#Peter sutherland x reader

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Hellloooo first time requested with yourself. I hope you're having a good week so far. I'm just bored at work and scrolling through tumblr when I came across your Peter Sunderland tiktok. Ahhh, I'm in love. I don't even have a specific request, just something fluffy, tooth rottingly sweet, I'm in my feels right now

Anyways I'm glad to have discovered you, and I look forward to getting acquainted 😊

Hello welcome I hope you enjoyed your stay! Hopefully this will cure your feels! Peter Sutherland is the standard for boyfriends I said what I said also everyone should check out the night agent on Netflix.

Home is in your arms|| Peter Sutherland x gender neutral!Reader

Summary — Peter comes home from a mission and you take care of him.

Word count — 1161

Warnings — tooth rotting fluff non sexual nudity

The soft click of the door opening echoes through the quiet apartment, and Peter Sutherland steps inside, dragging his duffel bag behind him. The air smells faintly of lavender, a calming contrast to the tang of sweat,blood and dirt that’s clung to him for the past week.

His body moves on autopilot—locking the door, setting his bag down, shrugging off his jacket. The weight of the mission hangs heavy on his shoulders, pressing down like lead. Days spent chasing leads, navigating threats, and never truly resting have left his nerves frayed and his heart yearning for one thing: you.

Before he can call out, your voice reaches him from the kitchen, soft and sweet like a balm to his battered spirit. “Peter? Is that you?”

You appear in the doorway, dressed in one of his oversized sweaters, your expression shifting from curiosity to relief the moment your eyes meet his.

“You’re home,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m home,” Peter replies, his voice low and rough, but there’s something tender in the way his lips curve into a faint smile.

You close the distance between you in an instant, wrapping your arms around him tightly. He sags against you, his face finding its way to the crook of your neck. For a moment, there’s nothing but the steady rhythm of your breathing and the way your hands move soothingly over his back.

“You didn’t call,” you murmur, your fingers brushing through the damp strands of his hair. “I was worried.”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he says, his words muffled against your shoulder. There’s a quiet apology in his tone, as though he knows it wasn’t the right choice but couldn’t bring himself to add to your worry.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands cradling his face. His skin feels cool under your palms, his stubble rough against your fingertips. “Peter, you could call me at three in the morning, and I’d still want to hear your voice. You know that, right?”

He nods, leaning into your touch, his eyes glassy with exhaustion. “I know. I just—”

“You just need to sit down,” you interrupt gently, cutting off his protest before it can begin. “Come on.”

You guide him to the couch, tugging his hand as he follows obediently. Once he’s seated, you grab the softest blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over his lap before kneeling in front of him.

His boots are caked with dirt, a reminder of how far he’s run and fought. You begin unlacing them, your movements careful and deliberate. Peter watches you, his heart swelling with something unnameable as you tend to him with such quiet care.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, though he makes no move to stop you.

“Of course I do,” you counter, sliding one boot off and then the other. “Taking care of you is my job, remember?”

“You didn’t sign up for this kind of job,” Peter murmurs, his voice tinged with guilt.

You pause, looking up at him with a warm smile. “Peter, I signed up for you. That includes everything that comes with it.”

His hand reaches out instinctively, brushing a strand of hair from your face. The look in his eyes is so tender it nearly takes your breath away.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers.

“Too bad,” you reply with a grin, standing to your feet. “You’re stuck with me.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and hoarse but genuine. It’s a sound you haven’t heard in far too long, and it makes your chest ache with gratitude.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, brushing a kiss to his forehead before disappearing into the kitchen.

When you return, you’re carrying a tray with a steaming cup of tea and a plate of his favorite cookies. Peter raises an eyebrow, but the faintest smile tugs at his lips.

“When did you make these?” he asks as you set the tray down on the coffee table.

“Last night,” you admit, settling beside him. “I had a feeling you’d be home soon.”

He picks up a cookie, taking a bite and humming softly in approval. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Stop sweet-talking me and drink your tea,” you tease, handing him the mug.

After the tea is gone and the cookies are picked over, Peter shifts beside you, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I should shower,” he murmurs.

You glance at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the tension still lingering in his shoulders. He looks exhausted, yes, but he also looks like he needs someone to pull him back from the edge of his own thoughts.

“Come on,” you say, standing and holding out your hand.

He hesitates, looking up at you. “I can—”

“I know you can,” you interrupt, your voice soft but firm. “But let me help, Peter.”

This time, he takes your hand. You lead him to the bathroom, flipping on the light. The warm glow bounces off the tiles, and you start the shower, letting the water heat up as steam begins to fill the small space.

“Sit,” you tell him, nodding toward the closed toilet lid. He complies, watching you as you grab a towel and set it within reach.

You kneel in front of him again, reaching for the hem of his shirt. Your fingers brush his stomach as you lift the fabric, and he shivers—not from the cold but from the intimacy of the moment.

“You don’t have to—”

“Peter,” you say softly, meeting his gaze. “Let me.”

He nods, and you slide the shirt over his head, revealing the bruises that scatter across his ribs and shoulders. Your lips press into a thin line as your fingers ghost over the marks.

“I’m okay,” he says quietly, reading your expression.

“I know,” you reply, though your voice wavers. “But it still hurts to see.”

You help him with the rest of his clothes, and once he’s undressed, you guide him into the shower. The water cascades over his shoulders, washing away the grime and tension of the past week.

“Feel good?” you ask, stepping closer to rinse his hair.

He hums in response, leaning into your touch as you work the shampoo through his strands. The rhythmic motion is grounding, and he finds himself relaxing under your care in a way he hasn’t in weeks.

By the time you’ve rinsed the soap from his hair and body, Peter looks lighter, his features softened with gratitude and love.

When he steps out, you’re there with the towel, wrapping it around him before drying his hair gently. He pulls you into a hug, the warmth of his skin and the weight of his arms around you filling the room with a sense of calm.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your hair.

You pull back just enough to smile up at him. “Always.”

[itsnesss]

𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 | peter sutherland × fem!reader

summary | a quiet evening with peter turns bittersweet when an urgent call forces a temporary goodbye, but both share their love and a promise to reunite soon

warnings | temporary separation, emotional tension, mild angst

word count | 1.8 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

It’s a quiet night when you arrive at Peter's house, the soft light from the lamps reflecting a comforting atmosphere in the room. The door opens almost immediately after you knock, and he’s there, standing with a smile that seems to brighten the room even more than the soft lighting. "Good to see you," he says, and his voice feels like a whisper of calm amidst the chaos that always surrounds his life.

You simply nod, your nerves calming just a little as you take in how cozy his home feels. It’s hard to imagine someone like him, so deeply involved in politics and security, also having such a serene refuge. "How was your day?" you ask as you take off your jacket, feeling his eyes on you, but not with the pressure you might expect. It’s a soft gaze that makes you feel at home.

Peter closes the door behind you, and without saying another word, he leads you to the kitchen. The simple things seem to be what you both enjoy in these moments. He, always so serious and focused, allows himself a break when he’s with you. He’s told you before: you’re his peace, his small escape.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asks as he pulls out a bottle of white wine, one of his favorites. There’s something in the way he moves that always captivates you. Every gesture, every movement seems calculated, yet still so natural when you see him with those bright eyes of someone who, even though tired, is always present. As if he’s ready to enjoy the simplest of dinners or a conversation that could stretch for hours.

"Yes, please," you reply, smiling softly. You lean against the edge of the kitchen table while you watch him pour the wine. The way his hand moves, elegant, assured, makes you think of everything he’s been through to get to where he is. But in this moment, it doesn’t matter what came before. All that matters is now. Here. With him.

When he finally hands you the glass, his eyes meet yours, and the world outside that kitchen seems to fade away. There are no threats. No conspiracies. Just him, you, and a small corner of tranquility you’ve both built, even if only for a few hours.

"Sometimes," he starts, as if he’s been thinking about it, "all I want is this. Something simple. Something that’s not filled with complications." He looks at you as if he’s searching for something in your eyes, as if waiting for an answer, even though you know he’s not asking a specific question. You just need to listen. He needs to be heard.

"I get it," you say softly, and take a step closer to him. "Sometimes I just want to be here too. Not having to worry about anything else."

Suddenly, the sound of a phone ringing interrupts the silence in the room, and you both glance at it with a mix of frustration and resignation. Peter steps away from you slightly, his expression shifting instantly, the seriousness he always carries returning quickly.

"Sorry," he says as he glances at the phone screen. "It’s urgent. I have to take it."

You nod, though inside, you wish he didn’t have to. The contrast between the peace you’d just shared and the sudden pressure that seems to envelop him again leaves a knot in your stomach. You know it’s part of his life, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

"It’s okay," you reply, though you can’t help but let a slight hint of sadness slip into your voice.

Peter looks at you for a moment before answering the call, and for an instant, he seems to hesitate. As if he wants to stay with you, as if what he has with you is more important than whatever the call represents. But in the end, he answers the call, his voice firm and professional, returning to that role that sometimes seems so foreign to the man you know.

"Peter..." you say softly, before he walks too far away. He looks up at you, his expression softening.

"I know," he replies, his eyes shining with a mixture of regret and understanding. "It hurts, but I can’t avoid it."

You sigh, walking over to him and touching his arm. "I know. And I understand."

The call continues in the background, but he doesn’t pull away completely. For a second, it seems like he forgets everything else. He’s just there, with you. It’s as if time slows down, and you both allow yourselves to savor those last few seconds together before reality pulls you apart once more.

"Promise me that when this is over, you’ll come see me," you say, your voice thick with contained emotion.

Peter nods, his expression soft yet filled with quiet determination. "I promise. As soon as I can."

The moment doesn’t last much longer. The call persists, and finally, with one last look between the two of you, he’s forced to step away, to respond to whatever it is that’s called him back to duty. But before he takes another step, he grabs your hand, and his fingers tighten around yours with a firmness that speaks volumes more than words could.

"I love you," he whispers, and those words hang in the air, suspended in the space between you both.

"I love you too," you reply, your voice barely a whisper, as if those words could break the spell of distance that’s beginning to open up between you.

He takes the call, but looks at you once more, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. And even though his words are directed at someone else, the echo of his promise to return still lingers in your mind, reminding you that, even though the goodbye is temporary, what you shared will never fade.

Finally, you pull away from him, feeling how the emptiness starts to settle in your chest, while his words still throb in your heart.

[gel-electrophoresislab]

The Gala

Peter Sutherland x reader fic

Synopsis: You are Peter’s best friend and fellow night agent. You both get invited to the presidential gala and Peter gets to see you in a whole new light.

Warnings: Kissing, a protective Peter, tooth rotting fluff :)

————————————————————————

"Hey, you ready for this?" Peter asked, his voice coming through the speaker on your phone.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you replied, glancing in the mirror one last time. Your reflection stared back at you, dressed in the elegant gown you had picked out for tonight's gala at the White House. The fabric shimmered under the soft glow of the room's lighting, hinting at the chaos of the evening ahead.

"You're going to knock 'em dead," Peter said. “I’ll see you when you get here”. Peter’s voice held a warmth that you had grown to rely on over the years of working together. Best friends and fellow night agents, you two had been through thick and thin, but this was new territory. The president had personally invited the two of you to the event, a rare occasion for agents of your caliber to step out from the shadows.

The ride to the White House was filled with anxiety. You knew that underneath the glitz and glamour, the gala was a minefield of potential threats and diplomatic tension. You also knew that no one had seen you dressed like this before. You knew how to clean up nice, but you weren’t sure what people would think of you. But for now, you allowed yourselves to enjoy the moment. The car pulled up to the grand entrance, and the doors swung open, revealing a sea of people dressed to impress.

As you stepped out of the vehicle, Peter's gaze swept over you. His eyes widened, and his voice hitched. "Wow," he murmured, the compliment hanging in the air unsaid. It was the first time he had seen you in anything other than your usual tactical gear, and you felt a blush creep up your neck. The romantic tension between you had always been there, a subtle dance of feelings unspoken.

Inside, the grandeur of the White House washed over you. Crystal chandeliers cast a dazzling light across the marble floors, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and perfume. You and Peter melded into the crowd, blending in despite the eyes that occasionally strayed in your direction. It wasn't every day a new face graced these hallowed halls.

