#<- in response they proceed to take a big chunk of it chew it up and show it to her to make her Very Upset so she’d leave them be(it works)

[redhotarsenic]

There’s these grubs on the flesh planet right? Huge nutritional value and everything. But they’re about the size of hercules beetle larvae. And really juicy. Valantinez just eats those and nothing else. Grabbing one whenever they come across one during a job. They do not eat for pleasure. They eat for energy. Besides the occasional piece of candy. Lucille begs them to eat Real Food for once. Practically on her hands and knees. But they simply ignore her.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Do Us Part

Warnings: nonconsent and rape; oral, fingering, marital discord, cheating, spousal arguments and mental/emotional abuse, age gap (Peter is 24/25 and reader is 35/36)

This is dark!Peter Parker x 30s/’older’ reader and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find it hard to accept that not all good things last as you face the changes in your marriage, yourself, and your marriage.

Note: I wanted to write Peter again but also I’ve seen this nonsense about how 30+ writers are too old for fanfic which is dumb af. And I wanted to turn the age gap trope a little so that it wasn’t the reader being the younger one in the relationship. I label it older reader but I don’t think being in your 30s is old tbh (my bf is 36 so pfft). It was all just a conglomeration of circumstances that inspired a deceivingly sweet dark Peter and I hope you like it. Also it’s 7.4k so a bit of a longer read.

Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You walked slowly along the transparent shelves set into the pristine white walls of the cosmetics section. The department store was a haze of distant voices and the chirp of scanners as customers milled the aisles and waited their turn to check out. You whiled away your time looking at things you’d never buy as you waited for your husband to return from the men’s department.

You thought of the sparse make-up bag under your sink and the liners and shades you hadn’t used in years. They were likely expired and better tossed in the bin. You hovered along the crystal bottle of designer scents and stopped to test a particular blush-tinted fragrance.

You set the bottle back and peered over at the dark cubbies that housed the men’s scent. Even from there, you could catch a whiff of the heady scents as a younger man with reddish brown hair examined an angular vial of Dior Men. You suddenly felt out of place; a mid-thirties woman in her out-of-season clothes fantasizing about overpriced perfume.

Your husband's voice further cemented your reality as you fingered the golden cap of the Coach eau du parfum. Wesley rolled his eyes and flipped up the little plastic panel that hid the bold prices and huffed.

“I hope you don’t think I’m gonna pay for that shit,” he sneered, “what have you been doing? I was waiting for you.”

He waved a plastic bag as his lip curled and you pressed your mouth shut tightly and swallowed. The day began with another argument as he discovered the seared hole in his shirt and instead of blaming the crappy old dryer, he blamed you. Most of your clothes had been chewed up by the thing but you never complained.

“No, I was just… looking,” you teetered in your flats and glanced around. The young man at the corner display quickly turned to hide his nosy observation, “did you find some new shirts?”

“No thanks to you,” he sniffed.

“Oh,” you played with the hem of your tee and tucked your hands into your pockets nervously. You’d left him to look alone as you only seemed to irritate him and rarely took your advice on matters of clothing, “well, I thought I’d give you some space--”

“Stop acting so pathetic. Start taking responsibility for yourself. For god’s sake, you're almost thirty-six and you don’t know how to hang a shirt to dry?” He spun on his heel and snapped over his shoulder, “let’s go.”

You flinched but followed behind him as he strode away and you stumbled out behind him through the automatic doors. He tossed the bag into the back seat and slammed the door before flopping angrily into the driver’s side. You mirrored him daintily and squeezed your legs together as you tried to make yourself as small as you could.

“I told you about the dryer,” you said.

“And?” he started the engine and slapped his hand around the wheel, “call a fucking electrician or some shit.”

“Alright,” you shrugged as he stopped at the exit of the parking lot and checked his phone quickly.

“Benny wants to do a round of golf,” he peeled out and you grasped the door as your heart raced. You hated how reckless he was when he was angry. You hated how easily he got angry these days.

“Okay,” you picked at the fraying stitching of your purse.

“Don’t start moping,” he sneered, “I fucking work all week and I can’t go out and have a few rounds?”

“I never-- I didn’t say anything,” you murmured.

“You don’t need to,” he turned the wheel sharply as he cut off another car, “you sit at home all day and do what?”

“I work too,” you said.

“Uh huh, sure, if that’s what you call it.”

You ran your fingertip over the bleach stain on the knee of your jeans and said nothing. When he was in a mood, he would latch on anything until he outright exploded. You tried to think of when he changed, when he had stopped being the chill guy you met back in college. It felt like a slow trickle, small things you ignored until it was a mountain you could not see past.

You felt like crying but you’d stopped that a while ago. You existed in a purgatory of acceptance and helplessness. You wanted him to love you again, wanted to believe you could fix things. So you would keep trying. You would do better.

💍 

You picked out a large flank of steak and winced at the price. You had a special dinner in mind. It was Friday and the work week was done. You wanted a weekend without a fight and Wesley was always one for a nice big cut of beef. You hadn’t made him one in a while, your dinners were the usual repetitive drumsticks and rice or your homemade mac and cheese.

You continued onto the fish section and grabbed some salmon for yourself. You’d gained some weight and decided to cut out dairy and red meat if you could help it. The pile of produce in your cart reminded you of the extra jiggle around your stomach and thighs. You also grabbed one of those women’s magazines that advertised a regimen to help slim your figure. You only hoped you could stick to it this time.

With your weekly haul in tow, you wheeled up to the check-out and waited behind a young man who looked oddly familiar to you. Maybe that was the passing years. You always felt a vague glimmer of deja vu, more often a sense of forlorn nostalgia of what you would never have again.

As you stared thoughtlessly, he looked over and smiled. He bent in front of your cart and picked up a thin packet of seasoning. 

“You dropped this,” he said as he held it out and you thanked him before quickly snatching it and looking away. 

He paid for his large bags of chips and over salted pre-packaged meals and packed up at the end as you loaded up your own goods, the cashier sending them down the parallel belt. You swiped your card and tried to calculate the chunk of money from your last check. You thanked the clerk and sidled past the young man as he finished up.

You rounded the counter as he lifted his three bags. You looked up without thinking, the sleeve of his shirt tight around his bicep. You caught yourself staring and looked back down as you packed in the cans. 

It reminded you of Wesley; he’d also started being more mindful, he hit the gym after work and you noticed the little pudge that started just after he turned thirty was slimming out. It was that exact reason that made you notice the extra pounds on your own frame, not that you didn’t realise before.

The man left and you unfolded the little buggy you slid under the cart. You loaded your bags into it and dragged the cart behind you as you made an awkward exit with both wheeled trolleys. The compact fabric buggy was easy enough to fit on the bus if you stood.

