites working overtime to keep his body from sabotaging itself; perhaps it’s simply the protagonist halo at work.

Either way, the less fortunate half demons of Proud Immortal Demon Way had every reason to despise Luo Binghe. Most of them did, or at the very least started off that way - several partly demonic women had of course been won out in the end by charming smiles and the discovery of just what other benefits Luo Binghe received from his successful mixing (read: his monster dick).

Shen Yuan had not transmigrated into a woman, though, and the character he had landed inside of had been one of the less fortunate half demons Luo Binghe ever stumbled across. 

Shen Yuan’s body had tried to grow both human and demonic ears alike, one on top of the other, warping each other and resulting in permanently impaired hearing. His pupils were stuck in the large, open shape of the sorts of demons that live almost entirely in the dark, but his human retina was not similarly adjusted, and Shen Yuan suffered near constant migraines whenever he went out in the sun. His teeth were made of rows of sharp needles, but his diet had not adjusted to allow him to eat as much - or as raw of - meat as his demonic ancestry had prepared him for, to say nothing of the way the sharp points of his teeth always left his mouth bleeding.

It was miserable. 

Even the good parts - the interesting parts, the things like the way his hair looked iridescent in the light or the general increase in energy and durability that Shen Yuan got to experience - did not seem to make up for the downsides of his mixed blood. 

And that was all before taking into the account the way that Shen Yuan was nearly entirely shunned by both demonic and human cultures alike, too.

Ah, it was unfair!! What kind of transmigration experience treated its host so poorly?! What kind of shitty wish fulfillment left the victim so deeply unfortunate?! Shen Yuan wanted a refund, damn it!!

If there was one saving grace to the situation, it was that Shen Yuan was not beholden to the plot in any way. The original host Shen Yuan had taken over had, in the later chapters of PIDW, been one of the prominent figures at the head of an attempted coup. His resentment towards his own life had burned and burned until he’d redirected it at Luo Binghe, a symbol of unfair success that he would never see, and he’d gotten himself barely half a paragraph in PIDW to describe his vengeful death for his troubles.

Shen Yuan refused to be such a small footnote in Luo Binghe’s life. If he was going to suffer by living in this world, then he’d wring every bit of joy he could from the world that causes that suffering. 

Naturally, the only good thing that this world offers is Luo Binghe himself.

“My Lord,” Shen Yuan demures, his tone hushed as he bends to refill Luo Binghe’s goblet. 

He had not been able to win a direct audience with Luo Binghe; outside of Luo Binghe himself, no half-breed is considered of good enough standing to be allowed the emperor’s time in such a way. Instead, Shen Yuan had taken a job as a servant in the Underground Palace, carefully biding his time and working his way towards this very moment, where he’d get to lean in close to refill Luo Binghe’s drink during a meal.

Luo Binghe cuts a sharp glance at him, then at the drink Shen Yuan has poured him, but says nothing.

“My Lord,” Shen Yuan says again, wetting his lips nervously. “The cursed mirror you seek is in the Fire Grass Marshes.”

Luo Binghe hums, his expression unreadable. “And how does a little servant know of such a thing?”

Shen Yuan swallows thickly. ‘I read it in a story about you in another world,’ isn’t exactly the sort of answer that would cut it, here. He can’t just brush it away as rumor, though, either; Shen Yuan needs to prove that he is uniquely useful to Luo Binghe. A usefulness that will both excuse his impudence in approaching Luo Binghe this way, and will allow Shen Yuan to remain close to Luo Binghe in the future.

Shen Yuan will not lose this gamble.

“This lowly one is a half demon like my Lord is,” Shen Yuan says, voice hushed. “My Lord is blessed; the rest of us are -”

Shen Yuan’s words catch in his throat. He’s only been in this body for a little under a decade, but it’s still - the hardships he’s had to endure, and the discrimination, and - Shen Yuan swallows again, trying to steady himself.

“In general, half breeds are not accepted in either culture,” Shen Yuan finally says, voice still low and deferential. “We have had to find livings in places that are not generally hospitable.”

“And you’ve lived in the Fire Grass Marshes as a result, then?” Luo Binghe asks.

Shen Yuan nods. The rest of the dining room has fallen silent by now, watching closely as Luo Binghe considers the daring little servant that has approached him as such. It makes Shen Yuan sweat, just a bit, but then again…

Their attention is not nearly as heavy as the single-minded focus of Luo Binghe himself. 

“The Fire Grass Marshes may not be worth the trouble to retrieve such a small item,” Luo Binghe says after a long silence, turning his gaze away from Shen Yuan at last. “There are other artifacts this Lord can use instead.”

Shen Yuan… maybe panics just a bit. He didn’t make this much of an effort to have Luo Binghe’s attention only to be dismissed outright like this, as if it isn’t worth the bother, ah!!

“Of course, my Lord wouldn’t have to fetch it himself!” Shen Yuan rushes to say. “That is, this lowly one can - if it pleases my Lord, I mean - for you -”

“If you’d offer to fetch it yourself, why didn’t you simply bring it with you now?” Luo Binghe asks blandly. Then, a bit more dangerously, he adds: “Don’t waste this Lord’s time, little servant.”

“If the mirror isn’t good enough, this servant can fetch something else,” Shen Yuan tries. “This lowly one knows much about lands that aren’t usually fit for exploration, so -”

“Why?” Luo Binghe interrupts, turning back to once more fix Shen Yuan with his full attention. “The only reward you will receive is your life, should I decide to spare you for the insolence.”

Shen Yuan swallows thickly, once, twice. He needs to fix this, or else his life - if he manages to keep it - will only end up more miserable than it was before. 

He refuses to go back to that, not now that he’s managed to be so close to Luo Binghe.

“This lowly one only wishes to help spare my Lord of unnecessary suffering -”

Luo Binghe stands suddenly, his chair tipping behind him and the dishes on the table falling and spilling at the sudden jostling movement.

Shen Yuan doesn’t much notice, what with the way Luo Binghe has wrapped a single large hand around his throat and begun to squeeze.

“Do not dare to speak of my suffering,” Luo Binghe snarls, his teeth inches from Shen Yuan’s face. “Do not dare to presume to know what I can and can not tolerate.”

Shen Yuan gasps, scrambling with his stupid, defective claws at the hand around his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to choke out, “I’m sorry, but - but regardless of what you can tolerate, you shouldn’t have to suffer at all, it’s -”

Luo Binghe’s grip tightens, and Shen Yuan falls silent, focusing on trying to breathe. 

He does not break eye contact with Luo Binghe, though.

Because this is the truth of it: Shen Yuan’s mixed breed body sucks ass, and he’s suffered for it, and he’s been humiliated for it, and even the cool, kickass parts of transmigration have been kinda lame for it. He kind of hates it. He more than kind of understands the resentment that the original goods had harbored.

But Shen Yuan has the insight of a PIDW reader, and he knows that despite his perfect biology, Luo Binghe has suffered far more than most half breeds have. 

Shen Yuan and his kin are shunned, but they are not outright beaten or discarded or starved or pushed into the Abyss. They may be given shitty jobs, but they are given jobs; they’ve never had anyone try to sabotage their cultivations or been forced to overturn the demonic hierarchy just to find a safe place to sleep. Most people dislike them, but those that do care for Shen Yuan and other half breeds like him can be trusted; their regard is honest, as it can not be motivated by any sort of desire for power or influence.

Shen Yuan has suffered, but he has also experienced luxuries that Luo Binghe has not. 

He’s suffered, and he’s hated this stupid fucking transmigration, but - 

But in the end, he could have found ways to enjoy it that didn’t involve walking up to the protagonist and offering to help. He could have used his meta knowledge to get rich and powerful enough to explore the world on a cool vacation, instead of trying to use it to bargain for a spot at Luo Binghe’s side.

“Binghe should have someone looking out for him,” Shen Yuan wheezes. Maybe wheezes. Maybe he doesn’t say it at all. His vision is spotty and his brain is a bit foggy and he certainly wouldn’t have dared to say such a thing if he was fully conscious. 

Luo Binghe’s grip slackens all at once, and Shen Yuan crumples to the ground, coughing. 

“You’ll get only one chance,” Luo Binghe warns him. It’s very clearly a threat.

When Shen Yuan manages to look up at him, though, his expression is not as cold and dangerous as it had been a minute ago.

It looks hungry.

[t-lostinworlds]

I Spy, No Spy | Peter Parker

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

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

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

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

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

✘ MOODBOARD

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

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ PETER PARKER MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

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

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

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

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

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

"Good morning, Peter."

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

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

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

Well, so much for his plans to relax.

"Got it, FRIDAY."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were incredible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi, Pete."

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

"H-Hey," he squeaked, painfully aware of how hot his cheeks had gotten. Add the fact that he hadn't been out under the sun much, he was sure you could see how pink it was. That knowledge alone probably made it a shade darker. Then came the fleeting thought that you might've caught him practically eyeing you up—

He quickly cleared his throat, keeping his head down to hide his blush as he opened the door to the conference room.

"After you."

"Thank you," you hummed, reaching a hand out to squeeze his arm before you moved past him.

It took a lot for his knees not to wobble at the gesture, even more, when he caught a whiff of your shampoo…or was that your perfume? But if you had just gone on a morning run and taken a shower—no, that wasn't your body wash. You didn't look like you'd just got out of the shower, so maybe it was just your scent. God, you always smell so nice.

"Holy—get your shit together man," he grumbled to himself, hastily wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans, fixing up his hair before entering the conference room.

It was relatively empty—well, the whole compound was given that the rest of the Avengers weren't at headquarters in the meantime, caught in other obligations whether personal or otherwise. The only other person in the room was Wanda, sitting across from you.

"Pete," you called, tapping the chair beside you before he could even choose a seat to take. There were plenty of vacant ones. Trying to calm his raging heart, he walked over to your side and sat down. But each beat only grew faster when you tilted your head at him with a smile. "Did you go on a run this morning?"

"Oh—uh, no, not yet," he said, trying his best to keep his eyes on yours rather than let them wander, like…down your lips. Shrugging to seem unbothered, he added, "FRIDAY announced the meeting just when I woke up."

"I haven't either," you hummed. So, it was just your scent earlier, the same one that was filling up his nostrils now as you leaned a little closer to him. "Maybe we can go—"

"Another day, another robbery," Sam cut you off as he and Bucky entered the room.

You moved away from him then, leaning back on your seat, attention now on the captain. An unconscious frown made its way onto his lips, because yes, he was slightly—greatly—annoyed at the interruption.

"Only this time, it calls for a national emergency," Bucky added, taking the seat next to Wanda.

"Global, if we don't stop it in time," Sam sighed, connecting a flash drive to one of the USB ports installed on the table.

"Oh no, did they steal the president's nudes?" Peter joked, immediately shrinking in his seat when the two men shot him a look. "Sorry, sorry, bad joke and definitely not the time—I'll shut up."

"That was funny," you whispered, flashing him a smile and Peter's face immediately burned. He wasn't given much time to respond when Sam cleared his throat.

"As much as that would be horrifying, it's something much worse." He pressed a button on the table that made the hologram come to life. There was only one item shown, a rectangular, gold-colored device, probably the size of a credit card but thicker by half an inch. Sam pointed at it and said, "The Gold Codes."

"The Gold Codes?" Peter muttered, brows furrowed in confusion.

"The president's nuclear launch codes," you answered, always willing to help him out on things he wasn't too well versed on.

"Oh." Peter nodded, smiling at you appreciatively before his face fell, eyes widening in realization. "Oh. That's definitely worse than his nudes."

You laughed, and it made Peter's heart do flips.

"And of course, its partner, the nuclear football. But instead of it being a whole briefcase, it's been reduced to this—" Sam flicked through the hologram, a black device coming up beside the gold codes. It looked like a plain external hard drive, roughly the same size as a pocketbook. It wasn't that big so it was definitely easy to carry around and, by the looks of it, easier to steal.

"Technology advancing sometimes isn't the best," Bucky grumbled.

You sat straighter in your seat, forearms resting on the table as you eyed the devices. There was a furrow between your brows, lips pursed as you tilted your head.

Peter couldn't stop his smile.

He always found your thinking face adorable.

You turned to Sam after a moment and asked, "Don't they change the codes every day?"

"Yes, but as our hundred-year-old resident said, technology is advancing so the card automatically syncs up to any changes made," Sam explained.

"That's the stupidest thing ever," Wanda scoffed.

Peter nodded in agreement. "Why did these even get stolen in the first place?"

"The one who was carrying the nuclear football was a double agent," Bucky said.

"Classic," you scoffed. "And have we found where it is?"

Sam nodded at Bucky, the super soldier rummaging around a bag that Peter just noticed he brought with them. He slid across a black envelope with gold detailing, your brows furrowing as you took it in your hand.

"Oh wow, an invitation to a charity gala tonight at The Aces," you gushed, scanning through the glossy, black paper before you turned to look at Peter. You probably saw the confused look he wore because you offered him a sweet smile before explaining, "It's one of the fanciest ballrooms in New York, most of the galas they hold are very exclusive for the rich and the rich-rich, like filthy 'I can end world hunger but I'm an asshole so I won't' rich."

"Thanks," Peter hummed, smiling.

"I got you." You bumped his shoulder with a wink, which quickly made him blush.

"But it's a smokescreen," Sam continued. "The real party happens later in the night."

"That's what she said," Bucky interrupted enthusiastically, earning a heavy eye roll from Sam and laughs from you and Wanda. The technically old man looked around the room. "What? Did I say the joke wrong?"

"You got the spirit," Peter chuckled.

"As I was saying, they're holding a black market auction later in the night in the small underground theater a floor beneath the building." Sam continued, swiping up the hologram until it showed a floorplan of a theater along with a couple of photos of high-tech armor, guns, and a whole bunch of things Peter couldn't exactly name. What stood out the most to him, though, was the logos: Stark Industries, Oscorp, Pym Technologies, Sable International, and the likes. "Stolen technology and weapons being sold to anyone who has the money to buy them."

"So, it's like the dark web, but fancier," Wanda quipped.

"Stealing items and then selling them to the highest bidder," Peter hummed. "Sounds like the British."

You snorted, quickly covering your mouth when everyone turned to you with raised brows.

"Sorry," you mumbled, kicking him under the table playfully, probably as a warning to stop making you laugh. Peter only grinned proudly in response. He always felt proud whenever he made you laugh.

"Anyway, the nuclear football is easier to find. It's locked in a room along with the other items they're planning on selling," Sam started, flicking through the hologram to show a floor plan of the whole building. He circled the large room in the middle before tracing a pathway leading up to another, much smaller room. "It's located on the east wing, right side of the main ballroom. It has double doors so you wouldn't miss it, especially with the armed guards."

"And the card?" Peter asked.

"Would be much more difficult to retrieve. It's going to be with the person who orchestrated this whole thing. The problem is—"

"You don't know who it is," you finished.

Sam nodded grimly. "Whoever is the mastermind of this grand scheme has been quite good at maintaining anonymity. The only time they're going to reveal themselves, along with the codes, is during the secret auction, which you can't get into unless you're chosen to be there."

"If you think the gala was exclusive, the auction is on a different scale," Bucky explained.

"We don't know what code or secret handshake will be needed to be able to attend the auction. Our best course of action is to attend the gala, scope the scene, and hopefully, get intel on how to join the auction without much breaking and entering involved," Sam said. "I had Harley tap into the security system of the building and guess what?"

"You found an even bigger problem," you and Peter said at the same time.

Sam nodded. "The whole building is now armed with sensors fit to detect every single Avenger's superpower, any Stark-grade weapons and also, vibranium. Bucky's metal arm, Wanda's magic, my wings, so on and so forth. Neither of us could simply swoop in because the second those silent sensors go off, or any commotion will start, poof goes the codes along with our criminal."

Bucky shifted in his seat. "Even if we discard all of that and try not to use it, going in there as, quote-on-quote civilians won't work either because—"

"Everyone would immediately recognize who we are," Wanda finished.

"Since there are only two people here whose faces aren't known publicly"—Sam looked between the two of you—"Peter and Y/N, you two are going to be the ones to retrieve the codes and the football."

"W-What?" Peter choked, eyes wide as he stared at the captain. "Don't they have my powers in the sensors?"

"They only have it for your web shooters and suit, and as far as I know, both are detachable."

"But that's me, that's how I operate," he stammered. Going out there as himself wasn't part of his skill set. He'd feel too exposed without his suit. Not to mention he was going with you. Which of course wasn't a bad thing at all but it only added this pressure to not mess things up. He couldn't live with himself if he'd fail this mission, fail you—or worse, have you get hurt because he wasn't capable enough. "How am I supposed to be Spider-Man without those?"

"You have to give yourself more credit, Pete," you said, placing your hand over his own, the one resting on his thigh. Peter's eyes followed your touch before he met your gaze again, his blush prominent, heart thumping so loud he was scared you might hear it. "You're more than just a suit. And you need to remember how you've managed to make your synthetic web in the first place. So I'm sure you'll do fine with your brain alone. Even then, you still have other abilities, and you have me."

Peter looked at you fondly, a smile curling on his lips as he turned his hand so your palm was over his, squeezing it to silently say thank you. He wasn't even aware of what he was doing, not until he saw your smile turn slightly shy. It was the quick glimmer in your eyes that made him realize he was absentmindedly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

"Seconded." Wanda smiled at the two of you, chuckling when you and Peter jumped slightly away from each other. You pulled your hand away, Peter frowning at the loss of contact. But he shook his head, turning his focus back on the mission.

"Y/N here also said you'd gotten really good at your hand-to-hand combat skills," Bucky said, an all-knowing smile on his face as he glanced between you two. "So, I don't think you'd need your web shooters as much if ever it comes to a fight."

"Which we hope won't result in that," Sam quickly added with a reassuring nod. "The plan is simple: scope and mingle, assess the scene, try and get some information as to how to get into the auction. Once you've done that, sneak into the vault to retrieve the nuclear football. I've already assigned Harley to make a duplicate device to swap with the real one so it won't trigger the alarm.

"Then, you sit at the auction and wait until the codes come up. I'm sure it will be presented by the anonymous seller so by then, we will be able to put a face on the mastermind. Our agents should already be blocking every single exit of the building by that time so all you have to do is to retrieve the code calmly. Try and ease your way into the main stage, charm and persuade, or whichever way works. Any more questions?"

You and Peter looked at each other, before you both turned to Sam, shaking your heads.

"Good. We've already set your fake identities up, google searches running for miles, the last thing we need are photos, together, individually, candid and professional which would only take a few minutes. Your fake names are already on the guest list, your outfits and everything else you need will be waiting for you at the hotel you're getting ready at as part of the whole ruse," he instructed. "You two are the best and only shot we've got in this. Plan your moves wisely and rely on each other. We can't afford to lose those codes."

"Yes, Captain."

•••

The hotel suite was fancy.

Peter had never been in one this expensive-looking before.

It had its own living room, a minibar, a huge bathroom, a king-size bed, and then a massive window that overlooked New York City. He definitely indulged himself with their complimentary champagne, and given the fact that he couldn't get drunk, he mostly did it for the taste—which was flavored expensive, to those wondering. Hell, even the chocolate they had tasted expensive.

Then again, the two of you were undercover as a rich, engaged couple so it was part of the whole thing. You never know whose eyes and ears were for who in these types of missions.

But still, it was quite the treat and he'd be stupid not to make the most of it—without getting too distracted, of course.

Peter was now all suited up, not in spandex this time. It was a crisp, black, formal suit made with fabric he wouldn't dare guess the cost and a brand he couldn't even begin to pronounce. He had a white dress shirt underneath, paired with a black tie. The one he was currently having a hard time doing as he stood in front of the floor-length mirror in the living room.

He groaned in frustration when he once again messed it up. He didn't wear this kind of clothes often, so he really didn't have much of a reason to learn to master the art of…tying?

"Need help?"

Peter turned around, the breath knocked out of him once he saw you come out of the bedroom.

Wow.

Oh wow you looked gorgeous in red.

It was an off-shoulder, long-sleeved dress, your arms covered in lace as the fabric hugged your figure. The skirt was long as it fanned onto the floor with a really high slit on your right leg to show off the silver heels you were wearing. Your hair and make-up were done to marry the whole style, all while enhancing your natural features rather than covering them. Your red-painted lips though—

"Wow."

"Yeah," you laughed softly, your gaze falling over yourself as your hands smoothed the fabric of your dress. "I don't know who picked it but it's really pretty and it fits really nicely. Perks of having body scans for our suits, I suppose."

"You look beautiful," Peter breathed out, still frozen in his place as he stared at you in absolute awe.

"Thank you," you said, your sweet smile turning into a smirk as you eyed him up and down with a nod. "You clean up nice, too, Parker."

"Oh—uhm, t-thanks." He blushed, shaking his head before gesturing both hands at you. "But you, I—wow, you look, wow."

"Shut up," you laughed, your dress flowing as you moved closer to him. "Here, let me."

Peter wasn't even given much time to recompose himself when you once again took his breath away by simply standing so close to him. Every inhale was just filled with your scent, his heart skipping a few beats as he scanned your face, only a couple inches from his and God did you look even more beautiful up close.

His blush deepened when you reached for his tie, your brows furrowed in that adorable way he'd come to familiarize as you slowly did it for him.

Peter honestly didn't know what to do with his hands, yet there was some sort of pull that he couldn't resist, like an instinct as he gently rested them on your waist. He was distracted by how close you were, but not enough to miss the way your breath hitched at the contact. Testing the waters, he squeezed it gently, biting his cheek to stop his smile from growing when he saw your fingers falter.

But oh did the pride bubble in his chest.

You shook your head, finishing up his tie with a smile. It was Peter's breath that hitched this time when you smoothed it over his chest, your palms flat against the muscle, touch so sweet, skin so warm. You looked up, your smile faltering when your eyes met his.

He didn't know how long you stared at each other. He also didn't know who moved a little closer first, but he definitely wasn't complaining. Not when he was so close that he could count exactly how many eyelashes you had. And he gladly would've if your voice hadn't snapped him out of the trance that nobody could ever put him under but you.

"We should get going," you whispered, but you still lingered for a few more seconds, more than enough for his brain to run its course, thinking that maybe, his feelings for you weren't as unrequited as he thought.

It was the sound of a beeping alarm that broke you two apart.

"Come on, we can't be late," you said after a breath, flashing him a sweet smile before going to grab your things.

"Wait," he cleared his throat, patting around his pockets before finally retrieving a velvet box. You turned around just as he'd opened it, showing you the ring that resided inside.

