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venus-maneater · 7 months

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a loyal dog’s reward ii. | yan! criston cole

yandere / obsessed ! au

fem! targaryen princess! reader

part i

synopsis. suffering an injury from a tournament, criston has to deal with seeing you alongside his temporary replacement. fortunately, you weren’t interested in teasing too much this time, trying to distract yourself from your sister beginning her labors, and you were happy to cheer your poor mutt up.

note; I’ve decided to make this a series with no real plot lol 😭 if being attracted to criston cole is a crime then lock me up !! this chapter took a mind of its own bc this was not the original plot and it’s twice as long as part i

WARNING(s): obsessive / possessive behavior, manipulation, violence, thoughts of violence, implied murder, blood, injury, JEALOUSY, nosebleeds, talk of bastards and having bastard children, Rhaenyra gives birth, allusions to sex but no actual smut, cole def has a breeding kink y’all

Ser Criston Cole, your ever-so-loyal shield, always said yes when you asked him to enter tourneys. He knew how much you enjoyed them, and relished in your attention as he succeeded in competition. There were only two real downsides to tournaments for him: the hours he had to spend apart from you, and the injuries. Criston had always excelled at anything physical, but he was only mortal. He was just a man who could be maimed or murdered just like any other. It served to remind him of the status gap between you: he was a man while you were born from dragons.

He kept his eyes on your form in the nobles’ box until it was his turn. This was typical behavior from him, he was nothing but devoted to you. Since you’d discovered his true feelings, you gave him more attention than before. You entertained his tendencies, teasing him sometimes but always reassuring him at the end of the day. You wanted no one but him.

“Oh, don’t fret, my Criston.” You’d tut, “I could never replace you. You’re the only guard dog for me.”

You played with his feelings occasionally, trying to get a rise out of him, but he quickly found that he didn’t mind. His reward at the end made all his anger worth it. He never blamed you either, it was never your fault that men didn’t know how to leave you alone.

He wondered now if this was one of your attempts at making him jealous.

The large man who stood obediently behind you was the one taking over Criston’s position as he competed in the tournament. Usually, another Kingsguard member would take over, but this particular Knight had something to prove. He was highborn, from some house in the Vale, with wide shoulders and a somewhat handsome face. The two men looked nothing alike; the Knight next to you was pale, hazel-eyed, and thin-haired.

He doubted it.

You didn’t like men other than Criston Cole guarding you, you’d expressed so before. They’re boring and untrustworthy, you insisted. Your words made his chest puff out with pride. He liked that he was the only one you truly trusted with your life; you knew he would protect you. You chose him to protect you.

To be honest, you didn’t even seem interested in the Knight from the Vale; you looked stiff and bored, which concerned your sworn shield. You loved tournaments, you loved when he won things in your honor. Why don’t you look excited?

Soon enough, it was his turn again. With your flowery red favor around his wrist, he got into position.

You perked up a bit when you saw that it was Criston’s turn once more. You’d been rather stiff most of the event, and you partially blamed it on your boring temporary guard. The man was flat; no personality to work with at all. It bummed you out honestly, he was from the Vale but behaved like a Northman. He was presumably around Ser Criston’s age, but had not even half of his spirit. It wouldn’t have bothered you so much if you couldn’t feel his stare burning into the back of your head. You could give him some credit; at least he’s taking his job of supervising you seriously.

But no, the primary reason for your irritation and lack of focus was your father. He had demanded you to attend this tourney to celebrate Rhaenyra’s labors, not allowing you to be by her side. You and your sister were close, very close, and quite similar as well. To not be by her side when she was in pain had you tense. You didn’t want to be here, not even to see Criston compete.

Criston Cole was facing a member of House Bolton, a rather fierce young man who didn’t scare easy. Most Northerners were like that, but Criston should know best as he just beat another one last round. The tournament today was celebrating Princess Rhaenyra beginning her labors, so competitors have traveled from far and wide. The event had been planned for a month, so it was good news that the Princess was finally giving birth.

“Jessil,” you called to your guard with a smirk, “You should watch closely this round, my shield is competing.”

The man nodded curtly without a word, causing you to roll your eyes. His under-reactions irked you, but you were starting to blame Criston Cole for that fact. He always reacted wonderfully to anything you did, perhaps you were too used to it.

Speaking of your shield, you could see his anger growing the longer you were with another man. It was the only thing keeping you here at this point; waiting to see if he’ll get violent. Criston was the most amusing man you’d ever met, you just knew something was going to happen. There were only two more rounds until the event ended, and he’d been stiff ever since Ser Jessil bent down closer in order to hear your comments about two hours ago.

The two knights settled into their positions across the courtyard from each other, on opposite sides of the tilt. Then, a horn sounded, triggering their horses into a sprint. With their lances aimed, the men collided, wooden splinters flying but neither of them falling. New lances were readily tossed to them and the process repeated. Criston spared you a glance, noticing that Jessil had gotten a few inches closer.

Again, they charged forward. Only this time, when they clashed, Criston was thrown from his horse at the force of the hit. The Bolton fared a bit better, remaining on his horse, but he was hit in the face by Criston’s lance, causing the front of his helmet to cave in just enough to cut him.

What you saw made you shoot to your feet, your hands gripping the railing in concern. Never in your years of knowing Criston Cole had you ever seen him knocked from his horse in a tournament. He was easily one of the best fighters you knew of, it seemed impossible that this could happen. Had you pushed too far with your teasing? You’d never tried anything during a tournament before, perhaps Ser Jessil’s presence threw him off.

The round didn’t end there. Criston was quick to stand despite his obvious injuries, and his morningstar was swiftly given to him. His helmet had flew from his head when he fell, so his bleeding mouth was for all to see. He was holding his right arm close to his body, making it appear broken or incapable of proper use. Although he was right-handed, he gripped his weapon in his left hand and prepared for a fight. The Bolton Knight was also without a helmet at this point, ditching the damaged armor when he jumped to the ground to grab his sword. His nose was bleeding and looked to be broken from the hit.

“Is his arm broken?” You asked aloud, leaning over the railing a bit in an attempt to see better, “he favors his right.”

Jessil ignored your words, but inched closer so you wouldn’t go over the railing, “Princess, you could fall.”

Criston let the other Knight come to him, not willing to waste any energy. He used his time to look your way, not liking the way your guard was holding your shoulder.

The fight began, but didn’t last long. The Bolton may have made a skilled jouster, but not a fighter. He was no match for the angry Kingsguard, even when he had every advantage. Handicapped from his injuries, Criston swung his Morningstar with his left hand, swiftly hitting his opponent in the head while avoiding any oncoming attacks from the sword. The impact knocked the younger Knight out, but visibly broke his brow bone. Due to the force from the spikes, his face was bleeding badly and the area around his eye was caved in, perfectly mirroring the damage to his helmet.

Half the crowd was silent in shock (including yourself), but the other half was cheering loudly at the violence. You were desensitized to such things at this point in your life, but that didn’t mean you welcomed them. You didn’t like that Criston came so close to losing, or that you have to watch some poor Bolton boy bleed out on the ground for no reason, your shield was too injured to continue to the next round anyways. And due to your being a princess, it would be inappropriate to leave early to check on the Kingsguard member. Because your father wouldn’t allow to be with your sister, you’d made Criston your fixation of the day.

The two of you made eye contact as a few servants rushed over to him, helping him limp off to see a maester. It was soon announced that although neither competitor was continuing to the next round, Criston Cole was technically the winner.

“Well that was certainly a show” You cleared your throat, shaking Ser Jessil’s hand off your shoulder and finally taking your seat once again, “I knew something was going to happen.”

“So you did, Princess.” The Knight nodded curtly, recalling your words earlier, telling him to watch closely.

With Criston gone, your mind shifted back to a pregnant Rhaenyra, who was currently giving birth without your comfort. You stiffen up, nails digging into the railing before exhaling deeply and taking your seat. The two of you return to your proper positions and continued to observe the event for the next few hours, clapping dutifully when an insignificant Lannister won.

You made it back to the Red Keep in record time, it seemed. Even Jessil had trouble keeping up with you on your horse as you rushed home. You’d refused the carriage ride, eager to see your sister.

You were sprinting up the nearly infinite steps to her chambers, Jessil following close and maids jumping out of the way. A couple of people tried to stop your entrance, but you only shoved them aside and pushed your way towards your sister.

“Rhaenyra!” You gasped softly, a grin finding its way to your face when you saw her cradling her new baby in bed. After the death of your mother, childbirth was a sensitive subject for you and your sister, you hated being apart during this time. She dismissed the women in the room, leaving just the two of you and her first child.

“I’ve decided on Jacaerys.” She smiled at you as you crawled into the bed beside her.

She’d discussed baby name ideas with you before, with Laenor as well, who suggested Joffrey. Rhaenyra was adamantly against it, and you remembered the distaste you felt hearing it, knowing the implications that would come along if they decided on that name. You’d always liked Joffrey actually, unhappy with his death, but almost all of court heard the rumors of he and Laenor. You’d suggested Jacaerys, a Velaryon sounding name. Rhaenyra didn’t seem overly interested, so you didn’t expect her to choose it.

“Oh, Jacaerys.” You cooed, stroking his little head, full of dark locks. That wasn’t good, not really. Hopefully he took after Rhaenyra in his other features, or else questions of his parentage could arise. Rhaenys was half Baratheon, so that could be used as an excuse. But then the baby boy opened his eyes, revealing big brown orbs that mirrored Harwin Strong’s. You liked Harwin quite a bit, not minding. But the court would mind. You and Rhaenyra would just have to protect him.

“Have you slept yet?” You asked your sister, who hasn’t stopped grinning since you first saw her.

“Not yet, dear sister, I cannot stop looking at his sweet face.”

“Has… his father seen him yet?” You both knew who you meant.

“No. But he will soon enough, when I’m well enough to leave the room.” She gave you a knowing smile, which you returned.

Upon leaving Rhaenyra to rest, you were able to successfully escape Ser Jessil’s supervision with the help of Ser Harwin Strong, and went straight to Criston Cole’s chambers. You found out through your favorite handmaiden that he’d been released from the infirmary, and you took the first opportunity that presented itself to you. You didn’t knock before slipping into his room, but you were sure he wouldn’t mind.

Stepping in, your eyes were drawn to his place on the bed immediately. He was lying down above the blankets, with his arm wrapped and splinted in a sling resting above his bare midsection. His ribs were bruised, but it was apparently nothing bad enough that would need wrapping. Both legs were extended out, with his left pant leg pulled up to the knee to reveal his bruised ankle. He didn’t notice you enter, his eyes were shut and he was likely half-asleep. His face was fine, handsome as always, besides a cut on his nose-bridge that was beginning to darken into a bruise.

“Look at you, my poor sweet thing.” You cooed quietly at him suddenly, waking him from his relaxed state. His eyes shot open, head snapping over to the door.

“My princess.” He gasped. His chambers were much smaller and less impressive than yours, he didn’t want you in such an environment.

“Are you well?” You asked, closing the door as quietly as possible, “The maester says you’ve broken bones.”

“I’m well, I swear it to you. It’s a small break in the arm, everything should heal rather quickly.” He tried to reassure you as you approached, struggling his way into a sitting position, his back against the head board.

You hummed at his clumsy movements, stopping to stand at his bedside. Cute. Criston wasn’t an inherently violent man, at least not with you, so it was easy to forget how strong and dangerous he truly was. It was unnerving to see him injured; weak.

“How quickly would you say?” You asked.

“The maester says a month.” He answered quietly, not willing to admit the extent of his injuries. His primary goal was to get back to you.

You knew the Maester had actually said two months.

“Hm. Who will protect me for a whole month in your absence?” You held back a smirk.

You watched as Criston’s body language immediately changed. Clenching and unclenching his jaw, his leg twitched in frustration.

“I am still fully capable.”

Has he always been this attractive or does jealousy just look good on him?

“My father thinks you should take time to heal.”

He scoffed, shaking his head, “I don’t care what he thinks, you saw what I did to my opponent despite my injuries.”

“You ‘don’t care what he thinks’? He is King.” You said in a mock-scolding tone, lifting your knee to rest in against the bed, close to his lap.

“Yours is the only word to mean anything to me. I listen to no King.” Still seated, he leans forward to get closer.

“Though you listen to me? Only me?” You ask with a smile, batting your lashes at him and leaning in. He doesn’t move to kiss you first, he rarely does. He lets you do as you please, feeling the puffs of air from your giggle on his lips.

“Yes. Only you.” He whispers, his eyes begging you to just kiss him already. But nothing is ever that simple with you, and he knows it well.

You grin at him, leaning in until your lips are just grazing his own, before laughing and pulling away entirely. His face followed yours until you were out of reach, leaving him to huff and fall back against the head board once again. He let out a quiet groan, closing his eyes and tossing his head back so he could catch his breath.

“You’re so easy, Ser Criston.” You snickered. His lips quirked up at your joyous tone, but he resisted the urge to open his eyes. After a few moments of stumbling around the room in amusement, you bit your lip to keep quiet.

Criston went stiff when you fell silent, excited fingers beginning to twitch as the urge to touch you increased. But he was a seasoned warrior at this point in life, and could hear every movement you made. He heard you tiptoe back over to the bed before pausing. The mattress dipped as you climbed onto the bed and landed in his lap, straddling his thighs and avoiding his bruised ribs. It was only when you were on top of him that his eyelids fluttered open to watch you. You gave him a satisfied look. He was happy to let you believe you caught him off-guard.

“Criston?”

“Yes, my Heart?”

“There’s something I have to tell you…” You placed your hands gently on his chest and leaned in, your mouth next to his ear, “and you will not like it.”

“You think me incapable of handling such news?” He asked, a bit breathless.

You smiled, “Of course not. You’re my protector, my strong and most loyal servant. You can handle anything I give you, yes?”

He nodded, unable to speak properly with your lips on his ear.

“My father says that Ser Jessil will be your stand-in as my protector.”

Criston’s good hand immediately moved to your waist, gripping it tightly, “You don’t need anyone else to protect you. Only me.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” You kissed his jaw gently, “but you should heal and rest.”

“I will kill him. Do not doubt me.”

“He would just be replaced.”

“I don’t care, I should kill the next as well.”

“You go against my word?” You pulled back, sitting up fully. He hesitated in his response, so you continued, “Ser Jessil will be your temporary replacement, my King father has said this and I have agreed.”

It was a lie, technically; you didn’t exactly agree to anything. But you weren’t about to let Criston believe he had the power here. He’d started to get a bit too bold.

Your faces were close together now, the two of you holding heavy eye contact. Criston said nothing, though his body language revealed his true feelings easily. He didn’t like that you were taking your father’s side over his own.

“I love you.” He blurted out, brows furrowed in emotion.

Your hands moved up to hold his face, “I know that. I just want you well. You must rest and heal so you can be at your best. Don’t you understand?”

Criston nodded slowly, a satisfied shiver running through him at the thought of you caring so much. His health is truly that important to you?

“Good.” You say with a grin, pecking the corner of his lips and reaching up to pat his messy hair down. His long locks grew wild already, but the style worsened from hours of wearing a helmet.

Giving into you, per usual, the Knight sighed and wrapped his good arm fully around your waist, pulling you close so he could tuck his face into your neck. You cooed at him, returning his embrace and giggling in between your praises.

“I know that this upsets you quite a bit,” You began, gasping in surprise when you felt a warm tongue trail over your throat, “but I don’t mind making you feel better.”

“Feel better you say?” He questioned absentmindedly, more focused on the taste of your skin.

You hummed in confirmation, “I can take care of you in places you may need help with. You know….. here?”

Eyes closed, you placed a delicate touch to the bulge in his pants, smiling when you felt him stiffen beneath you.

Criston Cole was always half-hard around you, your presence alone able to rile him up. He often found himself having to control his thoughts when around other people, not wanting them to notice his… state. As much as he wanted to touch you all over— taste you and love you and worship you— he held a higher respect for you than himself. You were not just a Lady, you were a Princess. He would not dishonor you in such a way, at least not until the two of you were married.

“Princess—” he grunted, mouth dropping open in pleasure briefly before pursing his lips. He pulled his upper body away from you slightly, giving you a bit more space to do what you wanted.

“Oh, it’s fine, Ser Criston. I want to.” You reassured, shrugging because you knew he would end up letting you anyways, “You just look so good bruised up like this, all jealous over some loser, nobody Knight.”

You whispered the last sentence harshly, and Criston loved it. He loved when you degraded other men in comparison to him. He was who you wanted, not that loser, nobody Knight. It didn’t matter that he was low-born or sick in the head, you wanted him anyway.

“You prefer me?” He asked looking up at you, “to him? Tell me...”

“I prefer you to him, Ser Criston Cole. I prefer you to all other men.”

Pulling him by his hair, your lips captured his. Whimpering into your mouth, he now does nothing to stop you from reaching your goal. You smile into the kiss at his surrender.

“… but perhaps you’re right.” You pull away from his lips, but stay close enough to tease, “it would be so dishonorable and you’re injured as well. Hm.”

Criston, his mind in shambles, doesn’t say a word, just sucks his teeth and releases a shaky breath. He doesn’t like to argue with you, he won’t. He’s overwhelmed, you’re so close.

“Can’t think.” He muttered so quietly you almost missed it.

A breathy laugh escaped you before you could stop it, “No? And why is that, Ser? Do I possess you so?”

“Possess? Princess, you are torturing me with your affections. I cannot think of anything else, I cannot focus, I cannot stop shaking.” His voice cracked at the last word and he wasn’t lying, his body trembled.

“Do I dominate your dreams as well?”

“Yes.”

You hum, curious. You knew of his fantasies; his plans to run away, marry, and have many children with you. But you never question the details, allowing them to stay fuzzy so he wouldn’t get too ahead with his scheming. Dreams, however, you could create your own world. “Won’t you share them with me?”

“We ah-” he pauses to take a deep breath, likely attempting to control himself, “You call me by name a lot.”

You tilt your head, a bit confused.

“Not Ser, not dog, not thing— just Criston. The sound of my name from your lips is like music to me. It makes me— I never want you to say another’s name ever again. And uh- a daughter. We have a daughter. She looks like you- so much.”

You begin to shift at his words. A daughter? No Westerosi man wishes for a daughter, at least not before a son, “Daughter you say? Why?”

“She will be you, reborn, carrying my blood. I dream of a baby girl that smiles like you. I will call her my little princess as you are my Princess. A child that is ours.”

“A daughter.” You repeated once more. It was… nice to hear a man express desire for a daughter rather than a son. You and Rhaenyra had suffered due to that mindset, spending most of your lives watching your father desperately try for a son, even at the cost of your mother’s life. He no longer felt that way, but it was too late, the damage had been done. He now had Aegon and Aemond, who he didn’t even pay much attention to. Your mother’s life felt wasted.

“Princess—?”

“A sweet thing it is.” You cut him off, “your dreams are endearing. But I must go now, Jessil has no doubt noticed my absence.”

Criston tensed, “Ab—sence” He croaked, jealousy building.

“Mmhm.” I nodded, “I’ve avoided him thus far, impressively. He may report this to my father if I’m gone any longer.”

Just a few minutes more, his mind screams. But he’s good for you, so he only nods. His jaw is clenched and there’s a noticeable twitch in his expression. His fingertips dig into your sides.

“I don’t want to part with you for so long.”

“Perhaps I’ll visit if you behave.”

“He’s clearly a bastard.” Criston spoke quietly, but plainly.

You’d snuck him into your chambers after a long day of cooing over Rhaenyra’s baby boy, Jacaerys. It’d been a couple weeks since his birth and she finally brought him to court for all to see.

“It is treason to suggest such a thing, Ser Cole.” You bitterly defended your sister as you brushed your fair, before rolling your eyes, “And even if it were true, what does it matter who the boy’s father is? He is Rhaenyra’s true son and her heir. The boy is a Targaryen.”

At the risk of upsetting you further, he held his tongue. Being rather low born, Criston grew up having to prove himself through his ability rather than his status. But when he was young, at the end of the day, he was still a rank above bastard children. He had that, at least. He knew that it wasn’t exactly fair, you can’t control who your parents are, but it was a mindset he was raised with and couldn’t shake so easily.