Other agents began to approach, their gazes lingering a bit too long, their smiles a tad too eager. You felt Peter's hand gently rest on the small of your back, a silent assertion of his presence. It was a gesture that was both comforting and surprising. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, but you kept your cool, flashing a professional smile.

"I'm not used to all this attention," you admitted to Peter, leaning in so he could hear you over the din of the crowd.

"You look amazing," he said, his voice low and earnest. "But you know what? I think you're even more beautiful when you're not all dressed up."

His words resonated within you, a reminder of the friendship that had always been the foundation of your relationship. You felt a weight lift off your shoulders as you looked into his eyes, the unspoken romance between you suddenly less burdensome.

And then, as the evening unfolded, you realized that the night had only just begun. The gala was a whirlwind of handshakes, polite conversations, and the constant scanning for threats. Peter was always at your side, a steady anchor in a sea of unpredictability. Yet, amidst the glamour and the danger, there was a shift in the air—a charge that you couldn't ignore. The night was far from over, and you had a feeling that the real adventure was just about to start.

As you moved through the throng of guests, an agent you had never met before approached you with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He was handsome, you'd give him that, but his hands were a bit too eager. He grazed your arm, and you felt a chill run down your spine. Before you could react, Peter stepped in, his eyes narrowing.

"Everything okay here?" Peter's voice was a low rumble, a warning that didn't go unnoticed. The other agent's smile faltered, his hand retreating from its unwelcome perch on your arm.

"Just admiring the company," the agent replied with a smarmy smile, not quite taking the hint.

But Peter's grip on your waist tightened, a clear message that you were not to be touched by anyone else. You felt a rush of warmth at his protective stance, a feeling that was both comforting and thrilling. "I think she's got enough admirers for one night," he said, his voice a subtle challenge.

The agent took a step back, his smile slipping into a scowl before he turned and melted back into the crowd. You looked up at Peter, your heart racing. "Thanks," you murmured, your eyes searching his for a clue to what he was feeling. But Peter's expression was unreadable, his focus on the task at hand unwavering.

As the night grew late and the gala wound down, you found yourself longing for the simplicity of your apartment, away from the prying eyes and the suffocating formality. "I think I'm going to head out," you told Peter, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll walk you home," he offered, his voice steady.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the cool night air a welcome respite from the stuffiness of the gala. You were grateful for the solitude, your thoughts racing with the events of the evening. The touch of Peter's hand on your arm was comforting, his presence a balm to the tension that still lingered from the unwanted attention.

Once you reached your building, you turned to him with a smile, your heart thudding in your chest. "Do you want to come up for a bit?" you asked, hopefulness coloring your voice. "Just to hang out, I mean. I know it's been a long night."

For a moment, Peter hesitated, his eyes searching yours. Then, with a nod, he said, "Yeah, I'd like that."

As you rode the elevator to your floor, the silence stretched out between you, filled with the promise of something more. When the doors finally slid open, you stepped into your apartment, the familiar surroundings feeling somehow foreign with Peter by your side. You offered him a drink, which he accepted, his eyes taking in the personal touches that made the space yours.

With a deep breath, you slipped into your bedroom, eager to shed the weight of the gala. You changed into a soft, oversized sweater and a pair of leggings, washing away the layers of makeup that had painted a different version of you. As you emerged, feeling lighter and more like yourself, Peter's gaze found yours. He was sitting on the couch, his tie loose and a small smile playing on his lips.

"There's my girl," he said, the words so simple, yet they hit you like a sucker punch. Your heart skipped a beat, the endearment echoing in your ears. He had never called you that before, not in that way. The warmth of his smile spread through you, chasing away the chill from the evening's tension.

"What do you mean?" you asked, trying to play it cool despite the sudden heat in your cheeks.

"You know, the one who can kick ass and take names without breaking a sweat." He chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. "But tonight, you got to be someone else, and I kind of missed this version of you."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound mingling with the music that played softly in the background. "I never got a chance to dance tonight," you said wistfully, looking down at your comfortable outfit.

Without a word, Peter set his drink on the coffee table and extended his hand. "Then let's dance," he said, his voice low and inviting.

You took a step closer, placing your hand in his. His palm was warm, his thumb brushing gently against yours. He pulled you into his arms, and you felt his heartbeat against your chest as the music swelled around you. The living room of your apartment was a far cry from the grand ballroom of the White House, but in that moment, it felt like the most luxurious dance floor you had ever stepped onto.

You moved in sync, your bodies fitting together as if you had been doing this for years. The awkwardness of the evening's encounters faded away, replaced by the familiar rhythm of your partnership. Your eyes met, and you felt something shift between you, a current of understanding and desire that had always been there, just beneath the surface.

As the song came to a close, Peter didn't let go. Instead, he held you closer, your foreheads touching. You could feel his breath on your skin, and the closeness was intoxicating. The silence stretched out, filled with the thunder of your own heartbeat.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the city outside.

"For what?"

"For being you," you said, looking up into his eyes. "For making me feel like this."

And before you could second guess the moment, Peter leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. It was a gentle kiss, filled with the promise of more. It was a kiss that could change everything.

As you pulled back, breathless, the air between you crackled with the tension of what had just happened. But Peter's smile was soft, his eyes filled with the same affection and friendship you had always seen. It was as if he knew that this was just the beginning, and that the real dance was about to start.

Author’s note: Eeeeeep I can’t believe I’m finally posting writing. I’ve been a long time reader and enjoyer of fanfiction, but never a writer so this is all very new to me. If you have any advice or edits, please let me know!

[baestruly]

the difference between calls ━━ peter sutherland

( 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 )  peter sutherland x fem!reader

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ IN WHICH there’s an obvious comparison between peter’s first call from you and a call he receives when you are together. when it comes to your safety, peter doesn't play.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - hurt/comfort, panic attacks, kidnapping, reader is rose's sister

𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 ━━━━━━━━

Peter sat at his desk, the pen tapping rhythmically against the worn wood. A mountain of paperwork loomed over him ━━ shit, he was behind on that, he never got much sleep, figuring it could wait as he stared blankly at the moving pen. 

The sharp sound of ringing made his heart skip a beat. There was no covering the fact peter strived and wished he had a little more than just a desk job ━━ answering calls, more specifically ━━ he lived for the thrill. It was evident from his heart thundering in his chest. answering the night agent's phone was a step up from being a 911 operator, at least. 

Until━━ 

“Go ahead.” He said smoothly, his pen turning in the same hand as he rested his elbow on the desk. 

“Um━━uh, night action! night action━━” 

The frantic voice on the other end made Peter stiff. The pen stopped twirling between his fingers. 

“Yes, hello. Code, please.” He replied, like countless times before. Peter grabbed his binder out from under the desk on the shelf and opened it in front of him, flipping through the pages with his one free hand. 

“Please, you have to help up━━oh my god, my sister━━me━━they’re coming after us!” If even possible, the voice was more frantic, gasps heaving in and out from what Peter recognized as a panic attack or something along the lines. 

This didn’t seem like his usual business toned atmosphere once he answered. It sounded like they had got the wrong number, he never dealt with situations like this, especially from people who didn’t seem like they knew what to do with the number and him across the line.

“Ma'am, if you don’t have a code━━it seems like you have the wrong number━━” 

“No! I have ur flippi━━I have the code gimme a second.” The girl spat. Peter bites his cheek as he hears whispering on the phone━━likely the woman’s sister.  “Okay! It’s table, clock, water, fire. You got it, did you━━” 

“Yes, I got it.” Peter interrupted, eyes flying through pages in a matter of seconds. Settling on the 80th page, he looks at the code that was given to him. “Is this Benwire or Ramese?” 

“What? What even is that?” A pause followed, filled with nervous energy. “They just told us to tell you the code; I don’t know who these people are?” 

More whispering ━━ frantically. Peter’s chest tightened as he heard sobbing in the background. This sounded like something 911 would have to deal with. 

“What street did your friend Morsese live on?” 

The question just seemed to make the hyperventilating worse. 

“Maam, are you okay? I can dispatch you to 911 if you’re in any dang ━━ ” 

“No, they told us to call you ━━ this number, they made sure of it! God knows they’re probably fucking dead.”

“Whose they?” Peter sat up straighter, urgency sharpening his instincts as he abandoned the paperwork 

“Our aunt and uncle, Emma and Henry. Campbell. Emma and Henry Campbell.” 

Peter bit his cheek more, holding the phone in a wave of silence. It was clear this girl was probably on the brink of passing out; she wasn’t breathing right. But she wasn’t the only one clueless, Peter had no idea who she was talking about either. 

Peter always had his protective instinct towards others in danger ━━ it came in hand with him working in the FBI. If this girl's aunt and uncle told her to call the line it could have some relevance in later reports━━but he wasn’t going to hang up on her yet. 

“Hello━━?” 

“I’m here. Run me through what’s happening, who’s after you?” Peter asked, his tone less harsh, preparing to do what he thinks he’s always done best ━━ just like on the metro ━━ save people. 

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 ━━━━━━━━━

There was something Peter should be used to ━━ but now, with you in his life ━━ he never could be. It was the constant stress he was under, with you being associated with him and not knowing the minute something could blow up and ruin everything. 

Ruin your life. 

It’s why Peter has such a hard time leaving you in your guy’s apartment every day so he can go to work. In that shitty basement when he would much rather be spending every growing second by your side, ready to jump at anything that could put you in harm's way. 

Everything in the white house was total shit ━━ no one could trust anyone. But it’s been a few months since the attack at Camp David. Peter was offered a job as a night agent to serve in the field ━━ but decided to keep it safe, taking smaller jobs in the white house assigned by the president after what seemed like an ongoing thank you ever since he helped save her from the bombs. 

But he had no complaints ━━ and neither did you. He’s looked happier than he ever has, coming home and wrapping his big arms around you was his favourite part of the day, inhaling the soft vanilla scents of your (y/h/c) hair, bringing him to the present and the reality of it all, how the world brought him to you ━━ even in the worst circumstances.

Peter had no idea that these circumstances would repeat themselves.

After kissing you goodnight, he headed out, waiting the usual time he did outside the office door as the clock hit midnight. 

Peter nodded to his coworker in a firm greeting before entering and closing the door. He wasn’t sure how much time passed once he sat in that seat ━━ but the calls were quiet as they had been for the past few days. He didn’t work as much time on the phone as how Diane assigned him ━━ he got to get out a bit and work on other things, too. 

Then, after not hearing the old ━━ but familiar ring for a while, Peter’s head snaps towards it as it shakes once. He grabbed it quickly, unable to stop himself from imagining he could be on the other end. 

“Hello━━” 

“Peter Sutherland.” 

Peter’s brows snap together in alert and confusion, blinking a few times before shifting and resting his elbow on the table. 

“Code, please.” He’s said it many times before. 

“This is going to go very differently.” But he’s never heard that.

There’s a muffled scream. 

Or that. Was it━━ 

Fuck, he was not doing this, not today. Immediately, he jumped up, his chair flying back and almost hitting the back grey wall. 

“Who the fuck are you ━━ if you do anything to her ━━” 

“Yes, yes, I've heard that line many times before, during your whole night agent spiel a few months ago…you guys are really cute, the perfect partners in crime.” He laughed, it sounded awful, painful even. Peter’s head was racing, which seemed to match his heart. “Even recognized your scream right away, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” 

That was it. Peter pushed the chair out of his way as he paced around the room, fists balling together. He could hear your cries in the background, and his mind brought him back ━━ when you had been so scared, being prone to panic attacks under stress. 

And he couldn’t do a single fucking thing right now because he wasn’t already there. 

“Just tell me what you know about what happened with your dad, and then━━” 

“Fuck you.” Peter spat, hands angrily raking through his hair ━━ he hated how the caller knew how to get under his skin but he wasn’t going to let his guard down when it came to you, he needed to think ━━ he had to. 

“Ooh! we’ve got a bite. That’s not what the lovely lady wants to hear as her last words, I'm sure.” 

There's more shuffling. 

“Peter━━Peter,” your voice cracks, twisting into a desperate whisper, raw and fractured. “Please come back.” 

Peter’s heart stops hearing your voice in such a state, eyes widening with stress and concern. He can’t even picture you right now or he might have to sit down. He knew he could stall the caller to buy them some time so they could get to you without alerting him. 