Your eyes widened, lips opening and closing as you gawked at the sparkling diamond for a few seconds before you met his gaze. "Peter—"

"Oh shit! It's not what it looks like!" he panicked.

Peter did always find himself daydreaming about you often, and he would be lying if he said he hadn't already pictured something similar to this moment. But even he could recognize how many steps he'd basically jumped over by showing you a diamond ring. And as much as he would love to fast-forward to that part, he'd also like to take you out on a date first. Well, if he'd even get the courage to ask you that, anyway. 

"I-uh, you know, us, covering as an engaged couple? So, of course, uhm, you'll need an engagement ring?"

"O-Oh," you fumbled, nodding quickly before you offered him your left hand. "Yeah, of course."

Peter took it in his delicately, fingers running over your knuckles before he carefully slipped the ring on. Squeezing your hand, he reluctantly let go. 

"Did you pick this?" you asked, bringing your hand up to your face, fingers wiggling as you admired the ring.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, I did—well, Bucky helped."

"It's beautiful."

"It looks even more beautiful on you."

Your eyes snapped up to look at him, your smile growing as you hummed, "Charmer."

"It's the expensive suit." He shrugged, a teasing grin with a blush to match.

You laughed that lovely laugh of yours, adoration and pride swelling in his chest.

"Oh, Harley asked me to give you this," you said after a moment, pulling out a familiar pair of glasses before handing it to him. "He said it's all you need to do your magic."

"Nah, it's just a little tool kit I put together, really, kinda like a small computer so nothing magical about it," he chuckled, waving the glasses before putting them on. "It's carbon-based nanotech, passable through metal detectors. I've managed to look up what security system they had installed in the safe and there's sort of a minicomputer inside so it should be easy to bypass the system. I already have the program in here that would run through all the probable security codes so all I need to do is activate the glasses and it would automatically unscrew everything and connect to a hopefully pre-existing female micro-USB slot with the male counterpart in this old thing and—" he paused, face heating up as you gazed at him with a twinkle in your eyes. "What?"

"Nothing, just—you're amazing," you sighed, smile widening before you nodded. "Let's go?"

Peter ignored that way his whole body tingled at your praise and offered you his arm.

Not like it was a new reaction whenever he was around you, anyway.

"Let's."

•••

"Mr. Reid, the car is already waiting for you."

That was the first sentence Peter heard when you reached the hotel lobby. He looked behind him before looking at the man in a suit, pointing at himself in confusion.

"I'm not—"

"Lucas, honey, come on," you cut him off, slipping your fingers in his. You flashed him a knowing smile, squeezing his hand before you tugged him along as you followed the guy.

Right. Fake identities.

"Woah." Peter gawked at the car in front of him, leaning closer to you as he whispered, "Is that a Rolls Royce? Like, the new one?"

"Sort of. It's the Phantom Extended." You nodded with an amused smile. "The best way to blend in with the rich, don't you think?"

Peter was about to open the door for you but then the butler—at least, he assumed that was who he was—beat him to it. So, he opted on helping you with your dress instead, making sure it didn't get caught on anything as you settled inside.

"Thank you, my love," you giggled.

My love.

Peter luckily didn't slip on the expensive lambswool floor mat as he got into his seat.

It's pretend. Get a grip.

Once the car started moving, you pressed a button on the center console, the clear glass that separated the front and back immediately turning into an opaque white, completely secluding the two of you from the driver. He looked at you curiously, nervous—okay, and maybe a bit excited—as to why you decided you suddenly needed privacy. Peter had heard a lot of stories about what goes on in the rear cabin of expensive cars, especially with the partition up, so could it be—

"Did you get to read about our fake identities? The one Sam sent?"

Thinking with the wrong head again, aren't we, Parker?

"I, uhm, no, got too preoccupied with the ring and getting dressed," he admitted, looking at you guiltily. The mission had barely started and he was already messing it up. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, no, it's okay," you reassured with a smile, hand on his thigh, squeezing for good measure. He wasn't able to relish in the warmth of your touch for long as you shifted in your seat, turning around to face him. "I mean, everything is very last minute. I'll just tell you about it.

"Lucas Reid, the young 26-year-old and dashing CEO of Reid Enterprises. You inherited the company at nineteen when your father died of illness," you started.

Peter scrunched his nose. "So, basically, I'm a trust fund baby?"

"Sort of, but you do prove that you did the work," you said. "Company sales skyrocketed when you took the seat."

"What about you?" Peter gestured at your ring, blushing. "Well, apart from being my fiancée."

"I run my own fashion company." You shrugged, winking at him as you added, "Can't be living in my future husband's shadow now, can we?"

Future husband.

God how Peter wished for that to be true.

He shook his head, hands rubbing on his thighs. "Do we have a backstory? Like, as a couple?"

"Not much. Five years ago, we met in Milan during fashion week—"

"Let me guess, sparks flew right off the bat?" he chuckled.

"Love at first sight, obviously," you scoffed, rolling your eyes teasingly.

Not too far off from reality.

"Besides that, it's all the basics from there. Dates, extravagant gifts, and then two months ago, you proposed."

"Right," he started, bumping your knee with his lightly. "So, when's the wedding?"

You laughed, "We're not sure yet. Too busy."

"Of course," Peter sighed, rolling his eyes playfully. "Can't get me out of my office, now can you?"

"I have my ways," you hummed, wiggling your brows at him.

Peter was so sure his face had gone so red.

"You always do," he chuckled shyly, shaking his head before smiling at you. "Can we go over the plan real quick?"

You smiled. "Of course."

Peter knew what to do, obviously. He'd already gone over the plan probably a hundred times in his head. But he simply wanted to make sure he wasn't missing anything, especially something that could potentially jeopardize the whole mission. He couldn't afford even one single misstep, not when you and your safety could be put at risk—and the millions around the world that would suffer if those weapons got into the wrong hand, of course.

"We're almost there," you said once you've gone over the plans twice, eyes scanning across the windows. "It's just on the next turn."

Peter's heart quickened.

He didn't even notice that his emotions had gone evident on his face. Not until you squeezed his arm.

"You okay?" you asked, brows furrowed in concern.

"Yeah! Yeah, of course," he said quite unconvincingly. It was when he heard the ticking of the turn signal did his nerves shift to overdrive, his eyes wide as they met yours. "Shit, I don't think I can do this. I mean, I'm not usually out there with my face showing, you know? And I'm so so so not James Bond, I'm the farthest from James Bond I'm like, Lame Bond. I'm not smooth o-or charming or suave enough to be a spy—oh no. No, no, no, what if they find me out right away? I'm going to mess everything up and this is going to go horribly wrong and—"

"Hey!" you interjected, hands cupping his face, squishing his cheeks slightly as you pulled him closer, eyes boring into his with determination. Peter didn't know if it was the proximity that shut him up, or if it was your scent that overpowered his senses—probably both. "You're going to be fine. You've got this."

He gulped, nodding before letting out a shaky breath.

You smiled reassuringly, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, his skin turning redder with each caress. "Be observant, you don't have to talk. With this kind of crowd, trust me, the quiet ones are the most intimidating. If there's anything you feel like it's a bit off, trust your gut, and let me know, okay?"

"Okay," he breathed out, nuzzling into your palm absentmindedly, finding a sense of comfort from your warm touch.

"And if it gets overwhelming, just follow my lead."

•••

Peter got out of the car, nodding curtly with a tightlipped smile at the driver who opened the door for him.

He decided at the last minute that Lucas Reid was going to be a stoic, passively quiet CEO with a resting 'serious' face that only means business.

Peter straightened up his suit before he offered you his hand, the huge rock on your finger glinting underneath the city lights as your palm met his.

He gently guided you out of the car, helping you fix up your dress before offering you his arm. Your fingers curled around his bicep as you kissed his cheek with a soft thanks. Peter smiled at you warmly, pulling you closer to his side as you made your way inside the building.

Stoic and passive except towards his lovely fiancée, of course.

He might or might not have stumbled upon a few Mobster Spider-Man fanfictions on some website not too long ago. And he might or might not have taken some inspiration from it.

"Please take a basket to put your phones and any other electronic devices in and step under the detectors one by one," one guard instructed.

Adjusting his glasses, he pulled out his newly upgraded phone. It was sponsored by the Avengers obviously since he couldn't exactly rock up with his old, cracked one, with him being rich and everything. He smiled at the lock screen photo—it was of you and him, your lips pressed against his cheek, taken just a couple of hours ago to have photos to make this engaged couple gimmick believable—before he placed it in the basket you were holding up for him.

You smiled reassuringly before you stepped under the metal detector first, Peter following just closely after.

He let out a nervous breath when he saw how heavily armed the guards were. A variation of M17s and a couple of AK-47s were in the hands of fully uniformed men from head to toe. They look like your typical SWAT team, but Peter knew they were more dangerous than that, especially when their morals were as corrupted as he'd presumed.

He was an enhanced superhero, yes, but he sure as hell wasn't bulletproof. And as much as he could probably dodge a few shots, he would rather not take the gamble of finding out exactly how many he could avoid.

That wasn't what he was worried about, though. Because as he felt your fingers slip back into his, he was reminded of how vulnerable and defenseless you were. No superpowers, no bulletproof vests, still an amazing badass who without a doubt could take on two guys in a fight and win, but still a human who could get badly hurt by a simple pull of a trigger.

There were only so many bullets he could jump in front of you for.

"We're going to be fine," you whispered, squeezing his hand as if you could sense his worry. "I got your six."

Peter squeezed back. "And I've got yours."

The two of you stayed close to each other, arms linked as you headed towards the ballroom. But once the huge archway came into sight, you leaned closer to him.

"You go ahead," you whispered in his ear, squeezing his bicep. "I need to go to the bathroom."

Peter nodded.

He knew that some agents had already hidden some of your equipment hours before. Well, he hoped they successfully did, anyway. If not, then, you both might have to compromise.

Peter didn't know what exactly he was expecting when he entered the ballroom but it definitely wasn't as fancy as this.

The ballroom was grandiose in itself with its ornate marble columns and crown moldings, complementing the beautifully impressive murals that covered the ceilings. Even the red curtains that draped along the walls seemed far too luxurious for the mere fact that they were curtains for crying out loud.

Peter had never seen so many chandeliers hanging all in one space, not to mention, ones that seemed to be decked out in gold and crystals…or were those diamonds?

Everything was decorated with a color scheme of cream, black, silver, and gold, from the round tables and accompanying chairs. To contrast were various glass structures illuminated by some kind of light as they glinted and shimmered even from the corner of his eye. There was an open bar in one corner, a long table of finger foods and various desserts, and live music coming from the string quartet on a rotating, circular stage right in the center of a—is that an indoor fountain?

"Wow," you gasped as you appeared beside him, your eyes twinkling underneath the chandeliers. "It's gorgeous."

"Yeah," Peter sighed, eyes trained on the way your face glowed in awe as you admired the space. "Gorgeous."

Your smile brightened as you tilted your head, gaze meeting his. Then, your brows furrowed, stepping in front of him and eyeing the top of his head. "Come here. I need to fix up your hair."

Peter ducked his head without question, hands around your waist as he let you settle the mess of his windswept curls. He found the furrow of your brows absolutely adorable, but the way your tongue slightly poked out of your red lips made him want to just pull you in and kiss you senseless.

You tucked a few short strands behind his ear, gently pressing your thumb into his concha, the earpiece fitting snugly before he heard a faint crackle and then a deep voice.

"Parker, can you hear me?"

"Aye, aye, Captain," he muttered.

He heard a few snickers in the background followed by Sam scoffing sarcastically.

"My, aren't you two cute."

Peter's brows furrowed, confused eyes meeting yours. "What does he mean?"

"I answered the same way," you giggled, shrugging as you smoothed over his tie and buttoned up his suit jacket.

Peter's heart fluttered at that.

"We'll be on the line listening. Be discreet. Only communicate what's necessary."

You and Peter shot each other a look, grins widening into a knowing smirk.

"Aye, aye, Captain."

"Jesus Christ."

The line went quiet, presumably Sam muting their end until further notice.

Peter shook his head, chuckling before turning to you. "So, what now?"

"Scope," you said, waving back at a random woman who was making their way over to you both. You turned to him with a smile. "And mingle."

•••

Peter was so far out of his element.

He was already a terrible liar when under pressure, stuttering and blubbering until he would end up telling the truth. And that was around people he got along with.

Now how was he supposed to make small talk with the rich all while pretending to be rich himself when he clearly was not?

His best course of action? He didn't talk.

It fit well with the persona he'd created, anyway.

He was mostly following your advice—well, more like literally following you around. He was like your trophy fiancé in some way, and honestly, Peter wasn't opposed to it.

You were taking charge, and all he had to do was scope the scene, nod and smile whenever he was acknowledged while mostly speaking only to you.

From an outsider's point of view, he probably looked like such a puppy for his girl, only meeting your eyes, hovering by your side, his attention and touch always on you. A hand on the small of your back, an arm around your waist as he hung onto every word that slipped past your beautiful red-painted lips. For them, he was simply a man completely enamored by his soon-to-be wife. So it definitely sold this whole fiancé gimmick you two got going on.

Then again, it wasn't like he had to pretend that much, either. It wasn't hard to act all smitten with you because he already was. And, okay, he was playing it up a little. Peter would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy acting like you were his and he was yours, even if it was only for a mission.

Other than that, he also quite enjoyed indulging in the food and beverages that were paraded around by the waiters. It tasted so good, so obviously made with high-quality and expensive ingredients, but most importantly free. Could you blame him for taking advantage of it?

He was being an opportunist, he was well aware, which was why he didn't think much about downing the very tasty champagnes they offered, especially when he was free from any consequence that the drink brought—well, one of the consequences.

Because as much as he was immune to the buzz of the alcohol, he couldn't say the same for the effects it brought on his bladder.

It didn't really expand when his abilities got enhanced.

With how utterly gorgeous you looked tonight, it shouldn't have surprised him that the second he left your side, some men in this gala would take his absence as an opportunity to make a move.

He might've been acting like a guard dog, he admits, glaring at anyone who dared to glance at you wrongly. You were "his fiancée" after all, he was simply playing the part of your possessive protective husband-to-be.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

But still, when he came back after his little bathroom break, Peter wasn't too keen on what he saw.

You were talking to some dark-haired man wearing a bold, fully gold-colored suit and an even bolder beard. He didn't look old, but he didn't exactly look young, either. Or perhaps his facial hair played a part in that regard. He was—as much as he hated to say it—well-built and good-looking. If Peter was to guess, he was probably in his early 30s.

The interaction looked innocent enough, and Peter wouldn't have found it a big deal if this guy wasn't eyeing you up like you were a piece of meat.

"Amelia Devonché," the man greeted, his French accent thick, his flirtatious tone, even thicker.

So that's your fake name.

"The one and only," you said, smiling as you tilted your head. "Although I don't think we've been introduced."

"Halbert Auclair," he said, bowing as he held out an open palm.

Halbert? What kind of name is that?

"Pleasure to meet you," you hummed, slipping your hand into his.

"Pleasure's all mine. You look quite lovely tonight, mademoiselle," he crooned, bringing the back of your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

Peter's jaw clenched, an intensely heated emotion boiling his blood, only relaxing slightly when he heard your fake giggle.

He'd heard your real one enough to differentiate the two.

"Why, thank you, monsieur."

Clouded by his emotions, Peter took long strides towards you, swiftly wrapping a possessive arm around your waist and pulling you to his side, kissing your temple and then, without thought, near the corner of your mouth.

Your eyes snapped to meet his, a fleeting look of surprise on your features before you quickly masked it with a smile. "This is my fiancé—"

"Lucas Reid, one of the youngest yet richest CEOs here today," Halbert interjected, offering his hand out to shake.

"Hmm," Peter said with a curt nod, his grip a little tighter when he shook it.

"Man with few words, I see," Halbert chuckled dryly, flexing his fingers once they were free from his hold.

Peter bit his cheek to stop a smirk, pushing his glasses up before slipping his hand into his pocket, looking at you with a much more relaxed smile.

"My fiancé isn't great with crowds. Always stuck in his office, he is. The only thing in his mind is the business, and well, me," you gushed, resting your left hand on his chest, tilting your head to flash him a smile. "Am I right, handsome?"

"Very much so, darling," Peter said, unaware of how his voice sounded. He was still running on jealousy that he couldn't help but gently take your hand from his chest, bringing the back of it to his lips and then kissing the diamond ring on your finger. He smiled at you sweetly as he ran his thumb over your knuckles. "You still owe me a dance, my love."

You blinked a few times, lips parting before you shook your head with a soft laugh, "Oh, yes! How can I forget."

"Have a lovely night, madem—"

Peter didn't even wait for him to finish his sentence as he gently ushered you towards the dance floor, just in time for the string quartet to play their version of Quando, Quando, Quando.

So…he didn't quite think this through.

Peter had no idea how to dance.

His boiling jealousy was quickly replaced with nervousness and dread as you guided his hands, one on your waist, the other curled around yours.

You were so blatantly staring at him that his nerves could only grow tenfold. It was only a matter of time before you realized just how jealous he acted. Hell, he only just realized it after the emotion had left his system. And despite avoiding your eyes, he could still sense it, how you were trying to figure out why he'd done what he just did.

Peter cleared his throat, "Something wrong?"

"Are you okay?" you countered, placing your hand on his shoulder before moving to the music.

He didn't know if he should be thankful or slightly embarrassed that you were the one leading the dance. But then again, there probably would never be a time when Peter wouldn't follow your lead—dancing or otherwise.

He'd follow you to the ends of the earth if he could.

It was working, though, bodies synchronously swaying to the sound of strings as if you'd done this plenty of times before. It was either a testament to how good you were at basically everything—a quick learner, a leader, a teacher and hell, a dancer—or just how well you two complemented each other.

Peter believed it was both.

"Yeah," Peter chuckled timidly, eyes trained on the ground to avoid your eyes and to make sure he wouldn't step on your foot. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seemed…" you paused, hand squeezing his shoulder lightly. "Angry."

Peter blushed.

Jealous. Not angry.

"I'm not," he brushed off, shaking his head. "Got nothing to be angry about."

"Right," you hummed, and it sounded like you didn't believe him at all.

"Did I mess up?" Peter sighed, worried eyes finally meeting your curious ones.

"What? No. You just came off as quiet which isn't a big deal," you reassured, smile widening with amusement. "Where did that South London accent come from, though?"

"Wait." Peter blinked, frowning. "I did an accent?"

"Yeah, you did," you laughed. "Which I didn’t even know you could do."

"I guess I was too nervous to even realize," he admitted, chuckling. "I've been binge-watching The Great British Bake Off lately, maybe I just picked it up."

"So nervousness makes you do accents," you hummed, smiling. "Interesting."

"What?" He narrowed his eyes at you teasingly. "Don't tell me you like a British accent too, like, half the world apparently."

"It's cute," you admitted with a shrug. "But I like your accent more."

Peter blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah, I like the kid from Queens," you said nonchalantly.

Peter almost stepped on your foot. If you weren't a trained spy with quite good reflexes, you might've gone home with a bruised toe.

You shook your head, giggling as you pulled him back to the rhythm of the dance. "You're going to have to keep the charade if you speak to other people, now, though"

"Yeah, didn't really think about that." Peter scrunched up his face, clearing his throat before he looked at you shyly. "I really don't dance."

"Well, you're doing great so far," you hummed, pulling him closer as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Peter secured his on your waist then, both of you gliding across the dance floor to the symphony of the strings as you held each other's gaze. It was impressive, really, that this was the first time you both danced together, but danced like two spiders spinning their silks in a synchronized choreography to create a large heart-shaped web.

Then, he felt bold, confident.

He didn't know if it was from that same pull from earlier tonight, his senses being muddled by your overpowering presence, your warm body pressed so close against him, or the sweet lure of the music that added something to the air.

Perhaps it was everything all at once.

But Peter couldn't help but lean even closer, the tips of your noses just a hair's breadth away.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, his gaze fluttering across your face before meeting your eyes.

Peter reveled in the way your smile got shy.

"You've said that already."

"Once will never be enough."

You shook your head with a giggle, eyes twinkling, "And you said you aren't smooth."

"Like I said," he started, lowering his voice, shrugging with a teasing grin, "It's the expensive suit."

Peter's heart warmed at your sweet laugh, that certain pull growing stronger at the lovely sound. He dipped his head, noses touching before he pressed his forehead against yours. He squeezed your waist when your breath hitched, warm and inviting as it tickled his lips, tempting, oh so close—

"Ahem."

You both jerked back, eyes wide with surprise.

"Sam! You've ruined it!" Peter heard Wanda hiss through the earpiece.

"He was finally getting somewhere!" And that was Harley.

Peter's whole face grew hot with embarrassment, squeezing your waist, still keeping you close as he looked away.

He completely forgot about the comms being live and open to everyone back at the compound.

Then again, all of them had been suspiciously quiet until now. 

"Well, damn, I'm sorry? But this is an important mission, not a radio drama?"

"You just had to cockblock—"

"I'm surprised you even know what that means, you white fossil—"

You cleared your throat, smiling at Peter shyly. "Any intel?"

"I think that French dude is our bad guy," he answered swiftly, ready to change the subject or else his knees might go out.

"Auclair?" You raised a brow at him with a smirk. "How so?"

Peter might sound like he had a vendetta against the guy who shamelessly flirted with you. But, he did have a few points to back his claim.

"It's kinda weird how quickly he knew about us. Unless he stole the guest list and researched every single one of the names or he's the host. Also, he really made a point in stating how rich I am. You only do that when you want money for the auction. And if that's not proof enough—" Peter pulled a black and silver playing card out of his pocket, the same one Halbert gave to him during the handshake. "Seven of hearts, well, kinda. It's more arrows than it is hearts. All of them are pointing downward no matter which way you turn it. Look—" He turned the card, an almost holographic effect as the arrows remained south. "That's not how normal playing cards are. So I assume it means downstairs to the secret auction. And we've got about an hour max until it's seven. And if that's not obvious enough—" Peter showed you the back, tilting it to the light to expose the words 'Big Toys, Bigger Guns' in the middle in gold lettering.

"Cheesy, but it works," he finished.

"That's a really good catch, wow," you praised, grinning proudly. "Someone's getting the hang of this already, huh?"

"Watching those James Bond movies finally paid off, I guess," he chuckled, nodding at you. "Plus, I got a good teacher."

You smiled. "Keep a careful eye on him," you instructed, snorting a little when he all but glared when he found the man. You squeezed his slightly tensed shoulders. "Subtlety."