You pushed the cart into the row of empty ones and continued across the parking lot. You rolled up to the bus shelter and checked the bus times on your phone. You dug out your strip of tickets and ripped one away. You leaned on the thin handle of your trolley and looked over your shoulder as you heard someone approach.

The man who checked out ahead of you put his bags on the metal bench inside the shelter as he sipped on a bright drink from the place just beside the grocery shop. He sent you a smile over his straw and you spun back to crane your head and search for the bus.

When the metal beast barreled up and cranked to a stop at the curb, the man waited behind you and as your wheels caught on the edge of the ramp, he reached around you and helped push it over the lip. You thanked him shyly and continued up. Usually you tried to keep the shop light on weekdays but you hadn’t really been paying attention.

You pushed your cart against the small barrier just behind the accessible seating and stood beside it, conscious not to take up too much space. The man stood just behind you two bags on one shoulder and the other dangling from the opposite elbow as he sucked on his straw. You grabbed the upright bar as the bus took off and watched the electronic banner for your stop.

A sharp stop had you veering back and you were caught by the young man as he chucked, “oop, you okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” you muttered and gave a sheepish smile over your shoulder.

“There’s a seat,” he gestured just behind you, “I’ll watch your stuff.”

“Um, no it’s… fine,” you gripped the bar tighter as the bus shuttled forward, “my stop is soon.”

You looked ahead of you and three stops passed before yours. You exited through the front with your buggy and headed down the sidewalk as the bus pulled away. You were exhausted just from your little sojourn and it wasn’t even two o’clock. God, you felt old.

💍

You had a salad chopped and tossed and the steak and fish laid out and seasoned. As you listened to your old Spotify list, the music dipped and the notification blipped over the screen. You washed your hands and grabbed the phone. You frowned as you read the lone message from Wesley, the only one you got from him all day.

‘Just finished at the gym, getting drinks with Andrew,’ you read and re-read the message as your heart fell.

You typed out a whole angry response and backspaced it all. You replaced it with ‘ok, have fun’ and blacked the screen. You shoved the meat back in the fridge and stretched saran wrap over the bowl of salad. You placed it on a lower shelf and closed the door, quickly swiping a can of the craft beer Wesley kept around.

You shut the light off in the kitchen and ignored the pang in your stomach as you cracked the can. You climbed the stairs as you sipped the hoppy foam. You put it on the night table and changed into the old butterfly pajamas you wore most nights and turned on the tv mounted against the wall. 

You turned on Netflix but hardly paid attention to the carelessly chosen movie. You sat against the headboard and down the bitter beer until the can was hollow and your eyelids were heavy. You slumped down so that your shoulders were at your ears and dozed off in the stiff position as the room moved with the colours of the television. 

The anger and alcohol shaded your shallow sleep and you hardly heard Wesley when he came in, only waking when your bladder was ready to burst and his snores rumbled in your head. You went to the bathroom and returned, wide awake, and stared at the shape of him in the dark.

You remembered when he used to kiss you when he came home, even when you were asleep, he’d wake you with the little pecks. You remembered when he was happy to come home. You remembered when you were happy. 

You swallowed the acrid aftertaste of beer and left him to snore. You went downstairs and curled up on the couch but didn’t sleep. You just stared at the shadows of the furniture until the sun rose.

💍

The next day, Wesley didn’t wake until after noon and when he did, he didn’t say a word to you. He took his coffee and sat at the patio table in the back as you stewed and cleaned the kitchen. You had nothing to say to him even if you felt stupid for being mad.

“Gotta head down to the dealership,” he said as he interrupted your scouring of the stove.

“The dealership?” you said after a moment, deciding whether or not to break your vow of silence.

“I told you on Wednesday, I’m picking up the car--”

“We talked about this. We should wait a little longer--”

“It’s my money and I got a great price,” he sighed, “just because you have to pinch your pennies--”

“We’re married,” you squeezed the foam sponge, “it’s our money. Don’t act like I don’t pay for anything around here.”

“Oh thanks, honey, so wonderful you paid for a five dollar steak,” he scoffed, “I’ll be impressed when you can make a mortgage payment on your own.”

“How dare you!” you turned your back to him and kept scrubbing, “fine, but not a penny of my money is going to that thing.”

“That’s fine, I’m selling the old one, that should cover most of it--”

“What?” you slammed your hand between the burner, “you said we would hold onto it so I had something to--”

“Then you can buy it from me,” he said venomously.

“I’m your wife,” you spun to scowl at him again, “I-- what is wrong with you?”

He tilted his head and squinted as he poked his tongue out along his lip. “Nothing wrong with me,” he shrugged, “what’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t--” you warned as you pointed a finger at him through the bright yellow gloves, “don’t do that… I’ve been trying and you just keep pushing me away.”

“Me pushing you away?” he rolled his eyes, “you were passed out last night when I got home. Maybe if you didn’t fall asleep before nine I could actually fuck you… or at least get it up if you worked on losing some of that cellulite on your ass.”

Your lip quivered and you sucked in a breath. You shook your head and turned around again. You ignored him as your hand shook and you continued your work, scratching at the dried-on food around the burner. His empty mug clinked onto the counter and you listened to his exit.

Fuck him and his new car. You were done trying with him.

💍

Wesley’s new car was shrouded in the shade of the garage as the old black Hyundai sat out on the driveway with a red and white “For Sale” sign on the windshield. Right after he got back from his extravagant purchase, he made the listing online and several perusers stopped by Saturday night but Sunday morning saw the car still there.

You sat by the border of stones around the garden as he drank beer in the garage and approached any interested buyers who appeared; although so far he’d only had two before noon.

You tucked your clippers into your apron pocket and dusted off your gloves as you stood. You were a little dizzy from sitting out in the sun and a glass of water was the perfect excuse to drown out the annoying sound of your husband’s voice.

You ignored Wesley as you trod through the garage and kicked your sneakers off on the mat right before the three steps up to the house. You went to the kitchen and put your gloves on the counter as you filled a glass from the dispenser on the front of the fridge. You’d given up everything but water and the slices of lemon were the only flavour you had.

You took the glass and your gloves and headed back. Wesley waited just at the bottom of the stairs as he glared up at you with arms crossed. You sighed and descended but he didn’t let you pass.

“What is your problem?”

“Are you really asking me that?” you hissed.

“You giving me the silent treatment isn’t gonna fix this,” he snarled.

“You know what you said so… I shouldn’t have to tell you to apologize,” you retorted and he stayed put.

“Is this about the car?”

“The car is just another thing,” you cross an arm around your stomach, “you think I couldn’t use it to get around, to get the groceries maybe? Or, I don’t know, maybe since you have such a problem with my home office, I could go out and get a ‘big girl’ job as you put it so many times--”

“Your mother has a car she never drives. You can just take her with you, two birds, one stone. I need to sell this to pay for the new one--”

“The one I begged you not to buy,” you huffed, “you could’ve waited a few more years until we were a little more comfortable--”

“Oh, wait? Until we have a kid and all my money goes to it,” he snapped, “yeah, I’m sure we’d have the money then--”

“You’d have to fuck to do that,” you stepped down the last step and pushed past him.