“Hey ━━ hey, baby, it’s okay, you’re going to be okay. I’m right here, and I'm going to be there, you gotta hold on for me, I know you can.” Peter abandons his usual name for you after that sick man used it as a taunt towards you, he couldn’t cloud your vision and get his voice mixed up with the callers in your already jumbled brain. He knew how terrified you were because he’s seen it through the countless sleepless nights and panic attacks. But it was all coming true, and Peter wanted to curse himself for letting this even happen, your worst nightmares that he promised so deeply to protect you from. 

A sniffle escapes from your end, the silence hanging heavy, a chilling agreement that doubles as a ticking clock. Peter thinks before hearing an even quieter whisper, barely heard.

“He’s got a gun━━took down both guards, but I think he’s planning on jumping out the big window, his buddy is coming in his truck.” 

Your voice is extremely shaky, but Your words shake him to his core. Peter steadies himself, whispering, “Okay.” Stopping his frantic pacing, he speaks as clearly as his racing heart allows. “(y/n), we’re coming for you. The FBI will surround the house, but I need to hang up and alert everyone. Just nod like you’re still on the phone with me until he takes it, alright, baby?”  

Your voice quivered in return with a sniff, yes. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and slammed the phone down without a second thought, running to the conference room to get someone to immediately track the call in case he kept the phone on him if they got to the truck ━━ shit ━━ before they could. If anything, they could trace the calls or texts he’s made to his buddy.

He was running like a madman ━━ alerting the night agent team members. It was all a blur once he grabbed his gun and vest and drove out of there, police sirens going off everywhere and other agents' SUVS speeding close behind him. 

Peter jumps out of the car, barely having time to slam his car door closed as he’s already looking at the fifth-floor windows ━━ wondering what the fuck you meant by jumping out the fucking window into his buddy's truck? Because if you had anything to do with being entangled in that escape, this man would never see the end of it. He would hunt him down ━━ but he wouldn’t kill him. He’d make him live with horrible bruises and broken bones, and once he goes to the hospital, he’s taken to jail for not only assault but for interfering with private information and everything that happened with his father. 

This man would never see the fucking light because of how many times Peter would knock him flat out. 

Raising his gun, he carefully follows behind many other agents dressed in all black, whipping his gun in all open doors as he runs down the hallway and up the flights upstairs ━━ orders being yelled in the background.   

His legs were outrunning his brain, screaming at him to stop running because of how exhausted he was ━━ but finally, he reached the door. “FBI, OPEN THIS DOOR━━” 

“Peter!” Your panicked scream breaks through the noise, the sound driving him to force the door open, gun at the ready, prepared to confront whatever horror lay inside.

But then he sees you. 

In an instant, his gun drops to his side as he looks down at you, arms tied around the banister in the middle of the kitchen and living room. You know you must have looked like total shit as he abandons any proper FBI protocol and falls beside you, concerned eyes locking with yours as if they’re holding onto you for the only source of comfort while his hands untie yours quickly. 

Your glossy eyes, stinging with tears and probably drugs from how drowsy you were feeling for the past hour, started pooling with tears. It definitely wasn’t because of the drugs. 

You choked out a sob, one that's been buried in your chest for what feels like forever, as you startled into a coughing fit once Peter immediately wrapped his arms around you, staying kneeled on the ground because you had no energy to even attempt to stand, you were too shaky and would probably collapse the moment you put any weight on your legs. 

“You’re here; you made it back.” You whisper into his shoulder, already soaked with tears, breath hitching as your body trembles against his.

You could feel Peter’s relieved smile. “I know, I’m here. I’m so sorry this happened sweeth━━” 

He paused as if something shocked him. 

“Peter, it’s okay━━” 

“No ━━ no, it’s not.” He was still knelt, now facing you once you pulled away, hand rubbing his temples. “You’ve been traumatized enough, and me not taking the night agent job ━━ I could’ve been here, protecting you. But I left you, now he’s messed with your head, I can tell.” 

You shut your eyes tight, a quiet sigh escaping you, and that sigh only serves to unleash a fresh wave of tears, cascading down your cheeks. Despite Peter’s stressed state, he softly wiped them away. 

“You’re perfect. Your head, how you think ━━ everything about you, (y/n), and when somebody messes with that, it messes me up because I cannot physically allow myself to let that happen to you.” He takes your hands in his gently, turning them first and looking around your body for any signs of harm. You hated how he beat himself up for not being able to protect you. But he did help, he found you, and his idea about staying on the phone bought the other agents some time to track him down. 

You wince to yourself upon noticing he’s looking at the ━━ what are probably now ━━ agonizing bruises on your jaw and throat. You’ve taken punches before. It wasn’t anything new, they hurt like a bitch, though. 

Peter’s thumb glides against the tender, purple skin as his other fingers come to the back of your head in your hair, just behind your ear, and you lean into his comforting touch. “I’m sorry.” He wretched, keeping his hand in your hair and bringing your head to his chest. 

The two of you sit just like that, grounding yourselves through each other's mangled breaths. 

The right people can cloud right judgement is what Peter’s father always said. It makes your job harder when you have someone to lose. Peter made a promise to himself that night as you both lay under the covers, his thumb running circles over your knuckles. 

He promised himself he wouldn’t work behind that shitty desk again. 

Then, he would visit that sick man behind bars.

 masterlist peter sutherland masterlist

ty for reading!

[whorxology]

I got a request for Peter Sutherland

You know how he barely gets any sleep because of his job? Well, the reader is determined to make sure he finally gets some proper rest.

And he ends up falling asleep on her like a baby.

A/N: LOVE THISSS REQUEST!!! Sorry it took a minute to do I got swamped with some essay's HERE IT IS THO I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Sleep Tight ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

PAIRING: Peter Sutherland x Reader

WARNINGS: Established Relationship, not proof read

W.C: 0.7K

A/N: Honestly, I'm not too happy with the word count, but I ran out of ideas. Slowly coming out of my writing hiatus so hopefully yall like this. ALSO PETER DESERVES MORE RECOGNITION!! THE PETER SUTHERLAND X READER TAG BEING SO BARE SHOULD BE ILLEGAL!!

“Peter, that you?” your voice rang out from the shared bedroom. The apartment was nearly pitch black besides the dim light that shone from the cracked bedroom door. 

“Yea its me” 

You crawled out of bed putting on your robe before heading into the living room. Like clockwork Peter began his “nightly” routine even though I was nearly 8 am. You knew he would be up for another 2 hours doing work only to be up at 7 for work again. A never ending cycle. Glancing at Peter you felt his exhaustion. 

You could see it in the way his feet dragged across the floor, the bags under his eyes seeming to be worse these past few days, his tie that was barely tied anymore hanging loosely around his neck as if he had intended to take it off a while ago. His jacket was off and now hung on the hook by the door revealing his very wrinkled shit that was partially untucked. His movements were robotic, moving more from habit than actual thought. Drop his bag. Head toward the table where his laptop sat waiting, an ever-present reminder that his job never really ended even when he was off the clock. Do more work till he passed out from exhaustion on the table. Then go to work again.

Except tonight.

You came up behind him, hands resting on his shoulders gently digging into the meat of his back. With a groan he leaned his head back resting it on your chest. 

“Long day at work?” You asked your voice soft. Between your voice and your hands massaging his shoulders he could pass out any minute. 

“When is it not” He groaned before lifting his head, gently grabbing your hand off his shoulder to kiss your knuckles. He reached to open his laptop to continue his work when your hand reached out, fingers curling around his wrist gently, but firm enough that he knew this was non-negotiable.

"Not tonight."

He blinked, slow, like his brain needed a second to catch up. "I just need to—"

"To what? Work more? Stay up until you pass out again?" You shot a pointed look his way. You both knew you were right. Your hand still on his wrist gently tugged him up out of his seat towards the sofa. "Peter, you’re running yourself into the ground."

He let out a dry laugh. "I'm fine."

You gave him yet another look that screamed “bullshit”

You sit on the sofa dragging his large stature down with you. Gently you push his head onto your lap, your fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. Immediately you felt his shoulders loosen, the tension bleeding out of them like air escaping a balloon. His eyes fluttered shut against his will, and his head tilted into the touch, chasing after it as if it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

A quiet hum slipped from his throat before he could stop it.

"See?" You let out a soft chuckle. One of your hands gently trailing down his back to gently massage his shoulder. "Feels nice, doesn’t it?"

Peter let out a sound, a mix between agreement and surrender. He didn’t want to admit how good it felt. How much he needed this. How much he had been running on empty, barely keeping himself together, until now. He shifted slightly bringing his arms to wrap around you, his head pressing onto your chest. The steady thump, thump, thump of your heartbeat matching his own. His exhaustion hit him like a wave, maybe it was your warmth, or the way your fingers gently moved through his hair and on his back tracing patterns, or maybe it really was just the exhaustion catching up to him. 

You could feel his breaths even out exhaling long and slow, his body going boneless sinking further into your touch, your presence, your silent reassurance that at least for tonight he didn’t have to keep himself upright. The world blurred at the edges, thoughts dissolving into a haze of warmth and comfort. 

Gently you reached up to grab the blanket resting on the back of the sofa, draping over the two of you. Pressing a kiss onto the top of his head you whispered. Your voice reached through the haze to anchor him in the only place that mattered. 

"Sleep, Peter. I've got you."

And for the first time in longer than he could remember, he let himself believe it.

And he slept.

[lustagel]

A SENSE OF RELIEF : PETER SUTHERLAND

 ❜୧ shit was hitting the fan so quickly peter could barely keep up. he didn’t know where was safe and where it wasn’t— but something he did know was he needed a place to lay low with rose. and with all that on his mind, he still couldn’t help but think of you.

c. no description of reader besides you being shorter than him. swearing. talks of… violence, blood. kissing. friends to lovers. not proofread. — gif credits: @userhazy !

l. new man!! edit: the comments are too cute! thank you 4 the sweetness.

anxious, heavy breathing consumed the cars fresh air coming in from the broken windows as peter’s eyes flickered from the rear view mirror, to rose, to the road. once he felt it was clear he stopped checking the mirror and mainly focused on the road and rose. his eyes flickered over to her, concern in his eyes. “you okay?” he asks making her look over at him. he sees a small cut from the glass on her forehead but sees no other injuries making him nod. “okay, you’re okay,” he says, mostly to himself.

the cold air from the night brushed against their faces as the night and city passed them. peter wasn’t thinking too much about the cold though— no, he was too overwhelmed by everything. he was only a guy who sat in the basement and answered a phone that never rang, hours ago. now he’s getting shot at and has to look after a woman who barely trusts him. he was never overwhelmed easily, but this was definitely above his level.

he couldn’t think straight. “you alright?” roses voices rings over his ears. he blinks, removing himself from his thoughts. questions and thoughts still crowd his head though. questions that he can’t answer himself, but he has to find an answer to. thoughts that you can only make settle and calm. “yeah… umm, yeah,” he says, he swallows hard, anxiously.

he realized quickly that he needs to call you. he looks over to rose to see if she was okay again before speaking. “can you call the second emergency contact?” peter asks, and rose quickly nods. she grabs his phone from the compartment under the radio and does as asked. “thanks,” he says once the phone begins to ring.

the phone rings through out the car speakers. he only hoped you would pick up. you worked early day shifts at your regular job so you were always asleep when he was fully awake. even so, the two of you always vouched to answer the phone when the other called— it was like protocol between the two of you.

“y/n,” you answered, voice half asleep. peter slightly winced at the sleep in your voice. he hated to wake you, even though you’d told him many times before it was fine. he still hated the thought of you losing sleep over his bullshit, but he needed someone safe to go. “hey, it’s… ah peter,” he stuttered.

“oh hey, what’s up? do you need something?” you question, sitting up in bed on the other side of the phone. he could hear the slight worry in your voice. you always worried about him. “yeah, i do actually,” he spoke, and cleared his voice before sitting up in his seat, giving a glance to rose whose eyes looked out of the window. “something big is happening but i can’t tell you over the phone. we need somewhere to stay and i know i can trust you,” he continued.