"I don't think I need to be subtle because he keeps eyeing you like he stands a chance as if the rock on your finger isn't big enough. You're my fiancée. So me glaring at some guy with too much beard who looks at you far too long for comfort let alone appropriate isn't out of the ordinary," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Men are pigs I tell you."

"Someone's committed to the bit," you teased, smiling far too bright for it to be innocent. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're jealous."

Peter quickly snatched a champagne flute from the tray when a waiter walked past, handing it to you with a small curtsy.

"You look parched, my darling."

You rolled your eyes but took the glass anyway, your grin telling him that maybe you like the accent more than you were letting on.

But she likes your accent more.

Peter couldn't stop his heart from melting at the thought.

He was also glad that his distraction worked, his jealousy hopefully forgotten as he guided you toward the bar once the song finished.

"Door's unguarded," you murmured against the glass, sipping gingerly before you handed it back to him. "Stay here and keep an eye out. I'll find us a key."

Peter nodded, sitting on one of the stools as he carefully and deliberately followed your movement. Not that he thought you couldn't handle yourself, but an extra pair of eyes will always be better than none. Also, he was being observant of his surroundings, his enhanced senses helping in making sure there wasn't anything suspicious going on, keeping him on high alert in case he needed to jump in.

He watched with pride as you slyly stole a keycard from a gullible enough guard who was too distracted by your flirting. It was an impressively swift sleight of hand that if he wasn't paying attention enough, he would've missed it.

Still, Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes at how stupid and easy these guards tend to be, any focus and rational thought out the window all because of an alluring smirk, a teasing touch and a glimpse of skin—the simplest seduction from one gorgeous woman.

But then again, he wasn't exactly one to talk. Because as innocent as a bright smile from you, Peter would literally do anything you ask him to.

He was far too focused on you that he didn't even realize that someone had replaced your seat, not until he heard his name—well, the fake one.

"Lucas Reid."

Peter turned, eyes landing on a woman wearing a gold dress, curled, long hair framing a somewhat familiar face. Peter wasn't blind, he could see she was objectively pretty. But she simply could never hold a candle next to his gorgeous fiancée—fake or otherwise.

"Greta Auclair," she said with a smile, holding out her hand.

Peter didn't miss the flirtatious undertone in her actions. How could he when she was so adamant on fluttering her eyelashes at him, or the way she wasn't subtle at pushing up her chest, the low-cut top doing so little to hide…it? Them?

Not that he was looking. It was simply in his line of sight.

"Auclair," he hummed, shaking her hand briefly as he tried to make sure his accent didn't sound so forced. He honestly didn't know why he decided to make things harder for himself. "Any relation to Halbert?"

"Twin sister," she waved off, flipping her hair to one side.

Peter nodded without another word, attention swiftly shifting to search for you in the crowd.

"I must say, I've heard a lot of things about you," she hummed as she leaned forward, fingers curling around his bicep, gold-colored, manicured nails glinting underneath the light as she squeezed the muscle. "Apart from being a quiet man, of course."

Peter's resolve faltered a little, the gesture completely catching him off guard.

What's up with this family and overstepping personal space?

"Good things, I hope." He smiled tightly, crossing his arms over his chest, subtly shaking her hand off.

"Oh yes, very good things," she giggled, hand on his thigh as she leaned forward with a smirk. Winking, she added, "Naughty ones, too."

Peter gulped as he leaned back.

"O-Oh, uh—"

"Lucas."

He quickly spun around on his stool to the sound of your voice, facing you fully. His eyes widened in surprise as you gently nudged his knees apart but he didn't even hesitate to make room for you to stand in between. He placed his hands on your hips when you pulled him closer, your arms snaking around his neck.

Peter didn't know exactly what was going on, but he certainly wasn't complaining. Besides, like he said before, he would always follow your lead.

Yet still, he looked up at you in both curiosity and confusion, trying to gauge what was going through your mind. But you certainly were better at reading people than he was. Or perhaps that was you simply being a master at masking your emotions. Because apart from the slight edge on your smile, he was coming up empty.

"You must be Amelia," Greta interrupted.

Your grip on Peter's shoulder tightened, eyes rolling with a scowl before you turned to Greta with a forced smile. "Yes, hi."

Peter's brows raised at your uninterested tone, even more when you didn't even bother prolonging the conversation as you turned back to him, body leaning closer.

Interesting…

"Can you help me find the bathroom?" you purred, tone seductively sweet to match the implication of your words. You pressed your chest against his, faces only inches apart as your fingers played with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

Peter short circuited.

He merely stared at you in awe, blood growing hot, heart pumping erratically as his grip on your waist tightened.

Peter would be lying if he said he wasn't at the least bit turned on.

"Please?" you added with a pout when he didn't manage to speak for a good few seconds.

It was the slight pinch on his skin that snapped him out of it.

"Of course, my love," he said, clearing the lump in his throat as he hastily stood up.

Peter wasn't even given the time to get his bearings straight when you immediately took his hand in yours, pulling him away from the bar and down the hallway. He squinted at the sudden brightness of the ceiling lights, greatly illuminating the cream wallpaper with intricate gold-colored patterns, similar crown molding from those in the ballroom, and various paintings hanging on the walls for guests to admire. The space was obviously still for public access, but it was relatively empty.

Once you two were alone, you didn't bother hiding your emotions. And Peter could clearly tell that you were angry.

It was making him slightly nervous.

"Is everything okay?"

You ignored him.

Peter frowned when pulled your hand from his and put some distance between you. He watched as you tensely opened a metal door, entering in haste without looking back. He ran after you to avoid getting locked out, the two of you entering another much smaller hallway that could only fit one person at a time. It was more of a tunnel, to be honest.

He never liked it when you were upset, especially during a high-risk mission. But most of all, he hated disappointing you, and with the way you were acting, he could only assume he'd done something wrong.

Peter was hot on your tail, carefully watching your every sharp turn, just to make sure he wasn't going to lose you. Though, it wasn't long until you two emerged into a hallway that was similar to before.

You were staring straight ahead, heels clicking angrily as the skirt of your dress rapidly swished with every harsh step.

Oh you were pissed.

"Did I do something?"

"You shouldn't be distracted on the job," you said, tone clipped.

"But I wasn't distracted," he defended, his frown deepening.

"Flirting, distracted, same thing," you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "It's not the time to woo girls. This is not a frat party."

Flirting? Woo girls?

"But I wasn't flirt—wait," he paused, his smile breaking out as realization dawned on him.

He could be quite oblivious sometimes, but he was not dumb. This wasn't going over his head, not when the way you were acting looked far too familiar. He'd seen the same thing happen only a couple of minutes ago, after all.

Because you weren't angry. 

Much like how he wasn't angry moments before your dance.

Peter stopped, looking at you carefully with arms crossed over his chest, smirking as he quoted your words,

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're jealous."

You halted in your tracks, shoulders straightening with a huff before you continued walking.

It told Peter everything he needed to know.

He couldn't wipe off his smirk, pride bubbling in his chest, confidence boosted that little bit more as he jogged after you.

"There's going to be two guards at the door," you instructed monotonously once he reached your side, eyes avoiding him. "I'll distract one. You take care of the other one."

Peter stood straighter with a salute, still grinning from ear to ear.

"Yes ma'am."

You rolled your eyes, but he didn't miss the way the corner of your lips quirked up.

•••

"Excuse me, ma'am, this area is restricted."

"Oh, dear! My apologies, is this not where the bathroom is?" you gasped, and Peter was impressed at how clueless you sounded. If he didn't know you beforehand, he never would've guessed that you'd be one of the most elite and smartest spies there ever was. "Would either of you fine gentlemen guide me to where it is?"

Peter heard the two guards grumble before one spoke up gruffly, "Go. I've got this covered,"

"Yay!" you giggled, clapping your hands excitedly. "Thank you so much!"

Peter couldn't stop his grin at how cute you were.

When you and the other guard were out of sight, Peter made a run for it. Guard Two only caught a split-second glimpse of him before his fist harshly connected with their jaw, wincing when he heard a faint crack.

"Sorry," Peter whispered with a grimace, standing straight and adjusting his glasses. "Didn't mean to hit that hard."

He quickly turned towards the sound of grunts and hisses, fists colliding against muscles and then a body falling onto the floor. He rushed towards where you disappeared, entering the hallway just in time to see you fixing up your dress. Your eyes met his when he walked over to you, your smile sweet yet proud.

"Need a lil help carrying this guy," you said, gesturing behind you.

He nodded with a chuckle, eyes trained on your face once he reached your side before his brows furrowed.

"You got a little—" Before he could think about it, he reached a hand up, thumb rubbing over the corner of your mouth, attempting to get rid of the smudged lipstick.

He couldn't help but stare, easily putting him in a trance as he smoothed his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it away slightly before letting it plop back, your warm breath tickling his skin when your lips parted.

Your little outburst of jealousy earlier might've boosted his confidence a lot more than he'd initially let on.

"Peter," you murmured. "The guard."

"Oh! Right," he cleared his throat, moving over to the unconscious guard, hauling them over his shoulder effortlessly as if they weighed nothing. He walked over to the second guard, doing the same over his other shoulder. When he turned around, he saw you standing there, brow raised. He shrugged, smirking. "Super strength."

You shook your head, rolling your eyes, "Show off."

Peter laughed.

After carrying both guards into the room—unlocked thanks to their keycards and fingerprints—you busied yourself with their weapons.

Peter was looking through the various crates and boxes, all labeled with familiar and not-so-familiar logos, some in different languages, while others were completely blank. Some items weren't hidden at all, from high-tech guns in glass displays to alien guns in wooden crates, various iterations of vibranium shields, and holy shit, is that a Wakandan spear?

"Where the hell did they get all of these? This is so much ammo in one room—"

Peter's words died in his throat when his eyes landed on you.

You were leaning over, one foot resting on one of the boxes on the floor, your fingers grazing your leg as you carefully pulled your skirt up inch by tempting inch until your thigh was exposed to him. Your gun holster later came into view, the straps squeezing the supple flesh tightly and fuck—

Peter had never wanted to be an inanimate object so badly ever in his life.

He quickly averted his gaze when you pulled your skirt back down. He pretended to read the labels on some crates as he cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt because Jesus it's getting really hot in here.

"Take this," you said, walking over to him with your hand extended, your fingers curled around the barrel of a gun.

Peter's eyes widened as he looked at the gun and then at you. "We haven't gotten to this part of my training yet."

"Come on, you've seen some movies."

"Since when did movies become tutorials?"

You stared at him for a moment, shaking your head with a chuckle before holding up the gun before him to demonstrate.

"Safety on when you don't want to shoot, safety off when you want to shoot," you said, flicking the pin on the side of the gun. "Cock it only once. It's semi-automatic so after that, all you need is to pull the trigger for continuous shots. Grip with two hands, dominant hand tight around it, other hand on top. Don't try to be arrogant by holding it with only one, especially when you've never fired a gun in your life. Point and shoot, simple. Make sure you aim at the bad guy, though."

You took his hand and placed the gun in his palm, smiling at him sweetly as if you hadn't just given him a loaded weapon.

"Got it?"

Peter stared at you dumbfounded, gulping as he held it to his chest, "That's definitely not all there is to it when using a gun."

"Hey, don't worry," you said reassuringly, squeezing his shoulder. "It's just for precaution. You might not even need to use it."

Peter nodded with a sigh, staring at the gun in his hand before he slipped into the hem of his pants, snuggly kept there by his belt.

Rookie mistake.

"Make sure the safety is on before you put it there, wouldn't want an accident to happen."

Peter froze before he quickly pulled it out, aiming the barrel as far away from him as possible.

He groaned in utter embarrassment when you laughed.

"Can you just carry it for me?" he asked, pouting for good measure. "Please?"

"You're fine," you giggled, gesturing at your leg. "And I only have one thigh holster."

Yeah. I saw.

"I really don't want to shoot myself in the balls," he said, physically shuddering as he screwed his eyes shut. "And I think you're aware of how clumsy I get sometimes."

You laughed out loud, shaking your head as you moved back toward one of the unconscious guards. Peter watched you curiously as you started checking their suits, a faint 'aha!' leaving your lips before you started taking one of their jackets off.

Peter's brows shot up. "What are you—"

"Jacket off," you interjected, showing him a shoulder holster. He did as told as you walked back to him. You helped him slip the harness on, clicking buckles and adjusting the straps before taking his gun and slotting it in soon after. You tilted your head as you smooth it over him. "Better?"

"Much," he breathed out, smiling at you gratefully as he slipped his jacket back on. "Thanks."

You returned his grin, patting his chest before you went and looked for the safe.

Which didn't take too long.

"They could've at least made it inconspicuous, shit's too easy," you scoffed, gesturing at the safe that had a huge American flag on it, stars and eagles, too, as if it wasn't obvious enough. You looked at him with a knowing smile. "Do your magic."

Peter squatted in front of it, taking his glasses off and twisting the nose bridge. There was a soft whirring sound before the glasses turned into a mini, android spider.

Carbon-based nanotech will always impress him. Imperceptible to metal detectors all while never losing its function and durability.

"Of course it's a tiny spider," you muttered, delight laced in your tone.

"What?" He looked at you over his shoulder with a teasing pout, holding up the spider in his palm. "You don't like him?"

You purse your lips, shaking your head before meeting his eyes. "He's cute."

"And hopefully he works, too," he said, turning back to the safe before carefully placing the little guy on the keypad. It took a few moments for the mechanical spider to do its thing. Peter let out the breath he was holding when the safe opened without a hitch. He looked at you with a grin, gesturing at the device inside. "Voilà."

You scrunched up your face. "And that proves that you can't be good at everything."

"Hey!" he gasped. "It wasn't that bad."

"Just leave the French accent alone," you teased, though your eyes were shining with admiration. "But that brain of yours is definitely something else."

Peter blushed, waving your compliment off, "Nah, it's just—"

"Shut up, Parker," you scoffed playfully, but your smile was genuine. "You're incredibly smart and annoyingly amazing. It's not up for discussion."

"Thanks," he chuckled shyly, cheeks turning redder. He gestured at the nuclear football, before looking up at you. "You have the decoy, right?"

"Oh, right." You nodded, reaching into the neckline of your dress before you pulled the rectangular device out, showing it to him with a proud grin.

Peter stared at you, mouth agape.

"What?" you snorted, shaking your head at his surprised face. "I don't have pockets!"

"You could've asked me to carry it."

"I can't exactly bring you with me into the ladies' restroom now, can I?" you said, shrugging. "And I couldn't just hand it to you in the middle of the ballroom with all those people."

"Touché," he hummed, taking the device from your hands. His brows furrowed as he turned it in his palm. "Is it supposed to be warm?"

"It's been with the girls in the past hour or so, of course it's going to be warm."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he tried not to let his curious thoughts wander.

He was failing, though. Miserably so.

Because holding the device when it's been in your boobs made him wonder exactly how warm your boobs would actually feel if it was direct contact, right in the palm of his—

"What?" you asked, none the wiser, briefly. Because then it was immediate, the realization crossing your face, probably noticing just how red his face had gotten. "Oh my god—Peter!"

"Sorry!" he squeaked, hurriedly turning his back on you, focusing on the task at hand.

"My boobs are clean, by the way."

"That wasn't the route my thoughts went to," he grumbled.

"Yeah, I figured," you giggled. "Just wanted to confirm."

He rolled his eyes even though you couldn't see him.

Focus. You got this.

But just as he was about to switch the devices, you moved closer to him, bending over until you were at eye level with the safe, your scent overpowering to the point of being distracting.

"Y/N," Peter sighed, head hanging low as his hand fell onto his sides. "You're making me really nervous when you're breathing down my neck."

"Sorry! Sorry," you laughed, heels clicking as you moved further behind him. "I'll just…step back."

With bated breath yet careful fingers, Peter swiftly switched the devices, blowing out his cheeks in relief when nothing happened.

"Great job, Pete."

He shot you a smile over his shoulder and closed the safe, letting his spider friend reverse its steps before taking him off the safe, pressing its tiny tummy for it to turn back into glasses.

Peter put it back on, running his fingers through his hair before turning to you.

You beamed and held out your palm.

But just as he was about to hand you the device, he quickly pulled it back with narrowed eyes.

"Are you putting this in your boobs again?"

You stared at him in amusement. "I didn't grow any pockets at the last minute, so yes."

"Don't you think it's dangerous?" he reasoned, carefully waving the device to get his point across. "I mean, this is the real thing."

"It's not radioactive," you chuckled. "It's not going to suddenly blow up."

"We don't know that—"

"Hey, don't worry," you hummed, your reassuring smile turning mischievous. "I'll still have my boobs at the end of this mission."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm concerned about you, like, as a whole person."

"Yeah, I know, and that includes my boobs."

He groaned, "Is this becoming a thing?"

You shook your head, laughing, "No, no, I just didn't think I'd find out that you're a boob guy, during a mission, no less."

"I'm not a boob guy," he scoffed.

Peter was a you guy, to be honest, as in you as a whole person—eyes, boobs, lips, butt, thighs, everything included.

And personality, obviously.

You laughed, leaning close to kiss him on the cheek, throwing him off-guard that you were able to take the device from him without breaking a sweat.

Peter sighed in defeat.

He really wasn't any better than any of the guards in this building.

"Come on," you called, hands now free, the device properly hidden with 'the girls' as you opened the door for him. "We need to get going."

•••

You both were navigating your way back into the ballroom when the hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood up.

"People incoming," he warned, grabbing your hand as you pulled you down a hallway. His enhanced hearing just about picked up the sound of guns being loaded. "Armed."

"How many?" you asked, your free hand picking up your skirt as you walked even faster.

He tried to listen closely, calculating the footsteps that echoed down the hall sans both of yours

"Four," he confirmed, brow raising. "Maybe Five."

"That's too many. The minute they'll see us, they're going to get suspicious. It's going to be too late for both of us to take all of them down without at least one sending a signal," you rushed, testing out every door down the halls in hopes that you'd get lucky. "We need to find a place to hide."

"Shit," Peter cursed, looking from left to right of the hall. "They're coming from both sides."

"In here!"

He wasn't given much to process your words when you all but grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pushed him inside a room. The space was quick to grow smaller when you followed suit, your dress knocking over a broom on your way in.

Of course it had to be a janitor's closet.

As if his life wasn't already filled with enough clichés.

Peter grabbed the handle to pull the door close, darkness swallowing you both as it clicked shut. He felt around the metal knob only for his fingers to fall on an entirely flat surface.

"There's no lock," he said, so deathly confused. "What kind of door has no lock?"

"Quiet!" you hissed, pressing your palm over his mouth.

Peter stared at you wide-eyed, his pupils slowly adjusting to the lack of light that he was only now able to gauge just how close you two were.

"Listen," you whispered.

He nodded, closing his eyes as he concentrated on distinguishing the voices.

"The guards have been knocked out."

"Nothing is missing in the room."

"Still, check everything. Be on high alert for anything out of the ordinary."

Peter's eyes snapped open, panic settling in as he heard the footsteps growing nearer.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed, voice muffled by your palm. You removed your hand, eyes confused yet expectant. He explained in hurried whispers, "They're not suspicious of anything being stolen yet but they're coming this way. If we get caught, they're going to immediately find out what we're up to and we're doomed."

Peter watched as your face went through different types of emotions. First, it was worry, a flicker of panic crossing your eyes only to be replaced by something else entirely. The crease between your brows deepened, lips pursed as you tilted your head.

It was that all too familiar thinking face he'd grown to adore.

A second later, your brows shot up, eyes wide, and—if he didn't know any better—twinkling as if a light bulb lit up on top of your head.

"Not unless we make them believe we're just some couple needing a quick fix."

"What?" Peter asked, confused.

You only gave him a sheepish smile and a barely-there whisper of,

"I'm sorry."

Peter wasn't given the time to ask what you were apologizing for when you suddenly grabbed him by the nape of his neck and crashed your lips against his.

He stumbled, his back hitting the shelves. Although the way his head was spinning was definitely not because of the impact.

Peter groaned, kissing you back immediately and with fervor, his hands gripping your waist, head tilting as he pulled you closer.

He shivered when your hand moved down his chest before moving inside his jacket, only realizing that you were slipping the nuclear football between the holster, tugging the straps a little tighter to stop it from slipping out.

Then, you guided his hands, much like with your dance earlier. Yet this time, one landed on your exposed thigh as you hiked your leg against his waist, placing the other on top of your ass.

Peter felt like he was about to faint.

But with every bit of respect he had for you—which was a lot—he still hesitated. 

He was unsure as to how far he was allowed to go, deeply worried to cross the line of no return. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable by pushing your boundaries.

He also didn't want to ruin everything he had with you. Whether that was you being his friend or you being his teammate, he really didn't want to lose any of it.

Peter didn't want to lose you.

"It's okay," you whispered against his lips, probably sensing his inner turmoil. "Touch me, Peter."

That was the last thing that made any sliver of his self-control snap.

He growled, squeezing your ass and your thigh simultaneously, pulling your body flush against his as if you could go any closer.

Your gasp was met by a low groan, your hand fisting his jacket as the other took home in his styled hair.

The door swung open, a momentary stream of light illuminating the tiny room. There was a disgusted growl before the door slammed close, darkness covering you both again but neither of you stopped.

Peter gripped your hips, pushing you back slightly until you were the one pressed against the closed door. He cupped the back of your neck, arm curling your waist as he slotted his thigh in between yours in a desperate need to be inhumanly closer.

Your soft moan just about made his knees buckle.

It also made him feel daring enough to gently tease his tongue against your bottom lip. You let him in with his ease, both of you moaning as your tongues did their own dance inside your mouth.

It was intoxicating.

The faint taste of champagne mixing with the taste of you. 

It was something that Peter probably spent a great amount of time thinking about yet nothing in his imagination ever came close. No matter what his brain had conjured in the past, it could never do you justice.

It was addicting.

Your pretty little sighs in response to his soft groans, how you were everywhere, your scent, your taste, your overwhelming warmth engulfing his very being. Peter was drowning in all things you, the very thing that could make him breathe again.

It was too much, yet he needed more.

You were so close, but not close enough.

Peter's hands glided down your body until he was cupping your ass, their warmth settling on each of his palms. But just as he was about to tell you to jump up into his arms, you placed a firm hand on his chest.

Your lips detached with a soft pop, the back of your head softly thumping against the door. You gasped for air, hands fisting his jacket before you rested your forehead against his.

He really needed to remember the fact that he could hold his breath longer than any average human could.

Peter put his hands back on your waist, fingers squeezing as he nudged your nose.

"Y/N, I—"

"Like you, too."