As you came into the sunlight and shielded your eyes, a figure stood by the garden, knelt just by your tulips as he felt the soft petals. You narrowed your eyes. You recognized him for sure. It was the stranger from the bus.

“Um, hi?” you croaked as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Hey, it’s… you again,” he chuckled softly as he stood, “I saw an ad for a car and… well, I’m getting tired of the bus.”

“Oh, uh, my husband,” you pointed over your shoulder, “you’ll have to talk to him.”

“Okay,” he smiled, “Peter,” he held out his hand and you stared at it. You introduced yourself and shook his firm grip.

“Like I said, it’s my husband selling the car,” you brushed by him and got to your knees by the flowerbed. “Unless you’re looking to buy some wilting pansies.”

“Hmm, I like the tulips better,” he said as he slowly inched away, “thanks.”

You sat back on your heels and he strode over to the open garage. You heard Wesley greet him and didn’t bother paying attention to the same pitch you’d heard all morning. You pulled on your gloves and wiggled your nose as it tingled. You really just wanted to keel over and bawl.

“Sold,” Wesley announced and you heard a clap, “all yours!”

“I’ll just transfer the deposit,” Peter said and a minute passed before he emerged again, the keys hanging from his finger, “Thanks, Wes.”

You hid your distaste. It used to be that Wesley hated being called ‘Wes’ but lately, he introduced himself to everyone as just ‘Wes’. He really had changed. You must have too.

“Hey,” you looked up and blinked as the sun made your eyes water as it shone around Peter.

“You bought it?” you asked as you yanked free a weed.

“Yep, but uh,” he glanced over his shoulder as the old car stereo Wesley used blared out a classic rock tune, “I… wasn’t eavesdropping but I heard some of it and… if you ever need a ride to the grocery store, I usually try for Wednesdays,” he tucked his hand in his pocket, “I don’t live too far and since we go to the same one--”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that,” you looked back to the soil, embarrassed.

“Well, if you change your mind,” he kept the keys dangling from one finger and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and slid out a card with some effort, “I’m supposed to have these handy but I never really use them.”

He offered the business card and you read his name above the title, ‘senior photographer’. You gave a half-hearted smile and put it in your apron pocket.

“Thanks,” you said, “I can manage.”

“You don’t have to though,” he said kindly, “but I’ll, uh, leave you to your gardening. Sorry if I bugged you.”

“You didn’t,” you assured without looking up, flattered that anyone cared enough to even offer help.

“Hey, Pete,” Wesley stopped Peter as he neared the car, “you can have one before you go.”

“Oh, no, I’m gonna be driving,” Peter argued.

“Pfft, it’s a celebration and one won’t put you over the limit,” Wesley insisted and handed him a dark bottle of craft brew, “come on.”

“I really should go--”

“It’s a Sunday, where do you need to be?” Wesley patted his shoulder and looked over at you, “hey, honey, you wanna see if we have any snacks for our guest?”

“I’m not hungry,” Peter said curtly, “really. Just the beer is fine.”

They disappeared back into the garage and you cringed. You hated that. Wesley only every acted like a husband when others were around.

💍

You waited a whole week before returning to the grocery store. You were short on everything and it was a reason to get out of the house. Your husband had made both your home and your workplace hostile.

It irked you that Wesley resented you working from home when a couple years ago he was so happy about it. Then, he’d been so enthusiastic about starting a family but when it didn’t happen right away, he grew disillusioned and bitter. Now, he seemed to have no interest in being a husband let alone a father.

As you packed up your spinach and bottles of Perrier, your cart rolled just a little as someone nudged it from the other end. You raised your head and hid your surprise and discomfort as Peter smiled back at you.

“I thought you said Wednesdays,” you murmured as you dropped a bag in your cart.

“I forgot eggs,” he held up the carton, “I guess I have good timing.”

“You do?” you asked as you pulled your cart forward and maneuvered around to push it out of the way of fellow shoppers. You bent to grab your trolley from beneath and he caught it as you unfolded it.

“I’ll drive you,” he said.

“I told you--”

“I’m here so why not? Save the ticket for next time,” he urged.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does it matter? Why do I matter to you?” you asked.

“I don’t know, I… like helping people,” he shrugged, “what if I told you you were helping me? I have this horrible need to be the hero.”

“That will go away,” you muttered under your breath and he lifted a brow, “sorry, I… thank you.”

“Alright, let’s go then,” he collapsed the trolley and carried it easily under his arm as he cradled his eggs in the other, “I got the A/C fixed on the car too.”

“Mmm,” you hummed and walked with him out of the store. 

You crossed the parking lot and helped you load up the bags in the trunk. That car should have been yours; you’d made enough payments on it yourself but Wesley was such a stubborn ass.

You sat in the front seat as he slid into the other and started the car. He drove cautiously through the lot and you read the store signs as he came to the exit.

“How long have you and… the old man been together?”

“Um,” you glanced over at him and chewed your lip, “since college so… almost fifteen years now.”

“Fifteen?” he turned out onto the street, “really? I thought he was older than you.”

“Christ,” you scoffed, “don’t flatter me.”

“Really, I woulda said twenty-eight at most,” he said coolly, “wow, I feel so young now.”

“And I feel so old,” you grumbled as you crossed your legs, hoping he didn’t notice the wrinkle in the pink capris.

“Whatever, you’re not even forty,” he said, “and time has treated you well so I can only think in a few years… oh jeez, sorry, that came off weirder than I intended. Not that I meant for it to be weird at all--”

You giggled at his rambling as he rolled to a stop at the sign and peeked over at you in the rearview. You caught his eye and quickly looked away, “what?”

“Just… you have a nice smile,” he said as he turned down a side street, “and a nice laugh.”

“Thank you,” your voice was brittle at the genuine compliment, “you’re funny.”

“Am I? I wasn’t trying to be,” he took the same short cut you took when you walked home from the convenience store which was closer than the plaza.

“And nice,” you said as he came onto your street, “you really didn’t have to drive me. You could’ve dropped me at the corner--”

“No way, I was raised better than that, and if you think I’m letting you carry that all in by yourself--”

“Raised to help little old ladies?” you mused.

“Raised to treat ladies properly,” he corrected, “especially pretty ones.”

“I’m married,” your heart pattered as you dared to flirt back, almost in disbelief that he was humouring you, “and your lies don’t work on me, young man.”

“Not that young,” he insisted as he pulled into the driveway.

You got out and went around to the trunk. He handed you the bag with the bread and other light products, and loaded up with the other bags.

“You get the doors, let me do the heavy work,” he said and nodded you towards the house.