“What if my father marries me off to some Lord I do not love? Are you saying you wouldn’t fuck little bastard babies into me? Babes that look just like you?” You ask him, standing up from your vanity to approach his spot on your bed, feigning innocence.

Face twitching in annoyance, Criston grabbed your wrist and roughly pulled you to his level. With your faces were inches apart, he reached up and gripped your chin. The action made you bite your lip to hide a grin.

“I will be fucking little trueborn babies into you. I’ll make you my wife before giving you children.” He took slight offense to your words. How could you suggest that? You should know he would not let you be married off.

“Oh, of course, My White Knight. You plan to steal me away.”

“Hardly stealing.” He muttered, lovesick eyes staring into yours.

You don’t voice your disagreements, you only laugh. You did not belong to Criston Cole, you belong only to yourself. His words make you think that this game had gone a little too far; he’s getting too confident in his possessiveness. His hesitancy was one of his initial charms for you, and it’s leaving him. Perhaps it’s best to stop entertaining his ideas of a future with you, no matter how cute and pleasant you believe them to be.

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t like it, even just a little?” You tilted your head, his hand still holding your chin softly.

“No.” That’s a lie, maybe just a small amount. Everyone knowing you belong to him, having his kids, despite your status. But the negatives massively outweigh the positives. Not only would it put so much dishonor on you, but Criston isn’t good at controlling his jealousy. He wouldn’t be able to handle you being married to another or his children not having his name.

You smiled knowingly, teasing, “I don’t believe you.”

He released his grasp on your chin, letting you fall closer into him, “I could never be fond of an idea where you are not mine.”

“Well I would be, only secretly.” You pointed out.

“I want you to be mine openly, in every way. By name.”

You knew that wasn’t possible, not even across the sea. But you didn’t want to burst the bubble he’d been constructing for the last year. You let it go. A short silence takes over, not an uncomfortable one, but not the kind you particularly liked. The two of you had extremely different thinking processes, and it was something only amplified when you discussed your ideas for the future. Luckily, your partner was delusional enough that he didn’t notice your discontent with running away.

“Criston?” You ask, letting yourself fall to lie flat beside him. He lets go of your wrist and his eyes follow your moments, as usual. He lies back on the bed as well.

“Yes, my Princess?”

“Why do you desire me the way you do?”

He looked slightly surprised at the question, like he’d never expected you would ask. The truth is, he hadn’t. It wasn’t like you to care why. You were quick to accept things for what they were.

“You’re special to me.” He eventually whispered, “I was made to love you.”

“Made?”

“The gods constructed me only for the purpose of worshipping you. You have bewitched me with no effort. I do not know whether to kiss the ground you walk on or fall to my knees and beg for your continued attention.”

You stare into his big, dark eyes silently. He’s loyal, like a dog. And he’s hopeless like one too. “You’re not exactly a poet, but I suppose that will do.”

He grins, and you can practically feel his heart racing, “Not a poet, no.”

You tear your eyes away from him to glare at the ceiling. “Do not call my nephew a bastard again.”

He tensed at your words, entirely disliking that he’d upset you, and nodded immediately. He was embarrassed, “Yes, my love, I’m sorry.”

You sighed and looked back at him, sitting up once more. “I think you’ll find him charming. Rhaenyra says he reminds her of me already.”

“Well I’m sure to be charmed in that case, aren’t I?”

“Oh, yes, since you’re more than quite charmed by me.”

“Charmed,” He smiled, pupils expanding as he began to fantasize, “I hope to be charmed by our own children one day.”

“Our own?” You entertained, “How many? Including this daughter of ours of course.”

“Five perhaps. More if you’d like.” He took a piece of your hair between his fingers to play with.

“Is that what our lives would look like if you had it your way?”

“If I had it my way,” His eyes shifted back to your own, darkening, “by now you’d be chasing around our first two children as your stomach swelled with our third. You’d be called Lady Cole.”

“Ah, yes. Lady Cole with her many Cole babes.”

Criston had to take a deep breath at that, practically vibrating at the mere thought of you carrying his children and living as his wife.

You giggle at his visible reaction, leaning down to claim his lips. He sighed into the kiss, hesitant hands reaching for your hair. He tugs, trying to urge you closer, onto his lap, “My princess, please.”

“He begs, ‘Please please please’. You are the wantingest man I’ve ever met.” You grin into the kiss, allowing him to take you into his lap.

“I will never have shame in begging you. My life belongs to you, I am yours.” His words are beginning to slur slightly, “It’s only natural for me to be greedy when you are the one who claims my heart.”

“Always trying to impress me with your words,” You playfully roll your eyes, “you’re nearly healed, you know. Ready to return to my side?” It was a lie, he had good a bit left of healing to do.

“I never should have left.” He squirmed, trying not to show his anger. He never left, not willingly. He was removed.

“Of course, of course.” You tugged on the dark hair at the back of his neck, “The man who’s been with me is utterly serious. Neither I nor Rhaenyra like him.”

Criston listened to your complain about your temporary shield with a sense of pride and giddiness. He was relieved you disliked his replacement. But the mention of your sister disliking him as well did nothing for him, as the princess Rhaenyra didn’t like most men surrounding you, Criston himself included. She never vocalized it much, but he noticed when she tensed and sneered when he got too close to you. He wondered if she knew about your relationship.

“I’m more your taste, Princess?”

A grin found its way to your face and you nodded, “That’s right, I can do whatever I please to you and you only bask in my attention.”

He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, argue with that. While he had his own boundaries of sorts, they were completely disregarded in your presence and he didn’t even mind it.

To prove your point, you began to kiss his jaw, sweet and gentle kisses. Criston hummed, closing his eyes and tilting his head back only slightly. You nipped at the delicate skin, comfortable with leaving just a few marks because he was still out of action; not many people would be seeing him anyways.

“G-gods-” he choked out.

“The gods cannot save you, I’m afraid.” You giggle.

“I beg them not to.”

You giggle at his dazed voice and expression, blowing cool air on his neck and enjoying his shiver. His hands keep twitching. Just to tease, you kept your face tucked into him, kitten licking at the skin until you felt something wet hit your cheek. Pulling away slightly, you quickly identified the source of the warm liquid; blood was dripping from Criston’s nose, falling over his lips down to his chin.

“S-sorry, your grace. I’m overwhelmed is all.” He muttered, hand immediately going up to face to stop the dripping. But you only pull his hand away with a smirk.

“You know,” you begin, thumbing some of the blood and smearing it over his lips, “in the way of Old Valyria, we share blood when we marry.”

“Please, please,” he croaks, big dark eyes boring desperately into your own. They’re shiny and lack any coherent thoughts, “Don’t say such things to me now— can’t control myself.”

“We use dragon glass to cut one another’s lip,” you take your bloodied thumb and swipe red onto your bottom lip, “then we kiss to show we are of the same blood now.”

His leg begins to bounce and he has to look away from your face. His nose continues to drip blood, but neither of you move to stop it this time.

“You like that idea~ i can tell because you’re shaking.” You giggle into his ear.

“M’not shaking-” he replies, but even his voice trembles.

“Well you’re bleeding, is that not a sign?” You tilt your head, “perhaps you’re unwell, should I stop?”

Before he can beg you not to stop, his sharp ears catch the sound of clicking armor in the hall. He tenses, almost forgetting he was in the Princess’ chambers; he doesn’t know how when yours was easily three-times the size of his own. There was no need to panic and hide, people were not permitted to just walk in.

Three hard knocks sounded throughout the room, causing Criston to freeze. Your expression didn’t change, as you’d heard the footsteps.

“Who is it? Do not enter please.” You answered, your eyes not leaving your knight’s. As nervous as he was, Criston maintained eye contact and didn’t move a muscle. With a small grin, your hand traveled back up to his chin, which was now smeared with blood. As your fingers traced his features, you leaned in close to his ear to place a few gentle kisses there.

“Princess, it’s Ser Jessil. Your sister, the Princess Rhaenyra, has sent for you. She is… perhaps you should open the door to let me explain. It concerns your safety.”

Your reactions vary; Criston’s posture is still stiff and he’s growing annoyed at the knight’s presence. It’s almost offensive how this pathetic creature is trying to protect you when that’s his job. But you’re worried, though you won’t show it. Rhaenyra? Is something wrong? But something about it didn’t make sense; if your safety was threatened, then why did Rhaenyra know first and why did Jessil bother knocking at all?

“I’d prefer you explain from where you are.”

You could hear his sigh through the door, an impressive feat, “She is suspicious that a knight of the king is sneaking into your chambers.”

Probably because it was true, you thought, glancing at a stiff and unhappy Criston.

“Let me ready myself and I will speak with her at once.” As you began to shift off of your shield, but he only pouted and desperately hung on. He had the mind to keep quiet, but his heart wouldn’t allow you to leave him.

“… Yes, Princess.”

You turned to him sternly, “Let go, Criston. Don’t be foolish, just hide for now and be gone when we leave.” You quietly scolded and his grip loosened.

He clenches his jaw, the most common hint to his annoyance, and said nothing. He allowed you to pull him up by the hand and drag him over to your wardrobe, shutting him in with a last apologetic kiss.

“Be good.” You uttered, and his gaze softened for a moment before the door shut in his face.

He could hear you shuffle around, dressing quickly to see your sister. He sucked his teeth angry. Did he deserve mistreatment? To an extent, yes, he could admit that. But this wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t you just— stay? Tell him to kill that bothersome knight and be done with him entirely. His fists clenched. He’d kill him— and soon. Right now even. Then he’d take you away and give you a nice little home with sweet little silver-haired babies. Criston was growing sick of waiting, it was eating him up inside. You affected him so severely, it was showing itself physically. He brought a hand up to the crimson liquid that had finally stopped leaking from his nose.

You were gone now— he knew this because he could feel when you were near. But someone was in your chambers, someone closer to his size. He could hear the metal clanking of heavy armor. The person was looking for something, an intruder most likely. But Criston was not the intruder here. The idea of someone who wasn’t him being in your space made him burn with anger. That was fine, he decided, he’d handle it. With balled up fists, he stepped out from the wardrobe.

“Has Ser Jessil been good to you, little sister?”

You shrugged at Rhaenyra, your chin resting in your hand as you leaned on the table. It wasn’t polite, but you were comfortable in her presence, “He’s fine, I suppose.”

“But you prefer that dog of yours.” Your sister teased. You could tell she didn’t like that— didn’t like Criston. You understood.

“He’s good, listens well.”

“Not for long— I can see it well. He’s a sick thing, sister.”

“I can handle him, he does as I ask.”

“He’s greedy, an oath breaker.”

You hummed in agreement, “He has pretty eyes.”

Rhaenyra scoffed with a grin at your reply, “He will try to steal you away. Not just that, but he’s also obvious. Painfully so. If I know, someone else does too. He needs to be put out. Be rid of him.”

“I… understand that he’s got troublesome feelings. But he’s become something of a pet to me now.” You pouted and your sister sighed, not fond of upsetting you.

“When I ascend the throne, he will be gone. I worry he’ll be your downfall.” She wasn’t being dramatic, she’d disliked the man for years and saw every bit of concerning behavior he displayed. She saw clearly his desperation to leave with you. When it comes time for you to marry, he’ll go mad.

You knew whatever you had with Criston wasn’t permanent, but to hear your elder sister give away her intentions of getting rid of him really struck you. “He’s brainless, Rhaenyra. Just a dog, truly. He can hardly read. He’s only a threat physically, and he would never hurt me.”

Rhaenyra sighed, wrinkling her nose in distaste for the man. She used to be like you, still was sometimes, but she would protect you from her mistakes. She would not allow any whispers at court of you being a whore and your children being bastards, not like her. Since the birth of Jacaerys, she’d grown just a bit more serious, and much more protective.

“You needn’t be literate to kill a man.” She replied after a brief silence.

You held back a huff. The truth was that Criston could read fine these days, though not nearly at the level you could. You’d only said that to give the illusion of harmlessness. Unfortunately, Rhaenyra would never buy it; she had seen the knights he’d bloodied during tournaments.

“I’ll be harder on him then, perhaps add a bit of distance. But, sister, he is important. As a member of the Kingsguard, his support and loyalty will aid your claim. One more soldier on our side— a good one.”

“I will not sacrifice you for my cause.”

“I’ve told you, he will not harm me—”

“It’s more complex than that—!”

It felt like you were 13 and 14 again, bickering over something that was caused by your sisters protectiveness.

No, you will not be coming with me. You will sleep in your bed and I will wake you myself come morning!

If that stable boy looks at you that way again, I will have father or Uncle Daemon take his eyes— probably Daemon.

No, sister. You are mad if you think I’m letting you anywhere near a wild dragon—!

You sometimes think that Criston and Rhaenyra hate one another because they are a bit similar.

“Nyra,” you groaned, head in hands, “I will fix it, you’re right, he has become a bit… extreme lately. But you must admit he’d be beneficial to our cause.”

Although Rhaenyra was legally the heir to the throne, there were already whispers of putting Alicent’s son, Aegon, on the throne in her place. Criston wasn’t very powerful politically, but he was a brilliant fighter and his words as a Kingsguard held just a bit of sway.

She furrowed her brows, “You’re too fond of him.”

You shrugged, standing up, “Perhaps. But I’m no fool; you come first. I will never flee with him.”

“And when he realizes that?”

You didn’t have an answer. You passed Harwin Strong on your way out, and bit your tongue to stop myself from calling out the hypocrisy.

What was the difference between her and Harwin vs you and Criston?

Well for starters, Harwin didn’t murder any man who entered Rhaenyra’s vicinity. Criston on the other hand…

By the time you returned to your chambers, the entire stone floor was red, the liquid seeping into your intricate carpet you’d had since you were a child. There was no body, suggesting that Criston had already gotten rid of it or the victim managed to escape. (But that was unlikely, Criston was a beast in a fight, and his temper was unmatched.)

“Princess.” Criston croaked from behind you, in the open doorway. He’d just arrived, and it took only one glance at him to know what he’d done. Blood covered his hands, arms, and chest. It was splattered from his face all the way down to his knees. He was in his civilian clothes still, rather than any armor due to being put on leave. His eyes were shiny, some sense of desperation in them, and he was fiddling with his red hands. Nervous. Why were you back so early? The sling for his arm was gone, though he surely still needed it.

“Is—” You cleared your throat. “Is he alive?”

But judging by the brain matter on the ground, you knew the answer was—

“No.” Direct and honest. He took a few steps forward, shutting the door behind him. You weren’t scared of him necessarily— you knew well enough at this point that he’d never hurt you. But he didn’t look quite human at the moment, so you took a step back.

Your simple shuffle backwards was enough to send him into a panic.

He dropped to his knees, blood soaking into his breeches as he inched closer, “My love— he was threat! He would’ve found me in here—” He babbled on about protecting you, begging for you not to be afraid. You let him talk, focused on the blood.

“Clean this up.” You finally muttered, patting him quickly on the head to avoid soaking yourself with the crimson liquid.

As much as a part of you wanted to coo at him ‘good dog’, you couldn’t. This was messy— emotional and obvious. Risky. He was a bad dog, a stupid one even. He wasn’t like Harwin— manageable. He was something else entirely. You liked him how he was, violently loyal and protective, but you couldn’t have it.

He quickly agreed to clean it and began to calm down, which led him to notice your own unease. He flinched when he saw how much blood seeped into your shoes and skirt, pulling you into his arms and placing you on your favorite stool.

He was cooing at you, “Sweet Princess, don’t worry about this, yes? I’ll rid you completely of this man, I swear it. I allowed his blood to soil your clothes, I’m sorry.”

Criston kissed at your collar bones down your arms to your palms.

“Criston,” his eyes shot up to meet yours. Big brown heart eyes. “No more of this, not in this castle.”

His hands tightened slightly around your wrists, “But you like it.” He muttered.

“It isn’t about that—!” You held your tongue, deciding to take a smarter approach, “My sweet Criston, the people in the Keep will soon notice a pattern, I cannot let that happen. My sister needs nothing in her way of that crown.”

He nearly scoffed, “Is it always about your sister and her crown? I have protected you again! From-from these perverts who wish to—”

“You’re the pervert-!”

“You love me! You love it! How you affect me— how you can physically see every thought that goes through my head about you! You love how perverted I am for only you! I see you— I love every part of you, even the part that gets off on a Kingsguard soiling his cloak for you!” Criston was shaking, “I am sick, and you cannot get enough! Just as I will never tire of you— I need you!”

There was silence, besides his heavy breathing. You didn’t expect such self-awareness, and you didn’t like it. You liked him better dumb, but it appeared he never was fully clueless. His brown eyes were wide and a shade darker than usual.

“Sit.” You commanded and he did, “Just clean this up.”

[taglist] @3abydolll @pearlstiare @caramelcandescence @eilishchaos @watercolorskyy

The Rhaenyra/Criston beef is gonna go crazy in the prequel

im hoping you guys noticed, but this chapter was meant to emphasize the lack of control the reader truly has on criston. like yeah, he worships you and is willing to do almost anything you say, but his urges control him more than anything else ever will. this is going to be a common theme in the future. i also wanted this chapter to show more daily life and readers relationship with rhaenyra compared to part i.

#dark! hotd #yandere hotd #hotd x reader #got x reader #yandere got #yandere criston cole #yandere asoiaf #criston cole #criston cole x reader #obsessive criston cole #dark criston cole #ser criston #targaryen reader

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hyuckiefluff · 9 months

Note

hihi! can i request corruption kink with jeno or hyuck?? if thats okay!

a/n: thank u for requesting!! i decided to do jeno bc i haven’t written anything for him yet oh and somebody else requested that i do something similar to my jaemin request with jeno so two birds one stone i guess? anyways enjoy!!!!! psa i got way more requests than i expected so thank u to everyone who sent im gonna try to get thru all of them as quickly as possible (if college doesn’t k!ll me first)

btw thank u for 400 followers! love u all

pairing: jeno x tutor!reader

wc: 2k

content: smut

warnings: cursing, fingering, masturbation, edging (kind of) , mentions of food (ice cream), big dick jeno ofc, backshots yuh!!!, rough sex, jeno is kinda too much in this lol, marking, cum eating, taking risky pics without consent, no after care, usage of pet names like pretty and baby *whispers* and whore. lmk if i missed any

masterlist

Jeno had always liked experienced girls. The kind he didn't have to treat with gloves, who were game for him to fuck so hard that they'd feel it afterward. At least, that's what he thought he was into.

Then you walked into the picture as his little brother's tutor. You were always polite and proper, wearing those buttoned up shirts and pencil skirts that gave off a more mature vibe than your actual age. He knew you recently graduated college, which he liked because you were older than him. But the thing is, you were incredibly innocent and naive. I mean, you didn't even catch on when his brother cracked those not-so-subtle, inappropriate jokes about you.

Jeno wouldn't usually spare a second thought for someone like you. After all, you couldn't even hold his gaze for more than a couple of seconds. So, why on earth was he now holed up in the bathroom, pumping himself to the thoughts of your ass in that skirt? Maybe it was because of how clueless you were, bending over the table to help his brother with his work, offering Jeno a perfect view of your perked ass. He tried to resist, truly he did, but it was hard, especially when your shirt hiked up, exposing the curve of your back.

Jeno had to make a quick exit from the living room, and now… Here he was, working up a sweat in the cramped bathroom trying to imagine your hand, or even your mouth, around his dick instead of his own. Imagining how he'd finish all over your face, leaving you in a state of shock and fluster, those big, innocent eyes looking up at him.

"Shit..." he whimpered shakily, the release of his pent-up load leaving him trembling as the white liquid ended up dripping messily all over the bathroom's curtain. This was getting ridiculous… he needed to fuck someone now.

A sudden knock at the door made him jump, his dick still exposed, flopping around as he hurried to check that the door was securely bolted. He quickly adjusted his pants, grabbed some toilet paper, and tried to clean up the mess as much as possible.

What he didn't expect was to find you standing there when he opened the door, holding a popsicle.

He vaguely remembered you saying something about getting ice cream for everyone because it was so hot. That was right before he had bolted upstairs to deal with his urgent situation.

The popsicle was melting, its crimson contents dripping down your hand and arm. Jeno couldn't help but feel like the universe was testing him, and he swore he felt his dick come alive again.