Peter's eyes widened, head pulling back as he stared at you in shock. Whatever confession he had left his brain, a lump caught in his throat, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he failed to string any letter into words.

Oh boy he was flustered.

The thought of you, you, someone so confident, someone who is way out of his league liking him back, him, little nerdy, dorky, stumbly old Peter Parker, it made his heart soar.

"I'm a trained spy, Pete, I know how to read people," you giggled when he stayed silent for a few seconds. "It's written all over your face. You really haven't been subtle about it the whole night, either."

"I don't think subtlety is my specialty," he whispered, a shy smile growing on his lips as he pressed his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses brushing in the sweetest of ways.

"It really isn't." You nodded in agreement with a wide smile of your own.

"So I don't think I need to be subtle about this," he started, gaze holding yours. He was nervous, but if he didn't say this out loud, he might just explode. "I'm falling for you."

"You're so cliché," you giggled, his cheeks growing hot, his whole body melting, his heart jumping out of his chest and landing straight into the palm of your hand when you added, "I'm falling for you, too."

"Really?" he asked, surprised yet his voice came out a little shy.

It was obvious enough. The words had been said. But he wanted to make sure because this just seemed like one big lucid dream and he'd actually die if he were to wake up any moment now.

"I mean, I haven't been subtle about it either," you giggled, kissing him briefly yet sweetly, brushing your nose with his as you breathed out, "But yeah, I do. I feel so strongly for you Peter that I just—I feel nervous, I feel giddy, I feel safe and appreciated and I just feel so, so happy whenever I'm around you and I just, whatever I did in the past didn't matter because you accept me for me and I trust that you've got the best intentions, I trust you with my life, and you're just the sweetest most thoughtful and I'm just glad to have known you and—" you paused, shaking your head with a soft laugh, "I'm such a sap."

God this felt like a dream come true.

"I like you being a sap," he chuckled shyly. "But I'm just…me, though."

"Exactly," you confirmed, smile genuinely laced with pride. "You're brilliant, Peter Parker. How can I not fall for you?"

Peter's cheeks were starting to hurt with how wide his smile was, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining.

"You're so way out of my league," he whispered, arms wrapping around your waist.

"I could say the exact same thing to you," you giggled, pecking his lips. "But let's debate about this another time, yeah? We still got some codes to find and a bad guy to catch," you said, turning around swiftly to face the door before he could even have a chance to stop you.

"Wait, don't—" Peter sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on your waist tightening as his face landed on the juncture between your neck and shoulder. Your back was against his chest, bodies pressed up far too close. "—move," he lowly groaned against your skin.

"Oh."

Peter felt his whole body heat up from embarrassment. Because he knew you could definitely feel it behind you. He could hear the fast pace of your heart, and if that wasn't a tell-tale sign, he didn't know what was. And no matter how much he tried to pull away, even just slightly, the small space of the closet wasn't letting him do so.

"I'm sorry, I am so, so, so sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen I—"

He tried to move away from you again, but clumsily elbowed the shelf on his right instead which made a few empty buckets topple over from the top. He quickly pulled you back to avoid you getting hit by the falling cleaning supplies, but in turn, it made your ass press against him a little harder.

"Fuck," he groaned, body going rigid when you gasped. You probably think he was a proper pervert now. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do that either. And I tried to control it I swear but it's just—my senses are enhanced and you're so close and that kiss was really hot and you're even hotter and your ass really feels nice in my hands—shit! I shouldn't have said that, I should not have said that. I mean not! Not that it's untrue, it's very, very true. You've got a really pretty and nice ass and I should really shut up goddammit—"

You cut him off with a giggle, head tilting to the side as your fingers reached up, burying it in his now messy brown hair.

"I feel flattered that a kiss got you this excited," you teased, earning a soft whine from him.

"It's not just a kiss when I've been wanting to do it for so long," Peter confessed, kissing your shoulder softly before he mumbled, "And it's not my fault that you're out here looking like a goddess."

"Look at you," you giggled, squeezing his forearm that was wrapped around your waist. "That expensive suit is really doing wonders with your smoothness, huh?"

"It brings out the suave in me," he hummed, grinning. "Makes my eyes pop, too."

You let out a sweet, hearty laugh.

Peter chuckled, heart warming as he buried his face into your neck.

"How about you take this because I really don't want to accidentally drop it," he started, pulling the device out of his jacket and handing it over to you, kissing your shoulder with a deep breath, "And just give me a second to calm down."

You giggled.

But what you said next did anything but help.

"Yes, sir."

•••

It was quarter to seven when you both made your way down to the underground theater.

There were fewer people this time around. Peter supposed it was expected. What, with a secret auction selling dangerous weapons, you simply couldn't hand out invitations like it's free candy. It could land in the wrong hands—well, right hands, in this case.

He fiddled with the card inside his pocket, free fingers pushing up his glasses, eyes narrowed at the guards by the entrance.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, noticing how they were ushering people into the theater individually. "I think it's a card for each person and we only have one—"

Peter stopped when he found no sign of you.

"You're not supposed to disappear without letting me know," he said through his comms.

He heard you giggle in response, "I was supposed to be back before you even notice."

"Point still stands," he grumbled. "Where are you?"

Peter grinned when he felt a familiar warmth behind him, your arms wrapping around his waist as you rested your chin on his shoulder.

"Hi."

"Hi," he chuckled, taking your hand to pull you by his side. He circled his arm around your waist, brow raised. "Where'd you go?"

You smiled innocently, yet the proud glimmer in your eyes was unmistakable. You held a hand up, a black and silver card pinched between two fingertips.

Always ten steps ahead of him.

It made him want to push you against a nearby wall and kiss the living daylights out of you.

"Now, how'd you get that?"

You winked. "You know I have my ways."

Before Peter could respond, everyone suddenly turned around to the sound of a commotion.

"Sir, you're not allowed without an invitation," one guard said.

"But I had it!" a man with a stark white beard exclaimed, patting around his pockets, "It was here!"

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir."

"Well, you just lost your highest bidder!"

Peter turned back to you, impressed. "You need to teach me how to do that."

"I can't teach you all my tricks—" your laugh died once you walked by a lamp, illuminating both your faces in this otherwise dimly lit entry hall. You pulled him back under the light, your eyes widening. "Oh shit."

"What?" he asked, worried. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just—" you snorted, gesturing to get him to come closer, hand cupping his cheek. "There's lipstick all over your mouth."

Peter blushed, chuckling, "Would it be so bad to just leave it?"

"You look like you just ate a can of tomato sauce."

Peter pouted.

You shook your head with a laugh, thumbs brushing as much lipstick stain as you could. Just when he thought you were done, you cupped his face, pulling him closer to kiss him firmly on the cheek.

"There," you hummed, giggling, "Since you want my lipstick on you so bad."

"It's hot," Peter shamelessly admitted with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes but grinned anyway, taking his hand and pulling towards the entrance.

"Come on. Let's go spend the millions we don't have."

•••

It took a few more minutes for everyone to settle in their seats. You and Peter choose the front-right corner. It was near the stage but not at the center of attention.

As the clock struck seven, the main stage lights lit up. There were a couple of marble statues littered across—for decoration he assumed—and vases filled with wildflowers he could never name. Right at the center was a white podium, a huge projector screen behind it.

Then, a flash of gold appeared on the stage.

Peter immediately knew who they were.

"Welcome, everyone," the Auclair twins said in sync.

"Why is it always evil twins?" he said.

Obviously, he knew about Halbert, he was the one who gave him the card. But he didn't expect his twin sister to be in on it, too. But then again, the guy seemed to be all beauty with no brains.

And no, he wasn't biased.

"I knew there was something off about her," you scoffed, arms crossed over your chest, pout prominent as you glared at the stage. You were starting to look like you were throwing a tantrum. But Peter decided not to say anything.

Yet.

"I think you all know why we've gathered here so I won't bother you with unnecessary semantics," Greta started, waving her hand at the projector, now showing a live feed of the room you broke into earlier. "Any or all of those high-grade toys could be yours tonight, if you're willing to empty out your pockets, of course. But, to lift everyone's spirits up," Greta paused, giggling wickedly as she dug her fingers into the neckline of her dress, procuring the star of the night, and the bane of yours and Peter's existence.

"The Gold Codes and the nuclear football, available for bidding at the end of the night," she purred, waving the card around as if it wasn't one the most dangerous items on the planet. "We have to save the best for last, of course."

"So hiding things in your boobs is a common thing then," Peter said, catching the sour look on your face from the corner of his eye. He was trying really hard to bite back his smirk.

"So you found the codes before anyone else did."

"What?" Peter looked at you confused. "But I didn't."

"You did," you said, jaw ticking. "You just didn't know you were already looking at it."

It took Peter a moment.

"I was not looking at her boobs."

"Sure you weren't," you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"Darling," he drawled teasingly, playing up the accent, the fire in your glare unmistakable as you met his eyes. He pinched your chin between his forefinger and thumb with a grin. "You've got nothing to be jealous of."

Huffing, you pulled your face off his grasp, "Shut up."

"You know," he started, daringly throwing his arm over your shoulder. You were never one to cross when you were angry. But Peter simply wanted to have some harmless fun. After all, this was the first time he'd ever seen you like this. "I still haven't decided if you're cute or hot when you're jealous."

"Don't tempt me to punch you."

He chuckled, leaning to press his lips against your temple. His smile widened when he felt your whole body relax beside him.

"So, what’s the plan?" he murmured against your skin.

You shifted in your seat, resting your head on his shoulder.

"We wait until the codes and the football are up for bidding," you mumbled. "Then, I'm going to be a show-off, placing a higher bet over anyone while moving closer to the stage. Once I'm in good proximity, cause a distraction and I'll swipe the codes."

"Got it," he confirmed, flinching in his seat when he heard the bang of a hammer.

"Your numbered paddles are under your seats. Now, let's begin."

Peter had only seen auctions in movies, and they always seemed to be the most boring thing ever.

He never expected them to be as anxiety-inducing as this one.

It was probably the fact that these were dangerous and deadly weapons, carelessly sold to anyone who had the money to buy them. 

His heart would sink every time he'd hear that fucking hammer.

Peter was fidgeting with the bridge of his glasses, eyes sharply trained on the stolen Chitauri gun being wheeled off the stage.

"Relax," you whispered, hand on his knee to stop it from bouncing. "We've got backup near the premises. Once we secure the codes, they'll immediately interfere. None of those weapons are getting out of this building."

"They're buying it like it's candy," Peter grumbled frustratingly. "As if lives won't be put at risk if it gets out there."

"Next up, Oscorp's drone satellite," Greta introduced excitedly. "Bigger, better, deadlier than the one by Stark Industries."

Peter's fist clenched. "Why do they always find the need to one-up each other?"

"Egomaniac billionaires," you supplied, hand curling around his fist, bringing his knuckles up to your lips before you intertwined your fingers together.

It helped him calm down a little.

"Things are starting to get boring, don't we think?" Greta laughed, waving around the controller. It was either she wasn't aware of how dangerous the device in her hand was, or she simply didn't care. Her wicked grin told Peter it was the latter. "So how about we do a little test run?"

"Shit," he cursed, sitting upright. "That's not part of the plan."

"You're the faster one," you said, tone calm as you tugged your skirt discreetly and pulled your gun out. "When I give the signal, immediately run towards her and secure codes."

"What signal?"

You stood up, gun raised.

Everyone froze as you shot at the wires that held the scaffolding that was hanging on top of the stage. It immediately gave way, dropping onto the wooden stage and blocking both exits on each side.

Chaos erupted then.

The people running towards the small entryway made it difficult for the guards to get in right away.

But Peter was still staring at you in shock.

"Go!"

He snapped out of it, taking long strides towards the stage, reaching the twins just in time before they could even manage to escape.

"Mr. Reid," Halbert chuckled darkly, pushing Greta right behind him before pulling out a revolver. "You should've bought a gun."

"Well, good thing I did," Peter quipped, reaching inside his holster only to find nothing. He looked up, eyes wide. "Shit. I dropped it."

"Oh my God—" Peter heard you groan in disappointment, and he could practically hear that eye roll.

He would've found the time to be embarrassed if Halbert hadn't started shooting at him. He dodged every bullet easily. His enhanced reflexes paired with how inaccurate this guy's aim was, it wasn't really much of a challenge.

And no, he wasn't showing off.

Okay, maybe a little bit.

Peter couldn't stop his chuckle when he heard the familiar clicking of an empty cylinder.

"Well, looks like I didn’t even need one," he bragged as he stalked towards Halbert, yanking the gun out of his hold before hitting him on the side of the head with the butt of his own gun, rendering him unconscious. He turned to Greta with a mocking tut, "Your twin isn't the wisest, isn't he?"

"No," she scoffed, smile widening as she glanced over his shoulder. "But he bought us time."

Peter saw the entryway clear of civilians, the armed guards swiftly invading the theater.

"Shit."

A flash of red caught his eye, your sharp heels clicking rapidly before you slid on the floor, picking up the gun Peter dropped. You knelt on one knee, gun in each hand, aiming it toward the guards and raining hell on them motherfuckers.

You didn't miss a shot.

He shook his head in awe, "And you said to hold it with two hands!"

"I've fired guns since I was twelve!" you said, tilting your head to throw him a smirk. "I think I can be an exception."

How could he argue with that?

Peter swerved to the right, heart thumping as the glint of a knife covered his periphery. He grabbed their wrist, pulling him forward in one swift motion and throwing the culprit towards the seats.

"Who brings a knife to a gunfight?" he huffed as he kicked away the knife that fell out of their hand.

Peter's attention got stolen by your growl.

His eyes landed on you just in time to see you grab a man's forearm from behind, using all your body weight and the right momentum to throw him over your shoulder, a pained scream when you undoubtedly dislodged his arm, the knife clinking onto the floor. You kicked the guy on the head, his eyes rolling back as he turned limp. You stepped on the knife's handle to fling it into the air, catching it with your left hand before flipping to your right, holding your skirt taught before cutting a new slit on your skirt. Then, you spun, red dress flowing with the motion as you kicked the guy running towards you on the side of his throat.

If Peter wasn't in love before, he sure as hell was now.

"What?" you panted when you caught his gaze, brows furrowed.

"That was so hot," Peter breathed out, your eyes rolling for the umpteenth time before they suddenly widened.

"Down!"

He ducked as you threw the knife, the blade soaring past him and landing into the guy's shoulder, the gun that was aimed at Peter's distracted ass dropping onto the floor.

He looked back at you in absolute wonder.

And did his pants grow a little tighter?

"Will you marry me?"

"Jesus—focus!"

"Is that a 'no'?!" he called out teasingly, elbowing one guy on the chin before hurling his unconscious body toward his allies. He called it the bowling move. Taking a gun from the floor, he turned to you with a pout. "Can't believe you'd reject me, babe!"

"Kinda in the middle of something here!" you yelled back, shooting a guy on the leg before knocking him out with the butt of your gun. You stood straight with a deep breath, tilting your head with your lips pursed before nodding behind him. "How about you help me get those codes first?"

Peter turned, seeing Greta dragging her twin towards the side exit.

"Oh yeah, right," he chuckled sheepishly before going after her. "My bad!"

Fully catching him off guard, Peter flew forward and landed on his chest when Greta swiped his legs. He rolled onto his back, narrowly avoiding the six-inch heel she dug into the floor where his head was supposed to be.

"So you can fight," he breathed out, doing a kip up to get back on his feet.

"I bite too," she hummed, winking. "And I've been wanting to sink my teeth into you, pretty boy."

"Uh, thanks?" he chuckled dryly, face scrunched up. He swerved the knife she threw at him, looking back only to see she got two more, one on each hand. He sighed, "Great. You throw knives."

"What?" she asked, tone mocking as she flipped one in the air, catching the blade in between her fingers with ease. "You don't like knife play?"

"That doesn't sound like fun," he grumbled, running towards her, swiftly ducking as she kicked her leg before grabbing her by the ankles.

Greta fell on the floor with a thud, yet she was quick to kick his knee with her other foot, Peter hissing as her sharp heel dug into his skin. She used this slim window to pull her leg forward, dragging Peter with it and making him land right on top of her.

"Quite a handsome face. Maybe we can go out for dinner sometime," she purred, running her tongue over her lip as she traced his jaw with a knife, sharp tip teasing his throat. "The real party happens later in the night, of course."

"Yeah, no thanks," he breathed out, pulling his head back and quickly grabbing her arms, flipping her onto her stomach in one swift motion. Peter pinned her down using his body weight as he knocked the knives out of her hands. He pulled her wrist towards her back, his knees tight on either side of her hips as he sat up. Holding her wrists with one hand, he undid his necktie with the other, tying her up securely before letting go.

"Kinky," she huffed out a giggle.

Peter rolled his eyes, pulling her up by the shoulders until she was seated on the floor. He walked around, dusting off his suit and adjusting his glasses—they got sticky tape on the sides to not let them fall off during fights. He thought about this ahead, thank you very much—as he stood in front of her.

"I guess it's true what they say about the quiet ones," she said, head tilted as she shamelessly ran her eyes down his body before meeting his eyes. "You're a different kind of man, Lucas Reid."

"The name's Parker," he said with a deep voice as he buttoned up his jacket with the utmost seriousness on his face. "Peter Parker."

You scoffed loudly.

Peter immediately spun, his landing eyes on your figure standing behind him, your jaw tight, arms crossed over your chest, a scowl on your pretty face with that fiery glare to match.

Oh you were pissed.

But Peter had a feeling it wasn't at him.

"You've been itching to do that the whole night, have you?"

"Maybe," he chuckled.

You rolled your eyes, nodding towards Greta.

"Just take the codes."

Peter stared at you like you'd grown a second head.

"What?" you asked, voice taut, so clearly getting annoyed.

"You take the codes."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because I respect women?"

You blinked a few times before dropping your head with an exasperated groan.

"What? You know where it's hidden!" he exclaimed in defense, gesturing towards the bound woman. "I'm not just slipping my hand in there!"

"I have a feeling she won't mind," you muttered to yourself, but thanks to his enhanced hearing, he heard you loud and clear. "You've practically been humping each other."

Peter decided to keep quiet, scared that you'd actually punch him this time.

Though the glare you shot him was proof that you knew he heard you.

You shook your head, another eye roll before you walked over to Greta, bending at the waist until your face was level with hers.

"Let’s make this quick. Left or right?" you asked.

"Dégage, salope," she hissed.

You gasped, hand over your mouth in feigned shock. "Now, that's not nice."

"Wait, what did she say?" Peter asked as he stood by the sidelines, not too close but not too far. He was giving you the space to do your thing.

"She called me a bitch," you cooed, pouting condescendingly. "Fine. Since you don't want to make this easier for us—"

Before Peter could even question what you were about to do, you stomped on a knife, catching the handle mid-air and straight up slashing the blade in front of Greta.

"Woah!"

Peter downright expected you to have chopped her whole head off—okay, maybe slit her throat because the knife wasn't that big.

But nothing happened.

No chopping, no slicing, no blood, nothing.

Well, not until a split second later when Greta gasped, the top half of her—really expensive, he assumed—dress sliding down her body.

Peter looked away immediately, face hot as he screwed his eyes shut, turning his back on her for good measure.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N," he muttered, taking his glasses off to rub his face with his palm.

But he couldn't wipe his smile off.

Peter knew you could take the codes without having to cut her dress. You were simply being petty. And it was safe to assume it had something to do with the way Greta had been shamelessly flirting with him for the whole night.

Your jealousy fed his ego a little bit.

"You can look now," you said, tone low. "She's covered."

"Are you sure?"

You scoffed, "It's not like you don't want to see it, anyway."

Peter swiftly turned, only catching a glimpse of Greta now wearing Halbert's jacket with the matching gold tie gagging her mouth.

He immediately turned to you who was standing to the side, looking anywhere else but at him. He walked over, rubbing up and down your arms until you uncrossed them. He pulled you closer by the waist, nudging your nose while mirroring your pout.

"Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad."

"Then why did you do that?"

"I had to get the codes."

"Yeah, but it didn't have to involve boobage exposure."

"Boobage exposure," you snorted, the corner of your lip twitching as you finally met his eyes. "I feel like that's something you enjoy."

"I didn't even look!" he defended, his smile widening when you tried your best to hide yours. "I promise. I didn't want to, either."

You shook your head, sighing, "You're such an annoying dork."

"Your annoying dork."

That made your smile appear.

"My dork, huh?" you hummed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

Peter smiled, pulling you closer, tip of his nose brushing yours. "Well, if you'll have me, that is."

"Have you as what, exactly?"

"Your boyfriend," he said, slightly surprised by his own boldness. But then again, you two had already established what you felt for each other. The fear of rejection wasn't there anymore. Shaking his head with a smile, he added, "Wait, answer that on our date this Friday?"

"Love the newfound confidence, Agent Parker," you said, giggling. "And yes, to both questions,"

"I really like the sound of Agent Parker," he hummed, wiggling his eyebrows at you. "Am I a certified spy now?"

"Eh, if you don't drop your gun next time, then sure."

"Come on," he sighed, pouting. "I could use a name change, you know, like Spy-Dork-Man."

Peter burst out laughing when you physically cringed.

"Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't kick you because of that god awful pun."

"Because I'm your dork now, bad puns included, so you're going to have to get used to it from early doors."

"Touché," you laughed.

Peter looked at you adoringly, but just as he was about to kiss you, a sudden ruckus of applause made you both jump, stance on defense reflexively.

It was the team, right in front of the stage, clapping and wolf-whistling like a bunch of assholes.

Peter groaned, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he wrapped his arms around you.

"About time you two solved this…tension you have," Wanda said as she reached the stage, gesturing at the two of you before she held her hand out to Bucky. "Hand it over, Super Soldier. She technically kissed him first,"

"Maybe I shouldn't have held Sam back from unmuting the line in the closet," Bucky sighed, pulling out his wallet and handing over twenty dollars.

"You had a bet?" you gaped at the two of them.

Peter turned to Sam. "You tried to interrupt us again?"

"I wouldn't have to if you guys didn't constantly forget that your comms aren't reserved for the two of you only," the Captain chuckled.

"You guys were so cute, though," Wanda said with a smile.

"The smooching sounds were a bit much." Bucky grimaced.

"Don't forget the abundant talk about boobs and ass," Harley laughed, appearing from behind everyone with a bag in hand. "Good thing you finally grew those balls though, Parker. I've grown really tired of hearing you whine about your obsession—sorry, I mean, crush on her."

"Shut up, man," Peter groaned, burying his face back on your shoulder to hide.