You went ahead of him and unlocked the door. You let him inside and pointed him into the kitchen. He placed the bags on the counter and stretched his arms and hands as you set yours on the other side. The muscles of his arms moved under his skin and you could trace the lines of his torso through his grey tee.

“So,” he took out the bottle of Perrier, “this going in the fridge?”

“What-- you’ve done enough.”

“Fridge?” he ignored you and pulled out the other.

You gave a long blink and threw up your hands in surrender, “yes, please,” you came around and reached in to grab the whole grain buns, “bottom shelf.”

You finished unpacking your groceries and took the empty bags from Peter and shoved them under the counter. You stood and looked at him nervously as he watched you, his fingers tapping on the granite.

“Do you want a snack? Something to drink? Water?”

“I’ll have a water,” he said and moved to leaned his elbow on the countertop, his side snug to the edge.

“Sparkling or--”

“Regular’s fine,” he answered

“Ice? Lemon?” you pulled out a tall glass.

“Just ice is fine… then I’ll be out of your hair,” he said.

Ice clinked into the glass and you covered it with the distilled water from the fridge. You slid it onto the counter and stepped back.

“Oh, I… actually, it’s a good thing I ran into you,” he said and took a sip, “my aunt, she likes to garden too but she got some bulbs she’s not gonna use, I thought maybe… maybe you would like some to fill in the holes?”

“What kind?” you asked.

“Some daffodils and some crocuses, I think,” he said, “I could bring them over next week after work?”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” you scrunched your lips, “you could probably just give them to a neighbour.”

“It’s not out of the way,” he said, “you want them?”

You stared at him and thought. He was nice. Too nice.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing, I… I’m sure you have a girlfriend you could be spending time with--”

“I don’t. Not anymore,” he interrupted.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, “I didn’t--”

“Like I said, I always wanna be the good guy,” he finished his water and the last of the cubes settled at the bottom, “thanks.”

“No, thank you,” you said as he set his glass in the sink and backed away, “really, you made my day so much easier.”

“I hope your weekend is better,” he said, “but…”

He didn’t finished and you folded your hands together as he hesitated by the hallway.

“But what?” you prodded.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “nothing. I should go.”

“Okay,” you rubbed the back of your neck, “see ya.”

“Monday,” he confirmed as he turned to the doorframe, “I’ll bring the bulbs. Just after seven.”

“Right,” you slanted your lips and watched him go.

The door marked his departure and you turned to exhale and lean against the counter. You could still smell his rich cologne. Then you felt guilty. It was stupid to think he was doing anything more than being nice, that the flirting was anything but a joke, but still, you missed feeling that way and it should’ve been Wesley making you feel that.

💍

You squeezed the phone as you clenched your jaw so tight it hurt. Your eyes were wet and finally the tears were ready to start falling. The smell of steak filled the kitchen, another meal you wouldn’t eat. At the last minute, Wesley texted to tell you he was hitting the gym. Again. He was already late after a long meeting but promised he’d be home to eat.

So you waited for him to answer your furious phone call but got his voicemail instead. Your eyes narrowed at the bottle of wine and your chest knotted as the tone sounded.

“Wesley, this is it. I can’t do this anymore! I’m your wife. Do you even want to be with me? I can’t go on like this and now you won’t even answer my calls,” you snarled. You knew he had his phone on him as he no doubt had his Spotify work-out list on shuffle, “when you come home, you can sleep on the couch.”

You hung up and grabbed a stemmed glass from the cupboard. You filled it to the brim with Pinot Grigio but before you could taste it, the doorbell made you jump. You set down the glass and walked up the hallway. Just on the other side of the frosted glass was a silhouette. You opened the door and touched your forehead as you faced Peter.

“I totally forgot you were coming,” you breathed, “I’m so sorry. But thank you, you really didn’t have to--”

“Are you okay?” he asked as the paper bag in his hand crinkled.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I… thank you for the flowers,” you looked at the brown paper bag and he handed it over, another bag on his wrist; white with ribbon handles, “what’s that? You headed out for a date?”

“Um, no,” he said, “actually, I was just…” he pushed his fingers through his hairs, the reddish brown locks slightly curled with sweat, “I wanted to talk to you.” He looked past you and his warm eyes returned to yours, “Wesley isn’t home yet?”

“No, he won’t be for a while,” you backed up, “so you might as well come in. I have a steak no one’s gonna eat.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t be,” Peter said glumly, “and steak sounds good.”

He closed the door behind him and followed you into the kitchen. You put the bulbs at the back of the counter and grabbed the bottle, “wine?”

“No thank you,” he said.

You plunked down the bottle and took a gulp of your wine before you turned to plate the steak and your chicken breast alongside the fried asparagus and roasted potatoes. You set the filet before him as he sat on the stool and climbed up across from him at the long island.

“Thank you,” he watched you slide a steak knife and fork towards him and his gaze lingered on your lips as you took another thirsty mouthful, “this is for you, actually.”

He pushed the white bag over to you and you smelled the subtle floral scent rising from it. You put your glass down and pushed open the top of the bag and peeked inside. You shook your head and rescinded your hand as if you were slapped. It was the same perfume from that day weeks ago.

“You… how?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked.

You thought back on the day you wanted to forget. He was the other shopper in the perfume section, the one who sent you that sympathetic look as Wesley reproached you. You winced and grabbed your utensils. You cut into the chicken and shoved it in your mouth. You swallowed loudly.

“Take it back,” you sniffed, “I don’t want it. I don’t deserve it.”

“You do. He doesn’t deserve you,” he carefully sliced into the medium rare steak.

“Is that what this is? Some perverted joke? A challenge?” you dropped your fork and knife, “you think you can seduce the sad housewife and then laugh at it? Sow your wild oats?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” he calmly put down the silverware, “I… what I didn’t say when I showed up is I just came from the gym.”

You frowned in confusion and wrinkled your nose. You took another drink of wine as you tried to understand.

“I saw Wesley,” he said as he leaned on his elbow and pulled out his phone with his other hand, “I didn’t wanna say anything but… you’re here beating yourself up over him and-- just look.”

He slid his phone across the counter and you looked at the screen. Your entire body felt heavy and your veins filled with ice. You dropped your head into your hands as you tried to wipe the sight from your eyes; the image of your husband groping a woman in yoga pants, an act she wasn’t deterring.

“I knew it,” you sobbed as the tears burst forth and leaked down your palms, “I knew it. And why wouldn’t he? I’m old, ugly--” you sniffed and pulled your hands away to wipe them on your pants. Peter held out a paper towel and you took it as you avoided his eyes, “thank you but I think you should go. I’m humiliated enough.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said as he climbed down from the stool and rounded the island, “he’s an asshole. He’s blind.”

“Please, Peter, just leave me alone,” you slid off the stool and he caught your shoulders. You looked up at him as you dabbed away the streaks of sadness with the paper towel, “Peter--”

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly, “he’s out there having his fun, so why don’t you have some of your own?”