"Oh, sorry... Uhm... I kind of made a mess," you laughed airily but averted your gaze when the eye contact got a bit too intense "Your brother mentioned you guys had wet wipes in here."

"Uh, yeah, down there" Jeno finally responded after a few moments of silently staring at you. You bent down to check under the sink where he directed you, giving him another tempting view of your ass. You missed the quiet grunt he let out while discreetly adjusting the growing situation in his pants.

You straightened up after finding the wet wipes, looking somewhat torn between putting the popsicle down to clean yourself or eating it quickly. Jeno sensed your struggle and casually reached his arm from behind you to take the popsicle from your hand, allowing you to clean up properly.

"Oh, thanks," you said, using the wet wipes to clean your arms and the stained area on your shirt.

Jeno silently watched you in the mirror, his attention focused on the way the white shirt clung to your skin as you diligently worked to remove the stain. When you finally looked up, you found him eating the popsicle—the very one you had been licking just moments ago. Locking eyes with you, he noticed your bewildered expression and gave you a lopsided smile "It was melting."

"Oh..." you said quietly, the heat rushing to your ears revealing your flustered state.

You tried to return to your task, but he stopped you by suddenly grabbing your wrist. His own hand was now sticky from the melting popsicle. He pulled you closer to him and reached his hand to your face, using his thumb to rub against the corner of your lip "You got ice cream here too," but instead of withdrawing his hand after, he surprised you by slipping his thumb into your mouth.

You would have pulled back if you weren’t completely taken aback by what was going on.

With his finger still in your mouth, he playfully pressed the popsicle against your collarbone. The cold sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and your tongue brushed against his finger instinctively. The sight of your mouth enveloping his digit drove his self-control right out the window. He carelessly dropped the popsicle in the sink and leaned in closer, crowding your personal space with his larger frame. His cold hands sneaked under your shirt, and with a quick move, he unhooked your bra straps from your shoulders, exposing more skin for him to explore.

"Jeno... I don't think this is ri-..right,"

"Why not?" he asked, his face burying in your neck, coaxing soft whimpers from your lips.

"Your... brother... he—"

"He's probably busy googling the answers to his exercises, believe me, he doesn't need you back just yet” He assured, pulling you even closer against his hips, causing your skirt to ride up and reveal your panties.

“I knew you were a whore,” he tutted, realizing you were wearing black lace “You wear lingerie to tutor students?" he chuckled dryly, biting a smile as you attempted to cover yourself.

"I’m n–," you whispered, but your words were cut short as his teeth grazed against your skin, leaving marks and savoring the fruity taste left by the popsicle. He didn't bother with the buttons of your shirt, causing a few of them to pop open from the stretch.

Your bra had slipped down too, partially exposing your breasts.

“You like being used like this, don’t you?" he teased, leaning back to take in the sight of your disheveled appearance. Your bruised neck from the sucking and biting, the strands of hair that clung to your flushed face, and your lace panties on display.

He reached for his phone inside his pocket and snapped a quick picture of you in that state. Your expression instantly shifted to one of panic.

"What… are you doing?" You tried to slide off the sink, but he pressed back against you, his hips pinning you in place.

"Don't worry, this is just for me to enjoy later."

Then he kissed you, shushing any protests you had. His hand crept undetected inside your skirt and under your panties, his index finger gingerly spreading your folds. The action made you gasp against his tongue and then, without warning, he inserted a finger. The intrusion made you try to press your thighs together but he was standing between them so it was impossible. Every time he pumped his finger inside, his hips rutted against you, and you could feel the tent forming in his sweatpants brushing against your clothed core.

“…‘m gonna fuck you like no one ever has before,” He groaned against your lips.

He intentionally slowed down to a pace that almost seemed teasing as the knot in your stomach became almost unbearable. But given how shameful this situation already was, you didn’t want to ask for more.

"Are you that desperate for cock, hmm baby?" Jeno asked as you instinctively tugged on the waistband of his sweatpants to bring him closer and relieve the friction.

His finger pumped a few more times before he completely withdrew it. The emptiness immediately made you whimper.

"I'll give you what you want then," he replied as he reached into his sweatpants and casually pulled out his dick. You didn't want to stare like a pervert but... wow. You felt your legs quiver just from its sheer size. There was no way in hell you could take that.

You found it difficult to imagine how anything that big could fit comfortably inside of you.

The smug smirk on his face told you that he liked your reaction "Clearly never seen one so big,"

"Jeno, I can't… we shouldn’t"

"But what kind of gentleman leaves a lady who is obviously in need?" He said cynically as he pulled down your panties.

No more words were necessary, the tension that had been building reached its peak as he aligned himself with your entrance. Jeno tried not to show any vulnerability, but the way your walls tightened around him, even though he was barely inside, was driving him crazy.

As he gradually entered you, soft, breathless gasps escaped your swollen lips. Your hands clung to the sink, keeping you from losing your balance. He stretched you so intensely that it made your eyes roll to the back of your head. You knew it defied anatomical possibility but as he bottomed out, you had a feel that if you touched your lower belly, you might just be able to feel him there.

“'m gonna move," he said through gritted teeth, more like a statement than a question. And with that, he started to thrust, not giving you much time to get used to the feeling of being so incredibly full.

As his hips met yours in a rough rhythm, he mumbled praises while also calling you things you'd never tolerate from anyone else.

"You feel so tight... for me," he groaned, his hand reaching for your face so you would look up at him.

“Eyes up here, doll,” he said in a breathless tone, the pace so fast and rough that it left no room for coherent thoughts. The knot in your stomach twisted, sending waves of almost painful pleasure through you. Your entire body buzzing with his desperate movements.

“J-..J-..Jeno…” His name was the only word that escaped your lips, each thrust causing your voice to quiver.

Suddenly, he lifted you by your ass and turned you around to face the misty mirror. Both your reflections appeared hazy in the condensation-covered glass so he messily wiped it with one hand and then resumed his thrusting. Now, you could see the way your expression changed each time he hit that spot deep inside you.

He continued fucking into you relentlessly, whispering how you would remember the outline of his cock by the time he was finished. His saliva-slicked lips left wet trails on the skin beneath your ear. From this close proximity, you could even hear the soft moans he struggled to suppress.

Suddenly, a thought flashed through your mind, and with a hoarse voice, you pleaded, "Jeno... don't cum inside."

He hummed against your hair but continued ramming into you, and for a moment, you thought he hadn't heard you. However, just as your orgasm swept over you, he pulled out. You sighed in relief and rested your forehead against the steamy mirror, seeking a few moments of calm.

But Jeno had other plans and wiithout giving you a moment to catch your breath, he turned you around and had you on your knees. You looked up at him confused until he aligned his cock with your mouth.

"Open wide," he said, and with no energy left to complain, you did as told.

You expected him to shove his dick into your mouth, but instead, he stroked it a few more times before releasing his load all over your face. Most of it landed in your mouth, but some also splashed onto your cheeks and chin.

"Swallow," he said with a commanding tone, a stark contrast to the way he gently stroked your face.

You complied, taking in as much as you could. You even used a finger to collect the excess and popped it into your mouth. Savoring it much like you did when you licked the ice cream off his finger. Jeno bit his lip, trying to contain himself before he fucked you thrice more against the wall.

“Go ahead and clean yourself, pretty. You got a lesson to finish," he said, adjusting his sweatpants. And with one last chaste kiss on your lips, he left the bathroom.

#nct #nct x reader #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct smut #nct dream fic #nct dream imagines #nct imagines #nct dream scenario #nct dream smut #jeno smut #jeno #jeno scenarios #jeno imagines #jeno x reader #nct jeno #hyuckiereqs

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manicpixiefelix · 5 months

Text

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 2.

Summary: Felix and Y/N's first year of university means being more open with how close they are, while perhaps growing a little more distant than Felix would like. Also the Catton family have bestowed Y/N their own title, which Felix hates, and Y/N and Farleigh have a moment of connection over Christmas.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader with Felix, Venetia, and Farleigh in this chapter. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: Smut (reader bottoming but their gender is not made explicit), Degrading language (reader is referred to as as dog & pet)

A/N: 3071 words. i definitely meant to get to the start of their second year/first run in with Oli..... but this chapter got long enough, so instead we'll meet Oliver at the start of the next chapter and instead we get Felix and Reader at university, best friends who hook up shenanigans, Venetia being a pot-stirrer because she likes to rile up her brother, and Farleigh and Y/N bonding and boning. i feel like the pacing is a bit strange so id love some feedback <3 ALSO I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT UK COLLEGE CALANDERS IM SO SORRY LOL

Taglist: @strangemaximoff @renaissance-mama @tsach @malscorner @xhoneymoonx134 @yelchinweasleylothbrok @tarriea @florencediet @butitsbetterifyoudoittoem @belladonnadarksshade @fandom-multiamory @snazzynacho @jubileexoxo @soocore @be-lla-vie @nightingale2124 @willow-sages @null4ndv0id @gracieluvthemoon @day2dream @marvellover98 @navixfr @bitxhinthecomments @daintylovers @alesunsets @noturningbacknow @d0llysposts @alilcloudy @callsignwidow @moviequotes23 @325575 @bonnieblue0606 @osoqueen125 @hot-dino-nuggies @darkness-falls-xo

----

To absolutely no-ones surprise, least of all yours, Felix takes to the social aspects of college like a duck to water. Neither of you missed a single day or night of activities during first year orientation, and you both left the various pubs and bars with a different hook up each night.

Felix sees a poster for a band in town, and crows with laughter as he talks about how his mother would hate if he ever got a piercing, but you know the look in his eye too well, and tell him there's a piercing place a block away.

"God I miss Farleigh," you sigh with a smile, watching him size himself up in the mirror of the tattoo parlour where the piercer had drawn approximate dots to mark his soon-to-be eyebrow piercing.

"Oh he'd love this, wouldn't he?" Felix agrees, grinning from ear to ear, catching your gaze in the reflection. Despite the piercer's reassurance that it doesn't actually hurt that bad, Felix plays up the bit of being concerned, insisting that you hold his hand.

It's easier in this environment to be affectionate. Perhaps its the way that all nights liked to blur together, lips and teeth and tongues and hands, and you find yourself invited to parties and into bedrooms and Felix is in the crowd, pupils wide and drugs in his blood and knowing you can take care of yourself.

Fruit flies mistaking his light in the night for the rot they're used to.

That being said, while of course Felix is gorgeous and the life of the party, your own magnetic aura and love features draw in your own crowd of admirers; you proximity to Felix was merely a perk.

You yourself find yourself blooming at college; with a far stronger sense of identity than you'd had for most of your teenage years, you shed many of your adolescent insecurities and begin to embrace yourself and the people around you as more than just Felix's friends.

"I miss you," he teases, eyes shiny and pupils huge, looking at you with that look that made everyone else weak in the knees. The two of you are crammed too close in a booth at a club, everyone else having left to dance or find something interesting to snort in the bathrooms.

"I'm always around, Fi," you murmur, just as high, lips twisted into a bleary smile, your finger beneath his chin to lift his face to you.

"They love you here," he grinned, lips inches from yours, skin glowing with sweat from the adrenaline and high of the night, "knew they would," it's not especially jealous, more proud, and you sigh against his lips with the kind of warm contentment his praise always brings you.

"Don't care if they love me," you say, very tellingly, voice low and flirty. Anyone could see the two of you, but the unspoken rules of high school had fallen away; the rules of college seemed to prioritise a lack of judgement, especially with the people you surrounded yourself with. Felix giggles, flushing red, leaning into your touch, leaning even heavier against you in the little, otherwise empty booth.

"You miss me, Fi?" You prompt, letting his face go as you wrap an arm around him, drawing you in close to him. Despite his height, he folds himself up to lean into you. Felix giggles again, mostly to himself, clearly shitfaced, without answering, he angles his face up to press a kiss to your neck, "we see each other every day, we still fuck around, we -"

"Do you think I could live without you?" He asks suddenly, and surprisingly frankly. His chin is on your shoulder, eyes wide and demanding an answer. It's not a joke, nor some strange attempt at flirting, and your throat turns dry as the lights spin around you both.

"You're drunk," you tell him gently, "and high."

"Why would I ask that?" He frowns, suddenly, sitting up, as if he's talking more to himself than you, "that's a fucked question actually, sorry Y/N, I shouldn't have -"

"I think it's more about how you feel about it." You tell him gently, "we should get water. You sit here, I'll get it."

You're unsteady on your feet when you head to the bar, collecting two cups of water, almost overflowing, from the end, trying not to think about it all. It didn't matter either way, how he thought or felt about it. It was a foolish, drunken question, it doesn't matter. Right?

Except he's bopping back and forth in his seat, tapping the rhythm with surprising success on the table top, eyes shining in the light where all he seems to look at is you. Felix grin wide and bright, thanks already in his smile before the words reach his lips as you sit back down next to him.

You could live without him, but you know you'd never want to, so long as he'd want you around.

"Think I'd rather die than live without you," he says with little prompting, holding the cup with both hands as he downs half in a single gulp. What?

"What?"

He turns those perfect, brown eyes upon you like you don't already live your life in his shape, like he hadn't validated every choice you'd made since you'd met him. He smiles.

"You're my best mate, you're always good to me and help me with shit and never get mad at all the dumb ideas I have and you've made sure I haven't gotten kicked out of any schools, even if I probably deserved it," he rambles and takes another drink, this time choosing to look out at the nauseating crowd of haze and lights and bodies, "I love you, I don't think I could live without you."

"Is that why you miss me?" Your voice is barely audible above the music, but Felix still hears it. Putting his mostly empty cup on the table, he shoves his shoulder against yours, refusing to let up until his full weight is against you, the two of you toppling down in the booth, him draped over you wearing the absolute goofiest grin. It's a good reminder that you're both incredibly drunk.

"Just miss you."

You stumble out of the bar together, and back to the dorms. Felix is insistent that you stay with him.

"No funny business," he mumbles against your ear, breath hot and smirk in his voice, "promise."

"You couldn't get it up if you tried," you snorted, "whiskey dick." Though he tries to protest, you gently elbow him in the ribs and he sulkily admits that you're probably right. Still, in the warmth of his room and the two of you stripped to your underwear, it's kind of irresistible to not make out like teenagers for a good while. You get you both glasses of water to put on the nightstand, and Felix tells you he loves you while on the brink of sleep.

"Love you too, Fi."

"Couldn't live without you, meant it," he hiccups, cracking an eye to smirk up at you from where he's splayed out on the bed, "probably."

"Don't think I could live without you either," you shuffle yourself into the bed beside him, letting him roll over to wrap an arm around you, "even if you are a fucking wanker sometimes," you grin, and hear him laugh into his pillow.

Felix has more game than anyone you've ever met without even trying, stealing and breaking hearts from all areas of the university. You watch it happen with amusement as you find your own slew of pretty guys and girls to keep you company when you feel like it. Still, for all the charisma and charm Felix had been blessed with, his touch-starved nature becomes both a blessing and a curse when he finds himself drunk and tactile and desperate for touch.

A desperate, affection Felix loses all of those carefully-curated social barriers that the two of you had put between yourselves as teenagers in public. Girls are more open and supportive around here; perhaps you should be offended, that many, once they learn he's prone to clinging to you, to kissing you, they end up rationalising it. It doesn't count.

Or perhaps they think they can shift the affection to themselves. Felix always learns to be more affectionate to them, but will find himself with you more often than he's not.

And those girls don't even know about the sex.

"I think about you," he huffs between short, jagged breaths, with you bent over the end of his bed, "is that weird?"

His latest breakup isn't even twelve hours old yet, but when you'd showed up at his room with a six-pack of beers and the offer to let him vent, he'd taken it without hesitation. While they hadn't been going out for long, she'd been pretty, but an apparently lousy fuck. When you'd jokingly offered to remind him what a decent lay was like, Felix had genuinely jumped at the chance.

"A bit - ah," you mused for a moment, hips rocking back to meet his in a pleasant rhythm. He takes a pause to tap one of your ankles with his foot, and you adjust your stance to be a bit wider, "what context? Just in general - fuck, Fi, there," and you find yourself lost for words as he presses his hand against the small of your back. His pace remains steady as he fucks you, and you obliging lean further down; he knows you well, know how to fuck you just the way you both enjoy.

Then you're in his bed, straddling him, riding him with his hands on your hips, your thighs, bouncing as his nails dig pleasantly into your skin.

"Think about me?" You finally continue, breathless, and something about the way he holds you steady, lets you pause as he laughs, flushed cheeks growing even more read, makes you grin too, "you mean like this, don't you?" And you rolled your hips, eliciting a groan from him that was like music to your ears.

"Shut up," he'd laughed, giving you a squeeze, unable to meet your gaze.

"Did you ever call out my name?" You lean down, across him, and for a moment his hands slide up your body to wrap around your neck, bringing you in for a gentle kiss.

"Thankfully not."

"Still, those poor girls," you teased.

"Poor me," Felix argued, "having to try and power through terrible sex while thinking about someone who's not even there, just because I know you're better at it," and he played at pouting for a moment, looking for sympathy.

"You really didn't have to tell me all this," you laughed, sitting back up and setting a gentle pace, smiling down at him, "you're such a perv." When his fingertips trail down your body, a shiver runs down your spine. There's this look in his eyes for just a moment, something knowing, something teasing, something you'd seen on occasion that made you feel so wanted and seen and -

He likes you knowing.

"You gonna give me something to think about?" That tone of voice, the teasing, the faintest hint of authority, like he's pretending like he doesn't know all the ways you'd debauch yourself if only he asked.

Venetia gets you a collar for Christmas, and Farleigh's already been kicked out of several universities by the time your first Winter break had arrived.

"Oh Pet, that's so cute," Elspeth coos at the designer, velvet collar that Venetia had smugly handed over while Felix had scowled, "is that Cartier?" Much to Felix's dismay, Elspeth and Sir James have apparently taken to calling you Pet as a pet name. He blames his sister entirely.

"Pet's easier, sweetheart," Elspeth had tried to argue when you'd sat down at your first breakfast of the Winter break at Saltburn, and she'd asked Duncan 'don't forget about our dear pet'. Naturally Felix had frowned the entire time while arguing with his parents, who insisted it's easier to use Pet than a whole new set of names and pronouns.

"It's been years mum, how have you not adjusted?" He demands, while you have shrunken in your chair and tried to divine life's secrets from your breakfast.

"What do you think, Pet?" Venetia said with a venomous kind of sweetness. Looking up at her, she's wearing this smug kind of smile, directed not at you but at Felix next to you. When you look to him, you see Farleigh across the table trying to hide his amusement in several pieces of toast eaten with no break in between.

"I think," you paused, looking past an annoyed Felix to his mother at the head of the table, "that if you want to call me Pet, you can, I think it's sweet, but please don't expect Felix to refer to me as such," you said with a surprising amount of firmness. Then after a beat of surprise from the rest of the table, you took a deep breath, "and for events and guests, I really wouldn't appreciate being introduced as such."

"Of course," Elspeth quickly amends, adding, "Y/N," for good measure.

"It's a pet name, Pet," Sir James gives an awkward little smile, nodding in agreement. Farleigh met your gaze for a moment, and you could see only the bread was keeping his laughter from spilling out. Beside you, Felix relaxes, and finally you look at him. Dark, serious eyes, with something grateful shining faintly in the morning sun.

Of course you let him throw Venetia's collar gift in the fire in front of her, despite her protests.

You get used to the sweet way the Cattons refer to you as Pet; as much as Felix despised it's connotations when it came from his sister, there was something comforting, something almost secure about the way the whole family had picked it up so easily.

"Was wondering where I'd find you," Farleigh's voice is warm while you're raiding the expansive kitchen for some kind of easy midnight snack. You could have asked one of the many staff members who reside on the property, but you hadn't wanted to bother them over probably some crisps.

"Farleigh!" You light up upon hearing his voice, turning, refrigerator door still open in your hand. He approaches, and you close the refrigerator, hugging him tightly, "oh this is great, it's been so long since it's been just us!"

"Darling pet," he says with a surprising amount of gentleness.

"You should come to Oxford, Fi and I miss you terribly," you tell him, leaning into his touch with a sincere smile as he holds your face gently, while you still hold him is a loose embrace.