"Leave him alone," you laughed, rubbing his back in comfort.

"I wished I could've hacked the cams earlier so it would've been like watching a James Bond movie meets rom-com live," Harley said. "But the audio was good, popcorns still definitely enjoyed."

"Lives were on the line and you guys enjoyed popcorn," you deadpanned.

Sam laughed as he patted both of your backs. "Nah, we just knew you two got it handled."

"What are you guys doing here then?" Peter countered, glaring at them.

"Clean up," Wanda said, cracking her fingers before adding, "I also need to erase your faces off of people's memories because blowing your covers wasn't exactly part of the plan."

"And this guy practically gave out his real name," Bucky chuckled, patting Peter's shoulder before moving over to the unconscious men lying on the floor.

"I couldn't let the opportunity slip!" Peter protested. "It's probably going to be my only James Bond moment, I had to take it."

"That was pretty stupid," you said, scrunching your face at him with a laugh.

"I know that now, thanks," he grumbled.

"Here." Harley tossed him his web shooters and mask, and Peter felt a sense of comfort as he snapped them onto his wrists.

"Pete, you think you can swing us home?" you asked, slipping your fingers into his.

"Yeah, of course," he chuckled, squeezing your hand. He could definitely get used to feeling your affectionate touch constantly.

"Right, we're going to leave this to you guys, now bye!" you called out before you all but dragged him towards the exit, Peter's groan and your laugh echoing down the hall when Sam yelled,

"Use protection!"

•••

You both were honestly too tired to even attempt and continue what started in the closet.

Well, you did try to.

When you landed back at the compound, you both decided to go to your separate rooms and take much-needed hot showers first. But getting to your quarters in itself probably took around ten minutes, all because Peter simply couldn't help but stop every couple of meters down the halls, pressing you against the nearest wall to kiss you senseless.

It took you shutting the door on his face for you both to finally wash off the sweat and grime of the day.

After he was all cleaned and clothed, he didn't waste any time making his way out of his room. But when he opened the door, you were already standing there, fist in the air, mid-knock.

Peter chuckled as he grabbed your waist and pulled you into his room, giggles and satisfied sighs bouncing off his walls as his lips covered your own. He grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you with ease, a murmured comment from you about him showing off his super strength as he carried you to his bed.

But the second you both hit the mattress, it was simply far too comfy and soft that the intense heat of the kiss gradually simmered into a mellow warmth. His body was covering yours, fingers intertwined, lips moving slowly, lazily yet just as sweet. 

And after a few more moments of you two languidly kissing, you ended up settling with cuddles for the night.

Now, here you were, being the little spoon with your back pressed against his chest, limbs tangled, bodies warm and snug under the covers. He was drawing lazy circles on your stomach, his eyes growing heavier with each rise and fall of your chest, the steady beat of your heart lulling him.

Peter thought you were already fast asleep. And he was just about to follow suit until you spoke up,

"Are your hands cold?"

"Not really," he murmured, voice a little rough. "Why?"

"You can always use my boobs in case you need to warm them up."

He groaned, burying his face onto your shoulder. "Are you ever going to let this go?"

"What?" you giggled softly. "You just seemed so interested in their warmth earlier. I'm allowing you to quell your curiosity."

Peter lifted himself a little, just so he could get a clear view of your face.

"Is this a genuine invitation for me to cup your boobs?"

"Only if you wanna," you said, turning to him with a soft smile, eyes half-lidded. "No playing, though."

He nodded with a laugh, settling behind you and gently sneaking his hand under your shirt, no pressure or anything so that you'll be able to move away whenever you wanted to. Then again, you were skilled enough to break his wrist, anyway.

But you didn't do that, not at all.

Instead, you shifted in your place, providing more space for his arm to fully wrap around your torso until he was cupping a boob in his hand.

You sighed, body melting into the mattress even more, your back warmly pressed against his chest as you nosed his pillow.

"They are really warm," he hummed, his whole body relaxing as he let his hand just…be there, without any malice whatsoever. "This is oddly comforting."

"Yeah," you mumbled, a loud yawn following suit. "Like stress balls."

Peter chuckled, "That's one way of describing it."

You hummed, yawning out a soft, "Good night, Pete."

Peter smiled. "Good night, angel."

The next response he got was your soft snores as you finally drifted off to sleep,

Peter didn't expect his night to end with you sleeping in bed with him, all cuddled up in his arms, let alone, with him cupping your boob—which he surprisingly found comforting and adorable rather than anything else.

But he did expect to fall asleep with a huge smile on his face.

And then later in the morning, the thing that would wake him up wouldn't be the sunlight anymore, it'd be your warmth, tickling his skin as you cuddle closer to him. A tired, yet satisfied smile would curl on his lips as he would bury his nose into your hair, breathing in your sweet scent. It was much more comforting, hearing your little snores and sighs, or even your occasional mumbles about whatever it was you were dreaming about.

It was new, but definitely something he could get used to.

It was going to be a peaceful Sunday morning with you, and Peter really loved that.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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[delugguk]

Is this okay? | pt.2

pair: jungkook x reader.

genre: smut, drabble series? strong ass pinning, idiots to lovers? sexual tension.

word count: 860.

warnings: eating out, unprotected sex (be safe🤨)

part one.

A/N: to be honest I don’t even know what is this. “Is this okay” is definitely going to turn into something I fear.. but let’s take this a little episodes of OC getting way in too deep with her feeling about jungkook. if she doesn’t know what the fuck this mean, neither do I, the one that’s writing this LMAO. Let’s just see where this two couple lead us to, okay? I don’t even know what’s the plot or if we ever get a solid one but either way I’m excited!! but nothing more to say, enjoy^^

he gently open your legs as soon as you’re already leaking for him. unconsciously arching your back, he bites his lips in necessity. caressing up and down your inner thighs, you make an intense pleading eye contact with him and oh.. he wants you so bad. “you’re mine.” a deep voice resonating into your ears as soon as he speak, slowly bending down to give a very long and slow lick into your clit.

such a tease, you thought.

he’s so sensual. you swore he wasn’t real.

“fuck.” it’s all you say. the way he moved his tongue was so splendid. you didn’t know if he was that good or if it was because you were just too invested (in not only him eating you out), but, him.

ah, you’re doomed.

as soon as he went down on you, you knew this was going to happen. first time he was going down on you, first time you were falling in love like this.

who looks so perfect doing it? (and again), you didn’t know if it was because of his tattoos or because of his black shirt. either way, he looked hot as fuck doing it. and the little, shiny silver chain tangling around his thick and very tentative neck, wasn’t helping you at all. neither.

“just like that..” it’s all you blurb out.

“hm?” he answers. but it’s more of a ‘yeah?’ kinda respond.

he sound so needy..

“hmm..” he groans and you can’t help but feel the vibrations enter your vagina as soon as he started giving big, open mouthed kisses into your very heated and leaking private parts.

you can’t help but thrust softly into his mouth, his hands grasping into your sides. you believe he could leave marks on it. can already feel it, but you liked it that way. — he wasn’t even your boyfriend to begin with, but he fucked you oh, so heavenly. you knew nobody could ever be close to do you like he does.. ever. he surely was a masterpiece of a experience. but hm.. you mentally sigh.

jungkook.

“mhm?” he asks as soon as he introduces two fingers in it, flickering your clit.

“agh- yeahh.” you moan, trying to close your legs oh how I wish he could just fuck you with your legs up and closed for him. you suddenly wanted his dick so badly.

“mmmm” moaning, sighing very needy, your hips can help but move in circular motions while he goes kinda hard on you. so good. “jungkook,”

“mm?” he’s so concentrated, sounding so desperate too.

“want your dick.”

he gives you one last kiss with a pop. you flinch for how good it felt. “yeah?” eyes so dark. hair so in between them too. tattoos so on display and his chain still doing things to you, not to mention him smelling so good too.

“yeah.” you say as you, yourself, pull your legs up to pretend you’ll put it at the side of his left shoulder. “like this.” basically pleading with your eyes.

he smirks. “hm.” it’s all he says.

when he’s positioning himself on bed, you notice his very erect bulge. mm. how much wanted it. you’ll do anything for that dick. (but not quite literally. you just were way too down for him).

who knew you could say anything during a heat of the moment, right? .. haha. crazy.

“eunmg, put it inn” you plead.

“desperate much, my love?” he grins while stoking his very hard dick.

“yeahh” you aren’t even ashamed. this is what you are.

“love how honest you are.” giving you a devilish smile.

you wanted to cum right there.

grabbing your legs he squeezed them together, putting both of them on the side of his left shoulder and as soon as he entered he pushed your entire body back on him to introduce his dick as he knows best. very deeply.

“mm!” you moan. walls already squeezing him, you were trying to not cum but he felt so good.

“if you keep doing this to me I’ll cum, sweetheart. please calm down.” he says as he pats the side of your hips.

“eung.” you just nod like a very good girl. fuck, he loved that.

starting moving his hips, thrusting into you felt incredibly rich. your walls were squeezing him so right and your very sticky liquid were all over the place. coating his dick so well. he was fucking you so well you started to feel butterflies into your stomach and the pleasure you were having were sky rocketing the stupid heated room. couldn’t do this anymore, you finally cummed. he later chased his high too.

but instead of stopping he continue to stroke his dick into you. you weren’t complaining though, because you two really just were that horny.. the night continued like that during a couple of hours and even during a couple of days.. you were doomed. doomed, ruined.

jungkook, jungkook.. just what have you done to me?

[cordeliawhohung]

Ahoy! Hello! Good day!

I finally got to read the latest chapter of In Limbo and wondered if Chip knows if Row's husband is apart of the Mafia???

Which led to me laughing cause I imagined she doesn't know. Just thinks Row got lucky and married someone with wealth, until Chip's at their anniversary party and she's seeing all these family heads and Mafia members walk around drinking champagne and congratulating the couple. She pulls Simon aside warning him about everyone, panicking cause that's what she does best, and Simon just shrugs saying "yeah the club is front. You think I work their because I like the music or something?" He goes back to eating his cake thinking nothing of it, and she's just in a pool of her own anxiety for the rest of the event.

hi!!!

Chip isn't aware of John's status in the mafia, or that the club is a front or anything like that! Row didn't want to get her involved in any of it, or worry her about the dangers, so she knows nothing.

there's actually 2 main mafia's that run in the city, but John has downsized considerably. it's explained a little bit in this one shot here but John only became a part of the mafia because it's been passed down through the generations in his family. sort of an unwilling thing. he only kept up with it because he didn't really know anything else, but doesn't plan to pass it down to his children! he'd be totally fine with it dying off, or if someone else wanted to take over. he does not care lmao. it's one of the reasons why he looks for people in poor financial situations. he'd rather them get tangled up in his mess than anyone else's, because he doesn't count those type of debts and figures his money should work for the better. idk i've put way too much thought into it i think.

anyway (lol) your scenario is really cute though! i think Chip would freak the fuck out and try not to cry considering.... [redacted] but also, her learning about the life Row, John, and Simon lead is actually a pretty big plot point in the story, and i'm excited to share it with you guys in detail later (:

[onceuponastory]

taxi - bucky barnes x reader

In the backseat of the taxi When you told me we were only Two punch drunk souls all tangled in the wind And in the backseat when you asked me "Is the sadness everlasting?" I pulled you closer, looked at you and said "Love, I think it is" - Taxi by The Maine also thought this song fitted bc planes taxi too lmao

Plot: After their misunderstanding, Y/N tries to tell Bucky the truth...despite the roadblocks life keeps throwing their way. Pairing: Pilot!Bucky Barnes x FlightAttendant!Female!Reader Warnings: Angst and miscommunication... but a happy ending, cause it’s me. As always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know. Notes: This was written for @the-slumberparty‘s Writing Challenge from last week: write a continuation of a one-shot. So here’s a part two to my first Pilot!Bucky fic, Fear of Falling. Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own.

For the rest of the day, Y/N stays in bed, trying to grapple with the night before. Bucky’s expression still haunts her, even now, consuming her every waking moment. Honestly, she’s surprised that she’s still functioning right now. Funnily enough, it feels like she’s been on autopilot since the night before, simply moving through the motions to appear like a normally functioning human. All she knows is that she has to tell Bucky the truth, but doesn’t even know how. And then, she remembers everyone is going to dinner tonight. Her hope rises. This could be her chance to finally make things right. 

When the time comes, she rushes downstairs. Everyone greets her, but Bucky only mumbles a ‘hello’. He refuses to make eye contact with her, and her heart sinks. She was hoping for a moment alone with him, but all this is doing is reinforcing her worst fear. Hopefully, he just needs a moment to think things over, and when she speaks to him later, it’ll all be okay. 

Yet, as the night wears on, that possibility fades more and more. She and Bucky barely speak more than a few pleasant words to one another, both unsure of what to do or say around each other after the night before. “Hey, we’re gonna stay out. Maybe we’ll catch a movie or something. You wanna come?” Sam asks when they’re finished dinner. Deep down, Y/N knows she should go. After all, what’s the worst that could happen? Is maybe having fun for a few hours with her friends really so bad? But then, she looks over at Bucky. He still isn’t making eye contact, acting like his shoes are the most interesting thing in the world. And the sight makes her heart sink once more. 

Turns out increasing Bucky’s heartbreak is the worst thing that could happen. 

“No, I’m good. I slept like shit last night, so I’m just gonna go back to my room. You guys have fun, though.” 

“Buck? How about you?” Bucky looks up, and his eyes meet hers for a fleeting moment. As his mouth slowly opens, a small twinge of hope registers in Y/N’s stomach. Maybe he’s considering coming back to the hotel with her. Maybe all hope is not lost, and she can explain everything. This could be their rom-com moment, when everything finally works out and-

“Yeah, that sounds good.” And then, all her hope shatters once more. Turning away sadly, Y/N begins the walk back to the hotel, not even waiting for the others to say goodnight. All she can focus on is trying not to cry.

Although, Y/N doesn’t notice how Bucky watches her as she leaves, his eyes lingering even when she disappears from sight.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next morning, Y/N stands outside Bucky’s door, ready to give things one last chance. “Bucky, can we talk?” she calls, the sound of her knock reverberating throughout the corridor. As she waits for him to open the door, her stomach churns and her heart pounds. She has no idea what to say to Bucky, or if he’ll even tell her he feels the same. When the door opens, she takes a breath of courage. Even if he doesn’t feel the same, the least she can do is tell him the truth.

Yet, all thoughts of that disappear when Bucky emerges, clad in his uniform and carrying his suitcase. The sight causes Y/N’s brows to furrow.

“Sorry, can we walk and talk? I got an urgent call. They need me to take a plane back to New York. My taxi’s almost here.”

“Oh, I didn’t hear anything from control. Did they say anything about needing me? I can go back to my room and be ready in like five minutes.” She asks, following him towards the lobby. Bucky sighs, running his hand through his hair. Y/N feels her stomach twist. She knows what the words will be before Bucky even says them.

“Sorry, it’s just me they need this time. I’ll see you around, okay?” He replies, and she nods furiously, staring at the floor. Because she knows if she makes eye contact with him, then she’ll crumble.

“Sure. Have a safe flight.” She somehow manages to get out, hoping Bucky doesn’t sense the pain in her words, or how she’s already seeing her vision beginning to blur. And with one last wave, Bucky’s gone. As she watches him leave, Y/N sinks into a chair, cuddling into herself. Her mind races with explanations for why Bucky would be called and not her, and she tries her best to ignore them. Although, one stands out. One she never wanted to think about. 

The thought that Bucky is intentionally avoiding her, taking another flight so he doesn’t have to see her, the source of his heartbreak. What happens when this flight is over? Will she see him again? What if he keeps avoiding her? As her mind continues to race, her heart pounding, another horrible thought enters her mind. Maybe he never wants to see her again. 

A sob escapes her lips then, and Y/N jumps up, speed walking to the elevator. She doesn’t even make it inside before breaking down in tears. Thankfully, it’s empty, meaning she can let out all her feelings before reaching her floor without being noticed. Trying to keep herself upright, Y/N feels her body tremble as it’s wracked with sobs. Once she’s back out, she practically sprints to her room, ignoring everything else around her. All she can think of is Bucky.

Slamming the door behind her, Y/N climbs into her bed, sinking into her mattress. Burying her face into a pillow, she continues to sob. Bucky’s face sticks in her mind, as does the look on his face when he first saw her phone. That sight still causes her heart to ache, even now. And what hurts even more is the fact she can’t do anything to make things better. At least, not now. All she can do is hope that this is just a one off, and that when she next sees Bucky, she can explain it all then.

Unfortunately, as she returns to her regular life, things don’t get much better. After seeing Bucky at least four or five a week, either in passing or on her flights, that number falls. Soon, she starts not seeing him at all. Her texts to him also go unnoticed, and when he does reply, they’re not as cheerful or as frequent as she’s used to. And that means she’s forced to ask others how Bucky’s doing rather than simply asking him. She’s not used to working like this. Being together is what she and Bucky do, what they’re used to. They fly together, as a team. They’ve always been a team. The only times they’ve been on separate flights are few and far between. Bucky is the one constant she has in her job, and she’s grown accustomed to always seeing his face on her flights, and his smile whenever she enters the cockpit. She’s never had to account for this, for being apart from him… especially after what happened.

As more and more weeks go by with no sign of Bucky, the horrible realisation sets in even more. Bucky is avoiding her. He doesn’t want to see her again. And despite how much that thought destroys her, Y/N knows she has to respect his wishes. So she stops trying, not wanting to cause pain to either of them. Or at least… no more than she already caused. Of course, people around her soon start to notice how she’s noticeably more upset, and how she’s clearly lost her spark. Especially Sam, who she explained the situation to after he found her crying in the pilot’s lounge after a flight. At least the silver lining in this situation is getting to see him more than she’s used to.

“I’ll talk to him for you, if you want.” He offers one day as she passes over his food. “I can tell him you want to explain and that he needs to answer his fucking phone.” Y/N shakes her head. 

“I’d love that… but no. If he still doesn’t want to talk to or see me even now, almost three months later, then I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to see me, Sam.” Sam raises a brow, and she sighs. “Has he blacklisted all the flights I’m on? Is he intentionally avoiding me?” Sam’s face softens.

“No Y/N, he’s not. Bucky could never and would never intentionally avoid you. He’s just been really busy recently.” She knows he’s lying to make her feel better. Why else would he not speak to her after all this? After she practically broke his heart? As she turns to leave, Sam’s voice sounds again. “He spoke about you the other week, actually.” His words send a jolt through her body, and she gasps.

“He did?” Sam nods.

“Mhm. He asked how you were, and if you were holding up. I think he’s missing you, too.” His words make her heart flutter, and a small smile grows on Y/N’s face. But then, the little voice of doubt speaks once more.

“So why doesn’t he just talk to me, then? I’m fed up with going through this pain, Sam. I just want it to stop!” She exclaims, sniffling.

“I know. I’ll talk to him. I promise.” He gives her hand a reassuring squeeze, and Y/N nods sadly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that week, Y/N stands outside Chicago’s airport, waiting for the taxi to take her to her hotel. Scrolling through her phone, she murmurs to herself, massaging her temples and trying to ignore how much her heels are pinching her toes. That was one of the worst flights she’s ever been on, full of demanding adults, screaming babies and a drunk guy who just wouldn’t stop staring at her tits. Hopefully, this taxi shows up soon, so she can get to her hotel and kick her heels off.

“Hey stranger. Fancy seeing you here.” A familiar voice laughs. Immediately, Y/N’s heart begins to pound. Bucky. 

His hair is a little longer than when she last saw him, a few tendrils falling in his face, which he brushes aside. Yet, he’s still got the same smile, the same eyes. He looks just as handsome as he always does. 

“Hi. How was your flight?”

“Good. Good.” Bucky nods. “How was yours?”

“Shit.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Y/N wrestles with what to say to him. How to tell him the truth, that she’s always loved him and that being apart for so long has been horrific. Tell him that being apart from him for so long has been soul destroying. “Which hotel are you staying in?” Bucky asks, cutting through her thoughts.

“Same one as the last time we flew in together.” She doesn’t tell him that moment feels like a lifetime ago, and like they were both different people back then.  

“Oh, me too. What a coincidence.” Once again, silence falls amongst the pair. In an instant, she’s transported back to that night in their hotel bar, when they were both unsure of what to say to each other. Now, things are so much more different between them. If only she knew back then just how wrong everything would go.

Thankfully, a taxi soon pulls up. “After you.” Bucky gestures to the door. “I’ll wait for the next one.” Y/N shakes her head. 

“No, you take it. I don’t mind waiting.”

“Y/N, it’s freezing. You go.” He insists.

“You know… we’re both going to the same hotel, so it’s probably easier for us to ride together.” She suggests. “...That’s what the driver will say, anyway.” She stammers quickly. Of course, she’d love to ride with Bucky, despite how much her stomach is churning at the thought. All she can do is hope that he’s happy to see her too and that he wants to fix this just as much as she does. 

For a while, all the pair do is look out the window, each huddled into their corner of the taxi. Both are unsure of what to say and waiting for the other to make a move. Sometimes, they get close to it - one takes a breath, and the other turns to them, only for them to say “It’s nothing.”

That is, however, until: “Did you get my flowers? I hope you liked them.”

“Yeah. They were gorgeous. Thanks.” Bucky sighs, running a hand through his hair once more.

“Sam told me you were asking about me. He probably told you I missed you. And he’s right, I really do miss you.” Y/N nods, feeling a twinge in her chest. “Flying without you these past few months just isn’t the same. We have a lot of fun together, don’t we?” 

“We do. And I missed you too, Bucky. More than you’ll ever know.” As silence falls once more, she can see Bucky looking at her curiously, then glancing down at the floor before she can notice. She can tell what he wants pretty easily. After all, it’s the whole reason they stopped talking. He wants to ask her about her date. Y/N sighs. “Bucky, you don’t have to tiptoe around the question. Just ask me.” He looks up, startled, his cheeks flushing pink.

“I wasn’t, I-” He stammers at first. But then, he sighs once more. “I was just going to ask you how things were with you and… you know, dating.” Y/N takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. “Did you go out with that guy?”