“umm… yeah, sure. come over whenever,” you say, a yawn following soon after. peter nods, “thanks. we’ll be over in 5. i owe you one.” he goes to hang up, but he hears you lightly chuckle. “you know you don’t owe me anything, peter,” you say, voice light and airy. it sometimes gave him goosebumps, your voice always did.

he sighs not in disappointment, but in relief. maybe it was your voice or the way you worried, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of security with you. you always gave him a sense of relief and comfort. he chuckles as well, realizing now how stupid he sounded in the first place. “yeah… i know. i’ll see you in 5, yeah?” he says. “yeah,” you replied.

silence filled the car after, but rose couldn’t help but look over at peter. she was not only interested in where she was going and staying, but also who was on the phone before. “where are we going?” she asks and peter gives her a glance before looking ahead again. “a friends. i’ve known her for a year. she ah… knows me better than i know myself.”

rose could only nod. “is she FBI too?” she asks, and he shakes his head. good, rose thought. she was tired of dealing with FBI and white house assholes. she stayed quiet the rest of the ride and so did he. both for different reasons.

xxx

at your house, peter grabs his bags which is a book bag, along with rose’s things hers being a small duffel bag. “how do we know she won’t try to kill me?” rose asks as they approach the front door. it was a sarcastic remark and also not one. she didn’t know who to trust and had been though a lot in the last hour, so he let her remark towards you slide this one time.

he turns to her and sighs. “she’s not, alright? trust me. she hates even the thought of a cat starving…” he turns back around to the door. “she won’t be able to stomach killing someone,” he said, before knocking on the dark brown wood. “unless it’s the person who left the cat out to starve,” he whispers, not talking to anyone in particular. soon after, the door swings open revealing you in a shirt and pajama pants.

“hi,” you smiled at him. “hey, umm… this is rose,” he said, directing your eyesight to the short haired girl standing beside him. she smile with a small wave and you smile right back. “hey,” you said and there was silence before realizing how cold they must be. “oh! come in.” you step aside, letting them in.

“no need to dress all fancy for us,” peter teased with a light chuckle. you look up and down at yourself as you close the door, quickly realizing his tease, and you chuckle. “shut up. was i supposed to wear a beautiful dress for a friend and a stranger?” you ask, as peter sits down his things by the couch, stripping from his coat soon after. rose stands on the opposite side of the coffee table, feet stuck to the floor with glue.

you quickly realize what you said and moved your graze from him to her. “no offense,” you say with a light smile. she’s quick to shake her head and raise her hands, “none taken.” rose’s eyes wonder around the house from where she was standing. she didn’t want to move unless you felt comfortably with it.

you catch onto that and are quick to speak up. “make yourself at home…” you start, making her look at you. “kitchen’s over there. there’s a guest room upstairs with a full bath attached… so bathroom all to yourself.” you finish, and she’s quick to move from her stuck position, to around the living room. when she turns her head a bit you catch a glance of the small cut on her forehead. “there’s a couple band-aids, and neosporin in the bathroom too. to clean up…” you gesture to her head. “that.”

unsure of what you were talking about she goes to touch it, just to be meet with a sting. “thank you,” she smiles lightly before heading upstairs. peter was a couple steps behind her, giving you a small smile. “i’ll be back,” he says, before heading up the stairs as well. he quickly checks the windows for locks and makes sure they’re all the way closed. he looks out the window in the guest bedroom. rose stand by the bed, watching with clean clothes in hand.

“i kinda see where you were going with the cat thing,” she says making him turn around. “yeah… she’s nice. umm… all the windows are lock and shut, but i’ll probably be up all night anyways so… sleep well, alright?” he questions and she nods before he leaves the room. he makes his way downstairs and finds you looking under the sink. “what are you looking for?” he asks, leaning against the counter top, arms crossed against his chest.

“this,” you say, pulling the first-aid kit from the space. peter is quick to shake his head, already knowing where you were going with this. “i don’t—” he starts but you cut him off. “you have a couple cuts on your face too. now, sit and tell me about the girl,” you demand with not one serious nerve in your body, only concern. he sighs before sitting at the dining table as asked—or demanded.

you place the kit on the left to you on the table as you move yourself to fit in between his legs. “her aunt and uncle was doing some type of business for the white house and she called the line,” he starts, watching you pour a small bit of alcohol on a cotton ball. “told me her uncle gave her the number and she didn’t know what was happening,” peter continues, hissing a bit when the cold alcohol makes contact with his scar.

his eyes were forced to look up at you as you cleaned the scar. “i stayed on the phone with her until the police got there then i called farr. you know the farr i’m always talking about?” he asks, making sure you understood and were listening. you hummed, your breath lightly brushing against his face. peter hadn’t realize you were so close until now. he felt the need to touch you but kept his hands on his thighs. he even began moving his hands up and down his thighs to soothe the urge.

“she ah… told me to pick her up and take her somewhere safe for the night and my place wasn’t for multiple reasons. but i knew yours was so here i am. i also needed to… umm—” he started but stopped himself. he wasn’t sure if he wanted to confess that part of the story. the random stop makes you speak. “i’m listening. just need to put a band-aid on it,” you say, softly.

he knew you were listening, he just wasn’t sure if you were ready to hear what he was about he say. “yeah. i just… needed to clear my head. you know how i’m always in it,” he said, a light chuckle following hoping you wouldn’t be too worried, but when you take your eyes away from his scar to look him in the eyes he knows his chuckle didn’t help.

he sighs, looking away from your graze, hoping it wouldn’t affect his heart too much. your eyes always had a softness to them that made his heart arch and swell. maybe it was the way you didn’t look at him with pure disgust or sadness when he said certain things. you’ve only ever kissed his soul with worry and love. you’ve never once given him a reason to shy away from you— not one.

“don’t look at me like that,” he sighs, eyes finding everywhere else to look but your eyes. “like what?” silence fell over the kitchen as you waited for a response from his lips. but the time didn’t come, so you spoke up again. “peter,” you called, hoping his eyes would find yours. he heard the plead in your voice, so his heart sank in and his eyes found your once more.

he was right. your eyes were pleading, begging to be heard and understood. they hoped that he understood the intention behind your words were only good. “you know that i’m here to listen. whenever and where ever. okay?” peter searches your eyes for sadness, anger or even aggravation but he saw none. not even a glimpse.

mindlessly, he finds himself leaning in and soon your lips on his. they were just a soft as he thought they were, maybe even softer if possible. his itching hand’s finally find their way to your sides to massage at them. your hand cup his face, taking in the kiss for all of what it is. every emotion, every breath. until…

“oh!” the two of you hear making you pull away from each other. you see rose standing by the fridge like a deer in headlights. “sorry to umm… ruin the moment. i’ll just leave,” she said slowly back away but you stop her. “no, it’s okay. what do you need?” you ask, removing yourself from peter to go over to her. “are you sure you weren’t in the middle of anything?” she asks giving a glance to peter behind you.

“yeah, but it’s fine. seriously, what do you need?” you asked with an awkward smile. “umm… water is all,” she says after remembering what she had came downstairs for. you nod and go into the fridge for a water bottle out of one of the drawers. you grab one, shut the drawer and shut the fridge door behind you. “here you go,” you said, giving it to her. “thank you. i’ll see you two love birds in the morning,” she teased, winking to you before waving to peter who gives a short wave back.

with a grin on her face, she makes her way upstairs. “well that was something,” you laughed, looking back over to peter who also laughs in reply. “you should get some sleep. you’ve had a long day,” you say, and he’s quick to nod. the two of your refuse to look at each other in the eye. you didn’t understand why because you were centimeters close to each other minutes ago.

“yeah… umm i’ll just sleep on the couch,” he says, pointing over to it. you nod, and he stands from the chair to walk over to it. you didn’t speak a word as you cleaned up your mess. from the bloody cotton balls to the neosporin. after putting everything up, you head for the stairs, hoping to get away from the awkward atmosphere.

but your luck ran out when you hear your name being called. you’re quick to look his way. you weren’t completely sure if he was looking at you or not but you hoped he was. “good night,” he says a light smile on his face.

“good night, peter,” you smile.

xxx

“your mattress works wonders,” rose comments as she comes down the stairs, bags in hand. you and peter laugh as the two of you stood at the door. “thank you. i’m glad you slept well,” you smiled at her. peter opened the door so she could exit, towards the current running car in your driveway.

the two of you watched as she walked farther from you in silence, until you spoke. “don’t do anything stupid, and remember: you can always come back here when you need me,” you said, the two of you finally looking at each other ever since last night. “yeah, i know,” he says with a nod before walking out of the door as well.

you stand at the door as he walks down the stairs and on the forth step he stops. he turns around and is quick to make his way back up the stairs to you. before you could mutter up a sentence, his lips are on yours and your breath is catch in your throat. the kiss is soft and light hearted.

soon, he pulls away, eyes peering down at yours. “i don’t want you to worry. i’m gonna be okay,” he says, your face in his hands. his eyes only hoped to prove some type of comfort to your heart. you only gave him a faint smile. “you’re gonna be okay,” you repeat, hoping you’d believe it and not worry. you couldn’t promise you wouldn’t though.

[underoospeterparker]

peter distracting his princess while shes trying to study for an exam. needy peter basically

i think this is for peter sutherland but i thought it would fit peter parker too so you can read it for either <3

"baby," peter whined softly, turning your chair to face him. "you've been studying for ages. can we cuddle?"

you giggled, cupping his face in your hands. "are you four?" you asked, half joking and half serious.

he pouted. he literally pouted and you burst out laughing; a loud, wheezing one that made your boyfriend's face brighten.

"just a little longer. please?" you gave him your best puppy dog eyes and he finally relented.

"fine," he said, pressing a kiss on your forehead. "come outside in 20 minutes."

an hour later, your boyfriend slammed open the door again. you pretended like you didn't notice peter glaring at you from across the room, and you stayed silent until he gave up.

he closed your laptop lid with so much force you thought it would break. "have you seen the time?" he asked you angrily.

you lifted your eyes from your closed laptop to his face, eyes slightly watering. at this, his entire demeanour shifted, face softening and eyebrows creasing, a look of worry prominent on his face. "what's wrong?" he asked, panicked. "did i do something? sweetheart, i-"

your face betrayed you, lips curling into a smile at his concern even though nothing had happened. your giggles turned to screams as peter picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder.

"peter!" you shrieked, still laughing. "what are you doing?"

"kidnapping you," he grinned. "you've been studying for so long, i think you've gone a bit mental."

[yelenasbraid]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 — 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅

summary — you’re the only person peter can trust. you also happen to be an fbi agent.

warnings — fem!fbi agent!reader, fluff, a gun makes an appearance

𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃, pinned down and unable to move. he never thought he’d be hiding from the US government, but here he was. peter sutherland made a vow that he’d protect rose larkin, and that’s exactly what he was doing.

“she’s an fbi agent, peter, are we sure we can trust her?” it was the fifth time rose had asked that in the past ten minutes.

“yes, rose. we can trust her,” his hand wrung around the steering wheel as he pulled up a few blocks away from your apartment building. you went to the academy with him, a few classes ahead, but nevertheless. you’d become fast friends, unable to separate from one another.

he put the car in park, hurrying out of the car before he and rose briskly walked to your apartment complex. he hadn’t seen you since you graduated from the academy. you planned on meeting up every once and a while, but life seemed to get in the way.

the catch was, you weren’t expecting them.

they walked up to your apartment, peter knocking on your door. a few moments passed, but just as he raised his fist again to knock, the door unlocked and opened. you stood there, your face tight. you wore sweats, a large t-shirt and your hair was sloppily pulled back.

“you’re lucky i’m too tired to rat you out,” you mumbled as you stepped aside to let them in. you never asked questions, and peter appreciated that about you. if he needed help, you were there, no questions asked. this time, though, he assumed you had the answers already.

the door shut behind them and you locked it again. you ran your hands down your face, eyes catching the man in front of you. he’d always been attractive, the warm lighting of your apartment especially accentuated that attractiveness.

“thank you,” peter wrung his hands like a nervous schoolboy. in a way, he was.

“i’m assuming you’re rose larkin,” you turned to the girl next to peter, who merely nodded her head. you nodded yours and reached behind you, pulling out the glock you’d shoved in the back of your pants before you opened the door. you could never be too cautious.

“really, y/n?”

“what? i’ve been filled in on the whole assassins thing, i’m not letting some psycho into my apartment,” you defended as you placed the gun underneath the kitchen counter. you directed them upstairs and allowed them to use the guest bedroom and bathroom, which left you a moment to yourself.

~~

peter was the only one to come back down from getting changed.