"I've already been accepted into another college; you'll be fine without me," and he grins, kissing you on the nose, pressing a kiss to each cheek, "pet." He adds, almost to himself, and your face falls as you think about what he'd said.

"Everything's better with you," you insist, "and you'd love it; we could party like we did that Summer in France, but every weekend -!" Farleigh cuts you off with his lips against yours; you can taste the sweet smile he's wearing before he deepens the kiss.

Later, in Farleigh's bed, bathed in moonlight and the afterglow, you light up a cigarette and open his window.

"Fucking freezing," Farleigh mutters.

"Sorry," but you don't close the window. Silence stretches out between you both. You hope Farleigh enjoyed himself, hope he's happy -

"You don't need them," he says quietly, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment, you breathe out a lungful of smoke and turn to him with a frown, "this family; we all know where you're from. You don't need them." There's something strange about his tone, clearing his throat when he finally looks at you, "but you still want them to love you."

"They're good to me," you finally say, dropping your gaze as you reach back to offer the cigarette, "to us," you tell him, and he hums with the smoke in his lungs. Then, taking back the cigarette, you inhale the sour-sweet smoke and tap off the ash off the window sill.

"I'm not their fucking dog, Farleigh," you mumble, surprising frustration escaping you, anger you hadn't even realised you were holding on to.

"I know, pet," he says softly, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, "you'll let them think they have you kept, but you're not their dog, I know."

"I like you, Farleigh," you say with a faint smile, leaning back to see the way he's grinning too, "and I love you a bit as well I think."

"I know, I love you too, Y/N."

"We miss you a lot." There's something about the quiet that follows your words that you know all too well; Farleigh's about to tease you for something. Probably Felix related.

As if on cue;

"Does he know you like being his dog?" Grin widening, Farleigh gives you a slight shove, though the truth of his words has you hiding your own embarrassed smile.

"He thinks it's an insult to me, which is sweet of him," you chuckled, and Farleigh eases the cigarette from your fingers, "but it's like he has no idea the effect he's had on me for over a decade now. Yeah, I'm my own person, I have hobbies and friends outside of him, but -"

"You're a service bottom and desperately in love," Farleigh cuts in with a surprisingly sage tone, nodding like he hadn't absolutely called you out. Shocked with his vulgar kind of accuracy, you practically shove him out of the bed, laughing that he needs to fuck off, and the discussion is left at that.

The next morning, sitting down to breakfast, Duncan quietly informs Sir James that there had been a disturbance during the night. Immediately you throw Farleigh under the bus and declare that it's his fault.

"Hey!" He shouts back, grinning, "it takes two to fuck in the kitchen!" Which has all four of you, Venetia, Felix, Farleigh, and yourself, cracking up with laughter as Elspeth and Sir James were exasperated by your collective antics.

There is so much affection in Felix's eyes in this moment, this simple, strange moment of admitted sexual deviance. Except it's never felt like that to either of you. It's one of the ways you've both shown love, and he loves that you love those closest to him.

And you love to make him happy.

Farleigh was right, not that you'd ever tell him.

#felix catton imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #saltburn imagine #saltburn x reader #farleigh x reader #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start imagine #farleigh imagine #farleigh start x you #farleigh x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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slashersgostabbystabstab · 9 months

Text

Impulses

[MALE] Xenomorph x Reader

There are many benefits to being a science officer

Update: If you like this fic, make sure you read the other one I wrote! It's a NSFW fic with this same Xenomorph character~

This is my first fic ever for the Xenomorph, and it's a rather lengthy one that I hope to write at least another part for. Just some info: I understand that there's a gray area in which the Xenomorph lands so the one I have written here is one that is a man-made hybrid creation. It still very much looks like a Xenomorph but it's changed up a bit. I think the fic describes a bit more in detail.

Sorry if it sucks, I got very much into detail after doing so much Alien lore research and this doesn't even seem like an x reader, I also apologize if it's shit, I am so desperate to post this that I just didn't even bother to revise it. I'll do it tomorrow 'cause it's late right now lol ;7; Feels like I'm writing the next Alien movie lmao

Warnings: Mention of death/corpses. Some violence (ya know, the movies are action packed with the marine corps and such). Not sure what else to mark but please do message me if you feel I should add something

Words: 7,145

Being the Demeter’s science officer had its perks, but it unfortunately also came with its share of detriments such as any other job did. But then again, your particular career choice had its own kind of drawbacks that would make the average person not take the position. Sure most science officer positions didn’t come with so many risks, but being the science officer for THIS ship’s crew was a whole other experience.

Coming onto the crew it was made clear what you were to expect. It was made clear what conditions you would be made to work under, and you somehow still decided this was the path for you. It was made clear that your crew’s purpose was a mission only a specific bunch of associates was picked.

On planet 212, also known as Gethov, there was tale of an overly faithful group of persons. Or without the polite sugar coating provided: your crew was meant to investigate what it could of the possible cult that inhabited the planet. And after spending more than enough time camping out on the planet, it was quite obviously not a possibility but the fact that there indeed was a cult deep within the planet.

But this was in no way no ordinary cult, whatever the hell that meant, this group of pious persons devoted themselves to the very thing that threatened the human race as well as others.

These crazy bastards worshiped Xenomorphs.

They worshiped every kind of Xeno, every shape and form of theirs; even the man-made ones. They venerated the creatures so much that, based on your gained knowledge, they made it their goal to bring life to as many Xenomorphs as they could.

Xenomorphs were believed to have been completely eradicated, even after the mess created by the Weyland-Yutani corporation’s greed. Thankfully they went under great scrutiny in the 90’s before being completely outlawed in 2349 along with numerous other corps. But even things like that weren’t going to stop at least one bastard from starting the whole process again.

Mother’s Order of Propagation. That was the name of the cult created by Charles Lincoln, former executive officer who was so dedicated to helping Xenomorphs reproduce that he, not only groomed his science officer into joining, but he went as far as making recruits “a part of the hive”. One could not easily integrate themselves into the hive, not unless they were covered in Xenomorph pheromones or…implanted themselves with chestbursters.

And that was exactly what the order did. It wasn’t the first time such a phenomenon was heard of, other cults having done what was a delayed gestation in which they could hold the parasite for a longer period. Not only were they able to blend in easier with the Xenomorphs, but they were able to live long enough to take victims of their own to aid in Xenomorph breeding.

Which led to the current position you found yourself in.

You had decided to step out of the base for just a moment, merely wanting to gather a sample of Xenomorph resin one of your crewmates mentioned to you earlier that day. It would be quick, even if it was from a distance from the base. But when you spotted what could have been some other person not a part of your crew and actually one of the cult members, your black out was no doubt quick.

It was uncertain just what the devotees did to knock you out, everything had happened too fast for you to process just how many of these people had even come to find you. There was an intense throbbing in your head the moment you finally awoke, that possibly a hint as to what they did. Your eyes initially shut tightly before they opened to a blurred sight in front of you, the darkness shrouding you not providing the slightest bit of help. However, there appeared to be a sufficient amount of illumination coming from the work lights you spotted strategically scattered around the area you found yourself in.

“Finally awake.” a man spoke to you, his voice somewhat familiar as you realized just how you were currently positioned him. “Didn’t think you’d wake up again. Not like that entirely matters.”

“This is one Kingston wants alive.” a different man stated while you lifted your head as best as you could, feeling as each man had an arm under yours to drag you behind them. Your boots dragged along the murky ground, leaving lines dunked into it before a noise caught your attention. But soon your boots were accompanied by those belonging to others, all in similar positions as you. The difference being that all of these people were already deceased.

“Where the hell am I?” you bared your teeth at the men who didn’t even bother to give you a response. However, your much needed answer seemed to come soon as you took in your surroundings.

Your eyes soon widened at the countless amount of corpses before you turned your head to the side: no matter where you looked, there were cadavers everywhere, and they were unfortunately accompanied by other bodies. These bodies, unlike them, were well and alive. Healthy and strong. Bloodthirsty.

“Don’t mind them, they’re just making sure something good was brought in.” The first man mocked reassurance, looking behind himself to smile in your direction before he returned his gaze to the front as more of these bodies appeared.

The bodies of Xenomorph, full fleshed out creatures who observed you from a distance. You could barely make up the shapes of their bodies, but you knew they were there: patiently waiting for some order. All around you you were able to hear hisses with slight shrieks mixed in every now and then, almost as if what resided in the darkness watched you and communicated. In all the time you investigated what went on with this cult, you would have never imagined such a number of Xenomorphs.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” the other member questioned as he gazed around the hive, practically grinning in awe at the fruits of the cult’s labor. “These beauties never cease to amaze me.

You made a face at his words before attempting to rip your arm away from him, but his grip on your suddenly grew tight and even somewhat painful.

“Nice try.”

A low groan rumbled in your throat at your poor attempt, allowing the men to continue dragging you. You didn’t want to give up just yet, but your only choice at the moment was to unfortunately go along with whatever these demented assholes had in store for you. Based on the bodies that the drones explored all over, it was already clear what they were planning to do with you.

Soon enough however, the men came to an abrupt stop that prompted you to look up at them. They stood still, frozen almost, merely staring up ahead of them before the reason came to mind. From in front of them you could already hear a specific kind of hiss that accompanied a trail of light yet still audible footsteps. A hiss was then heard, right before the footsteps came to your front where you were now being interrogated.

Before you stood a typical drone, a tad bit nosier than the rest of the hive who continued on with their business despite having caught sight of their new victim. The drone was nothing short from menacing as you watched it cock its head to the side to properly examine you. The situation became all the more appalling when the alien hunched its figure down to your face. Its silver teeth clenched in your face with a threatening hiss as it hovered mere inches from your nose, right before it dashed away from your location in an instant as if satisfied with what was brought in. A wave of relief overcame as you were spared for just a few moments longer, but as if one cue, a new kind of danger was presented soon after the Xenomorph’s departure.

“Took the two of you long enough.” you now heard a third voice before the men harshly dropped you to the ground, and you landed on your back before you looked up to see a new pair of legs. Their owner surveyed you with his aged and tired eyes, right before you were given a soft smile from the man. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

You realized who this man was, Joseph Kingston: the science officer who followed right behind Lincoln. He knew of you just as you knew about him, but this was the first time either of you had actually come face to face after numerous battles concerning your shared field. You were each a threat to each other, a fact both of you acknowledged.

Immediately, you made another attempt at escaping. You jumped to your feet as quickly as you could, shoving the lackeys away from you while racing through the resin covered hive. But in spite of that, your adrenaline-filled efforts soon came to an end when you skid to a stop the moment something jumped in front of you. You once again found yourself on your back, flinching at the sight of a new Xenomorph that pounced right in front of you.

You brought your hands up to your face to defend yourself from the creature that snarled rather loudly as it leaned down towards you. The alien opened its mouth to reveal its inner jaw, ready to strike you right through the head, but it retrieved its second mouth the moment a thunderous cry throughout the hive.

The Xenomorph momentarily turned its attention away from you, eventually returning it to give you one last hiss before scampering away along with some of the other drones who paid no mind to you. Many of these creatures ran by you and the trio of men who considered following them after hearing what you knew was the call from a higher-ranking Xenomorph, but they decided to stay in place when they were reminded of your presence.

“To the royal chamber.”

“The royal chamber?” one of the minions blinked at the scientist who broke the silence between you all, right after he and the other man made sure to restrain you yet again. “A-Are you sure?”

“You bastards! What the hell do you want from me!?” you yelled while attempting to kick your way out of their grasp. “Let me go!”

“I think our little scientist here is eager to learn more about our creations.” Kingston spoke before turning on his heel, having the men follow behind him as you continued to struggle again. Though, one of the men made sure to give you a good kick to the leg to ease you down. “I know how much you’ve researched my Xenomorphs, and I just think it’d be fun to give you some hands-on experience. Like a real science officer.

You winced at your newfound pain as you were dragged through the seemingly empty hive, giving a quiet moan before you finally came across another human. Not like that exactly mattered considering how it was just another one of these cultists who beamed at your presence.

“Tell Lincoln we’re taking this one to the royal chamber.”

“I think he’ll be very pleased to hear you’ve finally acquired the Demeter’s science officer.” the other member crooked her head at you, making sure to look your form up and down. So they had been wanting to get you for a while now…that Xenomorph resin your crewmate came across may have just been some kind of bait. “It’s invigorating to see that our mission is coming to full fruition.”

Before you could get any words out, the pair of men shoved and forced you as Kingston resumed his walking through the hive as if it were any ship. Although the scientist eventually did turn his attention back to you, grinning at you with complete pride.

“What are you planning Kingston?” you directed a glare his way, and you realized the enthusiasm he attempted to contain at your question. “What do you need me for?”

“Well you see, we don’t necessarily need you. Any body will do perfectly fine, but we thought it best that the body belong to the one person who’s been pointing out all of our weaknesses. It’s easier to produce more Xenomorphs when there isn’t some other scientist disrupting every one of me and Lincoln’s plans.” Kingston replied before returning his attention to the front.

“So you brought me all the way to your hive just to have one of your creatures kill me?” you spat out before receiving another shove from the men holding you. “That seems almost useless. My crew isn’t stupid enough to come crashing into a place like this just to get their science officer.”

“Your crew is a matter for a different time.” he stated, now standing before an entrance that he opened by dialing a code into the number pad. “We just need a fellow scientist to support our cause.”

“And what exactly is that?” you questioned, but you were soon interrupted by the familiar sounds of Xenomorphs hissing. This time around though, one of the Xenomorphs’ noises stood out from the rest who decided to remain hidden.

You felt the sudden need to hold your breath the moment a stomping was heard just outside the corridor you were currently in. Even the men with you couldn’t help but take a moment to themselves, their hands gripping you tighter as if to conceal the slight apprehension overcoming them. Although these guys were committed to their so-called cause, they were quite conspicuous with their terror: but weren’t most religious zealots the type to fear their own gods?

The stomping, although slow-moving proved to arrive fast, and the figure cast by their creator came soon, approaching from the deeper end of the hallway. It was clear that this silhouette was immense, belonging to something sizeable that eventually stepped into the light with one of its feet before the second followed. And after its legs came the torso and the rest of its body, displayed and almost glistening under the work lights that illuminated it.

“Holy shit,” you finally remembered to breathe, backing up in the only way you could before the men holding you gave in and followed your actions.

“Specimen number 7.” Kingston’s voice proudly declared before he stepped in front of you and the men. “I’m delighted that he’s decided to make an appearance.”

“He?”

“Yes, he.” he reiterated, standing tall in front of the Xenomorph who stopped in its tracks to look down at the scientist, no doubt immediately recognizing him as one of its own. “Number 7 is my finest creation, a male Praetorian who has taken charge of the hive after our queen’s unfortunate demise. Until we create her replacement, he has self-proclaimed himself the temporary leader. Nobody seemed to have any dispute against it.”

Kingston turned away from the Xenomorph along with the alien who made sure to flash its teeth to you; this was yet another one of its features that you quickly realized did not belong to the typical Praetorian. Putting aside the topic of its sex, this one lacked the metallic-colored teeth all Xenomorphs had. Its head crest, although not so different from the female royal guards', seemed to have its own quicks, perhaps even larger. And its color wasn’t the typical jet-black, but it instead had a midnight blue kind of black to it. While female Praetorians stood at at least 10 feet, this one was slightly shorter than that height; as if it even made a difference.

“What’s the point in making a male specimen when Xenomorphs have always been a female-based species?” you spat out before the alien took a step towards you, a successful attempt to intimidate you as Kingston chuckled at the sight. “How…how did you even tame it?”

“I didn’t tame Seven,” Kingston made sure to make the statement as the alien peered down at him, well aware of what the man spoke. “Considering how Xenomorphs went into extinction, save for the embryos we were able to salvage, we had to fill in certain gaps at times. This guard is somewhat of a hybrid, containing human DNA in his genetics to better bond with…me. All of us members of the order. And since the Xenomorph’s genetics have been altered and controlled by me, I was able to design a male. I’m sure you know how biology works.”

Kingston made sure to lean towards you after stepping away from the Xenomorph, giving you another one of his sinister smiles.

“Although hermaphroditic, we must ensure our Xenomorphs can reproduce with each other if another corporation or the government attempts to eradicate what we’ve worked so hard to make.” he disclosed before facing the alien one more time. “Now imagine the wonders Seven could perform if we were to give him a queen that won’t die out as easily as our last one. That poor girl…like most women, she just wasn’t the type to listen. Too resistant. Too many casualties thanks to her resistance.”

“You killed your own queen?”

“She belonged dead. This hive has no place for a queen that will turn the others against us.”Kingston posited in a much darker tone. “Which is where you come in.”

“W-What?”

“Killing you off is too simple, as is implanting a typical chestburster.” you watched the man step away from you and into the chamber meant for your end. The two men holding you intended on taking you inside with Kingston, but the Praetorian stepped once again to stop them in their tracks.

The Xenomorph hunched its towering form to take a better look at your face, giving some kind of a trill before it backed away from you.

“It seems, Seven approves of our choice.” you heard Kingston speak from the room. “Come inside.”

“No!” you exclaimed as you began to kick around again. “Let me go, you sick fucks! Let me go!”

The Praetorian watched as you were led to your doom, eventually making its way back into the corridor as you continued to shout for your release.

“I thought you’d be more ecstatic to indulge in this, seeing how much you enjoy studying our Xenos.” Kingston gave a small laugh as you saw him wearing thich gloves, these with the intention to hold a monstrosity smaller than the drones. In his hands he tightly held a facehugger, but not an ordinary one. “Seven and Lincoln are more than happy to have you as the royal host.”

“Get that thing away from me!”

“Shhh, you wouldn’t want to wake the baby.” he teased while drawing the alien closer to your face. “Here, no one can hear you scream.”

Horror filled your body at the sight of the royal facehugger that spread its webbed digits as it readied itself for your face. You struggled against the grip of the men who were careful enough to keep their heads away from yours, and this ultimately gave you your last chance.

Despite the men’s restraints having become somewhat loose, they restrained you tight enough to give you the right stability that allowed you to kick your leg forwards. In the adrenaline-filled moment, you were able to kick high enough to rip the chestburster out of Kingston’s hands, sending it flying across the room much to the men’s shock.

While the lackeys gasped dumbfounded at the flying facehugger, you ripped your arm out from one of them to give him a good elbow to the face. The man immediately dropped down as you proceeded to repeat your actions on the second man, sending him to his back while Kingston boiled with a newfound anger.

“You, good-for-nothing scoundrel!” he seethed from his spot before turning his attention to his men. “Get the facehugger! Ensure she’s alright!”

You looked around the area, considering escaping through the doorway like a sensible person would, but for a moment you considered that running through a hive full of xenomorph drones was not the wisest of choices. On the slick and damp ground, the royal facehugger seemed to notice you after the lackeys backed away so as to not get infested, and you reacted fast.

From your suit’s pocket you pulled out a screwdriver you always kept on your person, managing to strike the facehugger as it jumped in your direction.The screwdriver stabbed smack-down in the middle of its slit where its longer organ would have unveiled itself, and this singular stab was more than enough to have it fall limp much to Kingston’s dismay.

“No! No, no, no!” he cried out, the calm demeanor from before having completely disappeared as he was filled with an intense fury.

Not wanting to deal with him any longer, you scurried out of the doorway despite not knowing what your next plan of action was. All you could do was run, run as fast and quietly as your body allowed you to.

All around you you once again heard the Xenomorphs communicate amongst you while Kingston yelled from behind, even going as far as calling out to his pet. Realizing the danger this posed, you ran into a nearby chamber you hoped they would not suspect.

You weren’t sure just how you managed to hide yourself as well as you did, but it seemed to be effective with the way in which the Xenomorph drones avoided the room you were in. Perhaps in the process of creating these creatures, they unintentionally made them less functional than their natural counterparts. No matter, you took the opportunity to make yourself at home deeper in the chamber as you realized it wasn’t a den but…more of a storage room. It really was shocking to see how much these Xenomorphs allowed the cult to integrate themselves within the hive.

Turning away from the open entrance, you took notice of the resin-covered furniture inside the room that seemed to keep items of importance inside. This room in particular seemed to be a bit more secluded, perhaps another reason for the drones not bothering to come.