“There never was a date. I didn’t go out with anyone. You got it all wrong.” He frowns, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“But I thought I saw-”

“All you saw was a guy liking my profile. And I turned him down. Actually, I turned them all down. Because they weren’t you, Bucky.” She scoots closer, closing the gap between them both as she looks into his blue eyes. The pair she’s missed for so long. “If you had stayed and listened, I was going to tell you that I love you. I always have. Every time I see you on the flight deck, I get so happy because I love seeing you. Your smile, your laugh… the way you can cheer me up on some of the worst days of my life. But no matter how hard I tried to connect with you, you never seemed to want me back, so I had a quick look at Tinder out of curiosity, which is what you saw. I’m sorry if I messed things up and confused you, but I tried to explain, and instead, you just ignored me for months! Sure, we’re busy in this job, but you couldn’t even send me one fucking text message?!” she demands as all her pain and anger from the past few months is finally released. 

“Oh, god.” Bucky groans, holding his head in his hands. Immediately, Y/N’s heart sinks, and she starts hoping for whatever higher power there is to open the ground and swallow her whole. Why did she have to unload on him like that here? And from the way Bucky reacted, only one thought is in her mind.

He doesn’t like her back.

“I’m not asking for you to feel the same. I just want to stop the pain, and feeling like you hate me.” She states. “If you don’t feel the same, just tell me. And then we can go back to being friends… or whatever we are now.” She speaks, her voice quiet. Bucky sighs. Months ago, even before all of this happened, if you had told Y/N that this is where she would be now, pouring out her feelings for Bucky in a fucking taxi, she would’ve thought you were crazy. And yet, here she is. 

“I do.” Bucky’s response comes out muffled at first, so quiet that she doesn’t hear it at first.

“I’m sorry?”

“I do like you back, Y/N. Oh fuck, I’m so sorry. You haven’t ruined anything, I have. I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. Actually, I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember, but I’ve just been too scared to say anything. Seeing you on my flights makes me so happy, and the last thing I’d want is to lose you if you didn’t feel the same. When I saw that notification, I thought you didn’t feel me back, and I got so upset I wanted to be alone for a while. I didn’t want to intrude on your happiness, either, so I stayed away. Sam told me you were missing me, and I felt awful. I wanted to tell you the truth, but after being away from you for so long, I thought coming back out of nowhere would just make it worse.” He sighs. “I was only thinking about myself, and not how I was only making things worse.” He scoots over too, closing the gap between them both. “I’m so sorry I ruined everything between us. I’d understand if you never want to see me again.”

To his surprise, though, Y/N starts giggling slightly. “I’ve wanted to hear those words from you for as long as I can remember. And you’ve probably felt the same too. God, what are we like? We should’ve just told each other the truth from the beginning and saved ourselves all this mess.” At her words, Bucky starts laughing too.

“Yeah, we should’ve. Actually, Sam said he wanted to bang our heads together at one point.” He admits, and they both laugh. Hearing them both laughing together again causes a familiar, happy warm feeling to return to Y/N’s chest. Her love for Bucky Barnes. “At least now we can try to make things right.” He places his hand on top of hers, gently running one of his fingers along hers. “Can I take you out tonight to say sorry, and to start over?” Smiling, she nods.

“I’d love that.” Bucky brings her hand to his, gently pressing a kiss to it.

“Me too.” He smiles.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[stevethehairington]

Hellooo if I'm not too late to the prompts party. My glittery dice humbly request 57 romantic Steddie

Iloveeverythingyouwriteokaybye 😳🫣 *hides under the carpet*

helllooooo!! omg you are SOOO not too late!!! your dice are FANTASTIC omg i love the glitter, and ohohoh let me tell you. they chose EXCELLENTLY, if i do say so myself.

this prompt was SO much fun to fill omg i had the best time writing it.

i want you to know my first thought for this prompt ("there is enough room for both of us") was to have steve and eddie having just finished watching titanic and somehow find a way to recreate the door and see if they both can fit on it LMAO

i went with this instead, because it was the second thing that popped into my head and it is a classic:

[read on ao3]

57. "there is enough room for both of us"

Since they’ve finished the renovations, the Byers-Hopper’s new farmhouse has quickly become the party’s number one hangout.

With a basement fit for running DnD campaigns out of, a yard spacious enough to chase each other for hours in, plenty of soft sofas and cushions for everyone to crash on around the television set, and a homey kitchen with a dining table big enough to seat them all, it’s perfect. Not to mention, Joyce has personally extended an open invitation to every single one of them; her home is their home and they are welcome anytime.

So, yeah, home base these days looks a lot like the rustic, cozy living room in the middle of that big, beautiful house.

Which is exactly where Steve finds himself tonight. The whole party has come together for one of their beloved movie nights, and there is no better place to do it than right there.

They’re on the third or maybe fourth film of the night, but Steve isn’t the only one that has lost count. The kids are all spread out and sprawled out across the floor, fast asleep where they’re squished together in one big puppy pile. Dustin, Will, and Lucas are so tangled that it’s hard to tell who’s limbs start and end where, and further down, Max uses Mike’s shin as a pillow. How that’s comfortable, Steve has no idea — the Wheeler’s are the boniest bunch of people he knows.

El is the only one of the kids not on the floor. Instead, she lies on the couch, curled up like a bug against Joyce’s side. Her head is in Joyce’s lap. and Joyce runs her fingers soothingly through El’s hair. She’s tucked up under Hopper’s arm, and he trails the tips of his fingers up and down her arm. Kisses her temple every so often.

It’s cute, they’re cute. Steve keeps stealing glances at them, wishing he could be the one cuddled up to someone like that.

Instead he’s just squished between Robin and Eddie on their couch. Robin lies to his right, mostly slumped onto Nancy, who sits to her right, but she’s kicked up her feet into Steve’s lap. She keeps wiggling her socked toes to catch his attention, then bounces her eyebrows up and down as she looks past him to where Eddie sits to Steve’s left.

Each time it happens Steve pinches her leg. That doesn’t deter her in the slightest, though. She just whispers to Nancy and the two of them giggle quietly together.

Steve tries to ignore it, and thankfully, he’s pretty successful at that. Beside him, Eddie keeps dipping his head towards Steve so he can whisper his string of running commentary about each of the movies they’ve watched. It ranges from interesting factoids about the film, to silly discrepancies and plot points that make no sense, to putting on a goofy voice and imitating the characters to make them say ridiculous things instead. Steve’s heart squeezes in his chest each time Eddie says something new.

The current movie has been on for a little over an hour now, but neither one of them have really been following along. Instead, they’ve been making things up to match the action unfolding onscreen. Intricate, over the top backstories for the main characters and all the side ones too; ridiculous, senseless motivations for every move they make; witty, snappy one liners to replace the cheesy dialogue that actually exists in the movie. It’s a good thing most of their company has retired for the night, otherwise they’d have been shushed right out of the room.

It isn’t too much longer before Nancy and Robin decide they’ve had enough for the night and bid the room adieu. They slip off down the hall towards the guest bedroom that they’re sharing, leaving the rest of the couch finally free. Neither Steve nor Eddie move to stretch out into the empty space, though. They stay pressed up against each other, the way they’ve been all night.

Eventually, Eddie yawns so wide that his jaw cracks.

“Alright,” he declares, a finality to his tone. He drops a hand to Steve’s knee, to give it a pat. “Time for me to turn in.”

His hand slips off of Steve’s knee, and he rises to his feet, stretching his arms up and out. The hem of his t-shirt rides up, and Steve has to bite down on his tongue.

He lets the residual warmth from Eddie’s touch pull him off of the couch too, almost like he’s chasing it. Chasing Eddie. 

“Yeah, okay, me too,” Steve says, busying himself with folding the blanket he and Eddie had been sharing. He drapes it over the back of the couch and turns to say goodnight to Joyce and Hopper.

“Heading to sleep already?” Joyce asks, turning her attention to the two of them. “Your room’s down the hall on the right. Will said he dropped your bags in there earlier.”

“Thanks, Mrs. B-H,” Eddie says, throwing her a finger gun and a charming smile.

“Joyce, Eddie,” she reminds him, raising her eyebrows in that stern, motherly way. The soft smile set onto her own mouth softens it. Tells him that her exasperation is only fond.

Eddie ducks his head, chuckling. “Joyce,” he corrects.

“Thank you, Joyce,” Steve chimes in, not making the same mistake as Eddie. He flashes him a smug little grin, and swallows down his laugh when Eddie subtly sticks his middle finger out at him.

Hopper, of course, notices, and he just snorts gruffly, shaking his head in amusement.

“You two have a good night,” Steve tells them, straightening up.

“You too, sweetie,” Joyce replies. “And if you boys need anything you come find me, okay?” 

They nod and relay their thanks once more before Steve gives a little wiggle of his fingers as a parting wave, then turns to shove at Eddie’s shoulders until he starts to walk towards the hallway.

“I’m going, I’m going!” Eddie insists, but he lets himself be manhandled anyway.

Their room is the last door on the right, just like Joyce told them.

Eddie pushes inside first, immediately flicking the lights on. He spots their bags in the corner and beelines straight for them.

Steve, on the other hand, freezes in the doorway.

Because, oh. Oh.

There’s only one bed.

Which — Steve doesn’t know why this surprises him. This isn’t a hotel. It’s a guest room at a friend’s house. Of course it’s not going to have two beds in one room. He doesn’t know why he was expecting that.

But it’s — it’s fine. This is cool. He can share a bed for the night. He’s shared lots of beds in his day. There’s nothing different about this time.

Except that there is because he doesn’t have to share with just anybody. He has to share with Eddie.

Eddie, who hasn’t even batted an eye at the bed situation. Eddie, who seems cool as a cucumber about it. Eddie, who—

Who’s already shucked his shirt off and has his thumbs hooked into his sweats, about to tug those off too, and jesus fucking christ, Steve can’t do this. He cannot do this.

He clears his throat. “You know, uh, I’m gonna go ask Joyce if there’s, like, a blow up mattress or something,” Steve says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

Without waiting for a response, he starts to turn. But Eddie catches his wrist, stopping him before he can even take a step.

Steve pointedly does not look down at Eddie’s bare legs and his too small boxers that have little gremlin heads all over. (And, jesus, how the fuck does he make gremlin boxers fucking work? It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all.)

Eddie’s brows quirks up. His teeth practically glint and his eyes sparkle as he asks, “Scared of my cooties, Harrington?”

And it’s not exactly like Steve can snark back with a funny story, but quite the opposite, actually. So he settles for twisting his arm out of Eddie’s grasp and laughing it off.

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious,” he deadpans. “Bed just looks small is all,” he adds with a shrug.

Eddie watches him for a moment, then makes a face. “Aw, come on, Stevie, there’s enough room for both of us.”

That didn’t work. Steve tries again.

“Well if you sleep at all like you walk—” he flings his arms around and kicks his feet out all loosey goosey with each step he takes — “then I’d rather save myself the trouble. I bruise like a peach, Munson. A peach!”

Eddie barks out a laugh, like he genuinely thinks that’s funny, then he sways forward, further into Steve’s space.

Steve tries to take a subtle step back, but he bumps right into the dresser, trapped.

“You’re resilient,” Eddie says, tilting his head like a curious puppy. “Besides, if that’s what you’re so worried about — don’t be.”

“Oh yeah? Why not?” Steve asks, not nearly as challenging as he’d like to be. 

Eddie leans in closer, grin sharp. “‘Cause I’m a cuddler.”

Then he’s gone from Steve’s space, just like that, dancing across the room to pick his side of the bed.

And Steve? Steve is screwed.

He makes quick work of changing into his own pajamas — or of removing his own clothes, since he too had opted for just his good ‘ol briefs to keep his modesty during the night. He wishes he’d had the forethought to wear boxers at the very least. His tighty whitey’s leave him feeling too exposed.

Steve tries not to dwell on it, though. (Because dwelling on his underwear just makes him think of Eddie’s underwear, and that is the last thing he needs right before he slips into bed with him.)

Eddie’s already beneath the covers, rolled onto his side and fidgeting as he tries to get comfortable.

Steve approaches the empty half of the bed — the right side, his usual side. Part of him wonders if Eddie knew that or if it was just a lucky guess. The other part of him wonders if maybe the left side is just Eddie’s usual side. If that means that they just fit.

What the hell, Steve, get a fucking grip, he tells himself, shaking his head clear. 

He takes a moment to collect himself — the steel himself, as he reaches for the lamp light. It’ll be easier to climb into bed with the lights out. If he can’t see Eddie, then Eddie can’t see him, and that means there’s less of a chance of somehow embarrassing himself.

“Come on in, the water’s fiiiiine,” Eddie sing-songs, smacking his hand down onto the empty space beside him.

Steve huffs out a laugh, then turns out the light.

The room plunges into darkness, but it’s not pitch black. There’s too much residual glow from the moonlight outside seeping in through the window blinds, but it’s dark enough that it isn’t so daunting as Steve crawls into bed and slips under the sheets.

He lies flat on his back, folds his hands over his belly button, and wiggles his shoulders a little to settle into the pillow.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” Steve says. 

He doesn’t close his eyes, though. How can he? He’s hyper aware of Eddie beside him, not touching but close enough that Steve can feel the warmth radiating off of his skin. He’s breathing softly, but it’s loud enough that it echoes through Steve’s ears. 

Eddie doesn’t say anything back at first. But Steve can feel his eyes on him.

Then, “That’s it? ‘Goodnight’,” he mimics, dropping his voice to sound like Steve’s.

He squirms closer, and suddenly his knee is against the side of Steve’s thigh, his toes brushing Steve’s shin. Steve’s heart rate spikes. 

“That’s how you’re sleeping?” Eddie asks, full of judgment.

Steve frowns. “Yeah,” he replies, the duh very much implied. (Not that there’s any bit of truth to that answer. He hadn’t exactly planned on getting any sleep tonight. This is just the easiest position to control himself in, that’s all.)

“On your back?” Eddie questions.

“Yeah,” Steve repeats. “Goodnight.”

Eddie scoffs. “Jesus, no wonder you never get enough sleep. People who sleep on their backs are monsters,” he jokes. 

Steve ignores him.

Eddie leans in close. Pokes his finger into Steve’s arm. “You’re a monster, Stevie,” he whispers.

Unsatisfied with the lack of response, Eddie continues too.

“This isn’t a coffin, y’know,” Eddie teases, flopping onto his back and crossing his arms in an X over his chest. He sticks his tongue out of the side of his mouth too, playing dead.

Steve continues to ignore him.

Eddie rolls back onto his side, facing Steve. Somehow, he’s even closer. “You can get comfortable,” he says.

“I am comfortable,” Steve replies, finally breaking his silence.

“Bullshit,” Eddie objects. “You’re as stiff as a rock.” He prods Steve again as if to prove his point when he doesn’t budge. Then he curls his fingers around Steve’s bicep.

His touch lights every single nerve in Steve’s arm up, and he has to dig his nails into the backs of his hands to keep from doing something stupid, like pulling Eddie’s hand away from his arm so he can hold it instead.

“I’m not gonna bite, y’know,” Eddie says lightly. A second passes, and Steve can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he adds, “Unless you want me to.”

And it’s too much, jesus christ, it’s way too much.

“Could you just back off?” Steve finally snaps. 

He regrets it instantly.

Eddie’s hand falls from his arm, like he’s the one that got burned, and the sheets rustle as he shrinks back into his own space. His knee disappears from Steve’s thigh, his toes leave his shin, and Steve suddenly feels cold.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Eddie says, sobered. He sounds so small. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

And Steve wants to cry because no, that is not it at all. He’s not uncomfortable, not even close, and he’s not upset either. He’s just… overwhelmed. But even that isn’t a bad thing. Eddie didn’t do anything wrong.

“Eddie,” Steve says, rolling onto his side to face Eddie. Eddie’s back is to him, though. Steve reaches out, but he doesn’t touch. He just lets his hand hover over Eddie’s back.

“That’s not it,” he tells him. “I’m not uncomfortable, I promise.”

Eddie makes a noise, sort of like a scoff. Like he doesn’t believe him. “Sure,” he says.

“I’m not!” Steve insists and he flattens his palm to Eddie’s skin. Bends his fingers over the curve of Eddie’s shoulder.

“Then what is it?” Eddie asks, turning over. The movement shakes Steve’s hand off. “What’s your deal, Steve?”

Steve winces at the way he says his name. It doesn’t sound very nice. Not the way it usually does when Eddie says it. God, he’s fucked this up so bad.

Why couldn’t he just chill the fuck out and share the bed like a normal person? Why did he have to ruin everything?

There’s only one way to fix this, though. There’s only one way, and Steve has to do it.

“I want it too much.”

“What?”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut. “I want it too much,” he repeats.

There’s a beat, a totally silent, totally nervwracking beat. And then… the mattress shifts. Eddie’s knee presses into his thigh again. His knuckles graze against Steve’s where his hand lies atop the pillow between them.

“Want… what, exactly?” Eddie asks slowly, and he’s close enough now that Steve can feel his breath ghosting against his face.

Steve opens his eyes, and Eddie’s there, he’s right there, with his big, round eyes. With his parted lips. With this naked vulnerability laying his face bare.

Steve swallows. Lets out a shaky exhale.

“You.”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath.

“Me?” He whispers.

Steve nods. “You,” he repeats, putting everything behind that one word.

Eddie makes a choked noise, and Steve has zero point five seconds to start to panic before Eddie’s hands fly up to grab either side of his face, squishing his cheeks almost painfully, and he practically throws himself on top of Steve as he tackles him into the pillow and catches his mouth in a kiss.

It’s messy; Eddie sort of misses Steve’s mouth at first, accidentally nails more of his chin than his lips, and when he does finally find those, their teeth end up clacking from the force of their smiles that keep trying to break through. They end up doing more laughing into each other’s mouths than kissing at first, but then Steve slides his hands up Eddie’s back, and Eddie’s gasps into his mouth and Steve takes the chance to fit their lips together properly. To kiss and to kiss and to kiss.

When they break apart seconds, minutes, hours — who even knows? — later, Steve feels like he’s floating on air.

“Jesus christ,” Eddie laughs beside him as he rolls off of Steve to flop back against his own pillow. He doesn’t let go of Steve’s hand. 

“You want me. You want me. You want me,” Eddie repeats, laughing delightedly again.

Steve twists towards Eddie, wriggling into his space. “And you want me too,” he says.

Eddie nods, cupping Steve’s jaw again. “There’s nothin’ I want more, Stevie.”

Steve ducks in for another kiss — he can’t help himself. It’s short, and it’s sweet, but it’s everything to him.

He makes a mental note to get up early tomorrow to cook Joyce a great big breakfast. Maybe swing by her favorite little local cafe for some coffee and find a nice bouquet of flowers somewhere too. He’s got to thank her somehow — it’s her house, her home, afterall, that gave him the nudge he needed. That gave him Eddie.

When Steve finally falls asleep that night, it’s with Eddie starfished against his back, legs tangled with his beneath the covers, arms secure around Steve’s waist, and nose tucked into the crook of his neck.

He’s definitely a cuddler.

But so is Steve.

100 ways to say i love you prompts

[theicarusconstellation]

zelda tangled au anyone?

genderfluid link. runaway princess zelda.

imagine ganon knows only link can defeat him so he kidnaps him as a six year old and takes him to an abandoned tower in hyrule forest with the intention of corrupting him and the master sword to get them on his side. zelda has been told all her life that the power of hylia is in her, but she hasn't unlocked it yet, and the pressure is getting too much so she sets off to find the "legendary future swordswoman" who went missing years ago because "if i can't unlock my powers, maybe she can help me."

one day, she finds the master sword (which ganondorf has been hiding near the tower because he's saving it for when he finally figures out a way to corrupt it, harness its power, and take over hyrule). she's like "oh my god what if the swordswoman is around here somewhere😱."

MEANWHILE link is in the tower with their gorgeous long hair (and maybe wolf link as a sidekick instead of pascal?), and every year on his birthday, the leaders of all the villages get together and hold a little mourning/prayer ceremony for her bc signs of the calamity are approaching fast, and they're hoping link shows up soon, especially with zelda's power not being awakened yet. link desperately wants to go see the ceremony (they don't know what it's for, just that there are a lot of beautiful lights and the dragons of hyrule all come together as well), but obviously ganondorf won't let him.

THEN zelda finds the tower and scales it. link is all "HYAH!!!!!!" and the scene where eugene is trapped in the chair with rapunzel's hair plays out between the two of them except it's just a lot of link being like 😡😡and zelda being like 🤭omg this guy's reallly good with a weapon...looks a lot like the descriptions of...WAIT OMG ITS THE LEGENDARY SWORDSWOMAN🤭 link is like "i mean 1/3 woman i guess."

eventually, zelda convinces link to leave the tower with a bargain like "if i take you to the swordswoman ceremony, will you tell me about ganondorf?" (she already suspects it's THE ganondorf ykyk), and link is hesitant because zelda is telling them that the person they've been raised by is evil, but he really wants to see the ceremony, so he goes. they cut their hair to its length in totk and it really validates her gender yk? and when zelda sees how happy link is in her newfound freedom and gender expression she's like "well i have to tell him the truth about who he is"

she doesn't want to because it'll shatter link's worldview and newfound peace, and she doesn't want to put a burden on their shoulders (bc hylia knows she knows what that's like), but she does it anyway. at this point, link is beginning to get flashes of memories from his childhood and realize what zelda is trying to tell her is true, so both of them go to kakariko village to talk to impa (and they plan to talk to the champions after), but once they get there, ganondorf is there waiting in front of the desecrated former village like HEY POOKIE. FOUND YOU. MISS ME?

he takes link captive again and accelerates his plans to take over hyrule. link is trying to find a way out, and zelda is trying to find a way to help him, but it's not working out very well lmao. meanwhile zelda goes to the champions and asks for their help, relaying everything she knows, and the champions make a plan to get link and stop ganondorf. they get to the area where the tower is, but ganondorf was expecting this and takes them captive

as this happens, link doesn't know what's going on and is alone in the tower. he finds the master sword and the secret tower staircase, but it's a trap laid by ganondorf to manipulate link into joining him because link escapes the tower only to find zelda and the champions all tied up and stuff. the bargain is like "join me and i won't kill your friends when i rule, but refuse and i'll kill them slowly and make you watch" (i came up with this on the spot i know it's a rough plot WORK WITH ME😭🙏)

link being link challenges ganondorf to a duel, and ganondorf accepts purely out of amusement bc at this point he thinks "link can't defeat me yet since he's been locked in the tower; he's only a danger if he's been trained." link whoops his ass, but ganondorf harnesses the power of the calamity at the last second (which he was planning to do just to teach link a lesson in obedience and whatever). he whoops LINK'S ass, but just as link is about to get killed, zelda's powers Come To Life, and she saves him. then they all work together to defeat ganondorf and they all live happily ever after

[pixelmensupremacy]

I told you I'd be here. Momma has her soup ready

May I request some Leon Kennedy smut? I don't know why Im this way LMAO

But the genuine idea of you and him going to a party and sees you in one of his favorite dresses and takes you away from the party to have his own private party with you.