“Peter, that’s-- that’s wrong. I’m too old for you. And… I’m fat and--”

“You’re perfect,” he reached up to frame your chin with his hand, “you’re gorgeous,” his other hand trailed down your arm and to your hip, “that’s the first thing I noticed about you…” he pulled you closer and tapped your ass lightly.

“No, I can’t-- I just want to be alone,” you pushed on his arms and felt the thick biceps as he flexed and kept you close.

“Well, baby, what I want,” he turned you so that you were pinned between him and the island, “is for you to put on that perfume… I want you wearing nothing but that.”

“Peter,” you pushed on his chest that time and the hard muscle wall didn’t budge, “Peter, go--”

“Baby,” he bent and scooped you up suddenly. 

His hands spread over your ass as he lifted you and crushed his lips against yours. You murmured in surprise and he placed you on the granite countertop. He parted from your lips as you sat up and he shoved your legs apart, inserting himself between your knees. He played with the bottom of the dress you’d worn in hopes of rekindling your dying marriage.

“We can go slow,” he tickled along your thighs and pulled back suddenly, “just a little at a time.” 

He leaned in as he reached around you and grabbed the small white bag. He pulled out the perfume and snaked his hand around your neck. He pulled you to bend over him and he kissed your neck just before he sprayed a puff of perfume across your throat. He stood back and took a deep breath. He put the bottle on the counter and his hands went back to your skirt.

“Peter,” you caught his hands as they crept under the fabric, “please.”

You tried to slide forward and he stopped you as he grasped your hips and held you in place. He bit his lip as his eyes glimmered up at you. He drew a hand away and took the glass of wine and held it before your mouth.

“Drink, relax,” he cooed, “forget about him.”

You stared at him and he brought your hand up with his and wrapped it around the full body of the glass. He nudged it to your lips and watched you until you drank from the crystal rim. He smirked and lifted your skirt as he bent to bury his head beneath the folds.

You gulped and choked on the wine as your skirt fluttered down over his shoulders. You felt his finger on the lace trim of your panties and winced. He squeezed your thighs with his other hand and nuzzled the crotch of your underwear. You tried to close your legs but he kept them apart easily.

He curled his fingers under the elastic of your panties and tugged. He pulled until you lifted your ass just enough for him to get them free and he guided them down your legs before quickly parting them again.

You set down the glass and almost overturned it, the last mouthful splashing up the side. You pressed your hands to the granite and peered down at the shape of his head beneath your skirt. You gasped as his cool tongue grazed your warm folds and delved deeper.

“Peter…” you wisped and closed your eyes as you tried to hide from your own shame.

He purred as his tongue flicked over your clit and you twitched. He caressed the crease of your thigh with his fingers as he lapped at your, his other hand pressed against your stomach until you fell back across the counter. You arched your back instinctively and his hand cupped your tit through your dress.

He blindly pulled until your chest slipped out and pushed the cup of your bra as he teased your clit with his tongue. He felt along your cunt with his fingers and shoved his index inside of you. You moaned as he pushed another inside and curled them as he suckled on your bud.

Your core burned to life. Your entire being was set alight after months without affection. You quivered in delight and fear. Your nerves stormed both out of guilt and hunger. It felt so good but you knew it was wrong. The scent of the perfume filled your nose as your skin grew hot.

He moved his hand in time with his mouth as he doted on you. His touch intensified as your legs bent around the side of the island and your fingernails dragged along the granite, your voice rising without thought. He pinched your nipple and you cried out as you came in a wave of sheer pleasure and grabbed his wrist as you tried to steady yourself.

He eased off slowly as you trembled in the afterglow, his lingering touch tickled along your legs as he pushed your dress up. He pulled you to sit up and lifted the fabric over your head and ripped your sleeves free from your arms. He tossed as side the garment and swiftly covered your mouth with his so you tasted your own arousal on his tongue.

He unhooked your bra blindly and slid it off your arms. You were intensely aware of your nakedness and as you brought your arms up to cover yourself, he forced them down and ran his hands over your bare torso. 

“Beautiful,” he said as he laid a trail of gentle pecks along your throat and chest, pausing to take a nipple in his mouth as he rolled the other between his fingers and sent a shiver through you.

He kneaded your sides and hips, his fingers danced along your thighs and he followed the path with his mouth, kissing and nipping your flesh. He lifted his head again as he took your hands and twined his fingers through yours. He tugged you gently until you slid off the counter and landed on your feet shakily.

“Baby, you’re so amazing,” he placed your hands on his chest and pushed them down his muscled torso and brought them back up beneath his tee shirt, “go on.”

He let you go and you continued to roll up his tee. He dipped his head and raised his arms to help you and you clung to the tee as it fell limp in your grasp. Dazed, he snatched the shirt from your hands and flung it. He once more pressed your hands to his chest and guided you in feeling the lines of his toned flesh.

He pushed your hands against the top of his jeans and leaned into you. He kissed your temple and whispered along your hairline, “turn around, baby.” He squeezed your ass and purred, “mmmm, please, I wanna see that ass.”

You blinked, dazed, and spun slowly. You caught yourself on the edge of the counter as your legs trembled and you heard the subtle zip. He kicked his foot between yours and pushed your legs apart as he led you back so that you were slightly bent against the island. He ran his nails down your back and gripped your hip with one hand as his other drew away from your skin.

You flinched as you felt his smooth tip against your ass and he rubbed it between your cheeks. You inhaled and held in your breath as his hold on your tightened and he angled his dick under your ass and grazed your cunt. He poked your entrance and pressed his chest to your back as his hand covered yours on the granite.

He slid into you and your voice fizzled in the air as he forced the air from your lungs. You pushed your head back and it met his shoulder as his other hand crawled down your front. He spread your folds with his fingers and swirled another around your clit as he tilted his hips and thrust into you slowly.

“Ah, Peter,” you slapped the counter and he shushed you as his hand left yours cold and his fingers stretched over your throat.

His motion picked up as the noise of him crashing into you echoed around the kitchen. Your eyes rolled back as he rammed into you even harder. You were on tiptoes as he was driven by the weak moans that leaked from your lips and your wet pleasure squelched around him. He pressed two fingers to your bud and rubbed until you squeaked and your thighs quaked around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, “I bet you never cum like that for him.”

You whined and he sped up again. He pinned you against the counter so that the lip pressed into your stomach. He took his hand from your cunt and pushed your head down as he kept his other hand around your neck. He didn’t waver once as he fucked you.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he commanded, “I want you to cum again for me. I know you want to too.”

His thick breath warmed the air and grazed your back as he held you down and his hold on your neck tightened until silver stars rose in your vision. Your feet dangled against the tile and you reached down to play with your clit as it buzzed. It was only seconds before you were murmuring in ecstasy once more.