“rose went to sleep, she needed it,” he explained. peter saw your gaze soften, something that he learned was words in and of themselves.

“don’t you?” you countered. you were sat on the couch, your laptop propped open on your lap. he sat down at your feet, shaking his head.

“bau, huh?” he chuckled, eyeing the sticker on your laptop.

“yeah, profiler. happens to be a lot harder than you think,” you allowed a soft smile.

“whatever happened to the talent i saw on the gun range?” he asked, mostly teasing but part of him wanted to know. you’d been a menace on the range in handguns and rifles, never missing a beat snd never hesitating. he swore you were going to do something with swat.

“who’s saying that it’s not still here?” you countered back, closing your laptop. silence grew between you, a comfortable one. whenever you were at the academy, feelings blossomed between the two of you. feelings that scared you; falling for someone in the fbi wasn’t a smart move. yet, it was the move you made. you never confessed said feelings, but seeing the golden retriever of a man in front of you changed that. it reminded you that those warm and fuzzy feelings were still there.

“peter,” you started, shifting yourself on the couch, sitting up. you placed your laptop on the coffee table, moving yourself into a criss-cross position. his eyes caught yours, and he saw the words in your eyes before you said them.

“yeah?” his eyes flicked down to your hands, watching as they wrung. he looked back up at you, his brow creasing with concern.

you were at a loss for words. normally, you were able to say what you were thinking without much of a physical reaction. it’s what made you a good profiler. now, as you sat in front of the man you fell for, you struggled to keep your composure. how could you just spill to him, now especially, that you’ve liked him ever since the academy?

“are you sure you weren’t followed?” your gaze hardened up again, ignoring the butterflies in your gut and the warmth in your chest.

“i’m sure,” peter replied, a sigh leaving his lips. he was hoping you’d confess something, and it looked like you were going to. he saw the look in your eyes, the way they sparkled and softened. he would find himself getting lost in your eyes, drowning the rest of the world out.

“good,” you nodded your head, your eyes averting down to your hands, which were in your lap. the silence that fell over you now was uncomfortable, it was filled with a tension that you couldn’t seem to shake. the confession was on the tip of your tongue, your body begging you to just say it.

“ever since the academy,” you started, catching peter’s eyes again. his heart rate picked up and that schoolboy-like giddiness came back. “i’ve…had these feelings i can’t seem to shake,” you continued. the room was perfectly still, almost as if time had stopped.

“and?”

“peter,” could you say it? could you admit to both yourself and to peter, that you’d fallen in love with him? now?

“i think i understand,” he whispered, and oh did his whisper send the right kind of shivers up your spine.

“what-” before you could even finish enunciating your phrase, soft lips captured yours. the warmth in your chest spread down to your stomach, sending sparks all over. you’d been waiting years for this moment, and you believed you’d never get it. your hand cupped the back of peter’s neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. his hands snaked up your body, finally resting on both of your cheeks, cradling your face. finally, he’d kissed the woman of his dreams. the woman he’d fallen for while he was still at the academy. the woman who could knock him to the ground in a blink of an eye.

he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. your breaths meshed together, and you gave him one last, small kiss before pulling away again. smiles adorned both of your faces, your cheeks hot to the touch.

“been waiting a long time for that,” peter’s voice was raspy, and he knew it was from the shock of it all.

“then why didn’t you do it sooner?” you teased, causing the both of you to laugh. in that moment, only for a second, peter forgot about the impending doom on the nation. peter’s only focus was you, his girl.

in honor of me finishing the night agent in two days, here’s a fic for you lovely people. i’m telling you, i love my men fbi coded

[sandraleclerc]

The One You Love

Pairing: Peter sutherland x female!y/n

Warnings: angst, fluff, kissing, jeaolusy

Summary: Since Peter is protecting Rose he´s never at home and the few times you saw him was with her. When someday the two of them show on yours and Peters apartment, you can´t blame yourself for feeling that he doesn´t want you anymore.

You and Peter have been dating for three years now, although because of his working hours you didn´t see him too much, both of you managed to make this relationship work, because you couldn´t hide the feelings you had for each other. Since the first time you met you knew you wouldn´t just be friends, he was just made for you.

You loved this man more than you could say, he was the love of your life, you couldn´t imagine a life without Peter and you thought that neither could him.

There has been a lot of days since you saw him, you knew he was in a type of mission for the white house, he was protecting some girl called Rose, her uncle and aunt died because they were involved in someting very serious of the government and they were after her now. You were aware of that, and that they were trying to get to the bottom of the case and all of that.

You understand it, you really did, but you just couldn´t stop thinking that you wanted things to be like before, you just wanted to be with your boyfriend talking, cuddling, whatever, you wanted him with you. But it was his job, he had to do it, even he was risking his life for this, but he wanted to help with all of this, he loved his country, his job and he would do wathever to serve it.

You were now on your sofa watching some random movie that you choose from netflix, you weren´t paying a lot of attention to it, you were only thinking of Peter, where could he been now?, was he okey?. You thought that of course he was with Rose keeping each other company in some place, you couldn´t hesitate and feel a little bit jealous.

"It doesn´t matter" you said to yourself, but oh it really mattered to you, a lot.

You were almost asleep when you heard the sound of some keys opening the front door. That could only be one person.

Peter.

You got up from the sofa a little exhausted to go to the front door, "he was finally here" you thought. Maybe the two of you could have some time together finally, that made you smile.

You saw Peter and thats when the two of you did eye contact, your smile couldn´t be bigger, you couldn´t stand and walk straight to him.

"Y/n" he said with a relieved tone.

You jumped into his arms and hugged him as tightly as you could, you´ve missed him so much. His arms hugged you around your waist, while you hide your head in his neck.

"I missed you so much" you said while you separated from his embrace. You grabbed his chin to take a look of his face.

"What happened to your face?" his face had a lot of scratches and it didn´t look quite good.

"Someone was chasing us and I had to fight" he said.

"Oh Peter" you sounded worried, and you were, it could have been worse.

Wait, did he say, us?

"Us?" Thats when you notice that all the time Rose was standing behind him, thats why you didn´t saw her, and well, all your attention was caught by Peter.

"Oh" you said while you separated from Peter, you were disappointed and a little upset.

You weren´t upset because he brought her in yours and Peters place, you were upset because after a long time without seeing each other you could have had finally some time together alone.

You looked at her, god she was beautiful.

"Y/n, this is Rose" Peter didn´t stop looking at you, you didn´t know why.

"Hi, i didn´t want to ruin the moment for you two, so i just stayex quiet, that´s why i didn´t introduced myself sorry” she said while gesturing with her hands.

"Don´t worry, it doesn´t matter, im Y/N" you faked a smile for her, you were a little upset, but you didn´t want to be rude at her.

"Im going to show Rose the guest room" Peter said looking at you.

You nod at him.

You watched them disappear and went to the same spot in the sofa that you were. You were exhausted, you really thought that Peter and you were going to have calm finally, but you were wrong. At least, he could have tell you that the two of them were coming here, but he didn´t.

You were a very insecure person and the fact that he didn´t tell you made you think of the worst, it wasn´t just that, they passed all the days together, you can´t blame yourself for overthinking about this.

"Y/n?"

You looked at him, he was so handsome, the most beautiful man you had ever seen, you loved how the suit that he was wearing suited him perfectly, he looked perfect.

He took a spot next to you in the sofa.

"It was last minute, I didn't know what to do and I didn't want to put ourselves in danger, so i thought that we could come here" You knew he was looking at you, but your eyes were on the front. You didn´t want to look at him, because maybe if you did you would fall into his arms in no time.

"Y/n look at me" you couldn´t.

He grabbed you by the chin to make you look at him "Y/n talk to me". You finally look at him, he was staring at you deeply.

"Why didn´t you just tell me?" you said, you were now a little sad, why couldn´t he just let you know, you didnt heard of him for so long.

"I don't always have the same phone so no one can chase us, and I didn't want to risk that if I called you, maybe they would go for you too" he said staring at you. "I love you Y/n, i don´t want to lose you"

You stand up, escaping from his touch. "Maybe your lying to me, she is nice and beautiful, i wouldn´t blame you if you said that you don´t don´t love me anymore" you were now about to cry. You walked to the windows that were next to the sofa, you didn´t want to look at him, if you did you would cry.

"Who?" he said standing up and walking towards you from behind.

"You know who" you said looking outside.

"No i don´t" he said. You could feel his presence behind you.

You turned around, you were know so close that your faces were a few centimeters from each other. "You know that you spent all the time now with Rose, shes pretty and im sure that she is a wonderful person too, we don´t even see each other now, i don´t blame you"

"Y/n listen to me" he grabbed your face "You are the only woman that i love and that i will love my entire life, your the love of my life, and i hate that you compare yourself to others. I will never change you if it´s what you think, im so deeply in love with you that i can´t explain it. Im sorry for not being with you like before, i hate it too, the only thing i want is to be with you, but i have this mission now and i have to do this. But i promise you that when this ends i won´t leave you"

You were now crying, how could you doubt of him.

He wiped your tears with his fingers. "Don´t cry"

"Im sorry Peter, you know i love you" you said staring at him.

"Im the one who is sorry Y/n, i hurt you and i hate it"

You were staring at each other, you could be like this forever, staring at him, you loved that he was taller than you, you could have a look of him better. He was perfect, and only yours.

And then he kissed you, he kissed you softly, his hands were roaming over your waist and yours were tangled on his soft hair. You both got lost in that lustful feeling and messy hungry kisses quickly, the kisses became more intense and his touch, comforting.

He slowly guide you to the sofa, he was on top of you all over you, he kissed your neck while your hands desperately felt his toned abs, He quickly took off his jacket while staring at you. "You are perfect for me, love" he said, you couldn´t hesitate and blush a litttle, no matter how many times he said this things of you, you always felt like this.

He then kissed you again more intense, he has missed you so much, his hands roaming over you. "Peter" you moaned into his ear bringing shivers up his spine.

His hands went up to take off your shirt. "Peter" you said breaking the kiss.

"What?" he said going to kiss your neck not giving so much importance.

"Peter" you put your hands over his to stop him of taking your shirt off. "We can´t" you said.

"Why?" he said staring at me like a baby.

"Rose will hear us and i don´t think she will like it"

"So stay quiet" he said smiling sarcastically at me.

You gave him a little slap in the chest. "You´re an idiot" you said smiling at him.

"C´mon Y/N" he said beggin at me like a kid.

"No, maybe another time" you said jokingly.

You moved your position, so now your head was on his chest, his hands in your waist and your legs tangled.

"You are insufferable" he said smirking.

"You love me"

"I do"

This is my first time writing something, i hope you like it! There wasn´t a lot of content for Peter so i take advantage of thiis.

I will open requests so you can request whatever you want.

[purestxblood]

𝗥𝗨𝗡 𝗧𝗢 𝗬𝗢𝗨, 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥.

It almost felt like a hallucination, seeing Peter waiting for you after a night out and for a split second, you wondered if the two additional vodka tonics had actually done their job. 

𝗡𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿. 𝗘𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀. 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀. 𝗦𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗮𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗶𝗻𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁. 𝗕𝗮𝗯𝘆 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳.

Taking on morning shifts as your new weekly routine often felt disparate. It had been years since you didn’t cover night shifts at the hospital, often forgetting how the moon and stars radiated upon the lake streets down from your loft. In the beginning, nights were lonesome and besides curling up on the sofa lounge with a good book or classic romance film and a cup of hot coffee, you had started to become antsy from being anti-social.

Granted, besides your patients and coworkers, where some days you’d catch breakfast at the end of your shift or mingle at the bar when you were surprisingly off, you hadn’t had much of a social nightlife anymore. Nor did you have a dating life. 

In your defense, these late months had been the first where you were officially a single woman. 

After many shifts of pestering from your work best friend, you had allowed her to set you up on a date with the anesthesiologist. You gave her credit, she had actually chosen a good one. He was confident but not too overly arrogant, intellectual to maintain a conversation that didn’t just occur around their job title, humorous, and very very easy on the eyes. You had just finished your second date with him– dinner by the lake with a couple drinks and live music. With his devilish eye, you allowed him to whisk you to the dance floor.  

It was a great time and it felt blissful to actually put yourself out there again. However, just as it did on your first date, after he bid you farewell with his lips against your cheek, you found yourself succumbing to the memory of the last pair of lips to caress your face.