A/N: I wrote this instead of going to sleep.

Word count: 1.1k

WARNINGS: Porn with no plot, unprotected sex, kind of public sex, not proofread

Chatter and live music filled the enormous space; every attendant was elegantly dressed, and each of their outfits was prettier and more detailed than the other, embodying the extravagance of the Victorian era. The ornamentation of the ballroom was just as equally extravagant as the clothing of its residents. Crystal chandeliers hung low above the gorgeous marble pattern of the flooring; the soft light illuminated the patterns, causing the crystalline formations in the marble to spark.

Nursing a glass of champagne, (Y/N) wholeheartedly laughed at whatever her interlocutor was so passionately talking about, in hope that he wouldn’t notice how little she engaged in the conversation. Truth be told she didn’t know who the guy was nor how she ended up chatting with him; it wasn’t like she paid much attention to anything that happened that night, for her mind was occupied with far more engrossing matters. Looking past the man’s shoulder, her wandering gaze fell on said matter.

The soft blue of his irises anchored her attention, able to lure her in even when across the room; and as if he cast a spell upon her, she felt her legs soften. Leon smirked fully knowing she was watching; that charming smile of his was the last nail of the coffin and (Y/N) felt how her feet were about to give out. Quickly, she mumbled an excuse and stumbled her way through the dense wall of people that stood in her way.

“So, we meet again?” He stated, he sounded certain as if their meeting was bound to happen, and the smile on his face didn’t fade.

“I suppose you refuse to leave me alone.” She shot back with her hands crossed before her chest in a defensive position. Leon giggled in response, secretly enjoying the little game (Y/N) was putting up.

“Well then- he paused to look at her, a darker blue tinted his irises- I could if you so desire.” He raised his brow at her, waiting for the answer he knew he would get. She let out a sigh.

“I suppose we can negotiate on that. Meet me in the bathroom.” Leon drowned the rest of his drink, eager to finally be able to peel the fabric of the dress that had so shamelessly bewitched him into blindly following after her.

Slamming the door behind him and locking it, Leon wasted no time catching up with manifesting the desires that haunted his mind all evening into reality. His lips caressed hers gently at first in a way of making sure she was completely comfortable. And comfortable she was with her hands frantically seeking the zipper of his slacks all the while her tongue traced his lips, silently begging for him to let their tongues collide.

Lifting the fabric of her skirt, Leon groped her ass, causing a deep moan to rip out her throat; her head rolled back, instead fulfilling his wish to trace the delicate skin of her neck. Her fingers tangled in his dirty blond locks while she held onto his shoulders, fully giving up on undoing his pants. Luckily for her, he did it; unbuckling his belt, Leon traced her still clothed folds through the fabric of her panties. He hissed at the mixture of (Y/N)’s warm slick lubing his cock and the feel of the texture of the fabric that caused an almost painful sensation to tingle his dick.

She dug her nails into his scalp as her grip on his hair tightened in desperation, she whined a plead for him to get in her- a desire he too sought after. Unceremoniously, Leon ripped her panties just enough for him to insert the tip.

“Those were one of my expensive ones!” She murmured in complaint.

“Trust me, sweetheart, that is going to be your last problem by the time I’m finished.” He whispered in her ear, shivers ran down her spine, foul grin curled the corners of her mouth.

“You better keep your promise.” (Y/N) hooked her arms around his shoulders, in preparation for what was to come.

“Darling, when have I let you down?” His forehead was touching hers as he fully pushed in. In unison, they panted out silent moans of bliss. Every thrust caused her entire form to shake; her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, biting back the moans that threatened to escape past her plump lips. Leon kissed her, whilst his hand reached for her clit, rubbing tight circles on it. (Y/N) gasped, involuntarily granting his tongue permission in her hot mouth. The vibrations of her moans resonated against him further motivating him to keep up his pace.

Mercilessly, his cock slammed into her; the sound of his skin crashing against hers filled the room and probably slipped past the bubble that the bathroom had become. Her juices pooled on the counter as she was getting closer to her high though Leon wasn’t pleased wet. Intentionally, he slowed down, pulling almost completely out only to slam himself back in and hit that spot that had her squirm. He pulled the straps of her dress, revealing her hardened nipples. With his mouth he enveloped the left one with the hotness of his tongue that worked on circling it with the eventual interference of his teeth grasping the sensitive flesh; his other hand remained on her clit, putting pressure on it just enough to keep her on the edge.

(Y/N) was a moaning mess, any remorse left had gone long ago as she didn’t care if anyone could hear her; all she cared about was how good Leon’s dick felt stretching her out to her limit and how agonizingly slow he moved. Her nails dug into his flesh, sure to leave crescent marks on his fair skin. His name rolled down her mouth akin to a prayer that kept her sane; once she started pleading, that’s when Leon knew he brought her to her limit.

“Have you had enough fun, sweetheart?” His voice was hoarse but attractive nonetheless. She shook her head.

“Do you want me to make you cum?” His bangs tickled her forehead, she nodded frantically.

“Good.” Immediately, his hips crashed against hers; electric waves spread through her body, warmth rushed through her. A few thrusts were all it took for her to scream out his name as she reached her peak; her walls clenched, coating his aching cock with her cum. Following after her, Leon came inside her, painting her walls with his cum.

For a minute, they stood still, trying to catch their breath. Resting his head atop her chest. Leon listened to her heartbeat as he came down from his high; she planted her chin atop his head, deeply inhaling the scent of his shampoo and cologne, it almost made her walls twitch again.

“You gotta be careful wearing this dress.” He panted.

“Why?” She questioned, genuinely curious.

“It makes you a hundred times more irresistible.” (Y/N) giggled at his cheesy remark.

“Maybe I should wear it more often.” She suggested, a smirk appeared on her face.

[braingutzz]

⚠️ [SPOILER WARNING FOR IDW SONIC #63/#64] ⚠️

i know im late to the party and not to start an argument but the duo arc in sonic idw is very stupid and badly written.

i keep seeing people agree with this stance for different reasons (aka. LANOLIN DUMB AND DOESN'T BELIVE SILVER!!) when like- she kinda has reason not to.

i just think its way way way too forced because none of the characters are doing things that they would fucking do-

first of all, HE KICKED YOU TELL THEM HE KICKED YOU

whisper literally saw it happen- she saw him kick silver. she knows what duo did!!! and even though silver didn't know that she saw what duo did, it would be very in character to tell them anyways! he's very honest and headstrong! he's not a loser who will fold the moment someone tells him he's wrong!! HE TRIED TO KILL SONIC!!

STOP ACTING LIKE A KICKED LITTLE PUPPY YOU ATTEMPTED MURDER, YOU FOUGHT GODS, YOU RID THE WORLD OF THE METAL VIRUS WITH SONIC. FIGHT BACK

"it was an accident" he literally kicked you. you were already rightfully accusing him- WHY NOT BRING UP THE FACT HE KICKED YOU??

also dude his eyes literally changed colors and he gave you an ominous and obviously evil grin.

he brought up the eye changing to whisper and not the rest of the team for some reason??????? later in the issue, whisper confides in silver. they talk about their suspicion and come to the conclusion that this is mimic! for really valid reason! now, let's move onto the next issue. SURELY they'll tell lanolin about this... right? RIGHT????

"do you have any proof?" "we will soon."

and then the girls start fighting.

dude- JUST TALK TO EACH OTHER— lanolin, you are the leader of this newly form group. two of the members who are extremely skilled and have so much experience under their belts are telling you something. maybe don't immediately jump to defending the dude you've known for like two days??? like don't let them assault the bitch, but call a group meeting or SOMETHING.. but she's new so i can excuse that i guess. but SILVER AND WHISPER?? SAY SOMETHING!!! PLEASE!!!!

this kind of plot is genuinely so annoying it makes me want to rip my hair out. i hate this trope so much- I HATE MISCOMMUNICATION TROPES WHEN THEY'RE SO OBVIOUSLY FIXED- YOU COULD JUST SHOUT OUT ONE SENTENCE LIKE-

"HE KICKED ME!!" or "HIS FORM STARTED CHANGING!!"

also one thing that could've made this infinitely times less infuriating..

DON'T TELL US ITS MIMIC LITERALLY THE PAGE AFTER HE GETS ACCEPTED INTO THE DIAMOND CUTTERS!

anyways i believe that's enough ranting today, i genuinely love sonic franchise so so so much. i am just annoyed by this specific trope to no ends. everything else about this comic? ive loved it! genuinely such a fun time to read, but this plot feels so aggravating and redundant. it just makes silver look like a loser who will fold at any pushback. it makes lanolin seem bossy and untrusting of her team and like she just wants to put them down. it makes whisper look incompetent and like she has no idea how to make a point or cooperate in a team. and it makes tangle... not exist, lmao.

anyways have a nice day bye

[arlecchno]

mission accomplished [ scaramouche x reader ]

nineteen | forelsket

prev masterlist next

things didn't turn out so well when scaramouche got a flat tire whilst heading for the hotel, yet maybe, it turned out for the better.

warnings: swearing, just a blurb of scaramouche's lore (if you could even say that it's lore), me and my love for the only one bed trope, reverse comfort at the end i think, a lot of unnecessary scenes but probably still important to the plot

a/n: sorry for the late update... i keep procrastinating on this chapter lmao. this is pretty long since i'm posting once a week now, like around 4.5k words of complete garbage, but whatever, just think of this as a filler chapter i guess. happy reading!

grammatical errors may occur so please let me know if i've made any mistakes!

“you have got to be kidding me.”

“i'm sorry, there's really only one room left that is available, all of the other rooms are fully occupied by the students of snezhnaya university.”

scaramouche scoffed. “we are students of snezhnaya university.”

the hotel receptionist stopped typing on the keyboard and looked at him confusedly. “oh... you guys are um, students?” the woman scratched her head in confusion. “i had a thought that you two were in your late 20's... seems like i was wrong.”

she wasn't wrong. at all.

“are there seriously no rooms left except for that one?” you asked frustratingly, cutting off the previous subject.

the receptionist sighed. “i'm sure of it, though, i'd be more than happy to inform you if there were any changes.” she averted her gaze back to the computer screen.

“...fine. we'll take the room.” scaramouche said shortly after, making you quickly snap your head to him.

“you cannot be serious right now. no way in hell am i gonna share a room with you!” you whisper-shouted, tugging his shirt slightly.

the ravenette rolled his eyes. “it won't be that bad.”

the young woman gave the key card to scaramouche, and he mumbled out a thanks before heading for the elevator, along with his bag. you grumbled out a few curse words, but reluctantly followed suit.

oh it was that bad.

“everyone's fucking with me today.” was all you said at the moment as you and scaramouche stood in the entrance of the hotel room, baffled at what you're witnessing right now.

one. stupid. bed.

things were already going bad when you two were held off from arriving to the hotel early because scaramouche got a flat tire on the way here. you never expected to actually share a bed with the guy you've always hated, multiple times at that, but here you were, once again.

scaramouche groaned, bringing up a hand to rub his face in annoyance. “i can't believe this is happening.”

“you're taking the floor.” you flatly announced, brushing past him to land yourself on the only bed in the room.

the ravenette stopped from his actions to glare at you. “w— why do i have to sleep on the floor?! i drove us here! what did you even contribute to this trip for you to get the bed?!” he argued, stomping to you.

“simple. i exist. i think that's enough contribution, to teyvat even.” you simpy replied, relishing in the comfort of the soft sheets.

“you–!” scaramouche tried arguing further, but no words fell out of his mouth. he only sighed as he walked off and started unpacking his stuff.

you stared at the ceiling. “you know, we can share the bed if you want.”

“and why should i do that?” he asked, stopping from his actions to look over at you.

you fixated your eyes on his indigo ones in return. “well, the bed's pretty big, and we can make a barrier like last time, it kinda worked.” you explained from your lying position on the bed.

scaramouche widened his eyes the moment you mentioned about the pillow barrier. the stupid makeshift barrier that absolutely did not work last week. you only think it worked because you were too busy sleeping like a log to even realize you were tangled up with the ravenette in bed, instead of the makeshift barrier separating you two.

he averted his eyes from you, focusing back on unpacking. “no thank you.”

“guess you're on the floor then.”

“sure, whatever.”

he'd rather sleep on the most uncomfortable place than to even have the same events possibly repeating again.

and he's afraid you might wake up this time.

you groaned for the hundredth time.

“why the hell is he not picking up...” you stared at your phone screen as your friend, once again, left you on voicemail.

childe hasn't been in contact with you for over two weeks now. ever since the trial, you've never heard of childe updating you on any upcoming leads. if anything, childe was always the one who'd share the details to you first before anyone else, yet things left you dumbfounded as he never returns your calls now.

you've asked your other colleagues about it, well, signora to be specific. she only told you that childe's been going through a rough patch lately and that you should leave him be for some time, though he's still always present at the precint, which makes you even more clueless.

i'll try again later, you thought to yourself. he's fine, i'm sure he is.

“you wanna check out the hotel before it gets crowded?” scaramouche asked out of the blue, making you fixate your eyes on him from the bed.

you pondered on it for a moment before answering. “yeah, sure, who knows we might get new leads.”

standing up, you sauntered over with your phone in hand, scaramouche already waiting for you by the opened door.

“do you know what room yun jin and viktor are in?” he asked, holding the door for you.

“not sure, i haven't really asked her about it.” you said, eyeing the number on the door of your hotel room, 515, it read. “viktor's been kind of acting strange lately, so i don't really want to bother him.”

scaramouche hummed, taking the key card with him before closing the door. “what do you mean by that?” he asked, walking with you to the lift lobby.

“by what? viktor?”

“obviously i'm talking about him.”

you and scaramouche halted to a stop in the lobby.

“he's kind of been ignoring me for the past week, have no idea why.” you paused, pushing the down button beside the elevator. “i asked yun jin about it, but she told me it was normal of him to be like that sometimes, which is pretty weird.” you said, focusing your eyes on the number at the top of the elevator that's slowly coming to your floor.

the male beside you raised a brow. “you haven't confronted him about it?”

“of course i have, silly. um, tried at least. he's been avoiding me all the time, doesn't even sit with me in class now.”

the chiming sound of a ding can be heard, and the elevator door slowly opens.

“you don't even see him out of class?”

“see who?”

both you and scaramouche snapped your heads to the familiar voice. viktor and yun jin were in the elevator together, hands interlaced.

calling what you were witnessing right now weird would be an understatement. for the past few days, viktor has done nothing but avoid and ignore yun jin, yet here he was acting normal again, with his hand in hers. the tall man even had the slight audacity to speak up those two words in front of you, the other person he's been avoiding all week.

“oh, it's luna and ivan! where are you guys headed to?” yun jin beamed, walking out the elevator with viktor trailing behind.

you rubbed the nape of your neck, not expecting for them to appear right in front of you. “um, we were just gonna go to the car and get some stuff that we didn't manage to bring along.” you lied. “are you guys on this floor?”

yun jin smiled and nodded. “yup, room 516!”

“516?” scaramouche inquired. that's just right beside yours.

“yeah, it was one of the only rooms left, glad that we even managed to get one considering that we were kind of late.” yun jin said awkwardly, fidgeting her clothes.

you tugged scaramouche's sleeve lightly, making him look at you. the ravenette raised his brow, and you gestured your eyes to the elevator, a signal that you two should get going.

scaramouche nodded at you, looking back at the couple in front of him. “we really need to go, luna left her plush and didn't want it to be left alone in the car for far too long.” he made up an excuse, a dumb one at that, making you glare at him.

“a plushie? that's cute.” viktor said, chuckling along with yun jin.

you faked a smile, gritting your teeth. “well, ivan, we should go, now.” you said furiously, grabbing scaramouche's arm to drag him to the elevator.

“see you two soon!” yun jin grinned, waving at you two until the elevator doors closed.

letting out a scoff, you folded your arms and sent a death glare to scaramouche, in which he paid no mind to. “seriously? a plushie? i'm not a child.”

“it's fun seeing you get all embarrassed, sort of like entertainment for me.” the ravenette said, slightly smirking at the thought.

“it's not funny.”

“it– it kinda is.”

scaramouche was laughing now, much to your dismay. you tried suppressing the urge to not join him on this, but failed miserably when the male beside you snorted, completely falling into a fit of giggles at his actions.

“oh come on! you need to stop putting me in embarrassing situations!” you said while giggling, slapping his arm playfully while doing so.

“or what?” he teased, finally looking at you and leaning closer.

you stared into his indigo eyes in return. “well, i'll...” the words you intended to say died down momentarily as you both look into each others eyes, seemingly like time has stopped.

the distance between you two was long abandoned, face just inches away from each other. looking at scaramouche's flawless face in awe, your breath hitched just for a moment.

you can't remember the last time you were this close to scaramouche. was it when you were sick? was it the time when you both hid in a closet to not get caught? or was it during trial day when you fixed up scaramouche's tie? you really can't tell.

looks like this just adds to the many list of times you've ever been this close with the man you hated the most.

the elevator doors suddenly opens and out of instinct, you both jolt in shock and immediately turned away from each other, flustered by what just happened.

a small group of people, snezhnaya uni students you assumed, walked in the elevator, ignoring the way that you and scaramouche were standing awkwardly at the back. you rubbed the jawline of your face nervously and stared at the mirror beside you.

the elevator had mirrors on all sides except for the doors, so you could basically see what everyone is doing at the moment.

and, if you look a little more closely, you could see the faint crimson that's creeping up onto scaramouche's neck and ears, as much as he tries hiding it with his hands.

“i'm not gonna lie, this venue is ginormous.” you said in awe, looking at the huge place that will hold the grad ball. presumably, you had thought that it'd be a bit smaller, but it seems like you were wrong in so many ways.

the venue was almost fully decorated— with lots of round tables, a big space in the middle (for the classic dance, you assumed), and buffet tables were already set up. some bits of other decorations like lightings, drapes, and a disco ball even, were being decorated by the organizers. though still on the works, the ballroom already looked dazzling.

“don't think we're even allowed to go here yet.” scaramouche commented, eyeing the red tape across the ballroom.

“how are we gonna know every corner of the ballroom then?”

the male beside you did not answer, making you glance at him. he had his signature smirk, and a very knowing look that only you could ever read.

“no, you're joking.”

his smirk only grew bigger at your sentence, and at this point, you might think he was smiling like an idiot instead.

and that's how you two ended up decorating the ballroom, disguised as the many other workers in the area.

“how the hell are you so sure we won't get caught?”

scaramouche looked at you, stopping himself from decorating the round table. he tilted his head to a direction, as if gesturing for you to look over at what he's pointing at. “see that dude?”

averting your gaze to a male a few feet away from you two, you nodded. “yeah, why?” you asked, looking at him warily. the man was sitting on one of the chairs, legs propped up on the table while he scrolled on his phone lazily.

“that's the head organizer.”

“why is he just... lazing around? shouldn't he be the one going back and forth to make everything look as perfect as possible?”

scaramouche hummed. “exactly. seeing how stupid that guy is, he probably couldn't care less if there were people sneaking around as 'workers', much less if there were more additional workers, probably makes him more at ease.”

“do you think we could sneak around and possibly get the files for the plans of the event?”

“what?”

“he looks kind of clumsy to be honest.” you said, and as if to prove your sentence, the man suddenly fell to his butt on the floor, and quickly regained his composure to sit back on the chair embarrassingly. “it's gonna be easy getting those files, i assume.”

scaramouche shrugged, continuing on fixing up the round table to avoid suspicions. “sure, we'll try later.”

and again, that's how you two ended up sneaking in the back of the ballroom, where you assumed the organisation's office is.

“isn't this kind of silly?”

“what is?” scaramouche asked, walking along the halls, careful not to make much noise.

“sneaking around, kind of feels like we're kids trying to avoid getting caught stealing cookies by our parents.”

the ravenette snorted. “that's a very specific description.” he said, scanning his eyes at a closed door of a room, reading the text on it to see if it was the office you two were looking for.

“isn't that basically what being a detective is? sneaking around to get evidence, secretly go on many undercover duties and disappear to months end?”

you looked at him. “well, yeah, but it's pretty funny if you think about it. two grown adults, sneaking around people, going all out just to get some promising leads, it really just reminds me of my childhood days. isn't it the same for you?”

scaramouche was surprisingly silent upon hearing your question, not even taking his eyes off the door he was inspecting just now. you looked at him, puzzled, and nudged his shoulder.

“dude, you okay?”

it took a moment for scaramouche to finally move. “i'm fine.” he mumbled, already heading off to the next location, leaving you behind.

you stared at his figure, confused as to why he's suddenly changed his demeanor and did a whole 180. did you say something that bugged him?

“found it.” scaramouche said, pointing at a closed room ahead of you. he looked at you across the hall, one hand shoved in the pocket of his pants.

you smiled and nodded in acknowledgement, walking over to him.

you've already reminded yourself to ask him about it later on. for now though, you'll have to focus on your plan.

“for a klutzy guy, he sure is pretty organised with the files.” you said, flipping through the files in one of the steel cabinets.

you two have been in the room for about ten minutes now, and much to your displease, you have yet to find the file you were looking for.

scaramouche rummaged through the files on the desk, letting out another curse when the files on there were pretty much useless.

“i don't think we'll find anything here.”

“this is stupid, we should just head back.” scaramouche muttered, heading over to the door. he stopped abruptly when he heard footsteps from outside, quickly turning around to face you. “someone's coming.”

you widened your eyes, and frantically searched for a place to hide. the room wasn't that big, with only a small number of cabinets filled with files, so there were technically zero spots to hide.

out of nowhere, scaramouche took your hand in his and dragged you under an old desk at the corner of the room, secluded from the open space. if someone were to stumble inside the office, they won't be able to notice the two of you hiding under the old desk, lest they went further in the room, in which you silently prayed it won't be the latter.

it's pretty tight space, but it was still able to fit in the two of you, even though you were squished up with scaramouche. you looked at the ravenette, but he avoided your gaze, opting to look out on the person coming inside instead.

the door opened, and a voice popped up. “is the ball really going to go smoothly, boss? i feel like we're still missing a few things for the event.”

“don't worry, everything's perfectly fine. it's not like we haven't done this a hundred of times before, and who cares if we miss out on a few stuff? it's not gonna affect the event.” another voice said, footsteps walking in the room.

the other cleared their throat. “what about that spotlight? i heard there were a few screws loose, and the workers didn't manage to find them.”

the sound of a file being landed harshly on the desk echoed throughout the room. “who the hell cares?! we already don't get paid enough for this shit, i couldn't care less about some stupid screws being loose or a backdrop being slightly off, as long as you get the job done we are out of the responsibility.”