You immediately began to look through the drawers and cabinets, unfortunately not finding very much other than some work tools, desk supplies and containers. Honestly, the best you could work with were the tools which even then were useless against Xenomorphs, the most you could defend yourself from were face huggers. Supplies like pens and clipboards weren’t going to do much either, and these containers…

Your eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the jars, actually piquing your interest to see what was behind the cylinder glass. You rotated the canister in every possible angle to figure out its contents, and you were finally able to find a label with what you knew was Kingston’s handwriting.

“Royal jelly,” you mumbled, a sudden realization hitting you. “Holy shit.”

Somehow, someway…this was going to be your leverage against the cult members, at least them. At least against Kingston, for you knew the value this substance held. And it didn’t surprise you that most of the room was filled with these cylinders, which were immediately pulled out by you and dropped to the ground before you took a maintenance jack from the drawers to smash the glass.

Royal jelly was the key ingredient used when producing Xeno-Zip, a powerful drug that could enhance one’s body while tearing apart their mind. And if the order was in possession of such quantities, no doubt having collected it from their latest queen, you knew they weren’t going to use it to make drugs. Their intentions were clearly to enhance their creations’ performance, or even ingest it raw themselves. Hell, they might have already done that considering how long some of these members survived with a chestburster residing in their bodies.

You then proceeded to smash another one of the containers, and you continued to do so until there were less than ten left. One would consider the destruction a waste of time, but you knew it was needed to prevent more of this cult’s progression as well as be ready when somebody eventually found you.

And that they did soon enough, for while you attempted to destroy another one of the containers, you heard a familiar thundering of footsteps as a hand grasped onto your wrist.

“Don’t you dare!” came Kingston’s voice before he threw you to the side, enraged at your actions from the moment you kicked his facehugger. “You bastard! Hellion! Do you realize what you’re doing!?”

“Of course I do!” you recovered quickly before reaching out to a nearby cylinder, but the man dared to step on your open hand as harshly as he could which caused you to cry out in pain. Before he had any time to react, you took a pen from your suit’s pocket to stab him right in the leg.

Now it was his turn to wail, falling onto his bottom before his creation from before appeared in the doorway with a full-blown roar. Perhaps the Praetorian didn’t care much for the jelly like Kingston and his members did, but you still took the opportunity to take what you could of the containers despite your aching hand.

“Let me get out! Or I’ll break what’s left of these!” you threatened while holding one of the jars above your head.

“Don’t you dare!”

“Let. Me. Out.”

Kingston could only glare at you from the ground as his alien awaited an order from behind him, snarling while drool dripped from its teeth.

“Seven,” he began before groaning at the pain your pen in his leg caused, soon pulling the item from him to spew out a mixture of blood and ink. “I believe it’s about time we terminate the science officer.”

Your eyes widened at his words, somehow appalled by his command. So before the Xenomorph could properly process the doctor, you launched the jar in your hand at its head. And soon enough, you watched as it stood in place, practically seething like the doctor was earlier.

That…that honestly may not have been the smartest choice.

“You-!” Kingston began once again, but he was interrupted by the sound of his alien roaring yet again.

Instinctively, you threw another jar at the Xenomoprh before it exploded just like the last one, coating its head crest in the fluids while some dripped down its face. You hurled another one, astonished when the Xenomorph skillfully moved its head to avoid this attack which caused you to drop the other containers from your arms, ignoring the anguished scream from Kingston.

With nothing else able to save you from the Xenomorph’s clutches, you backed up as far as you could, until your boot came into contact with some of the jelly from a jar you had previously broken. In an instant, you slipped and found yourself on the ground near the man who attempted to crawl at you while your heard screeches from outside the chamber. The room was soon filled with drones who stood by the Praetorian, awaiting any form of instruction as they watched you and the man struggle.

“You…you ruined EVERYTHING!” Kingston yelled before throwing himself at you, and you immediately attempted to wrestle him off while all the Xenomorphs watched.”Seven! Kill! Terminate! End it!”

Kingston had gone mad to the point of trying to clench at your throat with his bloody hands, waiting for the aliens to help him out in finishing you off. But he and you soon came to realize none of them bothered to move an inch, not until the Praetorian gave the order. An order that never came.

Instead, while still fighting off Kingston, you noticed as the alien grit its teeth with a growl before turning to the drones. A command was soon given. And it was not the command Kingston desired.

“What are you doing!?” he shouted at the Xenomorph who roared and trilled before the drones began to step backwards. They were quite hesitant about it, but they listened to the Praetorian before turning and jumping on all fours, soon scurrying away to leave the three of you alone. “Seven! What the hell are you doing!?”

The Praetorian now made its way to you and Kingston who paused his actions, turning to look at the alien who leaned down with a shriek.

You covered your ears at the volume before the Xenomorph finally grit its fangs again, no doubt having given Kingston a warning.

“Seven! Why-?”

Once again, the Praetorian gave a roar as well as stomp of its foot. It wanted you alone. Oh shit. You were pretty sure at this point the alien found every single one of your actions personal and was not going to allow Kingston to finish you off.

The alien warned Kingston with one last threatening stomp, and the message finally seemed to get through to the man’s thick skull.

You felt Kingston release you before crawling off of your body, his eyes never tearing away from the Xenomorph who made sure to give a hiss.

The man shot you one last glare before he too raced out of the room. The bastard was smart enough to make sure to shut the door with a code, as if you had any form of escape against a monster such as this one.

Once again, you backed away as fast as your hands allowed you while you slid across the scattered royal jelly. The alien observed you as you managed to get up onto your feet, trembling while reaching out to the countertops where you tried to find some kind of a tool you knew would do nothing to the Xenomorph. It turned away for a moment to examine the chamber, its attention on the jelly staining the ground.

Your hands found a wrench that you instantly brought up and held in front of you, ignoring the intense shaking from your hands. The Praetorian immediately snapped its head in your direction, at least as fast as its large head crest would allow. Its maw practically pointed at your form, tightly clenching the teeth inside as an audible hiss sounded from behind the row of fangs. Although the alien lacked any discernible eyes and brow bones to distinguish any sort of expression, it was apparent the way in which it peered at you.

It used one of its claws to swing at the wrench you held, and your weapon soon went flying to the side where you dashed to. But the alien followed with a roar, forcing you to face it once again.

Your much smaller form shook at the sight of it, clearly now its center of attention while you cautiously attempted to step away from the alien. However, you soon enough found it making its way towards you, every step it took having a detectable stomp come with it. Every step it took sounded with obvious suspicion as it titled its head to the side, never ceasing its scanning of your shape.

You continued your backing up, your hands eventually finding their palms against the mucky surface of the hive’s walls. Ignoring the slimy sensation, you soon pressed your back against the wall before your head followed suit. But you then turned your head to the right, eyeing the Xenomorph with a side eye. A slight whimper tried escaping your lips, managing to cause a rumble in your throat as your eye found the alien muh closer than before.

The Praetorian’s mouth released a breathy growl as you immediately looked away from it, shutting your eyes the moment you felt the cold from its body practically radiate on your skin. At this point you learned the bigger a Xeno was, the colder their clammy body would be.

Tightly shutting your lips prompted your nose to breathe intensely, this almost alluring the alien further as it brought its face close to your cheek.

Its breaths were felt against your skin, these somehow warmer than the rest of the creature who took notice of your own heat. Its maw finally pressed against your skin, olfactory senses sniffing you out before you felt a thick substance fall on your head until it slid down to your face.

Finally you opened your eyes, watching the Xenomorph continue to examine your face. While you realized what was on you was the jelly from before. The alien’s jaw smeared it all over your cheek with every sniff it gave you, more of the jelly dripping from its head every now and then.

Praetorians like any other Xenomorph possessed inner jaws, but this one…it was even cleared that it was not a naturally born specimen based on what came from inside its mouth. From in between its teeth slithered out a tongue, warm and slick as it licked the juices off of your cheek ever so delicately. It took a moment as it retrieved its tongue, tasting the jelly on its organ before its throat rumbled with some kind of snarl.

You took the chance to turn your head towards the Praetorian, surveying the alien’s features before it also stared down at you head on. You caught sight of a drooling that fell from its teeth, pooling beside your boots as you found a way to press yourself further into the wall behind you while the Xenomorph pressed its mouth against your face once again. Its minacious claws were brought up to your sides, and you winced at the touch before the alien snapped its teeth at you. Yet again you stood still while the creature appeared to have relaxed, resuming its actions as it snaked its enormous claws behind your body. You felt yourself being pulled away from the wall in an almost tender way, your body nearly pressed against the Xenomorph’s hunched one as your arms disconnected from the wall as well.

It craned its head at you once again, giving a coo-like trill while you held your arms close to your chest so as to not touch the alien in any way. However, this prompted the Xeno to finally hold you close against it, almost as if it wanted to feel the rapid beating of your poor heart against its mesoskeleton. Once again it let its tongue slither out, licking the features of your skin as you gave a wince and shut your eyes for just a moment.

The moment it stopped with its actions, you gave it one more look. It gave you another trill, awaiting any kind of reaction from you with anticipation. For some strange, enticing reason…you felt compelled to bring one of your hands away from your body, hesitantly lifting it before deciding to cautiously place it on top of the Xeno’s head.

You ran your fingers over the smooth surface of the alien’s head before finally reaching the more ribbed parts of its crest, hearing a purr-like sound coming from its throat. And somehow, you felt a smile creep up onto your lips as you admired the Xenomorph’s newfound amiability while a euphoric sensation overcame you.

Your fingers found some of the jelly that still stained the alien’s head, and you retrieved your hand to properly study it as it coated most of your palm. Before you could look any further though, the Xenomorph’s tongue instantly licked it clean off of your hand. The second it finished doing that, you felt the alien begin to nuzzle against your face as more pleased trills escaped it.

Royal jelly was a crucial substance to Xenomorphs, but it made you wonder just what kind of effects it had on man-made ones who were also depicted with a more male design. The jelly was a substance used to make Praetorians from drones, and Queens from Praetorians, lest the Queen chose to simply strengthen her royal guards. From what you had heard, the Xenomorphs were usually affected in seconds, and this Praetorian did not seem to have changed in one bit. Perhaps that was because of its male sex.

Meanwhile, the effect it had on humans…

Whilst you were deep in thought, the Praetorian stood erect to its full height the second it detected some kind of sound outside of the chamber you were in. You snapped out of the wonder and daze you momentarily felt, remembering just how tall the alien was compared to you.

From outside the area your ears caught the sounds of gunshots, yells, and even a sudden explosion. It was so instant that it made you snap back to your senses, but not enough to have you back away from the Praetorian who actually released you that very moment.

The alien whipped around as fast it could while being careful to avoid you with its tail, instead bringing it to its front as it snarled at the locked door that concealed the both of you. It sensed intruders in the hive, able to tell that its drones and the cult members were no doubt under attack. But by what?

Almost as if on cue, that question was answered when a boom practically pounded on the door, shaking it enough for it to create a clear dent in the thick metal.

“Again!”

Another boom sounded before a large hole bursted through the door. This prompted the Praetorian to roar at the presence of the intruders who blasted at the door one last time, finally bringing it down before a group of men stepped in.

Marine corps! You honestly couldn’t believe it.

“Doctor! We’re here for you!” the leader of the group announced before a second man stepped in front of him. “Cover your ears!”

You immediately did as instructed, cowering down the instant you noticed the Praetorian rush at the marines. At that moment, a horrendously loud boom was heard in the chamber. However, considering the weapon’s design, the sound was specifically transmitted as a directional beam shot specifically at the Xenomorph who gave a shriek the second the sound hit it.

“Doctor, this way!” the first man motioned towards him, ignoring the completely disabled Xenomorph who seemed to writhe in pain. You couldn’t help but give it one last glance before the man called to your attention again. “Doctor!”

Turning away from the Praetorian, you hurried towards the man whose hand you accepted in that moment. However, you decided to spare the alien one last glance, watching as it slightly recovered enough to lock gaze with you. You paused, watching as the Xenomorph reached a claw out to you, right before it was hit with another ultrasound beam that prevented it from standing up.

“Doctor, let’s go!” the leader of the troop yelled before turning to his marines. “Make sure that thing stays down, don’t waste ammo on it! We’ll come back to kill it some other time!”

“Did my crew send for you!?”

“That they did! Sergeant Newton at your service doc.” the man spoke as he led you through the hive’s corridors you had found yourself in earlier. “We found you with that tracker of yours, made navigating this shithole easier.”

“I’m glad.” you responded as the man held you close when your running was momentarily stopped to avoid incoming drones. It was at this moment that you took notice of the new corpses that adorned the hive, corpses belonging to the cult members that had not appeared to you before. “You killed them!?”

“Unfortunately had to, they fired first and were commanding the Xenos to attack us. I don’t understand these crazy bastards.” Newton claimed before he resumed his running and gingerly pulled you along. “That seemed to confuse the Xenos for some moments, they can’t work without someone telling them what to do. Which brings me to ask, what was that Praetorian doing with you?”

“I-I don’t-” you began to stutter, but your words were interrupted by a sudden roar that was followed by shrieks that were clearly replies. “The Praetorian! It’s telling them what to do!”

The corridor you and the sergeant were in soon ended as the two of you found yourselves in the openness of the main hive room, the walls filled with crawling drones who had a sole purpose. Thankfully though, the sergeant’s troop soon accompanied him with the necessary weaponry that kept many of the aliens away.

“You won’t be able to take them all! We need to get out!”

“On it.” Newton replied before giving the order to the marines who began to let loose on the Xenomorphs, nobody exactly noticing that their sole purpose…involved you. Nobody except the sergeant who realized that the aliens only attacked those guarding you when they protectively surrounded you. “Keep them at bay, I’ll take the doctor to safety!”

You heard the man’s words in between the sounds of gunfire and turrets shooting continuous flames at the aliens, and you didn’t spare a moment in following Newton when he began to escort you to where he knew the exit was nearby.

“Doctor, go!” he shouted once the Xenomorphs turned their attention to your form, ignoring the troop who immediately grew confused. It was then that you realized why he directed you to leave without him: the Praetorian was already making its way through the hive’s remains, fully intending on getting you.

“Go, go, go!”

Without looking back, you ran through the wet floor of the hive as you felt Xenomorphs quickly approaching you. Praetorians never left the hive, they were the queen’s guards, so all you had to do was reach that damn exit. And that your eyes found soon enough, a light at the end of a tunnel where you heard voices shout at you.

The beating of your heart pounded against your chest and even rang in your ears as you felt yourself running out of breath, having to catch yourself from falling every now and then. At the same time, you could hear the trills and screeches and roars from the Xenomorphs not too far behind, the pounding of the Praetorian’s feet so close.

One last time did you look behind you, watching as the alien reached out to you before you felt yourself be tugged out of the cave. The screeching of aliens sounded right after flames shot out at the hive, forcing them all to retreat behind the Praetorian who you could tell was considering escaping running through the fire.

But the troops that now guarded you did not allow it, firing their weapons while one of the marines stole you away from the hive. You heard the alien screech at your absence while its drones returned to the hive, no doubt to rid of the troop still inside, and as you were taken away…the world suddenly grew quiet as you no longer paid any mind to the hive.

#xenomorph x reader #xenomorph #alien #aliens #alien vs predator #this xeno is specifically movie based but i'll still mark it as this for future stuff:#dbd xenomorph #specimen seven

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pls-hold-me-im-justa-weeb · 1 year

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Zoro x Fem reader fluff! You know how Zoro has an unimaginable amount of debt towards Nami? Well, S/O has been paying Nami time after time to slowly repay Zoro’s debt because she loves him so much and she’s sweet enough to do that. Nami does decrease his debt to a point where even Zoro notices his debt decreased. When questioned, Nami confessed what S/O did for him and how she’s so sweet that she didn’t have to and Nami collected all the money to give to Zoro so he could make it up to S/O.

So cute omggggg. As you wish my lovely! I kept this as broad as possible, with an S/O who likes music, which I think is pretty broad, but if it isn't, don’t come at me pls I’m just a baby.

I think in One Piece, they have like CD players where you plug in headphones and you can carry it around, at least that's what was shown in the anime when people were lining up for Brook's concert after the time skip. I can't remember the name of it, but it used to be a popular thing. I made it a spring island because its (supposed) to be starting to be spring where I am, but we just started our second winter (as per usual with the midwest lol).

Warnings: paying off partner’s debt behind his back, cheating at GAME, Zoro being broke lol.

It's just fluff man idk what else to say.

“Witch.”

“Unsanitary marimo” Nami replied easily, keeping her focus on her magazine. Zoro’s eye twitched, but he held his tongue.

“Since we got loot at the last island, how much are you pulling out of my debt for my share?”

Nami’s ear perked at the word “loot”, and she did some quick mental calculations.

“Hmmm. All but your allowance. But I’ve been considering reducing that for you”

“Oi! Why would you cut my allowance?”

Nami shrugged.

“You only buy alcohol”

“So?”

“So you don’t need that much. Besides, after a couple months of a reduced allowance, you’d be down to at least an imaginable amount of debt.”

Zoro paused. Why was his debt going down? He wasn’t paying unless she demanded it. Had he paid that much? Or did they get that much loot at the last island?

“How much did we get at the last island?” He asked. Nami glanced up at him.

“It’s kinda creepy how you’re showing interest in money, but about 734,286 Beli” she said. Zoro only focused on the seven hundred thousand Beli. He wasn’t great at math, but knew when that was split between the crew, his share would hardly make a dent in his debt. So why?

“That doesn’t make sense” he muttered. Nami looked at him curious.

“No?”

“My debt was… I don’t even know how much. So why has it been going down?”

“Hmmm. Maybe I’m just generous!” She smiled sweetly at the swordsman, putting on her most innocent act. He narrowed his eyes at her. She knew something.

“What do you know.”

Nami glanced around, as if making sure anyone besides the swordsman was within earshot. Zoro furrowed his brow at the action.

“What is it?” He muttered, arms crossed. Nami sighed.

“Look. You should thank her by doing something nice for once. She’s so sweet and kind, and I have no idea how you ended up dating her but… I saved the money she’s been paying me for your debt. I thought maybe you knew, and I was going to smack some sense into you but she begged me to keep it quiet," Nami shrugged and picked at her nails before continuing, "Technically, it’s been going towards your debt but I figured I could be nice and generous for once, and ask you if you wanted to accept it. Once you found out, of course. But if you want, I can give it to you and you can spend it on her instead.”

Zoro’s jaw clenched, and he looked down. You had really been doing that? For him? He only mentioned being annoyed by that damn debt when Nami held it over his head when he had to do the dirty jobs for her. He could be mad at you for thinking he couldn’t handle it on his own, but honestly? He couldn’t handle it, and he couldn’t be mad at you. He just ignored the debt, hoping it would eventually go away, and you were so kind to him. He hardly deserved you.

He scraped a hand through his hair, sighing as the other hand landed on his hip.

“I… I don’t know how to… I want to do something for her to pay her back. But what?”

Nami leaned back in her chair, gesturing for the swordsman to sit next to her. He slumped into the chair, brow furrowed as he thought.

“In a day or two, depending on the weather, we should make it to another island. Think about what she likes, not you. Go and enjoy it with her, together. Support her passions, and it’ll mean so much to her”

Zoro huffed.

“How much did that advice cost me?”

“Free for this time, only because of her. Not you. It would be 100 Beli otherwise”

“100?!!”

“I could make it 500.”

“You’re scamming me.”

“You’re the one who needs my help. Why should I give my help for free?”

Zoro sucked his teeth and stood to walk away but paused. The navigator looked up questioningly. He looked off into the distance, a stoic expression on his face.

“Thanks for the advice” he muttered. He obviously meant it, so Nami smiled in return, and he walked off to find you.

He found you playing a card game with Luffy and Usopp, laughing as you laid down your winning hand. The other two complained loudly, groaning and flopping back. Luffy accused you of cheating, and Usopp backed him up.

"Me? Cheating? Never" you teased, giggling. You looked around as you heard heavy footsteps behind you, eyes landing on your boyfriend. You turned back to the other two in front of you and stood, producing a card from its hiding place, tossing it on the pile of cards.

"You guys are pirates, think of this as training to learn when someone is cheating at a card game"

"Hey! You were cheating!"