There was no reason to dwell and hinder on what was and what wasn’t with him, however, as you came to your door, he was there to smack you right back to the reality of it all.

"𝐒𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝."

Peter’s last name felt almost foreign to the tongue– nearly as much upon seeing him leaning against your door with another woman sitting at his feet. Your eyes were curious, glancing up and down between the two. It almost felt like a hallucination, seeing him waiting for you after a night out and for a split second, you wondered if the two additional vodka tonics had actually done their job. 

The sound of your heels echoing among the hall had been a distraction, the light taps under the assumption of belonging to another pair, not the ones upon your own feet. You noticed Peter’s own twisted expression of surprise, his brows raising slightly as he glanced down at your exposed painted toes and ankle bracelet. 

It was extremely rare for your sneakers to be discarded for a pair of high heels, especially at this hour. Unbeknownst to his knowledge, you would’ve been either returning home for a quick lunch break or getting off early. A short dress, jacket, and heels weren’t on the card of expectations.

His lips parted in absolute silence and you forced a soft closed smile upon your face, "𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞?"

Neither Peter or the woman had said a word but it was obvious they both were at a loss. Peter’s hair was disarrayed, his posture taut with tension while he rocked aimlessly upon the balls of his feet. You could tell he was eager, The girl at your feet huddled to herself and your eyes surveyed her frame. Her knees were pressed tightly to her chest with a few cuts among her face, the tips of her nails chipped with embedded dirt, and startled tiresome eyes.

“I tried calling,” he stated, his eyes zoning in upon the clutch in your hand as if he could see through the velvet material to your phone radiating his seven missed calls, “you always answered.” 

You winced. Each word served as a knife, lightly slicing through you. It was an obvious notion but his words were laced with dark eyes of disappointment.

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥," 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, "𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭."

“I was busy,” you rubbed your lips together and squared your shoulders while fishing your keys from your clutch. Busy enough to ignore the missed calls and not allow them to ruin your date. 

The woman leaning against your door stood, both her and Peter sidestepping the way for you to open your flat. “I’m Rose,” she introduced herself with a polite smile.

There was desperation swirling within her brown eyes and part of you felt empathetic. You already knew why the pair were waiting for you to get home. Whatever Peter had tangled up with this Rose had definitely taken a toll on her exterior. She looked absolutely exhausted and as if she were barely hanging on to her sanity by a thread. You knew she probably could use a warm shower and comfortable bed to lay her head. 

Regardless of how you felt towards Peter in this stance, even he knew you were too compassionate to say no. After all, that was the exact reason why Peter showed up on your doorstep without a thought of doubt.    

Sighing, you looked over your shoulder at Peter before returning to Rose. “Hi,” you returned her gaze with a small expression before opening your door.

“Look,” Peter rushed, “it’s just for the night,” he stated with pleading eyes, confirming your assumption, “we’ll be out of your hair by daybreak.”

You didn’t say a word, leaving your door open behind you, silently inviting them both in. Peter shut the door, locking your triple locks tight.

"𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺?" 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬. 𝘗𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘴.

"𝘐𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩," 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥. 𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘗𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘦.

𝘉𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, "𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥."

"𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘩, 𝘣𝘶𝘵..." 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘹 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, "𝘗𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦, 𝘐 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦."

Peter and Rose stood aimlessly in the center of the flat. Rose’s eyes taking in the proximity of your abode while Peter followed you moving about the kitchen. Taking your teapot off the stove, you filled it with fresh water and placed it back atop, lighting the flame.

“The guest bedroom is the door on the right,” you motioned, directing Rose. “I only have one bathroom but you’re welcome to it first, there’s extra towels and cloths in the cabinet as you close the door.”

Rose nodded her head, a smile of gratitude ensuing, “thank you.”

You watched Rose shut the door behind her as she entered the bathroom, leaving you and Peter to fall into silence. You could feel his eyes burning into you but you didn’t want to meet his eye. The stoic confidence you radiated minutes at the door had evaporated the second it was just the two of you. 

Silence fell, both of you staring at nothing as you stood aimlessly about. His hands tapped on the pants of his suit while yours thumbed against the counter top, waiting for your kettle to whistle. Lingering pauses of silence with Peter had always been a comfort to you but since your parting hadn’t been mutual and hurtful, there wasn’t anything to say.

You had been beyond stabbed through the core to the point of there was no return to even acknowledge what transpired. There was no purpose in digging up what was done. It was better for your own sanity to act as if nothing had even occurred.

He was just the boy you met as kids riding bikes on the block, the boy who dated your best friend in middle school, the teenager who happened to quietly steal your heart in high school, and break it later in your twenties. You could easily regress back to your younger self who only viewed him as Peter in public and secretly filled you with butterflies in your stomach.

It was easy. 

Your kettle whistled and you took the pot, pouring the steaming water into your mug before adding a packet of tea and stirring. “Well,” your spoon grazed the edge of the cup with a clang, “you know where the couch is and extra blankets are…” Bringing the mug to your mouth, you blew for a few seconds before taking a sip, ignoring how your chest burned from the heat, “...unless you plan to share with her, then by all means.” 

“It’s not—” he began to protest but you halted him. “Was just stating Sutherland, it’s not my business.” With your mug in your hands, you made your way to your room ignoring Peter’s call.

Your back was to him as you placed your mug on the coaster upon your bedside table while sliding out of your heels, wiggling your toes and rolling your feet as you adjusted to the comfort of the flat wooden tile. Reaching into your dresser drawer, you pulled out a fresh pair of panties and pajamas. 

It didn’t take any amount of wit to know he had trailed your move, you could feel his aura in an instant, wandering eyes roaming as you readied to end the night.

“You were off tonight.”

It was moreso a statement— an observation, rather than a question itself. You glanced over your shoulder as if you were startled by his appearance in your doorway. There was a slight hint of curiosity lingering in his voice. Again, being off on a night was rare to Peter’s knowledge.

“I don’t work nights anymore.”

Peter leaned against the frame, his arms crossing over his chest, “I gathered that from what you’re wearing.”

His comment was audacious, twisting from the assumption you had a night off versus actually not taking on the nights, and you frowned. You both knew damn well his response was a mere retaliation of meaning behind the reality of no longer being on night shifts. 

You stopped in your tracks, your eyes scorching his, “there’s no reason to work nights anymore.” Peter blinked, tearing his eyes from you in defeat and guilt. 

“Plus,” you faked a sigh and turned your back towards him, opening your closet and scanning the top shelf. Peter was silent, waiting for your retort but you only aided in the silence to make him wait and grow impatient upon your lingering pause. 

Grabbing a sweatshirt and pants, you closed the door and met Peter in the doorway. 

“Gives me more time to go on dates, you know?” 

The statement bit him right back in the ass just as it felt when he first chewed the words and spit them out at you months ago. 

"𝘏𝘦𝘺, 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦," 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬-𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘢 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵.𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥. "𝘙𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵," 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳��𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺. 

𝘗𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, "𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵."

You extended your arm, the clothing in your hands serving as an olive branch. Peter's eyes rested at your grasp, his mouth twitching when he noticed you held the sweat set he left behind. 

It had only been two dates. The rest of your nights were either girls or solo nights but Peter didn’t need to know the latter. 

“It’s better than your suit,” you assured, “whatever you have going on, you should probably at least try and get some rest.”

You watched his fingers thumb the material of his sweatshirt, his eyes trailing behind each brush. He looked up at you with regretful eyes. You could tell his thoughts were traveling a mile a minute in his head by the expression upon his brow. However, like always, rather than vocalizing his emotions, Peter was mute.

“Just get some sleep Sutherland,” you muttered, “it’ll be daybreak soon.”

You didn’t wait for his response, giving him your back, breaking him away from his hypnotic stance on the clothes in hand. His fingers latched to your wrist, bringing you to a pause midstep. “Peter,” you said softly, looking at his hand clasping around your wrist. 

The action was so simple but as his fingers delicately soothed the side of your wrist did you know his signification. Your eyes met his eyes, dark and narrow with burning captivity, “just for a few hours,” he said, “please.”

｡°✩ 𝗠𝗔𝗜𝗡 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ✩°｡ | ☼☾⋆｡ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ｡⋆☾☼

𝘐'𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 <3

[bellarkeselection]

America's Little Eagle

Protecting the President's daughter...what could go wrong?

When Peter Sutherland gets called by President Michelle Travers, he never imagined it would be a request to protect her daughter Y/n. He could do that part of the job for sure, but falling for his bosses daughter, that's uncharted territory.

Tag list - send an ask to be added

@ice-man-goes-bwoah @fanfictionaddiction99 @coldheartedmar

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

No easy job||Peter Sutherland x fem!reader

Summary— Peter swore up and down he’d never join the secret service but here he is as the body guard of the presidents daughter who loves to keep Peter on his toes .

Word count—644

Peter Sutherland prided himself on being calm under pressure. It was practically a job requirement. Whether it was racing against the clock to prevent a terrorist attack or navigating the bureaucratic chaos of Washington, D.C., he always kept a cool head.

Until now.

“Do you always ignore every rule ever written, or am I just lucky?” Peter asked, his voice taut as he followed Y/N into the crowd of gala attendees.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, smirking. “Rules are more like guidelines. You’ll get used to it.”

Peter exhaled sharply, gripping the earpiece in his hand before shoving it back into his ear. “I’m not supposed to get used to you wandering off without telling me.”

“I’m not wandering off. I’m mingling. Big difference,” she replied, plucking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. The glint of the chandelier above reflected in her glass as she tilted it toward him in mock cheers. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? Someone spills a drink on me?”

Peter scanned the room, his sharp eyes catching a suspicious figure lingering near the exit. The man adjusted his jacket, and Peter’s stomach tightened. He was already running through the possibilities—exit routes, potential threats, fallback plans. “The worst that could happen is someone targets you because your father is the president, and I’m left explaining why I let you stroll into danger like it’s a weekend hobby.”

She paused, turning to face him fully. Her expression softened just a fraction, though there was still a flicker of defiance in her gaze. “Peter, relax. I’ve done this a hundred times. No one’s going to target me in the middle of a charity gala. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Peter shot back, stepping closer. The faint buzz of conversation and laughter around them felt miles away. “You don’t get to be fine. You get to be safe. That’s the deal.”

Her smirk returned, this time tinged with challenge. “You’re kind of intense, you know that? Has anyone ever told you to loosen up?”

“Has anyone ever told you that ignoring protocol is a terrible idea?”

“Constantly.” She raised her glass again, but her fingers tightened around the stem. “Didn’t stick.”

Peter’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing, his eyes locked on hers. She had that maddening ability to act like nothing could touch her, like the world wasn’t full of people willing to exploit her trust and bravery. It wasn’t just frustrating—it was terrifying.

“You think I don’t see it?” he said finally, his voice softer but no less firm. “The way you brush everything off like it doesn’t matter? But it does, Y/N. You might think you’re invincible, but—”

“—I’m not,” she interrupted, her tone unusually serious. Her eyes flicked down, then back to his. “I know that, Peter. But I also can’t live my life hiding behind Secret Service agents every second of the day. It’s not who I am.”

Peter ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right words. Something about her recklessness struck too close to home—someone else he’d failed to protect, someone else who didn’t listen. He couldn’t let that happen again. “I’m not asking you to hide. I’m asking you to let me do my job without feeling like I need a defibrillator on standby every time you step into a room.”

Her lips twitched, the smirk threatening to return. “Are you saying I stress you out?”

“Yes,” he deadpanned.

She laughed, and the sound pulled a reluctant smile from him before it faded. “Good. Keeps you on your toes,” she said with a wink, and before he could reply, she slipped into the crowd again, disappearing like a shadow.

Peter groaned, pulling his earpiece into place. He scanned the room quickly, noting that the suspicious man near the exit had shifted positions again, and his unease grew. Protecting Y/N was going to be the death of him—he was sure of it.

[itsnesss]

𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 | peter sutherland × fem!reader

summary | late at night, you find yourself followed by peter, the quiet, ever-present figure. what starts as a tense encounter quickly spirals into something more dangerous, blurring the lines between your mission and your growing feelings for him

warnings | tension, smut, explicit content, p in v, unprotected sex

word count | 2.3 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The fresh night air hits you hard as you walk down the secure building’s hallway. At this hour, everything is deserted, the only sound you hear is the thudding of your own steps on the cold floor. The day has been long, and all you want is a hot shower and a bed to forget everything. But the mission is far from over.