“Fuck, baby, can you feel that? The way your clinging to me,” he puffed as he slammed into you over and over, “he can hardly fill you, can he? Hmmm? Little man.”

You wheezed as he choked you and his other hand kept your head pinned. You heard a distant creak but could barely do more than keep your fingers moving as your heartbeat deafened you. You came again and croaked as your cunt squeezed him hungrily.

“What the fuck?” the voice broke your lusty trance and suddenly you were pulled away from the counter.

Your head lulled as Peter held it up and turned you around, his pelvis slapping against your ass as you faced your husband. Your mouth hung open as your blurred vision barely registered the scene and the deep grunts only got louder behind you.

“Look who’s here,” Peter rasped as he snaked his arm around you.

“The fuck are you doing?” Wesley sneered as your eyes closed and your ass rang with each thrust.

“What you can’t,” Peter snickered, “doesn’t she look so happy?” He grasped your chin and pushed his fingers into your mouth as he held your head up, “well, you into watching or you gonna let us finish, old man?”

[arrianna21]

Silly me, I read your drabble rules again ,after missing the part that said "minus" chapter stories lol. OK, I also love your hybrid stories , so maybe hybrid ! Taegi with 🍓 huhu

Not to worry, dearie! Ooh I hope you like this one! 

Warning: mentions of foodplay 👀

🍓~ “If the strawberries are for dessert, can I have you for a midnight snack?”

As you bite into the plump strawberry, you can’t help but moan in content at how juicy the fruit is. The three of you have decided to prepare chocolate covered strawberries, a treat you all enjoyed. A big bowl of chocolate syrup sits in the middle of the table while you and the hybrids eagerly gather around it. Holding a strawberry by its leaves, you slowly dip the fruit in the chocolate before setting it on a paper plate. Once half a dozen berries were in a circle on the plate, you pick it up to set in the fridge so they can cool.

“Are you saving those for later?” Taehyung wonders, mouth engulfing a strawberry, leaves and all. The hybrid chews with glee, a trickle of chocolate dribbles down his chin and you reach a finger out to catch it. You stick your thumb in your mouth, nodding in response to his question as both hybrids stop to watch you clean your hand.

Yoongi can’t help but purr at your gesture, white tail twitching eagerly. He clears his throat softly and snatches another strawberry, not bothering to coat it in chocolate before biting into it. “So if the strawberries are for dessert, can we have you for a midnight snack tonight?”

Both you and the canine stare at him surprise and you chuckle at his abrupt question. “Tempting, but midnight isn’t for another four hours and that’s too long,” you say, propping a hand in your elbow.

The blond besides you nods in agreement. “If anything, we should just do it now and not let this precious food go to waste.” Sticking a finger in the bowl of chocolate, he is quick to swipe the coated appendage on your cheek before immediately lapping it up with his tongue.

You giggle, lightly dipping your hand in the liquid so you can do the same to him, a chunk of chocolate sliding down the canine’s face towards his throat. Leaning forward, your tongue follows the sweet trail, starting from his cheek and ending in the hollow of his throat. He rumbles in response and you can feel the vibrations on your tongue. His hands paw at your shirt, tugging on the fabric. “This is getting in the way, sweetheart,” he whispers.

“Yours is too,” you answer, sitting back in your seat so you can pull your top off, revealing the black bra underneath. While Taehyung also undresses himself, you catch Yoongi eyeing your attire.

The feline slips a finger through your bra strap and playfully tugs on it. “I think that might be an issue too,” he rasps, sharp nails skimming along your shoulder and sending shivers across your body as he finds the clasp on your back.

When you feel the bra come undone, it falls down your arms and lands in your lap. “Then you have to get naked too,” is all you tell him, to which he hums a yes. He stands and begins taking off his clothes at your request. Feeling particularly bold, you gently push the food aside before climbing up onto the table. Situating yourself, you turn and lie down with your back pressed against the wood. The hybrids watch you with wide eyes and you shrug. “We should at least keep the food on the table,” you smirk.

“I agree, but only if we get a turn,” Taehyung says, plucking a berry from the container as he proceeds to dip it in chocolate. Holding the fruit over your chest, you all watch as a droplet falls and delicately lands on the upper part of your breast. Unconsciously, you bite your lip, panting slightly as the canine paints chocolate across the tops of your breasts. There’s a messy streak from one collarbone to the other and Tae takes a small bite of strawberry before his tongue traces the chocolate on your body.

A hand touches your breast as Yoongi briefly massages it, his ministration stimulating your nipple as well. His fingers are also pinching a chocolate berry and his hooded eyes have you fidget in excited anticipation. Instead of taking his time like the dog boy beside him, he presses the tip of the strawberry right on your nipple. You gasp at the cold sensation, the chocolate encircles your hardening bud, causing your hips to twitch. Breathing heavily, you watch Yoongi’s head descend as he takes your nipple within his mouth. Your fingers thread through his midnight hair, tightly pulling him closer. His teeth graze against the erect bud and a keening whine slides from you.

Another set of teeth is near your throat as sucking kisses are pressed into the side of your neck. Taehyung’s fruity paintbrush is nowhere in sight, having been easily consumed by the dog boy. The juice from the berry pools at the base of your throat while the canine leaves more hickies on your skin. A sweet concoction of chocolate syrup, strawberry, and saliva covers the majority of your chest. The sight leaves you in a moaning delight, which raises in pitch when the cat pinches one nipple between his teeth while the canine twirls the other one with his fingers.

You want this to continue, you really really do, but there is only a limited supply of ingredients left and you want to make sure both hybrids get a chance to experience this. Tapping gently on the backs of their heads, you signal them to pause so you can sit up. “Come on, your turn TaeTae,” you say, ignoring the few swipes of chocolate still on your chest.

While Yoongi helps you up, Taehyung dives for the vacant spot, bushy yellow tail wagging excitedly. Both you and the cat each grab another strawberry and coat them with chocolate. You contemplate where you want to begin as Yoongi immediately gets into position. He situates himself between one of Taehyung’s legs, propping a hand on the table while he takes a bite of fruit. Chewing thoughtfully, he plants sweet kisses at the top of the canine’s chest, each one inching its way down.

Having decided on your tactic, you bend forward, hovering over the dog boy as you hold the strawberry leaves with your teeth. You hang it over his lips and he opens his mouth where you then feed him the chocolaty berry. With his mouth open wide he is easily able to take one big bite, the green leaves all that is left. Tossing the end away, you drop down to meet his lips for a kiss. His tongue snakes out and clashes with yours. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging lightly when he nibbles at your lips. The canine’s tail winds around the backs of your thighs, the furry limb tightening as he urges you closer, molding your body to his.