"No fair!"

"Like I said- training, not cheating"

Zoro stood behind you arms crossed and a smirk on his face at your antics. You turned around, hands laced behind your back, trying to look innocent. You batted your lashes at him, smiling sweetly.

"Right, Zoro?"

He looked at you and grunted, seemingly unfazed by your act. Inside, his heart skipped a beat with how cute you looked.

"Don't tease them. They're idiots"

"Hey!" "We're not idiots!" Luffy and Usopp protested in tandem. You sighed, pouting at him. He blinked at you, keeping his face neutral despite his sudden desire to kiss the pout right off your face.

"C'mon. I wanna ask you something" Zoro said instead, turning on his heel and leading the way. You followed, but not before turning and tossing the last card you cheated with on the pile. Luffy pulled his eye and stuck his tongue out, and Usopp blew a raspberry at you. You stuck your tongue out in retaliation, and skipped off after your boyfriend.

You followed him, unsurprisingly, to the crows nest, scampering after him on the ropes. You were a little nervous. Zoro wanting to ask you something could range from giving your humble opinion on a sword technique, to if you loved him even though he was aggressive. You simply didn't know. You entered the crows nest with practiced movements, eyes falling on the swordsman sitting on a bench near an open window.

You approached him, slightly hesitant.

"What did you want to ask me?"

He hummed, acknowledging your question and indicating he was constructing his answer. You furrowed your brow. He hardly ever thought through his words. He spoke once you had sat next to him.

"What do you know about the next island?"

You cocked your head.

"Nothing really just that it's a spring island... should I know something?"

"Just curious. Is there something you've been wanting to do lately? Like something that can really only be done on an island?"

You thought. Nothing in particular came to mind. But maybe...

"I uh. I want to buy some music to listen to. I know we have Brook, and he's amazing but... I dunno. I miss my music player a lot, and hearing whole bands at once and different singers... I mean Brook is a great singer and he does different genre's, but sometimes you want to shake things up so you're not listening to the same artist all the time, ya know? But I usually end up buying some other things I need instead" you shrugged. You looked at Zoro. He wasn't looking at you, instead was looking out the window. He grunted.

"Show me"

"Show you what?"

"Show me what you listen to, and what you like. I'm not really familiar with music all that much, having not listened to it much growin up or... ever really."

Excitement grew with every word. He wanted you to introduce you to music? To the music you listened to and liked? What would he like? Would anything surprise you? Warmth spread from your chest, through your body, and you bounced in your seat, a grin curving your lips.

"Really?! Oh my goodness there's so much to show you! I can't tell if you'd like softer music like R&B or maybe you'd like hard rock... I'm not sure you'd like pop punk but you might! Maybe some pop songs, but you might be picky about that. French jazz might be meh for you, but it might remind you of Sanji so maybe we should stay away from that... Maybe some other jazz? Or probably something with a good beat. Like workout music?" You babbled on excitedly, pondering the possibilities. You continued talking, not completely sure if Zoro was listening, but you didn't mind.

A small smile formed on Zoro's lips as he listened. Nami had been right, frustratingly, but this way, he would get to see a side of you he hadn't yet. Even if he didn't like the music you did, experiencing it would be good for him, and more importantly, you'd be happy. He saw the little scrunch of your nose that you got when you were really happy and excited, and he huffed a laugh.

"and maybe- what are you laughing at?" you looked at him, smiling still as you interrupted your chatter. He finally faced you fully, leaning his head on his hand, his arm propped on the back of the bench.

"Just you. You're cute when you're all excited about something. You get a little scrunch in your nose when you smile when you're happy like this."

Your hand rose self-consciously to cover your nose. He gently smacked it away with one hand, swooping in to kiss the tip of your nose gently.

"Don't cover it. It's cute"

You blushed, flustered. A thought suddenly occurred to you.

"Why are you asking about what I want to do on the next island? Normally, we do what catches your interest, which don't get me wrong, is typically entertaining, but... why the change?"

"You."

Your brow furrowed in confusion.

"Me?"

"You've been paying my debt to Nami"

"Whaaa??? Psshh nooo~ I never. I mean. I would, but I haven't?"

Zoro raised a singular brow. You swallowed, eyes flicking to the side.

"That so?"

"Uhh. Yes?"

"You are really a terrible liar. How can you cheat so well at card games but you can't lie to save your life?" he teased, a rare soft smile curving his lips as he spoke.

"You're intimidate me and fluster me at the same time! I can't help it!" you whined, before shyly asking, "You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad at you for taking care of me?"

He ruffled your hair, and you squawked in indignation.

"Thank you, really" he said softly. You looked at him, smiling.

"You're welcome"

The two of you sat in easy silence, listening to the waves and distant chatter of Usopp and Luffy.

"So music, huh? What do you like?"