Your thoughts scatter when, suddenly, the sound of familiar footsteps reaches your ears. A sigh escapes your lips before you turn, because you know exactly who it is. There's no need to see him to know it’s him.

He's always been nearby, always that silent watcher who observes from the shadows. But tonight, there’s something about his presence that makes you feel more uncomfortable than usual. Maybe it’s the way he follows you, almost as if he's waiting for something. Or maybe it’s everything: the tension between you, the unspoken words, the furtive glances in the hallways.

"Following me again?" you ask without fully turning to face him. You know he’s there, you can feel him. Your voice is firm, but there's a slight hesitation in the undertone of your words. You want him to leave you alone, but part of you is waiting for something more to happen.

Peter doesn’t respond immediately. He simply steps toward you with his firm stride, eyes locked on you. When you finally stop and turn to face him, you realize there’s something different about him, something you haven’t seen before. His eyes, that intense gaze that always seemed so distant, now carries something more.

"What I want..." he begins, his voice deep as always, but this time there’s a tension that makes it sound even deeper. "What I want is for you to stop running."

You don’t know exactly what he means, but you feel those words have been echoing in your head all along. It’s not just the mission, it’s not just the job. It’s something else, something neither of you wants to admit. But the truth is inevitable. And you feel it in the air between you, an electricity that cannot be ignored.

The hallway lights flicker slightly, adding a shadowy atmosphere to the moment. The building feels much larger, much emptier than it really is, as if all that’s left in it are the two of you. The world keeps spinning, but you and he are trapped in a bubble, a space suspended between reality and something much more dangerous.

"I'm not running," you say, although you know you don’t believe your own words. You turn completely toward him, facing Peter's intense gaze. "I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m not going to let you mess with my head."

"Really?" His voice softens, but the doubt still hangs between you. He takes a step toward you, and for a moment, the world seems to stop. His closeness makes you feel more alive than ever. "Because it doesn’t seem like you’re controlling yourself much."

You can’t help it. The challenge in his words is like a dare, and you can’t let it go unanswered. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you murmur, but the nervousness in your voice is obvious.

Before you can react, Peter has taken the final step that separates you and, in one swift movement, pulled you toward him. A gasp escapes your lips in surprise, but it’s quickly silenced by the brush of his lips. The kiss is fierce, demanding, as if he’s finally releasing a weight you both have carried for far too long.

The tension between you explodes in that single kiss. His hands, as if they have a mind of their own, slide down your back, roaming over you with an urgency that makes you lose control. There’s no doubt, no turning back. The brush of his body against yours makes you shiver, and you can feel his heat merging with yours, creating a storm inside you.

Peter gently pushes you against the nearest wall, and the pressure of his body makes you see stars. The space between you grows smaller, and you surrender completely to the moment, letting yourself be swept away by the passion you’ve been ignoring for so long. Peter’s hands move up to your neck, his fingers firm yet gentle, exploring your skin as if he’s learning every part of you.

"Do you feel it?" he asks in the middle of the kiss, his voice rough, almost a whisper. "Because I do. I can’t keep ignoring this."

The answer you seek escapes you, but all you can do is respond with another kiss, hotter, more desperate. Clothes become a nuisance, and the movement between you grows more erratic. The sound of your shirt’s buttons hitting the floor is lost in the noise of your heavy breaths, as broken as the unspoken words.

Peter touches you, caresses you, and the feel of his hands on your skin makes you lose track of time. His mouth travels down your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses that make you moan softly. Each of his movements seems to answer a need, and for the first time, you realize it’s not just desire driving him. It’s the need for both of you to give in completely, with no barriers, no masks.

You also give in. Your hands explore his torso, sliding down his shirt, seeking the same thing he seeks in you: closeness, contact, the confirmation that this is real, that it’s not a dream from which you both will wake up tomorrow. There’s no room for doubt now. There’s no room for anything but desire.

"Are you going to regret this?" you whisper between kisses, feeling his body against yours, feeling how he consumes you.

"No," he replies firmly, and that answer melts you, makes you feel more certain about what’s happening. Because deep down, you know you won’t regret it either.

The passion intensifies with every passing second. The heat between you builds, and your clothes fall to the floor without hurry, as if the world you knew were just an illusion. The place where you are fades completely, and all that’s left is the desire, the fire that ignites when you finally unite in an embrace that surpasses everything that had been held back.

"Peter.." The name slips from your lips like a sigh, as if you were finally admitting something you had been denying for so long.

His is a murmured response, but your fingers slide down his back and his arms wrap around you, holding you in place. Peter's body positions itself over yours, and the pressure between you both makes you feel on the verge of bursting.

You feel his fingers exploring the path to your panties, and all you can do to help him is lift your hips towards him, eager to feel him inside you. The anxiety becomes as intense as the desire, and soon, your panties fall to the floor as well. The air is cool against your bare skin, but Peter covers you with warmth, with hungry kisses that devour you.

The sound of his zipper tearing mixes with the echo of their gasps, and pleasure becomes the only reality that matters. They don't need words; Peter's body is the confirmation of the promise they had been keeping to themselves for so long.

Pleasure is the release, the escape, the confirmation that both were seeking.

Peter stops for a moment, his gaze fixed on yours, searching for something beyond words. And in that instant, you know he already has your answer. In his eyes is written the confirmation, the commitment that nothing will change after this.

"But...", you begin to say, and Peter approaches you as if you were about to change your mind. But that's not what you feel.

"What?" she asks, her voice sounding like a suppressed moan.

"The mission...", you say with a hoarse voice. "We can't...".

But Peter doesn't need you to keep talking. His gaze is the answer you need, and without giving you time to continue speaking, he positions himself between your legs and pushes inside, filling you completely.

A cry of pleasure escapes your lips, and his mouth slides over yours to silence you. The pleasure is so intense, and you cling to him. Peter stops, giving you a moment to adjust, but soon he begins to move over you.

Your body curves towards him in an arc of pleasure, and your legs wrap around his hips, seeking more. Peter gasps softly, as if he too were on the brink of collapse, but he doesn't stop. His hips slide forward in slow, steady movements.

You follow him, you give in, you let yourself be carried away by the moment, by the pleasure that consumes you. Your arms slide over his shoulders, keeping you in place, while his mouth seeks yours again, to deepen the kiss.

Passion is the only thing that matters now. Everything else has become an illusion, a ghost of something that only distracted you from this moment. Pleasure envelops you completely, and soon, you feel that you are on the edge.

"Yes," Peter whispers against your mouth, as if he knows how close you are. "Like that, just like that."

The closeness between you two is so intense, so real, that you can't help but let the pleasure sweep you away. The orgasm takes you by surprise, and a dry gasp escapes your lips as you melt in his arms.

Peter keeps moving over you, his hips sliding in faster, more intense movements, until he finally feels he reaches his own climax. He positions himself between your arms, his body relaxing on yours as he tries to catch his breath.

A whisper escapes his lips as he caresses your skin with his fingers.

"This doesn't change anything," he whispers, and although you know it's true, you can't help but feel that something has changed. "I'm not going to let this distract you."

You know that Peter has always been like this: firm, determined, as if his presence in your life hadn't changed anything. But the truth is different.

"But something has changed," you whisper.

His eyes bore into yours, as if they were waiting for the answer. And you can't help but answer the truth. The truth you had always ignored.

The truth you had feared to admit.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice low and grave as always. But in his eyes, there is something more. A question that doesn't need to be answered.

You know it, you've known it since the moment he kissed you for the first time. Maybe long before that, from the very beginning. You have known since the first time Peter crossed your path.

"Everything," you finally say. And Peter smiles.

For the first time, you feel that something has changed. You feel that you have finally admitted the truth.

For the first time since you met yourself, you feel free. And you know that after this, you will never be the same. Not after having seen it all.

Peter slides out of you slowly, and his gaze remains fixed on yours as if he were still trying to read something there. The sound of his clothes crumpling on the floor pulls you out of the bubble you had been in, and a sense of emptiness hits you as soon as Peter moves away from you.

But he doesn't leave. He just steps away a little to get dressed and help you do the same. "We have to continue with the mission," he says firmly. And you have to make an effort not to respond with a sarcastic look.

[gel-electrophoresislab]

The Icy Pond

Peter Sutherland x Reader

Warnings: Icy pond, non sexual nudity, Kissing, minors dni

————————————————————————

The wind whispered a warning through the leafless trees as we approached the pond. It was a cold, moonless night, the stars above shivering in the inky sky. Peter and I, two agents of the night, were tailing a target that had led us on a merry chase through the quiet suburban park.

"Remember, Y/n," Peter had said earlier that evening, his breath frosting in the frigid air, "the ice isn't thick enough to hold us. We stick to the path."

I nodded, my eyes gleaming with the thrill of the pursuit. Peter's words echoed in my mind, but the path was longer, and every second counted. The target was slipping away. We had to move fast.

Crunching through the snow, I spotted a shortcut—a frozen pond, glistening under the distant street lamps. It was a risk, but one I was willing to take. I knew Peter would follow.

Without a second thought, I bolted onto the ice. It groaned under my boots, but held firm. The cold bite of the wind stung my cheeks as I gained ground. The target's footsteps grew clearer in my mind, the thrum of my heart drowning out the creaks of the ice beneath me.

But the universe has a cruel sense of humor. Just as I reached the pond's center, the ice let out an ominous crack. I felt the world tilt, and suddenly, I was plunging into the icy abyss.

The cold water slapped me like a giant's hand, stealing the air from my lungs. Panic swirled through me, thick and paralyzing, as the freezing water closed over my head. I thrashed, my legs kicking uselessly, searching for a foothold that wasn't there. The world was muffled, my thoughts racing like a rabbit in a snare.

Then, a hand—warm, strong, and reassuring—closed around my arm. Peter. His face was a blur through the water's surface, but the fierce determination in his eyes was clear. He'd seen me fall, had rushed to my side without hesitation. The ice creaked and groaned, but he didn't care. He was going to pull me out.

My teeth chattered as he hoisted me onto the unsteady ice. It took everything I had to roll away from the treacherous edge. The cold seeped into my bones, turning them to lead. I gasped for air, my breath coming in ragged puffs that painted the night air white. Peter knelt beside me, his own breathing heavy, his eyes searching my face for any sign of injury.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice tight with concern.

I nodded, my voice lost to the cold. My body trembled violently, and my teeth chattered so hard they hurt. Peter peeled off his own winter coat, wrapping it around my shivering frame. His warmth seeped into me, bringing a semblance of comfort.

"We need to get you warm," he said, his voice gruff. "We can't risk hypothermia."

He helped me to my feet, and we stumbled back to the path, leaving the pond and its treacherous embrace behind us. The chase was forgotten for the moment, overshadowed by the stark reality of survival. We had to find shelter—and fast.

As Peter scooped me into his arms, the warmth from his body was like a beacon of hope in the frigid night. He began to sprint, his long legs eating up the ground as he carried me away from the icy trap. Each step felt like a small victory, a defiance against the biting cold that threatened to claim me.

My eyes fell shut as the world spun, the only thing anchoring me to reality was Peter's steady breathing and the rhythmic thump of his heart against my chest. I could feel the heat of him seeping into my frozen bones, a gentle warmth that spread through me like a balm.

The jolting motion stopped, and I heard the crunch of snow underfoot followed by the sound of a door opening. The sudden influx of warm air was like a warm embrace, and I was vaguely aware of Peter carrying me into a dimly lit cabin. The scent of pine and woodsmoke filled my nose, a stark contrast to the icy pond.

He laid me down on something soft—a couch, I realized as it creaked beneath my weight. The heat from a nearby fireplace wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I couldn't feel my hands or feet, and my teeth chattered so badly it hurt to breathe. Peter's eyes searched my face, a mix of fear and concern.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice gruff and low. "I've got to get these wet clothes off you."

With trembling hands, he began to unbutton my shirt. I tried to help, but my fingers felt like they were made of ice. He peeled the soaking fabric away, revealing my shivering skin. He worked with a gentle urgency, his movements precise and efficient. His eyes never left mine, seeking silent permission.

As my clothes came off, the warmth of the room began to seep into me, but it was a battle against the icy grip of the water. Peter's touch was firm, yet tender, as he stripped me of the sodden layers. Each piece of clothing that fell away was a victory against the cold, but the process was painfully slow.