On the other side of the dog boy, a feline is currently paying utmost attention to his broad chest. Rather than using his strategy from before, he instead takes his time by brushing the berry across his torso in a languid manner. The kitten’s tongue follows the line of cocoa; a trail of saliva being left by the pink muscle. His movements glide over Taehyung’s stomach, running along his ribs, going higher until he reaches the canine’s collarbones. Yoongi’s hand moves down, his thumb and forefinger coming into contact with a budding nipple before he pinches with sharp nails.

Taehyung yelps into your mouth, leg automatically jerking in surprise and he nearly kicks the cat as a result. The older boy is quick to pin said leg with his arm. “Easy, pup,” he mutters, giving soothing kittenish licks to the spot just above the perky nub.

Your kisses press deeper into his lips, causing noses to playfully bump into one another. When you and Yoongi both coincidentally give a particularly hard bite at the same time, it sends a burst of pleasure through his veins. His cock throbs with energy, bulge nudging in between the two of you as he ruts into the air.

“Time for us to switch,” you whisper into his golden ear, the soft air causing it to twitch in sensitivity. 

Taehyung nods in understanding, the pup a panting mess beneath the two of you. As he sits up on his elbows, the jostling movement startles Yoongi and he stares in confusion.

The cat shakes his head, “I don’t mind skipping out, you can stay here longer.” His sentence is barely finished before the dog boy huffs in exasperation, taller figure sliding off the table. Yoongi doesn’t get a chance to say anything more as the boy grips his arms and turns him around.

He pins him to the table, head soundly thumping on the wood, but not enough to hurt. “Now you be a good kitty okay,” Taehyung croons, his deep voice rumbling the last two words.

Yoongi gives a soft whine in response, the sound surprising even him. You don’t blame him, Taehyung’s raspy voice did its job well and you can’t help but clench your thighs in response. Satisfied, the boy plucks a strawberry from the mix and covers it in chocolate before popping it in his mouth whole. He chews messily, smacking loudly so he can smother his lips with the tasty juice. As you prepare your own food paintbrush, the canine sits on one of the chairs with his knees so he can tower over his feline companion. Once he swallows the fruit, his head descends onto the other, lips meeting for a kiss that tastes of delicious sweets.

While their tongues tangle with one another, you take this opportunity to draw a little heart on Yoongi’s chest. You are about to lap it up as soon as you finish chewing the strawberry, but decide to leave your creation there for a bit, and so you opt instead to take his nipple into your mouth. The cat mewls into the dog boy’s mouth at your sexual treatment, a pleased hum vibrating in his chest. A hand cups the back of your head, forcing you to remain in place, and you respond by nudging your face further into Yoongi’s chest.

Taehyung’s hands find the feline’s ears and lightly scratches at the base. Rumbling purrs sound from the cat boy underneath, white ears trembling with bliss. His ivory tail flicks eagerly, the limb knocking into both you and the canine. Breaking the kiss, the blond hastily grabs another strawberry and eats it, quickly returning to Yoongi’s waiting lips. Essence of the berry drips from their mouths, bright red coating the skin.

You reach for another berry at the same time as Taehyung, hands fumbling around in the glass bowl as you remain occupied with their current tasks, only to find nothing inside. Both of your heads lift, pausing to look at the now empty container.

“Dang, would you look at that,” you pout.

Yoongi lifts his head and shrugs at the loss of fruit. “Eh, it’s fine. Nice picture by the way,” he says, pointing to your chocolate drawing.

Taehyung perks up at that, using his finger to take a small sample and then popping it into his mouth for a taste. This gives him an idea and he proceeds to slide his fingers into the bowl of remaining chocolate before slapping his hand in the center of Yoongi’s chest. “Mine,” he playfully growls. When he removes his hand there’s a giant handprint covering the cat boy’s chest. You put your hand into the chocolate as well and add your own print to the feline.

“Mine,” you smirk.

“Mine. And mine,” the kitty answers as he slathers his palm with chocolate, swiping your cheek and then Taehyung’s neck.

There’s a brief pause before you are all diving for the bowl, hands desperately reaching for more chocolate as a full blown food fight starts. After several minutes of covering each other’s hair, clothes, and bodies with chocolate syrup, you are left clutching onto the bowl. Chocolate now paints the table, floor, and some of the chairs as well, which will be a pain to clean you can’t help but think.

“Someone is definitely cleaning me up,” Yoongi grumbles as he looks down at his dirty pants.

You roll your eyes and mutter a “duh,” at his remark. “How do we decide who gets cleaned first though?” is your question.

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Taehyung suggests.

This causes the cat to groan. “Ugh, I’m terrible at that game.”

“Fine, you can go first then. Tae and I will play to see who goes second,” you tell him, holding your hand out towards the canine.

The game is over in a split second as the dog hybrid cheers in victory before dragging Yoongi in the direction of your bedroom. Sighing, you put the bowl on the table and follow after them, mentally reprimanding yourself for not showing rock.

[gospacegay]

LRTIHEW: Part One

The title stands for “Longest Rusame Thing I Have Ever Written”. I have been writing it for a very long time and have no idea what to name it anymore. I will post extra chapters when formatting isn’t being a cruel mistress. I will leave reference links for previous chapters. Enjoy some creepy Ivan!

There is swearing, fluff, eventual smut, insanity, and lord knows what else.

American politics could be so volatile, yet entertaining. No one had expected such a sharp change in Alfred's disposition after the American elections. Granted, the happy blonde was mildly affected by his frequent leader changes. But never had the blue eyed blonde seemed so calm and collected before at a world meeting. Normally he was sleeping or bouncing off the walls with stupid ideas.

Ivan, the immortal symbol of Russia, watched with immense interest. He was curious as Alfred wore a trademark Hollywood smile, not listening to the current speaker like usual. Canada's speech about a political trend towards extreme bipartisanship was ignored by most anyway. Russia jotted down the highlights, only pretending disinterest. He loved to make the nearly invisible country squirm like that.

Royal purple eyes swept back to Alfred, surprised to lock with beautiful blue. The younger seemed to be sizing him up, analyzing the taller ash blonde nation. Finally his real smile showed through. The expression existed only a short time but it was so warm. Alfred then resumed dissecting the rest of the room with his eyes, being noticeably more subtle than usual.

Happy to see his plucky American scheming much like himself, Ivan returned to the same hobby. When the meeting finally ended, Ivan trailed behind. He could hear Alfred arguing hotly with his former motherland in the hall outside. “I'm fine. Leave my leaders to me, Arthur!” the loud mouthed American yelled, stomping off somewhere. “Boy, you don't know what mess you're in now!” Arthur rebutted, always wanting the last word.

Ivan used extreme stealth, trailing a hall away from Alfred at all times. He was very good at it despite his towering height and renowned strength. When the distress American slipped into an office alone, Ivan followed. He closed the frosted glass door noisily, his form of an introduction. Alfred whipped around in alarm, then slumped his shoulders. It was an discovery to see him relax now of all times.