“hurry up and go home, i don't want to be here any longer.”

soon after, the footsteps slowly fade out, and the door closed once more.

you let out a breath of relief the second they left, and looked at scaramouche again. he still had his eyes on the door, not even budging to move from the uncomfortable space.

“scara?”

“hm?”

“they're gone. we can go now.”

scaramouche finally looked at you after what felt like decades. “oh.”

getting out from under the old desk, you stretched out your limbs, the ravenette awkwardly followed you after.

“don't think that file was there before.” he said after a moment of scanning through the room, sauntering over to the desk in the middle of the room. “y/n.”

you glanced at him, bringing down your hands from the stretch you were doing. “what?”

“it's the file we're looking for.”

it was well past 9, you and scaramouche were back in your hotel room sitting on the provided chairs, with your laptop propped up on the small round table showing the pictures you took of the event planning from the file.

“it just looks like any other planning i've seen before.” you said while slurping on the instant noodle cup you made a few minutes ago. given how you and scaramouche were too busy sneaking around the hotel until late evening, you two didn't even manage to get proper dinner by the time you were done.

“there's no use in wasting our time on this if it's useless then.”

you squinted your eyes to look at the planning details better, reading on and on about backdrops, lighting timings, and whatnot. it was all useless, just like what scaramouche had said just now.

letting out a huff, you leaned back on the chair. “let's just wait until tomorrow. we still have time before the grad ball starts.” you glanced at scaramouche. he has been zoning out a lot recently, and it was no doubt that he was doing the exact same thing right now.

“are you tired?” you nudged his shoulder.

scaramouche slowly looked at you, face blank. “huh? why? are you?”

“stop twisting the question around, i'm asking about you.” you pressed, a frown plastered on your face. “you look tired.”

“i'm fine.”

“no you're not.”

now scaramouche was the one frowning instead, glaring at you furiously. “if i say that i'm fine, then i am fine.” he slammed his hands on the table as he stood up, walking away, making you more puzzled than you already were.

sighing, you closed the laptop on the table. guess there's no use in pushing him on the subject, you thought as you continued on finishing your food.

“you sure you don't want to sleep on the bed? there's still plenty of space here.” you asked, looking at him lying on the carpeted floor from the bed you were sitting on. “i feel bad.”

scaramouche had his back to you, so you weren't able to see what expression he was making as of now. “it's fine. hog the bed all you want, i'm not going up there.”

you raised a brow, but didn't question any further. “okay, just tell me if you wanna get up here. i don't mind sharing.”

the ravenette only replied with a hum as you got under the covers, getting ready to finally sleep after a long day of sneaking around.

except that you couldn't sleep at all.

it's around midnight— you think. it had been a few hours since you got into bed, but you haven't even managed to get a wink of sleep. scaramouche was sound asleep now, his soft snores can be heard if you listen close enough.

groaning, you turned to the other side of the bed in hopes of the new sleeping position helping you enter dreamland faster, but to no avail. you groaned in frustration once more.

“you should really stop doing that.” scaramouche said from the floor, voice husky from just waking up.

you propped yourself up with your elbow, and turned to look at scaramouche. “'m sorry, did i wake you?”

scaramouche slowly sat up, raking a hand through his bed hair. “it's fine.” he said, rubbing his eyes. “why're you still awake?”

“couldn't sleep.” you mumbled through the dark room, laying back on the bed as you stared at the ceiling. “been like that for the last couple of weeks.”

the ravenette raised his brow, but it went unnoticed by you. hearing the sound of rustling, you turned your head to the side, just to see that scaramouche had placed his pillow on the bed.

he sat at the edge of the bed, looking at you. “you okay?”

you scoffed. how ironic, you thought. he was the one who's been odd the whole day, yet he was asking you if you were okay, when he should be asking himself that.

“i could ask you the same question.”

at that, scaramouche fell silent. you turned your head back to continue on staring at the ceiling, again, in hopes that it'd bore you out to the point that you're asleep. unfortunately, the archons above really, really hates you.

you heard the sound of rustling sheets once again, and you turned to look at scaramouche, who was now suddenly under the covers, his back to you. “thought you said you didn't want to be up here.”

“you look like you needed company.”

you looked at him confusedly. at the lack of an answer from you, scaramouche huffed and turned to you. it was dark, you could barely make up most of the view in the room, but it was still enough to see the male beside you up close.

“i can sleep just well without you here.”

“sure you can.”

“wh– of course i can!”

scaramouche only shrugged, continuing on staring at you with a fond expression on his face. “what's on your mind?”

“...what d'ya mean?”

rolling his eyes, he brought up a finger to poke at your temple a couple of times, as if to further prove his question. “what's stopping this mind from resting?”

“ugh, stop that.” you swatted his hand away, though not harsh enough like you always do. “was just thinking about you.” you blurted out, making the ravenette widened his eyes.

scaramouche barely believes in the archons, yet he fervently thanks celestial above for the dark room, for you wouldn't get to see how red he's getting from just a single sentence.

eyes wide, you quickly fumbled for an excuse. “n–not in that way! i was just thinking about how you were kind of quiet the whole evening.” you said awkwardly, fidgeting the hem of your shirt. “did i say or do anything?”

“...no, you didn't do anything.”

“then why have you been acting weird today?”

scaramouche looked away from you, sighing. “it's just... when you mentioned about childhood, it just reminded me of mine.” he muttered.

from the years you've known scaramouche, he has never, ever, talked about his family background. you never questioned why, afraid that you were crossing boundaries. now that he's willing to even mention about it, you were shocked to say the least, but stayed quiet nonetheless.

“i didn't respond to your question because i... never experienced any of those stuff.” he paused, glancing at you. “my mother, she, abandoned me when i was little.”

“oh archons, i'm really sorry. i shouldn't have asked that.” you said, scratching your head.

“it's fine. it's been decades now, i rarely care that much anymore.” he let out a breath of a chuckle, somehow amused. “it just hit home when you talked about childhood.”

you stared at him for a long while, and he did the same to you. sighing, you went closer to him and pulled him into an embrace, leaving the ravenette in complete shock.

“you're a strong guy, i'm sorry all those shit happened to you.” you mumbled, wrapping your arms tightly around his middle. scaramouche hovered his hand over your hip for a moment, before reluctantly wrapping an arm around your waist, relishing in the comfort you're willingly giving him.

scaramouche is anything but strong. he had always thought that he was the most weakest among all, yet you make it seem like he was far from fragile, which is ironic, truly. you've always made him feel like a different person, you always never fail to make him feel alive, make him feel like his emotions matter, make him feel important.

it was one of your greatest qualities. you always bring out the best out of someone, and never ask for anything in return. you've made him feel things he never even thought he had, and you've made him feel like he was a perfect human being, despite the many flaws and imperfections of his.

for the last couple of months, your efforts for him only grew bigger. in spite of you two not being able to stand each other, you never stopped making him feel like human. and for the past few weeks, his views of you have changed very differently.

he never thought of himself being in love, just the thought of those four letters make him gag. but with you, he thinks, anything is possible. and after many sleepless nights of being in thought, he has now come to terms at this moment that maybe, just maybe, he has the slightest feelings for you.

it's not something he'd ever tell you of course, and he has never planned on doing so in the future, afraid that he might ruin what you two currently have. he has come a long way with you, from not able to stand being in the same room together, all the way to you being in his arms right now. he does not think it's worth the risk of ruining whatever the hell you two are at the moment.

he sighed after what felt like forever, and hugged you more tightly. “thank you, y/n.”

no response.

he looked down, just to see that you were sound asleep, in his arms. he smiled fondly after a few seconds, brushing your hair just a bit. you looked so peaceful right now, and he slightly missed this view of you.

he wishes he could see you like this every day, every morning, and every single night, but then again, he does not feel like you'd reciprocate his feelings anyways.

he sighed again, bringing you more closer than before.

looks like you do need company to sleep better.

forelsket. from: norwegian. means: that overwhelming gut-rush euphoria exclusive to the beginnings of falling in love. (please correct me if i'm wrong lmao i got this from google)

taglist; @beriiov @hopesandlegacy @cloudsandrenoswife @salamiwrites @thenightsflower @bleedingwhiteroses222 @lisiastak021 @yuuki4646 @lez-zuha @ryhie @sleepy-waffle @yoursockstinks @shizunxie @moonxma @kunikuzushiit @anonwhocried @vqqrii @luminesuprrmacy @calxb-do @sixscara @xooya @mobiussdarling @mafukissu @antri13

(unfortunately i am unable to tag those that are in bold, i'm sorry!)

want to be added to the taglist?

[racer62]

So I watched way too many videos about the original plot of Cars 2.

It was so violent😭

But apparently Lightning was supposed to get tangled up with Finn while Mater and Giulia ran away together?

I just find it really funny because Finn and Lightning don't actually speak to eachother directly at anypoint in the final version of Cars 2 lmao

[daisyful-gvf]

honey & chamomile, peaches & cream (part 2)

18+

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pairings: jake x reader

tags: pwp, praise, sex toys, oral sex, kinda overstimulation, dirty talk

word count: 2.7k

notes: soo it was odd to write a follow up to a pwp bc there’s no plot to continue, but i tried!! i tried to keep the same jake and keep the theme of him spoiling you & being talkative. also this is vulgar again lmao. i hope u enjoy <33

*********************************************************

Your hips had begun to writhe again. There was no explaining it; you had tried to explain it to Jake. There was no sense in it. Maybe it was the moon, or some chemical, hormonal imbalance, who knows.

You were just insatiable some days.

Sometimes it was awful; in the middle of tour, or when you had work all day long. Today was not like that, though. This was lucky.

It was only saturday, and you both laid in bed, watching comfort movie upon comfort movie.

A thick, already damp towel laid at the end of the bed, and the toy sat plugged in on your nightstand. Jake’s hair was a mess, tangled and wet with god knows what at this point. He had already came twice, and you four times. His cheeks were permanently flushed; a lovely sight.

After about twenty minutes of squirming and trying to save some shred of dignity, you could no longer resist the longing.

You pawed at his thigh, and instantly a shaky breath left him.

“Yeah?” he murmured, tilting your chin up to look at him from where your head was lolled against his chest, “Again?”

You nodded, biting your lower lip.

“Mmm,” he bit his lip, eyes flitting all over your face, “Okay, angel, let me get it. Drink some water for me.”

You nodded and did as he asked, sipping from the water bottle near you as he got up, grabbed the towel, and grabbed the poor, exhausted toy.

His hands still trembled with excitement when he grabbed it.

You’d already asked him about fifteen times today if you were being too much, did he really want to do this, etc, etc. You should have known from the sounds he made while you were getting off that he was plenty okay with this, but still, his gentle reassurances helped.

The simple fact was that he clearly had a thing for taking care of you; maybe you could call it a kink, maybe just something he liked. Bottom line was, he got off on getting you off, and you were plenty okay with that.

He laid the towel down towards the middle of the bed, and patted it gently, asking you to lay on it. You settled your hips down on top of it and reclined back onto a pillow.

“Baby,” he breathed, shaking his head, “We gotta figure out why this happens so we can make it happen more,” he chuckled, soothing a hand over your thigh.

“I told you—“

“I know, I know, you’re perfect already, I’m not being serious. I just think this would be an ideal way to spend all of our weekends.”

You snorted out a laugh, “Wouldn’t get anything done, babe.”

“I dunno,” he licked his lips, “this seems very productive.”

You laughed again.

“Lift your shirt up a bit, angel,” he directed softly. You hitched the oversized grey t shirt up above your pelvis, revealing a naked lower half.

“Wanna lift it any further?” he grinned. You shook your head, enjoying the security of the shirt. “That’s okay, angel. Whatever makes you comfy.”

He laid back down beside you, close, pressed against your side. He was in black sweatpants only; no boxers, no shirt. The most ideal way for him to be, aside from naked.

He rested the toy on your stomach, a slight tease, before taking your face in his palm to kiss you. Your lips were beginning to be sore from it, but just like everything else, gluttony was preferable today. It came with a little tenderness, but it was so worth it.

He traced his fingertips down your neck, down your sternum, over the toy, over your navel, and lower, slipping a finger gently against you. You hummed and pushed against it, but it didn’t last long.

“You need it?” his voice was low against the shell of your ear.

“Please, yeah,” You nodded, not feeling the need to waste any time with pleasantries. You did need it.

He groaned; amusing, because this wasn’t a surprise at this point. This was the fifth time the toy found his hand today; he already knew.

“So fucking sweet,” he rasped into your ear, “Letting me take care of you all day, huh? You know I will, hm? Take such good care of her?”

“Jake,” you whined, “Please, yes.”

“I will, I will,” he soothed, trailing the toy down your stomach, “I’ll baby your clit all day, angel. Whatever you need.”

You sucked in a breath and bit back a whine.

“You like that, angel? Knowing I’m gonna take care of you?“

A desperate groan fell from you as you nodded, watching his large hand wrapped around it, lowering down your body.

The toy was pink, and it was your new favorite thing. It had one suction end, and one separate end with it’s own pulse, designed to nestle inside you.

Without fail, every time, the oversensitivity from the orgasm it gave you made a mess—it didn’t take long to understand the need for a towel.

It wasn’t a similar sensation to having Jake inside you. That was warm and close and full. This was electrifying and overwhelming and somehow still teasing. You couldn’t stop wanting it.

Jake loved it—‘loved’ may be a bit too reserved, even. It pulled him apart to see you come undone from it.

“Relax, angel,” he murmured low, rubbing the penetrative end of the silicone against you.

To say you were wet would be an understatement—you didn’t know how your body was doing this for so long, but you were quite literally dripping.

He eased the toy against your entrance as he licked at your exposed jaw. His left hand was under your head, cradling it.

Gently, he eased it inside you.

“You wanna set it, or me?” he said softly, eyes watching your face closely. He looked mesmerized.

“You can, you know which one,”

He nodded and clicked the little button on the toy to bring it to to life. You groaned at the low vibration.

He clicked through the different settings until he landed on one the vibration pattern you prefered. You sighed, relaxing into the feeling. This alone was nice, but nothing drastic.

“Kiss me,” he muttered, lulling your head gently towards him with a tilt of his palm.

You look his lips into yours fervently, enjoying the safe and warm feeling.

As he kissed you, you could feel him fumbling with the other end of the toy, then tracing over your clit with his pointer finger, mapping you out. As slowly as one could, he nestled the suction part of the toy over your clit.

You gasped out a moan into his mouth, arching your back off the bed, and he reciprocated with a low hum.

He pulled away from the kiss gently and watched your face.

Your body was immediately warm; flushed, buzzing. It was divine, and the exact reason you kept coming back to this today. There was never enough of this. It made you feel like you were on the brink of orgasm the entire time; the best part, the sweetest teasing.

“Good?” he murmured, grinning slightly.

You nodded, gasping again, hands fumbling to grab onto something.

Your left hand found the sheets, your right, his bicep.

“Good girl, squeeze me as hard as you need,” he soothed, placing a soft kiss to your cheek.

Your head was spinning already—it was over sensitive, but in a tempting way, not painful.

You could only gasp, groan, or grit out the occasional curse. There was no way for you to make a request, or form any coherent thought. He didn’t seem to mind, though. He filled in the gaps.

“You look so hot, angel,” he whimpered, “so fucked,” he bit your jaw, “Wrapped around this sweet little toy. You love it, babe? Seems like you love it.”

You nodded, hips stuttering away from the bed, legs beginning to tremble.

“Oh, angel, look at you,” he whispered. He rubbed the back of your head with his pads of fingers, “You’re shaking, poor thing. Does it feel that good?”

You let out some high pitched agreement, and he cursed in return.

“Fuck, oh,” he whimpered as if he was the overstimulated one, “Fuck, you’re so hot. I can’t decide if you look better like this, or when you actually cum.”

“Jake,” you rasped out. You didn’t know why, there was no specific reason to get his attention, but you just needed. He seemed to understand.

“I’m here, angel, I’m right here,” he kissed you, something that quickly devolved into a sloppy embrace of tongues. He was whimpering left and right.

“Come here,” he pulled away and his eyes met yours with an intensity that made you feel shy, “Let me watch your eyes roll back.”

You groaned, letting him observe with rapt attention, pupils blown and eyelids heavy.

It was nothing you had to force; the sweet vibration and the gentle pulse inside you had your eyes rolling back over and over.

“Fuck, there we go,” he murmured, “I bet your pretty cunt is loving this, angel, huh? I bet she feels so good,”

“Jake,” you groaned again. The next word was breathier, “fuck,”

“I know, I know,” he soothed, “My trembling girl. Relax, angel, let yourself have it.”

You took a shaky breath and bit your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

Your whole body was vibrating, flooded with heat, your brain felt like it was floating, dopamine-high.

“Fuck, sweet girl, you’re so warm, I can feel it without even touching you,” he stretched a finger out from the hand holding the toy and touched your center gently, “So fucking wet. Come on, angel, let go, be good and cum for me.”

Your eyes rolled back particularly hard and you were gripping his bicep so hard you knew there would be small crescent shaped bruises where your fingernails bit at his skin.

“Such a good girl,” he purred against your jaw, “Let me see it, angel, let me see you make a mess,”

You listened to the thrum of the vibration going through you, felt it deep in your pelvis, and soon you could not contain it. Your head thrashed back and forth, your legs and hands trembled, and finally, so sweetly, it hit you.

“Oh!” You yelped, head slamming back. The warmth coursed over you and soaked your thighs.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jake was whimpering, strategically moving the toy a bit to try and not hurt you with overstimulation, “Oh, fuck, angel, good girl, good girl, there you go, soak my fuckin’ hand, that’s so fuckin’ good…”

His rambling trailed off as he started kissing your jaw, and you were left blissed-out, melting into the bed.

Soon, all he was saying against your skin was, “that’s a good girl, good girl, angel, such a good girl,” in such a soft whisper it was barely even intelligible.

He started to move the toy away from you, but you whined; the soft buzzing against you was leaving you in some sort of drawn out orgasm, and as long as it wasn’t directly on your clit, it was nice.

“Want it to stay?” He murmured, kissing your cheek.

You nodded and offered a small, “Mmhm.”

“Okay, babe,” he kissed you, holding the toy kindly against you still, “You sure? It’s not too much?“

“No, it’s nice,” you spoke against his mouth.

He hummed, licking into your mouth. You wish you could have suspended that feeling into the rest of time and just lived in it forever—the subtle pleasure from your hips, the warmth of his mouth.

As he pulled away from the kiss, he looked at you intently. His tongue swept over his bottom lip.

“God damn, I’m so turned on. I don’t know how I’m even hard after everything earlier,” he breathed, “You have no idea how much I love watching you like this.”

You laughed, soft and easy, “Yeah?” you teased, touching his face, “M’glad. Thank you for being so sweet.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, dear,” he grinned.

After a moment of silence, he swiftly slipped down the bed, settling between your legs.

“Jake,” you groaned at the implication.

“Mmm?” he hummed, swiping the sticky hair from his face, holding the toy still, gripping your thigh with his other hand.

You couldn’t find anything to say, and instead just let your head fall back.

He dropped the suction part of the toy, just leaving the vibrator inside you.

His hands firmly gripped at your thighs, and then, like warm velvet, his tongue lapped over you.

“Jake, oh—” his name was a broken plea.

He hummed into you, licking warm and slow.

“Not trying to make you cum,” he murmured, “Just wanna baby her,” he lapped again as you whimpered, “You’re so swollen, angel. Does this feel nice?” he licked again, brown eyes meeting yours, tender tongue slipping over you.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “Gentle, please,”

“I will be,” he whispered with another kitten lick, “I’ll be so sweet to her, angel, just relax.”

He lapped lazy stripes over you, humming and groaning into you, hair sticking to his forehead. He went on for a while, and you let yourself be blissed-out and distant. Let him just take care of you.

After several minutes, he raised his head, his chin slick, his nose red, lips flushed. He grinned softly.

He turned the vibration off and slipped the toy out of you slowly. Then, he crawled up your body, leaving feather-light kisses here and there.

When he reached your face, he smiled wide at you.

“Hey, angel,” he kissed your nose, “feel better?”

You nodded and bit your lip in a grin, “Much.”

“Mm,” he kissed your cheek before laying beside you again, “I’m enjoying the hell out of this,” he smiled in a cocky way, “Hope you’re not getting too worn out yet.”

You laughed, touching his bare torso, “It always feels that way until I wait a bit,” you murmured, “I doubt I’m really worn out just yet.”

He grinned, “How many times we gonna do this today, huh? I’m hoping for double digits,” he smiled wildly.

“We’ll see, babe, we’ll see. How about you? You gonna join me again?”

He licked his lip, “I’d say no, cause I don’t think I’ve came three times in one day since I was a teenager, but fuck,” he laughed, “This might be the day.”

“Mm,” you bit your lip, “I think we should try. In a bit.”

He nodded, “Anything for you. Drink your water, angel, and come lay between my legs. Gonna braid your hair before it gets all knotted up with you thrashing your head around,”

You wanted to laugh, but it was sweet, so you blushed instead.

“Gonna go to the bathroom real quick,” you said.

He nodded, “I’ll clean up and grab your hair brush.”

When you returned, he had plugged the toy back in, gotten a fresh towel, and sat on the bed with your hairbrush on his thigh. He gave you a welcoming grin and patted between his legs.

You sat between them as he asked, letting your mind go a bit fuzzy, watching the movie with hooded eyes, sipping your water, and focusing on the feeling of his hands swiping through your hair tenderly.

“You’re my girl, you know that?” He kissed your neck as he slipped the hair tie ring from his middle finger and secured it at the end of your braid.

You nodded, because yeah, you knew. He could never let you forget, and you loved him for it.

You laid back against his warm, naked chest and he sighed heavily.

“Just relax on me, angel. Take a nap if you need to. Let me know when you need it again, okay?” he murmured into your hair, his fingers stroking over your forearms.

You nodded and craned your neck to look up at him.

“You’re perfect, Jacob,” you grinned, “Really. You are.”

He blushed, as you knew he would at the use of the name.

“You’re too sweet for me not to be, angel. I’d do it all for you. Need you to feel cherished.”

“Mm. I love you.”

“Love you, angel.”

He kissed you softly, brief but sincere.

You nuzzled your head back into his chest and tugged the throw blanket over your legs, letting yourself go into the Saturday afternoon, waiting patiently for whatever may come next.

fin.