"Thank you," I managed to murmur through chattering teeth.

"It's okay," he said, his own teeth clicking together. "We've got to warm you up."

Without a moment's hesitation, Peter removed his own shirt and wrapped it around me. It smelled faintly of gunpowder and mint—his scent—and was surprisingly warm. He hovered over me, his own breathing ragged, his eyes searching my face for signs of improvement.

The warmth began to spread through my body, chasing the cold back into the shadows. I felt a surge of gratitude for his quick thinking, his selflessness. Peter had always been like that—reliable, strong, and unyielding. But now, in this moment of vulnerability, I saw a different side of him. A tenderness that made my heart ache in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

The cabin was small, but it was a haven. Peter had lit a fire that roared in the hearth, casting a warm glow across the wooden walls. He crouched beside me, peeling away my frozen boots and socks, his eyes never leaving mine. He rubbed my icy feet with his calloused hands, trying to bring the feeling back.

"You're going to be okay," he said, his voice steady and calm. "Just hold on."

He pulled me closer to him, his bare chest pressed against my icy skin. His warmth was like a beacon, a lifeline that I clung to desperately. His heart thudded against my ear, a reassuring rhythm that echoed the promise of survival. His arms were a warm cocoon around me, his chest a furnace that chased away the cold.

"I'm sorry," Peter whispered, his breath warm against my cheek. "This is the best way."

He began to rub my arms and legs vigorously, trying to generate heat. His skin was like a warm embrace, and I could feel the chill retreating from my body inch by inch. The warmth grew, spreading through me like a wildfire. The tremors in my body began to subside, the cold receding from the fiery warmth of his touch.

"Your core temperature is dropping too fast," Peter said, his voice tight with worry. "We need to warm you up."

With a gentle yet firm grip, he turned me onto my side and began to rub my back. The friction created a delicious heat that spread through me, thawing the ice that had taken hold of my very essence. His touch was sure and methodical, each stroke bringing a little more warmth to my frozen limbs.

As the cold loosened its grip, a new sensation began to creep in—pain. It was a dull ache at first, a distant whisper that grew louder as the blood returned to my extremities. I winced, but Peter didn't miss a beat. He simply tightened his grip and continued rubbing, his eyes never leaving mine.

"It's okay," he murmured. "You're safe now."

The pain grew, but so did the warmth. I focused on Peter's eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners when he was worried, the way the firelight danced across his features. His touch was a promise, a silent vow that he'd never let go. And in that moment, I knew I could trust him with more than just my life—I could trust him with the secrets of my heart.

The chill of the night was forgotten, replaced by the warmth of Peter's arms. His skin was a lifeline, a bridge between life and the cold embrace of the pond. Each rub, each press of his hand brought me back to the world of the living. I could feel my heart slowing, the panic of the fall receding like the tide.

"You're okay," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "You're going to be okay."

I nodded, the tremors in my body slowly fading away. The cold had been vanquished by his warmth, his care. We sat there, wrapped in the warmth of the cabin and each other, the fire crackling a comforting lullaby.

For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only Peter, his warmth, and the fierce beat of his heart—a rhythm that matched my own. And in that moment, I knew that no matter what the night had in store for us, together, we could face it.

The chase was on hold, the mission forgotten. Our priority was simple: stay alive and warm. And as Peter's hands continued their tireless work, as the warmth of the fire wrapped around us like a comforting blanket, I couldn't help but feel that for the first time in a long while, we were truly alive.

"I'm sorry," Peter said again, his voice thick with apology. "I know this isn't the time for it, but I had to get you out of the cold."

He was apologizing for invading my space, for the intimacy of his actions. But all I felt was a profound sense of gratitude. Without him, I'd be lost in that icy embrace, my life snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

"Don't be," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I'd do the same for you."

His eyes searched mine, looking for the truth behind my words. I held his gaze, willing him to understand. The bond between agents was unbreakable, a silent vow to have each other's backs. And in that moment, as I sat there shivering in his arms, it was clear that Peter took that vow to heart.

He nodded slowly, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. "If anything had happened to you..." His voice trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.

The fire crackled and spit, casting flickering shadows across the cabin. The warmth was finally reaching my core, and with it, the realization of just how close I'd come to the edge. Peter had saved my life. He'd risked his own to pull me out of the water, to warm me up, to keep me alive.

"Nothing happened," I said, my voice a little stronger now. "You're here, and so am I."

He offered a small, tight smile, his eyes never leaving mine. The room was quiet except for the hiss of the fire and the sound of our breathing—his steady and warm, mine still ragged from the cold. The weight of the night's events began to settle over us, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

We sat there, wrapped in the warmth of the cabin and each other's presence, until my shivering had ceased and the color had returned to my cheeks. The fire had turned from a ravenous beast to a gentle companion, licking at the wood with lazy tongues of flame.

"We should get you some dry clothes," Peter said finally, his voice still low.

He rose, the movement sending a shiver down my spine despite the warmth of the room. He moved to a closet in the corner and rummaged through the contents, his back to me. He returned with a pile of clothes—sweatpants and a thick sweatshirt that looked like they'd swallow me whole.

With shaking hands, I took the clothes from him, our fingers brushing in a way that sent a jolt through me. He turned away, giving me privacy, as I slowly changed, each movement sending a fresh wave of pain through my frozen limbs. The clothes were too big, but they were warm, and that was all that mattered.

When I was dressed, I looked up to find Peter watching me, his expression unreadable. He handed me a mug of steaming tea, the warmth of it seeping into my cold hands.

"Thank you," I said, my voice a little stronger now.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. We sat in silence for a while, sipping our tea and watching the fire. The night outside was still and cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the cabin. But we were safe, at least for now.

As the warmth of the tea spread through me, I felt the last of the chill retreat. The tremors in my limbs subsided, and the ache of the cold was replaced by a gentle glow. I leaned into Peter, my head finding a natural resting place on his shoulder.

He tensed for a moment before relaxing, his arm slipping around my shoulders. "You scared me," he murmured.

I knew he meant more than just the fall into the pond. He'd seen the recklessness in my eyes, the thrill of the chase that had led me to ignore his warnings. But I had trusted him to save me, and he had come through without a second thought.

"I know," I said softly. "I'm sorry."

He didn't respond, just held me tighter. And in that moment, I knew that our friendship had shifted, had grown stronger in the face of the cold.

Then, without warning, Peter's hand cupped my cheek, turning my face towards his. His eyes searched mine for a second, looking for permission, for reassurance. And when he found it, he leaned in and kissed me.

It was gentle, a soft press of his warm lips against mine. The kiss was filled with all the unspoken words of the night—his fear for me, his relief at finding me alive, his concern as he warmed me up. It was a declaration of more than friendship, a promise of protection that went beyond our job descriptions.

I leaned into the kiss, the warmth of his mouth a stark contrast to the icy water that had tried to claim me. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer, and suddenly, the cold was forgotten. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if we were trying to banish the chill that still clung to my skin.

Our breaths mingled, hot and desperate, as we broke apart. Peter's eyes searched my face, looking for any sign of doubt or regret. But all I felt was the warmth of his kiss spreading through me, thawing the last of the ice that had lodged in my heart.

"Y/n," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "What are we doing?"

"We're alive," I replied, my voice just as shaky. "And I'm not going to let this moment pass without telling you how I feel."

His thumb brushed my cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped my eye. "I've felt it too," he confessed. "But we can't let it interfere with the mission."

I nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. Our job was dangerous, and distraction could mean the difference between life and death. But in the quiet of the cabin, with the fire whispering to us in a language of warmth and comfort, it was hard to remember the world outside.

"I know," I said, my voice a little steadier. "But we're not on the job right now. We're just Peter and y/n."

He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling against me. Then, with a nod, he leaned in for another kiss. This one was slower, more deliberate. Our tongues danced together, exploring each other as if for the first time. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, until it was all I could feel.

The world outside the cabin walls faded away, and all that remained was the warmth of Peter's body, the scent of mint and pine, and the steady rhythm of his heart. His hands roamed my back, tracing the curves of my spine, sending shivers down my body that had nothing to do with the cold.

We pulled back, both panting, our eyes locked. The tension in the room was palpable, a living thing that crackled in the air like static. Peter reached out, brushing a strand of wet hair from my forehead. His touch was feather-light, but it sent a jolt of electricity through me.

"We can't," he said, his voice strained. "We have to focus."

I nodded, reluctantly breaking the spell. The mission was important, and we couldn't afford to let our emotions cloud our judgment. With a deep sigh, I leaned back into the couch, the warmth of the tea and Peter's body a comfort against the cold that still lingered in my bones.

"You're right," I said, taking another sip of the tea. "But for now, let's just be Peter and y/n."

He nodded, his arm still around me, and we sat in silence, watching the fire. The flames danced and played, casting shadows that painted our faces in a warm glow. It was a brief reprieve from the world of espionage and danger that we both knew was waiting for us outside.

As the warmth of the cabin seeped into me, I felt the weight of the night's events begin to lift. The chase, the fall, the kiss—it all felt like a dream, a moment out of time. But Peter's arm around me was real, his heartbeat a steady reminder that we were in this together.

We had survived the pond, and we would survive whatever the night had in store for us. The mission would go on, and we would be stronger for it. But for now, we were just two people, finding warmth in the cold embrace of the night.

Author’s note: Eeeeeep I can’t believe I’m finally posting writing. I’ve been a long time reader and enjoyer of fanfiction, but never a writer so this is all very new to me. If you have any advice or edits, please let me know!

[baestruly]

hi babe!! so glad I found your page bc I’ve been searching for Peter writers🤭🤭 anyway, could I request a blurb of Peter coming home after a long day and just having a quiet, cozy night in with reader?🫶

( 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 )  peter sutherland x fem!reader

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ IN WHICH after a long day, you and peter finally get to see each other

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - fluff

you sat on the couch in your apartment, staring mindlessly at pointless tv as your half opened book lay on the side table. you got home around about an hour ago, deciding to leave everything productive that you had to do for another time. 

almost dozed off, your eyelids threatening to cloud over your vision, the faint rattling of the door emits. you smile to yourself, knowing peter was home. it felt like forever since you’ve seen him even though it was just this morning. it’s been a long day. 

you feel a warm hand on your shoulder, close to the nape of your neck, peter’s lips on the crown of your head. 

“i missed you today.” he softly whispered into your hair, making you chuckle lazily. 

“every day you say this.” 

peter chuckles, coming around the couch and running the same hand down your face and tucking the messy strands behind your ear. 

“have you eaten?” 

“mhm. i left leftover pasta salad for you in the fridge.” you replied.

“i’d much rather be here.” you can hear the smile on his face, as he pulls the blanket over the both of you, kissing your forehead (again) and you hummed in response, laying your head on his hard chest and watching the mindless tv.

“what even is this?” he laughs, “here, i’ll change it for you, what do you want to watch, princess?” 

you raised your eyebrow at his nickname he rarely brought out—you turned your head to look up at him, the warm orange hues of the candle flickering around you and reflecting into peter’s eyes. his eyes shined with more than just the candle, they spoke with love and admiration as both of your eyes ran softly across each other's features. 

“i don’t care.” you leaned up, hand now on his chest as you placed a gentle kiss on his lips. 

he immediately responded, cradling the back of your head as he sits up, moving his mouth with yours softly, everything about this moment was so, so soft. you were at peace.

his thumb runs up and down your jaw before you both pull away — picking up on the fact you were too tired to even keep your head up right, and to be fair, he was exhausted too. 

you two beam at each other, laying your head back to it’s rightful spot on peter’s chest as your eyes close almost immediately, the flickering auburn light and peter’s steady breaths with the amount of head he provided for you lulled you to sleep. 

but just before darkness takes over, you hear peter whisper, his finger twirling an extra piece of hair he never tucked behind your ear, around his finger, “i love you, (y/n).”

 masterlist peter sutherland masterlist

[hederasgarden]

I must say I second a ‘night agent’ fic. Peter seems like a body worshipper to me.

Oh. Most certainly. He'll softly talk you though it, promising you that yes, you can give him just one more orgasm before finally crawling up your body and giving you want you've been begging him for.

While we're on the topic, send me the other kinks you think Peter would have! I'm alllll ears.