“Oh thank god it's you big guy. Thought it was someone scary!” Alfred greeted teasingly. Taken aback by the younger nation's genial tone, Ivan's false smile changed to a flat hard line. Something was definitely going on. He wasn't sure what to say now, the usual hostile string of insults no longer suitable as an opener.

“Going the quiet route huh? I can respect that. Leaves me more room to talk,” Alfred started, dropping into the luxury office chair. The whole office was quite nice, probably belonging to a German politician of some sort. “You know, I've been thinking. These past 16 years... I know my leaders have been jokes. I know. But I'm really tired of being a living joke? You know?” he continued, frowning.

It was true. The past four American presidents had been international disasters. From drunk social media posts to 'losing' deadly missiles, each term had been a fumble. Ivan didn't envy the internal economic damage his former enemy was surely suffering.

This serious and unhappy aura, it didn't suit Alfred at all. “I understand, little America. It is over twenty five years since my soviet fall, but I am joke of the whole world.” Ivan replied honestly. There was no risk to truth, he decided. Ever since the elections, Alfred hadn't called him a communist once. It was a pleasant change from the tired rhetoric. Perhaps he was finally maturing?

“It's nice... just talking to you. No bullshit.” the honey blonde sighed, reclining a bit. Ivan hummed in agreement, not sure how to proceed. He dealt with international rage, ridicule, and doubt well. Having civil conversations not tainted by sarcasm was something Ivan was not well versed in. These past few decades had been hell for foreign relations.

The silence was killed by America's own anthem for a ring tone. He looked at the display screen, visibly cringed, then answered the cell phone. “All American awesome speaking.” he greeted cheerfully. His forcibly light attitude dropped instantly as he rubbed his temples. “Yes, boss. I understand.” he mumbled. A minute later, he continued “Of course. I'll take care of it. Just don't say anything yet.” he sighed, hanging up after. Ivan intimately understood the look of frustration after being chewed out by superiors. America wore it with resignation, covering his face with both hands.

“FUCK!” Alfred cursed suddenly, startling Ivan. “I have to go, but maybe we can hang out sometime.” the younger nation offered casually, winking at him mischievously. He ran off without waiting for a response. Ivan wouldn't have known what to say anyway. Sure, he had dozens of practiced and sardonic responses. Normally, that was all that was required with the rashly stupid American. This civility and distant kindness was boggling. What did he want now? What game were they playing?

Three weeks later, Ivan decided to test the limits of the informal offer. He wanted to get away from work for a few days anyway. The price of oil was a mess right now and his grossly incompetent officials were blaming him for the short fall, as usual. The nine hour flight to Washington, DC, was mind numbing. Russia instantly regretted not bringing some nice literature from his own culture.

By the time the plane landed in the United States of America, jet lag was starting to take it's toll. Ivan blinked heavily during the taxi ride, the driver glancing back in concern. The burly Russian glared back with a silent promise of violence. The cabby was suddenly less curious, looking fearfully pale. Good boy.

Alfred's Washington home was easily one of his oldest, and his most sentimental. It was a small white colonial house with normal proportions and a second story. It was quaint in comparison to some of the mansions in other states. Due it being three in the morning, there was no point in ringing the door bell. Like Ivan would ever do that anyway. There was no challenge to it!

He scanned the building dimly lit orange by old street lamps. The sly ash blonde could scale the sides and get in through a window. Not only would it be test of acrobatics, but it would scare Alfred. That was a worth while deal. Rubbing his hands together, Ivan spotted a lone sunflower on the southern style veranda. Abandoning his plan, Ivan jogged over to the patio. Oh beautiful flower, who could leave you to suffer? Scooping up the single bloom lovingly, he noticed a large paper tag tied to the robust stem. He read the tiny looping writing immediately.

'I know you want to get through a window or a toilet or whatever, but I left a key. There's no way in hell you're wrecking my siding again.'

Oh, yes. Ivan had forgot about the last time he broke in. He was doing something lithe and graceful, but a window sill gave under his great weight. A large chunk of siding fell with him. Not one of his best feats of athleticism. Still, to be given a key... It completely sucked the fun out of breaking and entering.

Begrudgingly, the Russian looked around for this 'key'. Maybe there would be riddles or tricks to solve. The pale nation adored puzzles and mind games. Ivan huffed, unimpressed at once. He could see a fake rock for holding keys from the veranda. It wasn't even the right color to blend in with the soil. Popping open the plastic 'rock', there was a key with a gold star sticker on it. Wondering if the gold star was a reference to his soviet era, Ivan tried it on the front door.

It worked, the door swinging open silently on oiled hinges. Once inside, Ivan locked it shut and quietly padded around. Exploring the kitchen, he found muffins. They were raspberry, his favorite. Eating one, he explored the rest of the place. Alfred's gun cabinets, all six of them, were looking well stocked like usual. His overflowing movie collection was heaped around the big screen television in the main room. Upstairs was a poorly locked war planning room, a bathroom, and three bedrooms. Having broken in and memorized these places before, Ivan skipped them. He entered what he knew to be Alfred's bedroom, not caring about personal invasion in the slightest.

America looked so tired as he slept. Ivan was glad to he wasn't the only one being dragged down by crashing oil prices. The global market was quite stressed at the moment. Placing the sunflower on the huge oak dresser, Ivan rubbed his eyes. A soft yawn ripped out of him, confirming the obvious. Dumping his small bag of clothes in a corner, Ivan made himself comfortable beside Alfred. Not only was his bed the softest, it would weird out the American until he sputtered like a fish. Making his former foe overreact and make a idiot of himself was hugely entertaining.

Wondering if he should set small traps and pranks around the house, Ivan lay down in his travel clothes. It probably wasn't worth the effort to set traps. Alfred was very skilled at disarming them. Russia could get the same result from less effort by playing mind tricks and moving around furniture. Scheming happily, Ivan drifted off.

It was a terrible screech, like a surprised chicken. Ivan couldn't recall hearing that sound in a very long time. Cracking open one eye, he spotted the thing that wretched him from sleep. His pillow was actually America, in full freak out mode. Oh, what a treat. A sleeping companion and mobile entertainment.

“Fuckin' Christ! What are you doing here?” Alfred squawked. Apparently Ivan draped an arm around the other in his sleep, so might as well run with it. “Oh, so you don't remember? We had so much fun too.” he teased, looking smug. Letting the younger nation assume the worst, Ivan watched as Alfred rolled out of bed. Oh, nothing but NASA boxers. That was just adorable. Perhaps Ivan could tease him about it mercilessly during a meeting.

“Take a picture! It'll last longer asshole!” The tanned blonde snarled, picking himself up off the floor. “You are such a hospitable host! I will take a picture.” Ivan replied happily, digging his phone out of a pocket. Two blurry pictures later, the American had fled to the bathroom. Already not bored. Visiting another country had been a great idea.