You wiggled excitedly, chattering away with Zoro asking the occasional question, even as he started training again.

~~~

"You're buying this?? Zoro, hon, I can get it" you pleaded, eyeing your pile of CD's and your brand new player.

"Nope"

"You can hardly afford alcohol! How could you afford this?"

Zoro ignored you, producing some other CD's you had reluctantly put back earlier, unable to afford them.

"These too" he muttered to the cashier. You repeatedly smacked your boyfriends arm, getting rougher with each one. He finally caught your hand.

"Stop hitting me, woman! Nami gave me the money you paid her for my debt, and now I'm spending it on you! Accept my love, damnit!"

You froze, looking at him in awe and surprise. You started as the cashier cleared his throat.

"Th-that'll be uh... the a-amount you s-see right there... s-sir" the poor teen stuttered, obviously intimidated by the swordsman. You would've snorted had you not been filled with love and awe for your boyfriend. Zoro paid the cashier and took hold of the bags. You followed closely, still aware of yourself enough to know he would get lost without you. Again.

"Thank you, Zoro" you finally said. He smirked at you.

"Of course."

#one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #one piece fluff #one piece #zoro x y/n #zoro x reader #zoro x you #fluff #mugiwara kaizoku #fem reader #roronoa zoro #zoro fluff #no use of y/n #no smut #one piece nami #nami headcanons

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criceofpain · 1 year

Text

switch it up | park jongseong (reposted and edited)

featuring: enhypen's jake, heeseung, sunghoon, sunoo, and jungwon; stayc's yoon

synopsis: after you find your ex cheating with another guy, the quiet kid takes the opportunity to get closer to you. but the shocking part is, you never knew he could do a full 180 and be the most charming guy you've ever seen.

pairing: student!jay x student fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff, a tinge of angst (and humor lol)

word count: 7418

warnings: semi-public sex, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), slut-shaming, usage of pet names, vaginal penetration, alcohol consumption, gamer rage (especially heeseung lol), male masturbation, degradation, fellatio, minimal impact play, implied violence, two-timing, cheating, jakehoon are gay, jay has too much porn vids on his laptop, yoon has warfreak tendencies, too much tekken references, too much time skips

Being popular in school had its own perks.

If people were asked what they’d do if they became the most popular person in year two for twenty-four hours, you’d get a vast range of answers from all of them. Fame, beauty, authority, and money–the possibilities are endless for a household name in one of the most prestigious universities in Seoul. The thing is, though, downsides will always be inevitable.

Thursday’s a typical work day for the student council’s president–you. A ton of paper stacks were waiting to be scanned and submitted to the council adviser, but you couldn’t bring yourself to get up and actually work on them. The adviser’s office was two buildings away from your location, and God, did you dread walking. Worse, you had to do it every week and without the help of your vice president. Bothering to find him would be a waste of time, either.

The sudden ring of your phone disrupts your train of thought, making you look up to check whoever was trying to test your patience at this hour. Jakey ♡, your phone screen reads. You heave a relieved sigh; it’s been three days since your boyfriend last called and it was messing with your momentum. Even overthinking was a waste of time and you hated it.

“Hi, love.” you mumbled, voice laced with exhaustion. “I'm glad you finally called.”

“Love, can we cancel our date?” Jake asks from the other line, and your face immediately contorts to a disappointed scowl.

Strange. He’s usually not the type to postpone plans at the last minute because he knew you despised that type of feat. As the student council president, the last thing you'd want is for someone to waste your valuable time.

“Suddenly?” you deadpan as you put your pen down and slowly spin in the swivel chair you sat on. “We’ve got everything planned out and now you wanna cancel?”

Jake sighs. “Coach called us for training. He’s been lenient on me for the past week, I can't afford another absence.”

“Oh.” you utter, at loss for words. “Long day ahead, huh?”

It was what you least expected, anyways. You stay still in your seat, disappointment filling your chest. You start to feel uneasy—you knew you’d never stand a chance against his monster of a coach. What can I do? Jake was the team’s striker which gained him maximum importance. Without him, the team would basically be a chaotic bunch.

“Sorry.” he mutters apologetically. “I didn't want this to happen, really.”

“I know, I know.” you grumble, picking your pen back up and fixing your attention back to the papers you were reviewing. “Can I come after training, though? We should at least eat, like, ramyeon, tteokbokki or something."

A few seconds of silence fills the other line before Jake replies, "God, that sounds—fuck. That's irresistible. I hope Coach lets me off ‘cause his diet plan is seriously killing me.”

“I sure hope he does,” you roll your eyes as the image of a conceited middle-aged man with his stomach overflowing his pants. “unless he wants a big ‘fuck you’ from me for tiring you out. You gotta rest, love.”

He chuckles, causing a grin to tug your lips. “I love you. I know you’re a busy woman and you’ve probably got a lot on your plate right now. I'll hang up now, hmm?”

Your reply gets cut off by the sudden drop of the call, and another sigh leaves your mouth.

Popularity was so exhausting for you. However, not everyone suffers from the syndrome; take Park Jongseong–who goes by “Jay” in school–as an example. The lad has finally gotten a taste of rest after coding what felt like a thousand HTMLs, now nibbling on a cob of corn with his other hand glued to his keyboard.

Why had I never thought of playing Tekken as a way of escaping the hell of school and the sight of students’ thirst for crowd validation before? As he fervently taps the keys of his laptop, the corner of his lip tugs into a slight smirk. He continuously lands hits on a random Kazuya he was matched with, not letting them rest as he uses his trump card–Jin Kazama’s ten-hit combo.

The silence breaks as Jay’s hearty laughter booms in the computer club room. He sighed triumphantly, propping his head on his intertwined hands.

"I gotta tell Heeseung hyung about this.” Jay snickers, grabbing his phone from beside his laptop and speed dialing the number “5”. After a few rings, his friend finally picks up. “Ay, hyung! I got good news for you.”

“Man, fuck you!” Heeseung, the student council’s vice president hisses from the other line, annoyance evident in his voice. Before the younger can ask about why he had such a tone, the older interrupts, “You’re never gonna let me live, are you?”

“Whoa, whoa, chill out, hyung.” Jay chuckles in confusion. “It’s not like I’m gonna use the ten-hit combo on you, is it? What’s the matter?”

Heeseung clicks his tongue and scoffs, “Don’t you see what’s happened or are you playing dumb right now, Jongseong? Fucking look at your screen.”

Jay, although confused, obliges anyway. He looks back at his laptop screen with the rematch menu on display. After a good few seconds, he spots the username of his opponent and immediately gasps, loud enough for his friend to hear. He then breaks into laughter, this time louder and more provoking as he hears the bantering on his ear.

“What—don’t tell me you had no idea—Jay!” the owner of the username heeba_inu_1015 yelled, followed by a frustrated shout.

“Whoops, should’ve gone easy on you, then.” Jay teases, shrugging his shoulders. “No, seriously. I had no idea. This is what school frustration makes me do.”

“Well, at least you’re not the student council’s vice president.”

Jay snorts in disbelief. “Come on, it’s not that hard–” he cuts himself off. “Oh, you’ve got a point, though.”

Jay didn’t necessarily live in the shadows; he just didn’t like being the center of attention. Being an eye candy is the last thing he wanted. Sure, he’s got what it takes to be popular–he’s a CEO's son, filthy rich, and on the honor roll. His friends say he’s got some sick visuals, too. Despite all these, he’d prefer to just blend in with the crowd and not stand out as a resident introvert (not to be confused with being a pick-me boy; Papa Park raised him with manners).

“Still, fuck you.” Heeseung lets out his third scoff of the day. A female voice rambles in the background, on the verge of screaming as the vice president grumbles in dismay. Jay assumes it was the school council’s president calling him out for slacking. “I gotta go, though. Godzilla’s on the run and she’s unstoppable–hey, wait!”

Beep. The call ends, and Jay's me time continues. A chuckle leaves his mouth. That was the president? She’s unhinged as hell.

“What’s the president like?” he mumbles, putting his headphones back on and getting ready to start a new game. “I’d like to meet her.”

“Lee Heeseung, I’m giving you ten seconds to explain to me why you’re on Tekken when you’re supposed to be on duty.”

If looks could kill, your vice president could’ve died a slow, painful death by now. You try your best to keep your calm composure in front of your right-hand man while trying to suppress your anger, but the urge to lash out on him is just getting stronger. Heeseung, feeling intimidated, could only look down on the ground as he hears a disappointed sigh from you.

Fortunately, the school council’s secretary, Yang Jungwon, has informed you of the vice president’s whereabouts. You made sure to leave your pending tasks untouched before storming out of the council office and to the stockroom, where he was apparently taking his sweet time being a heavy load.

“Look, I’ve just finished my last game, Y/N, alright?” Heeseung raises his hands in defeat. “I’m done. I’ll go and help.”

“Oh, you are definitely gonna go help Jungwon in the council’s office because I’m out of here.” you snap, unplugging the Ethernet wire connected to his gaming laptop. “There are waivers waiting for you. Get your ass up.”

“Alright.” he mutters, head hung low as he switches off his laptop. “I’m sorry.”

Without another word, you turn your back on him and walk out of the suffocating stockroom. How does he even stand the heat in there? Your steps get quicker as much as the psychological warfare you were having with yourself is getting worse. People are probably looking at me right now and think, why the hell is her face so sour? They wouldn’t know. They’re not the overworked, unpaid, “popular” student council president with a freeloader of a vice president and a midfielder boyfriend who’s just as popular.

You’ve been zoned out for the entirety of your trip back to the council office, but the sight of a familiar shoe sticking from one of the corridor posts shakes you awake. Your eyebrows furrow, wondering what would someone with skate shoes be doing in that spot at this hour when it’s inter-school olympics season. You take another set of steps before seeing a man’s back view with the jersey number 5 on it, and the scene that unfolds in front of you shakes your whole world.

Your boyfriend and the school’s most famous figure skater, Park Sunghoon, were kissing.

It has been a week since you found out that Sim Jaeyun was cheating on you and is gay.

You remember being rooted in your spot as you saw them eating each other’s faces. Screaming at them would be a waste of time. You feared wasting time the most, and crying in front of someone came in second. Instead of doing what someone normally does in these situations–screaming and bawling their eyes out, you land a slap on each of their faces with a shit-eating grin on your face before running to the nearest comfort room to cry.

You wouldn’t mind your boyfriend coming out of the closet and ending your relationship in good terms, but the fact that he’d been flirting–and probably fucking–around with a guy behind your back infuriated you.

You didn’t know how it came to this—you crying your heart out inside the club office as Heeseung finally took over and finished the rest of your work due to you not being able to properly open your swollen eyes. Even moving around was a pain in the ass. Jungwon works from the sidelines as well, and both of them didn’t dare speak a word to you unless spoken to. They knew better than to mess with a girl who’s got cheated on.

“Cabining trip’s tomorrow. You still going, noona?” Jungwon asks, eyes glued to his laptop screen as he types the minutes of the meeting for the past week. “We need you over there, Pres.”

“Hmm.” you reply, not having the energy to speak out a proper word as you blew your nose on a paper towel. Of course I’ll be there. What am I, a ghoster?

As Jungwon bombards you with questions, your replies are short and reserved, along the lines of “yeah”, “uh-huh”, and the like. How were you supposed to show yourself without shame knowing that your ex wasn’t into you anymore?

“Heeseung.” you croak out, getting a short “huh” as a response. “I need your help with something.”

“What’s it about, miss ma'am?”

You cringe at the nickname, throwing the empty box of paper towels along his way. “If you use that nickname on me again, I swear.” you hiss.

“Damn, calm down, will you?” Heeseung chuckles, barely dodging the box that almost hit his face. “What is it?”

You saunter your way towards the table where the two lads worked. propping your hands on the desk, You then look over at Jungwon who has his whole attention on his laptop, not bothering to pop into the conversation or listen to whatever you were about to say.

“You’re best friends with the adviser, right?” you whisper to Heeseung, to which he nods. “And I’m not. Wow. What am I president for, then?

“Touche.” he shrugs. “What about him?”

“This could be fucked up but,” you lean in to whisper on his ear. “Can you beg him to sneak drinks for the adults?”

Your eyes screw shut in embarrassment, in disbelief of the words that just came out of your mouth. You’re better than this, Y/N.

“Yes.” Heeseung lets out a dramatic gasp, nodding vigorously at your idea. “You had me at ‘drinks’, Y/N, come on. Spill!”

“Noona, you’re kidding, right? Why would you sneak drinks in–”

“Quiet, kid.” you cut Jungwon off. “I’ve got a breakup to get over. Let the adults have this.”

With that, Heeseung let out a dramatic gasp, nodding vigorously at your idea.

The day of the cabining trip has come, and it wasn’t the most enjoyable day for the student council so far. While the other kids were having the time of their lives, talking with their friends and not worrying about keeping the lines straight and the cabins quiet, you struggled to keep the students in order as you tapped the backs of those who made a commotion, or worse, those who made out in broad daylight.

To your relief, Heeseung was in charge of bag inspection, which meant drinks were allowed (unless one was not of legal age, of course). The students will just have to hide it from the other supervisors. Jungwon, along with the student council’s treasurer, Sunoo, were on room assignment duty, making sure to separate the guys and girls from each other. Getting pregnant on a school trip is the last thing anyone would want.

Meanwhile, Jay stands quietly as the line advances. He wasn’t really supposed to be going on this trip if it weren’t for his father insisting him to do so. Luckily, with Heeseung’s permission, he was allowed to bring his gaming laptop without you knowing. The vice president just hopes he wouldn’t get pulled by the ear again.

“God, I hope I get the top bunk.” Jay mutters, putting his bag on the desk for inspection.

“Gotta go fast, then.” Heeseung replied, probing the contents of his friend’s bag. He taps Jay’s shoulders after he’s done. “Man, I hope we’re roommates.”

“Heeseung, how's the inspection going?” you bellow over the crowd of students, craning your head to look for him.

As you and Heeseung scream at each other over the loud sounds in the cabins, Jay couldn’t help but steal glances at you. He did pass by you sometimes, but he hasn't really gotten the chance to step up and talk to you. What a waste. After news has spread that you got cheated on, he could imagine himself tackling you into a hug and giving you small forehead kisses in hopes to ease your pain. He had set his eyes on you ever since you were appointed as president, and he found you so pretty ever since. He just secretly hoped that Jake wouldn’t go begging for you to come back, or else he’d lose his mind.

His daydreaming stops when he bumped shoulders with someone whom he least expected–you. The two of you momentarily met each other’s eyes, and Jay swore he’d melt then and there if it weren’t for you turning away almost immediately. On the other hand, you wonder why he’s been stuck on his spot for a good minute, so you approach him cautiously.

“Uh, are you lost, perhaps?” you wave a hand in front of Jay’s face. “You seem to be spacing out, Jay.”

She knows me. Oh, my God, she just acknowledged me. His heart somersaults in his chest at the mention of his name. It rolled off of your mouth perfectly.

It takes him five seconds to answer, “I’m good, thank you.”

You smile briefly at him, and he flashes one back. He walks silently, trying to suppress a shout from coming out of his mouth. You were always pretty to him, and that smile was the cherry on top.

The first day of the retreat wasn’t really hectic, except for the fact that all of the students have to run ten laps all around the yard before they can even have a taste of breakfast. Despite the supervisors lurking around the whole site, you’ve taken brave sips on your bottle of soju, disguised as drinking water. You couldn’t help but see Jake and his new lover every time you had to lead a segment and meet face to face with everyone, and your chest would always clench. How the fuck is he so happy without me? If it weren’t for the other officers beside you, you would’ve wrestled Sunghoon without a doubt.

The second and third days would probably be the most boring of them all, but not for Jay.

His laptop keeps him company as he silently jerks off to porn videos, trying his best to stifle a groan to not wake up whoever was occupying the top bunk. He would’ve brought a fleshlight, too, but he figured it’d be too much for a school retreat. So he resorts to another option–a sock.

He finishes without suspicion, and gets knocked out to sleep right after.

On the other side of the site, you sit awake in your bunk, finishing the last of the soju you’ve successfully hidden for days. You sigh, not feeling any signs of drowsiness as you stare in spaces. I should've seen this coming. You wanted to slap yourself for being so clueless. Hasn’t it come to you that Jake might be using soccer training as an excuse to meet up with Sunghoon instead of you?

“Y/N, you dumb bitch.” you spit out, grabbing your phone to dial Heeseung’s number.

After a few rings, he picks up. “What the fuck, Y/N, it’s 3 in the morning.” the lad grumbled as he tossed and turned in his bed. “You better give me a good reason for calling at this hour.”

“You got a laptop with you?” you ask. What a stupid question. “It's urgent business.”

“No, I don't, dummy.” he snaps, and his sudden change of tone takes you aback. “I thought you knew we can only bring phones.”

You sigh. Out of all times your council adviser demanded an accomplishment report from you, why now? At that moment, you even wished to switch bodies with Heeseung; he was the adviser’s best friend and not you. Despite you telling your superior that you haven’t brought your laptop, he didn't budge, even bringing up the drink-sneaking incident.

To say you were doomed would be an understatement.

“Why does your best friend put me in situations like this?” you whine, pulling your hair in frustration. “He knows I don't have my laptop at the moment! Tell me, does he have something against me? ‘Cause he better settle things with me. Damn it. Do you get me? Sometimes I just want to walk out on all of you because I’ve got the whole council on my back! i’m a human who has limits, too, for fuck’s sake! When do I quit? I can quit anytime and turn my back on this responsibility. You take over once this term ends–”

“Shut up. I'm at your door.”

You hitch a breath, hang up and climb out of your bunk. You silently open the door to see your vice president holding an open laptop in his hand, phone on the other. The lad passes the device on to you, praying that his friend doesn’t notice his laptop out of place when he wakes up.

“Hey, that ain’t mine, though. Be careful with that.” he says, and you scowl in suspicion.

“Thanks,” you smile slightly. “Though I thought I told you not to bring gadgets in the cabin–”

“Don’t ask, just…” he waves his hands frantically, avoiding the question. “I’ll get going.”

“Okay…?” your voice trails off, and you shoo Heeseung away. “You’re a lifesaver, by the way.”

Heeseung nods, jogging his way out as you close your cabin door. You didn’t bother to wonder whose laptop this was; the only thing in your mind was the report you had to finish.

In silence, you immediately get to work. With sips of water from time to time, you struggle to keep yourself awake as you type the needed information, word by word, making sure that it would be slap-worthy on your adviser’s face.

After two hours of staring and typing, you feel your eyes giving out and fingers straining as you move the document file to your flash drive, finally finishing your work.

“This motherfucker better not scold me tomorrow.” you mutter through clenched jaws, carefully ejecting the drive from God-knows-whose laptop.

With slow hands, you close all of the windows you have used, even the tabs, making it look untouched as this was neither your laptop, nor Heeseung's. Whose is this, then? There wasn't a wallpaper in it, just the default one, and that made guessing a waste of time. Nonetheless, you make a mental note to thank the owner first thing in the morning for saving your desperate ass in such a critical situation.

Before you can shut down the device, a particular folder on the desktop screen catches your attention, especially its name,

“Things I want to do to Y/N”

You squint in surprise, mouse cursor hovering over the folder. As much as you wanted to pry it open, you wanted to respect the privacy of the owner of the laptop, whoever they were. But this has my name on it. You shake your head, preparing for the worst to happen as you double-click on the folder. What you see next shocks you utterly, making your heartbeat rise as you check the name of the owner.

The laptop belongs to a Park Jongseong, with the folder containing porn videos.

In astonishment, you close the laptop with a loud thud, not bothering to shut it down properly or close the porn folder before you do. A series of knocks makes you jump and hit your head on the top bunk.

“Go to sleep, Y/N!” your bunkmate from the top grumbles.

What the fuck is going on? You sigh, wrapping yourself in a cocoon with your blanket.

It's the last day of the retreat, which means free time for all the students until the morning comes with no schedules to stick to. However, you were far from relaxed as last night’s events haven't left your mind until now. You didn’t know what to feel knowing that the quiet kid has been fantasizing about you, and in secret. Do you get mad, grossed out or flattered? Neither of them felt right and it messed up with your head so much. Worrying about it would be a waste of time.

Heeseung couldn’t help but notice you staring at Jay, who played basketball by himself from afar. You spaced out often, too, and it was so not like you to do so. Apparently, your efforts on acting normal outside while being a chaotic mess inside fail as you finally draw out a frustrated groan.

“Something wrong?” Heeseung asks. “You're zoned out pretty bad.”

“That report sucked the life out of me.” you reply monotonously, standing up from your seat, eyes not leaving Jay. “I'll meet you at the bonfire. I just need sleep.”

“Fine. I'll take over for you.”

You nod, trudging to your cabin in hopes to get some rest. However, once your body dips down the mattress, images of Jay hovering over you appear as you close your eyes. Shaking it off, you push a pillow against your face, muffling out a scream of annoyance.

On the other hand, Jay has been stealing glances from you as well, completely unaware of you seeing the deepest, darkest secrets he's kept hidden in his laptop.

After what felt like days of slumber, you were awakened by the noise of students outside of the cabins. hollers and shouts fill your ears as you get yourself out of bed. As much as you hated being woken up in such a manner, you were happy to be able to get a wink of sleep.

“Evening, Y/N.”

You look up from the ground, seeing the person whom you unfortunately wanted to avoid the most. Jay wore a small smile on his face, which was seen clearer without his glasses. Contrary to his usual hoodie-slacks combo, he wore a shirt that snugly fit him, in which you can definitely see the slight curvature of his chest. His toned arms were on full display, too, and you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d flex under your touch. His thighs looked just as attractive, given the fact that he wore cargo shorts.

“Good… evening, Jay.” you chuckle awkwardly. “What's the matter? Can I help you?” Why does he look so different? He even wore his hair differently.

“Nothing much.” he replies sheepishly. “Just, uh, wanted to have a casual talk with the president.” God, that bedhead. Why does it make her more fuckable? He steals glances at the skimpy top that hugged your body, accentuating your curves and your plump breasts.

“Really?” you grin in amusement, not expecting his statement. Just say you wanna fuck and go. “That's strange. No one comes up to me unless it’s about school.”

“That'd be an honor.” he comments, gaze not shifting away from you.“Would having small talk with me waste your time?”

You hesitantly shake your head, and he smiles. Fuck, that smile. Where is this going to get me now?

The two of you proceed to have a conversation outside the cabin, at the same time, thinking of lewd thoughts that were probably too inappropriate, given the setting. From time to time, your hands would brush each other’s, increasing the tension between the two of you.

Despite this, Jay would get distracted, finding your giggles so adorable, especially knowing that he was the reason behind them. You admired how Jay speaks, and how cautious he was when you ranted about your ex. He just hoped no one would call you out and separate the both of you.

Or so he thought.

The whistle trills fills your ears as rain falls angrily on your skin. Whines and grumbles were heard as the bonfire session was declared canceled by Sunoo and Jungwon. Students start sprinting back to their cabins as the rain pours, including the supervisors. No more confession time and roasted marshmallows, I guess.

You look over to see your cabin that was several meters from where you and Jay stood, attempting to make a run for it. However, Jay gets a hold of your wrist before you can take your first step.

“Stay.” his voice is deep and alluring, and you could feel your body slightly shiver.

“You sure?” you raise your brows anyway, not bothering to pull away from his grip. “What if someone sees us drenched in here? Are you willing to vouch for me?”

“You're the president. I'm sure no one would budge.”

You don't protest. Instead, you take the opportunity to ask him about the folder in his laptop, which, by the way, he still assumes was untouched. He, meanwhile, couldn’t take his eyes off of the top that clung to your skin, against your stomach. You pretty much were doing the same as you eyed his abs through his shirt.

After what felt like ten minutes of standing under the rain, both of you were drenched as you walked into an empty cabin for protection that no one used due to faulty electricity. You sit side by side in a single bed, neither of you having the guts to start another conversation.

Maybe it was time for you to spill your secrets.

“I like you.”

“Fuck me.”

The two of you look at each other after speaking at the same time. Your remark especially shocks Jay, so does the way you weren’t fazed with his confession just now. A hand instinctively goes up to cup your mouth. Shit, was I not subtle enough? You fake a hearty chuckle (which was actually a nervous one) as you see his perplexed expression.

“You don’t wanna fuck me?” you mutter, confidence leaving your system as his expression remains unchanged.

“No–I mean, yes.” he immediately replies, afraid that you might take it as him rejecting you. “Of course, I do.”

“Do it, then.”

You tower over his sitting figure, propping your hands on his chest. Jay couldn’t help but close his eyes, asking himself whether this was a dream or not. Your touch trails up to his neck, your fingertips tracing his collarbones. You catch his lips into a sloppy kiss, which he returns fervently as he slips his tongue on your mouth. The cold sensation brought by the raindrops on your skin is now gone as he pulls you into his lap and wraps your legs around his waist. For a minute, he savors your lips as his hands find their way to the hem of your top, feeling a little hesitant.

He pulls off, staring into your eyes as he searches for a sign of fear in your face. “Should I?”

Without a word, you nod, guiding his hands into taking off your top. His eyes roam along your torso, your breasts wanting to be freed from their restraints as they were practically coming out of your tight bra. His cock twitches and slightly hardens at the sight.

“Jay…” you whine, digging your ass against his hardness. A groan leaves his mouth. “I want you to take over.”

With that, he flips the two of you over, with you beneath him. He then pins your hands above your head, asserting his dominance. You hitch a breath as you feel his clothed cock rub against your crotch, still not believing his change in character.

“Is this really the quiet kid I knew?” you tease, making Jay yank your bottoms down, leaving you in your bra. He then lands a stinging spank on your ass cheek, squeezing the soft flesh after.

“Shush, Y/N, unless you want me to leave you hanging.”

Damn, even his voice can make me cum at this point. you feel him spreading your legs slowly, dipping a finger on your damp pussy as he kisses your inner thighs. You reach for his hair and stroke it gently as his lips get closer to where you needed him the most, your other hand squeezing your breast.

he licked a warm strip along your clit, eliciting a whimper from you. He held you by the knees to keep you from pressing your thighs together as he ate you out. his moans against your sex provided vibrations that made your toes curl, and moans louder.

“So miss president loves being eaten out, huh?” Jay chuckles, his ego growing as you reply to him with a broken mewl, pushing two of his fingers inside you. “Such a needy slut.”

He proceeds with his ministrations as he leaves marks on your thigh, torso, then up to your breasts, avoiding your neck to not cause suspicion. The way your walls tightened around his fingers made his cock harden even more. even until now, you couldn’t believe the situation you were in–being fucked by the resident introvert who was secretly a freak in bed.

Your grip on his hair tightens as you feel your high nearing. “Jay, I'm cumming!” you cry out desperately.

Hearing that, Jay pulls his fingers out of you, and licks them with a smirk on his lips. “You taste so sweet… however, I can’t just have you cumming somewhere that’s not on my cock, can I?”

He takes off his drenched top, and the rest of his clothes follow, freeing his erect cock from its confines. He drags his tip against your clit, teasing your entrance and holding your hips tight to stop you from pushing him in.

“Jay, please…” you beg, voice laced with frustration. “I want to make you feel good.”

“Is that so?” Jay snickers, slapping your thigh. “Little miss slutty president wants to suck me off?”

“Mm-mm.” you nod, eyeing his cock and the pre-cum that leaked from his tip. “fuck my mouth, just like how you want it.”

Just like how I want it? he stops in his tracks as he sees you grinning from beneath him. It was finally time for you to confess.

“Sir,” you whined, the pet name causing Jay to let out an audible groan. “I gotta tell you something.”

You sit up and bend over in front of him, his cock on your face and your ass up. He lets out a small gasp as your tongue teases his tip. The way you made eye contact with him didn’t help him, either. He bunches your hair up in a ponytail, wrapping it all around his knuckles as you sucked him like a popsicle.

“Tell me, baby,” he sighs, looking down at you in amusement.

“I needed a laptop for my report.” you lick him from base to tip. “And Heeseung, the vice president, borrowed yours for me.”

The way your tongue moves all over him sends shivers all over his body, and he makes the impulsive decision to rub his cock all over your face. “Baby saw my porn stash, didn’t she?” he chuckles, pushing himself deeper in your throat. You try to stop yourself from gagging as he fucks your mouth. “Fuck, yes. Those were all meant for you. All the things I wanna do to that body.”

You moan against his cock, reaching for your clit to rub yourself. you expected a different reaction from him, but by the looks of it, the Jay you passed by along the corridors was now gone. In front of you is a different person, and you actually loved it. You loved this new side of him.

“This is one of them.” Jay adds. “Fucking your mouth.”

You feel your head being guided by his hands as he nears his orgasm, thrusting faster inside your mouth. you whimper as his tip hits your throat, waiting for his warm release to fill your mouth.

However, he pulls out again, much to your dismay. He gets out of the bed and walks to the other side where he can take you from behind. Coincidentally, there stood a mirror in front of you, and you could clearly see his naked body as you were on your hands and knees. Fuck, I bet he works out a lot. He spanks your ass cheeks again, making you yelp.

“God, you’re so fucking hot, miss president.” Jay says under his breath, lining his tip on your cunt and getting ready to push himself inside of you. “I don’t have a condom with me, though.”

“I'm on the pill.” you reply. You realized you haven’t gotten rid of your habit of taking birth control pills even though you didn’t have sex as much anymore, especially now that you’re not with Jake anymore. “I have a favor to ask you.”

“Which is?”

You heave a deep sigh before speaking. I'll have to do this once and for all. “Help me forget about Jake.”

Without a word, he pushes himself slowly inside you. A gasp leaves your mouth at how big and girthy he was as he stretched your walls. It took you a while to adjust to his size, but after he has sunken his whole length in you, he starts moving.

I'll help you forget about Jake, sweetheart. “My love… tell me.” he drags a fingertip along your spine, rocking his hips at a steady pace. “Who's making you feel good right now?”

“You, Jay.” you reply, almost sounding like a scream as you do. “Your cock feels so good inside me.”

“Fuck, yeah, I am.” jay snickers, pulling you by the hair and making you look at your fucked-out reflection in the mirror. “Look at you. Such a cock-hungry bitch.”

God, you hated being degraded, but why did Jay's words turn you on?

Jay's pace gradually goes faster as he feels you tightening around him, his muscles flexing as his skin slaps against yours.

“That fucking soccer boy can never fuck you as good as I do, right?”

“Ah, yes!” you whimper as his finger reaches your clit.

He groans. “Repeat after me, darling. Cheaters.”

“Cheaters–ah!” you squeal as Jay spanks your ass again.

“Ain’t.” Jay seethed.

“Ain't…” you draw out a whine as he holds you by the waist.

“Shit.” he pulls you to sit up, slapping your breasts.

“Shit! Oh, that feels good.” you bury your head in the bed.

“See? That fucker doesn’t deserve you.” he whispered against your neck, leaving a dark mark by sucking on it. “He can go get some dick by himself ‘cause from now on, you’re mine.”

As his hands make their way back to your breasts, you feel like putty under Jay's touch. You couldn’t help but agree to his every word as if he’s put you in a state of hypnosis. Your words are incomprehensible as he snaps his hips harshly against yours, the feeling of his cock inside you clouding your vision and thoughts.

“I said you’re mine, little slut.”

“I'm yours.” you breathe out.

Once he has been given the go signal, he slows down for a bit and turns your head so you can see each other’s gazes. “If you'd let me take care of you, I'd do it wholeheartedly.” he said, kissing your knuckles lovingly. “I don't care how slow you want the process to be, Y/N. Just give me a chance.”

You don’t say a word. Instead, you lock his lips in a loving kiss. He holds onto your waist for dear life as your hips move in sync, the heated moment turning into a passionate, affectionate one.

“You close?” Jay mumbles against your lips, and you nod.

You stay still in that position as Jay picks up his pace, letting you feel his warmth as he brings you to your high.

Your climax crashes like waves, and it seems like momentarily taking the life out of you. Jay follows suit, his seed spilling inside of you.

After a good minute, he pulls out of you, lays you down on the mattress and hovers above you. you cup his cheeks and give him a peck on the forehead, the introvert in him slowly coming back as he blushes at your action.

“Let me clean you up.” Jay says with a slight pout, the dominant in him finally out of the picture as he spoke.

“Can we do that later?” you reply, planting a kiss on his nose. “Let me hold you for a while.”

He doesn’t oblige. Rather, he picks up his drenched shorts from the floor, pulling a small handkerchief from its pocket. As he proceeds cleaning you up, you stare at him fondly. Were you in love? Not yet. Would you give him a shot? Definitely. The way he just switched up on you would need some processing time, though. It was one heck of a moment.

The night ends with Jay sending you off to your cabin, kissing you good night as he promises to meet you in school after the weekend.

You slowly stroll along the corridors of the art department building, looking for Jay's room as you go. You have been walking for thirty minutes straight, but without an ounce of exhaustion in your body although it was a Thursday–a work day for the student council president. To say that you were excited to meet him would be an understatement.

It’s been a week since the last day of the cabin trip and your first sexual encounter with someone who wasn’t Jake. You’ve been feeling a lot better, and it made Heeseung and Jungwon wonder how you’ve done it so fast. Jay’s been sending you food over the weekend and it stunned you how well he cooks. He’s been dropping over to the student council adviser’s office from time to time, too, just to watch you work.

You feel your feet starting to hurt, but you keep on walking anyway. I need to see my Jay after a long dayyyyy.

“There she is!” a voice starts shouting, causing you to stop on your tracks. “The prim and proper student council president.”

You squint your eyes at the person who turned out to be Sim Jayoon, Jake's cousin. She eyes you with a scowl as if scrutinizing you, and retches as if she was grossed out. You knew exactly what she came at you for–to act as a proxy for her wimpy cousin who hasn’t shown his face in the soccer team ever since. She has the reputation of being the worst pick-me in all of tenth grade, and that makes this encounter worse.

“You rang, Yoon?” you reply, faking a cheerful tone as you try your best not to pounce at the poor girl. “Do you need help with something?”

“Weren’t you crying over Jake oppa just last week?” Yoon spits out, towering over you to assert dominance. “Now you’re fucking with another guy? Seriously, sunbaenim, how much of a slut can you be?”

Does she expect me to cry and beg her to keep my dirty little secret? You snort. “Babe, your Jake oppa two-timed me with Park Sunghoon while I was on duty. That makes your cousin the slut here, doesn’t it?”

“And I did what I could do best–moving on.” you add, pissing Yoon off even more. Her face reddens in anger, and you taunt her, patting her head. “Aww, look at you. Aren’t you such a good guard dog for not admitting that your cousin made mistakes?”

“Shut up!” she yells defensively, stepping away from you. “You’re the president and you’re supposed to be the role model, right? You should step down if you tolerate double-dipping! bitch!”

With that, Yoon raises a hand to land a slap on your face, and you grimace, expecting the sting to land on your cheek. However, three seconds in and nothing hits you.

Turns out, a hand blocked Yoon’s arm and stopped her from slapping you. You look over your shoulder to see Jay with his usual meh expression plastered on his face. He raises his brows at Yoon, evidently annoyed by her words.

“At least she’s getting better sex than your cousin does.” he quips, throwing Yoon’s wrist to the ground.

You gasp at Jay’s choice of words. “Jay! Language!”

“What? It's the truth.” he replies, holding up a cube in his hand which happened to be a mini-recorder. “You want me to call your parents or something?”

In defeat, Yoon screams, stomping her way out of the corridors. You hear a deep chuckle from Jay behind you, and you instinctively land a slap on his chest. “You didn’t just say that in front of a fifteen-year old kid.”

“What was I supposed to do? She’s just called you slut and a bitch.” Jay shrugged, and you could only shake your head at him. He leans closer to your ear and whispers, “You’re my bitch, though.”

You roll your eyes, unable to protest “Jay, as much as I appreciate the degradation–”

“Meet me after your last period. I promise I won’t ditch you.” he grins, giving your lips a brief peck. “I’m off to the e-sports club office and nope, Heeseung hyung won’t be playing with me this time.”

“Thanks for the assurance..?” you say hesitantly, followed by a chuckle. He’s back at it again with the random updates. “Show them what you got, gamer boy.”

He pecks your lips again, and starts walking away with his back facing you. You could only look at him in awe as he leisurely walked the corridor with his headphones on and probably a One Ok Rock song blasting from them. He was your definition of comfort, and the only one who could convince you that wasting time wasn’t a bad thing after all.

“Love ya!” he bellows suddenly, making you yelp. Now’s not the time to say it back yet. You blow him a kiss and he makes a run for the stairs. Of course, you loved him, too.

And the other sides of him, of course.

a/n: this fic is especially dedicated to my girlies nics (@ddeonuism) and aria (@jaylaxies) bc apparently they love this fic so much so OFC i had to retrieve it and free it from the dungeon! this is for all my jay hoes 🥳 one of the fics that got me started in enhablr AND my first ever jay fic. i tweaked this a lil bit just to make jay hotter and sweeter bc ik that's what y'all want right 🙄 /lh enjoy lovelies!

NSFW TAGLIST [OPEN]: @thots4hee @jaylaxies @ddeonuism @jojayke @vernonluvs-archived @puphee @hee-pster @forjongseong @jaeyunsz @muffinminnie @shu-ramyeonz @poutyjaeyun @fairy-junseong @duolingofanaccount @jkefelx @taetaemylovie @heetro @yizhoutv @lavhikaru @kaislinging-slasher01 @cha0thicpisces @en-archv @simplewonderland @exactlygreatcoffee @lhseth @aerinaga @xwonniex @jyshdoll @iiousim (send an ask or a dm to be added!)

#fics: switch it up #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen oneshots #enhypen headcanons #enhypen drabbles #enhypen smut #enhypen jay #enhypen jay smut #jay smut #park jongseong #jay #enhypen park jongseong #jay hard hours #enhypen hard hours #enhypen jay imagines #enhypen jay scenarios #enhypen jay x reader

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ariesbilly · 4 months

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just a little something for @harringrovelovefest but it doesnt fit any of the prompts lol

Billy knew dating a straight boy would bring nothing but trouble. Cyd had warned him enough back in Cali, told him how straight boys may be good for a one time fuck, get it out of your system, but that's it. Don't go try pursuing anything more, because it'll never be anything more.

And Billy had taken that to heart. The one time in his life he didn't feel the need to put his hand on the stove to test its heat, last thing he needed was some straight boy running scared, opening his big mouth to let the world in on Billy's little secret. Maybe he played with danger a little too much, but he also knew when to play it safe to save his own ass.

Which is why Steve Harrington had been such a fucking enigma.

Billy knew better, and yet he let himself fall for the king of small town America, the poster boy of Ideal Heterosexual Living. He was such a fucking idiot.

He'd gotten a few good months out of it, at least. Definitely some of the best sex he's ever had - once he taught Steve how to properly use his dick, anyway. And he's gonna miss having that asshole hanging onto his every word, clinging to him like another limb. That absence is gonna be a bitch to fill.

But Steve, apparently, is ready to go back to pussy, if the visual Billy's getting from the parking lot of Family Video is anything to go by. Can see clear as day through his windshield, into the store, how Steve is leaned over the counter, smiling all big and bright at some chick he thinks they went to school with.

Billy knows flirting when he sees it. Honestly, he just wishes Steve had the decency to not flaunt it right in his face. Could've taken her to the back and fucked her in private without Billy having to have this image burned into his brain.

Whatever.

He slams on his horn, finally alerting Steve to his presence.

Steve perks up at the sound of the horn. Billy's a little early to pick him up from the end of his shift, but only by a few minutes. Robin can clock him out, it won't matter.

"Gotta go, Shelly," he says to the girl on the other side of the counter. "But make sure to come back and tell me what you thought about Animal House. I'm telling you, it's a classic!"

Shelly laughs and agrees to his request before heading out, and Steve can't get out of the store fast enough. Yells his goodbye to Robin and runs out the door, panting as he plops himself into the passenger seat of the Camaro.

"Hey, tiger." He grins. And it's only now that he notices the voice coming from the radio. Just about the last damn thing he ever expected Billy to be listening to. "Is this Dolly Parton?" He wants to laugh, but the somber look on Billy's face and the next words out of his mouth have him refraining.

"My mom liked her. Got a problem with that?"

"Uh... no. No. Dolly's great."

Billy pulls out of the parking lot without a word. The track on the cassette changes, and the melancholic lyrics fill the silence.

When you love somebody With all your heart and soul And you want to keep them with you But you know they want to go What do you do? What do you say? When you know they want to leave As bad as you want them to stay

Billy's fingers tighten around the steering wheel. This song was always a bitch to get through, but it's downright torture right now. He thinks about changing it, but it would only draw attention. Best to just push through it, act like it's just another song. Keep his feelings down like usual.

Steve notices the shift, though. He also notices the way Billy's eyes have gone a little glassy, starting to fill up with tears.

He gets it. Billy's mom is a sore subject for him, and as he listens to the lyrics spilling out of the radio he can't help but to feel bad for his boyfriend. There's an ache in his chest like he's carrying Billy's emotions for him. He wish he could. Wishes Billy didn't have to feel a single bad thing for the rest of his life, he's already felt enough.

And then the chorus starts, and Steve's mind switches over to his own past woes.

And there's nothing quite as sad as a one-sided love When one doesn't care at all and the other cares too much It's a sad situation, I must say When someone wants to leave As bad as you want them to stay

Nancy feels like a lifetime ago. And he's over her, he is, but. Some wounds take longer to heal.

This song would've hurt more had he heard it back then, in the thick of it. But now he can mourn that period of his life for what it was and look at Billy and take pride in what his life is.

You know how much I love you But I know you don't love me And I know it's just a matter of time before you leave But I, do I stand aside and just let you walk away? But I know you want to leave As bad as I want you to stay

Billy wonders when the blow is gonna come. How long it'll be until Steve breaks the news. Will probably let him down easy, because that's the kind of guy Steve is. And Billy won't go down without a fight, because that's the kind of guy he is. Can't ever let things go without kicking and screaming.

Maybe he should end things first, beat Steve to the punch. Leave his ass blindsided, leave-

"Hey," Steve's voice comes gently, along with the hand now holding Billy's on the wheel.

They're stopped at a red light, so Billy chances a glance over.

And there's nothing quite as sad as a one-sided love When one doesn't love at all and the other loves too much It's a sad situation I must say

"I'm glad I have you." Steve smiles, all soft and sweet. Delicate, like he's stepping through a minefield. "I'm glad we have each other."

Billy's breath catches in his throat. Doesn't know what kind of sick game Steve is playing. But he's holding Billy's hand, and he's staring into his eyes, and he looks sincere.

His mom had looked sincere, too, all the times she told him she loved him. Look where that got him. People are sincere, until they aren't.

When someone wants to leave as bad as you want them to stay Oh, it's a sad situation I must say When someone wants to leave as bad as you want them to stay

"You can't-" Billy starts, choking on his words. "You can't leave me." His own honesty strikes him, but the words are out, and he figures it's time to lay it all on the table. "Or- if you are, just do it now. Don't string me along Steve, I won't- I can't-"

The light's gone green, but there isn't a soul on the road, so Steve doesn't feel guilty almost climbing into Billy's lap just to hold him as close as he can, kissing the top of his head, his cheek, his lips.

"I'm not going anywhere, blue." He holds Billy's face between his hands, forcing him to understand the weight of his words. "You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not." He shakes Billy's head for emphasis, eliciting a laugh from the both of them.

There's tears streaming down Billy's face, but it's relief. Maybe he jumped to conclusions, maybe he has to reel that shit in. He'll work on it.

"Yeah, okay." He sniffles. Doesn't make a move to get out of Steve's grasp. "You're stuck with me, too, though."

Steve beams. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

#harringrove #harringrovelovefest2024 #my writing #i wrote this while cooking hot wings and they got done right before i finished this. what timing!#so sorry if the ending seems kinda rushed lol #i gotta go get my chicken out

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luveternals · 6 months

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paring: 4. simon 'ghost' riley x artist male reader. cw: introvert reader with low self-esteem, there's a waiter whose love language is food, ghost has selective mutism(tell me if I got anything wrong), swearing, the seafront location was originally inspired by Naples' Lungomare, Italy. <- posto da visitare assolutamente, guys. a/n: bam! they thought I was gone, but I ain't. Lol guess whose first language isn't English. anyway, new posts' schedule: still to be decided (check the my pinned post). ~ ~ ~

You've seen this trend around for a while and decide worse case scenario people get offended, call you a creep, and you won’t be able to show your face to the public ever again.

What could possibly go wrong?

Put on the brave face, man, you tell yourself taking in a fortifying breath. It’s not that they don’t know how much of a loser you already are.

Not wanting to be the stalking weirdo on the train or subway, you choose a nearby café. They know you here, at least. Though, you can’t decide if it’s for the better or worse.

The waiter is already setting up a tray on the counter when you open the door, and from the cheeky little wink he gives you, you know it’s for you. Noah knows your goto morning food and drink, though you never told him. He found out all on his own — honestly, you don’t even recall having a favorite to begin with.

“There he is,” he says and pushes the tray towards you when you stop at the counter, “precious little artist. Punctual as ever.”

You try to smile, but it pulls at your lips and you know it looks nothing but awkward. “How do you know I might change my order today?”

“Are you going to?”

You shrug.

“Thought so.” He pokes at the tray and points at your table, set way at the back of the café. “Now, this better not go cold, hmm,” he leans forward and squints at you, “I mean it.”

You huff at him and turn away with the tray in hand. “Whatever, mom.”

“Oh!” you hear him gasp offended, “kids these days.”

Idiot.

One thing is certain, being a loyal customer of theirs has its little perks. One being your usual table has an unspoken reservation on it. Every time you come here, it’s there for you. The fact that people don’t usually sit this far from the counter unless there’s no other option is an appreciated bonus. You place the tray on the table, set your bag on the empty chair next to yourself, and finally take a seat.

Unsure of how to start, you pick Noah as the first subject of your little experiment. He’s been nagging you about making a portrait of him for ages now, so you know for a fact he’s not going to mind.

You start your sketch with his beaming face. A circle for the shape of the head. A downward line at the center to keep everything spaced correctly. Find the position of eyes and nose. Shape of the face. Erase the lines you don’t need anymore.

You brush off the little eraser crumbs away and raise your head to check his face again. He’s turned away though, and your attention slides to the customer in front of him waiting for his turn.

He’s a hulking figure, dark wear and face mask covering mouth and nose. You’ve never seen him around before.

Noah's café is small and cozy, tucked away in a little corner. Tourists don’t really pick this as their first choice.

You move to draw on an empty part of the page.

“Oh ho! Looky here.”

You jerk and almost fall off the chair at the sudden presence peering over your shoulder. "Jesus, fu— what the hell is wrong with you?”

He steals the sketchbook and flips through the pages. “Love struck, aren’t we?” he snickers, inspecting the lastest drawings you’ve added to your collection.

You snatch the book back and fight the urge to check if anyone heard. “I thought I told you not to touch without permission.”

“I’m sorry,” he says and raises his hands before him, “I just… it’s been a while since I saw you draw so passionately, and I got curious. thought you lost your muse.” He glances down at the sketchbook and gives you a playful grin, “I guess you found a new one?”

“It’s been an eternity, are you ever going to talk to him?” Mr I-don’t-know-how-to-mind-my-own-business sets a second pastry you never ordered beside your empty plate and lean over to look at your current drawing.

“Can you, like, leave me alone?”

“You’re an artist,” he says with the flattest tone, “without me, who would keep you fed and hydrated and alive, you?”

You purse your lips and raise your chin to stare up at him. How dare he? You don’t need no one’s help to take care of yourself, thank you very much. It’s not like you forget time passes when you're drawing and end up with only breakfast in your belly all day. it happened, sure. Still.

“You know what, you’re being a real pain right now,” you say and stand intending to leave the café and head to the park or something.

Of course, your action is too abrupt and you end up bumping into someone who was making their way to a table near yours. And catastrophe happens.

When you turn, you realize the person you knocked into is the man you’ve been drawing these last days. Even worse, his eyes are locked onto your open sketchbook right on the spread littered with portraits and drawings of him.

Fuck.

Here comes the part where he thinks you're a weirdo and leaves the café with the intention of never coming back.

“Oh, hello!” Noah says and wiggles his fingers at the man with an overly cheery expression. “My friend here was just about to come and talk to you about these,” he says, gathering your drawings and shoving them into your arms, “he’s a little shy, so he needed a little push,” he adds, then shoves you towards the other man.

You stumble but recover quickly, and when you turn to glare at your friend he simply sends you a wink and mouths ‘don’t be a loser and ask him out’.

“He’s not even being subtle at it.” You don’t expect the man to talk to you at all, or to stay after that to begin with. There’s amusement in his voice and when you meet his gaze, you find a soft look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. From this close up, his eye color catches your attention and you have to refrain yourself from leaning closer and finding out how it is that it seems to change from hazel-brown to blue and back. “Yeah,” you say again and drop your attention back to your things to stop yourself from staring, “he’s an idiot. But he's a good friend despite it all. He pretty much keeps me alive by shoving food into my face.”

Talking to Simon is not as awkward as you'd told yourself it'd be. He doesn’t judge you for all the drawings you did of him and instead compliments you on your skill. He does tease you, though.

“If I knew I was being stared at for so long I would have posed.”

“Shut up.”

“Need a model? I could do naked as well if you want.”

“Ugh.”

His laugh is contagious and you're helpless, so the teasing doesn’t stop.

Friendship with him is not the same as with Noah.

The waiter is a beaming ball of life, open and bold and buzzing with energy. You love him but, sometimes, spending time with him is quite exhausting.

Simon on the other hand, he knows silence.

He sits at your table, book in one hand and tea in the other, enjoying the simple company that is your presence despite not having said a word since the simple greeting you shared this morning.

Noah gives you a thumbs up from over Simon's shoulder.

“Why don't you just use a normal pencil for sketching?”

You peer up at him, hunched over the page. He's not even looking st you, but you know he's waiting for answer, curious and with real interest.

The first time he asked you a question, you've fumbled with your words unsure if he cared at all and if you'd scared him of with your chatter. Words aren't for you, but the longer you talk about the same thing on and on, you figure he doesn't mind and didn't ask just to have some awkward small talk. And so you blabber on about how it makes it easier to distinguish the first quick sketch with a color and the details you've added later with another.

He's eyes are pinned on you now, and you find you don't really mind being stared at like you thought you would.

“Ask him out.”

You haven’t even reached the counter and Noah is already at it. “Can you not?”

“Precious, I can see the love struck dreamy smile you give him from a mile away,” he says, adding a second steaming cup to your tray. “Introvert doesn’t mean allergic to people. You’re not the complete failure at socializing you imagine yourself being.” He pushes the tray towards you and leans against the counter. “youst case scenario, if he says 'no' I’ll go with you.”

You grimace. And then wide the look off your face when you register your reaction. “I mean— it's not that I don’t like you, it’s just that—”

“Wow, man. Wow,” he scoffs, “this is worse than when you left the sketch of my face half done.”

Oh, fuck. You forgot about that one?

“Whatever, man,” he says with a roll of his eyes, his lips twitch at the corners. “If he does say 'no', I'll buy you that kit you’ve been swooning over for the past month. Best quality color and all that.” He waves at you to move along, only to pull your tray closer to himself again and popping a tiny little pastry right in the middle. Then sends you off to your doom.

“I've been thinking,” you blurt out in response to his ‘mornin’’.

Simon pauses right about to take a seat, raises an eyebrow and finally settles down. “Have you, now?”

“Yeah,” you say and tap the end of your pencil against the table. “Yeah. Do you like the park? No, wait. Do you like going to the park with me— would you…” You take in a breath and raise your gaze to the ceiling, “really, now?”

After a long moment, you shift your attention back to him ready to try again. His eyes are shining, little wrinkles decorating the corner of his eyes.

The mask covers it, but you know for a fact that he's smiling.

You feel your cheeks going warmer and you have to fight the urge to backtrack and hide behind your sketchbook. “Do you wanna,” you say, “go to the park with me?”

It's an oddity to find him already seated, no tea in sight either. From the look Noah gives you, after a month of simon coming in every day, this is a novelty for him as well.

You bring your tray to the table and sit beside him without a comment, only a simple greeting and a gentle smile. You set a cup of tea before him, alongside one of the sweets Noah refused to take back when you told him it was probably too much food. He actually looked offended by the comment.

“It’s double the stuff he usually gives me, Simon,” you say when he tries to have you keep it, “just eat it. Or better, help me finish it all, I beg you.”

He stares at the food for a long moment, then visibly gives up on convincing you. He doesn't touch it though.

The tea goes ignored as well.

You purse your lips. Well, that won’t do.

“Say,” you start and tilt your head to catch his gaze, “do you wanna go out for a walk? There’s a place I wanted to show you.”

He watches your face, then shifts his attention around the café, on Noah and finally on the food he left untouched.

“I'll have Noah put everything in a bag. I know he won't mind.”

He hesitates, but nods.

You smile at him and beam when the gesture seems to lessen the tension on his shoulders.

You bring him to a local bookstore. Like with the café, this is a little business famous mostly in the neighborhood. It’s never overly crowded but there’s always a kid or two binging their current read.

You leave him to scan the shelves and move to do the same not far.

Hah! They’ve finally restocked the stationary corner. Hooray! You definitely don’t need another journal, but no one can stop you from staring at them with gut wrenching despair.

Would Simon like it if I bought him one?

At the thought you turn to search for him and find him already making his way to you with a new book in hand.

You've got the membership card here so you manage to convince him to let you pay. Both for his book and the journal you're holding.

You don’t know many places to visit, but those you are familiar with are the best for those who don’t care for ‘crowded’.

The seafront isn’t one of them but you hope the view will make up for it.

It’s a risky move, but you think you’ve grown close to him enough to know he's quite comfortable with being by himself, but sometimes silence isn't what he wants or needs.

Noah told you you’re a pretty good observant and that analyzing the world around you is what makes you an artist. So you hope he wasn’t making that up.

There's a little corner towards the end. Here the view is partially covered but when you check his face, you're glad to discover he doesn't seem to mind at all. He hasn't said a word at all since you met this morning, but his attention has been pinned on you all day even after the nonsense rant you've gone on about AI art.

You pull out a thermos from the café’s cute, little bag and hand it to him like an hesitant offering. His tea has been kept safe and warm inside all morning, but you don't know if he'll accept it after earlier.

His eyes soften and he takes the thermos with the same care you've handled it with, and holds it in both hands like he wants to keep it safe.

A spark of hope warms your insides, so you take out two pastries and hand one to him. "He's going to make me eat more tomorrow," you say and take a bite, as if to show him Noah does know how to bake — oh, yep, he really does. God. "And you haven't had breakfast yet. Please?"

It takes a moment, but eventually, he turns away from any unwanted gaze, moves his face mask out of the way, and brings the food to his mouth to take a bite.

It slow, delibeate and so very careful, but he's eating, and now you finally understand. How Noah cares so much about keeping you fed.

~ ~ ~ a/n: I'm not entirely sure if I got it right. Here's what I was thinking: noah is there to keep the reader from neglecting himself; ghost is a new face at the café and with a little push they become friends; reader starts taking care of ghost end consequently takes care of himself. comment, reblog and/or follow. yadda, yadda, yadda, this blog feeds off feedback or it'll go boom! don't just like please...

#simon ghost riley #x top male reader #call of duty #top male reader #dom male reader #male reader #reader insert #x reader #cod x reader #cod #cod mw2 #second person pov #original writing #story day

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t-lostinworlds · 1 year

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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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